Local Custom (22 page)

"Yes, certainly. What of young Syntebra? Shall she be added to your household?"

For a heartbeat Er Thom simply stared at him, eyes blank. Then recollection glimmered.

"Ah. Nexon's daughter." He glanced aside, perhaps to sip his wine. "That would be—entirely ineligible."

"So it would," Daav agreed. "Nearly as ineligible as setting up household with a lady with whom you share no legitimate relationship, save that she has borne you a child outside of contract!"

Er Thom gave him a solemn look. "You had never used to care for scandal."

"And if it were myself," Daav cried, mastering a unique urge to throttle his cha'leket, "I should not care now! But this is yourself, darling, on whom I have always depended to lend me credence among the High Houses and untangle me from all my ghastly scrapes! How shall we go on, if both are beyond the Code?"

Er Thom seemed to go suddenly limp; he sagged down onto the arm of the chair, eyes wide and very serious.

"I asked Anne," he said slowly, "to become my contract-wife."

"Did you?" Daav blinked, remembered to breathe. "And she said?"

"She refused me."

And all praise,
Daav thought gratefully,
to the Terran scholar!

"Surely then there is nothing more to be said. If she will not have you, she will not. To talk of sharing houses only ignores the lady's word and belittles her melant'i. Certainly, you owe her better—"

"It is my earnest belief," Er Thom interrupted gently, "that she wishes a lifemating. As do I."

It was Daav's turn to stare, and he did, full measure. When he at last spoke again, his voice was absolutely neutral, a mere recitation of the information he had just received.

"You wish a lifemating with Anne Davis."

Er Thom inclined his head. "With all my heart."

"Why?"

The violet eyes were steady as ever, holding his own.

"I love her."

"Hah." Well, and that was not impossible, Daav considered, though Er Thom's passions had not in the past run so very warm. He recalled his brother's eyes, hot on the scholar's face; the care he took to shield her from error during the meal and then after, going so far as to lay out the entire deck and painstakingly delineate each card. Love, perhaps, of a kind. And yet . . . 

"It had been three Standard Years since you had seen her," he said evenly. "In all that time—"

"In all that time," Er Thom murmured, "I saw no face that compelled me, felt no desire stir me. In all that time, I was a dead man, lost to joy. Then I saw her again and it was as if—as if it were merely the evening after our last, and I expected, welcomed. Wished-for. Desired."

Oh, gods.
It was all he could do to remain perched on his chair-arm, glass held loose while he met his brother's eyes. Within, jealousy had woke, snarling, for Er Thom was
his
, Er Thom's love
his
perquisite, not to be shared with any—

He drew a deep, careful breath, enforcing calm on his emotions. Er Thom was his brother, the being he loved best in all the worlds, his perfect opposite, his balancing point. To wound his brother was to wound himself, and what joy gained, should both be mortally struck?

"This is," he said, and heard how his voice grated. He cleared his throat. "This is the matter you would have brought before the delm?"

Er Thom inclined his head. "It is." His eyes showed some wariness as he looked up.

"I would have—spoken—some time—with my brother before arousing the delm."

"As who would not!" Daav extended a hand across the table, Korval's Ring flaring in the room's light, and felt an absurd sense of relief as Er Thom caught his fingers in a firm, warm grip.

"The delm does not yet take notice," he said earnestly, damning his melant'i and the defect of genes that made Kareen unable to take up the Ring. But Kareen would never have Seen young Shan at all and would likely have sent the Terran scholar briskly about her business, richer by neither cantra nor solving, while Er Thom became the victim of whatever punishment spite was capable of framing. He sighed sharply, fingers tight around his brother's hand.

"You must tell me," he said. "Brother—this bringing home of your child—and most especially his mother!—how does this make you ready to contract-wed in accordance with your thodelm's command?"

Er Thom's mouth tightened, though he did not relinquish Daav's hand. "You will think I am mad," he murmured, violet eyes showing a sparkle of tears.

"Darling, we are all of us mad," Daav returned, with no attempt, this once, to make light of the truth. "Ask anyone—they will say the same."

A small smile was seen—no more, really, than a softening of the corners of Er Thom's mouth, a glimmer that dried the sparkling tears.

"Yes," he said softly; "but, you see, I am not entirely in the way of seeming so to myself." He squeezed Daav's hand; relinquished it.

"When I left you, these few weeks ago, it was to accomplish one plan, which I felt
must
be accomplished, after which I—hoped—to be able to show the Healers a calm face and come away from them obedient."

Daav shifted on his chair-arm. "The Healers—that was not necessity, except as you had not accomplished your plan."

"Yes." Er Thom sighed. "And yet necessity did exist. It had been three years, as I said, since I had looked upon a face that pleased me. Three years of—mourning—for she to whom I had given nubiath'a. What right had I to bring such business to the contract-room? Nexon's daughter is young, this her first marriage. In all honor, her husband must be attentive, capable of—kindness. I had ought to have had the Healers time a-gone, myself, except I
would not
forget . . . " He drew a hard breath and took up his glass, though he did not drink.

"I went to Anne," he said softly, "to say only that I loved her. It was knowledge I knew she would treasure. Knowledge that I could not allow to be lost entirely to the Healers' arts. It was to have been—a small thing, simply done."

"And the child?" Daav murmured.

Er Thom lifted a hand to rake fingers through his bright hair, a habit denoting extreme distraction of thought, very little seen since he had put boyhood behind him.

"There was no child," he said, and his voice was distracted, as well. "There was no child nor mention of a child, three years ago."

"Hah." Daav glanced down, caught sight of the deck and took it up, then sat holding it in his hand, staring hard at nothing.

"You hunger yet for this lady?" he asked and heard Er Thom laugh, short and sharp.

"Hunger for her? I starve without her! I astonish myself with desire! There is no sound, save her voice; no sensation, save her touch."

Daav raised his head, staring in awe at his brother's face. After a moment, he touched his tongue to his lips.

"Yet she refuses a contract-marriage," he persisted, pitching his voice deliberately in the tone of calm reason. "Perhaps the—depth of your passion—may be—no dishonor to her!—inadequately returned."

"It is returned," Er Thom told him, with the absolute conviction of obsession, "in every particular."

Daav bit his lip. "Very well," he allowed, still calm and reasonable. "And yet unalloyed passion is not the foundation upon which we are taught to build a lifemating. You speak in such terms as make me believe you have indeed erred, by giving nubiath'a too soon, before your passions were slaked. In such case, a wiser solving is to go with the lady to the ocean house, indulge yourselves to the full extent of joy, to return home, when you have had your fill—"

"Fill!" Er Thom came to his feet in a flickering surge; instinct brought Daav up, as well, and he met his brother's eyes with something akin to dread.

Er Thom leaned forward, hands flat on the card-table, eyes vividly violet.

"There is no fill," he said, absolutely, utterly flat.

Scouts are taught many tricks in order to ensure the best chance of survival among potentially hostile peoples. Daav employed one such trick now, deliberately relaxing the muscles of his body, letting his mouth soften into a slight smile, his fingers curl half-open. After a moment or two, he had the satisfaction of seeing Er Thom relax, as well, shoulders loosening and eyes cooling even as he sighed and straightened, looking somewhat sheepish.

"Forgive me, denubia," he said softly. "I had never meant to contend against you."

"Certainly not," Daav said gently. "Though I will say it seems a sticky enough coil you plan to lay before the delm." He tipped his head. "Perhaps it would be—illuminating—were I to speak with Anne apart—" He raised a deliberately languid hand, stilling the other's start of protest. "Only to hear what she herself considers of the matter." He tipped his head, offering a smile.

"I shall have to hear it, soon or late, you know."

The smile was answered, faintly. "So you shall."

"Indeed—and tomorrow soon enough, for it is come time—alas!—to make my excuses and leave you to that dreadful pile of invoices." He tipped his head.

"In the meanwhile, promise you will engage no houses in the city—for at least tomorrow, eh?"

"Promised." Er Thom inclined his head and then came around the table to offer his arm.

Arm in arm, they went down the various hallways and across the moon-bathed East Patio. At the car, Er Thom embraced him, and Daav cursed his treacherous muscles, which stiffened, only slightly.

It was enough. Er Thom drew back, staring into his moonlit face.

"You are angry with me." He made some effort to keep his voice neutral, but Daav heard the pain beneath and flung himself into the embrace.

"Denubia, forgive me! My wretched moods. I am
not
angry—only tired, and such a muddle as you bring the delm must make my head spin!"

"Hah." Er Thom's arms tightened and when Daav asked for his kiss a moment later, he bestowed it with the alacrity of relief.

SHE HAD WANDERED through the beautiful, strange, suite for a time, but her pacing failed to tire her. Finally, she plucked a bound book at random from a shelf and, robe swirling around her, settled into a corner of the wheat-colored sofa, resolving to read until sleep overtook her.

An hour later she was still there, sleepless as ever, pursuing the Liaden words from page to page, resolutely not thinking of how lonely she was, or of how much she missed him, or of—

The door-chime sounded, once.

She was up in a flurry of blue skirts, across the room and hand on the admittance plate before she thought to tighten the sash at her waist—which was not really necessary, after all. The one who stood there had seen all she had to show, many times.

Er Thom bowed and straightened, looking up at her from eyes of molten violet.

"I had come," he said softly, "to make my good-night."

Throat tight, she reached out and took his hand, drawing him inside. The door closed, silent, behind him.

 
The guest is sacrosanct. The welfare and comfort of the guest will be first among the priorities of the House, for so long as the guest shall bide.

—Excerpted from the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

DAAV YOS'PHELIUM, fourth of his Line to bear the name; master pilot; Scout captain, retired; expert of cultural genetics; Delm Korval, lay beneath the Hebert 81 DuoCycle, one shoulder braced against the cool stone floor as he worked to loosen a particularly troublesome gasket-seal. Oil dripped from the gasket and he was careful to keep his face stain-free, though neither the thick old shirt he wore nor the scarred leather leggings were so fortunate.

For a time he had worked with only the flutter of bird song from outside the garage for company, and the now-and-again rustle that was rabbits foraging through the dew-sheathed grass. Now, however, he became aware of something different—a deliberate, plodsome rhythm that vibrated through his braced shoulder and into his head.

Attention on the gasket, he wondered briefly if there was an elephant loose on the lawns. He was mildly disappointed, but not really surprised, when a few minutes later the plodding became the harsh click of boot heels striking stone flooring and a sound was vented in the sudden silence that his Scout sensibilities cataloged as a human sigh.

"What," demanded the voice of his sister, speaking in the mode of Elder Sibling to Child, "are you doing under there?"

The gasket-seal at last heeded his promptings and fell free, releasing a minor downpour of oil. He flinched back from the splatter that liberally redecorated his shirt-front and peered around the Hebert's front wheel.

Creamy leather boots met his gaze, striped here and there with light blue grass-stains. The stiff silk trousers that belled over them, falling precisely to the instep, were of an identical cream color. Daav turned his attention back to the gasket.

"Good morning, Kareen," he called, mindful of his manners, and phrasing the reply in Adult Siblings.

The Right Noble Kareen yos'Phelium allowed herself a second sigh. "What are you doing under there?" she asked again, still in that tone of exasperated scolding.

"Replacing the winder-gasket and repairing the sync-motor," Daav said, carefully using a solvent-soaked towel to clean the gasket seat.

There was a short silence before his sister asked, with lamentable predictability, "And that is a task of such urgency you must attend it before you receive your own kin?"

"Well," Daav allowed judiciously, working the new gasket around to the proper orientation. "There is some urgency attached to it, yes. The final part required for the repair only arrived from Terra last evening and as soon as I have the sync-motor geared, the cycle will be in fine state for racing. I confess I have been wanting to race it anytime this last Standard, but it would not do, you know, to enlist an unsafe machine."

"Race!" Kareen's voice carried a wealth of loathing much more suited to the elder sibling mode she yet insisted upon than the mode he had offered. "One hopes you have more care for your duty than to endanger the person of Korval Himself in a race. Most especially as you have not yet seen fit to provide the clan with your heir."