The priority gong clanged, and Shan was up in an eruption of bedclothes, slapping the stud before he was fully awake.
"yos'Galan," he snapped into the speaker, only then aware of Priscilla at his side.
"Tower here, Cap'n. Sorry to disturb you."
"That's quite all right, Rusty; I enjoy having my rest broken for crew maneuvers. I assume that you are doing a dry run and that there really isn't a priority message for me lying somewhere around the Tower?"
"Nosir—I mean, yessir, there's a message, all right, pin-beamed to you by name, priority wrap, balance in code. Hit about three minutes ago. But here's what's funny, Cap'n . . ."
"I knew there was a punch line! Don't disappoint me, Rusty."
"Yessir. We tagged the source of transmission as local—just north of Solcintra. Thought you'd want to know."
"We're in northern Solcintra . . ." Shan frowned. "You didn't by any chance send a priority message to me via the Passage, did you, Priscilla? There are more seemly ways to get my attention."
"The thought had occurred to me," she admitted, grinning.
"But action did not follow. Well, I doubt it's someone wanting to sell me a cloak." He touched a quick series of keys. "Transmit at will, Rusty—and thank you for your patience. It occurs to me that I'm becoming ill-tempered in my dotage."
Laughter burst from the comm as the receiver lit and beeped. "How long've we known each other?"
"Gods alone know. I recall the day they carried you on-ship, a babe in arms—"
"And you a gleam in Cap'n Er Thom's eye! Tower out."
"Good-bye, Tower." He shook his head and tapped keys—and the screen lit, displaying a bare line of gibberish, the word PRIORITY shrieking across the top margin. Shan sighed. "What day is it, Priscilla?"
"Banim Seconday."
"Ah, yes, and we're in the second relumma, year Trebloma . . ." He keyed in the information, added his ship-code, and stepped back, slipping an arm around her waist. Before them, the screen shimmered, null-words breaking, reforming, then becoming intelligible.
INFORMATION RECEIVED RE PROBLEM VIA GREENTREES.
COME HOME.
"My sister studies espionage. How refreshing." He sighed again and gave Priscilla a slight squeeze before he withdrew his arm. "Adventures, Priscilla! Were you growing bored?"
"Not especially." She hesitated. "Shall I come with you, Captain?"
He reached to touch her cheek. "This is a Clan matter, beloved, not a ship matter; the first mate has no need to be with me. However, I was to have seen Sennel this morning—if you would do the kindness?"
He read her disappointment, a reawakening of the previous night's uncertainties. "Fear not!" he cried with a gaiety his pattern did not reflect. "I very much doubt that this is a clever plot to whisk me away and marry me against my will to some lady from an outworld Clan—"
She laughed in spite of herself as he went across to the dressing room. He was out again in a handful of minutes, sealing the cuffs of a wide-sleeved blue shirt.
"Only see how obedient I am! My father would have expired of astonishment. First mate and captain are to meet with Delm Intassi this afternoon to discuss a possible cargo. If for some reason I cannot go, take Ken Rik with you and present my assurances to Intassi that nothing less than my First Speaker's word would have kept me from such an important appointment."
"Yes." She had flung the balcony door wide and was staring down into the inner garden, her pattern overlaid with the hum that signaled concentrated thought.
Shan stepped to her side and touched her shoulder. "Priscilla?"
She started just slightly, ebon eyes flashing to his face.
"Will you dine with me this evening? It seems we'd best talk again about the maggot in Nova's head." He took her pale hand and kept his eyes steady on hers. "I will marry no other lady, Priscilla. I swear it to you."
Her eyes filled, even as his did. "Shan . . ."
"Yes?"
She took a hard breath, and then the words came in a rush. "Can't we declare ourselves lifemates? If we—act according to Liaden law . . .Nova can't insist you contract-wed if you're life-mated, can she?"
"No, of course not. But Thodelm yos'Galan owes allegiance to Korval. Since we have no Delm, I must ask the First Speaker's permission to a lifemating and—"
"The timing's bad."
"Dreadful might be more accurate." He glanced down at their linked hands, saw the Master Trader's amethyst gleaming against his brown skin, bracketed by her slim white fingers, and looked back to her face. "The last time we were in port I went to the First Speaker to ask her permission . . ."
Priscilla stiffened. "She refused?"
"I never asked. Already the time was bad. I'm a Trader, Priscilla! It's lunacy to deal at a known disadvantage!" The bedside clock chimed their usual hour of rising, and he shifted. "I should go."
"Yes." She loosed his hand and stepped back. "Give my love to your sisters."
"Always." He hesitated on the edge of a kiss, read in her a desire for reserve, and so merely bowed the bow of affection and esteem. "I'll see you soon, Priscilla."
"Walk the day in joy, my love."