Immediately, she was aware of warmth, of a sense of welcome, and of a gentle probing, as if the tree asked how did she go on.
“Very well, thank you,” she murmured. “I hope you have not been lonely.”
The leaves directly over her head fluttered, though there was no breeze—laughter, so she thought. Intense focus sizzled along her connection with Daav, and her fingers grew quite warm. She did not pull away, and after a moment the heat faded.
Daav moved, retreating two deliberate steps from the trunk, pulling her with him. From high in the boughs came a clatter of leaf, as if a rock had been thrown from inside the canopy, then two seedpods plummeted out of the Tree, striking the ground precisely—one at Daav's feet; the other at hers.
“It seems we are welcomed home,” Aelliana murmured, bending to retrieve her pod.
“So it does,” Daav murmured. “Shall I open that for you?”
“Please.”
She lifted the first of the neat pieces to her lips, abruptly and ravenously hungry, though the meal with Anne and Er Thom was only recently behind them. Tonight's nut smelled of sweet cedar, the taste . . . If hot and cold were tastes, it would have tasted thus. The first morsel left her hungry for the second; the second for the third, and the fourth—sated her entirely.
Fulfilled, she looked to Daav, who was watching her with a quizzical tilt to his eyebrow.
“Have I forgotten to say that you are a thing of astonishing beauty,” he murmured, “the love of my life and the guiding star of my heart?”
She smiled up at him, shivering with delight. “I believe you may have mentioned it once or twice,” she said. “But how unhandsome! You leave me with no words to say at all, van'chela, only a wish to stay always at your side.”
“A rare compliment,” he said, “considering how many will have nothing at all to do with Korval.”
He turned and bowed to the tree—honor-to-a master—straightening just as Relchin, orange-and-white-striped tail held high in welcome, burst from -he shrubbery and ran to them, burbling excitedly.
Aelliana laughed, and bent down to offer her finger. Relchin rubbed his muzzle, eyes slit in ecstasy.
“Now here's an enthusiastic welcome!”
“Indeed,” Daav said, rubbing an orange ear briskly. “I wager Mr. pel'Kana has forgotten to fill the food bowls. Only see the poor creature, with his ribs on display!”
It was no such thing; Relchin was as sleek as ever he had been beneath her stroking palm. Aelliana gave him one skritch on the chin and straightened.
“We should go inside, then, and check the bowls.”
“We should go inside,” Daav corrected, taking her hand as they started back to the path, “and deal with our mail.”
Aelliana sighed comfortably as the warm breeze gently dried her, then she reached for her robe and belted it loosely around her. She paused in their bedroom to brush out her hair before going to the parlor.
Daav, resplendent in a house robe embroidered with gloan-roses, was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, long legs stretched before him, Relchin leaning companionably against his knee. The disordered clutch of mail she had last seen him with had been reduced to several tidy piles.
“I should have given it out that we were not expected to return,” he said, looking up with a rueful smile. “Er Thom has the right of it—the worst of coming home is dealing with one's mail.”
She sat down by his shoulder and leaned forward. His hair was loose on his shoulders, damp and smelling distractingly of sweet cedar. She wanted to comb her fingers through it, bury her face in it . . . Aelliana took a breath and forced herself to focus on the tidy piles.
“What a lot of invitations you have,” she said, eying the stack of square ivory envelopes. “I suppose you can't just throw them out?”
“More's the pity—however! I am not alone in having mail to sort, my lady.” He rummaged briefly and produced two invitations and an envelope.
“These,” he said, putting them into her hands, “are for you.”
“For me?” She couldn't remember when she had last received an invitation. Before her marriage, surely. After—she had not cared for going among people, and if she had shown any disposition for society, she thought, with a surprisingly hot spark of anger, Ran Eld would doubtless have forbidden her the pleasure.
Daav rested his head on the cushion at her side, and gave her a lazy, upside-down smile.
“That robe is quite fetching,” he murmured.
“You gave it—” she began, and then realized that her position had allowed the loosely-wrapped garment to fall somewhat open, thus revealing certain of her holdings.
“Fetching,” he repeated, softly, and reached up to pull on the sash, which obligingly gave up its knot; the robe opened more fully, falling away from one breast entirely.
Clearly, a countermeasure was called for.
She bent down and kissed him, as thoroughly as she knew how.
His desire rose to meet hers; she leaned closer, hungry for his mouth, his hands, for him . . .
“The mail is all mixed up again,” she said some while later.
She was lying across his back, breast against shoulder, cheek against cheek, his hair and hers thoroughly tangled together, with only the vaguest notion of how she had gotten there.
His other cheek pressed against the carpet, Daav sighed.
“Torn from virtuous industry by a ravishing temptress; all—all—to be done over!”
“Ravishing temptress? Who was it opened up my robe?”
“Who ravished whom?”
“That's not the point.”
“No, only give me a moment to recruit myself!”
She laughed.
“If I let you up, will you comport yourself as a gentleman?”
“For how long shall I be bound to that hideous fate? It may be that I will prefer death by ravishment.”
“Did I offer that alternative?” she asked, the sternness of her voice marred by a giggle. “You shall be bound for the time that it takes us to read our mail.”
“I suppose I may last that long. Am I allowed the comfort of a glass of wine?”
“Certainly,” she said grandly. “You may fetch me one, too. Have we a bargain?”
“We do, cruel lady.”
“Rise, then,” she said.
“After you.”
She rolled to her feet, glanced about—and found her robe cast all everyway across the reading chair. She slipped it on and tied the sash firmly, while Daav likewise reassembled himself and moved off toward the kitchen alcove.
Aelliana knelt on the rug amid the disorder of envelopes and picked up an invitation.
By the time he returned with the wine, she had gathered the invitations into one pile, and discovered most, but she felt not all, of the letters.
“My lady wishes to make my time in bondage as short as possible,” he murmured. “Perhaps she is not cruel, after all.”
“Merely pragmatic,” she said, rising to receive her glass. “I fear that some of the letters may have taken refuge beneath the furniture.”
“Fear not, I will recover all. Please, rest from your labors and attend to your own matters.”
Her correspondence had remained aloof upon the sofa cushions, where they had been joined by Relchin, who was asleep with his chin on an ivory card. She smiled, put her glass on the occasional table, and slid the letters free. The cat opened one eye, muttered and went back to sleep.
“Thank you,” she said politely, retiring to the corner and curling against the pillows. She broke the seal on the first invitation, which was marked with the sign of a snake wrapped 'round a moon.
The gift of your time is solicited for a select gathering of friends at an informal midmorning tea in the garden at Glavda Empri on Metlin Eighthday of the current relumma. Acceptances only to Ilthiria yo'Lanna, Thodelmae.
“Who,” Aelliana wondered, “is Ilthiria yo'Lanna?”
Daav looked up. He had resumed his seat on the floor and was engaged in dividing the invitations, still sealed into their envelopes, into two piles.