Convergence (51 page)

Drowd had gone flushed with an appalled look, and when he'd glanced at Lorand he must have seen confirmation of what had been said. For a moment he looked as if he would get up and leave, but then he turned his attention to his food and began eating. His favorite victim had suddenly turned into a predator, but he may have been hoping that after a while the unfortunate condition would pass. And that Mardimil had been wrong about everyone knowing what he'd done and tried to do.

"But it's too nice having him quiet," Lorand murmured to another flower before straightening. "If the others don't do anything to make it happen, I'll have to try my own hand at it."

The attitude was more uncharitable than Lorand usually let himself be, but last night seemed to have changed him as much as it had the others. The values of the place he considered home no longer applied to him, not when the people there would turn from him in fear. And they would, he knew that with more certainty than almost anything else. How often had he heard the townspeople—and his own father—say something like, "He's as bad as one of them misbegotten Highs," or "He's about as welcome as a plague of Highs."

No, the people he'd grown up among would turn their backs if they learned he'd passed the first test for High, but so what? It wasn't as if he'd ever expected to go back there, so what they thought made no difference at all. They and their values could drop into a bottomless pit, and Lorand would do no more than say good riddance.

He turned away from the garden and toward the house, knowing it should be getting on toward lunchtime. It had only been a few hours since he'd finished breakfast and he hadn't done anything particularly strenuous, but when lunch was served he would be there to eat it. But then he saw Jowi Hafford strolling out of the house with a smile of real amusement on her face, and all thought of food suddenly disappeared.

"Well, hello there," she said as soon as she saw him, her smile softening to one of greeting. "I hope you don't mind if I share this beautiful garden with you for a while. If you do, I won't mind waiting until later."

"I wouldn't mind e\en if I happened to be naked again," Lorand said at once", making her laugh that wonderful tinkling laugh. "I've been trying to find the chance to talk to you again, but life hasn't been willing to cooperate.
Until now.
What were you laughing about when you first came out?"

"Oh, just something silly," she answered as she reached him,
then
began to stroll with him deeper into the garden. "Dom Ro and I . . . intervened in a matter where Tamrissa Domon was being taken advantage of. Afterward he thanked me for helping her, as though he and she had something serious between them. He
says
he knows she hates him and he doesn't blame her, but that's not how he feels. He's really attracted to her, and would love to have her feel the same."

"But he won't talk about it, because he doesn't believe it can ever happen," Lorand said, more aware of her presence beside him than his ability made him aware of the world. "I can understand how he feels, and I sympathize. There are some things just too . . . impossible to discuss."

"You men are
what's
impossible," Jowi said, pausing to look up at him with a smile. "You're so determined to grit your teeth and take whatever comes like
real
men, that
you miss half the opportunities dancing past. Wouldn't it be much more pleasant if you joined in the dance, and left worrying about what's possible for some other, later time?"

"Join in the dance," Lorand echoed, his pulse beginning to beat faster as he looked down at her. Was she trying to say his advances would
not
be unwelcome? But what if he was wrong,
an
she ended up feeling insulted? What if—"To the Deep Caverns with it. Even if you end up hating me, at least I'll have joined in the dance for once."

And with that he took her in his arms and kissed her, something he'd wanted to do from the first moment he'd wiped the soap from his eyes. Her body felt soft and alive in his arms, her scent like the most marvelous flower ever grown, and her lips. . . . Silken didn't begin to describe them, especially when they immediately began to join in the kiss. His hand went to her glorious hair as her arms slid around his middle, and then Lorand was lost to an experience more intense than what he'd had above the tavern the night before.

It was quite a while before the kiss ended, and when it finally did Lorand had to keep an iron hold on his control-He wanted nothing so much as to lift her in his arms and carry her to his bed, but that, unfortunately, would have been rushing things more than most women cared for.

"If that's the way you hate, I hope you eventually get to loathe me," Lorand murmured after kissing her still-closed eyes. "And in case you were wondering, the dance was the best I ever attended."

"That's because you're a natural dancer," she returned with a laugh, opening those incredible blue-green eyes to look up at him. "I was hoping you were, and I haven't been disappointed. I find you very attractive, Lorand Coll, and I'm glad you find me the same."

"Did you somehow get the impression I was dead?" Lorand asked with a laugh of his own as he released her. Her hand made no effort to smooth her hair, which encouraged him even more. "Only a dead man would have trouble finding you attractive, but not as much as you might think. Do you have any plans for tonight that I might intrude in? After dinner, I mean, before going up to—"

Lorand stopped to keep from falling into that bottomless pit he'd been thinking about earlier, wondering in passing why his command of the language seemed to have deserted him completely. A man was considered crude if he mentioned his intentions straight out, a lesson he'd learned at an early age. The only kind of girl you behaved that way with was one you paid, another part of the same lesson. He would have to find a gracefully roundabout way to ask his question, but before the proper words showed up they were interrupted by the appearance of Clarion Mardimil.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," he said to Jowi, nodding to Lorand as he came up to join them. "I've been looking for you, because I have something I'd like to ask you. Would you be so kind as to join me in my bed tonight? I promise to make the time one you'll never forget."

"Clarion, I need to have a word with you," Lorand said hastily, taking Mardimil's arm. "Let's step back a short way toward the house."

A glance at Jowi showed Lorand that he was more embarrassed than she was, and what's more she seemed to be working hard to swallow amusement. He couldn't understand that, but confusion didn't keep him from pulling Mardimil out of hearing range for her.

"Really, Lorand, what's gotten into you?" Mardimil demanded with annoyance as he finally managed to free his arm. "You interrupted before the lady was able to give me her answer."

"If I'd waited, you probably wouldn't have enjoyed that answer," Lorand countered in a hiss, trying to get Mardimil to lower his voice. "I realize you know very little about women, Clarion, but surely you were taught
something
in the way of tact. The only time you walk straight up to a woman and make an announcement like that is if she's the sort you pay, and Dama Hafford doesn't happen to be that sort. Any other woman would have gotten terribly insulted, and it's simply your good fortune that she's kinder than that."

"You're saying it isn't done?" Mardimil asked, his frown now showing confusion. "I hadn't realized there was different protocol for different occasions and situations. Good grief, how complicated does this get?"

"More complicated than I can explain in one or two brief conversations," Lorand replied, feeling sorrier than ever for Mardimil. "Were you really taught nothing at all
about.
. . associating with women? It isn't necessary to sleep with them in order to learn how to behave in their company. Weren't you ever out alone with girls?"

"Alone?" Mardimil
echoed,
a distant look in his eyes.
"No, not alone.
I apologize for blundering so badly, Lorand, and would like to apologize to Dama Hafford as well."

Lorand would have preferred talking him out of that, but not being able to apologize would have made matters worse for the poor fool.
Or poor victim, which was nearer the truth.
He'd been taught nothing about how to associate with other people, as though his precious mother had simply decided he'd never need to know. What she expected her son to do after she was gone was a mystery, or possibly it was of no interest to her.
As long as everything was done
her
way while she lived. . . .

"Jowi, Clarion would like to apologize for what he said," Lorand began as soon as they'd retraced their steps. "He really didn't mean to insult you, it was just
...
a mistake."

"Yes, a mistake in choosing the proper parents," Mardimil said heavily, now the picture of depression. "I was trying to say how attractive I found you, and managed to disgrace myself instead. I humbly beg your pardon, and hope you will someday find it possible to forgive me."

"I forgive you right now," Jowi told him quickly, interrupting the bow that would have preceded his hasty departure. "I know it wasn't your fault, Clarion, and I certainly don't blame you for giving me what was, in fine, the greatest compliment a woman can receive. Possibly, if you will allow it, I can return the gift with one of my own."

"What sort of gift?" Mardimil asked, sounding as confused as Lorand felt. "And what sort of gift did
I
give? I'm afraid I don't understand any of this, I really—"

"Hush," Jowi interrupted softly again, putting a gentle hand to his arm. "I know how confused you feel, but I promise that one day you'll understand everything you care to.
But about my gift.
May I give it to you?"

"I would be most grateful for
anything
you cared to give, dear lady," Mardimil replied, sounding open and vulnerable and as defenseless as a child. Lorand ached for him, more than he had at any other time.

"Thank you," Jowi said with one of her devastating smiles, her hand still on Mardimil's arm. "My gift is something that I promise will help you—if you decide to use it. If you don't, you won't be any worse off than you are right now. I would like to give you a different name: Rion. In my opinion it suits you far better than the one you have, even though it comes from the original. What do you think of it? Is it possible you may decide to use it?"

"Rion," Mardimil said, tasting the shortened name as if it were a new dish.
"Rion instead of Clarion.
I do believe I like it.
Rion instead of Clarion.
Thank you, dear lady, thank you very much indeed."

And then he bowed and walked away, repeating the name over and over with the same slow relish. Lorand watched until the man disappeared back into the house, and then he turned to Jowi.

"I don't understand either," he admitted without hesitation. "Why did you do that, and what did you mean when you said he complimented you? He really did insult you, and I thought you were just being nice about it."

"Lorand, the poor man was floundering," she answered with a sigh. "I needed something to take his mind off how devastated he felt, and the idea of giving him a different name was pure inspiration. Clarion is the one who blundered so badly that he shamed himself, but Rion is shining and bright and entirely guiltless. It's a new beginning for him, which I'm sure you'll agree he desperately needs."

"More than you know," Lorand said with a nod. "And now that you mention it, giving him a new name was pure genius. I used to think Lorand was bad, but compared to Clarion
it's
better than gold. He must have been a laughingstock wherever he went."

"Which worked even more against his coming out into the world," Jowi agreed. "And very frankly, his request surprised me. Only yesterday I had the distinct impression he had no idea what men do with women."

"Yesterday he did have no idea," Lorand admitted, trying not to blush. "We—ah—visited a tavern last night, and I adjusted the alcohol in his bloodstream to make his first— experience—less awkward. Apparently it was an overwhelming success, maybe too much so. And you haven't yet explained about the compliment business. Was that just more of the soothing you were trying to do?"

"Not at all," she said, now looking surprised. "I happen to know men well enough to have learned it
is
the greatest compliment they can give. Contrary to popular opinion, most men are quite meticulous about who they share intimacies with. Don't tell me
you're
not like that. Do you feel any woman will do, or do you have certain standards?"