Part 32 (1/2)

”Priscilla?” He was before her, radiating concern. ”Forgive me.”

”No.” She set the gla.s.s aside, hand questing. He took it in his. ”Shan...”

”Yes, Priscilla?”

She translated it from the High Tongue, because protocol said it was done this way between Liadens, and it was imperative that he understand, that he not think her grasping or unaware of her place as someone all but Clanless. ”Will you share pleasure with me, Shan?”

His fingers tightened as astonished joy flickered between them, weighted, though, with something else.

Seeking, her inner eye perceived a wall, thick and impenetrable, with only a tiny slit in its smooth surface.

As she watched, the slit enlarged, eating the wall until it was gone and there was only-Shan.

The impression was not just sound now, or pattern, or even an occasional whiff of elusive spice. It was all: a woven whole spread before the inner senses-Shan without defenses, open for her to know completely.

Priscilla cried out, jerking to her feet, gripping his shoulders. ”No! Shan, you mustn't!”

Then there was sadness, though not despair, and the inner landscape faded, becoming again the barely breached Wall as she sagged against him, craving what she had just denied, and pushed her face against his shoulder.

”Priscilla, I ask your forgiveness yet again.” His voice was very gentle in her ear. ”I didn't want to distress you.”

She drew a shaky breath and stood away. ”I-Words failed her. G.o.ddess, she thought, twice a fool.

He sighed and guided her to the couch. Sitting beside her, he took her hand. ”When I came to get you from the precinct house in Theopholis, Priscilla, you said something.” She tensed. What was real from all she thought she remembered of that night?

”What you said,” he pursued gently, ”was, Shan, there wasn't enough time to be sure.”

She relaxed. She did remember that. ”True.”

”It might still be true, Priscilla. There's no need for haste. And many reasons to be... sure.”

She struggled with it, trying to balance the Liaden concept of pleasure-love with what she felt in him even now, with what she herself felt. ”I asked... pleasure. And you want it!””Priscilla, my very dear.” He raised her hand, lips brus.h.i.+ng her palm, cheek stroking her fingertips. ”Of course I want it. But not at the expense of your certainty. I'd be a poor friend if I made that trade.” He sighed. ”And I've already made you angry with me.”

”Not angry,” she protested, knowing he could read that lack in her. ”It's-Shan, it's wrong to-to open up so far. To let someone see your-allness.”

”Even when that someone is my dear friend? Even when I wish to give the gift?”