“We will need to have a set made for you,” she said. “Do I apply to the Guild?”
“Jon can make another set of keys for you just as easily as the Guild—and charge you half the price.”
“I will commission Jon, then,” she said, turning 'round by the pilot's station. “My copilot should have access to our ship.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Aelliana . . . ”
“No, we have decided it, van'chela. You shall sit copilot on this, our ship. It only remains to know our cargo and our destination.”
“Simple matters,” he said, giving her a smile that was, perhaps, not utterly false. He turned toward the corridor to the rear of the chamber.
“Well, then,” he said, suddenly brisk, “let us survey what we—”
“Daav.”
He paused, but did not look at her. Aelliana bit her lip, stomach suddenly tight. It was bad news, then. One did not like to think—no. One did not know what to think. And apparently Daav was not going to tell her what had transpired, absent a direct question.
“Clonak,” she said, carefully. “What did he say?”
Daav sighed, and did turn to look at her, his face carefully bland.
“He said that he wished you every joy, Aelliana.”
That was true, she felt that it was so. However, it was too thin a truth to hide the pain at the back of Daav's eyes.
“There's something else,” she said, watching him; listening with all of her senses.
“Indeed. He leaves very soon on a mission—a security mission—and is much involved in preparation.”
A chill washed over her, damply; she spoke before she had consciously named the emotion.
“That distresses you. Why?”
Daav sighed and walked toward her. “You are becoming far too adept at this,” he commented, “else all my skills are failing at once.”
She took a breath, tasting his dismay.
“I think—I think that I am still reaping the Healers' benefit,” she said slowly, “and . . . perhaps . . . the tree's.”
One well-marked brow lifted as he shook his head. “I had warned you that the tree was meddlesome.”
“So you had,” she replied with what calmness she could manage. “But you were going to tell me why you are so . . . very worried.”
“Clonak volunteers as security to a trade mission bound for Deluthia, which, in the recent past, has demonstrated a certain . . . hostility to Liaden trade missions. The security team that supported the last attempt at Deluthia—fared badly.”
But this hardly seemed like Clonak, Aelliana thought. For one who enjoyed his comfort so much to put himself into such peril?
“Why?” she asked. “Why is he accepting—volunteering for—so dangerous a mission? Surely, there are other—” It struck her then, full knowledge, as if the thought had passed from Daav's mind into hers.
“It's me.” Her hand moved, her fingers gripped his arm, and she read the truth out of him.
“Clonak . . . loves . . . me? How is that possible?” Her knees were weak—not fear, she thought, dully, but shock—and a tithe of shame.
“I must—” She groped behind her for the pilot's chair, spun it and sat, staring at the deck plates, her thoughts in turmoil.
After a moment, she looked up to meet Daav's eyes.
“I don't know what I must do,” she said, her voice small in her own ears.
He dropped to one knee next to her chair, and looked seriously into her face.
“Nor do I, except to allow him to pursue his own destiny.” A smile glimmered, far back in his eyes. “I did wring a promise from him, that he would endeavor not to get himself killed.”
“That was well done,” Aelliana conceded, with a ripple of her own humor.
“Thank you.” He sighed. “Truly, Aelliana, Clonak is fully capable. I think we must trust him to come back to us, and in better condition than he now stands.”
“Is he—badly hurt?” she asked.
“He has taken a wound,” Daav acknowledged. “Serious, but I think not fatal.”
“That I could—I would never harm him of my own will!” Aelliana burst out. She felt a sudden need to throw things, excepting that nothing lay to hand. “I—I honor him, and I value him. Perhaps it is love, of a kind, but . . . ”
“It is possible,” Daav said softly, “to love more than one. Greater or lesser is a clumsy ruler. So it is that I love Clonak, and Olwen, Frad and Jon, Er Thom, Anne, and Shan.”
There was no need to ask it; she knew the answer. Yet it seemed her tongue had a will of its own.
