gloriously green.
“Daav,” she said, and walked into his arms.
He held her lightly—lightly, so he told himself, and so he did, despite his more urgent wishes. Her cheek lay against his shoulder, her arms about his waist; her body was sweet and pliant against his.
Lightly, he told himself again, though his blood was warming rapidly. Aelliana moved against him, her arms tightening. Carefully, he lay his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, and, gods pity him, he was on fire and she was his!
Aelliana stiffened slightly, certainly less so than he. And it was not meet—it was far from meet, and if anything like what he wished for went forth in the Hall, be sure that Hall Master would see to it that he could not function for a relumma—or longer. So, say, it was desperation—or self preservation—that made him reach again for the old Scout trick and spin the Rainbow, reaping calm from the flow of its colors . . .
“That was pretty,” Aelliana murmured against his shoulder. She stirred slightly. “Daav?”
“Yes, van'chela.”
“I wonder—how long will you be wed? Because, you know, I—I don't quite understand why it hadn't occurred to me—I can come back for you . . . ”
Gods. He took a breath, deliberately calming.
“I—shall not be wed,” he told her.
Unexpectedly, she laughed, straightening away from him. He let her go and stood staring down into brilliant green eyes.
“Certainly, you shall not wed,” she said, freely ironic. “I suppose you have informed your delm of this circumstance?”
“The delm requires—” he began, and stopped. She was his natural lifemate, whether she ever knew it or not, and his pilot. In either face she deserved nothing other from him than the truth. And it was, he thought bitterly, long past time for her to have this truth.
“Aelliana—I am my delm,” he said, and raised his hand to show her the ring.
She stared at the Tree-and-Dragon for a long moment, then sighed, very softly.
“Korval.” She looked up into his face. “You might have said.”
“Ought to have said, certainly,” he answered, bitterness tinging his voice. He spun away from her, stalking over to the window to glare down at the blameless and pretty little garden.
“Why did you not call me?” he asked, which was badly done of him, but he had to know . . . if she did not trust him, after all, to hold her interests before his . . .
“Because I would not place my friend and my copilot in harm's way,” she said with more sharpness than he was accustomed to hearing from Aelliana. “My brother is—capable of extremes of mischief. Even now, he may be designing a Balance against Jon and Binjali's—” Her voice was rising, horror evident. Daav spun away from the window and caught her arms.
“Aelliana—” A third time, he invoked the Rainbow, seeking his own balance—felt her relax in his hands; saw her face smooth and her eyes calm.
“That is—useful,” she murmured. “What is it?”
For a moment, he simply stared, remembering Kestra's warnings of damage and dreams dead before they were known . . .
“Daav?”
“It is—” he cleared his throat. “It is called the Rainbow, Aelliana—a Scout thing. We use it to reestablish center, and, sometimes, to—rest.” He tipped his head. “Of course, one should not depend overmuch . . . ”
“Of course not,” she murmured. “But useful, all the same. My thanks, van'chela.”
“No thanks needed,” he replied. He hesitated . . . and did not quiz her about what she had seen, or demand to hear how she might explain having seen it. Time for such things later, after this current topic was retired.
“Your brother,” he said, and her gaze leapt to his, eyes wide and green, yet not—entirely—panicked.
“He—”
Daav lay light fingertips on her lips.
“Peace, child. Allow me to give you news of your clan.”
Beneath his fingers, her mouth curved, very slightly.
“So,” he stepped back, breaking physical contact, and bowed formally, as one imparting news of kin.
“In this morning's Gazette, it is reported that Ran Eld Caylon Clan Mizel has died. He will endanger you no more.”
“Died?” Aelliana repeated. “Ran Eld? He was in the best of health!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Clonak— Jon—they did not . . . ”
“Not so far as I know,” Daav said, carefully. “Though Jon would certainly be within his rights, should your brother be so foolish as to seek Binjali's. But, no—your delm has cast him out.”
For a heartbeat, he thought she hadn't heard him; her face and eyes had gone perfectly blank. Then, she moved, two steps forward, and took his hand.
“Mizel has cast Ran Eld out,” she said, and it seemed to him that it was in some way a—test, though what she should be testing he could not have said. “Ran Eld Caylon, Nadelm Mizel, is made clanless.”
