“Oh, well, the scholarship!” Anne laughed. “Jin Del—Scholar yo'Kera, my . . . colleague. He had the proof. But you must have seen the articles in the Scholar Base, written by those who have their own proofs . . . ”
“I had seen that there was some lively discussion,” Aelliana admitted. “Has Scout Linguist pel'Odyare published her results, as yet? It seemed she felt your arguments might be supported.”
“I've been in communication with Master pel'Odyare; we're doing a source match, in our spare time.” Anne threw her an amused glance. “Which is why it's taking us so long.”
Aelliana laughed.
“In the meanwhile, the delm had a notion, though I'm not certain I have the right of it, yet. It seemed he was for sending some of Korval's records along with the book to certain . . . influential thinkers. What came of that, I know not—and it's possible we'll never know. Ah, now! Here we are, home.”
She pulled the car to a stop, and they got out, walking side by side across the lawn toward the patio door.
“Ma!” A white-haired child hurtled across the lawn and into Anne Davis' laughing embrace. She caught him under the arms and swooped him up, spinning in a tight circle. A grey-haired woman stood at a small remove, her hands folded and her face composed. The effortless stillness of her pose called Scout to Aelliana's mind.
Spinning, mother and child shouted with laughter, then the ride was over, and the boy was set on his feet.
“Aelliana,” Anne said breathlessly, “here is my son, Shan yos'Galan.”
She looked down into a thin brown face dominated by eyes of so pale a blue they seemed silver, and bowed as Visitor-to-Child-of-the-House.
“Shan yos'Galan, I am pleased to meet you.”
“Shannie, this is Aelliana Caylon,” Anne said. “Please make your bow and welcome the guest.”
A bow was produced, recognizably Child-of-the-House-to-Visitor. “Welcome to our house, Aelli,” he said exuberantly.
“Aelliana,” his mother corrected.
“No, allow it,” she said. “My youngest sister sometimes called me so.”
“His father tells me he needs to learn the forms. Shannie, what is our guest's name?”
“Aelliana Caylon,” he answered promptly. “Her sister calls her Aelli, and so may I.”
“You, my son, are incorrigible.” She turned her head. “Mrs. Intassi, allow me to make you known to Korval's guest.”
The grey-haired woman came forward, walking with Scout silence and the unmistakable grace of a pilot.
“Aelliana Caylon, I am pleased to meet you,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. She bowed a plain bow of introduction. “I am Mrs. Intassi, the heir's nurse.”
“Mrs. Intassi, I am pleased to meet you,” Aelliana said politely, returning the bow.
“Now, if you will excuse me, Pilot, it is time for this young student to apply himself to his numbers. Unless your ladyship would like him with you?”
“Numbers first,” Anne said promptly.
“Very well.” The nurse gathered Shan in with an glance. “Please make your bow to the guest and take leave of your mother.”
“Bye, Ma!” the young gentleman said in blithe Terran. To Aelliana, he bowed with more intent than mode, and offered, “Until soon, Aelli,” in Liaden.
“Until soon, Shan,” she replied. “Learn your numbers well.”
Nurse and student removed to the house, Anne and Aelliana following more leisurely.
“Do you have you a child?” Anne asked, her voice lazy and unconcerned in the chancy modelessness of Terran.
Aelliana blinked.
“Tiatha is my daughter,” she said. “Fosters she at—with?—Lyderg.”
“Maybe she'd like to come for a visit,” Anne said, as they reached the patio.
Aelliana bit her lip. It was certainly possible that her daughter might like to visit; she could not say. The probability of such a visit, however, was . . . very slim. Lyderg must surely have a controlling interest in Mizel's nursery by now; the temporary arrangement between cousin-houses had long since become permanent. Tiatha would think of herself as a daughter of Clan Lyderg, which had cared for her and educated her, and would in time require duty from her . . .
“Now, would you like tea, or would you rather I show you to your apartment?” Anne asked. “I hope you'll like it; the windows look over the park. Sometimes in the evening, the syka come to graze at the treeline. And the birds! I—”
“Your pardon.” Aelliana stopped. It was hard to breathe. For a heartbeat she was the woman she had been two days ago, her shoulders climbing up toward her ears, and her chest tight with misery.
“Your pardon,” she said again, and took a deliberate breath, willing herself to relax. “I—You are very kind, but I have rooms at Jelaza Kazone. My things—”
“All moved while we were shopping,” Anne interrupted airily. “Your car was sent up, too.”
Daav's hand there, Aelliana thought, and no other, gaming her as skillfully as if she were a counterchance marker. And she, the gamepiece, complicit in her own defeat, too meek to put herself before him immediately, demanding that they speak, and—how dare he!
