Mouse and Dragon (17 page)

"I don't understand," Aelliana said, and if her voice was shaking, it was only just, for her legs were shaking, too. The emotion—perhaps it was anger, or disbelief. It was not, however, fear.

"Perhaps you do not, after all," Kareen acknowledged. "Look you, Pilot—Korval moves at the highest levels. As one who has been bred to that
melant'i
, as my brother has been, I cannot help but notice your lack of . . . polish. While my brother enjoys posing as a Codeless renegade, in fact he is a high stickler. In his way. Also, he is
Korval
, a
melant'i
that he carries as well as he is able, given the defects of his character. I will tell you that I know from bitter experience that he has no hesitation in separating close kin, whatever their feelings on the matter.

"You may wish to consider what might go forth if—I should say
when
, for surely the High Houses are chancy flying for even an experienced pilot—you make a misstep. For truly, Pilot, at these heights you are as a mouse among raptors. Your best chance of survival is to remain small, and to feast upon whatever crumbs fall your way."

The air in the room changed. Aelliana glanced to the door, and here came Daav, striding swift and silent, a pair of dirt-stained gloves gripped in his left hand. His face was utterly devoid of emotion, but the force of his anger struck Aelliana from across the room. She went back a step, her hand rising as if she would fend him away.

"Good morning, Kareen; you're about early today." His voice was ordered and calm; not welcoming, but neither did it deliver any hint of the fury that hammered at Aelliana's senses.

"Pilot," he said, his eyes still on his sister's face, "would you grant me a few moments alone with my kinswoman?"

"Certainly."

She bowed to Lady Kareen's honor and forced herself to walk calmly across the room. In the hall she met Mr. pel'Kana.

"Pilot—" he began, and stopped when she held up a hand.

"I desire to go into the garden," she whispered. She cleared her throat. "Of your kindness, point me the way."

* * *

He knew where he would find her. Wherever the knowledge had come from, he did not doubt it—which argued for Tree-sense. Those born to Korval accepted such things as commonplace. Those who came to Korval from lives previously unburdened by an ancient alliance with a large, vegetative intelligence . . . took some amount of time to adjust. He was not entirely certain that Anne had yet come to an accommodation, or if her seeming acceptance was merely bravado.

He left the path and walked over the grass, taking care with the surface roots. Aelliana was pressed close against the massive trunk, soft cheek against rough bark, the lines of her body expressive of some tension, but not so much as he had feared.

Coming to her side, he spoke as gently as he might.

"Aelliana, you mustn't take my sister's words to heart. She is—we have a long history of despite, as much to my blame as hers. I fear that she does not count the cost, can she but land a strike upon me."

She took a breath, slim shoulders rising and falling.

"Does this tree," she asked dreamily, "
speak
to you?"

Well, and
that
was no time lost, he thought.

"It speaks to all of us," he told her, and added, with Kareen in his mind, "though some listen less closely than others."

For three heartbeats, she said nothing more, merely embracing the Tree so nearly it seemed that she might meld with it. Three heartbeats more, and he was becoming alarmed. If the
Tree
were to overwhelm her—

She straightened, and turned, holding a seedpod between thumb and forefinger.

"This fell into my hand," she said, sounding brisk now, and not dreamy in the least. "The Tree tells me that it is a gift, and good to eat."

"True on both counts," he allowed. "However, there is a third thing, which perhaps it did not tell you." He nodded at the pod. "The Tree . . . 
engineers
its gifts, from time to time. If you eat that, you may become bound to it."

"As you are," Aelliana said.

He inclined his head. "As we all are."

She held the pod out to him. "How does one proceed?"

He took a breath—but who was he to deny her the benefits the Tree's gifts so often bestowed? She was his lifemate, and thereby Tree-kin. She had a right to the gift.

Taking the pod, he cracked it between his fingers and returned the pieces to her.

"The kernel is what one eats," he said, and extended his hand, warned by a rustle in the leaves overhead. Another pod dropped into his palm.

He held it up, and gave her a wry grin. "I believe that we are being coddled."

"A little coddling may not go amiss, surely?" Aelliana murmured, as he cracked his pod. "Your sister—"

"Pray put my sister out of your mind," he said, teasing the kernel free.

Aelliana tipped her head. "This smells so—odd."

He lifted an eyebrow. "In what way?"

"Well, it smells not
of
something—like mint or spice—but rather of the
idea
that the food is good." She looked up at him. "Is it always thus?"

"No, sometimes they do smell of mint, or spice, or new leaves. I posit an encryption system peculiar to the Tree. These, though . . ." He paused to sniff his own kernel. "I believe they may have been produced especially for this event. And if that does not frighten you, then you are bolder than I am."

She laughed, her eyes brilliantly green, and put the kernel into her mouth.

"That's put me on my mettle," he said, and followed her lead.

Usually, when one ate of the Tree, the result was a pleasant taste, and perhaps a mild, pleasurable euphoria. This was not usual tree fruit.

His mouth cooled, as if he had drunk iced water, and the sensation flowed through him, informing each bone, muscle and cell, until his strength was frozen and he sat down, hard, and leaned his back against the massive trunk, eyes closed, shivering.

"I wish," he said, and his voice was shivering too, "you would at least give one warning. What have you done, wretch?"

"Daav?" Aelliana's voice was not shivering. Indeed, it was remarkably firm.

He opened his eyes and turned his head, carefully. She was kneeling at his side. Green eyes looked directly into his, mild concern apparent.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"I expect I will be," he said, breathless still, but gaining strength. "Surely it has no need to murder me today, and good reason to keep me alive for just a few days more."

She frowned. "I don't think the Tree means to murder you," she said seriously. "Though what reason?"

"yos'Phelium is grown dangerously thin. At least I must survive until I've done my duty to the bloodline. Unless, of course, it means to give over breeding yos'Pheliums entirely, which I might do, in its place."

The shivering had passed, leaving him slowly warming, and in a state of not-unpleasant languor.

Aelliana shifted off her knees and sat on the grass, her shoulder against the great trunk. Her expression was thoughtful.

"I had forgotten," she murmured, then seemed to shake herself. "
Van'chela
, perhaps the Tree means to—to repair the damage, and render you—able to hear me."

Well, and there was a thought—and not at all beyond its range. "Though one would still count it a kindness if a warning were issued before the blow falls."

A leaf floated from one of the lower branches and landed on his knee.

"Your concern warms my heart," he told it, ironically.

"
Are
you well?" Aelliana demanded.

He took a breath, and took stock. The languor was fading, though he felt no immediate need to rise and go about his day.

"In truth, I seem to have taken no lasting harm, and only a glancing blow to my pride."

She blinked. "Pride?"

"One does not like to appear a complete idiot before one's pilot, after all."

She smiled at that.

"Here," she said, and put her hand flat against his chest.

"Can you," she said, and he heard hope raw in her voice, "hear me?"

He closed his eyes, but if there was anything other than his own chaotic thoughts bouncing inside his skull, they were too faint for his inner ears to hear.

He put his hand over hers and opened his eyes.

"Alas."

She wilted, a little, then straightened resolutely. "After all, it is a complex problem and may require several attempts."

If it could be repaired at all, he thought, but did not say. Instead he smiled for her, and inclined his head.

"Very true."

She sighed, and took her hand away from him.

"Your sister," she said once more, and pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him.

"Hear me," she said firmly, and he perforce subsided.

"I know that she wished to warn me away, but she built her argument on a foundation of fact. I am
not
High House, and hold but an indifferent acquaintance with the Code, despite my late adventures. I am not traveled, nor have I been accustomed to making decisions based on the best good for all. For too many years, my decisions were made from fear, and concerned only my own safety.

"While I do not believe that you would send me away from you for embarrassing the High House of Korval before the world, yet the High House of Korval
ought not to be
embarrassed."

Daav caught her wrist and lifted her hand away from his lips to cuddle it against his shoulder. "I note that Thodelmae yos'Galan is Terran, and despite earnest study, does yet from time to time err in small ways. The world makes nothing of it."

"Nor should it. The fact that Anne is not of Liad is there for all to see. She cannot be expected to stand Code-wise and the fact that she errs only in small ways must be to her credit. But from one born to Liad,
van'chela
, more is expected."

This new decisiveness was fascinating.

"What solution do you propose?" he asked.

She drew a breath, her fingers curling hard around his.

"I propose that we return to my original plan, with appropriate emendations."

His heart sank. Of course she would fly her ship, nor was he the one to deny her, wing-clipped and planet-bound as he was.

"You wish to put
Ride the Luck
to space?"

She smiled. "I had always intended to do so—now more than before. Surely it must only improve my condition within the House, to captain my own ship. I might even undertake to learn the Code."

She leaned forward, looking deep into his eyes, doubtless seeing his hurt and his jealousy and all the small unworthy pains.

"Will you sit my copilot?" she asked.

His eyes filled, and he closed them, unwilling to allow even her to see him so vulnerable.

"Aelliana, I am Korval."

"So you are," she said briskly. "What has that to do with the case?"

His eyes sprang open in shock. "The clan's business ties me to Liad. A day or two away, I might arrange that, but—do you plan a trade loop? Or will you go for courier?"

"That is but one of the
many
things I had hoped to discuss with my copilot, who is far more space-wise than I," she said with some asperity. "Come, Daav! I don't know how it is done among the High, but among the Mid Houses, it is common for the delm to hold employment!"

He stared at her. "It has been . . . tradition," he said slowly, and so it had been, since they had grown so thin, and the dangers of space had begun to be counted as more compelling than its joys.

"It is an absurd tradition!" Aelliana said decisively. "And I see no reason why you should be made ill because of it—or that we be denied the joy of sitting the same board, as surely we are intended to do!"

"As surely we are," he said slowly, feeling her fingers gripping him tight—so tight. Not as certain as she sounded, his bold lady, and yet—her argument had merit.

"You must understand the cargo you would sign for, Pilot. yos'Phelium is a reckless Line. Had we not had the good fortune to fall under yos'Galan's care, we would scarcely have survived so long. When we grew thin, it was considered best that the delm not risk space."

"Thodelm yos'Galan trades," Aelliana said. "Anne told me he was to leave on a trip at the end of this twelve-day."

"So he does and so he is. Er Thom is the very spirit of discretion—and I, my lady, am very much his opposite number."

Surprisingly, she smiled. "Then I will learn that, too."

He laughed, and raised her hand to his lips. Teasing her fingers open, he kissed her palm, then looked into her face. Gods, she was beautiful, with her eyes reflecting the strength of her will, and her determination plain in her face.

"I will have to research it," he said slowly, "and I must speak with Er Thom. It seems to me that there was once a system that allowed Korval's delm to, as you say, hold employment. For today, however, let us assume that the thing might be managed, someway. Are you at liberty?"

"I am entirely at your disposal," she told him solemnly. "What do you propose?"

"That we take ourselves to Binjali's and inventory your ship. I lean towards courier, but I wish to refresh myself on certain measurements."

"
Our
ship," Aelliana said, and stood in one fluid movement, pulling him up with her. "Let us, by all means, go to Binjali's."

Melant'i
—A Liaden word denoting the status of a person within a given situation. For instance, one person may fulfill several roles: parent, spouse, child, mechanic, thodelm. The shifting winds of circumstance, or "necessity," dictate from which role the person will act this time. They will certainly always act honorably, as defined within a voluminous and painfully detailed code of behavior, referred to simply as "The Code."
To a Liaden,
melant'i
is more precious than rubies, a cumulative, ever-changing indicator of his place in the universal pecking order. A person of high honor, for instance, is referred to as "a person of
melant'i
," whereas a scoundrel—or a Terran—may be dismissed with "he has no
melant'i
."
Melant'i
may be the single philosophical concept from which all troubles, large and small, between Liad and Terra spring.
—
From "A Terran's Guide to Liad"