In the absence of clan, a partner, comrade or copilot may be permitted the burdens and joys of kin-duty. In the presence of kin, duty to partner, comrade or copilot must stand an honorable second.
—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
Aelliana dressed quickly, hardly attending what she did, her thoughts dashing in all directions, rather like a gaggle of particularly rambunctious puppies.
Daav was dear to her, and yet that she had dared—her marriage had taught her to be wary of intimacy, to dread even a touch! The joy that had infused her, on beholding him—it had seemed the most natural thing, and then to all but demand that he . . . kiss . . .
"It was sweet," she whispered defiantly, carefully folding the white shirt and blue pants into the box with the other unused clothes.
Oh, it had been sweet, and she aching for more, ready to—well, and she hardly knew what she had been ready to do, had the Healer not interrupted them. Certainly, Daav, with his clever fingers, had seemed to entertain some notions of a direction they might travel.
She put the lid on the box, and reached behind her head, pulling the ring free. Holding it in her teeth, she finger-combed her hair away from her face, and clipped it once more into a tail. To show her face before the world, after so many years in hiding . . . with the aid of her comrades, she had begun to learn again how to hold herself in pride, as a person of honor . . .
Hands shaking, she lifted the space leather jacket. She had earned the jacket, as she had earned her license—and Jon's ring—and the cantra piece. If nothing else, she must strive to be worthy of her accomplishments. Melant'i demanded no less.
The jacket settled firmly onto her shoulders. She slipped her license into one inner pocket and the cantra piece into another, sealed both—and turned, prompted by some new and entirely appropriate sense, as the door opened to admit her wayward copilot.
Tall and graceful, he came across the room to the windows, bearing a tray on which reposed a teapot, cups, and a plate piled high with shaped sandwiches.
"Will it please my pilot to sit by the window and break her fast?"
His deep voice was grave, though she knew him well enough to hear it for irony.
She tipped her head. "What if it does not please me?"
He settled the tray on the cushion and looked over his shoulder at her, one strong dark brow quirking.
"Why then, I will only say that there are messages here requiring your attention."
"Messages . . . " She came forward to sit on the edge of the other cushion, her eyes on the tray. A message pad leaned against the teapot, its surface opaque. With her hand half extended, she hesitated. Who, after all, would send her a message? What if Ran Eld—
"Pilot?" His voice was entirely serious.
Aelliana cleared her throat and looked up into his black eyes.
"Sky nerves," she said, gratified that her voice was firm. "Nothing more."
Resolutely, she picked up the message pad and put her thumb against the plate.
The surface lightened, revealing a list of names: Jon dea'Cort, Clonak ter'Meulen, Sinit Caylon, Trilla sen'Elba, Qiarta tel'Ozan.
Sinit Caylon. Aelliana touched her sister's name and put the screen on her knee.
"Pilot."
So soft it might have been her own thought. She barely glanced up, taking the cup from his hand with a murmured, "My thanks."
"Aelliana," Sinit's voice was quivering and high with strain, entirely unlike her usual brash and sunny mode. "Sister, I hope—with all my heart I hope—that this message finds you well. If I'd known, please believe that I would have let you out—I would! Don't think badly of me, Aelliana. I—you can come home, whenever you like. Ran Eld has been cast out, and he won't strike you anymore. I think—I think it's—wonderful, exciting that you fly with Daav yos'Phelium. He has your ring, the one that Ran Eld took—Delm Korval, I mean. He told mother that he'd give it to you . . . " There was a pause, and the suggestion of a sniffle, then, "I love you, Aelliana."
She tapped the screen again, pausing it, and swallowed hard in a throat gone tight. For Sinit to think of stopping Ran Eld—it horrified one who knew all too intimately what pain their brother took pleasure in inflicting upon those who thwarted him. Aelliana shivered, raised her cup and sipped tea.
Ran Eld is cast out, and beyond harming Sinit. She formed the thought with care. It scarce seemed believable, yet surely Daav was not mistaken.
Somewhat less unsettled, she looked again to the device in her hand and tapped the first name on the list—Jon dea'Cort.
"Good day to you, math teacher, and hoping this finds you well. I have your ship keys safe, and will hold them, per your instructions, until you or your rogue of a copilot claim them. Rest easy on that score, and come back to us, when you're able."
She bit into her sandwich, tasting mint and vehna fish, while the message pad cycled down to the next name.
"Goddess, you will not again refuse my escort, if I must follow three steps behind you the whole way into peril." Clonak's voice was almost stern. "I'm quite aware that I am ridiculous, but believe me sincere in my regard for yourself. If you have any need, call on me."
There was muted chatter while the pad sorted over Sinit's message, and found the next unread message—from Trilla. Aelliana sipped tea and had another bite . . .
"The master will have called and told you; just thought I'd add my well-wishes—and Patch's. Come back when you're able, Pilot, and we'll dance in earnest."
Another sip emptied the cup. She sat holding it while the last message played out.
"Scholar Caylon, it is Qiarta tel'Ozan, the least of your students." Unlike the others, Qiarta spoke in the High Tongue, in the mode between student and honored instructor. "I have seen the news, Scholar. I would be honored to serve you, in whatever fashion that you may require. Please do not hesitate to call upon me, at any hour."
Tears pricked. Aelliana closed her eyes.
"Tea, Pilot?" a respectful voice inquired.
She opened her eyes and looked down slightly, into Daav's lean, clever face, a novel view. Her fingers twitched as though she would reach out and touch his cheek, which would, she told herself, take wrongful advantage of him—and perhaps dismay the Healers, her kind hosts.
Even seated as he was, cross-legged on the pale blue rug, Daav was tall enough to reach the tray. As if to prove it, he hefted the teapot, quirked an eyebrow and glanced down. Following his glance, she saw the cup cradled in her hands, and held it up, whereupon he poured.
"There are sandwiches left, if you'd like another one or two," he commented, pouring for himself before setting the pot back onto the tray.
"Another!" she exclaimed, looking once more to the tea tray. In fact, the sandwich plate was empty, save for precisely two, cut into the shapes of a crescent moon and a star.
"Did I—I never ate all of those!" she exclaimed, remembering the pleasant tastes of mint and vehna. "Did I?"
"I accounted for three or four," Daav said calmly, raising his cup to sip. "Yesterday's lunch was quite some time gone."
She sipped her tea and considered the remaining sandwiches.
"The stars are mint and vehna," Daav murmured. "The crescents are cress and cheese."
She was, Aelliana thought, hungry. Not ravenous, surely, but—another sandwich would taste . . . good.
"I'll have the star if you'll have the crescent," she said, giving Daav a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes.
"Done!" he said merrily, and swooped the plate up, offering it first to her.
She took the star, and bit into it, sighing in pleasure. It was a dainty thing, gone in two bites, which was, she supposed, how she had managed to eat several while listening to her messages.
That, and a vigilant Scout, who had no doubt made sure that a new sandwich came into her hand as soon as it was empty.
"I can see," she said, "that I will have to be on my mettle."
"You were . . . a bit . . . distracted," Daav admitted. "Which is rarely the case." He stretched to put his cup on the tray, and looked back to her, black eyes serious.
"What do you require of me, Aelliana?"
There it was, she thought. Daav had the gift of asking the question she hesitated to ask of herself. In this instance, what was required of Aelliana Caylon?
"It would seem," she said slowly, "that I have amends to make, and reassurances to present. My sister—she is only a halfling, the youngest of us. To thwart Ran Eld—was not in her power. I must show her that I find her blameless. Clonak—I could put him in danger no more than you. I thought he had understood . . . "
She finished her tea and put the cup on the tray. "For the rest—people are far too good—far too good to me."
"In the case of your comrades at Binjali's," Daav said slowly. "They offer what a comrade will. You have not stinted them; they do not stint you. Clonak, if one who loves him may say it, is not so ridiculous as he makes himself seem. That he blames himself for not insisting that you take his escort—I think you are correct in thinking so. That he blames you—"
"But it is not his blame to take!" she cried. "The burden of blame rests entirely upon me, for ignoring the best advice of my comrades, and for believing that my right to see the delm would shield me from harm. Ran Eld—I do not know how Ran Eld came to be . . . as he is. Was. However, I knew what that was, and yet I took no precautions, nor arranged for backup. Such foolishness would surely find me robbed, if not dead, on an out-port. It is scarcely wonderful that I very nearly had the same result here."
"Ah," Daav said.
Aelliana smiled, and leaned forward to place her hand over his, where it rested on his knee.
A sense of carefulness touched her senses; and a fierce yearning. Startled, she drew back. The sensations faded, leaving her as she had been: grateful and reluctant.
"I think, if you will bear with . . . " she said slowly, and paused.
Daav tipped his head in an attitude of courteous listening.
"I think that I must go to my sister. I—at the same time, I will inform Mizel that I—that I will reside for this present under your care."
Daav took a deep breath, and leaned slightly forward, his eyes hard upon her face.
"Is that your wish, Aelliana?" he asked, and once again she tasted that attitude of wrenching carefulness. "This must be as you wish it to be—not as I wish it, nor Clonak, nor anyone else, save yourself."
"Yes," she said, feeling suddenly very small. "But, Daav—I trust you . . . more than Mizel."
His mouth tightened, and he bowed his head. "I will try to be worthy of your trust, Aelliana."
"You already have been," she said, reaching out to touch his hair. It was warm beneath her fingers, coarse and resilient. "Many times over."