Dragon in Exile - eARC (9 page)

“I think I got the high points. When it seemed like the fireworks was over, I told the pair of them to retire to quarters and take a nap.”

The link…

“Gods,
cha’trez
.” He stared down into her face, her song in all its depth rising into his consciousness. “You dreamed…”

“I missed the intro, if there was one. Came in on the slash-and-patch job.” Tears rose again, and spilled over. “That’s—they did that to you, didn’t they? It wasn’t just a sim,
or
a dream…”

“Today, it was a dream. Before…yes, they did that. Miri, I would never have had you—”

“Right, I got that.” She leaned forward and he gathered her to him, felt her arms go around his waist, tight.

After a time, she spoke again.

“Those people we’re holding—they’re living that, right now.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then you and Rys—you’re right. If we can give them a way out, we gotta do it.” She sighed; he felt her shudder as he held her.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” she asked.

He caught his breath, but managed to answer easily.

“Of course I do.”

“Right there near the last, where we were being pushed and pushed to give up the last bit of ourselves?”

“I remember.”

“Well that’s my favorite part, right there. ’Cause we didn’t break.”

She twisted slightly, and he let her go, and she looked up into his face, raising her hands to his cheeks.

“
We didn’t break
,” she repeated. “That’s the take-away.”

“Yes,” he said, and touched the corner of her eye, feeling dampness there. “But you took harm.”

“I got understanding. I knew it’d been bad; I didn’t know…”

“There was never any reason for you to know!”

“Nope, there you’re wrong,” she said, shockingly calm. “I think. Anthora offers to smooth things over, if it turns out the system got disrupted. But what
I
think is that the system worked just like it’s supposed to. The link—it’s growing, and we’re changing.”

“Yes,” he said again, and for a moment he wanted to excise the link before it caused her any more…

“No, you don’t,” Miri interrupted, apparently snatching the thought out of his head. “And neither do I. What I
do
want is for you to sit here in this chair…”

She pulled him over to the rocker, and saw him seated. He sighed and looked out over the garden. Flowers bloomed—it seemed that all the flowers bloomed at once, in celebration of Surebleak’s short and chilly summer.

Miri sat on his lap, leaning in and tucking her head down on his shoulder, so she, too, could look out over the garden.

“OK, now. Tell me how we’re going to use that dream to break those people loose. And what we’re gonna do with them, after.”

Chapter Ten

Jelaza Kazone

Surebleak

“You ask a difficult question,” Kareen yos’Phelium said. “My brother and I were not—how is it said in Terran?”

“Close?” Kamele suggested.

“Ah, yes, of course.
Close
. An apt word, in the case, for in truth my brother and I could scarcely have been less close: I am his elder by every one of a dozen Standards. Such a gap in age does not, of course, preclude
closeness
. I believe that Sae Zar—a cousin of my own age, in the yos’Galan Line—Sae Zar made an effort to ingratiate himself with the boys, and they were undoubtedly fond of him, with what fondness they could spare from each other.”

“Boys?” Kamele asked. “Jen Sar—Daav—has…a brother?”

They were sitting together in a small, slightly shabby parlor, the predominant color of which was a faded mauve. There was a firebrick in the hearth, and the little room was almost too warm for Kamele’s taste, though Lady Kareen seemed inclined to be chilly, still. It was the hour they had set aside to converse in Terran, in order that Kareen might perfect her skill. They also met for the morning meal, and spoke entirely in Liaden, in order that Kamele might practice what she had absorbed the previous evening, during her session in the Learner.

“Daav had, as I did, an age-mate of the yos’Galan Line. Er Thom yos’Galan. It was not possible to see one without seeing both.” Kareen smiled, a cool expression on her austere face. “Daav and Er Thom were
close
. In Liaden, the relationship is described as
cha’leket
, which I have been told comes into Terran as
kin of the heart
.”

“I understand; I’m a partner in such a relationship myself. I had no sisters, nor did my friend, so we grew to be sisters.”

“Exactly,” Kareen said. “In the particular case, it was the Delm’s Word that produced two children, one of each Line, so very near in age. It was necessary to avert a crisis of inheritance; as the delm’s first child had proved inadequate.”

Kamele blinked. The delm’s first child, as she had learned early in their conversations, was Kareen yos’Phelium; and a more adequate woman would be difficult to find. Kamele had not yet discovered all of the lady’s accomplishments, but it was plain that she was a scholar of considerable talent.

“May I ask?” she asked carefully. “I don’t wish to cause you pain…”

Kareen moved a hand, deliberately, though the meaning of the gesture was lost to Kamele.

“It is scarcely a secret; all the world knows—knew—that Korval’s Ring passes only into the keeping of a first class pilot, and testing proved that I was no pilot at all. The delm had placed all of her coins on one marker, which was not like her, and thus found herself in need of a more appropriate heir. Nor could she accept the risk of producing a second inadequate child. There is no piloting test for newborns; the proof cannot be made until child is—or nearly approaches—halfling. So, she ordered thodelm of yos’Galan to bring a second child to the clan, while she herself did the same.”

She paused and sent a sharp glance into Kamele’s face. Whatever she saw there, and Kamele hoped sincerely that it wasn’t the pity she felt, convinced her that more explanation was necessary.

“yos’Galan has never yet failed to produce a pilot. If Daav had not proven, Er Thom would certainly have done. The Ring would have passed to him, averting Korval’s crisis.”

“But Daav proved to be a pilot.”

“Ah, yes; a most excellent pilot. Very nearly a natural. It seemed that he was recalling the equations, rather than learning them for the first time, and there was no one, save Er Thom, could match him for speed.”

“And Val Con is also a pilot?”

“As good as or better than his father, as I’ve been told.”

Kamele considered. Kareen’s conversation often produced more questions than answers, and today she had opened several enticing query lines. She was herself a scholar and ached to pursue each, but their hour was more than half done. It would be best to ask something that would produce a more-or-less straightforward—

“You wonder, perhaps, that, as Daav wore the Ring, how—or do I mean
why
—he left the clan?”

Kamele frowned slightly.

“Jen Sar rarely spoke of his life before coming to Delgado. I’d always thought that something…very painful had happened to him, that he didn’t want to…revisit, or remember.”

Kareen inclined her head.

“Your instincts are good. Has my nephew shown you the portrait hall?”

It seemed an abrupt, nearly whimsical, change of conversational direction, and while Kareen was often abrupt, but she was never whimsical. Therefore, the portrait room had a bearing on…something.

Kamele shook her head.

“It’s a large house; and Val Con has many demands on his time.”

“True. I will, therefore, take this pleasant duty from him. Would you care to see the portraits? It is a little distance to walk, but I, for one, have been sitting too long.”

“We’ll run over our hour,” Kamele warned.

Kareen smiled.

“If so, then we may usefully segue into an additional hour of Liaden, if that would also find your favor.”

Well, that was something, though there was the very real danger that Kamele would miss important information, as her abilities in Liaden were not nearly as advanced as Kareen’s were, in Terran.

A scholar, however, did not flinch from learning. Kamele inclined her head.

“That sounds very agreeable,” she said.

Kareen offered an arm; Kamele took it, and they strolled out of the warm little parlor, entirely at ease with each other.

* * *

“What do you want, Rys Dragonwing?”

Neither question nor tone were welcoming, but that was Droi’s way. That only her voice was sharp, very nearly betrayed pleasure.

“Only to sit with you, and talk for a moment.”

“What have you found to talk about, now?” she wondered, never lifting her eyes from her task. Rafin must have brought her his latest gleanings, for she was sorting cables, like to like, out of a tangled, untidy pile.

Rys sat down on the other side of the pile and teased a thin yellow cable loose from the mass.

“I have been to visit my brother undertree,” he told her, keeping his eyes lowered, so that she would not find him too bold and be compelled to strike him for his impudence.

“How did he value your brother-gift?” she asked. He had told her of his struggles with dream-making on previous visits.

“High. I believe he will use it to good cause.”

“Well, then he is not a fool. That is well. It is very trying when one’s brother is a fool.”

That was perhaps directed at him. He ignored it, placed the coiled yellow cable to one side, and reached again to the pile.

“I slept overnight in the house of my brother,” he continued. “And met his blood-kin.”

Droi said nothing, though he could tell by the tilt of her head that she was listening.

“I met his lifemate.”

“So? What is she like, the headwoman undertree? Very beautiful, I suppose, in the
gadje
way, with sweet words in her mouth?”

“She is very like you,” Rys said, smiling at the cables. “Beautiful in her own way, and of a…decided temper. Her daughter will be another such, I do believe.”

“How old, the daughter?”

“She creeps, and tests her grip; she is able to detect a stranger in her orbit.” He smiled slightly. “She has a fascination with hair.”

“Who could resist Rys’ curls?” Droi asked the cable she was slowly extracting from the tangle of its cousins.

There was certainly nothing he might say to that; to point out that untold numbers demonstrably held the ability to resist him seemed false modesty among a people for whom boasting was an art form.

He freed and rolled three more cables before Droi spoke again.

“I have been meditating upon the child we made together.”

He looked up, expecting to find her face averted, and so met her eyes, which were only black, if their gaze was sharp, with no touch of red or
veyness
about them.

“Our child is well?” he asked, around a sudden lump in his throat. Droi was Sighted, though she rarely Saw kindly things.

Droi snorted lightly.

“You are a fool, Rys Dragonwing.”

“I am, yes. A fool who has lost much and would lose no more.”

“You lose nothing in this hour. Our child is robust. She tells me that she will have curls and black Bedel eyes. So here is another who cannot resist Rys’ hair.”

He smiled, though he felt the prick of tears.

“
She
,” he repeated.

“That pleases you?”

“Very much.”

“Well, then, my purpose is fulfilled; Rys is pleased.” That was plainly waspish; Droi was nearing the end of her patience with him.

He finished with the cable in his hand, and set it aside.

“I am bound for the World Above,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Is there any thing that I might find for you?”

“A wise man who has lost nothing.”

“I do not think that such a man exists,” he said, coming to his feet. “Yet, if he does, I dare not bring him to you.”

Droi looked up at him. There were two tiny red flames far back in her eyes.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“For then he would lose his heart, and that would be cruel.”

For a moment, it hung in the balance, whether she would snatch up one of the several knives on her person and let fly at him. Then she looked down, and reached for another cable.

“Go away, Rys.”

There was nothing to be gained in trying her further. He bowed, gently, and left her.

* * *

“All of the delms of Korval are represented here,” Kareen said, turning the knob and opening the door. The lights came up in the room beyond, and Kareen, as befit her age, stepped over the threshold first.

Kamele followed, and stopped, one step into the room, staring.

“When in company, one does make the attempt to keep one’s face smooth,” Kareen murmured. They had crossed into the extra hour of Liaden lessons during their stroll to this room full of treasure.

“Would the host not take offense, at my indifference?” she asked, slowly, taking special care with the markers for mode.

Kareen looked at her sharply.

“That is an interesting insight,” she said. “I thank you. To your point, if the host is Liaden, she will be more distressed by a…frank display of emotion. She might think you—forgive me—a little foolish. Far more dangerously, she may think that you are uncivilized and thus not due those courtesies that are owed to the civilized.”

“Thank you,” Kamele said. “I will attempt to be…civilized.”

Kareen was seen to smile slightly.

“You have demonstrated that you are civilized; you have, thus far in your visit, been everything that is convenable,” she said. “It is merely the accessories that you must acquire.” She turned, moving a hand as if to encompass the room and all it contained.

“But come, there is a particular portrait that I wished to show you, which has to do with your instinct regarding my brother. It will be near the bottom of the room.”

She again offered an arm, and Kamele took it willingly.

The pace she set was leisurely; from time to time, she spoke a name, rarely two—“Jeni yos’Phelium, Edil yos’Phelium and Var Ond ter’Asten, Theonna yos’Phelium…”—which might have been informative, had Kareen made any indication of which picture she was identifying.

Kamele felt she must look foolish, indeed, moving her head from side to side, trying to seeing each portrait. She’d have to come back, with a lunch, maybe, and take the proper time to study everything that was…

Kareen stopped.

“The eighty-fifth delm of Korval,” she said, her voice perfectly level. “Daav yos’Phelium and Aelliana Caylon.”

Kamele stared.

Jen Sar Kiladi, born Daav yos’Phelium, had been well into his late middle years when Kamele had met him at a Dean’s reception, more than twenty Standard years before. His demeanor had been grave, his manner gentle. He could deliver a stunning set-down, and his humor had been sly, but he had been…civilized.

The man in the portrait was…feral. His eyes were fierce and black under well-marked brows; his lean face was hard; his mouth firm, and his chin decided. His hair—Jen Sar had kept his greying hair cut short—this man’s hair, so dark a brown that it might have been black, had been braided and let to hang over his left shoulder. From his right ear swung an ornament of silver wire, twisted into a primitive design.

Kamele remembered to breathe. She realized that she was holding Kareen’s arm rather tightly, but her companion made no complaint, nor spoke at all.

Jen Sar had worn a single ornament, always, on the smallest finger of his right hand. An old silver ring—a puzzle ring, he’d told her when she asked, and then turned the conversation.

The man in the portrait wore a ring on the third finger of his left hand; the same ring that Val Con now wore. Korval’s Ring, that passed from delm to delm.

Next to him, holding his hand…

Where he was dark and fierce, the woman beside him was fair and open. Her pale hair had been pulled back into a complex knot; her face was thin, the green eyes direct; her attitude suggesting both intelligence and delight.

She wore, on the hand that held his, a large and inordinately ugly ring, all gemstones and gaud. On her other hand, she wore…

The old silver puzzle ring that Jen Sar had never put off.

“She was murdered,” Kareen said, in Terran. “Shot and killed as they arrived at the theater.”

“He witnessed…” Kamele began, but Kareen flicked the fingers of her free hand.

“Far worse than that, for one of my brother’s proclivities. She understood the situation instantly—she was, of course, also a pilot. She realized that he was the target, and she leapt up before him.” Kareen took a deep, deliberate breath. “He lay unconscious for many days; it was thought that he would also die. When he woke, it was plain that he would never recover himself fully. He made a credible attempt, but in the end, he gave the Ring and his heir to Er Thom, and left us.”

History was littered with deaths. Even the most civilized scholar became hardened to the murders and betrayals revealed in research. But to have witnessed such violence, to have been so close to death that one woman’s desperate leap was everything that had preserved him…