“Not just yet,” she said. “We must give Mr. dea'Gauss time to work! But I would like a glass of wine. It is a vast garden, Daav! And I think I must have walked every step of it.”
“In that case, you must, by all means, have wine, and perhaps even a small plateful of food. Let us see what delights are laid for us.”
As he turned with her toward the buffet, he saw several pairs of eyes following, not him, but her.
Aelliana conquers all, he thought, and only just managed to keep his smile to himself.
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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nothing is as easy as it looks.
—Terran Proverb
Mr. dea'Gauss was not happy; Aelliana knew it immediately they entered his office. How she knew it—well, likely the knowledge was Daav's, whose fingers were interlaced with hers.
“Your lordship. My lady. May I bring you refreshment?”
“Thank you, no,” Daav said gently, as if the apprehension she felt from him did not exist. “I think you had better just tell us, sir. Has Mizel refused our offer?”
There was a pause—and a sigh.
“Not . . . precisely, no.”
Mr. dea'Gauss moved his hand, showing them chairs, and did not take his own until they were seated. “Mizel has produced a . . . counteroffer, your lordship. Quite an extraordinary counteroffer.”
Daav had taken his hand from hers as they were seated, but Aelliana felt a flutter of hope on her own behalf. A counteroffer. Surely, that was only expected? Contracts were after all about negotiation, and compromise.
“If they are still talking, then there is hope,” Daav murmured, in echo of her thought. “With what have they countered?”
Mr. dea'Gauss drew his notepad to him and touched the screen.
“They ask . . . ” He cleared his throat. “They ask high for the life-price, though had that been the only obstacle I might have counseled your lordship to accept, in order to have all done soonest. They ask, also, for the life-price of a nadelm, and they—” Mr. dea'Gauss looked up, but it was her eyes he sought, not Daav's.
“They demand, my lady, that you return to your clanhouse until the negotiations with Korval are complete.”
“No!” She raised her hand, fingers spread. “That I refuse.”
Mr. dea'Gauss looked even more unhappy.
“There is custom behind it, my lady. Mizel's qe'andra informs me that you had been called home by your delm ere this negotiation had begun. You are thus constrained, as a daughter of Mizel . . . ”
“I will not return to that house!”
Panic clawed at her throat. That house, with Ran Eld behind every door, and her mother, with his ghost in her eyes! It would happen again—her life would be torn from her, the house would wear her down, they would demand—demand duty done, demand that she give Daav over, demand—
“No! I will not go back there to be ground down and destroyed! I will not be a prisoner to Mizel's incompetence! I have appointments—engagements! I—”
“Aelliana.”
Calm and beloved, his voice. She shook her hair away from her eyes, startled to find herself standing and halfway to the office door. Her legs were shaking and her stomach was . . . quite unsettled. It came to her that she was weeping.
“Aelliana.”
Daav held his hands out, palms up, offering himself to her.
“We will find the route, Pilot. I swear it.”
Shakily, she stepped forward, put her hands in his, fully expecting to feel the force of his anger, but instead there was only and truly—
Calm.
She closed her eyes.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Take what you need.”
The panic wilted before this encompassing calmness. She felt peaceful, and alert . . .
“Mr. dea'Gauss,” she heard Daav say.
“Your lordship.”
