Read Korval's Game for Free Online

face altered amazingly, shifting from outrage to shock to a sudden dawning dread. He touched his tongue to his lips and brought his eyes back to Val Con.
    “We do,” Val Con said, gently, and still only in the mode of senior to junior, though he could have done much worse to the kid than that, “very much desire to speak with Delm Erob. Now, if possible. You may say that the Second Speaker of Clan Korval is calling, regarding a daughter of your House.”
    ***
    The kid had gone to get his boss, leaving the two of them to kick their heels in what sleep-learning suggested was a formal reception parlor.
    Miri pictured him running down the long hallway the minute the door was shut and grinned as she glanced around, wondering what this room had over the one at the front of the house they’d almost stopped in. The kid had actually crossed the threshold of that room, and Miri got a glimpse of white paneled walls and uncomfortable looking furniture before he apparently thought better of it and stepped back with a slight bow and a murmured, “Follow me, please.”
    So now, the Yellow Salon, and another kid, a little younger than the first, bringing wine and glasses and a porcelain tray of cakes. She kept her eyes averted, after one disconcertingly bright blue glance that seemed more interested in Val Con than in her, and bowed real pretty, asking if anything else was required in a voice that said she hoped not.
    “Thank you,” Val Con said gravely. “The solicitude of the House gives gladness.”
    “Sir.” The kid bowed again and escaped, forgetting to wait for the door to fully close before she ran.
    Miri grinned again, slid her hands in her belt and wandered over to look out the window, squinting a little against the sun.
    “There’s your tree, boss.”
    “So?” He came over, shoulder companionably touching hers as he took in the view. “But that is not my Tree, Miri. That is Erob’s tree. Mine is much older—and taller.”
    “Sounds like a quibble to me,” she said. “If this one’s a seedling off yours and yours is the only one there is, besides its own seedlings . . .” She stopped, cheeks heating in an unaccustomed blush.
    Val Con laughed.
    “Ah. Clan becomes discovered.”
    “Real funny . . .” she began, and then cut off as the door clicked.
    Val Con went silently toward the center of the room, Miri half-a-pace behind his right shoulder.
    The woman who entered the salon had not run full-tilt down the hallway, but she hadn’t dallied, either. She was gray-haired, gray-eyed and golden skinned, wire-thin and charged with energy. Two heavy lines were grooved horizontally across her high forehead; more lines ran starkly from nose to mouth. Still more lines radiated from the corners of her eyes, puckered now as she stared against the sun. She was dressed simply, in what sleep-learning told Miri was house-tunic, and tight trousers tucked neatly into a pair of buff-colored short-boots.
    All business, she marched across the buttery carpet, stopped a precise four paces before Val Con and bowed crisply, hand over heart.
    “Emrith Tiazan,” she said in a low, clear voice, “Delm Erob.”
    Val Con made his own bow, more fluid than hers, though as deep. “Val Con yos’Phelium, Clan Korval.”
    Miri tensed—but the old eyes stayed on Val Con.
    “Yes,” she said. “You have your father’s look.”
    Val Con bowed again, slightly—and with irony, Miri thought.
    Emrith Tiazan might have thought so, too; she lifted a sharp-bladed shoulder, and let it fall. Miri again tensed to make her own bow, but the old woman seemed intent on ignoring her.
    “I’ll tell you plain, Korval, before we sit to tea and cake and behaving as though we’re civilized—it’s no joy to see you at this time, tree-kin though we be. We’re just through with a matter that will heal in a generation or two—if all goes well and no one breeds another hothead like Kel Bar Rentava. I am aware that Erob owes a contract-wife this term, but