Jefferson had given much information freely; its continued existence had been a threat to sig'Alda himself. More, its elimination was a minor balance for the act of putting a Liaden—any Liaden—in the way of the Yxtrang. That the Liaden had been a member of his own Department and one of its best was a sad fact. Tanser's name had been duly noted; sig'Alda's report would mention it, and another bit of balance would no doubt follow.
sig'Alda stepped back, noting that the Loop gave him excellent chances of attaining the shuttle to Prime Station and the deck of
Raslain,
his passage away. Yet he hesitated, nagged by a consideration that was by rights none of his, he who was assigned to determine what had become of Val Con yos'Phelium, lost en route to his debriefing. And still there was the damned female . . .No. He would leave tonight, information pertinent to the mission having been gathered on Lufkit. His report to the commander would reflect Jefferson's certainty that yos'Phelium and the female had fallen to the Yxtrang bounty-crew, as well as the corroboration of the Loop. It was futile to spend time backtracking the female. He was not assigned to provide her a eulogy.
So thinking, he turned and faded into the shadows, leaving the street to the puddle of light and that which lay within it.
"No! Absolutely not!"
"Shan . . ." Nova yos'Galan flung forward and caught her brother's sleeve in one slim hand. Head tipped back, she stared up into his face, seeing the ice forming in the silver eyes and the lines of Korval stubbornness tightening around the big mouth. "Shan, by the gods!"
He made the effort—he took a deeper breath, then another. "You tell me that the First Speaker wishes me to contract-wed. Why now? Why not last week or next week? Have you some sweet offer for the stupidest of the Clan? This is arbitrary beyond sense, sister!"
She recoiled from the anger in both his words and his face. "It is Val Con! I—I must consider what is proper. He has been missing all this while . . ."
"Is he truly missing? I know I haven't seen him for some time, but missing?"
Nova held up her hand, moved to the console, and touched several buttons, bringing the computer screen to life.
He moved closer as she scrolled the information there, finally settling on a spot.
" . . .the First Speaker's point is, however, valid insofar as it concerns the necessity of the Nadelm's education," she read. "I shall undertake to make myself available as soon as practicable following my thirtieth anniversary Name Day for instruction on the proper administration of a Clan from both the First Speaker and Korval's man of business. It is made extremely clear by the First Speaker, my sister, that I am expected to graduate to Delm very quickly."
Shan sensed the underlying impatience in those few words as clearly as he felt the tension singing in Nova.
"His
word,
from the last letter I had of him, nearly three Standards gone. His Name Day is more than a relumma past, and I have heard nothing! I must prepare, for the benefit of Korval.
yos'Galan must prepare, as well!"
"Is he dead, then?"
His query was quite calm. Had she been less wrought up herself, she might have mistrusted such calmness. As it was, she gasped and stared up at him, dimly aware that somehow during the course of the interview the lines of melant'i had shifted so that it was no longer Korval's First Speaker, eldema-pernard'i, in conference with the Head of Line yos'Galan, but a younger sibling pleading with an elder.
"Dead?" she repeated, golden fingers snaking about each other in agitation. "How can I know? They answer no questions! The Scouts say he was placed on detached duty to the Department of the Interior these three years gone by. The Department of the Interior says he has been offered leave and refused it; that it is not their part to force a man to go where he would rather not. They refuse to relay the message that he come to his Clan, when next he is able . . ."
And that, Shan thought, was not as it should be. Even the Scouts, who had little patience with many things Liaden—even the Scouts, appealed to in need, had sent broadbeam across the stars that Scout Captain Val Con yos'Phelium was required immediately at home, on business of his Clan. So had Val Con come, too, in remarkably short time, shaky with too many Jumps made one after another, to stand and weep with the rest of them at his foster mother's bier.
"If he will not come to us—" Nova was saying distractedly, "If he is so angry with me, even now . . ."
And there was the nub of it, Shan knew. When last he had been home on leave, Val Con had quarreled with his sister, the First Speaker, over her insistence that he take himself a contract-bride and provide the Clan with his heir. That quarrel had been running for several years, with subtle variations as each jockeyed for position. There was very little real pressure that Nova as Korval-in-Trust could bring upon Korval Himself, whether he chose at the moment to take up the Ring and his Delmhood, or remain mere Second Speaker. However, the Second Speaker was bound to obey the First, as was any Clanmember, and the Clan demanded of each member a child, by universal Clan Law. A pretty problem of melant'i and ethics, to be sure, and one Shan was glad to contemplate from a distance. Obviously even Val Con had bowed to at least part of melant'i's necessity, as evidenced by that snappish letter. But still . . .
"That's hardly like him, denubia. Val Con's never held a grudge that long in all his life."
His attempted comfort backfired. Nova's violet eyes filled with tears, and her hands knotted convulsively.
"Then he is dead!"
"No." He bent to cup her face in his big brown hands. "Sister, listen to me: Has Anthora said he is dead?"
She blinked, gulped, and shook her head so the blond hair snared his wrists.
"Have you asked her?"
Another headshake, fine hairs clinging to his skin like grade-A silk, and he read the two terrors within her.
"Anthora is dramliza," he said patiently, beginning to pay out a Healer's line of comfort as pity overtook him. "She holds each of us in her mind like a flame, she told me once. Best to ask and know for certain."
Nova touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, hesitating.
"Ask," he urged, seeing with satisfaction that her agitation quieted under his weaving of comfort and gentle hope. "If this Department of the Interior flouts Clan tradition, then we will search ourselves. Korval has some resources, after all."
"Yes, of course," she murmured, moving her cheek against his palm in a most un-Novalike demonstration of affection. Shan cautiously lowered his level of input and pulled his hands away. She would do, he judged. Korval's First Speaker had a cool, level head. Even without his aid, she would have taken up her charge again very shortly and done all she perceived as necessary to keep the Clan in Trust for Korval's Own Self.
Shan shook his head slightly. He had briefly held the post Nova now filled and did not envy her the necessity of running a Clan composed of such diverse and strong-willed persons.
Dutiful Passage
was more to his taste, more in keeping with his abilities; yet the trading life had bored Nova to distraction.
He smiled down at her—the only one of the three yos'Galans who had inherited all their Terran mother's height. "Ask Anthora," he advised again. "And tell me what I can do to help us find our brother."
She returned his smile faintly, a bare upward curve of pale lips. "I will think upon it. In the meanwhile, do think upon what we discussed earlier . . ."
Anger flared, but he held it in check, unwilling to give her cause to fear the loss of another brother. "I will not contract-wed. I have done my duty, and the Clan has my daughter in its keeping. I have done more than my duty—I hear that the child Lazmeln got from me aspires to be a pilot. Leave it."
"If Val Con is dead—if he is eklykt'i—then yos'Galan must be ready to assume its position as Korval's First Line. You are Thodelm yos'Galan—head of our Line!
You
are A'nadelm, next to be Delm, if Val Con—"
"If
Val Con!" The anger clawed loose for an instant before he enclosed it. "If Anthora claims our brother dead, I still demand to see the body: my right as kin, my right as cha'leket, my right as A'nadelm! You do not make me Korval so easily, sister. Nor do I contract-wed again, and so I do swear!"
Her face was stricken; he felt the grief roiling off her like bitter smoke and made his bow, utterly formal.
"With the First Speaker's permission," he said precisely, and left her before it was given.
Shan reached Priscilla's house at first dark, when the fairy lights within the transparent walkway glowed under his boots like snowflakes. Taking the four steps to the town house's narrow vestibule in two strides, he laid his palm against the door. It slid open to admit him, and his heart clutched in wonder of it, even after so many years.
In the study, Priscilla lounged on pillows before a newly laid fire, papers in drifts around her, while Dablin, the resident cat, lay stretched in striped orange glory upon the scrubbed wood floor. His ears twitched at the sound of Shan's footsteps, but he did not deign to turn his head; the woman looked up, black eyes smiling, emotive grid a scintillation of joy/affection/caring/desire.
"Hello, love."
"You really should see to that door, Priscilla. Anyone might walk in."
She laughed softly as he crossed the room, open to and treasuring her joy, knowing that she read his emotions as clearly as he read hers—or did she read more clearly? Priscilla was not a mere Healer, after all; she was of the dramliz—a full-scale wizard, though on Sintia, the planet of her birth, the proper term was "witch."
"Have you eaten?" she asked, putting aside a sheaf of papers and extending a hand. "I can have Teyas bring you something."
He took her cool hand in his and, obedient to the gentle downward tug, settled to the pillows, chin propped on fist. She curled around to face him, cheek resting on a white arm. She was naked to the waist, as was her custom at home, and the platinum hoops in her ears gleamed in contrast to her short mop of thundercloud curls.
"I'm not hungry," he said, laying a hand over one breast; the nipple hardened against his palm, and he caught a flash of sheer lust from her. He looked up and smiled. "Hello Priscilla."
"Hello, Shan." One long finger traced the stark line of his cheek and lifted to follow the slant of a frost-colored eyebrow. "Nova made you angry."
"She has a very talent for it. Too like our father, poor child. Afraid she's driven Val Con away for once and all, or that he's gone and she must now command the Clan."
His father had been two years dead before Priscilla Mendoza had taken berth on the
Dutiful Passage.
However, she knew Nova and Val Con—Dablin, beginning the opening moves of his bathing ritual there before the fire, had been Val Con's gift to her.
Priscilla frowned. "Surely that's not like him? Has she contacted the Scouts? Left word for him to come home?"
Shan sighed and leaned back across the pillows, light eyes on the ceiling tiles. "She tried; but here's an oddity for you, Priscilla. The Scouts say Commander Val Con yos'Phelium hasn't been with them for more than three years, that he's on detached duty to something called the Department of the Interior. Ring any bells with you?"
She shook her head.
"Well, with me either, if it comes to that. Something to check on . . .At any rate, Nova calls this Department of the Interior, requests that a message be delivered to Commander yos'Phelium—kin-right, she tells them; his First Speaker requires him at Trealla Fantrol, on business of the Clan."
"The Department of the Interior is delighted to comply," Priscilla suggested when the silence had stretched a time.
Shan snorted. "The Department of the Interior informs Korval's First Speaker that Commander yos'Phelium is not at the moment available and adds that it is not Korval's lackey, to be delivering messages here and there around the galaxy. Nova points out that they are in violation of Clan Rule in that the commander has not returned home on leave in all the three years he has been with the Department. The Department replied that he has been offered leave several times and refused it; nor are they in the business of forcing a man to go where he would rather not."
"Nova hangs up in a fury," Priscilla murmured.
He laughed sharply. "Too true!"
"But what did she want you to do? Certainly the voice of Korval eldema-pernard'i carries more weight than that of Thodelm yos'Galan?"
"The First Speaker, in her wisdom, desires Thodelm yos'Galan to contract-wed."
Shock lanced through her, edged with astonishment, confusion, and the beginning of grief.
"Priscilla . . ." He reached for her, with both mind and hands, pulling her back down to lie beside him, her hand fisted on his chest despite the tide of comfort and love he poured out for her reading. "Priscilla, it will not happen! I will not allow it, and so I told her! My duty is done and—"
"If the First Speaker commands it, you'll have to. But why?" Anguish was added to the blare of other pains, and betrayal; she counted Nova among her friends. "Val Con's dead, is that it? The Department of the Interior—they lied to her. No, they said unavailable—truth. Of a kind. If Val Con's dead . . ." She raised herself up on her elbow and looked down on him with wide black eyes.
"You're Delm, aren't you? Korval Himself."
"I am
not
Delm, Priscilla. Strive for some sense! Scan me! Do I grieve for him—for my heart's own brother? Do I?"
"No."
He took a breath, feeling the warmth of her affection seeping into his bones like a draught of strong brandy. "Nova's duty as First Speaker is first to hold the Clan in trust for Val Con, who
is
Korval Himself. But the Clan exists even if Val Con doesn't, and a prudent Speaker must consider all contingencies, make plans for each—like captain and first mate, eh?" That drew a slight smile, though her eyes were tight on his face.
"Nova must consider the possibility of Val Con's death, as well as the chance that he's left the Clan," he went on. "But her guilt makes her favor the worst of all worlds above any other. With some reason—yos'Pheliums lately seem prone to leaving the Clan.