that, yesterday, all I knew of the world had taught me that my brother would gladly ruin anything I held dear—and that he had the power to do so! I see . . . now that the Healers have someway opened my eyes—now I see that fear had bound and blinded me. It was beyond foolish, to have refused your escort—today, I would have known to do so. Yesterday . . . I acted as best I might, to preserve my friend's honor and his life.” She closed her eyes against the garden, and wished that she could see his face. “Please forgive me, Clonak.”
There came a sigh, very soft.
“How can I refuse you anything, Goddess? If it is forgiveness you require of me, then of course it is yours.” He cleared his throat. “Daav has you under wing, does he?”
“Indeed. I am a guest of Korval for the moment. I need . . . some time to think.”
“As who does not?” he returned, with a flicker of his more usual manner. “Well, then. All's well that ends well.” That was in Terran—a Terran proverb, so he himself had taught her, meaning that, despite the methods, a fortunate outcome was to be celebrated.
“I think that it has ended very well,” she told him seriously.
“Then I shall endeavor to think likewise,” Clonak said. “Now, of your kindness, Goddess, I must leave you and attend to other matters. If you have any use for me, only tell me so.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, frowning after a particular note in his voice. It seemed to her, but surely not—
“Clonak, are you well?”
“As well as may be,” he answered. “Fair evening to you, Goddess. Until soon.”
“Until soon,” she whispered, but Clonak had already closed the connection.
* * *
“Bindan asks high,” Daav murmured, scanning the document to which Korval's man of business had directed his attention. Indeed, the amount demanded was . . . bracing. They would need to sell stocks, or perhaps one of the lesser houses, though not so much as a ship.
“Too high,” Mr. dea'Gauss said dryly. “The next document more accurately illuminates Korval's final accounting in the matter, as adjudicated. It was Bindan, after all, who called the contract void. While there is some recourse under Clause Eighteen, they failed of proving that Samiv tel'Izak has been materially harmed by the event Bindan points to as the breach point. Pilot tel'Izak herself gives as her firm opinion that she stood in less danger from the relevant incident than a pilot may find on any strange port, and further states that your care was in all ways respectful of her melant'i.”
Daav glanced from the screen to his accountant's face. “She said so? That will not have pleased her delm.”
He looked back to the screen, flicked to the next document, and blinked. Mr. dea'Gauss had worked wonders on Korval's behalf, he allowed. Again.
“Perhaps Bindan would not have been pleased,” Mr. dea'Gauss murmured. “However, Ms. tel'Brieri, who sat as the impartial qe'andra required by Guild law, ruled that we should hear the pilot's testimony in confidence. It is very true that Bindan was not best pleased with this ruling; however, the pilot was then at leave to speak her own truth, which she did, most eloquently.” Mr. dea'Gauss paused to glance down at his notepad, as if verifying a point.
“It may be, your lordship, that Korval ought to undertake an entirely separate Balance with Pilot tel'Izak. If I understand her tale correctly, it would seem that she suffered some abuse from . . . an agent of the clan.”
“Indeed, the Tree used her terribly, and Balance is surely owing. Do you advise a separate accounting? I had thought merely to attach a rider to the breach payment, marked for Samiv tel'Izak's personal account.”
“In this case, I believe that a separate accounting would . . . avoid confusion on the part of Pilot tel'Izak's delm,” Mr. dea'Gauss said imperturbably.
Daav sighed. “As acquisitive as that, is she? Well, then. It is Korval's natural desire to see Balance appropriately placed. Of your kindness, Mr. dea'Gauss, please draw up the document. I wish it to be—generous, but not so much as to seem overabundant. Those monies will be withdrawn from my private accounts.”
“As your lordship wishes.” Mr. dea'Gauss made a note on his pad. “The final documents will be on your desk tomorrow morning.”
“Say rather on your desk,” Daav said. “I have business in the city tomorrow and will come by your office—by midmorning?”
“They will be ready for your signature,” Mr. dea'Gauss assured him, making another note. “Is there any other service that I may be honored to perform for your lordship?”
“In fact, there is. Please create the usual accounts for Aelliana Caylon, seeded by precisely half of my personal fortune, prior to deducting the Balance owed Pilot tel'Izak.”
The older man looked up from his notepad. “That is,” he said carefully, “a lifemate's portion.”
“So it is,” Daav said with more composure than he felt. He inclined his head. “The situation is delicate, Mr. dea'Gauss. The Healers at Chonselta Hall believe me to be Pilot Caylon's natural lifemate. Unfortunately, the pilot has suffered . . . an injury in the past, which may prevent the bond from ripening. It is my wish, however, to honor it—and her—as . . . fully as possible.”
Mr. dea'Gauss looked rather quickly down at his pad. “Of course, your lordship. One can readily apprehend your melant'i in the matter. Those papers, too, will be awaiting your signature tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Daav said softly. “Is there anything else which requires my attention, sir?”
“We are to the end of my list, your lordship. I thank you for seeing me so quickly.”
“No, it is I who thank you, for your skill in husbanding Korval's resources. You should know, however, that Lady Kareen will be most disappointed.”
Mr. dea'Gauss paused in the act of slipping his notepad into its case. “I am of course desolate to have disappointed Lady Kareen. In what way have I erred?”
