Mouse and Dragon (19 page)

Very important.

"Take off your jacket," she commanded.

One eyebrow rose, but he complied, dropping the garment to the rug.

"Take off
your
jacket," he countered, softly.

Ah, this was a game that Daav knew, was it? She smiled again, delight stitching through the bright threads of need, desire, and determination.

Her jacket slid down her arms. She dropped it next to his on the rug.

"Your shirt," she said. "Remove it."

He smiled and fingered the lacing loose, taking an inordinately long time about it, his eyes on hers the entire while, at last withdrawing the cord from its guides entirely and dropping it to the floor. His eyes still on hers, he slowly pulled the shirt over his head, and let it fall.

She stepped forward then, unable to stop, and ran her hands over his chest, delighting in the texture of his skin, stretching high to place her hands on his shoulders, her body pressed into his, and her face turned up.

"Kiss me."

He did that, and willingly. Hunger seared her; she angled her mouth against his hard and demanding, and he responded—but with restraint; his embrace not as fierce as it might have been—she read it in him, that he did not wish to frighten her, and stepped back, shivering with need.

Her shirt had someway joined the muddle of clothes on the rug; she didn't remember how, and it did not concern her.

"Boots," Daav murmured, before she could draw breath. "Else this will quickly become a comedy."

She laughed, breathless, and sat on the edge of the bed to attend hers, then looked up at him, feeling suddenly not . . . quite . . . bold.

"Take off the rest," she said, her voice shaking. "And lie down on the bed."

He was a paradox—a dozen paradoxes; velvet skin over hard, lean muscle. Her fingers found scars; her lips found places that had him nearly weeping with delight.

This was far superior to their first encounter, when all she had known was what he had desired. This . . . 
exploration
; this teasing out of sensual knowledge—she could do
this
, she thought, lazily running her fingers down the inside of his thigh, for days. She smiled at the catch in his breath, and moved her fingers again.

"Aelliana . . ." He reached for her; she caught his hands and kissed his palms, feeling his intent.

"Yes," she whispered. "It's your turn now."

Passion, pillows cascading to the floor, laughter, cries, and limbs entangled. She was astride him, aching for union, and there—there he came again, her husband, cursing her as he slammed her against the wall and thrust his member into her—

She shivered, the bed slipping sideways.

"Aelliana?"

Warm hands caught her and she shook her head, dashing the hateful vision away, looking down into his face, this, her most beloved friend, who shared her heart and her soul.

"Daav!" she cried and bent to kiss him most tenderly indeed.

She opened to him then, willingly, filling herself with him, as the two of them climbed, entangled, to the stars, to ecstasy, crying out with one voice, in fierce celebration of their union.

* * *

"The most beneficial model," Daav murmured, his cheek resting against her hair. They had adopted the coverlet as the heat of lovemaking began to fade, leaving them shivering in the ship's temperate air. Aelliana had slept for a few minutes, her head on his shoulder and her leg thrown across his hips. Upon waking, she had immediately demanded an analysis of the options open to
The Luck
as a working ship.

"The most beneficial model for a small ship embarked on trade is a fixed route, with both reliable suppliers and reliable buyers at each port. Er Thom could work out such a route for
The Luck
, if the pilot-owner wished to embrace that option. Indeed, I would venture to say that we would be hard put to deny Er Thom the considerable pleasure of putting together such a route."

"Mmm," she said, "but there is the option of courier. What benefit there?"

"Courier has the advantage of a certain freedom in flight," he said obligingly, this being the sort of data the child of a house old in both trade and piloting ingested with his porridge. "One need only have a client and a destination. One may set one's price, or refuse a commission altogether. With freedom, of course, comes heightened risk. One cannot be certain that there will be someone in need of the ship's services at the delivery port. Also, one may not know well in advance which port one will raise, or in what condition it will be found."

"Is it—more dangerous?" she asked. "Courier."

He considered that. "Not necessarily, no. A known trade loop with published stops holds danger as well—perhaps in equal measure, though there are safeguards built into the loop. If one does not arrive when scheduled, for instance—"

"I'm inclined," Aelliana interrupted, reaching up to brush his cheek with cool fingertips, "I'm inclined to go for courier. What do you think?"

He smiled, and craned his head to look down into her face, catching a glimpse of shining green eyes among the tangled strands of tawny hair.

"I think that I am inclined to go for courier, too."

She chewed her lip.

"We will need papers? A registration, or—a license to do business. Is that the Guild?"

"Ultimately, the Guild. However, Mr. dea'Gauss can do much of the ferreting and the filling out for you."

"He had said he would be pleased to serve me—when I met him in the hallway," Aelliana said. "At the time, I could scarcely think how he might. I will call upon him tomorrow."

"Fortunate Mr. dea'Gauss," he said lightly.

She laughed and sat up, the coverlet falling away to reveal breasts made pert by the cool air.

"We are in accord," she said, and leaned down to kiss him, her passion striking his from banked to bonfire in a heartbeat.

Gasping, he surrendered to her, and willingly let her have her way.

Be aware of those actions undertaken in your name . . . 
—
From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
 

"This is quite sudden, Scholar." Director Barq went so far as to frown into the screen. "I wonder if you have given any thought to the impact of your decision upon Chonselta Technical College."

As it happened, she had, and it grieved her. She had taught mathematics at Chonselta Tech for seven Standards, and the advance seminar in practical mathematics, that her Scout pupils had called Math for Survival, for five. Surely, she owed Chonselta Tech much, for having hired her, trembling and timid as she had been; and for having been for so many years a refuge and a sanctuary.

And, yet, she told herself now, as she had told herself several times during a solitary, wakeful night—one had other tasks before one; an entire new life to explore. She had given Chonselta Tech fair measure.

"I regret the inconvenience; I appreciate that my decision seems sudden," she told Director Barq. Surely it would seem so to him; it having been her custom for so many years to simply reinitial her contract at the beginning of the Long Interval. This year she had put off that simple custom while she considered requesting a reduced teaching schedule, so that she might spend more time with her ship, learning that galaxy of practical detail necessary to a working pilot.

"I believe, however," she continued, in the face of the director's unremitting frown, "that there are many qualified to teach the mid-level courses. The seminar, of course—"

"Of course," he interrupted, and threw up a hand, as would one bested in negotiation. "I had meant to bring this to your attention previously, Scholar, but our paths scarcely crossed this last term. I am dismayed that I must tell you that the college failed to accurately record your ascent to the next level of compensation at the end of last school year—seven Standards with us, and all of them to our honor! Of course, we will be transferring the balance owing to your account immediately. Also, I think you will be very pleased with your bonus this semester."

Aelliana stared, a sudden and not-entirely-welcome thought forming at the back of her mind.

She had been accustomed to receiving a small bonus, most semesters, which reflected the continued success of the advanced seminar. However, she could not immediately recall that she had ever received an increase in her general compensation. Seven Standards, and she had been so grateful for a huddling place; a door to which Ran Eld did not hold a key; a place to think, and study, and write . . . 

"Certainly," she said slowly, hating the thought that she had been cheated; hating the woman she had been, who had been so poor a thing that she was
so easily
cheated.

"Certainly," she said again, to Director Barq's suddenly careful face, "if there has been an error, it should be rectified. I regret, however, that I remain unable to continue my contract with Chonselta Technical College. Necessity . . . necessity exists."

That was true, she thought defiantly. And if it was her own necessity and none of clan or kin, yet it did exist.

"I will come later today to remove my belongings from my office," she said. "If there are—separation papers that the college requires me to sign, I will be pleased to endorse them then."

Director Barq's face closed; he inclined his head.

"Of course, Scholar."

"Good-day, Director," she said sadly, and touched the disconnect.

She sat back in her chair, looking out over the morning garden.

You are as a mouse among raptors
, Lady Kareen reminded her from memory.

Aelliana sniffed, and shook her head.

"I will learn better," she told the room at large.

A chime sounded, as if to underline her determination. Aelliana frowned, then rose to go hastily across the room.

The door slid open to reveal Mr. pel'Kana, a sizable envelope in his hand.

"This has just come for you, Pilot."

"Thank you," she said, receiving it. She glanced down; but all she saw was her own name, written out in elegant green ink.

"It was delivered from the office of Mr. dea'Gauss," Mr. pel'Kana murmured.

"I thank you," Aelliana said, not much enlightened. Surely, she had planned to call upon Mr. dea'Gauss today. Could he have anticipated her request? Or was this Daav's hand once more? She looked up to the waiting butler.

"Mr. pel'Kana, I will be driving into the city soon. Could you tell me where I might find . . . the car lent to my use?"

He inclined his head. "I will have your car brought 'round, Pilot. When do you anticipate leaving?"

"I—" She glanced at the envelope, then over to the clock. "In half a glass?" she asked.

"Certainly. Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment. I thank you."

"Very good." He bowed and departed, walking stately down the hall.

The letter covering the packet gracefully directed her to review the enclosed account transfer forms, sign each at the place indicated, and return two sets of the three to the office of dea'Gauss, in Solcintra, address appended. She could, she learned, assign a password to each account and manage them herself, or she could assign management, in whole or in part, to Mr. dea'Gauss and his staff. Had she any questions, she was invited, most warmly, to contact him.

Aelliana flipped the letter over and riffled the first clipped set of papers, located an accounts list, with balances, among the appendices, and ran an expert's eye down the page.

Carefully, she pulled out the desk chair, and, carefully, sat.

She flipped back to the first page, and was very soon in possession of the fact that certain monies (itemized list in Appendix A) were transferred from Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval to Aelliana Caylon Clan Mizel to be hers fully, without restraint, and without condition, to use wholly as she judged fit.

There was more, language specifying that the grant was to herself
personally
, and a great deal of what she judged to be mere formality, in order to sanctify the contract in the eyes of another
qe'andra
and the Accountants Guild.

What there was not, was any explanation of why Daav should be giving her—
her personally
—so very much money, not to mention what appeared to be a small house or holding in the Hayzin Mountains.

Aelliana reassembled the papers and slid them back into their envelope with the letter from Mr. dea'Gauss covering all, exactly as it had been. She could not possibly accept so much—not from Daav. If this was some High House notion of seeing to her comfort—

She bit her lip, recalling Anne's reassurance that she could afford that exclusive, expensive shop. Daav hadn't paid for her clothes, no. He had merely given her the means to do so.

Well, she thought, pressing the seal on the envelope and rising from her chair, Mr. dea'Gauss had invited her to consult him with any question. How convenient, that she had already determined to call upon him with other business.

* * *

Daav closed the door behind him, and sealed it before going deeper into the clan's closest-held library. Here were shelf after shelf of leather-bound volumes—Korval's Diaries, including the stained and rumpled book that had belonged to the very Founder, Grandmother Cantra, who had first lain down the rules of the clan.

Today, he thought, he need not go . . . quite so far back. He stepped up to a shelf holding more modern, less abused, volumes and ran his fingers down the leathered spines . . . 

* * *

"May I," Aelliana said to the young man at the desk, "speak with Mr. dea'Gauss?"

The young man inclined his head, respectful, but not encouraging.

"Have you an appointment, Pilot?"

Aelliana's stomach sank. A gentleman so highly placed—of course she ought to have made an appointment, rather than rushing in as if—as if this fine office in Solcintra's business district was the Binjali Repair Shop, and someone of the regular crew certain to be about to aid her.

"I beg your pardon," she said to the young man. "It did not occur to me to do so. Perhaps I might make one with you?"