Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Whatever the case, the stars were well up by the time he opened a side door and stepped into a hall illuminated by night-dims—and a bar of bright light from the partly open library door. Frowning, he moved silently forward.

Aelliana was curled into his favorite chair, her head bent over some handwork. She was wearing the green silk robe he had sent to her in Chonselta; the ripple of tawny hair that hid her face from him was damp, the light casting the drifting dry strands into an aura.

He pushed the door wider.

She looked up, smiling.

“Daav. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” he answered, stepping into the room. The object she had been so concentrated upon was a remote, its screen dense with figures. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“Not at all,” she answered. “I was waiting for you. This—” She shook the remote lightly—“is a notion I've been considering. Only let me close down.”

Her fingers flickered across the small keypad; the screen dimmed and she put the device on the table at her elbow. Daav came further into the room—like a moth drawn to the moon, he chided himself—and perched on the arm of the chair opposite.

“How went your errands today?” he asked when she looked up.

She sighed, very lightly. “Mr. dea'Gauss was everything that was accommodating and agreeable. Director Barq was . . . less so, I fear.”

That dea'Gauss had been accommodating was scarcely surprising. Director Barq, however . . .

“Was there a difficulty?” he asked.

Aelliana moved her shoulders, as if she would cast the memory away.

“There was no difficulty,” she said, “unless you count the realization of an unwelcome truth difficult.” She looked down at her hands, folded tightly on her lap. “Director Barq had apparently felt that my decision not to renew was a . . . strategy, and that my . . . relationship with Korval, as he phrased it, had given me insight into the fact that I had in the past been neither advertent, nor careful of my own best good. And so I became someone whom it was easy and natural to cheat.”

The set of her shoulders and the tight clasp of her hands told him precisely how profound was her unhappiness.

“We are all cheated, once,” he commented, which was the truth as he knew it personally. “It is how we learn not to be cheated twice.” He tipped his head. “Are you hungry?”

She glanced up at him, green eyes wide and misty. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you hungry?” he repeated. “I confess that I am.”

“Since you are so bold—yes, I am hungry. However, I didn't wish to disturb Mr. pel'Kana.”

“No need,” he said, rising and holding his hand down to her. “Come, we will forage for ourselves.”

She put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “This sounds risky,” she commented.

“Not in the least! You must learn to have faith in me, Pilot.”

* * *

“There's wine in the keeper,” Daav said, jerking his head toward the rear of the kitchen, as he opened the coldbox. “If you would be so kind as to pour for us?”

Aelliana tightened the sash of her robe and moved off in the indicated direction, the floor tiles cool beneath her bare feet. By the time she had extricated a bottle of white wine by a process that could only be defined as True Random, Daav had taken over the corner of the counter nearest the stove, knife and cutting board to hand.

She carried her burden to what was obviously a wine station, with glasses and cups hanging ready over a table topped with stone. Reaching up, she unracked two glasses, unsealed the wine and poured.

“Where will you have it?” she asked.

“In hand,” came the answer, so she took a glass to him.

He had it from her with a smile, sipped—and laughed. “Yes! This will go excellently!”

“I suppose I should have told you that I know nothing of wine,” Aelliana said ruefully. “But my mission came upon me so quickly . . . ”

“No, you have comported yourself with honor! It only remains for me to do my part.”

Smiling, she drifted back down-counter, picked up her glass and looked about her. There were stools pushed under a high table set at an angle to the counter. She pulled one out and perched on it, watching as Daav deftly took four slices of brown bread from the loaf, sprinkled them with oil and set them on the flatiron he had placed on the stove. He unwrapped the block of cheese, and cut four thin slices from it, rewrapped it and pulled a second, smaller block to him. His motions were quick, but relaxed, without a wasted move, nor a stutter.

“Will you like sweet sauce?” he murmured, without looking up from shaving paper-thin slices from the second cheese. “Hot sauce? Jam?”

“Make them as you would for yourself,” she told him. She sipped her wine—and gasped.

Daav looked at her over his shoulder.

“Is the wine not to your liking?”

“I—It is very much to my liking,” she confessed, and raised her chin, determined that he not see her chagrined twice over the same bottle. “It will, I think, go very well with the cheese.”

“I agree,” he said, his eyes dancing. “I see that you give me close supervision.”

“As to that, I haven't the first idea of how to make toasted cheese sandwiches! I find the process fascinating.”

He grinned. “Watch well, then. The next time we require comfort, you will cook.”

She shook her hair back, watching him ply the knife, so certain and so deft.

“I might very well make an error, and lose comfort for both.”

“Little chance of that.” He put cheese on two slices of the oiled bread, and pulled a small jar down from a shelf cluttered with such. Each slice was spread with a brownish sauce and capped with a second slice of bread. Daav lit the burner and reached for the turner hanging behind the stove.

“Every toasted cheese sandwich is unique unto itself,” he said, picking up his glass. “Like art, there are no mistakes.”

Aelliana sipped her wine, relishing the sweet flowery notes, and the bite of licorice beneath. Daav made a pleasant sight, his shoulders easy and his hips cocked, as he overlooked his project. He raised his glass for another sip, the muscles moving beneath his shirt, and she was suddenly, vividly warm, recalling the feel of his skin beneath her palms, his long legs, entwined with hers . . .

Flushed, she raised her glass and drank, perhaps more deeply than the wine deserved. At the stove, Daav used the turner, and the sandwiches sizzled against the grill.

Turning slightly, he put his glass down and reached into the cabinet to the left of the stove, pulling down two plates.

“In a moment,” he said, over his shoulder, “we feast.”

That was, she thought, a cue. She slid from the stool and retrieved his glass, carrying it with hers to the table before she fetched the bottle and refreshed both. The stool, she brought back to its proper place, and turned just as Daav arrived with the plates, each adorned with a toasted sandwich, cut neatly into halves.

“Now, Pilot,” he said, folding his long self onto a stool, “I daresay you've never sampled anything like this!”

She laughed, watching under her lashes as he picked up a half sandwich and juggled it along his fingertips. That was not play, she found a heartbeat later, as she picked up one of her own halves; the bread was hot, slightly oily, and smelled delicious.

Carefully, she nibbled a corner, sighed and looked up to find him watching her.

“Well?” he asked.

“It's marvelous,” she told him truthfully. “What is the sauce?”

“Apple butter. You don't find it too sweet?”

“Not at all,” she assured him, and smiled. “Thank you, Daav.”

“No need to thank me for taking proper care of my pilot,” he answered, and turned his full attention to his meal, Aelliana following suit.