Unknown - Sharon Lee And Steve Miller - Liaden Universe 10 - Fledgling-ARC

Liad, Kamele thought, raising her own glass, was certainly a strange place, with an abundance of odd customs. She would have gladly heard more of those customs, but Jen Sar was disinclined to talk much about the world he had left. Kamele theorized some disagreement with the directors of his kin group, which had resulted in his taking up the role of traveling scholar, until nomination to the Gallowglass Chair brought him to Delgado.

"Can you see the stars from your garden?" she teased him.

"I can and I do," he answered with a gravity that was belied by the quirk of a brow. "Shall I show you?"

She hesitated, belatedly covering her hesitation with another sip of wine. "That would be lovely," she murmured, "but the stars rise late, don't they? I need to be back to the Wall before – "

"Yes, of course." He hitched a hip onto the arm of the couch and looked about him, glass held casually in long, clever fingers, the silver ring a sly gleam against his golden skin.

Kamele bit her lip and walked over to sit on the couch near his perch. He looked down at her, smiling, and her stomach tightened.

Her friendship with Jen Sar Kiladi had grown deeper over the last two semesters; the pleasure she took in his company as surprising as it was satisfying. But Ella was right, she acknowledged. Satisfying as it was, it was time to alter their relationship, or cut the association entirely. People were beginning to talk, the more so since Jen Sar had declined Professor Skilings' offer. She'd heard from Skilings' assistant, who had been working, forgotten, in the next room when the offer was made, that Jen Sar had professed himself honored, obliged, and desolated not to be able to accommodate her.

Skilings had not been pleased. No one had ever turned her down, not, so rumor went, since she'd moved to Topthree. Mortified, she had looked about her for a reason for Jen Sar's refusal – and her eye had inevitably fallen on Associate Professor Kamele Waitley, who spent a great deal of time in the company of a very senior scholar. And, as Ella so reasonably pointed out, Kamele could not afford to have Skilings as an enemy.

It would be best for everyone, Ella said, for Kamele to end the friendship.

Ella, Kamele reminded herself, liked pretty men.

"Jen Sar..." she began, sounding breathless to herself.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, my friend?"

"I... that is..." Her voice failed her entirely, and she looked away, biting her lip. It wasn't as if she was inexperienced! She'd had two previous onagrata, not counting her Gigneri pairing – and here she was acting like a green girl, stumbling over her first offer!

"Kamele?" Jen Sar's deep voice carried concern. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I – yes." She leaned forward and awkwardly put the wine glass on the side table with a bit of a clatter, then turned to face him, looking up into his sharp, unhandsome face. She took a breath.

"Jen Sar," she said firmly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "It would be... an honor to accept you as onagrata."

Both eyebrows rose, his lips parted – and then there was that moment of arrested movement that had become familiar to her, and the odd feeling that Jen Sar had... stepped away... from himself.

Abruptly, he smiled, a sweet, open expression she had never before seen from him. He leaned forward and put his glass next to hers on the table.

" Tra'sia, cha'leken!" he said gladly, and bent down to kiss her on the mouth.

Strictly speaking, she should have initiated the kiss, but Kamele found she didn't mind that he had taken the lead. Indeed, it was some time before she could speak, and some little while more until she cared to.

"What did you say?" she asked eventually, her cheek snuggled against his shoulder. "Before you... kissed me?"

Jen Sar sighed lightly, ruffling her hair.

"A Liaden – expression of joy," he murmured, sounding... chagrined.

Kamele laughed, and reached for him again.

Chapter Seventeen

Leisure and Recreation Studies: Practical Dance

Professor Stephen M. Richardson Secondary School

University of Delgado

Dance was... unexpectedly interesting.

She'd had to swap out of the multi-Team free study session, which meant having to do more of her solo work after school, but, Theo acknowledged, that wasn't exactly a burden, since she was grounded, anyway.

But dance... it was like math, and lace making, and scavage, all together; and it was almost like the patterns she saw in her head. Better even than that, she thought as she stripped out of her Team coveralls and pulled on the clingy leggings and stretchy sleeveless shirt, once everybody in the class had the pattern down, they all did what they were supposed to do, when they were supposed to do it, and nobody got hurt, or fell, or bumped into anybody else.

Not even her. Theo Waitley, the clumsiest kid in Fourth Form.

She grabbed the bit of lace out of her bag, slammed the locker and headed for the dance floor. Bek was already there, propped up on an elbow and doing lazy leg lifts. She dropped cross-legged to the floor next to him.

"Hey, Theo." He gave her a friendly nod, like he always did. Bek had been in class since the beginning of the term, and he was good ; one demo was all he ever needed to pick up a dance move. She wouldn't have blamed him for being annoyed that Professor Noni had teamed him with the new kid. Instead, he actually seemed happy to have her as a partner.

"What've you got there?" he asked, sitting up in a boneless move that reminded her of Father.

"This?" She held the lacy web outstretched on her fingertips. "It's a dance."

"Really." He leaned forward, gray eyes slightly narrowed as he traced the connections. "I'm not sure I see – oh! It's the new suwello module we started last time! I can see the wave..." He extended a careful finger and traced the line. "And here's where we all spin out into a circle..." Bek sat back, grinning, and running his fingers through his heavy yellow hair. "That's pretty smart. How'd you think of it?"

"Well..." Theo bit her lip. "I make lace for a – for something to do with my hands. And I was thinking about how dancing was like math and like making lace, so I – what's wrong?"

Bek was staring at her. " Dance is like math," he repeated, and shook his head. "What an idea!"

"But it is!" Theo said, surprised, and then looked at him closely. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not joking," he assured her. "Dance is an escape from math!"

"But you're so good at it! Dance, I mean."

"That's because," Bek said patiently, "dance is nothing like math." He put his hand over his heart. "Two repeats and four remedials in Fractal Trigonometry. I'm not wrong about this, Theo."

"What is it, then?" she demanded. "If it's not math?"

Bek looked surprised. "A conversation," he said, reasonably. "What else?"

"A – "

"Well, well!" Professor Noni's high and somewhat unpleasant voice cut across Theo's response. "I don't know whether to be delighted or horrified to hear that the argument between theory and art continues unabated. The heat death of the universe will doubtless find them arguing still." She clapped her hands. "Everyone up! Stretches! Sequence Five!"

* * * *

"Ms. Waitley, stand forward, if you please," Professor Noni said. "I need your assistance in a demonstration."

Theo blinked. Professor Noni always called on Bek and on Lida – the class's lead students – to assist during demos. To call on the newest student – I've only had eight classes! Theo thought, her fingers tightening on the bit of lace.

"Go on, Theo. You'll do great." Bek leaned over and worked the lace free. "I'll hold this for you."