Local Custom (7 page)

"It's really important for your delm to see Shan now?"

Important? It was vital. To be outside the clan was to be outside of life.

"Yes," he told her.

"All right. Then let your delm come here."

"Hah." She was within her right to ask it, though there were few so secure in their melant'i as to bid Korval come to them. Er Thom inclined his head.

"It is, you see, that—until his own children are of an age—I am the delm's designated heir. Wisdom dictates that we both not be off-planet at the same time. Your grace would be the clan's delight, could you instead go to Korval."

"You're the delm's heir?" Anne was frowning slightly. "I didn't know that."

There was no reason for her to know; such information was not commonly shared with pleasure-loves. Yet Anne knew much else about him, he realized suddenly. It was possible that only Daav knew more.

"Forgive me. I am a'thodelm—heir to my mother, who is thodelm of yos'Galan. And I am nadelm—named to take the place of the Delm, should—necessity—dictate." He paused, biting his lip, and then made her a gift: "The delm is Daav yos'Phelium, who is also my cha'leket—you would say, my foster-brother."

"And master trader, and master pilot," Anne murmured, naming the two facets of his melant'i she had cause to know well. "That's quite a hat-rack."

His brows twitched together. "Your pardon?"

"I'm sorry," she said, laughing lightly. "An old Terran joke had to do with the number of duties a single person was assigned to perform. Each of the duties was referred to as a 'hat,' and the traditional question was: 'What hat are you wearing today?'"

He stared at her. A joke? But—

"That is melant'i," he said, around a sense of wondering bafflement.

"More or less," Anne agreed with a shrug. "It's pretty old—a scholar's joke, you know." She changed the subject abruptly. "If your delm needs to see Shannie
now
, the solution is for you to go home so he can come to University. I certainly can't leave
now
—exam week is just beginning—and I don't have any other reason to go to Liad, Er Thom. Though I'm certain," she added, with a return of that unnatural caution, "that I would
want
to accommodate your delm."

"Of course you would." True enough. Who sane deliberately thwarted Korval? Er Thom reached for his wine, eyes sweeping down the column of her throat, to where her breasts pushed tight against the fabric of her shirt.

"When," he asked softly, dragging his eyes away with an effort and trying to ignore his hammering pulse. "When might you be able to leave University, were you interested in a visit to—to Liad?"

Anne shook her head, sharply, he thought, and seemed to shift her eyes from his face all a-sudden. "I—three weeks. About that, with getting in final grades, and—" She took a hard breath. "Er Thom."

"Yes." He slid nearer to her on the sofa, setting his leg against hers, and raised a hand to stroke one delightful breast through her shirt—deliberately teasing—and felt the quiver of her desire.

Lightly, he smoothed his fingertips across her nipple, feeling it harden as his own passion mounted, hard and demanding. He shifted closer, urgent fingers at the fastening of her shirt.

"Shan—" she began.

"Is asleep," he whispered, and brought his gaze up to her face. "Isn't he?"

Her eyes seem to lose focus—an instant only and he half-swooning with a desire that seemed only to build, and build, until he must—"Anne?"

"Asleep." She was back with him fully, fingers busy with his own clothing. "Er Thom, I need you. Quickly."

"Quickly," he agreed, and the passion built to a wave, hesitated in a pain that became ecstasy as it crashed, engulfing them entirely.

"THE RIGHT HONORABLE Lady Kareen yos'Phelium," Mr. pel'Kana announced with unnerving formality, and bowed low.

The lady's brother bit back a curse, spun his chair to face the door and swept his hand across the computer keypad, banishing the files he had been reviewing. The last move was sheer instinct: Kareen never hesitated to busy herself about any bit of business within the clan, a right she claimed as Eldest of Line. That Daav did not agree with this assessment of her melant'i barely slowed her and had never, so far as he knew, stopped her.

"Young brother." Kareen paused on the threshold long enough to incline her head—Elder to Younger—and allowed Mr. pel'Kana to seat her.

Inwardly, Daav sighed. True enough, Kareen could give him ten years, but it wearied one that she must always be playing that point. A variation, he thought, would add piquancy to a game of spite and dislike that had become all too predictable. Alas, that Kareen was not imaginative. He moved his hand, catching the servant's attention.

"Wine for Lady Kareen," he murmured.

This done, Mr. pel'Kana quit the room, with, Daav thought, marked relief. The Council of Clans rated Kareen expert in the field of proper action and called upon her often to unravel this or that sticky point of Code. It was to be regretted that she demanded expert's understanding of all she met.

Expert's understanding required that he rise and make his bow, honoring the eldest of Line yos'Phelium, and bidding her graceful welcome.

Daav thrust his legs out before him and crossed them at the ankle. Lacing his fingers over his belt buckle, he grinned at her in counterfeit good-humor.

"Good-day, Kareen. Whatever can you want from me now?"

She allowed the merest twitch of a brow to convey her displeasure at being addressed in the Low Tongue, and lifted her glass, pointedly tasting the wine.

Setting the glass aside, she met his eyes.

"I have lately been," she murmured, still in the mode of Elder Sibling to Younger, "at the house of Luken bel'Tarda, in the cause of visiting my heir."

Kareen's heir was six-year-old Pat Rin, recently fostered into the house of bel'Tarda by the delm's command. An imperfect solution, as the delm had admitted to his cha'leket, and one that had enraged Kareen unseemly.

Daav inclined his head. "And how do you find our cousin Luken?"

"Shatterbrained to a fault," his sister replied with regrettable accuracy. "As I had said to you on another occasion, sirrah, Luken bel'Tarda is hardly fit guardian for one of the Line Direct. However," she said, interrupting herself, "that is a different bolt of cloth." She fixed him with a stern eye.

"Cousin bel'Tarda informs me that yos'Galan searches for one of the Clan to enter into contract-alliance with Clan Nexon, in the person of its daughter Syntebra el'Kemin."

"yos'Galan has the delm's leave for this search," Daav said lazily, moving his hand in a gesture of disinterest. Kareen's mouth tightened.

"Then perhaps the delm is also aware that Thodelm yos'Galan had intended Syntebra el'Kemin as contract-wife for the a'thodelm." It cut very near disrespect, phrased as it yet was in Elder-to-Younger. But Kareen was expert in mode, as well, and kept her tongue nimbly in place.

"The delm is aware of the thodelm's intentions in that regard, yes." He lifted an eyebrow. "Is there some point to this, Kareen?"

"A small one," she said, "but sharp enough to prick interest." She leaned forward slightly in her chair. "The a'thodelm is gone off-planet, not to return before the end of the relumma, fleeing, one must conclude, the proposed alliance. Think of the insult to Nexon, that one intended for the contract-room at Trealla Fantrol should be shunted off to make do with—forgive me!—the like of Luken bel'Tarda."

"Luken is an amiable fellow," Daav said calmly. "Though I give you score—thought is not his best endeavor. As for the insult to Nexon—the contract has not yet been written, much less signed. If the lady hoped for an a'thodelm and nets instead a country cousin, still her clan gains ties with Korval, to her honor. I note that she is young, and while Nexon is all very well, it is hardly High House."

"Which matters to Korval not at all," Kareen said, with a touch of acid. "I recall that your own father was—solidly—Low House."

"But a pilot to marvel at," Daav returned, very gently. "So our mother praised him."

Kareen, who was no pilot at all, took a deep breath, visibly seeking calm.

"This does not address," she said after a moment, "how best to deal with the scandal."

Daav straightened slowly in his chair. He met his sister's eyes sternly.

"There will be no scandal," he said, and the mode was Ranking Person to Lesser. "Understand me, Kareen."

"I do not—"

"If I hear one whisper," Daav interrupted, eyes boring into hers, "one syllable, of scandal regarding this, I shall know who to speak with. Do I make myself plain?"

It was to her credit that she did not lower her eyes, though the pulse-beat in her throat was rather rapid. "You make yourself plain," she said after a moment.

"Good," he said with exquisite gentleness. "Is there something else to which you desire to direct your delm's attention?"

She touched her tongue to her lips. "Thank you, I—believe there is not."

"Then I bid you good-day," he said, and inclined his head.

There was a fraction of hesitation before she rose and bowed an entirely unexceptional farewell.

"Good-day."

Mr. pel'Kana met her at the edge of the hallway and guided her away.

Daav waited until he no longer heard her footsteps, then he got up and went across the room to the wine rack. Kareen's glass, full, except for the single sip she had taken, he left on the elbow table by her chair. Mr. pel'Kana would come back presently and take it away.

He poured himself a glass of misravot and had a sip, walking to the window and looking out into the center garden. Flowers and shrubs rioted against the backdrop of Jelaza Kazone's massive trunk, threaded with thin stone walkways. Daav closed his eyes against the familiar, beloved scene.

Alone of all the orders he had from his mother, who had been delm before him, the mandate to preserve Kareen's life stood, senseless. It was doubtless some failing of his own vision, that he could not see what use she was to the delm she continually worked to thwart. The best that could be said of her was that she was an assiduous guard of the clan's melant'i, but such vigilance paled beside a long history of despite. Daav sighed.

Perhaps, as he grew older and more accustomed to his duties, he would acquire the vaunted Delm's Vision and see what it was his mother had found worth preserving in Kareen.

In the meanwhile, her latest bit of spite was put to rest, at least. Now if only Er Thom would finish with his mysterious errand, return home and mold himself to duty!

Not such an arduous duty, Daav thought, who had lately reviewed Syntebra el'Kemin's file. True, the lady was very young, and her second class pilot's license nothing out-of-the-way. But she would by all accounts make an agreeable enough contract-wife, and like to quickly produce an infant pilot.

Once the new yos'Galan was born, and accepted, and named, then Syntebra el'Kemin was free to return to her clan, richer by the mating-fee and bonus, with her melant'i enhanced by having married one of Korval.

Er Thom would likewise be free, to seek out
Dutiful Passage
and pick up his rounds as Korval's master trader.

And Daav would have a new niece or nephew to wonder over and nurture and guide—and a contract-wife to find for himself.

 
Love is best given to kin and joy taken in duty well done.

—Vilander's Proverbs, Seventh Edition

THE SOUND OF WATER, splashing and running, brought him from dream to drowse, where he recalled that he lay on Anne's spring-shot sofa, covered over with the blanket from her own bed.

She had left him sometime in the early morning, amid a comedy of untangling limbs and wayward clothing, murmuring that the child had stirred. The blanket she had brought a moment later, and spread carefully on the sofa before bending and kissing him, too quickly, too lightly, on the lips.

"Thank you," she whispered and flitted away.

And for what did she thank him? Er Thom wondered, as the drowse began to thin. For breaking her peace and teaching her fear? Or for being so lost to decency that he twice allowed passion to overrule right conduct and made fierce, almost savage, love to a woman who was neither pleasure-love, wife, nor lifemate?

He twisted in his uncomfortable nest and inhaled sharply, smelled Anne's scent mingled with the blanket's scratchy, synthetic odor, and felt a surge of longing.

It was to have been so simple. He had only planned to find her, to tell her of his love—that had seemed important. Vital. That done, knowing his truth held by one who treasured it, he thought he might have faced the Healers with calm. And he would have come away from them a fit husband for Nexon's daughter, no impossible might-have-beens shadowing his heart.

Instead, he found a child who must someway be brought to the clan, a woman who seemed etched into his bones, so deep was his desire for her—and no easy solutions at all.

"Hi!" Warm, milk-sweet breath washed his face.

Er Thom opened his eyes, finding them on a level with a serious silver pair, thickly fringed with black lashes.

"Tra'sia volecta," he replied, in Low Liaden, as one did with children.

The winging white brows pulled together in a frown.

"Hi!" Shan repeated, at slightly louder volume.

Er Thom smiled. "Good morning," he said in Terran. "Did you sleep well?"

The child—
his
child—gave it consideration, head tipped to one side.

"OK," he conceded at last, and sighed. "Hungry."

"Ah." The water continued to flow, noisily, nearby: Anne was doubtless in the shower. Er Thom wriggled free of the clinging blanket and stood. "Then I shall find you something to eat," he said and held out a hand.

His son took it without hesitation and the two of them went together into the tiny kitchen.

HE FOUND INSTANT soy-oats and made porridge, sprinkling it with raisins from a jar on the cluttered counter. The cold-box yielded milk and juice: Er Thom poured both and stood sipping the juice while he watched his son assay breakfast.