Lee, Sharon: Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Korval!” The voice came again, and he had wit enough now to recognize Master Kestra's voice. “I remind you that there are children in this House!”

“What does she mean?” Aelliana whispered.

Daav laughed, breathless, and found the strength to step back from her and put his hands down at his sides.

“Why, she only means that the Healers find me very—loud—as they have it, and rightly fear the impact of our—passion—upon the tender empathies of the students of the House.” He raised his voice to address the door.

“We are reminded, Master Kestra.”

“Bah,” the door returned comprehensively, followed by the sound of footsteps moving, much too heavily, away.

“Daav.”

He looked to where she stood, her eyes vividly green, her robe more than a little awry.

He managed a shamefaced grin. “Your pardon, Pilot. It will not happen again.”

“Now, that was not the proper answer.” Aelliana tucked her hands into her sleeves and shook her hair away from her face. “Daav—I—do not wish to—lift without you. Yet, to preserve myself, I must go. Even with Ran Eld . . . dead . . . Ride the Luck is not safe. The delm—Mizel is by no means wealthy. The sale of a starship would go some distance toward reasserting the clan's fortunes.”

“You still intend to work the ship?” Daav asked her.

“I—yes! But—circumstances are come upon me so quickly, that . . . ” She closed her eyes. “I must think, and not call Mizel's attention to myself until I have thought myself through.” She bit her lip, though her gaze never wavered. “I am different from who I was. I need time to understand this.”

He inclined his head gravely.

“I offer assistance,” he said, carefully.

“Assistance?”

“It may be no better—you must be the judge of that, Pilot. But, I offer, if it will serve you, to place you under Korval's protection.”

She blinked. “Can—Is that by Code?”

His lips twitched. “Oddly enough, it is. Korval's interest in pilots is well-known. It falls well within my honor to offer Korval's protection to an endangered pilot.” He tipped his head. “Such an action will, perhaps, not please your delm, but it will freeze all of the pieces on the board, for however long you choose. You will have your peace, you and your ship will be safe, and you will have however much time to think as you need.”

She closed her eyes, and it seemed to him that he could hear her thinking. A dozen heartbeats passed, and she opened her eyes with a slight smile.

“I believe it will answer,” she said. “Did you send those clothes?” She tipped her head toward the bed.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for your care,” she said softly. “I will be a moment, dressing, and then we may leave the Healers to their peace.”

“Well enough.” He tipped his head. “When did you last eat?”

Aelliana hesitated . . . sighed.

“I don't recall.”

Of course she didn't recall. Food was never among Aelliana's priorities.

“While you dress, I will petition the chef.”

“But, to linger—”

“We have time for you to drink a cup of tea and eat a biscuit,” he interrupted. “As I'm perfectly certain that I'll be able to impose upon you to eat very little more.” And, he added to himself, since you seem to have less control than a halfling, it would be best if you were not present to watch her dress.

Aelliana sighed. “I know better than to argue with a Scout,” she said, and gave him a measuring glance. “When did you eat last?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lunch, yesterday.”

“Then you will,” she commanded, turning toward the bed, “ask the house for the kindness of two cups and two biscuits.”

He grinned and inclined his head. “Yes, Pilot.”

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Four

In the absence of clan, a partner, comrade or copilot may be permitted the burdens and joys of kin-duty. In the presence of kin, duty to partner, comrade or copilot must stand an honorable second.

—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

Aelliana dressed quickly, hardly attending what she did, her thoughts dashing in all directions, rather like a gaggle of particularly rambunctious puppies.

Daav was dear to her, and yet that she had dared—her marriage had taught her to be wary of intimacy, to dread even a touch! The joy that had infused her, on beholding him—it had seemed the most natural thing, and then to all but demand that he . . . kiss . . .

“It was sweet,” she whispered defiantly, carefully folding the white shirt and blue pants into the box with the other unused clothes.

Oh, it had been sweet, and she aching for more, ready to—well, and she hardly knew what she had been ready to do, had the Healer not interrupted them. Certainly, Daav, with his clever fingers, had seemed to entertain some notions of a direction they might travel.

She put the lid on the box, and reached behind her head, pulling the ring free. Holding it in her teeth, she finger-combed her hair away from her face, and clipped it once more into a tail. To show her face before the world, after so many years in hiding . . . with the aid of her comrades, she had begun to learn again how to hold herself in pride, as a person of honor . . .

Hands shaking, she lifted the space leather jacket. She had earned the jacket, as she had earned her license—and Jon's ring—and the cantra piece. If nothing else, she must strive to be worthy of her accomplishments. Melant'i demanded no less.

The jacket settled firmly onto her shoulders. She slipped her license into one inner pocket and the cantra piece into another, sealed both—and turned, prompted by some new and entirely appropriate sense, as the door opened to admit her wayward copilot.

Tall and graceful, he came across the room to the windows, bearing a tray on which reposed a teapot, cups, and a plate piled high with shaped sandwiches.

“Will it please my pilot to sit by the window and break her fast?”

His deep voice was grave, though she knew him well enough to hear it for irony.

She tipped her head. “What if it does not please me?”

He settled the tray on the cushion and looked over his shoulder at her, one strong dark brow quirking.

“Why then, I will only say that there are messages here requiring your attention.”

“Messages . . . ” She came forward to sit on the edge of the other cushion, her eyes on the tray. A message pad leaned against the teapot, its surface opaque. With her hand half extended, she hesitated. Who, after all, would send her a message? What if Ran Eld—

“Pilot?” His voice was entirely serious.

Aelliana cleared her throat and looked up into his black eyes.

“Sky nerves,” she said, gratified that her voice was firm. “Nothing more.”

Resolutely, she picked up the message pad and put her thumb against the plate.

The surface lightened, revealing a list of names: Jon dea'Cort, Clonak ter'Meulen, Sinit Caylon, Trilla sen'Elba, Qiarta tel'Ozan.

Sinit Caylon. Aelliana touched her sister's name and put the screen on her knee.

“Pilot.”

So soft it might have been her own thought. She barely glanced up, taking the cup from his hand with a murmured, “My thanks.”

“Aelliana,” Sinit's voice was quivering and high with strain, entirely unlike her usual brash and sunny mode. “Sister, I hope—with all my heart I hope—that this message finds you well. If I'd known, please believe that I would have let you out—I would! Don't think badly of me, Aelliana. I—you can come home, whenever you like. Ran Eld has been cast out, and he won't strike you anymore. I think—I think it's—wonderful, exciting that you fly with Daav yos'Phelium. He has your ring, the one that Ran Eld took—Delm Korval, I mean. He told mother that he'd give it to you . . . ” There was a pause, and the suggestion of a sniffle, then, “I love you, Aelliana.”