David Weber - Hell Hath No Fury

Gadrial started to tell him he truly did sound more than a bit paranoid. But then she stopped. Maybe he did, but as one of her research team members in Garth Showma was fond of pointing out, even paranoiacs sometimes had real enemies.

And mul Gurthak is Mythalan, she reminded herself.

"What do you think he might not want your father to know about?" she asked instead.

"I don't know."

"But you obviously suspect that there's something, or you wouldn't be worrying about it this way."

"I just can't quite understand why he'd want to discuss his instructions to his diplomats in such … privacy. Not under these circumstances, anyway."

"Maybe he just felt he could speak to them more freely without you," she pointed out. "You were the officer in command during the initial incident. Maybe he felt they'd be more frank about discussing options and possibilities-or the consequences of the incident-without you. And you said you didn't think he was very happy about your decision to make Shaylar and Jathmar your shardonai. Maybe he was afraid they really have managed to influence you-us-somehow, and he wanted to minimize any secondhand impact that might have had on what Skirvon might say or think."

"That's certainly possible. And, for that matter, he's a commander of two thousand, and I'm only a lowly little commander of one hundred … for now, at least." His mouth tightened briefly, and Gadrial's eyes flickered. Those last four words were about as close as he'd allowed himself to come yet to admitting his worry about the probable consequences for his military career. "But none of that changes the fact that I was absolutely the closest thing he had to some sort of expert-or informed opinion, at least-on the people he was sending Skirvon off to talk to. Even if he didn't want me sitting in on that discussion, why didn't he send Skirvon to pick my brain for additional information before sending him off to talk to Shaylar's people? Sure, they had my written report-and yours. But if I'd been a diplomat setting off to talk to a completely unknown civilization, I'd have wanted every scrap of information or firsthand impression I could possibly get."

"You're beginning to make me very nervous," Gadrial said slowly. "Are you suggesting mul Gurthak said something to them in private, gave them some kind of secret orders, he doesn't want anyone else to know about?"

"I'm afraid that might be what happened," he admitted.

"But what kind of orders?"

"I don't know," he said again. "On the other hand, there is that Mythalan xenophobia to think about."

"Surely you don't think he wants-?"

Gadrial broke off, unable-or unwilling-to complete the question, and Jasak grimaced.

"I can't believe that even a Mythalan would actually want a war, especially with someone who's already revealed the combat capability these people have. At least, I don't think I can. But I do worry about just how hardline he may have wanted them to be. We're the ones who were in the wrong initially. What if he's unwilling to admit that? What if he's decided to draw his own line in the mud, like Hundred Thalmayr?"

Gadrial nodded very slowly, her expressive eyes dark and shadowed with worry. Hadrign Thalmayr had been a complete and total idiot, but at least his mental processes-such as they were and what there'd been of them-had been straightforward and almost agonizingly clear. He'd been arrogant, stupid, and far too conscious of the 'military honor' of Arcana in general and himself in particular, but Gadrial doubted that there'd been a single subtle bone in his entire body. Certainly there'd been an acute shortage of brain cells, at any rate!

Nith mul Gurthak was something else entirely. Everything she'd heard about him suggested he was anything but an idiot. Which, unfortunately, might not be as good thing as she'd been assuming it was.

Given the typical Mythalan attitude towards the non-Gifted, and given the almost inevitable Mythalan revulsion at the very concept of someone whose very different Talents might challenge the primacy of the Gifted, "xenophobia" might actually be too pale a word for his reaction to the Sharonians' sudden appearance. If he'd opted to respond as a Mythalan, rather than as an officer of the Union Army, then he very well might have issued far harsher and less accommodating instructions to Rithmar Skirvon than he'd admitted.

"You're definitely making me nervous now." She balled the hand on his shoulder into a small fist and smacked him lightly on top of the head with it. "I'll have to think of some way to thank you for convincing me to share your paranoia."

"Sorry." He caught her wrist and looked up at her. Even with him seated in the chair and her standing beside it, he didn't have to look up very far, and something deep inside her tingled at the warmth in his eyes. He, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to his own expression, she thought, with more than a hint of frustration.

"Have you sent a letter ahead to your father to tell him about your suspicions?" she asked after a moment.

"Not yet. I've been turning it over in my mind. But I probably will send word ahead by hummer after we dock in Paerystia." He twitched his shoulders. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about it before I wrote to him. I kind of hoped you'd just tell me I was crazy."

"I wish I could-tell you that, I mean. But even though you may be wrong, I don't think you're crazy.

And the truth is, I'm afraid you're not wrong, either."

"Great."

Jasak's spine slumped just a bit, and he shook his head with a deep, heartfelt sigh.

"I'll go ahead and write. In the meantime, though, I don't think this is anything we need to discuss with Shaylar and Jathmar."

"Rahil, no!" Gadrial shook her head quickly, emphatically. "There's nothing anyone could do about it at this point, and there's absolutely no reason to worry them any more than they're already worried, Jasak!"

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

He pushed himself up out of the chair and took the hand which had rested on his shoulder in both of his.

He held it for just a moment, smiling at her, and then drew himself up to his full towering height.

"And now that you've come and rousted me out of my hiding place up here, I've discovered that I'm actually hungry, after all. Would you care to come down to the dining compartment and share a cup of tea with me while I irritate the stewards into finding me something to eat?"

"Where did Gadrial go?" Shaylar asked.

"I think she went up to the observation dome looking for Jasak," Jathmar replied, looking up from the book in his lap. Then he straightened, and his eyebrows rose as he sensed her quiet consternation through their marriage bond. "Why?"

"I need-we need-to talk to her, Jath."

Shaylar's magnificent brown eyes were worried, and Jathmar laid the book aside and stood to take her in his arms.

"What is it?" he asked. She leaned back in his embrace, looking up at him, and he shrugged. "I've been able to tell that you were worrying about something for several days now, love. I just haven't been able to figure out what it was. I've been figuring you'd tell me about it in your own good time. So, is that time now?"

"I don't know if it's a 'good time' or not, but I'm afraid it is something we need to talk about," she said unhappily. "And, frankly, the fact that you haven't been able to figure out what's bothering me is part of the problem."

"What?" He couldn't quite keep an edge of hurt out of his tone, and she squeezed him quickly.

"That's not how I meant it!" she told him quickly. "What I meant was that we've always been so sensitive to one another because of our marriage bond that each of us has almost always been able to figure out what's bothering the other one, when something is. But this time, you haven't been, have you?"