Lee, Sharon: Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

She tapped the screen again, pausing it, and swallowed hard in a throat gone tight. For Sinit to think of stopping Ran Eld—it horrified one who knew all too intimately what pain their brother took pleasure in inflicting upon those who thwarted him. Aelliana shivered, raised her cup and sipped tea.

Ran Eld is cast out, and beyond harming Sinit. She formed the thought with care. It scarce seemed believable, yet surely Daav was not mistaken.

Somewhat less unsettled, she looked again to the device in her hand and tapped the first name on the list—Jon dea'Cort.

“Good day to you, math teacher, and hoping this finds you well. I have your ship keys safe, and will hold them, per your instructions, until you or your rogue of a copilot claim them. Rest easy on that score, and come back to us, when you're able.”

She bit into her sandwich, tasting mint and vehna fish, while the message pad cycled down to the next name.

“Goddess, you will not again refuse my escort, if I must follow three steps behind you the whole way into peril.” Clonak's voice was almost stern. “I'm quite aware that I am ridiculous, but believe me sincere in my regard for yourself. If you have any need, call on me.”

There was muted chatter while the pad sorted over Sinit's message, and found the next unread message—from Trilla. Aelliana sipped tea and had another bite . . .

“The master will have called and told you; just thought I'd add my well-wishes—and Patch's. Come back when you're able, Pilot, and we'll dance in earnest.”

Another sip emptied the cup. She sat holding it while the last message played out.

“Scholar Caylon, it is Qiarta tel'Ozan, the least of your students.” Unlike the others, Qiarta spoke in the High Tongue, in the mode between student and honored instructor. “I have seen the news, Scholar. I would be honored to serve you, in whatever fashion that you may require. Please do not hesitate to call upon me, at any hour.”

Tears pricked. Aelliana closed her eyes.

“Tea, Pilot?” a respectful voice inquired.

She opened her eyes and looked down slightly, into Daav's lean, clever face, a novel view. Her fingers twitched as though she would reach out and touch his cheek, which would, she told herself, take wrongful advantage of him—and perhaps dismay the Healers, her kind hosts.

Even seated as he was, cross-legged on the pale blue rug, Daav was tall enough to reach the tray. As if to prove it, he hefted the teapot, quirked an eyebrow and glanced down. Following his glance, she saw the cup cradled in her hands, and held it up, whereupon he poured.

“There are sandwiches left, if you'd like another one or two,” he commented, pouring for himself before setting the pot back onto the tray.

“Another!” she exclaimed, looking once more to the tea tray. In fact, the sandwich plate was empty, save for precisely two, cut into the shapes of a crescent moon and a star.

“Did I—I never ate all of those!” she exclaimed, remembering the pleasant tastes of mint and vehna. “Did I?”

“I accounted for three or four,” Daav said calmly, raising his cup to sip. “Yesterday's lunch was quite some time gone.”

She sipped her tea and considered the remaining sandwiches.

“The stars are mint and vehna,” Daav murmured. “The crescents are cress and cheese.”

She was, Aelliana thought, hungry. Not ravenous, surely, but—another sandwich would taste . . . good.

“I'll have the star if you'll have the crescent,” she said, giving Daav a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes.

“Done!” he said merrily, and swooped the plate up, offering it first to her.

She took the star, and bit into it, sighing in pleasure. It was a dainty thing, gone in two bites, which was, she supposed, how she had managed to eat several while listening to her messages.

That, and a vigilant Scout, who had no doubt made sure that a new sandwich came into her hand as soon as it was empty.

“I can see,” she said, “that I will have to be on my mettle.”

“You were . . . a bit . . . distracted,” Daav admitted. “Which is rarely the case.” He stretched to put his cup on the tray, and looked back to her, black eyes serious.

“What do you require of me, Aelliana?”

There it was, she thought. Daav had the gift of asking the question she hesitated to ask of herself. In this instance, what was required of Aelliana Caylon?

“It would seem,” she said slowly, “that I have amends to make, and reassurances to present. My sister—she is only a halfling, the youngest of us. To thwart Ran Eld—was not in her power. I must show her that I find her blameless. Clonak—I could put him in danger no more than you. I thought he had understood . . . ”

She finished her tea and put the cup on the tray. “For the rest—people are far too good—far too good to me.”

“In the case of your comrades at Binjali's,” Daav said slowly. “They offer what a comrade will. You have not stinted them; they do not stint you. Clonak, if one who loves him may say it, is not so ridiculous as he makes himself seem. That he blames himself for not insisting that you take his escort—I think you are correct in thinking so. That he blames you—”

“But it is not his blame to take!” she cried. “The burden of blame rests entirely upon me, for ignoring the best advice of my comrades, and for believing that my right to see the delm would shield me from harm. Ran Eld—I do not know how Ran Eld came to be . . . as he is. Was. However, I knew what that was, and yet I took no precautions, nor arranged for backup. Such foolishness would surely find me robbed, if not dead, on an out-port. It is scarcely wonderful that I very nearly had the same result here.”

“Ah,” Daav said.

Aelliana smiled, and leaned forward to place her hand over his, where it rested on his knee.

A sense of carefulness touched her senses; and a fierce yearning. Startled, she drew back. The sensations faded, leaving her as she had been: grateful and reluctant.

“I think, if you will bear with . . . ” she said slowly, and paused.

Daav tipped his head in an attitude of courteous listening.

“I think that I must go to my sister. I—at the same time, I will inform Mizel that I—that I will reside for this present under your care.”

Daav took a deep breath, and leaned slightly forward, his eyes hard upon her face.

“Is that your wish, Aelliana?” he asked, and once again she tasted that attitude of wrenching carefulness. “This must be as you wish it to be—not as I wish it, nor Clonak, nor anyone else, save yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling suddenly very small. “But, Daav—I trust you . . . more than Mizel.”

His mouth tightened, and he bowed his head. “I will try to be worthy of your trust, Aelliana.”

“You already have been,” she said, reaching out to touch his hair. It was warm beneath her fingers, coarse and resilient. “Many times over.”

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Five

It must be the ambition of every person of melant'i to mold individual character to the clan's necessity. The person of impeccable melant'i will have no goal, nor undertake any task, upon which the clan might have reason to frown.

—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

The shabby round chair in the library was Sinit's favorite seat in all the house, big enough to curl around in with feet tucked up, bound book braced comfortably against a shapeless pillow. It was also a refuge of sorts; neither her brother nor her eldest sister were at all bookish, so most times Sinit could be certain of having the room to herself.

This afternoon, however, the chair had no comfort to offer. Sinit had retired to it directly after lunch, taken with only Voni for company—and poor company at that. Apparently, Ran Eld's . . . Ran Eld's death had struck her hard, so that she could scarcely be troubled to correct Sinit's manner at table, much less prose on about the soup being watery—which Sinit, usually the most forgiving of diners, allowed that it had been—or the salad being wilted—which was inarguable—or the tea being tepid.