Free A Song for Lya by George R. R. Martin Page A

felt his confidence, his pleasure. I've felt worry too, but never real fear. He's very affectionate toward you, very protective. He enjoys feeling protective."
    “Is that all?” So hopeful. It hurt.
    “I'm afraid it is. He's walled off, Laurie. He needs himself, only himself. If there's love in him, it's behind that wall, hidden. I can't read it. He thinks a lot of you, Laurie. But love—well, it's different. It's stronger and more unreasoning and it comes in crashing floods. And Dino's not like that, at least not out where I can read."
    “Closed,” she said. “He's closed to me. I opened myself to him, totally. But he didn't. I was always afraid—even when he was with me, I felt sometimes that he wasn't there at all—"
    She sighed. I read her despair, her welling loneliness. I didn't know what to do. “Cry if you like,” I told her, inanely. “Sometimes it helps. I know. I've cried enough in my time."
    She didn't cry. She looked up, and laughed lightly. “No,” she said. “I can't. Dino taught me never to cry. He said tears never solve anything."
    A sad philosophy. Tears don't solve anything, maybe, but they're part of being human. I wanted to tell her so, but instead I just smiled at her.
    She smiled back, and cocked her head. “You cry,” she said suddenly, in a voice strangely delighted. “That's funny. That's more of an admission than I ever heard from Dino, in a way. Thank you, Robb. Thank you."
    And Laurie stood on her toes and looked up, expectant. And I could read what she expected. So I took her and kissed her, and she pressed her body hard against mine. And all the while I thought of Lya, telling myself that she wouldn't mind, that she'd be proud of me, that she'd understand.
    Afterwards, I stayed up in the office alone to watch the dawn come up. I was drained, but somehow content. The light that crept over the horizon was chasing the shadows before it, and suddenly all the fears that had seemed so threatening in the night were silly, unreasoning. We'd bridged it, I thought—Lya and I. Whatever it was, we'd handled it, and today we'd handle the Greeshka with the same ease, together.
    When I got back to our room, Lya was gone.
    * * * *
    “We found the aircar in the middle of Shkeentown,” Valcarenghi was saying. He was cool, precise, reassuring. His voice told me, without words, that there was nothing to worry about. “I've got men out looking for her. But Shkeentown's a big place. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"
    “No,” I said, dully. “Not really. Maybe to see some more Joined. She seemed—well, almost obsessed by them. I don't know."
    “Well, we've got a good police force. We'll find her, I'm certain of that. But it may take a while. Did you two have a fight?"
    “Yes. No. Sort of, but it wasn't a real fight. It was strange."
    “I see,” he said. But he didn't. “Laurie tells me you came up here last night, alone."
    “Yes. I needed to think."
    “All right,” said Valcarenghi. “So let's say Lya woke up, decided she wanted to think too. You came up here. She took a ride. Maybe she just wants a day off to wander around Shkeentown. She did something like that yesterday, didn't she?"
    “Yes."
    “So she's doing it again. No problem. She'll probably be back well before dinner.” He smiled.
    “Why did she go without telling me, then? Or leaving a note, or something ?"
    “I don't know. It's not important."
    Wasn't it, though? Wasn't it? I sat in the chair, head in my hands and a scowl on my face, and I was sweating. Suddenly I was very much afraid, of what I didn't know. I should never have left her alone, I was telling myself. While I was up here with Laurie, Lyanna woke alone in a darkened room, and—and—and what ? And left.
    “Meanwhile, though,” Valcarenghi said, “we've got work to do. The trip to the caves is all set."
    I looked up, disbelieving. “The caves? I can't go there, not now, not alone."
    He gave a sigh of exasperation, exaggerated for