A ferocious joy struck Aelliana from across the table, nearly unseating her. Daav being Daav, it was nothing so simple as only joy, no matter how fierce; it carried envy on its back; hope, anticipation, delight, and a single dark stroke of fear.
“The clan increases!” he cried, and it was joy only that informed his face and his voice. “May we reap much delight from Korval's new child!”
They arrived at Jelaza Kazone with the rising of the stars, and went first to the inner garden, walking hand in hand along the flower-choked path, toward the center, and the Tree.
“I see that I shall have to free the pathways,” Daav said, “else random strollers will become engulfed.”
“Do we have many random strollers?” Aelliana asked, letting his happiness marry her own. The result was a gentle euphoria, edged with excitement.
“We do from time to time host gathers, and the garden is of course open to our guests. I will lead here, Pilot, in case there is a savage beast lying in wait . . . ”
He stepped forward without relinquishing her hand and led her safely past a tangle of twigs, leaves glossy and black in the starlight.
When she was able to walk beside him again, she murmured, “I like the garden wild.”
“As I do. I swear that I envision no such pretty tribute to the landscaper's art as we might see in the city. Though they have their place, it is not this place. No, I merely wish to widen the trail so that two may walk abreast.”
They left the path altogether then, and walked across the root-woven grass to the tree. Daav put his free hand flat against the broad trunk, and she did the same.
Immediately, she was aware of warmth, of a sense of welcome, and of a gentle probing, as if the tree asked how did she go on.
“Very well, thank you,” she murmured. “I hope you have not been lonely.”
The leaves directly over her head fluttered, though there was no breeze—laughter, so she thought. Intense focus sizzled along her connection with Daav, and her fingers grew quite warm. She did not pull away, and after a moment the heat faded.
Daav moved, retreating two deliberate steps from the trunk, pulling her with him. From high in the boughs came a clatter of leaf, as if a rock had been thrown from inside the canopy, then two seedpods plummeted out of the Tree, striking the ground precisely—one at Daav's feet; the other at hers.
“It seems we are welcomed home,” Aelliana murmured, bending to retrieve her pod.
“So it does,” Daav murmured. “Shall I open that for you?”
“Please.”
She lifted the first of the neat pieces to her lips, abruptly and ravenously hungry, though the meal with Anne and Er Thom was only recently behind them. Tonight's nut smelled of sweet cedar, the taste . . . If hot and cold were tastes, it would have tasted thus. The first morsel left her hungry for the second; the second for the third, and the fourth—sated her entirely.
Fulfilled, she looked to Daav, who was watching her with a quizzical tilt to his eyebrow.
“Have I forgotten to say that you are a thing of astonishing beauty,” he murmured, “the love of my life and the guiding star of my heart?”
She smiled up at him, shivering with delight. “I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice,” she said. “But how unhandsome! You leave me with no words to say at all, van'chela, only a wish to stay always at your side.”
“A rare compliment,” he said, “considering how many will have nothing at all to do with Korval.”
He turned and bowed to the tree—honor-to-a master—straightening just as Relchin, orange-and-white-striped tail held high in welcome, burst from -he shrubbery and ran to them, burbling excitedly.
Aelliana laughed, and bent down to offer her finger. Relchin rubbed his muzzle, eyes slit in ecstasy.
“Now here's an enthusiastic welcome!”
“Indeed,” Daav said, rubbing an orange ear briskly. “I wager Mr. pel'Kana has forgotten to fill the food bowls. Only see the poor creature, with his ribs on display!”
It was no such thing; Relchin was as sleek as ever he had been beneath her stroking palm. Aelliana gave him one skritch on the chin and straightened.
“We should go inside, then, and check the bowls.”
“We should go inside,” Daav corrected, taking her hand as they started back to the path, “and deal with our mail.”
Aelliana sighed comfortably as the warm breeze gently dried her, then she reached for her robe and belted it loosely around her. She paused in their bedroom to brush out her hair before going to the parlor.
Daav, resplendent in a house robe embroidered with gloan-roses, was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, long legs stretched before him, Relchin leaning companionably against his knee. The disordered clutch of mail she had last seen him with had been reduced to several tidy piles.
“I should have given it out that we were not expected to return,” he said, looking up with a rueful smile. “Er Thom has the right of it—the worst of coming home is dealing with one's mail.”
She sat down by his shoulder and leaned forward. His hair was loose on his shoulders, damp and smelling distractingly of sweet cedar. She wanted to comb her fingers through it, bury her face in it . . . Aelliana took a breath and forced herself to focus on the tidy piles.
“What a lot of invitations you have,” she said, eying the stack of square ivory envelopes. “I suppose you can't just throw them out?”
