The Dragon Variation (32 page)

"And now," she said, going over to a discreet console. "If I may ask you to disrobe . . ."

THE GOWN WOULD BE
brought to Trealla Fantrol no later than mid-morning, tomorrow. The color was to be antique gold, to "show that delightful brown skin." Eyla gave Er Thom a patch of fabric, which he solemnly placed in his pocket.

"We shall be going along to Master Moonel presently," he murmured. "When the design is fixed, perhaps you might call and allow him to name a suitable jeweler."

"He'll want the work himself," Eyla predicted with a smile. "Only show her to him. The deadline will mean nothing to Moonel, with such a showcase for his craft." She clasped her hands together and bowed them out with energy.

"And to think that only last evening I was considering retirement!"

"YOU AND EYLA
are good friends?" Anne asked, because it was necessary to say something. It was imperative that Er Thom think everything was just the same between them, and to put down any oddness in her behavior to the effects of a restless night.

"dea'Lorn and Korval are old allies," he murmured, guiding her along the flower-scented street with a gentle hand on her elbow. "Eyla will want to make your entire wardrobe."

"Would that be wrong?"

"Not—wrong. Indeed, it might well be prudent. Eyla has the gift of seeing exactly what is before her, rather than what she believes is there." He smiled up at her. "It has in the past been considered—expedient—to engage the services of several tailors, so Korval's patronage may not be used to undue advantage."

"But if your Houses are allied—"

"Not allied. Not—precisely—that. Doubtless my Terran falls short. It is—in the time of my fourth-great-grandfather—the youngest of dea'Lorn, who had just finished his apprenticeship, came with a proposal for trade. The dea'Lorn would undertake to make whatever clothes Korval required at cost, in return for materials at cost."

Anne frowned. "That sounds rather audacious."

"Indeed it was. But audacity amused my grandfather. He inspected those items the dea'Lorn offered as samples of his work, and made a counter-offer. He would provide shop space in one of Korval's Upper Port warehouses and a very favorable discount on materials, as well as options on certain—exotic—fabrics. These things would constitute his buy-in and make him one-half partner in the dea'Lorn's business, which would indeed make Korval's clothes. Free of charge."

"But in return he got free advertising," Anne said, "and the opportunity for his clothes to be seen at society functions . . ."

"And so he prospered," Er Thom concluded. "The dea'Lorn's daughter was able to move the shop to its present location and to retire Korval's partnership. The trade agreements remain in place—and dea'Lorn from time to time makes Korval's clothes. At cost." He sent her a glance from beneath his lashes.

"Anne?"

She drew a careful breath, willing her face to be neutral. "Yes?"

"I wish," Er Thom said, very softly, "that you will tell me what troubles you."

Oh, gods . . .
She swallowed, glanced aside, groping for a lie—

"I—it's foolish, I know," she heard herself saying distractedly, "but I can't seem to get it out of my mind."

Annie Davis,
she demanded in internal bewilderment,
what are ye nattering about?

"Ah." The pressure of Er Thom's fingers on her elbow changed, guiding her to the edge of the sidewalk and a bench beneath a flowering tree.

"Tell me," he murmured.

The bench was not particularly roomy. Er Thom's thigh against hers woke a storm of emotion, of which lust and anguish were foremost. Anne bit her lip and almost cried out when he took her hand in his.

"Anne? Perhaps I may aid you, if I can but understand the difficulty."

Well, and what will you tell him?
she asked herself with interest.

But the back-brain planner had been busy.

"It's probably nothing," she heard her voice say uncertainly. "But—I took Shannie with me yesterday to Doctor yo'Kera's office. I was doing an inventory of his research computer, and it took longer than I had expected—I sent you a note."

"Yes, so you did," Er Thom murmured, apparently not at all put out by this rather rattle-brained narrative.

"Yes. Well, it was late when we finally did leave—the night lamps had come on in the hallway. I made sure the office door was locked, and when I turned around there was—a man. He startled me rather badly, though of course—" She shook her head, half in wonderment at herself, half in remembered consternation.

"A Liaden man?" Er Thom wondered softly.

"Oh. Yes. Very ordinary-looking. He spoke to me in Trade at first—I'm afraid I was pretty sharp in setting him straight. He was polite after that—offered to carry my case—and of course he had a perfect right to be there, since he's a grad student . . ."

"Do you recall his name?"

"Fil Tor Kinrae," she recited out of memory, "Linguistic Technician and Student of Advanced Studies."

"Ah. And his clan?"

Anne frowned. "He didn't say."

"Did he not?" Er Thom's glance was sharp.

"No," she said defensively, "he didn't. Why should he? It was more important for me to know that he was a linguistics student with a perfectly legitimate right to be where he was."

"Yes, certainly." Er Thom squeezed her hand gently. "What disturbed you, then?"

"It was Shan," she said and shivered, recalling her son's fright. "He's never—you know he's never afraid of anyone! But he was afraid of Fil Tor Kinrae. Demanded to go home
now
." She looked down into Er Thom's eyes.

"In the car, I asked him what had happened. And he said—
no sparkles
—and hid his face . . ."

Er Thom's eyes darkened. "
No
sparkles?" He glanced aside, chewing his lip.

"There is—a thought," he said after a moment. "My grandmother had been a Healer, you know. I recall she once said that no one holds the key to all rooms. That those who are locked and dark to one Healer may be open and full of light to another." He looked up into her face.

"Shan is young. If this is the first person he has met who does not—broadcast on the same frequency, Daav would say—he may well have been frightened." His gaze sharpened, a little.

"It might be wise, were we to ask the delm to call a Healer to our child. He is very young to be experiencing these things. There is perhaps something that may be done to alleviate such distress as was occasioned last evening."

And only another Healer would know what to do,
she thought, suddenly cold.
Whatever are ye about, Annie Davis, to be taking the laddie away from such aid? How will he learn what to do with his sparkles, when there's no one who's Terran can teach him?

She snatched at his hand. "Er Thom!"

"Yes,
denubia
." His voice was soothing, his fingers firm. "What else troubles you?"

Almost, she told him. It hovered on the tip of her tongue, the rollygig of loss and love, hope, denial and confusion. She was a heartbeat away from burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing out the whole.

Down the walkway beyond the tree came a couple, very fine in their day-clothes and jewels. The woman turned her head and met Anne's eyes. Disgust washed over her perfect Liaden features; she clutched her companion's arm, leaning close to whisper.

He turned his head, face and eyes cold.

They walked on.

Anne cleared her throat.

"It's nothing," she said, and could not meet Er Thom's eyes. "I—Thank you, Er Thom—for listening."

There was a long silence, and still she could not bring herself to raise her face to his. Finally, she felt him move, coming smoothly to his feet, his hand still firmly holding hers.

"I shall listen whenever you wish," he said gently. "Will you come with me now to port?"

"Yes," she said numbly and stood, and let him lead her back to the car.

MASTER JEWELER MOONEL
was as taciturn as Eyla dea'Lorn was voluble. He took the bit of fabric from Er Thom's hand and glared at it as if he suspected it held a flaw.

"Tomorrow?" he snapped and moved his eyes to Anne. "This the lady for whom the items are destined?"

"Scholar Anne Davis," Er Thom murmured, "guest of Korval. Please feel free to give Eyla another name, Master, if the deadline is too near."

"Yes, very likely." Moonel spun on his stool, showing them his back as he reached for his tools. "I'll send them 'round by mid-day. Good morning."

"Good morning, Master Moonel," Er Thom said, bowing to the older man's back. He smiled at Anne and held out his hand.

Hand-in-hand they came out into the narrow Avenue of Jewels.

"Would you care for luncheon?" Er Thom asked as they turned down a slightly wider side street.

"Good-day to you, Captain yos'Galan!" The passerby who gave the greeting had close-cropped gray hair and a multitude of earrings. She raised a hand from across the way and the sunlight gleamed on her master trader's ring.

"I've yet to hear from the Guild, sir!" the little woman added gaily. Her sharp eyes swept once over Anne's face and then she was gone, swallowed in the crowd.

Er Thom's face was stiff with anger, his mouth a tight line. Anne blinked in amazement.

"Who was that?"

He took a deep breath and sighed it out forcefully, then looked up into her face, violet eyes bland.

"No one," he said flatly. "Let us go to Ongit's for luncheon."

The last of those who had hand in Eba yos'Phelium's capture and shaming seven years ago is dead. Balance achieved.

—Daav yos'Phelium, Sixth Delm of Korval
Entry in the Delm's Diary for Trianna Seconday
in the Fourth Relumma of the Year named Sandir
 

"MORNING WINE OR RED?"

"Red, if you please," Er Thom answered absently, eyes on the counterchance board sitting ready before the hearth.

Daav filled the glass and put it into his brother's hand, added a splash of morning wine to his own cup and shot a shrewd glance at the other's abstracted face.

"What's amiss?"

"Hmm?" Er Thom had wandered over to the board. He picked up a pair of dice, idly shook and released them: Eighteen.

"Is it true," he murmured, perhaps to the dice, "that Eba yos'Phelium was publicly whipped by her thodelm?"

Daav's eyebrows rose. "Yes," he said matter-of-factly, "but you must understand that it was the means by which her life was preserved."

Violet eyes flashed to his face. "Ah, was it?"

"Certainly. Times were—unsettled. To make a complex tale simple, Eba fell into the hands of those who wished Korval ill. They then showed her, still bleeding from the abduction, knife along her throat, to her thodelm, who was also her
cha'leket
.

"The enemies of Korval were adamant that Eba be punished for some insult they had concocted. The one with the knife claimed the right to her life and professed herself willing to do the thing at once. However, there were cooler heads present, who saw that their ends would be met as well by a public shaming." Daav sipped his wine.

"The young thodelm judged Eba's odds of survival, not to say recovery, significantly better did he wield the lash himself, so he contended for, and won, the right."

Er Thom picked up the dice and made another cast: Six.

"And?"

Daav moved his shoulders. "And he laid the stripes, then ran, weeping, to cut her down, his back guarded by all of the clan who could hold a weapon. Balance commenced immediately she was safe at Jelaza Kazone and her wounds had been treated. Seven years were required for fruition, as there were several Houses involved." He lifted an eyebrow.

"Shall I show you the entries in the Diaries?"

"Thank you," Er Thom murmured, raising his glass and meeting Daav's eyes across the rim, "that will not be necessary."

"Ah." Daav lifted his own glass, but did not drink. "Has your thodelm threatened to flog you, darling?"

Er Thom grinned. "One is amazingly disobedient, after all."

"So I've heard. Does it occur to you to wonder whither Aunt Petrella has purchased these sudden notions of propriety?"

"Perhaps her illness . . ." her son offered, and sighed. "I miss our mother," he said, very softly.

"As I do." Daav drifted over to the table, picked up the dice and threw. Eleven.

"Our mother would have liked your Anne, I think," he murmured. "The devil's in it that I believe Aunt Petrella would like her well enough, were we only able to show her Line and House!"

Across from him, Er Thom shifted. Daav looked up, eyebrows high.

"You wonder that the delm would ask you to give her up, eh? But the lady's summation was unfortunately correct: Accepting a Terran makes the clan vulnerable. It can be managed, if it must be managed. But how very much easier, to go on as always we have. As for Daav—" he moved his shoulders and threw again: Seven.

"Daav likes her very well indeed and thinks it a great pity that Liad must be so overfull with Liadens."

Er Thom laughed. "Spoken like a Scout! But there. When have we ever gone on as proper Liadens? The Diaries tell us that is not our contract. Here are our mothers born aside the Delm's Own Word, simply because Kin Dal and Larin could not keep from each other!"

"And they send us to be Scouts and traders," Daav agreed. "Which makes us even odder." He tipped his head. "How does Anne take news of your betrothal?"

"Unhappily," Er Thom said, frowning. "For one who states she will not be played, my mother throws the dice with energy."

"Will Anne show her face at the gather, I wonder?"

"Certainly. We have settled it between us." He smiled. "I believe I may soon bring you proof of a win, brother, and ask the delm to See my lifemate."

"So? I will wish you joy gladly, darling. Is there reason the win must wait upon the gather?"

"Kindness for Nexon's daughter," Er Thom said softly. "At the gather I shall have opportunity to show her that we would not suit. Also, a matter of Balance, in part. It is ill-done to hold such an event at this moment. Add to that the manner in which my mother chose to speak to Anne regarding our son—I will tell you, brother, it has disturbed Anne greatly! She is distracted—anxious . . . It is a shame to the House, that a guest be treated so, never mind what punishment thodelm finds proper for a'thodelm!" He raised his glass and drank, showed a rueful smile.