—Vilander's Proverbs, Seventh Edition
They had breakfast on the balcony overlooking the inner court, at not a particularly early hour. Daav had gone in to dress while she dawdled over her second cup of tea; he returned, overneat in his town clothes, to join her for a third.
“Is there anything that I might bring you from the city?” he asked.
“Nothing springs immediately to mind,” she answered. “Please convey my best regards to Mr. dea'Gauss.”
“Certainly. It may be that I will return in time for lunch; it may be that I will not. Mr. dea'Gauss was not as plain as he might have been regarding the nature of our business.”
“Mr. pel'Kana will see that I don't stint myself,” she said, smiling at him from a vast inner contentment. “In the meanwhile, I have my letters to write, and an appointment to fix. After that, I may walk in the garden, or find Lady Dignity and stroke her.”
“It sounds a full day, yet not overly fatiguing,” Daav acknowledged with a grin. He rose and kissed her, sweetly, on the cheek. “Will you sleep with me tonight, beautiful lady?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Aelliana shivered.
“Eventually,” she said.
He laughed at that and went away. She finished her tea as she wrote out her acceptances, taking especial care with the note to Kareen yos'Phelium, then dressed and placed a comm call to Scout Academy.
By the time she came belowstairs, port comm under arm, it could fairly have said to have been midday. She stopped in the kitchen to ask for an apple, some cheese and a bottle of cold tea, and carried these out into the garden, where she made camp on the bench surrounded by gloan-roses. She opened the computer and was very soon lost in the complexities of sub-rational mathematics.
It was there that Mr. pel'Kana found her more than an hour later, her lunch forgotten on the bench beside her, the sunlight threading her tawny hair with gold.
“Your pardon, Pilot,” he said softly. “This was brought, express. You left no instruction . . . ”
Immersed as she had been, it took a heartbeat, or longer, for her to understand the words.
“Express?” she repeated, frowning up from the screen. “I did not ask for—an express what, Mr. pel'Kana, if you please? I fear I am—somewhat fuddled.”
“Your pardon,” he said again, and held up a letter for her to see. “This arrived for you by express messenger, Pilot. I thought you would want it. If not, I will take it away and place it with the rest of the correspondence.”
“Oh, I see! I will take charge of it. It was kind of you to bring it out.”
“Not at all, Pilot,” he said, placing the envelope into her hand. “May I bring you anything else? A muffin, perhaps?”
“No, thank you, I am quite well-provisioned.”
“Of course, Pilot,” he answered and left her, walking as if he were not quite accustomed to grass.
She glanced down.
Mizel's seal leapt at her from a field of too-bright white; her name written out in blue ink in her mother's familiar hand.
Aelliana's stomach clenched. For a moment, she thought of merely tearing it up, unread, and scattering the bits among the roses.
But that would be craven; unworthy of a pilot, and to refuse a letter from kin—that was smaller than she knew herself to be.
She broke the seal, and withdrew a sheet of paper that felt unpleasantly smooth against her fingers, and unfolded it.
It was not, after all, a letter from her mother.
It was a command from Mizel.
It is the judgment of the Delm that Aelliana Caylon has been too long separate from Clan and Kin. Her duties have languished for lack of another to carry them out, and any further absence is to Mizel's disadvantage.
Aelliana Caylon is therefore commanded to return to her Clanhouse no later than Zeldra Seventhday of this present relumma, bringing with her such items as legitimately belong to her, and nothing else. She will herefore consider the House of Mizel her natural and permanent residence, and Mizel's care and protection her natural right.
It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a spacegoing vessel and a viable courier business. These things will pass properly into the care of the Clan, and any profit realized from them will be divided by Mizel equally among the members of the Clan.
“No!” The word burst from her. She raised a hand and pressed her fingers hard against her lips, lest there be more, and stronger, to dismay the garden's peace.
Mizel's patience had run out, and she was summoned home, all her goods forfeit to the Clan, as was proper and according to custom. Well, and she had known that it might happen—that it would happen. She had hoped for more time for circumstances to further resolve themselves, but she saw now what her choice must be. Really, there had never been a choice at all.
She glanced down again to the letter.
It has further come to the attention of Mizel that Aelliana Caylon owns, in her name alone, a space-going vessel and a viable courier business.
Yes, well.
She stood, folding the paper without much attention to the process and sealing it into her sleeve pocket.
Her ship would not be compromised, nor would it be dishonored.
And she would not—she would never—return to Mizel.
Deliberately, she gathered up the port comm, and her ignored lunch, entering the house by the kitchen door. The cook was elsewhere; she stowed the tea bottle and the cheese in the coldbox, left the apple on the counter and continued on course, walking briskly down the hall and up the stairs to their apartment.
Not more than two minutes later, she ran lightly down the stairs, jacket on, keys in hand. She let herself out the side door closest to the garages, and was very shortly away, on a heading for Solcintra Port.
* * *
Daav read the letter twice, not because a single reading had failed of putting him in possession of the pertinent facts, but because the sheer audacity of the thing had left him breathless.
Not to say angry.
“So,” he managed at last, lifting his head to face Mr. dea'Gauss decently, “Mizel accuses Daav yos'Phelium of kin-stealing. How refreshing.”
In fact, it was, and showed a small glimmer of wit. By naming him personally responsible, rather than Clan Korval, Mizel swept half of his pieces from the board and made the game much more equal.
“Alas, there is some merit to their argument,” his man of business said gently.
Of course there was. Aelliana Caylon did not belong to Korval. By custom, Daav yos'Phelium had no call upon her. He was not her employer—far the contrary! The world would see that he held her out-of-clan for his own pleasure, while using his melant'i as Korval to insure that none would interfere.
How many times had she said that she would not return to Mizel? Nor should she return to a clan that valued her so little, to a delm who would make certain to remind her every day that her brother had died on her account.
“Can we stall?” he asked, and only realized that he had spoken in Terran when he saw the incomprehension on Mr. dea'Gauss' face.
“Your pardon, sir. I meant to say: Can we stand against this?”
“Ah.” The other man folded his fingers together before his lips, as if he would prevent any unfortunate words from escaping, and gazed thoughtfully down at his desk before finally speaking.
“There are certain . . . delaying tactics which might be employed, your lordship. I will detail them, if you wish.”
Daav considered him. “I would be interested in hearing your estimation of the probable success of these tactics.”
“We may delay,” Mr. dea'Gauss said promptly and far too certainly, “but we will not prevail. It will be expensive, and—forgive me—your lordship is not in funds.”
Daav took a breath.
“Does Pilot Caylon remain steadfast in her refusal of a . . . formal lifemating?”
“She does not wish to speak of it,” Daav said neutrally.