“It is yours, then, too-large as it is. Though I fear you have not seen the whole of it yet.”
Shifting out of his lean, he crossed the room to the closed door, slid it open with a touch and stepped back, bowing her through ahead of him.
The bed alone was larger than her room in Mizel's clanhouse. Heaped with pillows, it sat beneath a ceiling port through which she could see the paling blue-green sky of a fading afternoon. Chest of drawers, wardrobe, and another door, which she opened, revealing a 'fresher big enough to accommodate most of Binjali's regular crew, all at once.
“What are the rescue protocols, should I become lost?” she asked, stepping back into the bedroom. Daav, she noticed, had not followed her within, but stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets of his jacket, watching her with an intensity that made her shiver.
“Merely call out,” he said, and his voice was calm as always. “The house keeps its ear open for certain words—help and thief among them. There is a complete list in your computer, in the House file.”
He tipped his head. “Speaking of which—do you still wish to speak with Clonak? I can make the call from your comm.”
“Yes!” she said decisively. “That I must do.”
“Very well, then.” He disappeared from the doorway.
Aelliana took one more look around the room, touched the pale blue coverlet over the bed, and went out into the parlor.
“She is here now, if you have a moment,” Daav was saying into the comm. He paused, then nodded, as if to himself. “The next voice you hear,” he said, and held the earpiece out to Aelliana.
She stepped forward and took it from his fingers, looking at the blank screen questioningly.
“He asks for voice only,” Daav said.
That was peculiar, but perhaps he was in disarray.
“My thanks,” she said to Daav.
“It is no trouble at all. If you have need of anything, only call.” He bowed slightly and left her, moving swift and silent across the rugs and out, the door closing gently behind him.
Aelliana bit her lip and brought the earpiece up.
“Clonak?”
“Aelliana, are you well?” His voice was so earnest that she scarcely recognized it.
“I am most wonderfully well,” she assured him, walking over to the window and looking down at the magnificent tangle of greenery and color. “The Healers' care was beyond anything I could have imagined, and you have no least cause for concern, or to—to rebuke yourself.”
“That I have no cause for concern is welcome news,” Clonak said, carefully. “But I do rebuke myself, Goddess. More than you may know.”
“That is quite ridiculous,” she said sternly, watching a large orange-and-white cat stalk, tigerlike, through a bank of pink-and-white roses. “You could scarcely force your escort on me. If there was error, Clonak, it was mine, in ignoring your very good advice. I should have not, I see now, leaned all of my weight upon custom.”
There was an . . . odd . . . silence from Clonak's side, though Aelliana could not have precisely said how it was odd.
“Why did you refuse me, Aelliana?” he asked then, his voice low and intent. “Didn't you believe that I would stand between you and danger?”
“I believed it all too well—and that was my reason for denying you! My brother—Clonak, you must understand that, yesterday, all I knew of the world had taught me that my brother would gladly ruin anything I held dear—and that he had the power to do so! I see . . . now that the Healers have someway opened my eyes—now I see that fear had bound and blinded me. It was beyond foolish, to have refused your escort—today, I would have known to do so. Yesterday . . . I acted as best I might, to preserve my friend's honor and his life.” She closed her eyes against the garden, and wished that she could see his face. “Please forgive me, Clonak.”
There came a sigh, very soft.
“How can I refuse you anything, Goddess? If it is forgiveness you require of me, then of course it is yours.” He cleared his throat. “Daav has you under wing, does he?”
“Indeed. I am a guest of Korval for the moment. I need . . . some time to think.”
“As who does not?” he returned, with a flicker of his more usual manner. “Well, then. All's well that ends well.” That was in Terran—a Terran proverb, so he himself had taught her, meaning that, despite the methods, a fortunate outcome was to be celebrated.
“I think that it has ended very well,” she told him seriously.
“Then I shall endeavor to think likewise,” Clonak said. “Now, of your kindness, Goddess, I must leave you and attend to other matters. If you have any use for me, only tell me so.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, frowning after a particular note in his voice. It seemed to her, but surely not—
“Clonak, are you well?”
“As well as may be,” he answered. “Fair evening to you, Goddess. Until soon.”
“Until soon,” she whispered, but Clonak had already closed the connection.
* * *
“Bindan asks high,” Daav murmured, scanning the document to which Korval's man of business had directed his attention. Indeed, the amount demanded was . . . bracing. They would need to sell stocks, or perhaps one of the lesser houses, though not so much as a ship.
“Too high,” Mr. dea'Gauss said dryly. “The next document more accurately illuminates Korval's final accounting in the matter, as adjudicated. It was Bindan, after all, who called the contract void. While there is some recourse under Clause Eighteen, they failed of proving that Samiv tel'Izak has been materially harmed by the event Bindan points to as the breach point. Pilot tel'Izak herself gives as her firm opinion that she stood in less danger from the relevant incident than a pilot may find on any strange port, and further states that your care was in all ways respectful of her melant'i.”
Daav glanced from the screen to his accountant's face. “She said so? That will not have pleased her delm.”
He looked back to the screen, flicked to the next document, and blinked. Mr. dea'Gauss had worked wonders on Korval's behalf, he allowed. Again.
“Perhaps Bindan would not have been pleased,” Mr. dea'Gauss murmured. “However, Ms. tel'Brieri, who sat as the impartial qe'andra required by Guild law, ruled that we should hear the pilot's testimony in confidence. It is very true that Bindan was not best pleased with this ruling; however, the pilot was then at leave to speak her own truth, which she did, most eloquently.” Mr. dea'Gauss paused to glance down at his notepad, as if verifying a point.
“It may be, your lordship, that Korval ought to undertake an entirely separate Balance with Pilot tel'Izak. If I understand her tale correctly, it would seem that she suffered some abuse from . . . an agent of the clan.”
“Indeed, the Tree used her terribly, and Balance is surely owing. Do you advise a separate accounting? I had thought merely to attach a rider to the breach payment, marked for Samiv tel'Izak's personal account.”
“In this case, I believe that a separate accounting would . . . avoid confusion on the part of Pilot tel'Izak's delm,” Mr. dea'Gauss said imperturbably.
Daav sighed. “As acquisitive as that, is she? Well, then. It is Korval's natural desire to see Balance appropriately placed. Of your kindness, Mr. dea'Gauss, please draw up the document. I wish it to be—generous, but not so much as to seem overabundant. Those monies will be withdrawn from my private accounts.”
“As your lordship wishes.” Mr. dea'Gauss made a note on his pad. “The final documents will be on your desk tomorrow morning.”
“Say rather on your desk,” Daav said. “I have business in the city tomorrow and will come by your office—by midmorning?”
“They will be ready for your signature,” Mr. dea'Gauss assured him, making another note. “Is there any other service that I may be honored to perform for your lordship?”
“In fact, there is. Please create the usual accounts for Aelliana Caylon, seeded by precisely half of my personal fortune, prior to deducting the Balance owed Pilot tel'Izak.”