by Sharon Lee
"Certainly not," she said, righteously. "Only the Trade Commission may relieve a master trader of his duties."
Daav clamped his jaw against a sharp return to that and mentally reviewed a Scout's relaxation exercise, deliberately bringing his anger under control.
"Aunt Petrella," he said after a moment, with credible, if fragile, calm. "If you believe Er Thom will keep from duty simply because you choose that he not wear mark of rank, you have a very odd view of his character."
"Thank you!" she snapped. "I choose to teach him obedience, sir, as I told you last evening. You will not interfere in this."
"You wish to shame the clan's master trader before the Port entire and claim it's none of mine? Aunt—"
She struck the floor with her cane. "I will not have him interpreting Code for his own benefit!"
Daav froze, staring at her out of wide eyes.
"Isn't that what it's for?"
Petrella glared, thin chest heaving with rage, hands gripped like talons about the head of her cane.
"I may die before your eyes this moment," she said grimly, "and leave you a wrongheaded, disobedient boy as thodelm. It's no less than you deserve."
"I don't want a dog broken to heel!" Daav shouted, control and gentle-speaking alike be damned. "I want intelligence, clear sight, strength of duty—as my mother did before me! And I tell you now, Chi's sister, if you break Er Thom yos'Galan, you break Korval!"
She straightened in her chair as if he had struck her, sucked in breath for she barely knew what reply—
Too late. Daav was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The dramliz want young Tor An's genes. Farseers predict twins from the match and offer the girl-child to us—to Clan Korval—as settlement.
Jela would say that a wizard on board tips the scale to survival—which remains sound reasoning, though we're planet-bound now and in honorable estate, or so the boy will tell me . . .
As it transpires, Tor An met his proposed wife several days ago, through Dramliza Rool Tiazan's good graces, I make no doubt! The boy's smitten, of course, so the marriage is made.
Perhaps the girl-child will fail of being dramliz . . .
—Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book
"MASTER MERCHANT BEL'TARDA," Mr. pak'Ora announced from the doorway. "Master Pat Rin yos'Phelium."
Petrella glanced up from her desk with ill-concealed irritation as Luken, looking every inch the rug merchant he was, crossed into the room, holding a dark-haired boy of about six Standard Years by the hand.
The man bowed greeting between kin, a certain trepidation marking the gesture. The boy's bow, of Child to Clan Elder, was performed with solemn exactitude. He straightened, shifting the brightly-ribboned box he carried from the left hand to the right, and showed Petrella a sharp-featured face dominated by a pair of wary brown eyes.
"Good-day, Luken," Petrella said, inclining her head. For the boy, she added a smile. "Good-day, Pat Rin."
"Good-day, grand-aunt," Pat Rin responded politely, nothing so like a smile in either lips or eyes.
Stifling a sigh, she looked to the man, who gave the impression of fidgeting nervously, though he stood almost painfully still.
"Well, Luken? What circumstance do I praise for this opportunity to behold your face?"
The face in question—blunt, honest, and mostwise good-humored—darkened in embarrassment.
"Boy's come to bring a gift to his new cousin," he said, dropping a light hand to Pat Rin's thin shoulder and flinging Petrella a look of respectful terror. "Just as his mother would wish him to do, all by the Code and kindness to kin."
It was perhaps the piquancy of a point of view that could suppose Kareen yos'Phelium capable of wishing her heir to associate in any way with an irregularly-allied child of lamentable lineage that saved Luken the tongue-flaying he so obviously anticipated. Petrella contented herself with a sigh and the observation that news traveled quickly.
Luken moved his shoulders. "No trick to reading The Gazette," he commented. "Do so every morning, with my tea."
Petrella, who had failed of her own custom of The Gazette with breakfast only this morning, openly stared.
"You wish me to understand that there is an announcement of Shan yos'Galan's birth in this morning's Gazette?" she demanded.
Luken looked alarmed, but stuck to his guns.
"Right on the first page, under 'Accepted'." He closed his eyes and recited in a slightly sing-song voice: "'Accepted of Korval, Shan yos'Galan, son of Er Thom yos'Galan, Clan Korval, and Anne Davis, University Central.'"
He opened his eyes. "That's all. Simple, I remember thinking."
"Indeed, a masterwork of simplicity," Petrella said through gritted teeth and was prevented of saying more by the unannounced arrival of her son, dressed at last in day-clothes.
"Luken. Well-met, cousin." Er Thom's voice carried real warmth, as had his bow. He smiled and held out a ringless hand. "Hello, Pat Rin. I'm glad to see you."
The tense face relaxed minutely and Pat Rin left his foster-father's side to take the offered hand. "Hello, Cousin Er Thom." He held up the festive box. "We have a gift for Cousin Shan."
"That's very kind," Er Thom said, matching the child's seriousness. "Shall I take you to him, so that you may give it?"
Pat Rin hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at his foster-father.
"Of course you would welcome the opportunity to meet your new cousin," Luken coached gently and Pat Rin turned his serious eyes back to Er Thom.
"Thank you. I would like to meet my new cousin."
"Good. I will take you to him immediately. With my mother's permission . . . " He bowed respect in her direction, gathered Luken with a flicker of fingers and moved toward the hallway.
Petrella gripped her chair.
"Er Thom!"
He turned his head, violet eyes merely polite in a face still somewhat pale. "Mother?"
"An announcement of your child's acceptance," she said, with forced calm, "appears in this morning's Gazette."
"Ah," he said softly, and, seeing that she awaited more, added: "That would be the delm's hand."
"I see," Petrella said, and spun back to her desk, releasing him.
HE HAD JUST REVIEWED the last of the day's pressing business and was considering a climb up the Tree. Seated on the platform he and his brother had built as children, the world below reduced to proper insignificance, surrounded by the benign presence of the Tree—there he might profitably begin to consider Er Thom's tangle.
Indeed, he had pushed away from the desk and was half-way across the room when he heard his butler's familiar step in the hallway beyond and paused, head tipped to one side, wondering—
In another moment, wonder was rewarded by delight.
Mr. pel'Kana bowed in the doorway, "Scout Lieutenant sel'Iprith," he announced, standing aside to let her pass.
"Olwen."
Smiling, Daav went to meet her. Mr. pel'Kana discreetly withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.
She was in leathers, as if new-come from space, and carried a small potted plant carefully in both hands. Looking up, she returned his smile, though somewhat less brightly than usual, and went past to put the pot on the desk.
Daav watched her, abruptly cold.
"Olwen?"
She spun away from the desk and flung against him, arms hard around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest.
She was sweet and familiar, warm where he was so suddenly chill. Daav hugged her close, rubbing his face in her hair.
They stood thus some time, neither speaking, then she stirred a little, muscles tensing as if she would move away.
He loosened his embrace, though he did not entirely free her. Olwen sighed and seemed to melt against him.
"Wonderful news, old friend," she said, so softly he could barely make out the words. "I'm recalled to active duty."
"Ah." He closed his eyes, acutely aware of the softness of her hair. He drew a careful breath.
"This afternoon." Her arms tightened bruisingly; she released him and stepped back, one hand rising to brush his cheek. "Be well, Daav."
He caught her hand and kissed the cool fingertips. "Good lift, Olwen. Take care."
"As ever," she returned, which was the old joke between them.
He walked with her to the door, and watched as she went down the path and slipped into her car.
When the sound of the engine had gone beyond his hearing, he returned to his office, taking care that the door was well-closed behind him.
Nubiath'a sat upon the corner of the desk, where she had placed it. He shivered and bent his head, gasping, hands coming up to hide his face, though no one was there to see him cry.
"IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS," Luken muttered for Er Thom's ear alone as they strolled along the hall, Pat Rin well ahead, "and you needn't bother snatching my hair off if I'm expected to turn a blind eye. But I wonder what's happened to your ring."
Er Thom lifted an eyebrow. "My thodelm keeps it for me," he said mildly, and smiled. "More than that loses you hair, Cousin."
"Fairly warned," the older man said with the good-humor that won him friends in both the Port and the City.
"Announcement in The Gazette took me unaware—" he confided—"felicitations, by the way! But the last I knew of matters, yos'Galan was looking to Nexon to provide your heir—" He threw Er Thom a sudden look. "Not that it concerns me, of course!"
Er Thom laughed. "Poor Luken. Do we abuse you?"
"Well," the other replied candidly, "you and Daav cut up a trifle rash as cubs—and it's a certified wonder you weren't drowned as halflings. Though," he said hastily, as if recollecting himself, "I believe that to be the case with most halflings."
"And as adults we daily snatch you hairless," Er Thom murmured, "and do you no better good than setting Kareen at your throat."
"No," Luken said as they climbed the stairs. "No, I wouldn't have it that way. Daav visits often, you know—he and the boy are quite fond. I find him much easier now he's come back from the Scouts and taken up the Ring. You—you were always the sensible one, cousin, and if you have from time to time been sharp, why, it's doubtless no more than I deserved. I'm not a clever fellow, after all, and it must be a trial to you quick ones to always be bearing with us slow. Kareen, now—" Luken sighed, eyes on the child who went so solemn and un-childlike ahead of them.
"The boy makes gains," he said eventually. "No more nightmares—well, none to speak of." His mouth tightened. "My back's broad. Kareen yos'Phelium may do her worst to me, if it buys the child his peace."
Er Thom lay a hand on the other's arm, squeezing lightly.
"Thank you, cousin."
"Eh?" Luken gave a startled smile. "No need for that, though you're very welcome, I'm sure." He moved his shoulders. "That's always been the difference between you lot and Kareen. Good-hearted, the both of you, and not dealing hurt for the joy of hurting." He raised his voice.
"Ho, there, boy-dear, you've gone past the door!"
Up ahead, Pat Rin turned and came slowly back, holding the gift between his two hands.
Er Thom lay his palm against the nursery door and bowed his cousins within.
"CATCH!" ANNE TOSSED the bright pink sponge-ball in a lazy arc.
Shrieking with laughter, Shan grabbed, the ball skittered off his fingertips and he flung down the long room after it, giggling.
Anne shook her hair back from her face, clapping as he caught up with the ball and snatched it high.
"Now throw it back!" she called, holding her hands over her head.
"Catch, Ma!" her son cried and threw.
It wasn't too bad an effort, though it was going to fall short. Anne lunged forward on her knees, hand outstretched for the grasp—and turned her head, distracted from the game by the door-chime.
"Mirada!" Shan ran and threw himself with abandon into his father's arms, ignoring the other two visitors entirely. Anne came off her knees and went forward, ball forgotten.
Er Thom caught Shan and swung him up into an exuberant hug. "So, then, bold-heart!"
Beside them, the older of the two visitors—a sandy-haired man of perhaps forty-five, with a bluff, good-humored face—pursed his lips and lay a lightly-ringed hand on the thin shoulder of his companion. Anne smiled at the fox-faced little boy and received a solemn stare out of wide brown eyes.
"Play ball, Mirada!" Shan commanded as Er Thom set him down.
"Indeed not," he murmured. "You must make your bow to your cousins." He turned his head and caught Anne's eye, giving her a smile that jelled her knee-joints.
"Anne, here are my cousins Luken bel'Tarda and Pat Rin yos'Phelium. Cousins, I make you known to Scholar Anne Davis, mother of my child and guest of the House."
"Scholar." Luken bel'Tarda's bow puzzled for an instant, then she had it: Honor to One Providing a Clan-Child. "I'm glad to meet you."
"I'm glad to meet you also, Luken bel'Tarda." Honor-to-one-providing had no neat corollary, so Anne chose Adult-to-Adult, which was cordial without leaping to any unwarranted conclusions regarding Luken bel'Tarda's melant'i.
"Well, that's kind of you to say so," he said, with apparent pleasure. He squeezed the little boy's shoulder lightly. "Make your bow to the guest, child-dear."
Bow to the Guest it was, delivered with adult precision, and a quick, "Be happy in your guesting, Scholar Davis," delivered in a husking little voice, while the brown eyes continued, warily, to weigh her.
Anne bowed Honor to a Child of the House, adding a smile as she straightened. "You must be Daav's little boy," she said gently. Pat Rin ducked his head.
"Begging the lady's pardon," he said quickly, "I am the heir of Kareen yos'Phelium."
"But he has his uncle's look, certain enough," Luken added, rumpling the boy's dark hair with casual affection and sending Anne a glance from guileless gray eyes. "His mother's dark, as well. I don't doubt you'll be meeting her soon. Never one to allow a duty to languish, Lady Kareen."
"I look forward to the pleasure of meeting her," Anne told him, with was only proper, and wondered why he blinked.
"And here," Er Thom said gently, "is Shan yos'Galan. Shan-son, these are your cousins Luken and Pat Rin. Make your bow, please."
Shan hesitated, frowning after the Liaden words.
"Shannie," Anne prompted in Terran. "Bow to your cousins and tell them hello."
There was another momentary hesitation, followed by a bow of no particular mode. On straightening, he grinned and offered a cheery "Hi!"
Luken bel'Tarda sent a startled glance to Er Thom. "I'm afraid—oversight, of course!—I've never learnt—aah—Terran—"
"Hi!" Shan repeated, advancing on his cousins. Pat Rin tipped his head, brown eyes wide.
"Hel-lo?" he said uncertainly.
Shan nodded energetically. "Hello, yes. Hi!" He thrust out a hand. "Shake!"
Pat Rin flinched and stared. Then, lower lip caught between his teeth, he reached out and brushed Shan's fingers with his.
"Hel-lo," he repeated and snatched his hand back. "I am glad to meet you, Cousin Shan," he said in rapid Liaden and held out the package he carried. "We've brought you a gift."
Shan took the package without a blink. "Thanks. Play ball?"
"My son thanks you for your thoughtfulness," Er Thom said for Luken bel'Tarda's benefit. "He asks if his cousin might play."
"That's very kind." Luken looked gratified. "It happens the boy and I are promised in the City today, but I'd be delighted to bring him to visit again soon. He might spend the day, if you've no objection, cousin."
"Of course Pat Rin is always welcome," Er Thom said and Anne saw the tense little face relax, just a bit.
"That's fixed then," Luken said comfortably. He turned and bowed, giving Anne the full honor-to-one-providing treatment.
"Scholar Davis. A delight to meet you, ma'am."
"Luken bel'Tarda. I hope to meet you again."
Unprompted, Pat
Rin made his bow, and then the two of them were ushered out by Er Thom, who turned his head to smile at her as he was departing.
"Well!" Anne sighed gustily and grinned at her son. "Do you want to open your present, Shannie?"
