Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“You may wish to consider what might go forth if—I should say when, for surely the High Houses are chancy flying for even an experienced pilot—you make a misstep. For truly, Pilot, at these heights you are as a mouse among raptors. Your best chance of survival is to remain small, and to feast upon whatever crumbs fall your way.”

The air in the room changed. Aelliana glanced to the door, and here came Daav, striding swift and silent, a pair of dirt-stained gloves gripped in his left hand. His face was utterly devoid of emotion, but the force of his anger struck Aelliana from across the room. She went back a step, her hand rising as if she would fend him away.

“Good morning, Kareen; you're about early today.” His voice was ordered and calm; not welcoming, but neither did it deliver any hint of the fury that hammered at Aelliana's senses.

“Pilot,” he said, his eyes still on his sister's face, “would you grant me a few moments alone with my kinswoman?”

“Certainly.”

She bowed to Lady Kareen's honor and forced herself to walk calmly across the room. In the hall she met Mr. pel'Kana.

“Pilot—” he began, and stopped when she held up a hand.

“I desire to go into the garden,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “Of your kindness, point me the way.”

* * *

He knew where he would find her. Wherever the knowledge had come from, he did not doubt it—which argued for Tree-sense. Those born to Korval accepted such things as commonplace. Those who came to Korval from lives previously unburdened by an ancient alliance with a large, vegetative intelligence . . . took some amount of time to adjust. He was not entirely certain that Anne had yet come to an accommodation, or if her seeming acceptance was merely bravado.

He left the path and walked over the grass, taking care with the surface roots. Aelliana was pressed close against the massive trunk, soft cheek against rough bark, the lines of her body expressive of some tension, but not so much as he had feared.

Coming to her side, he spoke as gently as he might.

“Aelliana, you mustn't take my sister's words to heart. She is—we have a long history of despite, as much to my blame as hers. I fear that she does not count the cost, can she but land a strike upon me.”

She took a breath, slim shoulders rising and falling.

“Does this tree,” she asked dreamily, “speak to you?”

Well, and that was no time lost, he thought.

“It speaks to all of us,” he told her, and added, with Kareen in his mind, “though some listen less closely than others.”

For three heartbeats, she said nothing more, merely embracing the tree, so nearly it seemed that she might meld with it. Three heartbeats more, and he was becoming alarmed. If the tree were to overwhelm her—

She straightened, and turned, holding a seedpod between thumb and forefinger.

“This fell into my hand,” she said, sounding brisk now, and not dreamy in the least. “The tree tells me that it is a gift, and good to eat.”

“True on both counts,” he allowed. “However, there is a third thing, which perhaps it did not tell you.” He nodded at the pod. “The tree . . . engineers its gifts, from time to time. If you eat that, you may become bound to it.”

“As you are,” Aelliana said.

He inclined his head. “As we all are.”

She held the pod out to him. “How does one proceed?”

He took a breath—but who was he to deny her the benefits the tree's gifts so often bestowed? She was his lifemate, and thereby tree-kin. She had a right to the gift.

Taking the pod, he cracked it between his fingers and returned the pieces to her.

“The kernel is what one eats,” he said, and extended his hand, warned by a rustle in the leaves overhead. Another pod dropped into his palm.

He held it up, and gave her a wry grin. “I believe that we are being coddled.”

“A little coddling may not go amiss, surely?” Aelliana murmured, as he cracked his pod. “Your sister—”

“Pray put my sister out of your mind,” he said, teasing the kernel free.

Aelliana tipped her head. “This smells so—odd.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “In what way?”

“Well, it smells not of something—like mint or spice—but rather of the idea that the food is good.” She looked up at him. “Is it always thus?”

“No, sometimes they do smell of mint, or spice, or new leaves. I posit an encryption system peculiar to the tree. These, though . . . ” He paused to sniff his own kernel. “I believe they may have been produced especially for this event. And if that does not frighten you, then you are bolder than I am.”

She laughed, her eyes brilliantly green, and put the kernel into her mouth.

“That's put me on my mettle,” he said, and followed her lead.

Usually, when one ate of the tree, the result was a pleasant taste, and perhaps a mild, pleasurable euphoria. This was not usual tree fruit.

His mouth cooled, as if he had drunk iced water, and the sensation flowed through him, informing each bone, muscle and cell, until his strength was frozen and he sat down, hard, and leaned his back against the massive trunk, eyes closed, shivering.

“I wish,” he said, and his voice was shivering too, “you would at least give one warning. What have you done, wretch?”

“Daav?” Aelliana's voice was not shivering. Indeed, it was remarkably firm.

He opened his eyes and turned his head, carefully. She was kneeling at his side. Green eyes looked directly into his, mild concern apparent.

“Are you well?” she asked.

“I expect I will be,” he said, breathless still, but gaining strength. “Surely it has no need to murder me today, and good reason to keep me alive for just a few days more.”

She frowned. “I don't think the tree means to murder you,” she said seriously. “Though what reason?”

“yos'Phelium is grown dangerously thin. At least I must survive until I've done my duty to the bloodline. Unless, of course, it means to give over breeding yos'Pheliums entirely, which I might do, in its place.”

The shivering had passed, leaving him slowly warming, and in a state of not-unpleasant languor.

Aelliana shifted off her knees and sat on the grass, her shoulder against the great trunk. Her expression was thoughtful.

“I had forgotten,” she murmured, then seemed to shake herself. “Van'chela, perhaps the tree means to—to repair the damage, and render you—able to hear me.”

Well, and there was a thought—and not at all beyond its range. “Though one would still count it a kindness if a warning were issued before the blow falls.”

A leaf floated from one of the lower branches and landed on his knee.

“Your concern warms my heart,” he told it, ironically.

“Are you well?” Aelliana demanded.

He took a breath, and took stock. The languor was fading, though he felt no immediate need to rise and go about his day.

“In truth, I seem to have taken no lasting harm, and only a glancing blow to my pride.”

She blinked. “Pride?”

“One does not like to appear a complete idiot before one's pilot, after all.”

She smiled at that.

“Here,” she said, and put her hand flat against his chest.

“Can you,” she said, and he heard hope raw in her voice, “hear me?”

He closed his eyes, but if there was anything other than his own chaotic thoughts bouncing inside his skull, they were too faint for his inner ears to hear.

He put his hand over hers and opened his eyes.

“Alas.”

She wilted, a little, then straightened resolutely. “After all, it is a complex problem and may require several attempts.”

If it could be repaired at all, he thought, but did not say. Instead he smiled for her, and inclined his head.