Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

“Father,” Val Con scolded, leaning forward, to tap the page. “Here. The nighttime garden was full . . . ”

Daav caught his breath.

“Your pardon, my son; I am . . . a little sleepy. So—” He focused on the page.

“The night-time garden was full with moonlight, and the brown cat had no lack of partners for her dance . . . ”

It was not a perfect solving—far from it. And yet, they could not find a better, he and his brother and Mr. dea'Gauss between them.

True, it removed a source of danger from within the heart of the clan, and undertook a Balance in Aelliana's behalf that moved Mr. dea'Gauss to a murmured “Excellent . . . ”

Unhappily, it separated Daav yos'Phelium from every source of comfort and rare joy left in his life. That Daav yos'Phelium was sliding daily into a benevolent madness was something he did not choose to mention. There had been two more episodes of waking into a situation he did not recall; and the instances of hearing her voice were, he was certain, increasing. Sometimes, in the drifting grey mists between sleeping and wakefulness, he would feel her lying beside him, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his. He would scarcely breathe, striving to draw out the moment, which always ended too soon.

“Timing will be everything, Mr. dea'Gauss,” he had said at their last meeting, where Er Thom and Daav signed the papers that made Er Thom Korval-pernard'i—holding the Ring and the Clan in trust for Val Con.

“I understand, your lordship. It shall be done appropriately.”

“Of course it will, sir. You have never failed us.”

Mr. dea'Gauss had inclined his head, and said nothing.

The last meeting had also established that Kareen had been offered the Ring in trust, and had refused it. The Ring should pass entirely, she argued; since there was an adult in the Line Direct to take it up.

There was, of course, precedent for this claim, Kareen being expert in such close readings of the Code.

It was all done now, though, and at last, saving one more thing.

Val Con held his hand tightly as they walked down Jelaza Kazone's public hall to the Delm's Hall.

The lights came up as they crossed the threshold, each portrait illuminated individually.

He and Val Con walked slowly, down the long line of Korval's delms. Most frames were inhabited by one face, often stern, rarely by two.

Like the one at the very end.

Daav yos'Phelium and Aelliana Caylon, the Eighty-Fifth Delm of Korval, the inscription ran, and there they were—a good likeness, as the phrase went. He, piratical and sardonic; she, open-faced and intelligent. They were holding hands, Korval's Ring and the Jump pilots cluster side by side.

Val Con sniffled, and Daav dropped to one knee beside him.

“I miss her,” the boy said.

“I miss her, too,” he answered—and caught the child close as Val Con threw himself 'round his neck.

“And I'll miss you. Father—don't go!”

“I must, child. I endanger all if I stay.”

“But if you go, the clan can't protect you!” Val Con cried, which was closely reasoned, for one so young.

“Sometimes, it is the clan that requires protection,” Daav said slowly. He closed his eyes, holding his son tight. “The clan is people, denubia; never forget that. We can only protect each other. Sometimes, in order to protect those others who are the clan, a person must do something that is very hard. The clan asks much because it gives much.”

His mother had used to say that. He had often been of the opinion that the clan took more than it gave—and yet . . .

“When will you come back?” Val Con demanded.

Gods.

“When I can,” he said carefully. “It may not be for a very long time. You'll have Shan and Nova and Uncle Er Thom and Aunt Anne, and so very much to learn. There will hardly be any time to miss me.”

Val Con sniffled again, clearly indicating an opposing view.

Daav picked him up.

“Look again,” he urged.

“All right,” Val Con said after a few moments.

“Good. Now, come with me, of your kindness, Val Con-son. We must make an entry into the Delm's Diaries.”

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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Forty

To be outside of the clan is to be dead to the clan.

—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

Daav yos'Phelium, once-delm of Korval, was dead—a matter of an error in the unrevised edition of the ven'Tura Tables, which, once embraced, had sent his ship tumbling into a sun.

Jen Sar Kiladi heard the news, but really, it was of but passing interest. More pressing was the need to find a position for himself—and that right quickly.

He had written letters, to colleagues, to former students, to rivals, begging their condescension and pointing them to his applications. He had fortunately gained a place for the coming term as an Expert Lecturer on Cultural Genetics at Searston University, thanks to the very kind office of a former student, now an influential alumnus.

He was bound there now, and how fortunate that he had indulged his whim, back when he was a graduate student and had time for such things as whims! A first class pilot's license was a useful tool, and if the good ship L'il Orbit was not as posh as some, it was everything that a research scholar who had lately taken the decision to bring his insights to the classroom could need—or afford.

He finished his last packet and queued it to send. He had one more to compile, then he could quit the wayroom and return to L'il Orbit. Time had gotten a bit tighter than he had wished and he was going to have to fly hard in order to reach his Expert Seminar by the date and time stated in his contract.

Kiladi reached to the keyboard, his fingers fumbling enough so that he botched his command. He sighed. He was very tired, but he dared not make use of the thin bunk provided. There was . . . only . . . this one . . . more . . .

He couldn't have been asleep long—the screen was still live when he blinked into consciousness once more.

Relief that he hadn't lost his search was quickly replaced in quick succession by puzzlement and joy.

A long string of dense math filled the screen, both familiar and all but incomprehensible.

“Aelliana?” He scarcely knew he spoke, his heart was beating so that he thought a rib might break. “Aelliana, is it really you?”

You are not, her voice said so strongly that it echoed inside his head, going mad, and I wish you will listen to me. We are lifemates, and I will never leave you, Daav. I swore it.

“So you did.”

He looked again at the screen. Almost, he could understand the premise, but the argument, while elegant, left him baffled. Clearly, it would require study—and if he were able to produce this sort of work while he was asleep, then madness was the least of his troubles.

It is not a perfect bonding, I think, she said. At first—van'chela, it must have seemed to you that I had truly gone. Everything was so strange, and you were so ill . . . When I learned how to make my voice heard . . .

“I denied you,” he whispered. “Aelliana, how has this—the Tree.”

It would seem so, she said. Daav?

“Yes?”

You must sleep before you fly, van'chela. Please.

Kiladi, he would risk, but—Aelliana? Not a second time.

“I will,” he murmured. “I promise.”

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Epilogue

Chancellor's Welcome Reception

for the Gallowglass Chair

Lenzen Ballroom

Administration Tower Three

University of Delgado

This is more tedious than receiving the guests at your sister's Festival Eve ball, the voice only he could hear commented.

It was fairly said, he allowed, bowing yet again, this time to a sandy-haired woman with trembling hands. As much as he might otherwise deplore her, even he acknowledged that his sister possessed impeccable taste.