Free Dragon in Exile - eARC by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page B

Lizardi wishes you to be aware that a person named Kipler attempted to incite a riot at the Bazaar this afternoon. He is being held at the Whosegow, awaiting the pleasure of the Bosses. A courier will soon deliver the tape of the interview. I agreed to take charge of it myself and be certain that it was on your desk tomorrow morning.”
    A riot in the Bazaar imperiled the port at large; crews, ships, workers, business…Pat Rin bit his lip, wondering if he ought to call Liz, just to…
    The rustle of fabric caught his ear, and he looked aside, to spy Natesa just inside the doorway to the ’fresher, her sun-yellow robe yet unbelted, and her hair tousled from the towel.
    He turned back to his henchman with a small bow.
    “Thank you, Mr. pel’Tolian,” he said. “I will look forward to reviewing the tape after breakfast.”
    Mr. pel’Tolian did not so far forget himself as to smile ; he conveyed his satisfaction with this reply with an austere salute— to the lord of the house it was, and moved toward the door.
    “Good evening, Master Pat Rin,” he said. “Good evening, Ms. Natesa.”
    The door closed soundlessly behind him.
    Pat Rin strolled over to the table—the tray bearing enough dinner to feed them for a week, and comprised entirely of favored foods, and the requested two bottles of Natesa’s favorite, from the cellar.
    “I’ll pour, shall I?” he said, and reached for the wine knife.
    * * *
    His brother’s lifemate was found in the so-called “ruckus room,” with the heir. Mother and child were on the floor; the child crawling in energetic circles; the mother observing progress, and offering the occasional dry comment on form.
    She had waved them to her, and they joined her on the resilient carpet, the baby altering her course toward Rys.
    “That’s polite,” Miri said, approvingly. “Lizzie, this is your Uncle Rys. Rys, be careful; she’s a menace. Don’t let her near your hair.”
    He smiled, and extended his natural hand.
    “Hello, Lizzie,” he said in Terran.
    The child paused in her forward motion to consider his fingers; after a moment, she resumed her progress.
    “Talizea ignores Liaden as well as she ignores Terran,” Val Con said from his side. “I would not have you consider her unpolished. Also—yes—mind your hair.”
    “She’s gonna grow up talking some language all her own,” Miri said. “Taking bits of that and more bits of t’other, whichever fits best. Never mind not knowing what her name is.”
    “I grew up in a three-language household,” Val Con said; “and no harm came of it.”
    “If you say so.”
    Lizzie had reached his knees, stopped, and rocked backward until she was sitting, looking up into his face. Her eyes were moss green.
    “Is there a thing I ought do for you?” he asked her in Low Liaden, as one spoke to children. His chest tightened as she leaned forward and patted his knee. Though he had not given the clan his heir before the Yxtrang destroyed all, there had been children in the house—the heirs of his sisters, brothers, and cousins. He had been fond of children.
    He extended this time only his natural forefinger and Lizzie wrapped all of her fingers around it.
    “You are strong,” he said, waggling the finger a little. “Be careful not to break me.”
    She laughed, and squeezed harder.
    “What is that, a necklace?” Miri asked, and Rys looked away from the child for a moment, as Val Con bent forward and placed the tiles in her hand.
    “Rys has made a brother-gift,” he said. “This is a dream, cha’trez . It has…the potential, so he believes, to rehabilitate those we hold in our care.”
    There was a pause, growing longer, while Miri considered the thing she held. Rys held his breath. He had not considered that Korval’s delm might be…divided on the matter of the agents’ fates.
    “I think that I have not seen a dream before,” she said, her Low Liaden cool, and carrying the accent of Solcintra. “However, I have seen tiles