Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Good-day, Daav.” Clonak's voice, usually ebullient to the point of lunatic, was cool, his stance behind the computer was nothing more nor less than a warn-away. If he had been a cat, Daav thought, his tail would have been bristling. “I'm quite busy at the moment. You understand.”

He understood well enough. Twisted as their bond was, yet Aelliana and he acknowledged themselves partners, from the heart. That he dared long for the fullness of the link, when Clonak was denied even a taste . . .

Daav raised his hands, showing empty palms and fingers spread wide—the sign for surrender.

“Clonak, I am her natural lifemate.”

The keystrokes stopped. The figure in front of the screen raised his head, his round face showing lines that had not been there, four days ago.

“Then it is neither your fault nor your blame, is it?” Clonak asked harshly.

Daav winced, and lowered his hands. Clonak bent his head again, but did not return to his inputting.

“Jon . . . ” Daav cleared his throat. “Jon tells me you have an assignment. Where to, Scout?”

“Security detail for a trade mission to Deluthia.”

Daav blinked. “Are the guild masters after that again? Don't they recall what happened last time?” Granting that it had been more than two dozen Standards in the past, but the last trade mission to Deluthia had resulted in the loss of two master traders and several support team members before the remainder had managed to win back to their ship and depart.

“Oh, they say the theocracy has mellowed,” Clonak said, sounding for the moment almost like his usual, manic self. “They came to the masters with sweet words on their tongues, and interesting goods in their hands. The masters considered it worth a second risk, and asked for volunteers.”

Volunteers.

Daav closed his eyes.

“It would be better,” he said, around the ache in his heart, “if you exited this adventure intact. She would miss you, terribly—and I . . . ”

“I'll come back, Captain,” Clonak said softly. “I only need . . . something to occupy me for the next while.”

“I do understand.” He took a breath. “Be safe, darling. Come to us, when duty releases you.” He turned. It was an ill parting from a lifelong friend, but he did not—he very much did not—wish to abrade Clonak's emotions further. He hoped, with all his heart, that their friendship might survive this—

“Daav!”

He turned back, as Clonak came 'round the desk.

“I—I haven't wished you happy, old friend.” He opened his arms, and Daav stepped into the embrace, cheek to cheek.

“Tell her that I wish her so very much joy,” Clonak whispered. “Tell her that, Daav.”

A strike to the heart, that was. Daav closed his eyes, arms tightening around the other man.

“I'll tell her,” he promised.

* * *

Trilla spun, sweeping her leg out in an attempt to catch and trip. Aelliana leapt, landing in a counterspin, her hand rising to block a blow at her dominant left side. What a pleasure it was to dance, to feel her muscles moving in concert, to know herself perfectly balanced and aware—

She caught the motion from the side of her right eye, a fist, striking without subtlety directly for the heart of her defense.

In former times, when she had danced menfri'at with Trilla, her immediate response to such an attack was to avoid it at all costs, even diving to the floor and curling into a ball, her arms folded over her head.

Today, without even a thought for the pain, she half-turned, accepting the glancing strike across her shoulder as she lunged back along that admirably straight line, her hand connecting solidly with her partner's chest. The force of the blow sent them spinning apart. Aelliana came 'round as fast as she was able, anticipating a blow from the rear, or perhaps a snatch at free-flowing hair. Ran Eld had caught her that way—

Trilla was standing flat-footed, her hand up in the sign for pause.

“Bravo!” she called. “You've been listening, after all!”

“I had always listened.” Aelliana shook her hair out of her face. “It was only that today, I could—access what I'd learned.”

“Well done.” Daav's deep voice came from behind.

Aelliana turned, and smiled to see him lounging against a tool cart, his arms crossed over his chest, pride plain on his face.

“I think the pilot may be ready for the next level, Master Trilla. What say you?”

“I agree, Master Daav. I agree!” She gave Aelliana a grin of sheer deviltry.

“Come again tomorrow, Pilot, and we'll dance indeed!”

“Ought I to be terrified?” Aelliana asked, though the prospect exhilarated rather than frightened.

Trilla laughed. “It depends on how apt a student you are.” She fished a rag from her back pocket, glancing to them each in turn.

“Your pardons,” she said, and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead.

“Pilot?” Daav said. “Did you want to do that inspection, now?”

“You had wanted to do the inspection, as I recall it,” Aelliana answered. “But I will gladly stand by and watch.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and came out of his lean with boneless grace, melting immediately into a bow to the pilot's honor.

“After you.”

The walk to Ride the Luck's coldpad had been quiet, with Daav abstracted. Twice, Aelliana began to ask after Clonak, and twice thought better of it.

When we reach the ship, she thought. Then, surely, he will tell me.

She climbed the ramp first, and slotted the key, looking up at him over her shoulder as the hatch slid open.

“We will need to have a set made for you,” she said. “Do I apply to the Guild?”

“Jon can make another set of keys for you just as easily as the Guild—and charge you half the price.”

“I will commission Jon, then,” she said, turning 'round by the pilot's station. “My copilot should have access to our ship.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Aelliana . . . ”

“No, we have decided it, van'chela. You shall sit copilot on this, our ship. It only remains to know our cargo and our destination.”

“Simple matters,” he said, giving her a smile that was, perhaps, not utterly false. He turned toward the corridor to the rear of the chamber.

“Well, then,” he said, suddenly brisk, “let us survey what we—”

“Daav.”

He paused, but did not look at her. Aelliana bit her lip, stomach suddenly tight. It was bad news, then. One did not like to think—no. One did not know what to think. And apparently Daav was not going to tell her what had transpired, absent a direct question.

“Clonak,” she said, carefully. “What did he say?”

Daav sighed, and did turn to look at her, his face carefully bland.

“He said that he wished you every joy, Aelliana.”

That was true, she felt that it was so. However, it was too thin a truth to hide the pain at the back of Daav's eyes.

“There's something else,” she said, watching him; listening with all of her senses.

“Indeed. He leaves very soon on a mission—a security mission—and is much involved in preparation.”

A chill washed over her, damply; she spoke before she had consciously named the emotion.

“That distresses you. Why?”

Daav sighed and walked toward her. “You are becoming far too adept at this,” he commented, “else all my skills are failing at once.”

She took a breath, tasting his dismay.

“I think—I think that I am still reaping the Healers' benefit,” she said slowly, “and . . . perhaps . . . the tree's.”

One well-marked brow lifted as he shook his head. “I had warned you that the tree was meddlesome.”

“So you had,” she replied with what calmness she could manage. “But you were going to tell me why you are so . . . very worried.”