Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

He smiled slightly as he walked. Aelliana—what a marvel she was, to be sure! She grew—were he more loverlike, he would of course say that she blossomed, but hers was no coy unfolding, petal by shy silken petal. No, Aelliana hurtled skyward, branches spreading greedily, soaking up sensation, experience, life at a rate that was nothing short of astonishing. He would take oath that she changed even as she slept; he, proximate to that storm of constant alteration—he had changed, as well.

It was not to be expected that his growth would be so exuberant as hers; he was her elder—in years, and in experience. Yet with all of that, he felt lighter of late, as if his experience was buoying him rather than bearing him groundward.

Had he been asked, he most certainly would have said that he would never welcome another person into his rooms, privy to all his bad habits and distempers. Aelliana—he smiled and dashed across the street, dodging busy traffic. That they had not settled in her rooms—that, he thought, was understandable, for she had so little of her own to want about her. His suggestion that they choose another suite to make into theirs had dismayed her, and he had found himself . . . content to have her establish herself within his space.

Even, he thought, turning the corner into a street appreciably more prosperous than the one from which Kiladi collected his mail, he had accommodated himself—almost accommodated himself—to her ability to snatch his feelings and his thoughts straight out from the core of him. For himself, the more he observed her, the more he knew her mind and her heart—which was Scoutlike, and comforting.

For those other things that he desired . . . Aelliana remained adamant in her refusal to accept what she referred to as a “social lifemating”; nor would she sign the financial papers dea'Gauss had drawn up, and so make some comfort for herself. Those things grieved him, though not as much as her presence fulfilled him. Nothing, he felt, could break their bond, unequal as it was.

He negotiated a bit of crowded sidewalk, raising a hand to Gus Tav bel'Urik as he passed. The merchant acknowledged him distractedly, most of his attention on a lady of visible means, which was well, in Daav's opinion. As nearly allied as their clans were, yet he had no wish to exchange extended pleasantries with Merchant bel'Urik today.

Two steps more and he turned right, into Ongit's cluttered foyer, and smiled over a small sea of heads at young Pendra Ongit, who was on duty at the reception tower.

She gave him a grin and jerked her head to the left.

“She's waiting for you, Pilot,” she called.

“My thanks,” he answered and passed Scoutlike through the crowd.

* * *

Daav had arrived.

In the back booth, Aelliana straightened and craned to see him over the rest of the diners in Ongit's common room. Useless, of course. How she envied Daav's height! Especially when he was not on hand to act as her lookout.

But there—a tall shadow was moving down-room, dark hair sweeping level shoulders, and the glint of silver at one ear. Aelliana smiled, feeling herself warm agreeably. It was thus, now: however contented or happy she had been by herself, that feeling was intensified sixfold by Daav's arrival. Today, she felt as if she might melt entirely, for she had been happy indeed, and all but ready to burst with her news.

Long legs delivered him to her quickly. He stood a moment, looking down at her, dark eyes bright, the merest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. For herself, she felt she must be grinning like a babe, too simple yet to control her face—and cared just as little.

“You are late,” she said, striving for severity.

“And yet,” he said, with mock seriousness, “you waited for me. How am I to take that?”

“I might easily have left,” she answered as he slid into the booth next to her, rendering any such escape impossible.

“So you might have done,” he allowed, and nodded at the wine bottle that had been left to breathe in the center of the table, two glasses standing sentinel.

“Is that your choice?” he asked.

“It was sent over by the red-haired pilot,” she said, nodding to the right.

Daav turned his head, considering for a long moment the boisterous round table where the pilot sat with eight of his comrades. Aelliana blamed him not at all. The red-haired pilot made a compelling figure. Not beautiful, but pleasing, his demeanor somewhat reminiscent of Daav himself. Aelliana thought the similarity might stem from a familiarity with command, and wondered if the red-haired man was also a delm.

“The pilot has excellent taste, as I happen to know,” Daav said, returning his attention to her. “We could scarcely be so churlish as to disdain his gift. Will you pour?”

“Certainly. Daav, I have—”

“Have you ordered?” he interrupted. “For I fear you are correct, and I am most shamefully tardy. If we're to keep our appointment at Tey Dor's, we may not linger long over our meal.”

“I asked for salads and soup and bread to come when you did,” Aelliana told him. “Felae assured me that there would be no difficulty.”

Daav's left eyebrow quirked. “Felae is it? Shall I be dismayed?”

She knew that he was teasing her. The proper thing to do was to answer in kind; she had learned that. She had even learned a certain pleasure in matching his wit. Today, however, she was too full of her news—their news—and simply shook her head at him, much as Anne did to Shan, when she wished him to behave.

“Cast into my place!” Daav mourned. “But at least I shall not starve.”

“Pilots.” Felae deftly swung the tray 'round, stopping it with a touch of his fingers. He sorted the plates and the utensils quickly before looking to Aelliana.

“Will there be anything else, Pilot?” he asked respectfully.

“Thank you, this looks to be everything,” she said, and smiled at him. “You were very quick to notice that we were ready!”

The boy ducked his head.

“That was my sister's doing, Pilot. She pinged me from the reception station when your partner cleared the foyer.”

“Excellent teamwork,” Daav murmured approvingly.

Felae's pale cheeks darkened slightly, with pleasure or with shyness, Aelliana was not able to discern. He bowed, straightening to catch the tray as it began to wander aside.

“Enjoy your meal, Pilots,” he said and off he went, veering to the left in response to a high-held hand.

“Bread, Pilot?” Daav murmured, reaching into the basket.

Aelliana sighed in anticipation.

“Bread would be good,” she said, and it would be, here at Ongit's. Truly, she feared that she had acquired an addiction.

He broke the loaf with strong fingers, put half on her plate, kept the other and took up his spoon.

Aelliana reached—but no! Her news was too urgent. Even fresh-baked bread and Ongit's vegetable chowder paled before it.

“Daav,” she said, breathlessly, “I have something very important to tell you.”

Halfway to his mouth, the spoon stopped, reversed itself and made a soft landing in the bowl. She looked up, seeing at once that she had his undivided attention.

“Very important?” he repeated, head tipped to one side.

“Extremely important,” she clarified. She reached into an interior pocket of her jacket and withdrew her prize.

“Just before I left Binjali's, I received this!” She held it up for him to see.

Whatever Daav had been expecting, she sensed that it had not been an envelope, no matter how luxurious against the fingers, or how elegant the script that adorned it.

“And that is?” he inquired politely.

“A job offer!” she said triumphantly. Since he made no move to take the envelope, she opened it and slipped the single sheet of paper free.