The Dragon Variation (33 page)

"Still, she has agreed to attend the gather, bold heart that she has—and show a calm face to Nexon and her daughter, not to speak of Thodelm yos'Galan."

"Honor to the lady," Daav said, with sincerity. "She may yet learn to be a player to fear." He sipped.

"Should you bring a lifemate before the delm," he said after a moment, "certain things shall be required, for the good of the clan. You will be required to provide the clan several more children. Your lifemate shall be required to take pilot's training."

Er Thom inclined his head. "I shall discuss these things with Anne."

Daav eyed him with a touch of wonder. "Oh, and will you?"

"Of course," Er Thom said. "How else?"

"How else, indeed?" his brother replied politely.

"There is a matter which might be brought to the delm's attention, however," Er Thom continued, oblivious to—or ignoring—irony.

"Our son has recently met with one who frightened him—an unusual occurrence. The reason he gave his mother for this fright was that the person in question possessed 'no sparkles.' In view of his extreme youth and the apparent precocity of his talent, it may be wise to call a Healer, before he experiences another—perhaps needless—fright."

"Yes, I see." Daav frowned down at the counterchance board. "He is very young for this, is he not? Mostwise, talent shows when one comes halfling . . ." He shook himself and looked up.

"Certainly, a Healer must be summoned. The delm shall see it done."

Again, Er Thom inclined his head. "I shall inform Anne of the delm's care." He lifted his glass and drained it.

"I shall have to leave you now. Is there a commission I may discharge for you in Port?"

"Thank you, no. My steps are for the City this morning. The delm and Mr. dea'Gauss are called to renegotiate with Vintyr."

"Pah." Er Thom made a face. "Vintyr is never satisfied, brother."

"So I begin to notice. I believe I may mention it to Mr. dea'Gauss, in fact. It seems a change of course is indicated."

"Good lift to the delm, then," Er Thom said, with a lighthearted bow. "I shall see you at the gather, shan't I?"

"Indeed, how could I stay away, when Aunt Petrella was so gracious as to order my appearance?"

Er Thom lifted troubled eyes.

"Her illness weighs more heavily upon her, I think."

"I think so, as well," Daav said, and resolutely shook off his sudden chill. "I shall be there to support you this evening, never fear it. Until soon, darling."

"Until soon, Daav."

WELL, ANNIE DAVIS!
And you preened in the green gown and thought yourself so fine.

The new gown, like the old, was cut low over her bosom, close in to her waist. There, all similarity was done.

A wide collar swept up to frame her throat, belling, flower-like, to cup her face. Long sleeves fell in graceful pleats, calling attention to her hands, and the floor-length skirt, deceptively slim, was slashed to permit all of her accustomed stride.

Eyla dea'Lorn twitched the skirt into more perfect order and smiled.

"Yes," she said, standing back and clasping her hands before her. "I believe his lordship will be pleased."

Before Anne could make answer to that, the little tailor held up a finger.

"Attend me, now, Lady. The dress is all very well, and Moonel's jewels will shame no one. However, if you are wise, you will take my advice in a few certain matters. First—hair. Sweep yours up—yes, I know it is not long! Up and back, nonetheless. The collar's work is to frame the face—a little daring, I admit, but not wanton. Of a sophistication, perhaps, that a master trader might encounter—and admire—far outside of Liad's orbit." She rubbed her hands together.

"You walk well, with a fine smooth stride. The dress is made to accommodate you. Your hands—so beautiful, your hands! Show them, thus—" She extended an arm and flicked her wrist. "Try."

Anne copied the other woman's gesture; the sleeve flipped smoothly back from her hand, revealing strong, slender fingers.

"Good," Eyla approved. "An original is a Code unto herself. There is not your like on all of Liad. The rules that bind you are not found within the world, but within yourself. Recall it and carry your head—so! Eh? There are those who must crane to admire you—that is their concern, not yours. There are those who will turn their face away and cry out that you are not as they." She lifted a hand to cover a bogus yawn.

"Boors, alas, are found in even the highest Houses."

Anne smiled, palely, and inclined her head. "You are kind to advise me."

"Bah!" Eyla swept thanks away with an energetic hand. "I will not have my work shamed, that is all." She smiled and bent to gather up her work-kit. "His lordship means to fire you off with flair, which is profit to me, does this gown please." She straightened.

"It will be amusing to see what the world makes of you, Lady. And what you will make of the world."

SHAN WAS FRACTIOUS
and weepy. He jittered from one end of the nursery to the other; even the
Edu-Board
failed to hold his attention for more than a few seconds. All Anne's attempts to ease him into a less frenzied state were met with utter failure.

At last, feeling her own frazzled nerves about to go, she gathered him into her lap, thinking that a cuddle might do them both good.

"No!" He jerked back, body stiff, silver eyes wide.

"Shannie!"

"No!" he shouted again and smacked her hand aside, so un-Shan-like that she let him go in astonishment.

"
Mirada
!" He stamped his foot, glaring up at her. "I want
Mirada
! Go away! Go away, bad Ma!"

And with that he was gone, running pell-mell down the long playroom—and into the arms of Mrs. Intassi, who had just stepped through the door that led to the nursery's kitchen.

"Bad Ma!" Shan cried, hurling himself against the nurse's legs and hiding his face in her tunic. "I want
Mirada
!"

"That's all very well," Mrs. Intassi said in firm and unsympathetic Terran. "However, you are not very kind to your mother. You should beg her pardon."

"No," Shan said stubbornly, refusing to raise his head.

Sick to her stomach, shivering and weary, Anne rose, shaking her head at the tiny ex-Scout.

"Never mind," she said, hearing how her voice shook. "If he doesn't want me here, then I'll go." She turned toward the door, missing the concerned glance Mrs. Intassi flung her.

"Good-bye, Shannie," Anne called. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

The nursery door slid closed behind her with a sound like doom.

SHE WAS LYING
on her bed some while later, staring blankly through the overhead window. The Liaden sky was brilliant, blue-green and cloudless.

The brilliance pierced her, searing the tumbling thoughts from her mind, scalding emotions to ash.

Seared, scalded and gone to ash, she closed her eyes against the brilliance.

When she opened her eyes again, the brilliance had faded. She turned her head against the pillow. The clock on the bedside table told her there were two hours left to prepare for the gather.

Sighing, feeling not so much exhausted as drained—of thought, of emotion, of any purpose save the plan—she rolled out of the wide bed, glanced at the mirror across the room—and frowned.

On the vanity beneath the mirror, among her familiar belongings, were two unfamiliar boxes.

The large box was covered in lush scarlet velvet. Anne lifted the lid.

A rope braided of three gold strands: Pink, yellow and white, weeping drops of yellow diamond exactly matching her gown. Tiny yellow diamond drops to hug her earlobes, glittering allure. Woven gold combs and pins, dusted with yellow chips, to hold her hair, up and back.

Anne looked down at the velvet box's treasure, at jewels that cost more than she would likely earn in a lifetime, created to grace one dress, created in turn for one gathering . . .

His lordship means to fire you off with flair.

Anne sighed, feeling, perhaps, a distant relief.

Now she would have enough money to buy passage. Home.

The smaller box was wood, carved with vines and flowers, a center medallion inlaid with bits of ivory. She opened it, found a folded square of ivory-colored paper. Her name, written in uncertain Terran characters, adorned the outer fold.

Inside, the words were in Liaden, the letters true and bold.

For my love. To say hello, and never to say good-bye. Er Thom

Nestled in a satin pillow was a band of rosy gold. The gem set flush to the metal, simply cut and pure as pain, was precisely the color of his eyes.

For a long moment she simply stood there, wondering if her heart would take up its next beat, if her lungs would accept another breath.

When it seemed that she would, after all, live, she closed the little box and set it gently aside. The scrap of creamy paper she placed in her briefcase, sealed in the pocket with the disk from Jin Del yo'Kera's computer.

The velvet box she let stand open, giving its expensive glitter to the room while she began at last to ready herself for the gather.

Here we stand: An old woman, a halfling boy, two babes; a contract, a ship and a Tree.
Clan Korval.
How Jela would laugh.

—Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book
 

A'THODELM YOS'GALAN
,
Syntebra reminded herself forcefully,
is a person of
melant'i,
son of an old and respected House. It is a signal honor to be chosen as his wife.

To be sure, she thought, cold fingers twisted together beneath her cloak, to marry an a'thodelm of Korval would be a very great thing, indeed.

Except her heart—that traitor which had lifted so quickly upon hearing Korval had Seen a child of A'thodelm yos'Galan—her heart, now an ice-drenched stone pitted in her chest, did not seem to find it a great thing at all. She had said as much, tentatively, to her father.

"Not marry the yos'Galan?" Her father stared, as well he might, Syntebra allowed fairly. "Are you mad?"

Syntebra felt the easy tears rise to her eyes, and her father's face softened.

"Doubtless you're thinking now a child is Seen there's no cause for him to marry. Nothing could be farther from the case, I assure you. Korval is in sorry state of late—wretched luck for them, certainly, but golden fortune for us, do we throw the dice canny!" He leaned forward with the air of one offering a treat.

"Why, if the yos'Galan does not want you, there's Korval Himself still in need of an heir!"

But that was even worse, for Korval was a Scout, all the world knew that! And Syntebra was afraid of Scouts.

Tearfully, she had attempted to explain this to her parent. She met Scouts from time to time at the port, where she went—dutifully—to put in her hours of flying. Scouts possessed the oddest manners imaginable, and a bold, unnerving way of looking directly into one's eyes.

Scouts forever seemed to be enjoying some obscure joke, or secretly laughing at
some
thing. Syntebra rather thought that they were laughing at her.

"Oh, posh!" her father cried, all out of patience. "You'll do as you're told, and none of your vapors! Hearing you, one would think the yos'Galan scar-faced and Korval dissolute! You are very fortunate, my girl. I recommend you seek solitude and consider that aspect of the case."

Which is how Syntebra came to be at her delm's side in Trealla Fantrol's great formal entry hall, handing off her cloak to a servant and dutifully striving to recall that it would be a very great thing indeed, to wed A'thodelm yos'Galan.

"RAKINA LIRGAEL,
Delm Nexon," Mr. pak'Ora announced. "Syntebra el'Kemin."

They came slowly down the long room, the elder lady leaning lightly upon the younger's arm. Neither was dressed in the first style of elegance, though the younger lady's gown was slightly more elaborate, designed to show a winsome shape to perfection.

Stationed beside his mother's chair, Er Thom watched their progress. Young Syntebra's plentiful hair had been pinned high, then allowed to tumble with calculated artlessness to kiss her bare shoulders. Here and there a diamond winked among the rioting dark ringlets. Diamonds glittered in each tiny ear and a solitaire suspended from a chain fragile as thought trembled at the base of her throat.

"Delm Nexon," Petrella said from her chair. "Be welcome in our House."

Nexon bowed, the glitter of her dress-jewels all but obscuring sight of the clan Ring.

"Your welcome is gracious," she stated. Straightening, she indicated the younger lady. "Allow me to make you known to Syntebra el'Kemin, a daughter of Nexon's secondary Line. Syntebra, here is Thodelm yos'Galan."

Syntebra's bow was charmingly done, though to Er Thom's eye a trifle ragged at the start.

Petrella inclined her head and raised a hand that trembled visibly. Er Thom felt a stab of concern. His mother was pushing her limit tonight. Gods willing, she would not push it too far.

"My son," his mother was telling the guests, "Er Thom, A'thodelm yos'Galan."

He made his bow to Nexon, receiving in return an inclined head and a civil, "Sir."

To Syntebra then he bowed, which was rather a trickier undertaking, for he must neither appear cool to the careful eye of his parent, nor so warm to the eye of the lady that impossible hopes were nourished.

Thereby: "Syntebra el'Kemin," he murmured, all propriety and very little else. "I am pleased at last to meet you, ma'am."

Wide, opal-blue eyes looked up at him from a tight little face, the luscious red mouth pinched pale.

Gods abound, the child's terrified!
Er Thom thought, and felt a spate of anger at their respective parents, for insisting upon this farce.

Syntebra made her bow—not quite as pretty as her first.

"Sir," she returned in a breathless, husky voice. "A'thodelm yos'Galan. I am—very—pleased to make your acquaintance."

Well,
Er Thom thought wryly, as he obeyed his mother's hand-sign and went 'round to pour wine for the guests,
it should be no very great thing to show her that we shall not suit . . .