Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Wait,” she said, turning to look at Daav's brother. “What if he will not see me?”

“He'll see you,” Er Thom said, as the car crested the hill, and began the race down toward Jelaza Kazone. “If you will allow me, Pilot—plain speaking may serve you very well here.” He glanced over, bestowing another of his grave smiles upon her.

“I fear the delm often measures Daav's portion with a heavy hand. Perhaps you may find a way to leaven that.”

Aelliana considered him closely, this man who shared his soul and counted it a gift, and who was held dear—very dear—by his brother.

“Perhaps I may,” she said.

* * *

There was no reason for him to be sitting in his office, with the lights dimmed and the screen dark. Such Korval business as demanded the delm's personal attention was retired, and he expected no outburst of emergency. Indeed, the emergencies of the last two days were enough to sustain him well into the next quarter.

He should, he told himself, rise, rid himself of his business clothes and—do something. Work in the garden, perhaps; or there was that business of Kiladi's yet to be concluded. Or—he might call Clonak and propose a night on the port.

Alas, that last was ill-thought, for it brought him 'round again to the sad certainty that Clonak, possessed of the most susceptible heart on the planet, had irrevocably given it to Aelliana.

“That's two of us struck,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “And neither fit to comfort the other.”

He sighed, and opened his eyes.

“Really, Daav—such melodrama. Stand up, do, and take a turn around the grounds.”

After a moment, he did rise, and was halfway to the door when it opened, quite suddenly, admitting a slice of brighter light from the hallway along with his brother, Aelliana herself at his shoulder.

It was quite ridiculous, the way his heart stuttered, and his eyes filled. And it was everything he could do, not to step forward and sweep her into an embrace as she passed Er Thom, striding into the room as if she had every right to be there.

Which, gods help him, she did.

Three steps away, Aelliana paused, her face turned up to his, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket. Chest tight, eyes burning, Daav looked past her, to where Er Thom stood, relaxed but unsmiling, in the doorway.

“Would you care to explain yourself?” he asked, his voice harsh in his own ears.

Er Thom inclined his head. “Korval's guest asked to be brought to Jelaza Kazone, so that she might speak with Daav. As this request is in all ways reasonable, I am delighted to bring her to you.”

Delight—well, and so it could be. Er Thom had previously demonstrated a willingness to put aside his delm's word. Nor did either of them, both trained to hold Korval, in case one should fall—neither of them entertained an appropriate respect for the delm.

“What he does not say,” Aelliana said in her clear, fine voice, “is that I was quite rude. I don't know how I shall ever show Anne my face again. However, I am prepared to be rude again, for I will not leave here until you and I have spoken on my topic.”

That was plainly said, Daav allowed; and plainer still was the determination that informed her stance, her shoulders, and the angle of her chin.

“There is no need to deplete your entire store of rudeness in one evening,” he said, not quite as mildly as he had intended. He glanced to Er Thom. “Pray, await Pilot Caylon in the library.”

Er Thom bowed—Honor-to-the-Delm, damn him—and departed, closing the door quietly behind him.

It was scarcely latched when she launched her first strike.

“Why did you send me away?”

He sighed, and flung out his hands, speaking the plain truth, as copilot and as lifemate.

“Because it is dangerous for you to remain here. I cannot allow you to reside in peril.”

“So you sent me away without even discussing it? Have I no choice in how much peril I will accept?”

“Aelliana, last night I overruled you—utterly. Surely you don't wish to wager your will.”

“It is my will and my wager,” she snapped, stepping forward into the pool of light cast by the desk lamp. Her eyes were was green as glass, and as sharp. “What right have you to take them from me?”

He raised his hands—and let them fall.

“No right,” he said quietly. “My reason is that I love you and—”

“You do not love me!” she interrupted. “It is the woman I was two days gone that you love—craven, shaking, and in need of protection!”

Shock chilled him, followed hard by anger.

“I beg your pardon, but you will not tell me whom I love—or why!”

Aelliana's eyes widened, but she did not step back—and that, he thought distantly, was well. It was ill-done to run from a Dragon.

“You may not defame my lady, nor call her craven. Frightened she may have been, but craven she never was! She pressed on and did what was needful, with courage and generosity. Her care of her comrades, her joy in flight, her gallantry—how could I not love her? And if she was frail, she grew stronger with every new sun, and I never doubted it, that she would do what she had set herself—learn Terran, master her ship, and shake the dust of Liad from her wings!” He took a breath, deliberately cooling his anger.

“I know my heart, Aelliana.”

“And now I know mine.” She stepped forward, and extended a hand. “I loved you two days ago, if I dared not name it. I love you all the more now that I allow myself to know what it is that I feel. If we are, in fact, lifemates, then what is left us is to consider how best to run this board between us. Separating us solves nothing, and only wounds both.”

“Dare I risk my will overtaking yours, even once more?” He blinked the tears away. “Aelliana, the peril here is all yours!”

“Then the choice to wager—how much and how far—is also mine.”

“No,” he said, quietly. “It is mine. I hold the power.”

He took a breath. “It is plain that the link between us has been damaged. My brother describes a free flow of emotion and thought between his lady and himself. What we see between us is that I—whom the Healers have already declared overloud—broadcast to you, wiping your signal out. I—” He paused, lifting a hand as the idea broke upon him.

“Daav?”

“How if I ask the Healers to block me? Then you would be in no danger.”

“But I would lose the joy of . . . hearing your signal,” she said slowly. “And it is a joy, new as it is to me. I propose a method of slow study.” She stepped forward, one hand reaching for his.

He sidestepped, slipping away from her grasp like smoke.

“Be wary! Here is good reason for fear.”

“I am not afraid of you!” she cried, her anger sparking truth from him, like flame from a firestone.

“Aelliana, sometimes I am afraid of me!”

She paused, and he thought that sense had at last won through. Then she shook her head, Terran-wise, and smiled.

“That's as may be, van'chela. I beg, however, that you will do me the honor of allowing me to love you, fearsome as you are. Please, let us at least try my method. If you see that I am overruled and lost, then you must disengage, as you did last evening. I depend upon you for this, for you will be able to see when I cannot. Is that a bargain?”

He licked his lips, scarcely able to look at her. His love, his lifemate. His pilot.

“What do you propose?” he whispered.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to his reading chair, over near the window. “My neck is quite cricked from staring up at you.”

“Very well.” He did as he was bid and looked up at her, with eyebrow raised.

“Good,” Aelliana said. “Now, what I propose is very simple. I will touch you, and take time to listen to your signal, so that I may learn to differentiate. Once I am able to know your signal as distinct from my own, then I believe the level of risk for both of us decreases by a factor of six.”