Lee, Sharon: Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“That was pretty,” Aelliana murmured against his shoulder. She stirred slightly. “Daav?”

“Yes, van'chela.”

“I wonder—how long will you be wed? Because, you know, I—I don't quite understand why it hadn't occurred to me—I can come back for you . . . ”

Gods. He took a breath, deliberately calming.

“I—shall not be wed,” he told her.

Unexpectedly, she laughed, straightening away from him. He let her go and stood staring down into brilliant green eyes.

“Certainly, you shall not wed,” she said, freely ironic. “I suppose you have informed your delm of this circumstance?”

“The delm requires—” he began, and stopped. She was his natural lifemate, whether she ever knew it or not, and his pilot. In either face she deserved nothing other from him than the truth. And it was, he thought bitterly, long past time for her to have this truth.

“Aelliana—I am my delm,” he said, and raised his hand to show her the ring.

She stared at the Tree-and-Dragon for a long moment, then sighed, very softly.

“Korval.” She looked up into his face. “You might have said.”

“Ought to have said, certainly,” he answered, bitterness tinging his voice. He spun away from her, stalking over to the window to glare down at the blameless and pretty little garden.

“Why did you not call me?” he asked, which was badly done of him, but he had to know . . . if she did not trust him, after all, to hold her interests before his . . .

“Because I would not place my friend and my copilot in harm's way,” she said with more sharpness than he was accustomed to hearing from Aelliana. “My brother is—capable of extremes of mischief. Even now, he may be designing a Balance against Jon and Binjali's—” Her voice was rising, horror evident. Daav spun away from the window and caught her arms.

“Aelliana—” A third time, he invoked the Rainbow, seeking his own balance—felt her relax in his hands; saw her face smooth and her eyes calm.

“That is—useful,” she murmured. “What is it?”

For a moment, he simply stared, remembering Kestra's warnings of damage and dreams dead before they were known . . .

“Daav?”

“It is—” he cleared his throat. “It is called the Rainbow, Aelliana—a Scout thing. We use it to reestablish center, and, sometimes, to—rest.” He tipped his head. “Of course, one should not depend overmuch . . . ”

“Of course not,” she murmured. “But useful, all the same. My thanks, van'chela.”

“No thanks needed,” he replied. He hesitated . . . and did not quiz her about what she had seen, or demand to hear how she might explain having seen it. Time for such things later, after this current topic was retired.

“Your brother,” he said, and her gaze leapt to his, eyes wide and green, yet not—entirely—panicked.

“He—”

Daav lay light fingertips on her lips.

“Peace, child. Allow me to give you news of your clan.”

Beneath his fingers, her mouth curved, very slightly.

“So,” he stepped back, breaking physical contact, and bowed formally, as one imparting news of kin.

“In this morning's Gazette, it is reported that Ran Eld Caylon Clan Mizel has died. He will endanger you no more.”

“Died?” Aelliana repeated. “Ran Eld? He was in the best of health!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Clonak—Jon—they did not . . . ”

“Not so far as I know,” Daav said, carefully. “Though Jon would certainly be within his rights, should your brother be so foolish as to seek Binjali's. But, no—your delm has cast him out.”

For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn't heard him; her face and eyes had gone perfectly blank. Then, she moved, two steps forward, and took his hand.

“Mizel has cast Ran Eld out,” she said, and it seemed to him that it was in some way a—test, though what she should be testing he could not have said. “Ran Eld Caylon, Nadelm Mizel, is made clanless.”

“That is so,” he said, watching her with Scout's eyes. She sighed, sharply and suddenly, and closed her eyes, as if she had received . . . information—and of a sudden jumped, her eyes snapping open.

“But this is terrible!” she cried. “Where will he have gone? I must find him—at once!”

Daav stared. That she was in genuine distress was apparent, yet this same Ran Eld had in the not-distant past done his utmost to destroy her.

“He will likely have gone to Low Port,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “All of the clanless do, soon or late. It is the only place on Liad where their voice is heard and their coin is good.”

“Then I must—go to Low Port,” Aelliana stated, and bit her lip. “Will you come with me?”

“If it transpires that the errand must be run, I challenge you to hold me from your side,” he answered. “However, if I may . . . what is this urgency to seek a man you describe as spiteful and dangerous—and who has in the last day lost everything—because of you.”

“He has stolen the ring that Jon gave to me!”

Ah. Here, then, was not madness, but sensible outrage.

Daav bowed slightly. “Indeed,” he said gently, “he did so. However, it was recovered, through the good offices and sharp eyes of Pilot tel'Izak. Your delm requested that I hold it for you and return it to your hand, when you were found.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced it. “I regret. I should have given it to you immediately.”

It sparkled against his palm, seeming at first glance the most garish and gaudy bit of trumpery in the galaxy, formed all of glass and gypsy silver. Second glance saw that the rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires were every one of the first cut, and the metal too heavy for anything but platinum. Daav dared not hazard a guess as to how long the ring had been in Jon's family; dea'Cort was an old piloting line. Say it was an antique, precious beyond its worth, and leave the matter there.

“I am in the pilot's debt,” Aelliana breathed. “Pray, how do I find Pilot tel'Izak?”

“I will tell you—later,” Daav said carefully. “Just at this present, she stands beneath her delm's displeasure.”

Aelliana stared up at him. “On my account?” she asked, and he could see that she meant to sally forth immediately and do battle on Samiv's behalf, if it were so.

“On mine, if you will have it. I used her shamefully.”

She frowned. “If it were done in service of protecting your pilot, then the debt is mine, as well,” she said.

Daav straightened his face with an effort, but she shot him a sharp glance, as if she had heard the laugh he had swallowed.

“Is there a joke?” she asked sternly, reminding him all at once that she was a teacher.

“Only that you had never used to lecture me on Code, Aelliana,” he said meekly, and smiled when she laughed.

“As to that,” she said, taking the ring from his hand and slipping it onto her finger. “I have just completed an intense study of the Code.”

It was humor—and Scoutlike of its kind—yet too close, far too close. Daav shivered.

“Oh, no!” She stepped forward, bold as she had never been, and put her arms around him. “It is well, van'chela! The Master Healer has said it—and, truly! I feel—I cannot recall when last I felt so well!”

His returned her embrace—how could he not?—his blood heating with unruly passions. Dazzled, he reached once more for the Rainbow . . . yet, here was Aelliana stretching high on her toes, her arms around his neck now, and her face turned up to his, eyes wide, lips barely parted. He bent his head . . .

Pounding roused him, and a voice shouting, “Korval!”

He stirred, breaking the kiss tenderly, and raised his head, as fuddled as if he had been woken from deep sleep. Aelliana moaned, her arms tightening, her body taut against his.