“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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Contents
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.
After one half-hearted snap at Sinit to keep her elbows off the tabletop, Voni had drunk her soup, pushed the
