“Good,” she said.
Back | Next
Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Eight
Each clan is independent and each delm law within his House. Thus, one goes gently into the House of another clan. One speaks soft and bows low. It is not amiss to bear a gift.
—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
The wind roared, yanking her hair hard enough to bring tears. Aelliana recalled that she had used to be frightened of speed; certainly the blurred countryside through which they pelted—houses, trees, flowers, and fields smeared into the abstract—ought to sent her curling into the corner of the seat, face hidden behind her arms.
Instead, she laughed, and sat forward, giddy with sensation. Drunk with speed. Drunk, indeed, with Daav's joy and a sort of feral alertness, so potent that there was no need to touch him in order to clarify what he felt.
The car swooped to the top of a hill, spun into a thin lane and dashed downward. Stomach in free fall, Aelliana laughed again, and heard Daav laugh, too.
At the base of the hill, he downshifted, and followed the lane to the left, through a series of twists and turns, slowing almost imperceptibly as they negotiated each until, by the time they passed beneath an archway thick with flowers, the car was proceeding very nearly at a stately pace.
Colmeno bushes lined the lane on both sides, their lemony scent cleansing away the sweet breath of the flowers. At the end of the line of bushes, the lane intersected another. Aelliana caught a glimpse of a stairway, a glitter that was perhaps a window, then Daav turned the little car left, then right, going quite slowly now, and pulled into a 'crete apron between a building that might have been a garage, and a pleasant lawn.
“And so we arrive,” Daav said, shutting the car down. He raised his hands and smoothed them over his head, utterly failing to tame his wind-snarled hair.
“That did no good whatsoever, if you were trying for decorum,” she told him, her voice effervescent in her own ears.
“Now, have I ever tried for decorum?” Daav said musingly, looking down at her from snapping black eyes. “I must have done, mustn't I? Once or twice?”
“Surely, Korval must be decorous!” she returned.
He moved his shoulders. “Korval of course must be decorous, lest society fail. Daav rarely has such calls upon him. However, you are correct! One's brother has endured an unsettling morning, and very likely a less-than- amusing afternoon. He deserves better than to be treated to the spectacle of the two of us, with the dust of the port—and half the valley!—on us and our hair in matching mares' nests.” He raised an eyebrow.
“There ought to be a comb or three in the drawer under your seat.”
There were, she found, exactly three—disposables, each sealed into a transparent envelope. She handed him one and took another for herself, reaching behind her head to open the silver clasp.
“Ouch!” Biting her lip, she worked the comb carefully through the knotted mass of her hair, and after a time was able to once again snap the hair clasp into place.
“Behold us,” Daav said gaily as she slipped the comb into the pocket of her jacket, “respectable!”
“If your brother's day has been distressing,” Aelliana said, frowning up at him, “ought we to disturb him with a stranger's affairs?”
“We ought by all means make him aware of the clan's obligations, and immediately. He stands as nadelm, recall. If aught were to happen to me, it is Er Thom who will continue those arrangements guaranteed by Korval. You may be sure he would ring a peal over me the like of which you have never heard if I failed to acquaint him with one who stands within Korval's protection.”
Aelliana shivered, suddenly cold in the warm afternoon. If aught were to happen to me . . . So blithely said, and yet—
“Aelliana?”
Nothing, she told herself firmly, is going to happen to Daav. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I beg your pardon,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “I'm a brute,” he said comprehensively. “Pulling you from here to there with no time to rest. It will be quickly done here, I swear it, and gently, too. Er Thom at least has address.”
He opened his door. After a moment, Aelliana opened hers, and stood out onto the 'crete apron.
Before her, the grass stretched like blue-green velvet from apron's edge to a pleasant patio agreeably populated with chairs and small tables. Behind them, tall glass doors stood open to the day, the house stretching above and beyond . . .
She stared, suddenly understanding the scope of the building before her. This was no humble thing such as Mizel's house on Raingleam Street. This was house writ large, bold, and proud—and if she had not been told “house” she might instead have supposed it to be a—a mercantile center, or a building attached to an university, or—
“Aelliana?” His hand came lightly to rest upon her shoulder; she felt concern, and a tang of self-anger.
“Your brother lives here?” she demanded. “It is—how many? In your clan?”
'Ah. You must understand that Trealla Fantrol is Korval's showpiece. Our mother taught that, in the past, it
