“More's the pity—however! I am not alone in having mail to sort, my lady.” He rummaged briefly and produced two invitations and an envelope.
“These,” he said, putting them into her hands, “are for you.”
“For me?” She couldn't remember when she had last received an invitation. Before her marriage, surely. After —she had not cared for going among people, and if she had shown any disposition for society, she thought, with a surprisingly hot spark of anger, Ran Eld would doubtless have forbidden her the pleasure.
Daav rested his head on the cushion at her side, and gave her a lazy, upside-down smile.
“That robe is quite fetching,” he murmured.
“You gave it—” she began, and then realized that her position had allowed the loosely-wrapped garment to fall somewhat open, thus revealing certain of her holdings.
“Fetching,” he repeated, softly, and reached up to pull on the sash, which obligingly gave up its knot; the robe opened more fully, falling away from one breast entirely.
Clearly, a countermeasure was called for.
She bent down and kissed him, as thoroughly as she knew how.
His desire rose to meet hers; she leaned closer, hungry for his mouth, his hands, for him . . .
“The mail is all mixed up again,” she said some while later.
She was lying across his back, breast against shoulder, cheek against cheek, his hair and hers thoroughly tangled together, with only the vaguest notion of how she had gotten there.
His other cheek pressed against the carpet, Daav sighed.
“Torn from virtuous industry by a ravishing temptress; all—all—to be done over!”
“Ravishing temptress? Who was it opened up my robe?”
“Who ravished whom?”
“That's not the point.”
“No, only give me a moment to recruit myself!”
She laughed.
“If I let you up, will you comport yourself as a gentleman?”
“For how long shall I be bound to that hideous fate? It may be that I will prefer death by ravishment.”
“Did I offer that alternative?” she asked, the sternness of her voice marred by a giggle. “You shall be bound for the time that it takes us to read our mail.”
“I suppose I may last that long. Am I allowed the comfort of a glass of wine?”
“Certainly,” she said grandly. “You may fetch me one, too. Have we a bargain?”
“We do, cruel lady.”
“Rise, then,” she said.
“After you.”
She rolled to her feet, glanced about—and found her robe cast all everyway across the reading chair. She slipped it on and tied the sash firmly, while Daav likewise reassembled himself and moved off toward the kitchen alcove.
Aelliana knelt on the rug amid the disorder of envelopes and picked up an invitation.
By the time he returned with the wine, she had gathered the invitations into one pile, and discovered most, but she felt not all, of the letters.
“My lady wishes to make my time in bondage as short as possible,” he murmured. “Perhaps she is not cruel, after all.”
“Merely pragmatic,” she said, rising to receive her glass. “I fear that some of the letters may have taken refuge beneath the furniture.”
“Fear not, I will recover all. Please, rest from your labors and attend to your own matters.”
Her correspondence had remained aloof upon the sofa cushions, where they had been joined by Relchin, who was asleep with his chin on an ivory card. She smiled, put her glass on the occasional table, and slid the letters free. The cat opened one eye, muttered and went back to sleep.
“Thank you,” she said politely, retiring to the corner and curling against the pillows. She broke the seal on the first invitation, which was marked with the sign of a snake wrapped 'round a moon.
The gift of your time is solicited for a select gathering of friends at an informal midmorning tea in the garden at Glavda Empri on Metlin Eighthday of the current relumma. Acceptances only to Ilthiria yo'Lanna, Thodelmae.
“Who,” Aelliana wondered, “is Ilthiria yo'Lanna?”
Daav looked up. He had resumed his seat on the floor and was engaged in dividing the invitations, still sealed into their envelopes, into two piles.
“Ilthiria yo'Lanna is my mother's best and oldest friend,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
She held up the card.
“She invites me to a picnic on the grounds of Glavda Empri, but—surely not. It is in three days! I have not been
