“Don’t go.” He caught her hand, when she would have started away.
She turned back, sat down again, looking at him silently.
“I’m glad for a little companionship that has no deadlines attached to it,” he said, forcing a smile. “I don’t want to go back up to the house. It’s full of guests and messages of condolence, all with frantic inquiries about my return attached to them—”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you truly so indispensable that they can’t leave you in peace even to mourn?”
He laughed sharply. “Not as indispensable as I’ve made them think I am, I’m sure…. Vhanu tells me I have problems delegating authority. So I suppose I can only blame myself.”
She tucked back a strand of dark hair that the wind had freed. “Is that why this is your first visit home, then—because of your work?”
He glanced away. “Partly … You may know that my brothers and I never got along particularly well.”
She nodded, and he saw her mood shift.
“Did you know my brothers?”
Her hands knotted in her lap; he sensed her sudden embarrassment. “I met them when I bought the estates. And of course I saw them again after they returned to Kharemough from Number Four. When I was forced to give everything up, they … I …” She shook her head. “I knew them only slightly.” She folded her arms, hugging herself as she looked out at the view.
“What did they do to you?” he asked, forcing her with his voice to look at him again.
Her golden-brown eyes regarded him steadily. “Your brother SB told me that I could stay on at the estates, live here and do my work—if I was willing to sleep with them both, and do whatever they asked me to. I actually tried it… until I found out what sort of tastes they had.” Her hands closed over her arms, squeezed.
Gundhalinu looked away, swearing under his breath.
“It wasn’t your fault, Gundhalinusathra,” she said quietly. “Although … at the time I confess that I thought it was.”
He looked back at her. “Do you remember my reaction when your pitcher of slops hit my brothers instead of me?”
“You laughed and laughed,” she said, and something like understanding came into her eyes.
“My brothers tried to kill me, on Number Four.”
She stared at him, blinking.
“Do you know anything about World’s End?”
She nodded. “The place where you found the stardrive plasma. Yes, information about it was all over the newsnet when you returned. It was incredible… terrifying.”
“My brothers got themselves lost out there, trying to strike it rich.” He looked up at the milky greenblue dome of the sky, wondering suddenly whatever had inspired his brothers to think of such an insane scheme in the first place. Wondering whether it had really been chance; as he wondered about everything, lately. “I went out there to find them. I brought them back. But the things that had happened to them—to all of us—” his voice roughened, “out there, changed them. It twisted them. All the things I’d always disliked and resented about them—being out there made those things worse. My brothers wanted to hold the stardrive plasma for ransom. I didn’t. They ambushed me and left me for dead. But I stopped them. That was probably all that kept me alive: needing to stop them.…”
He was seeing her face again, suddenly, at last. “After I recovered, I made myself believe it was the trauma of what they’d been through that had pushed them over the edge. That they’d be all right again, if I gave them back their old life. I’d been through so much myself … I thought I’d learned all the lessons I’d ever need to learn. My mistake.” He shook his head. “My brothers’ death wasn’t caused by a hovercraft accident. They were murdered, when they tried to sell restricted data to criminals—data they stole using filecodes they stole from me.” Suddenly it hurt to breathe. “I hated my brothers. I’m glad they’re dead. May they rot in hell—!” He shut his eyes. “Gods, I needed to say that to somebody … somebody who would understand. May my sainted ancestors forgive me.”
“They say,” Netanyahr murmured, “that the difference between friends and family is that one can choose one’s friends…” He felt her smile touch him, tentatively.
He made himself look at her again—was startled to see that her eyes were gleaming, too full. She held herself perfectly still, as if even an eyeblink would set free emotions she did not want to let go of. She took a deep breath, finally, and smoothed the folds of her robe. And the world settled back into place, and he realized again that it was a beautiful day in spring. He felt the warmth of the sun on his back, watched the feather-light silver petals of her single simple earring move in the breeze, below the graceful seaform waves of her hair. The sound of leaves rustling, of birds calling, filled the air. She looked out again at the view.
“Netanyahrkadda…” He pressed his lips together over the urge to call her by her first name. He looked toward the house above the gardens, as the seed of an idea that had lam in his mind since their first meeting took root at last in conviction. Groping for the right words, the right order in which to speak them, he said, “I have a proposition for you, regarding the estates—and myself.”
She looked back at him, her expression caught between two utterly conflicting emotions. She rose from the bench. “Is that why you think I came here—? To see if you were like your brothers?”
“Why exactly did you come, then?” he asked, hating himself for asking.
She bit her lip, staring at him. “I thought …” She broke off. “I came here because 1 knew you were not like them. I thought I came for the reason I gave you. But who knows…?” She looked away, filling her eyes with beauty. “Who knows why we do anything, really?”
“Pandhara—I want you to marry me.”
Her mouth dropped open. She gave a small laugh, a sound of disbelief.
“Strictly a marriage of convenience,” he went on, before she could speak. “That’s all I’m asking … that’s all I require.”
“I don’t understand,” she said weakly. She sat down again. “You’re head of family now. Why—?”
“Because it’s impossible. I don’t want the responsibility, I don’t want the— memories.” He shook his head. “Gods… I still love this place, in spite of everything. But I don’t have time for it. I can’t live here. My life is up there.” He glanced at the sky. “When the first ships are ready, I’ll be going to Tiamat. And I don’t think I’ll ever come back.” He looked down at her again. “I need someone to take care of things for me: my inheritance, my heritage… my name.”
“What about the proscription? I’m ineligible even to marry a Technician.” A glint of remembered anger shone through the words.
“The charges were false, the evidence was incorrect… . I’ll have it taken care of.” He glanced away.
“You barely know me,” she said, her voice turning cool. “Surely you must have friends, someone of your own class—”
He shrugged. “No one to whom this place matters, the way it matters to me … or to you. I know more about you than you think, you see. I had you researched, after I met you, because I was—curious. You are intelligent, highly educated, creative, and your manners are, for the most part—” he smiled, “above reproach. You seem to me completely worthy to carry this family’s name. I long ago stopped believing that class and rank meant anything at all. I didn’t have to look any further than my own family to see that.”
“You mean that…?” She stared at him. “You actually mean that, this isn’t some… some…”
He nodded. “There are absolutely no strings attached.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head; her hands dropped into her lap and lay motionless. “I don’t believe this is happening.” Her voice was unsteady.
“That’s because justice is so rare,” he said softly.