That the Founder would have found nothing wonderful in her heirs breaking faith, pirate that she'd been, Daav did not say. Instead, he inclined his head once more.
“Korval hears yos'Galan.”
“That is well. Does the delm require further service from yos'Galan this hour?”
“I believe that our business is done,” Korval responded.
“Excellent.” Er Thom smiled. “Now, tell me how matters fare between yourself and Pilot Caylon. She must think well of you, if she considers placing her ship in your hands.”
“Her regard humbles me,” Daav said truthfully, “though there have been moments when I have wished that the Healers had meddled less with what was finished and done.”
Er Thom tipped his head. “You speak of the bond? Truly, it is unsettling at first—who wishes to share his innermost self, with all one's flaws and pettiness? I swear you will grow accustomed, brother, and then you will wonder how ever you went on—before.”
“Aelliana reports something very like,” he admitted, setting his glass aside. “For my part—” He raised his head and met Er Thom's eyes. “The link is only one-way, darling. She describes a condition like to what I have heard from you and from Anne. For myself, I experience nothing of the sort—”
Er Thom shifted, pity on his face, his lips parting—
“No—hear me,” Daav said, his eyes suddenly wet. “I do well enough—how many believe that Scouts are able to read minds, after all?”
“But the full sharing,” Er Thom murmured.
“The full sharing—is perhaps not to be ours. That the link functions at all is—ought to be—a joy. Indeed, she says that she finds it so, and I—I would far rather sit copilot to Aelliana Caylon than anything else I can contemplate.”
“That is well, then.” Er Thom said, and leaned over to grip Daav's hand, his fingers warm and firm. “It will be well, brother.”
“Of course it will,” Daav said, and smiled, seeing some of the distress fade from his brother's eyes. “How could it be otherwise?”
He had walked from Jelaza Kazone to Trealla Fantrol, wanting to have time with his thoughts. After leaving Er Thom, he was again glad of the walk, this time to soothe his unruly emotions. His last message from Aelliana was that she was Chonselta-bound and might not return until late. It may have been that which encouraged him to follow the more circuitous paths down-valley, though Jelaza Kazone rarely felt empty to him any more.
Whatever the case, the stars were well up by the time he opened a side door and stepped into a hall illuminated by night-dims—and a bar of bright light from the partly open library door. Frowning, he moved silently forward.
Aelliana was curled into his favorite chair, her head bent over some handwork. She was wearing the green silk robe he had sent to her in Chonselta; the ripple of tawny hair that hid her face from him was damp, the light casting the drifting dry strands into an aura.
He pushed the door wider.
She looked up, smiling.
“Daav. Good evening.”
“Good evening,” he answered, stepping into the room. The object she had been so concentrated upon was a remote, its screen dense with figures. “Am I disturbing your work?”
“Not at all,” she answered. “I was waiting for you. This—” She shook the remote lightly—“is a notion I've been considering. Only let me close down.”
Her fingers flickered across the small keypad; the screen dimmed and she put the device on the table at her elbow. Daav came further into the room—like a moth drawn to the moon, he chided himself—and perched on the arm of the chair opposite.
“How went your errands today?” he asked when she looked up.
She sighed, very lightly. “Mr. dea'Gauss was everything that was accommodating and agreeable. Director Barq was . . . less so, I fear.”
That dea'Gauss had been accommodating was scarcely surprising. Director Barq, however . . .
“Was there a difficulty?” he asked.
Aelliana moved her shoulders, as if she would cast the memory away.
“There was no difficulty,” she said, “unless you count the realization of an unwelcome truth difficult.” She looked down at her hands, folded tightly on her lap. “Director Barq had apparently felt that my decision not to renew was a . . . strategy, and that my . . . relationship with Korval, as he phrased it, had given me insight into the fact that I had in the past been neither advertent, nor careful of my own best good. And so I became someone whom it was easy and natural to cheat.”
The set of her shoulders and the tight clasp of her hands told him precisely how profound was her unhappiness.
“We are all cheated, once,” he commented, which was the truth as he knew it personally. “It is how we learn not to be cheated twice.” He tipped his head. “Are you hungry?”
She glanced up at him, green eyes wide and misty. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you hungry?” he repeated. “I confess that I am.”
“Since you are so bold—yes, I am hungry. However, I didn't wish to disturb Mr. pel'Kana.”
“No need,” he said, rising and holding his hand down to her. “Come, we will forage for ourselves.”
