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'necessity,' dictate from which role the person will act this time. They will certainly always act honorably, as defined within a voluminous and painfully detailed code of behavior, referred to simply as 'The Code.'

To a Liaden, melant'i is more precious than rubies, a cumulative, ever-changing indicator of his place in the universal pecking order. A person of high honor, for instance, is referred to as "a person of melant'i ," whereas a scoundrel—or a Terran—may be dismissed with "he has no melant'i ."

Melant'i may be the single philosophical concept from which all troubles, large and small, between Liad and Terra spring.
    —From A Terran's Guide to Liad
 
    LATE IN THE morning , loved and showered and feeling positively decadent, Anne stood in front of the tiny built-in vanity. A few brush-strokes put her shower-dampened hair into order, and she smiled into her own eyes as her reflected fingers found and picked up her pendant.
    "Anne?"
    She turned, transferring her smile to him. An elfin prince, so Brellick had described him, enticing Anne to meet a real, live Liaden. And elfin he was: Slim and tawny and quick; hair glittering gold, purple eyes huge in a beardless pointed face; voice soft and seductively accented.
    The eyes right now were very serious, moving from her hand to her face.
    "Anne?" he said again.
    "Yes, my dear. What can I do for you?"
    "Please," he said slowly, gliding closer to her. "Do not wear that."
    "Don't wear—" She blinked at him, looked down at the fine golden chain and pendant seed-pearls, artfully blended with gold-and-enamel leaves to look like a cluster of fantasy grapes.
    This is a misunderstanding, she told herself carefully; a problem with the words chosen. Er Thom's command of Terran tended to be literal and uneasy of idiom—much like her careful, scholar's Liaden. It made for some interesting conversational tangles, now and then. But they had always been able to untangle themselves, eventually. She looked back into his eyes.
    "You gave this to me," she said, holding it out so he might see it better. "Don't you remember, Er Thom? You gave it to me the day Dutiful Passage —"
    "I remember," he said sharply, cutting her off without a glance at the pearls. He lay a hand lightly on her wrist.
    "Anne? Please. It was—it was given to say good-bye. I would rather—may I?—give you another gift."
    She laughed a little and lay her hand briefly over his.
    "But you won't be here long, will you? And when you leave again, you'll have to give me another gift, for another good-bye . . ." She laughed more fully. "My dear, I'll look like a jewelry store."
    The serious look in his eyes seemed to intensify and he swayed closer, so his hip grazed her thigh.
    "No," he began, a little breathlessly. "I—there is a thing you must hear, Anne, and never forget—"
    The doorbell chimed. Anne glanced up, mouth curving in a curious smile, and raised her fingers to touch his cheek.
    "That's Jerzy," she said, laying the pendant back in its carved ivory box. She moved past him toward the living room. "Er Thom, there's someone I want you to meet."
    He stood still for a moment, running through a pilot's calming exercise. Then, he went after her.
    The man who was coming in from the hallway was not large as Terrans go; he was, in fact, a bit under standard height for that race, and a bit under standard weight, too. He had rough black hair chopped off at the point of his jaw and a pale face made memorable by the thick line of a single brow above a pair of iron-gray eyes. He was carrying a cloth sack over one shoulder and a child on the opposite hip. Both he and the child were wearing jackets; the child also wore a cap.
    "Jerzy delivers kid latish in the a.m., as promised. Notice the nobility of spirit which would not allow me to steal him, though I was tempted, ma'am. Sore tempted."
    "You're a saint, Jerzy," Anne said gravely, though Er Thom heard the ripple of laughter through her words.
    "I'm a lunatic," the