Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Very true.”

She sighed, and took her hand away from him.

“Your sister,” she said once more, and pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him.

“Hear me,” she said firmly, and he perforce subsided.

"I know that she wished to warn me away, but she built her argument on a foundation of fact. I am not High House, and hold but an indifferent acquaintance with the Code, despite my late adventures. I am not traveled, nor have I been accustomed to making decisions based on the best good for all. For too many years, my decisions were made from fear, and concerned only my own safety.

“While I do not believe that you would send me away from you for embarrassing the High House of Korval before the world, yet the High House of Korval ought not to be embarrassed.”

Daav caught her wrist and lifted her hand away from his lips to cuddle it against his shoulder. “I note that Thodelmae yos'Galan is Terran, and despite earnest study, does yet from time to time err in small ways. The world makes nothing of it.”

“Nor should it. The fact that Anne is not of Liad is there for all to see. She cannot be expected to stand Code-wise and the fact that she errs only in small ways must be to her credit. But from one born to Liad, van'chela, more is expected.”

This new decisiveness was fascinating.

“What solution do you propose?” he asked.

She drew a breath, her fingers curling hard around his.

“I propose that we return to my original plan, with appropriate emendations.”

His heart sank. Of course she would fly her ship, nor was he the one to deny her, wing-clipped and planet-bound as he was.

“You wish to put Ride the Luck to space?”

She smiled. “I had always intended to do so—now more than before. Surely it must only improve my condition within the House, to captain my own ship. I might even undertake to learn the Code.”

She leaned forward, looking deep into his eyes, doubtless seeing his hurt and his jealousy and all the small unworthy pains.

“Will you sit my copilot?” she asked.

His eyes filled, and he closed them, unwilling to allow even her to see him so vulnerable.

“Aelliana, I am Korval.”

“So you are,” she said briskly. “What has that to do with the case?”

His eyes sprang open in shock. “The clan's business ties me to Liad. A day or two away, I might arrange that, but—do you plan a trade loop? Or will you go for courier?”

“That is but one of the many things I had hoped to discuss with my copilot, who is far more space-wise than I,” she said with some asperity. “Come, Daav! I don't know how it is done among the High, but among the Mid Houses, it is common for the delm to hold employment!”

He stared at her. “It has been . . . tradition,” he said slowly, and so it had been, since they had grown so thin, and the dangers of space had begun to be counted as more compelling than its joys.

“It is an absurd tradition!” Aelliana said decisively. “And I see no reason why you should be made ill because of it—or that we be denied the joy of sitting the same board, as surely we are intended to do!”

“As surely we are,” he said slowly, feeling her fingers gripping him tight—so tight. Not as certain as she sounded, his bold lady, and yet—her argument had merit.

“You must understand the cargo you would sign for, Pilot. yos'Phelium is a reckless Line. Had we not had the good fortune to fall under yos'Galan's care, we would scarcely have survived so long. When we grew thin, it was considered best that the delm not risk space.”

“Thodelm yos'Galan trades,” Aelliana said. “Anne told me he was to leave on a trip at the end of this twelve-day.”

“So he does and so he is. Er Thom is the very spirit of discretion—and I, my lady, am very much his opposite number.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “Then I will learn that, too.”

He laughed, and raised her hand to his lips. Teasing her fingers open, he kissed her palm, then looked into her face. Gods, she was beautiful, with her eyes reflecting the strength of her will, and her determination plain in her face.

“I will have to research it,” he said slowly, “and I must speak with Er Thom. It seems to me that there was once a system that allowed Korval's delm to, as you say, hold employment. For today, however, let us assume that the thing might be managed, someway. Are you at liberty?”

“I am entirely at your disposal,” she told him solemnly. “What do you propose?”

“That we take ourselves to Binjali's and inventory your ship. I lean towards courier, but I wish to refresh myself on certain measurements.”

“Our ship,” Aelliana said, and stood in one fluid movement, pulling him up with her. “Let us, by all means, go to Binjali's.”

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Fifteen

Melant'i—A Liaden word denoting the status of a person within a given situation. For instance, one person may fulfill several roles: parent, spouse, child, mechanic, thodelm. The shifting winds of circumstance, or “necessity,” dictate from which role the person will act this time. They will certainly always act honorably, as defined within a voluminous and painfully detailed code of behavior, referred to simply as “The Code.”

To a Liaden, melant'i is more precious than rubies, a cumulative, ever-changing indicator of his place in the universal pecking order. A person of high honor, for instance, is referred to as “a person of melant'i,” whereas a scoundrel—or a Terran—may be dismissed with “he has no melant'i.”

Melant'i may be the single philosophical concept from which all troubles, large and small, between Liad and Terra spring.

—From “A Terran's Guide to Liad”

Trilla, Jon's second, was on-shift, with a Scout introduced offhandedly as “Vane,” which was the mode, at Binjali's.

“Pilots, welcome!” Trilla called, riding a rope down from the catwalk. She landed lightly and came toward them, an unabashed grin splitting her dark, outworld face.

“Pilot Daav, you're looking well. Pilot Caylon . . . you're looking very well indeed, if a sparring partner may say so! Have you a moment to dance?”

“I—” Aelliana hesitated, torn between the desire to try her new self against Trilla's skill and the desire to find The Luck and discover its part in her destiny.

“Perhaps . . . ” she began—and stopped, turning her head to track the flicker of motion to her left, near the entrance to Jon's office—

A blur of leathers was all she saw, only that.

“Clonak!” she cried, entirely certain that it was he. “But—”

Daav caught her fingers; she felt concern, unhappiness, and worry. He released her with a smile that looked genuine, though surely, she thought, it must be false.

“I will go and find him, while you and Trilla dance.”

“There's a bargain,” Trilla said, a shade too heartily, to Aelliana's ears. “Come, Pilot, I've had a dull morning—enliven it for me!”

* * *

“Clonak.”

Jon's office was dim, the only light the glow from the work screen. A stocky figure was outlined in that glow, shoulders rounded and face tipped downward, ostensibly absorbed in whatever was on the screen.

Three steps beyond the door, Daav paused and recruited himself to patience, counting slowly, his hands in plain view, his stance easy and comfortable. Nothing to challenge a heart-struck and dangerous man, should he look up to see who bore him company.

The stocky figure at the computer never raised his head.

On the stroke of one hundred forty-four, Daav took a careful breath.

“Old friend?”

For some moments more, the rapid click of keystrokes was the only sound in the room, their rhythm broken at last by a sigh.