Carpe Diem (4 page)

"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."

Shan sent the fast little groundcar through the curve at the top of the hill, slipped the stick, and spun into the drive with a purring uptake of speed. At the base of the first hill, he downshifted in deference to the possibilities of children, cats, and dogs and proceeded at a pace only another pilot might have called sedate.

Damn it, he thought, guiding the car through twists and turns he knew like the rhythm of his own heartbeat. It wasn't like Nova to indulge in espionage! That Department of the Interior had got her worried beyond sense.

Or worried in very good sense. The car slid beneath a flowered archway and continued down a straight road lined with fragrant colmeno bushes. Shan felt a finger of cold down his spine and shivered in the warm Liaden sunshine.

The car negotiated the final right turn, left turn, sharp right, and pulled into a space near the garage doors. Shan got out and slammed the door.

The south wing was quiet. Despite the lesson of past experience, it seemed as if Padi and Syl Vor might actually be with their tutors this morning—or engaged in quiet mayhem in another part of the house. Anthora's brand-new twins would be sleeping or gurgling in the nursery, charming those who had them in their care into the belief that
this
set of yos'Galans, at least, were as even-natured as they were sweet-tempered.

Nurses were so easy to fool. Shan shook his head and moved with lazy haste toward the main corridor, ears tracking the growing rumble of wheels across strellawood flooring. In contrast to nurses and tutors, Trealla Fantrol's butler was damn near impossible to fool.

They met at the intersection of corridors. The butler rotated the orange glass ball that served as his head and waved two of three arms in salute.

"Master Shan. Good day, sir. The First Speaker awaits you in the study." The voice, male and middle-aged, spoke Terran with the affected drawl of the upper classes and originated somewhere near the plate steel midsection.

"Jeeves," Shan said calmly. "Good day to you. Have you seen the children lately?"

"Miss Padi is in the garden with Mr. pel'Jonna, partaking of a botany lesson. Master Syl Vor and Ms. Gamkoda are engaged in geography, and Miss Shindi and Master Mik are having an early-morning nap."

"Dear me, what exemplary behavior! I believe they may be ill."

"On the contrary, sir, they enjoy their customary robust health. I believe, if I may say so, that this morning's quietude may be attributed to Miss Nova's promise that they would be allowed to visit you only if they behaved as became those of Korval."

"Ever more terrifying! But perhaps they don't yet have a firm grasp of family history."

"As you say, sir."

Shan grinned and turned right. "To my sister in the study, then! Be well, Jeeves."

"Be well, sir."

He went perhaps half a dozen paces before turning back. "Jeeves!"

"Sir?" The midsection rotated, and the orange ball lit in inquiry.

"Is Miss Anthora in the house? And Gordy?"

"Miss Anthora is with the First Speaker in the study. Your foster son has contracted an alliance of pleasure with Karae yo'Lanna and spent last evening in her company. Shall I contact Glavda Empri and inquire for him?"

"Ken Rik's granddaughter, is it? No, don't disturb the child; just ask him to call me at his earliest opportunity. The
Passage
will know where I am, if he doesn't find me here or at Pelthraza Street."

"Very good, sir." Jeeves rotated once more and wheeled off in pursuit of other imperatives. Shan grinned and headed for the study.

The door slid away and two heads turned toward him—one blond and one dark, violet eyes and silver. Anthora stood and came forward, small hands outstretched, welcome riding a warm wave between them.

"Shan-brother."

He ignored the hands and bent to hug her. "Hello, denubia. How's the contract-husband?"

She laughed, nose wrinkling. "Many days gone, thank the gods! But the twins are very good, don't you think?"

"Very good, indeed. I could have done no better."

That earned another laugh as a tug on his sleeve pulled him across the carpet to where Nova waited in cool uncertainty.

"Sister." He smiled and extended a hand, marking with what relief she took it. Not for the first time, he regretted that Nova's talent was one that gave her access only to the memories of those already dead, rather than to the living emotion all about her.

"Brother. Thank you for coming so promptly."

"The least I could do, when you'd gone to so much trouble and expense! Only why a pin-beam to the
Passage,
denubia, when a local call might have gotten you the same result?"

She looked coldly into his face, every inch the First Speaker of Liad's First Clan, her hand gripping his until he feared for the bones.

"Local calls can be too easily traced," she said. "Come see what we have." She waved to the comm on its corner of the wide desk.

"I've seen it," Anthora said to his hesitation, her emotive grid suddenly and suspiciously bland. "Would you care for some morning wine to help you read, brother?"

"Wine by all means—but not morning wine. A glass of the red, if you please." He glanced at Nova's face, but saw only waiting there while her pattern glimmered, chameleonlike, too changeable to read.

He slid into the desk chair and tipped the screen to the proper height. Amber letters spelled out words in High Liaden:

*COMMUNICATION BEGINS*

GREETINGS.

TO NOVA YOS'GALAN FIRST SPEAKER-IN-TRUST CLAN KORVAL, SHE WHO REMEMBERS, FIRST SISTER TO OUR SHARED BROTHER, VAL CON YOS'PHELIUM SCOUT, ARTIST OF THE EPHEMERAL, SLAYER OF THE ELDEST DRAGON, KNIFE CLAN OF MIDDLE RIVER'S SPRING SPAWN OF FARMER GREENTREES OF THE SPEARMAKER'S DEN, TOUGH GUY.

Shan blinked and leaned back in the chair, absently accepting the glass from Anthora's hand, wondering at the significance of the final two words being rendered in Terran.

KNOW THAT ON THE TWO HUNDREDTH AND FORTY-SECOND DAY OF THIS STANDARD YEAR NUMBERED 1392 OUR BROTHER AND HIS LIFEMATE, MIRI ROBERTSON MERCENARY SOLDIER, RETIRED, PERSONAL BODYGUARD, RETIRED, HAVE WEAPON WILL TRAVEL, DEPARTED FROM LUFKIT PRIME STATION BY TESTIMONY OF HE WHO WATCHES ON A SHIP OF THE CLAN, FLEEING NAMELESS ENEMIES.

KNOW FURTHER THAT ON THE TWO HUNDREDTH AND FORTY-SIXTH DAY OF THIS STANDARD YEAR OUR BROTHER AND MY SISTER HIS LIFEMATE FELL INTO THE HANDS OF CLAN JUNTAVAS OF THE LINE WHICH LOOKS TO ELDER JUSTIN HOSTRO IN WHICH MISFORTUNE OUR BROTHER TOOK INJURY FROM THE KIN OF ELDER HOSTRO

Dear gods, Shan thought. He damped his output, so that Anthora would not be pummeled with his dread. He sipped wine and touched the advance key.

NEGOTIATION WITH ELDER HOSTRO PROVED SATISFACTORY TO THE POINT THAT OUR BROTHER'S INJURY WAS HEALED. IT WAS FURTHER NEGOTIATED THAT OUR KIN BE RETURNED THEIR KNIVES AND GIVEN A SHIP ON WHICH TO CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY, THE SHIP OF THE CLAN HAVING RESUMED ITS LABOR DURING THE TIME THEY WERE HELD BY CLAN JUNTAVAS. EVIDENCE INDICATING THAT THESE THINGS WERE DONE PROVIDED BY JUSTIN HOSTRO AND FORTHCOMING TO YOURSELF VIA HASTIEST COURIER AVAILABLE.

IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT JUSTIN HOSTRO IS THE MOST MINOR OF ELDERS WITHIN CLAN JUNTAVAS AND CANNOT GUARANTEE THE ACTIONS OF THE REMAINDER OF HIS CLAN. IN THIS CIRCUMSTANCE, I GO TO NEGOTIATE WITH THE ELDEST ELDER OF THE JUNTAVAS ON THIS, THE TWO HUNDREDTH AND FIFTY-FIFTH DAY OF STANDARD YEAR 1392. I UNDERTAKE THIS NEGOTIATION AS MIRI ROBERTSON'S BROTHER AND T'CARAIS AND AS THE BROTHER OF OUR SHARED BROTHER WHO TRAVELS AT HER SIDE.

KNOW AT LAST THAT OUR BROTHER'S STATED DESTINATION WAS VOLMER DESIGNATION V-8735-927-3 AND THAT HE HAS NOT YET ARRIVED AT THAT PORT THOUGH A SHIP OF THE CLANS OF MEN MUST HAVE TAKEN HIM THERE BY THIS DAY. NOR HAS HE CONTACTED ME AS I FEEL HE WOULD HAVE DONE WERE ALL WELL.

THAT JUSTIN HOSTRO MAY NOT HAVE BARGAINED IN GOOD FAITH IS A MATTER I SHALL DISCUSS WITH THE MOST ELDER OF THE JUNTAVAS. THAT OUR BROTHER AND SISTER HAVE ATTAINED THAT STATE KNOW TO MEN AS "MISSING" IS INFORMATION I FELT THEIR REMAINING KIN MUST HAVE WITH UTMOST ALACRITY SO THAT A SEARCH MAY BE UNDERTAKEN WITH ALL HUMAN SPEEDINESS.

IN SHARED KINSHIP AND DUTY I SALUTE YOU. MAY SUCCESS MEET OUR MOST STRINGENT EFFORTS.

BEAMED THIS DAY 255 STANDARD YEAR 1392 BY:

TWELFTH SHELL FIFTH HATCHED KNIFE CLAN OF MIDDLE RIVER'S SPRING SPAWN OF FARMER GREENTREES OF THE SPEARMAKER'S DEN, THE EDGER.

*COMMUNICATION ENDS*

Shan leaned back and closed his eyes, thoughts tumbling. The first was that the message came from the old boy himself, Val Con's very brother Edger, in whom Shan had never quite believed, no matter how well told the tale. The second was that, of course, it would have to be checked, fraud being however dimly possible.

The third thought bestirred him to open his eyes and lean to the comm, touching keys, banishing Edger's message to memory as he opened a line to the
Passage.

"Shan—" Nova began, her worry apparent.

He finished his query, hit SEND, and picked up his glass. "Annie, my own."

"Shan-brother?"

"Is Val Con alive, denubia? Progress report, please, as of this very moment, if possible."

"Alive?" She blinked at him. "Of course."

"Good. Wonderful, in fact." He stared at her over the rim of his glass. "Where?"

He sensed confusion; frustration quickly sublimated into thought. Anthora closed her eyes, casting this way and that, for all the worlds like a dog hunting a scent. Nova stirred and began to speak, but Shan held up a hand, his eyes on the youngest of them all.

"There!" she cried suddenly, finger pointing roofward and beyond, to what might be the Second Quadrant. She opened her eyes. "But a long way away, Shannie. I don't—when
you're
on Volmer you don't feel nearly so far away . . ."

"How far beyond Volmer?" He caught the edge of her frustration again and leaned forward. "Have I ever felt that distant? If you remember an approximate time, we can check the log on the
Passage—"

But Anthora was shaking her head. "None of us has ever been that far—no. When Father—when Father was dying, at the very end—the day before he—he was that distant then . . .Oh, no!" Nova's pain broke over them, and Anthora flew forward to hug her and shake her. "He's
alive,
sister!
Physical
distance, not spiritual! I can't tell you how I know the difference—but there is one! And another difference—" She paused, looking to Shan, who nodded.

"There's a—an—echo—around Val Con. It's like—it's like how I sense Priscilla—not directly, you see—but through Shan . . ."

"His lifemate," Nova murmured, and suddenly spun. "Lifemate! Did you know of a lifemate? Who is she?"

Shan sipped wine. "I'd say she's a person with a sense of humor: 'Miri Robertson Mercenary Soldier, Retired, Personal Bodyguard, Retired, Have Weapon Will Travel'? Also a person to treat with a bit of respect. As for who else she is, as soon as the
Passage
gets through to Terran Census—aha! Right on cue!"

He touched the glowing purple stud and the screen filled with amber letters once more, this time forming Terran words.

"Well, let's see: Planet of origin: Surebleak . . .Date of Birth: Day 28, Standard Year 1365; Tag: mutated within acceptable limits. Parents: Katalina Tayzin; Chock Robertson. Job Fee paid: Half-bit; Day 116, Standard 1375, poor child . . .Outmigrated Day 4, Standard 1379 . . .Reason for Migration: Job opportunity. And the job? Ah, here we are . . ." He hit ADVANCE and shook his head. "Apprentice soldier, Lizardi's Lunatics, Fendor. Angela Lizardi, Senior Commander. Poor, poor child."

"Mutated . . ." Nova was hanging over his shoulder, frowning at the screen.

"Within acceptable limits," Shan completed. "Now, on a backward, low-tech world like, shall we say, Surebleak, the phrase 'mutated within acceptable limits' can mean several things. But mostly it means 'half or full Liaden.'" He tapped the screen. "My guess is that Katalina Tayzin has gotten her name mangled into something more or less Terran-sounding. Chock Robertson seems rather definite."

"But who
is
she?" Nova demanded, running the advance down to blank screen.

"She's a soldier, sister!" Shan snapped. "Where have your wits gone begging? We'll run an employment check on her through the
Passage
if you like, to find where she went after being apprenticed to Lizardi's Lunatics—but you already know the most important thing about her."

Nova drew herself up and glared down at him. "Which is?"

"She's Korval's Own Lifemate," Shan said, and drank his wine.

Flesh against flesh was warm, promoting drowsy comfort, though her exposed right flank was getting damn cold.

Unwilling yet to let go of the drowse, Miri nestled closer to Val Con's warmth, too comfortable even to care that a long lock of her hair was trapped under their combined weight and pulled at her temple. She smiled a little to herself.