“What do you?” Er Thom asked, the chair shifting as he crossed his arms on the back. He leaned forward, his cheek next to Daav's, his attention likewise on the screen.
Terror wrenched Daav, so potent that his fingers stumbled.
“My pilot requires proper clothing,” he said, voice tight. “Her own could not have survived the night.”
“Ah.”
There was silence while Daav ordered ready-mades: a robe, shirt, sweater, trousers, undergarments. As with the jacket, he must need guess her size, but he could hardly do worse than the clothes her own House had seen fit to give her. After a moment's hesitation, he admitted that the boots were beyond him. Well, he thought, and if he must carry her to the nearest cobbler, she was no great weight.
“Tell me, brother.” Er Thom's breath was warm against his cheek. “Does Korval now speak for this pilot? Aelliana Caylon, I should mean.”
“I am her copilot,” Daav grated. “It is nothing less than my duty to see her properly clad.” He closed his eyes. “At least that.”
“Yet,” his brother persisted, “the pilot has kin on-planet. Surely—”
“She will take nothing else from that House!” He gasped against the jolt of anger, and bowed his head, staring at his fist resting on the keyboard, and the shine of Korval's Ring on the third finger of his left hand.
“Daav?”
“I am her copilot,” he said harshly, “in a hostile port. Her kin—her brother!—did his utmost to murder her, and nothing to his credit, that he failed.” He took a breath. “If he failed.”
“Surely, he had done so,” Er Thom said after a moment. “Else the lady would have no need of new clothes.”
“He—she was brain-burned. The Healers . . . were with her, when—finally!—we found her. It is possible that Aelliana as she had been has not, after all, survived.”
“I see.” The chair moved as Er Thom stood away. Daav heard his steps, approaching the card table. He spun, watching as his cha'leket plucked a sheaf of hard copy from the pile on the rug and came back to the desk.
“There is something else in The Gazette that will interest you, I think,” he said, placing the paper into Daav's hand. He hitched a hip onto the edge of the desk and used his chin to point. “Page eight.”
Clan news, that would be; listings of marriage contracts signed and contracts fulfilled; deaths; adoptions—
Deaths.
Daav riffled the pages, scanning the lists. Near the bottom of the third column, he found it:
Mizel grieves for the death of its son, Ran Eld Caylon.
There were no kin names listed, no indication of Ran Eld Caylon's standing within Clan Mizel at the moment of his sad passing, nothing to identify the instrument of his will, or the crime for which he had died. Merely that stern, sad statement, letting all the world know that Ran Eld Caylon had been cast out from clan and kin and was a dead man, metaphorically, if he had, indeed, Daav thought, managed to live out the night.
Daav raised his head and met his brother's serious gaze. “At least, they had enough honor to do what was needful,” he said, schooling his voice to something approaching temperance.
“Just so,” Er Thom agreed. He tipped his bright head. “It was well done to rid yourself of the marriage contract with Bindan,” he continued after a moment. “Shall I expect dea'Gauss?”
“I have already forewarned him of Bindan's interest.” Daav tossed The Gazette onto the desk top and leaned back in his chair, suddenly weary beyond words.
“We are not out of it intact, you know,” he said. “Doubtless, there will be penalties to pay. I have instructed Mr. dea'Gauss to scrutinize Bindan's every claim for the clan. For those things represented as being toward Samiv's good—there we shall be generous.”
“Shall we?” Er Thom asked interestedly.
“We shall, indeed. She took harm from us twice, through no fault of hers and all of mine. I owe her much— more, perhaps, than I can hope to Balance, yet the attempt must be made.”
“Indeed it must, but that, surely, is for later.”
“Yes, it is for later,” Daav agreed. “For the near term, I return immediately to Chonselta Healer Hall. Having seen me safe and scolded me well, you may now seek the comforts of your own office. I swear to you that I will call, when I am again in house.”
“Is it wise, I wonder, to go immediately to Chonselta?”
Daav blinked. “Master Ethilen had said I might come today, after Aelliana had rested. I—they denied me last evening, and she is of such a mind—it would not be wonderful to her, that she had been abandoned, and I will not have her doubt me!”
“Indeed, indeed.” Er Thom leaned forward, cupping Daav's cheek in a warm hand. “I only ask you to consider, denubia. You claim copilot's duty. I honor that—how can I not? But the copilot must also be competent in his service, must he not—and even more so in a case where his pilot may not be able?”
Warily, Daav nodded.
“Yes. Might Pilot Caylon's copilot then ask himself how best he might serve her: by returning immediately, exhausted and scarcely in command of himself, to Chonselta? Or by sleeping for an hour or two, knowing the pilot well guarded in Healer Hall, so that he returns to her fit and able to see to her safety?”
Daav smiled, feeling it waver on his lips.
