Mouse and Dragon

Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Three

On average, contract marriages last eighteen Standard Months, and are negotiated between clan officials who decide, after painstaking perusal of gene maps, personality charts and intelligence grids, which of several possible nuptial arrangements are most advantageous to both clans.

In contrast, lifemating is a far more serious matter, encompassing the length of the partners' lives, even if one should die. One of the pair must leave his or her clan of origin and join the clan of the lifemate. At that time the adoptive clan pays a “life-price” based on the individual's profession, age and internal value to the former clan.

Tradition has it that lifemates share a “bond of heart and mind.” In view of Liaden cultural acceptance of “wizards,” some scholars have interpreted this to mean that lifemates are “psychically” connected. Or, alternatively, that the only true lifematings occur between wizards.

There is little to support this theory. True, lifematings among Liadens are rare. But so are lifelong marriages among Terrans.

—From “Marriage Customs of Liad”

He paused on the landing to compose himself. It would not do for Aelliana to see his anger at her clan, nor yet his most ardent desires. Whatever choices resided within the circumstances they shared, those choices belonged wholly to her. That she was drawn to him was plain. That he was likewise drawn to her . . . might not be so apparent to Aelliana as it was to himself, who had some hours past shouted his desire to stand as her lifemate into the branches of Korval's meddlesome damned tree.

That she and he were the two halves of a wizard's match—but, no. Master Kestra had been careful to say only that they had been intended to be thus. Before Aelliana's clan chose to see her come to harm, and having done so, denied her even the courtesy extended to any stranger that might have fallen, in need, among them.

He shook his head, baffled anew at how little her kin cared for her whom Scout and pilotkind revered: Honored Scholar of Sub-rational Mathematics Aelliana Caylon, reviser of the ven'Tura Tables, who had therefore saved, and would save, hundreds of pilot lives.

It was seldom enough that he willingly took up the melant'i of Delm Korval; at this moment, however, he could scarce restrain himself. Korval Himself would make short work indeed of Mizel—but that choice, too, was Aelliana's.

For all he knew, she was fond of her mother, her sisters. It had seemed to him that at least one sister—the halfling with the speaking brown eyes—held Aelliana in genuine regard.

There on the landing, Daav closed his eyes and ran the Scout's Rainbow, stabilizing thought and emotion. Much calmed, he sighed, opened his eyes, and went up the last flight to the third floor, and the second door on the left. Her room.

He put his palm against the plate, expecting a chime to announce his presence. Instead, the door swung soundlessly open under his hand. Startled, he went one silent step into a fragrant and sun-filled room.

She stood in the open window, looking out on the rows of flowers—a slender woman in a long green robe, her tawny hair caught back with a plain-silver hair ring.

Silent though he was, she turned of a sudden, as if she had heard, a smile on her thin face, and her eyes gloriously green.

“Daav,” she said, and walked into his arms.

He held her lightly—lightly, so he told himself, and so he did, despite his more urgent wishes. Her cheek lay against his shoulder, her arms about his waist; her body was sweet and pliant against his.

Lightly, he told himself again, though his blood was warming rapidly. Aelliana moved against him, her arms tightening. Carefully, he lay his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, and, gods pity him, he was on fire and she was his!

Aelliana stiffened slightly, certainly less so than he. And it was not meet—it was far from meet, and if anything like what he wished for went forth in the Hall, be sure that Hall Master would see to it that he could not function for a relumma—or longer. So, say, it was desperation—or self preservation—that made him reach again for the old Scout trick and spin the Rainbow, reaping calm from the flow of its colors . . .

“That was pretty,” Aelliana murmured against his shoulder. She stirred slightly. “Daav?”

“Yes, van'chela.”

“I wonder—how long will you be wed? Because, you know, I—I don't quite understand why it hadn't occurred to me—I can come back for you . . . ”

Gods. He took a breath, deliberately calming.

“I—shall not be wed,” he told her.

Unexpectedly, she laughed, straightening away from him. He let her go and stood staring down into brilliant green eyes.

“Certainly, you shall not wed,” she said, freely ironic. “I suppose you have informed your delm of this circumstance?”

“The delm requires—” he began, and stopped. She was his natural lifemate, whether she ever knew it or not, and his pilot. In either face she deserved nothing other from him than the truth. And it was, he thought bitterly, long past time for her to have this truth.

“Aelliana—I am my delm,” he said, and raised his hand to show her the ring.

She stared at the Tree-and-Dragon for a long moment, then sighed, very softly.

“Korval.” She looked up into his face. “You might have said.”

“Ought to have said, certainly,” he answered, bitterness tinging his voice. He spun away from her, stalking over to the window to glare down at the blameless and pretty little garden.

“Why did you not call me?” he asked, which was badly done of him, but he had to know . . . if she did not trust him, after all, to hold her interests before his . . .

“Because I would not place my friend and my copilot in harm's way,” she said with more sharpness than he was accustomed to hearing from Aelliana. “My brother is—capable of extremes of mischief. Even now, he may be designing a Balance against Jon and Binjali's—” Her voice was rising, horror evident. Daav spun away from the window and caught her arms.

“Aelliana—” A third time, he invoked the Rainbow, seeking his own balance—felt her relax in his hands; saw her face smooth and her eyes calm.

“That is—useful,” she murmured. “What is it?”

For a moment, he simply stared, remembering Kestra's warnings of damage and dreams dead before they were known . . .

“Daav?”

“It is—” he cleared his throat. “It is called the Rainbow, Aelliana—a Scout thing. We use it to reestablish center, and, sometimes, to—rest.” He tipped his head. “Of course, one should not depend overmuch . . . ”

“Of course not,” she murmured. “But useful, all the same. My thanks, van'chela.”

“No thanks needed,” he replied. He hesitated . . . and did not quiz her about what she had seen, or demand to hear how she might explain having seen it. Time for such things later, after this current topic was retired.

“Your brother,” he said, and her gaze leapt to his, eyes wide and green, yet not—entirely—panicked.

“He—”

Daav lay light fingertips on her lips.

“Peace, child. Allow me to give you news of your clan.”

Beneath his fingers, her mouth curved, very slightly.

“So,” he stepped back, breaking physical contact, and bowed formally, as one imparting news of kin.

“In this morning's Gazette, it is reported that Ran Eld Caylon Clan Mizel has died. He will endanger you no more.”

“Died?” Aelliana repeated. “Ran Eld? He was in the best of health!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Clonak—Jon—they did not . . . ”

“Not so far as I know,” Daav said, carefully. “Though Jon would certainly be within his rights, should your brother be so foolish as to seek Binjali's. But, no—your delm has cast him out.”

For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn't heard him; her face and eyes had gone perfectly blank. Then, she moved, two steps forward, and took his hand.

“Mizel has cast Ran Eld out,” she said, and it seemed to him that it was in some way a—test, though what she should be testing he could not have said. “Ran Eld Caylon, Nadelm Mizel, is made clanless.”

“That is so,” he said, watching her with Scout's eyes. She sighed, sharply and suddenly, and closed her eyes, as if she had received . . . information—and of a sudden jumped, her eyes snapping open.

“But this is terrible!” she cried. “Where will he have gone? I must find him—at once!”

Daav stared. That she was in genuine distress was apparent, yet this same Ran Eld had in the not-distant past done his utmost to destroy her.

“He will likely have gone to Low Port,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “All of the clanless do, soon or late. It is the only place on Liad where their voice is heard and their coin is good.”

“Then I must—go to Low Port,” Aelliana stated, and bit her lip. “Will you come with me?”

“If it transpires that the errand must be run, I challenge you to hold me from your side,” he answered. “However, if I may . . . what is this urgency to seek a man you describe as spiteful and dangerous—and who has in the last day lost everything—because of you.”

“He has stolen the ring that Jon gave to me!”

Ah. Here, then, was not madness, but sensible outrage.

Daav bowed slightly. “Indeed,” he said gently, “he did so. However, it was recovered, through the good offices and sharp eyes of Pilot tel'Izak. Your delm requested that I hold it for you and return it to your hand, when you were found.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced it. “I regret. I should have given it to you immediately.”

It sparkled against his palm, seeming at first glance the most garish and gaudy bit of trumpery in the galaxy, formed all of glass and gypsy silver. Second glance saw that the rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires were every one of the first cut, and the metal too heavy for anything but platinum. Daav dared not hazard a guess as to how long the ring had been in Jon's family; dea'Cort was an old piloting line. Say it was an antique, precious beyond its worth, and leave the matter there.

“I am in the pilot's debt,” Aelliana breathed. “Pray, how do I find Pilot tel'Izak?”

“I will tell you—later,” Daav said carefully. “Just at this present, she stands beneath her delm's displeasure.”

Aelliana stared up at him. “On my account?” she asked, and he could see that she meant to sally forth immediately and do battle on Samiv's behalf, if it were so.

“On mine, if you will have it. I used her shamefully.”

She frowned. “If it were done in service of protecting your pilot, then the debt is mine, as well,” she said.

Daav straightened his face with an effort, but she shot him a sharp glance, as if she had heard the laugh he had swallowed.

“Is there a joke?” she asked sternly, reminding him all at once that she was a teacher.

“Only that you had never used to lecture me on Code, Aelliana,” he said meekly, and smiled when she laughed.

“As to that,” she said, taking the ring from his hand and slipping it onto her finger. “I have just completed an intense study of the Code.”

It was humor—and Scoutlike of its kind—yet too close, far too close. Daav shivered.

“Oh, no!” She stepped forward, bold as she had never been, and put her arms around him. “It is well, van'chela! The Master Healer has said it—and, truly! I feel—I cannot recall when last I felt so well!”

His returned her embrace—how could he not?—his blood heating with unruly passions. Dazzled, he reached once more for the Rainbow . . . yet, here was Aelliana stretching high on her toes, her arms around his neck now, and her face turned up to his, eyes wide, lips barely parted. He bent his head . . .

Pounding roused him, and a voice shouting, “Korval!”

He stirred, breaking the kiss tenderly, and raised his head, as fuddled as if he had been woken from deep sleep. Aelliana moaned, her arms tightening, her body taut against his.

“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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