It was there that Mr. pel'Kana found her more than an hour later, her lunch forgotten on the bench beside her, the sunlight threading her tawny hair with gold.
“Your pardon, Pilot,” he said softly. “This was brought, express. You left no instruction . . . ”
Immersed as she had been, it took a heartbeat, or longer, for her to understand the words.
“Express?” she repeated, frowning up from the screen. “I did not ask for—an express what, Mr. pel'Kana, if you please? I fear I am—somewhat fuddled.”
“Your pardon,” he said again, and held up a letter for her to see. “This arrived for you by express messenger, Pilot. I thought you would want it. If not, I will take it away and place it with the rest of the correspondence.”
“Oh, I see! I will take charge of it. It was kind of you to bring it out.”
“Not at all, Pilot,” he said, placing the envelope into her hand. “May I bring you anything else? A muffin, perhaps?”
“No, thank you, I am quite well-provisioned.”
“Of course, Pilot,” he answered and left her, walking as if he were not quite accustomed to grass.
She glanced down.
Mizel's seal leapt at her from a field of too-bright white; her name written out in blue ink in her mother's familiar hand.
Aelliana's stomach clenched. For a moment, she thought of merely tearing it up, unread, and scattering the bits among the roses.
But that would be craven; unworthy of a pilot, and to refuse a letter from kin—that was smaller than she knew herself to be.
She broke the seal, and withdrew a sheet of paper that felt unpleasantly smooth against her fingers, and unfolded it.
It was not, after all, a letter from her mother.
It was a command from Mizel.
It is the judgment of the Delm that Aelliana Caylon has been too long separate from Clan and Kin. Her duties have languished for lack of another to carry them out, and any further absence is to Mizel's disadvantage.
Aelliana Caylon is therefore commanded to return to her Clanhouse no later than Zeldra Seventhday of this present relumma, bringing with her such items as legitimately belong to her, and nothing else. She will herefore consider the House of Mizel her natural and permanent residence, and Mizel's care and protection her natural right.
It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a spacegoing vessel and a viable courier business. These things will pass properly into the care of the Clan, and any profit realized from them will be divided by Mizel equally among the members of the Clan.
“No!” The word burst from her. She raised a hand and pressed her fingers hard against her lips, lest there be more, and stronger, to dismay the garden's peace.
Mizel's patience had run out, and she was summoned home, all her goods forfeit to the Clan, as was proper and according to custom. Well, and she had known that it might happen—that it would happen. She had hoped for more time for circumstances to further resolve themselves, but she saw now what her choice must be. Really, there had never been a choice at all.
She glanced down again to the letter.
It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a space-going vessel and a viable courier business.
Yes, well.
She stood, folding the paper without much attention to the process and sealing it into her sleeve pocket.
Her ship would not be compromised, nor would it be dishonored.
And she would not—she would never—return to Mizel.
Deliberately, she gathered up the port comm, and her ignored lunch, entering the house by the kitchen door. The cook was elsewhere; she stowed the tea bottle and the cheese in the coldbox, left the apple on the counter and continued on course, walking briskly down the hall and up the stairs to their apartment.
Not more than two minutes later, she ran lightly down the stairs, jacket on, keys in hand. She let herself out the side door closest to the garages, and was very shortly away, on a heading for Solcintra Port.
* * *
Daav read the letter twice, not because a single reading had failed of putting him in possession of the pertinent facts, but because the sheer audacity of the thing had left him breathless.
Not to say angry.
“So,” he managed at last, lifting his head to face Mr. dea'Gauss decently, “Mizel accuses Daav yos'Phelium of kin-stealing. How refreshing.”
In fact, it was, and showed a small glimmer of wit. By naming him personally responsible, rather than Clan Korval, Mizel swept half of his pieces from the board and made the game much more equal.
“Alas, there is some merit to their argument,” his man of business said gently.
Of course there was. Aelliana Caylon did not belong to Korval. By custom, Daav yos'Phelium had no call upon her. He was not her employer—far the contrary! The world would see that he held her out-of-clan for his own pleasure, while using his melant'i as Korval to insure that none would interfere.
