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.
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Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Thirty-Nine
