Oh, gods. He raised his hand and stroked the back of his fingers along the boy's silken cheek.
“Aunt Anne is, unfortunately, correct,” he whispered, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. “Your mother has—has died, Val Con.”
The boy stared at him, foggy eyes full. “Like Relchin?” he asked.
The orange-and-white cat had died in his sleep last year, full of years and valor. If only Aelliana had been granted that same grace.
“Yes,” Daav told his son. “Like Relchin.”
A shudder ran through the thin body and Val Con began, silently, to cry. Daav caught him in both arms and sat up, cradling his child—Aelliana's child, their child—against his breast.
He rocked and put his cheek against the boy's soft hair, letting him weep, and weeping himself, in earnest.
Gradually, the boy's sobs lessened, and Daav found his tears less, as well.
“You won't die, will you, Father?” the boy's voice was blurry.
Daav sighed and cuddled him close. “Not for so long as I may,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Val Con sighed, apparently satisfied; and lay limp and exhausted. Daav kissed a damp cheek, and closed his eyes.
The gunman had been after him, Er Thom had said. Daav shivered and held his son closer. Was he a danger, then, to all his kin? Dare he never again walk on the port with his brother, his niece—
His son?
He needed—he needed to think. Gods, he needed to talk this over with Aelliana to—
Not Aelliana, he thought carefully. You will never speak with Aelliana again.
It seared, that thought, but the abyss did not open at his feet.
Of course not. He had promised his son that he would try to live.
Cradling Val Con against him, he rose, and carried him into the bedroom. He settled the boy snug under the covers, then lay down next to him, one arm over the small body. He closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep.
The next thing he knew, it was morning.
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Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I have today received Korval's Ring from the hand of Petrella, Thodelm yos'Galan, who had it from the hand of Korval Herself as she lay dying.
My first duty as Korval must be Balance with those who have deprived the clan of Chi yos'Phelium, beloved parent and delm; as well as Sae Zar yos'Galan, gentle cousin, a'thodelm, master trader. There is also Petrella yos'Galan, who I fear has taken her death-wound.
Sae Zar fell while defending his delm. All honor to him.
Chi yos'Phelium died of a second treachery and in dying gave nourishment to her sister, my aunt, who alone of the three was able to win back to home.
The name of the world which has fashioned these losses for Korval is Ganjir, RP-7026-541-773, Tipra Sector, First Quadrant.
This shall be Korval's Balance: As of this hour, the ships of Korval and of Korval's allies do not stop at Ganjir. Korval goods do not go there; Korval cantra finds no investment there. And these conditions shall remain in force, though Ganjir starves for want of us.
. . . I note that my mother is still dead.
—Daav yos'Phelium
Eighty-Fifth Delm of Korval
Entry in the Delm's Diary for Finyal Eighthday
in the first Relumma of the Year Named Saro
“I thank you for your generosity to my lifemate. With her death, your gift returns to you.” Daav extended the Jump pilot's ring.
Jon dea'Cort hardly spared a glance for it; his attention was on Daav's face.
“How are you, child?” he asked, his voice more than normally gruff.
“Alive,” Daav answered, the ring still extended.
“The pilot's ideal, right enough,” the elder Scout acknowledged, and pressed his lips tight.
“Jon,” Daav said, perhaps too patiently, “take the ring.”
The elder pilot sighed, and finally did look down at the thing, sparkling like a galaxy against Daav's palm. Slowly, he raised a hand and took the ring away. He clenched his fingers, hiding the glitter and the promise of it, and looked back to Daav, his eyes swimming.
“Don't forget your comrades, Captain. We're here when you need us.”
“I know,” Daav whispered, swallowing against rising tears. “Thank you, Jon.”
“No thanks needed between comrades; you know that.”
“I do, and yet—she would have had it so.”
The other man bowed his head. “That she would have.” He cleared his throat. “Will you be working today?”
He felt equally horrified and tempted—a sensation that had become wearingly familiar. Binjali's was a safe place—for him and, later, for Aelliana. They had met right here in the garage; had learned to trust, and to love, each other . . .
“Not just today,” he managed, around the ache in his chest. “I do not by any means forget my comrades, Master. I—certainly, I will have a shift before the next relumma is done.”
Jon inclined his head. “As you will.”
As he willed. Daav swallowed against the terrible noise that was not laughter, and inclined his head in turn.
“Soon, Jon. Be well.”
“And you, child,” the old Scout murmured. “And you.”
The door cycled as he approached, admitting a familiar, pudgy form.
“Daav.” His hand was caught, and he was drawn into an embrace as gentle as it was speaking. A heartbeat only before Clonak released him.
Daav stepped back, raising his hands with fingers spread wide.
“I am just on my way away,” he managed.
Clonak nodded and turned with him, back to the door.
“I'll walk with you, if you'll have me,” he said.
“It's only a step to my car,” Daav murmured, “but if you crave the exercise . . . ”
Outside, it was a sunny, cloudless day, chilly but virtually windless. Aelliana had been dead for thirty-three days.
“Old friend,” Clonak murmured, as if he had heard Daav's thought, “there are no words to express—”
Daav's hand shot out on its own, and gripped the other man's arm, tightly—and released him. “Don't, Clonak.”
There was a small silence, before Clonak nodded. “I will of course respect your wishes,” he said stiffly.
Daav bit his lip, ashamed of his churlishness.
“Forgive me, old friend,” he said, with what gentleness he could muster. “You loved her, too—”
Clonak took his arm. “I loved her—and love her yet. However, my concern of the moment is my friend, who seems to be fading as I look at him. Are you well, Daav? Do you need—note, I do not say 'want'—a Healer?”
He shuddered and tried to pull away, but Clonak did not relinquish his arm.
Trapped and goaded, he sighed. “The Healers will cause me to forget those things that—that perhaps cause me not to thrive. I—we had so little time! How can I forfeit even one moment?”
“Get down!” Clonak shouted, augmenting the command with a firm push.
Daav hit the ground, rolling, into the shelter of a delivery van, pulled his weapon, and peered out.
A pellet struck 'crete six inches from his nose, cutting a tiny gouge in a spurt of dust.
“Stay down,” Clonak snapped from beside him, “and do try not to be a target.”
“Too late,” Daav murmured, though he did withdraw to a position of more prudence behind the van.
Clonak slid something back into his belt. “My crew will be here soon,” he said. “Just keep your head down, Daav.”
“Crew?”
“Security crew,” Clonak said briefly. “I'm team leader.”
“So—a practice run.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Clonak said in Terran. “Who's marked you out as a target, Daav?”
“The Terran Party.”
Clonak frowned and shot him a glance. “The Terran Party . . . ” he began.
“ . . . are wingnuts,” Daav finished. “Yes, I've been told. They do, however, carry a grudge, and apparently believe that killing me will kill the proof of a common ancestor for Terran, Liaden and Yxtrang.”