Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

When he felt he was strong enough to stand, he climbed to his feet, and, grimacing at himself in the mirror, fetched out his robe and strode into the 'fresher, emerging some time later clean, exhausted, and by no means interested in sleep.

He went out into the main room, pausing in the corner kitchen to pour himself a cup of cold water. Kneeling by the table, he sipped while sorting through his books, hoping to find something that might hold his interest.

There was a slight sound, as of a cat scratching at a door unfairly closed against it.

Daav frowned. Presently, there were no house cats at Trealla Fantrol, though there were several who worked the grounds.

The sound came again—a scratching, no doubt—and, yes, at the door.

He rose and crossed the room; touched the plate and opened the door.

A cannonball took his legs out from under him. He snatched, caught, and rolled until he stopped, on his back, halfway to the window, his small son clutched to his breast.

Across the room, the door closed, for lack of instructions to the contrary.

“Father!” Val Con struggled; Daav held him with one arm and stroked his back with the other.

“Softly, my child, I am not at the port.”

“Father, you were gone so long . . . ” That was said more seemly, excepting only that the boy's voice shook so.

“It was unavoidable,” he said. “I never meant to distress you, denubia.” He cleared his throat.

“I cannot help but note that it is well beyond that time when you should have been in bed. Did Mrs. Intassi bring you?”

That seemed unlikely. On the other hand, it also seemed unlikely that a small child, no matter how clever, could have slipped away from Mrs. Intassi, who was wise in the ways of childhood stealth and knew all the faces of deceit.

“Mrs. Intassi said I had to wait until tomorrow to see you,” Val Con said. “But I had to see you now. Nova went to talk to Mrs. Intassi. Shan showed me how to unlock the door. We were supposed to be in bed.”

The recounting of successful mischief was soothing; the child was beginning to relax, his muscles loosening under Daav's fingers. He lifted the restraining arm away. Val Con sat up, straddling Daav's chest, and looked down into his face, green eyes foggy.

That was a knife to the gut: Just so did his mother's eyes fog, with worry or—so seldom since they had embraced each other—with fear. Daav took a hard breath—and another as his son leaned forward and put one small hand on each cheek.

“Aunt Anne said that Mother wasn't coming home,” he said huskily. “That's wrong, isn't it, Father? Mother lifted, but she'll come home.”

Oh, gods. He raised his hand and stroked the back of his fingers along the boy's silken cheek.

“Aunt Anne is, unfortunately, correct,” he whispered, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. “Your mother has—has died, Val Con.”

The boy stared at him, foggy eyes full. “Like Relchin?” he asked.

The orange-and-white cat had died in his sleep last year, full of years and valor. If only Aelliana had been granted that same grace.

“Yes,” Daav told his son. “Like Relchin.”

A shudder ran through the thin body and Val Con began, silently, to cry. Daav caught him in both arms and sat up, cradling his child—Aelliana's child, their child—against his breast.

He rocked and put his cheek against the boy's soft hair, letting him weep, and weeping himself, in earnest.

Gradually, the boy's sobs lessened, and Daav found his tears less, as well.

“You won't die, will you, Father?” the boy's voice was blurry.

Daav sighed and cuddled him close. “Not for so long as I may,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Val Con sighed, apparently satisfied; and lay limp and exhausted. Daav kissed a damp cheek, and closed his eyes.

The gunman had been after him, Er Thom had said. Daav shivered and held his son closer. Was he a danger, then, to all his kin? Dare he never again walk on the port with his brother, his niece—

His son?

He needed—he needed to think. Gods, he needed to talk this over with Aelliana to—

Not Aelliana, he thought carefully. You will never speak with Aelliana again.

It seared, that thought, but the abyss did not open at his feet.

Of course not. He had promised his son that he would try to live.

Cradling Val Con against him, he rose, and carried him into the bedroom. He settled the boy snug under the covers, then lay down next to him, one arm over the small body. He closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep.

The next thing he knew, it was morning.

Back | Next

Contents

Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I have today received Korval's Ring from the hand of Petrella, Thodelm yos'Galan, who had it from the hand of Korval Herself as she lay dying.

My first duty as Korval must be Balance with those who have deprived the clan of Chi yos'Phelium, beloved parent and delm; as well as Sae Zar yos'Galan, gentle cousin, a'thodelm, master trader. There is also Petrella yos'Galan, who I fear has taken her death-wound.

Sae Zar fell while defending his delm. All honor to him.

Chi yos'Phelium died of a second treachery and in dying gave nourishment to her sister, my aunt, who alone of the three was able to win back to home.

The name of the world which has fashioned these losses for Korval is Ganjir, RP-7026-541-773, Tipra Sector, First Quadrant.

This shall be Korval's Balance: As of this hour, the ships of Korval and of Korval's allies do not stop at Ganjir. Korval goods do not go there; Korval cantra finds no investment there. And these conditions shall remain in force, though Ganjir starves for want of us.

. . . I note that my mother is still dead.

—Daav yos'Phelium

Eighty-Fifth Delm of Korval

Entry in the Delm's Diary for Finyal Eighthday

in the first Relumma of the Year Named Saro

“I thank you for your generosity to my lifemate. With her death, your gift returns to you.” Daav extended the Jump pilot's ring.

Jon dea'Cort hardly spared a glance for it; his attention was on Daav's face.

“How are you, child?” he asked, his voice more than normally gruff.

“Alive,” Daav answered, the ring still extended.

“The pilot's ideal, right enough,” the elder Scout acknowledged, and pressed his lips tight.

“Jon,” Daav said, perhaps too patiently, “take the ring.”

The elder pilot sighed, and finally did look down at the thing, sparkling like a galaxy against Daav's palm. Slowly, he raised a hand and took the ring away. He clenched his fingers, hiding the glitter and the promise of it, and looked back to Daav, his eyes swimming.

“Don't forget your comrades, Captain. We're here when you need us.”

“I know,” Daav whispered, swallowing against rising tears. “Thank you, Jon.”

“No thanks needed between comrades; you know that.”

“I do, and yet—she would have had it so.”

The other man bowed his head. “That she would have.” He cleared his throat. “Will you be working today?”

He felt equally horrified and tempted—a sensation that had become wearingly familiar. Binjali's was a safe place—for him and, later, for Aelliana. They had met right here in the garage; had learned to trust, and to love, each other . . .

“Not just today,” he managed, around the ache in his chest. “I do not by any means forget my comrades, Master. I—certainly, I will have a shift before the next relumma is done.”

Jon inclined his head. “As you will.”

As he willed. Daav swallowed against the terrible noise that was not laughter, and inclined his head in turn.

“Soon, Jon. Be well.”

“And you, child,” the old Scout murmured. “And you.”