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However, I knew what that was, and yet I took no precautions, nor arranged for backup. Such foolishness would surely find me robbed, if not dead, on an out-port. It is scarcely wonderful that I very nearly had the same result here."
    "Ah," Daav said.
    Aelliana smiled, and leaned forward to place her hand over his, where it rested on his knee.
    A sense of carefulness touched her senses; and a fierce yearning. Startled, she drew back. The sensations faded, leaving her as she had been: grateful and reluctant.
    "I think, if you will bear with . . ." she said slowly, and paused.
    Daav tipped his head in an attitude of courteous listening.
    "I think that I must go to my sister. At the same time, I will inform Mizel that I—that I will reside for this present under your care."
    Daav took a deep breath, and leaned slightly forward, his eyes hard upon her face.
    "Is that your wish, Aelliana?" he asked, and once again she tasted that attitude of wrenching carefulness. "This must be as you wish it to be—not as I wish it, nor Clonak, nor anyone else, save yourself."
    "Yes," she said, feeling suddenly very small. "But, Daav—I trust you . . . more than Mizel."
    His mouth tightened, and he bowed his head. "I will try to be worthy of your trust, Aelliana."
    "You already have been," she said, reaching out to touch his hair. It was warm beneath her fingers, coarse and resilient. "Many times over."
     

Chapter Five
It must be the ambition of every person of melant'i to mold individual character to the clan's necessity. The person of impeccable melant'i will have no goal, nor undertake any task, upon which the clan might have reason to frown.
—
Excerpted from the
Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
 
    The shabby round chair in the library was Sinit's favorite seat in all the house, big enough to curl around in with feet tucked up, bound book braced comfortably against a shapeless pillow. It was also a refuge of sorts; neither her brother nor her eldest sister were at all bookish, so most times Sinit could be certain of having the room to herself.
    This afternoon, however, the chair had no comfort to offer. Sinit had retired to it directly after lunch, taken with only Voni for company—and poor company at that. Apparently, Ran Eld's . . . Ran Eld's death had struck her hard, so that she could scarcely be troubled to correct Sinit's manner at table, much less prose on about the soup being watery—which Sinit, usually the most forgiving of diners, allowed that it had been—or the salad being wilted—which was inarguable—or the tea being tepid.
    After one half-hearted snap at Sinit to keep her elbows off the tabletop, Voni had drunk her soup, pushed the salad aside, and wordlessly handed Sinit her cheese roll. Then, she had risen, teacup in hand, and quit the dining room. Sinit heard her climb the stairs slowly, and the door to her room close with a snick .
    They were, so Mother had told them at breakfast, a House in mourning. That meant that all appointments were canceled, and no unseemly racket was permitted. She had given Sinit an especially stern look when she had said that, which was, Sinit thought now, curled uneasily into her chair, hardly just. It wasn't as if she were a baby . She had fourteen Standards— quite grown up, even if Voni chose to treat her as—
    Chimes sounded.
    Sinit blinked, slid out of the chair—and paused with one foot resting on the capacious seat.
    They were a House in mourning, and therefore ought to be closed to the world for the twelve-day of grief specified in the Code.
    On the other hand, if the chime sounded again, her mother would surely come out from her office, and that—might be very bad.
    Sock-footed, Sinit padded out of the library and down the main hall. She pressed her hand against the plate, waited for the tiny click that signaled the lock had cycled, and pulled the door open.
    Two pilots stood on Mizel's ramshackle porch: To the fore was a lady, trim and upright in her leather, her