Mouse and Dragon (31 page)

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 portcomm, 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.

How many times had she said that she would not return to Mizel? Nor
should
she return to a clan that valued her so little, to a delm who would make certain to remind her every day that her brother had died on her account.

"Can we stall?" he asked, and only realized that he had spoken in Terran when he saw the incomprehension on Mr. dea'Gauss' face.

"Your pardon, sir. I meant to say: Can we stand against this?"

"Ah." The other man folded his fingers together before his lips, as if he would prevent any unfortunate words from escaping, and gazed thoughtfully down at his desk before finally speaking.

"There are certain . . . delaying tactics which might be employed, your lordship. I will detail them, if you wish."

Daav considered him. "I would be interested in hearing your estimation of the probable success of these tactics."

"We may delay," Mr. dea'Gauss said promptly and far too certainly, "but we will not prevail. It will be expensive, and—forgive me—your lordship is not in funds."

Daav took a breath.

"Does Pilot Caylon remain steadfast in her refusal of a . . . formal lifemating?"

"She does not wish to speak of it," Daav said neutrally.

"Ah. If I may then offer a suggestion on what is, most naturally, a most delicate matter . . ."

"You know that I value your advice, Mr. dea'Gauss. Please, speak plainly."

"Thank you, your lordship. I wonder if a contract marriage might be proposed to the pilot. This would win time—for all—and be . . . considerably less expensive than entering into a
stall
with Mizel."

It would win time up front, Daav thought. But when the contract was done, Aelliana would be bound by law and custom to return to her clan.

That was unacceptable, he thought—and thought again. A contract marriage would buy them time, yes. More importantly, it would buy
her
time, to ready herself and her ship.

And
that
might be a fair line of play.

He rose. "Thank you, Mr. dea'Gauss. I will speak with Pilot Caylon. Now, if you might produce a very small
stall
on my behalf. Pray allow Mizel to know that I am only last evening returned to planet, and beg another day's grace so that I may craft a formal reply."

Mr. dea'Gauss inclined his head. "Of course, your lordship."

The pilot's care shall be ship and passengers.
The copilot's care shall be pilot and ship.
—
From the Duties Roster of the Pilots Guild
 

Mr. pel'Kana was plainly distressed. No, the pilot had left no word. He had brought her a letter—yes, sir, Mizel's seal—brought the letter to her in the garden. She was deep in her work; had he known it, he would never have disturbed her, but she had left no instructions, and—an express message. He had followed House protocol . . . 

"Of course," Daav soothed. "You did exactly as you ought, Mr. pel'Kana. But I wonder, did it seem the letter disturbed her?"

"Truly, sir, she scarcely regarded it. She took it in hand, but did not even glance at the mark, and thanked me for bringing it. I asked if she wished for anything else, but she said she was well-provisioned and dismissed me. I—Cook and I were in the back room, inventorying . . . neither of us heard her come in, or leave. She left no message in the house base; the garage reported her car out . . ."

"I see," Daav said, keeping his voice calm and his face noncommittal. "Doubtless it slipped her mind; she is sometimes forgetful of commonplaces when she is at work. I have no doubt she'll be back with us soon, never thinking that we would have missed her. Thank you, Mr. pel'Kana."

His butler hesitated.

"She is a fine lady, sir," he offered tentatively, "gracious and sweet-tempered. Staff is pleased to serve her."

Well, here is a recommendation! Daav thought. First, Mr. dea'Gauss and now Mr. pel'Kana. Aelliana conquers wherever she goes.

"Indeed, she is a fine lady," Daav answered. "To my mind, there is none finer."

Mr. pel'Kana bowed.

"Sir," he murmured. "Will you wish to sit for Prime meal, or—"

"I will wait, I think, until Pilot Caylon has returned," he said smoothly, as if he had no doubt that she would do so, and soon.

"Of course, sir," Mr. pel'Kana said, and went away.

Alas, it appeared that Daav had been unreasonably optimistic in his assessment. Hours passed and Aelliana did not return, nor did she send any message. In order that the servants not be subjected to his increasingly disordered state, he retired to his apartment, where he paced, and searched the house base for any message she might have left for him that may have gotten misfiled. When he tired of that, he humiliated himself by checking her closet, and so found that her jacket was gone, which comforted him not one bit.

Sitting down at his worktable, he tried to calm himself with carving, but his thoughts wandered so that he was a danger to his own fingers, and soon set the knife aside.

He went out onto the balcony where only this morning they had shared breakfast and she had outlined her plans. A pleasant day it had seemed she intended, before the arrival of Mizel's letter.

Mizel's
damned
letter, of which he had found no trace, though he had found her portcomm and the empty envelope on the desk, with the cards she had written out that morning.

Mizel had threatened her; he was more certain of that than he was of his next breath. The shape of the threat scarcely mattered; it had been enough to send her flying out of their house without a word to any who might try to prevent her, without even a message for him in the house base, explaining—explaining . . . 

What?

That she was taking her ship and fleeing, refusing both the dominion of Mizel and Liad? Or that she was returning to her clan, hostage to his honor?

He hoped for the former, if, indeed, she
had
left him. If it were the latter . . . 

 . . . he could not abide it, if she had returned to her clan in order to protect him, and he became yet another stick for her delm to beat her with.

The racket of the night birds mocked him. He went back inside and resumed pacing.

To leave, without so much as a word . . . He thought to bring up the departure log from the port feed, but froze with his fingers on the keys, certain that his heart would break, if he found
The Luck
gone; and nothing proven, if she were still at dock.

He thought then that he would call Mizel, but refrained from that mad start, as well. In his current state of mind, he would only worsen a desperate situation. Any calls should rightly be made by dea'Gauss, to whom Mizel at least must speak on the subject of an open complaint. Daav yos'Phelium had no right to speak to anyone enclosed by Mizel's honor, and an attempt to do so could be shown as harassment.

It was past midnight when, nerves exhausted, he at last sat down in the reading chair. With nothing more useful than a cat to occupy him, he tried to think what he would do, if Aelliana were well and truly gone from him.

She was his lifemate. If she had lifted, intending to make her own life, still he might ease her way. If she would not take his money, she might yet accept work sent to her through Korval channels. He would need to be careful of her pride, but he need not despair of being some use to her.

If she had returned to Mizel, the opportunity to honor her fitly was . . . much more difficult. He supposed he might commission Mizel assassinated, which would be the best service he might render her . . . 

Across the room, the door to their apartment opened.

* * *

"Daav?"

Aelliana stopped, staring at him, huddled in the chair with Lady Dignity, his face etched with—

"
Van'chela
, are you
weeping
?"

She moved forward, and he snapped to his feet, dropping the cat unceremoniously to the floor.

"Aelliana . . ." His voice was hoarse. "Aelliana, where have you been?"

"At the port," she said, sweeping toward him. Such grief; it must—no, surely there was no ill news from Anne?

"What's amiss?" she demanded and took hold of his arm.

Agony scorched her; fear froze her. She gasped and snatched her hand away, staring up into his face.

"dea'Gauss," he said, and for once his voice was neither calm nor steady. "dea'Gauss had received a letter from Mizel, demanding your joyous return to clan and kin, else Daav yos'Phelium would be revealed before Council as a kin-stealer. I came home, and there had been another letter from Mizel, which precipitated your headlong flight from our house . . ."

"You thought I'd left you," she said, disbelieving. "Daav . . ."

Deliberately, she stepped forward, slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her body against his, trying to warm him, trying to
force
him to feel her love for him. She put her forehead against his shoulder, shivering with his fear.

"
Van'chela
, I would never go away from you without at least leaving a message!"

His hands came lightly 'round her waist. He sighed and some of the frightful tension left his body.

"And yet," he said softly, "you did just that."

Yes, she thought guiltily, she had done just that. So focused upon her own necessities that she had not thought of his, or what he might think—a letter from Mizel arrives, which surely Mr. pel'Kana would have told him, and Aelliana flies. Absent a message, even setting aside his own dire letter, what else was he to think, having heard her say time and again that she would not return to Mizel?

"I'm sorry," she whispered the Terran phrase against his shoulder. She raised her hand to his cheek. "Daav, please forgive me; I never meant to cause you a moment's care. I swear to you now that I will never leave you; I love you too well."

One of his hands left her waist. He stroked her hair back from her face.

"It is forgiven; it is forgotten," he whispered. "Aelliana . . ." He cleared his throat. "What were you about at the port?"

"A tale hangs there," she said, "which might be better heard sitting down."

He released her immediately. She stepped back, keeping a grip on his hand and pulled him back onto the reading chair.

"Sit," she murmured, and when he had done so, she sat across his lap, leaning companionably against him. He was so
cold
; she was desperate to warm him.

"Mizel's letter to me was something like your own," she murmured. "I had been too long absent from duty and therefore commanded to return to my natural place. It was also noted that I held free title to a ship, and to a business, both of which I would be required to relinquish to the clan. I could thereafter expect to receive my proportionate share of any profit realized from either."

She felt a snarl of anger from Daav, which was better at least than the cold.

"Yes," she said, comfortably settling her head against his shoulder. "It was very stupid, for of course I had to act in my ship's best defense, whereupon I went to the port,
van'chela
, in order to see Jon dea'Cort."

"One wonders—why did your mind turn to Jon?"

"You'll recall that he holds a note for the repair and installation of the nav-comp units."

"Ah, yes, so he does. Did you pay him, then?"

"Pay him?" She raised her head to look into face. "
Van'chela
, I fear you have become overtired. I cannot afford to redeem that note. No, I asked Jon to put a lien against
The Luck
."

Delight shot through them. Daav threw back his head and laughed.

"Yes, of course you did!" he gasped, when he was able to speak at all. "And Jon was pleased to comply, I assume?"

"Not precisely at first," she confessed. "But once I had made him familiar with the case, he was eager to assist in any way that he could. We went to his woman of business—and it was there that time began to slide away from me,
van'chela
, for the matter was not as simple to effect as it was to envision. Additionally, there were some points upon which Jon stood adamant, and still other complications introduced by his
qe'andra
. Did you know that a ship must be inspected and certified before a third-party lien can be set against it?"