Read Online Carpe Diem by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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Borril.
He moved his shoulders, lips parting for an answer.
"Tell the truth, Liaden," Miri muttered at his side.
His eyes snapped to her face, both brows up. Smiling in rueful resignation of what he found there, he turned back to the old woman and bowed very slightly, fingers over heart. "Val Con yos'Phelium, Clan Korval."
Zhena Trelu stared, trying to sort the sounds. Valconyos Fellum Can Corevahl? What kind of name—no, wait. Corevahl? He was a foreigner, after all, with wind only knew what kind of barbaric accent. She pointed. "Corvill?"
The level brows twitched together, and he frowned, green eyes intent. "Korval," he agreed warily, though still thumping harder on the last syllable than the first.
"Corvill." Zhena Trelu decided, and pointed at the girl, who grinned and shrugged.
"Miri."
"Meri?" Zhena Trelu asked, frowning.
"Miri," she corrected, refusing to look straight at Val Con, though a glance out of the corner of her eye showed him grinning widely.
"Meri," Zhena Trelu repeated, and brought her finger back to Val Con. "Corvill."
He inclined his head, murmured, "Zhena Trelu," and jerked his chin at the dog, curled on his rug next to the stove. "Borril."
"Well, that's fine. Now we're all introduced, and dinner's almost ready." The old woman went across to the stove, lifted the pot lid, and stirred the soup with a long wooden spoon. Going over to the cupboard. she pulled out three bowls and three plates, shoved them into the girl's hands, and waved at the table. "Set the table, Meri."
The girl turned hesitantly toward the table. From the depths of the cupboard, Zhena Trelu produced three glasses and three mismatched napkins, which she handed to the man. He took them without apparent confusion and headed for the table. Zhena Trelu nodded to herself and went back to the sink to rescue the languishing sweelims.
"Hello, Meri," Val Con murmured, setting the glasses by the bowls and plates she had laid out.
"Hello yourself, Corvill, my friend. Sounds like you rhyme with Borril. Speaking of which, what is Borril?" She looked up at him. "Besides ugly, I mean."
"Hmm?" He was considering the napkins—one each of white, green, and pink. "Borril is a dog, Miri—or, no," he corrected himself. "Borril is of the species that fills the watch-pet niche here." He smiled at her. "For all reasonable purposes, a dog."
"Oh." She looked at the napkins. "Who gets what color?"
"An excellent question. I was wondering the same." He placed them carefully in the center of the table. "We shall discover."
She grinned. "Clever. Something still missing though—oh." She turned and made her silent way across the kitchen to where the old woman was fussing with her flowers. "Zhena Trelu?"
Zhena Trelu started, nearly overturning the vase, and recovered with a breathless laugh. "Goodness, child, but you gave me a fright. What is it?"
Miri blinked at the unintelligible tirade, opened her mouth to ask for the missing items—and closed it again. The old lady wasn't going to understand any more than she was understood.
All right, Robertson, she directed herself. Use your brain—if you got one.
She looked about, then picked up the wooden spoon lying on the stove and showed it to Zhena Trelu. She turned and pointed at the table, beside which stood her partner, watching the proceedings with interest.
The old woman looked at the spoon, looked at the table, and then laughed. "Oh, is my memory going back on me! Silverware, is that it?" she asked the girl, who only smiled, uncomprehending.
Taking the spoon and putting it back where it belonged, Zhena Trelu went to the cupboard once more. "Spoons," she said clearly. "Knives. Forks."
" Spoons." the girl repeated obediently as each set was placed in her hands. "Knives. Forks."
"That's right," Zhena Trelu said encouragingly. She made a sweeping motion with her hands, trying to indicate all the items the girl held. "Silverware."
Meri's brows pulled together in a
He moved his shoulders, lips parting for an answer.
"Tell the truth, Liaden," Miri muttered at his side.
His eyes snapped to her face, both brows up. Smiling in rueful resignation of what he found there, he turned back to the old woman and bowed very slightly, fingers over heart. "Val Con yos'Phelium, Clan Korval."
Zhena Trelu stared, trying to sort the sounds. Valconyos Fellum Can Corevahl? What kind of name—no, wait. Corevahl? He was a foreigner, after all, with wind only knew what kind of barbaric accent. She pointed. "Corvill?"
The level brows twitched together, and he frowned, green eyes intent. "Korval," he agreed warily, though still thumping harder on the last syllable than the first.
"Corvill." Zhena Trelu decided, and pointed at the girl, who grinned and shrugged.
"Miri."
"Meri?" Zhena Trelu asked, frowning.
"Miri," she corrected, refusing to look straight at Val Con, though a glance out of the corner of her eye showed him grinning widely.
"Meri," Zhena Trelu repeated, and brought her finger back to Val Con. "Corvill."
He inclined his head, murmured, "Zhena Trelu," and jerked his chin at the dog, curled on his rug next to the stove. "Borril."
"Well, that's fine. Now we're all introduced, and dinner's almost ready." The old woman went across to the stove, lifted the pot lid, and stirred the soup with a long wooden spoon. Going over to the cupboard. she pulled out three bowls and three plates, shoved them into the girl's hands, and waved at the table. "Set the table, Meri."
The girl turned hesitantly toward the table. From the depths of the cupboard, Zhena Trelu produced three glasses and three mismatched napkins, which she handed to the man. He took them without apparent confusion and headed for the table. Zhena Trelu nodded to herself and went back to the sink to rescue the languishing sweelims.
"Hello, Meri," Val Con murmured, setting the glasses by the bowls and plates she had laid out.
"Hello yourself, Corvill, my friend. Sounds like you rhyme with Borril. Speaking of which, what is Borril?" She looked up at him. "Besides ugly, I mean."
"Hmm?" He was considering the napkins—one each of white, green, and pink. "Borril is a dog, Miri—or, no," he corrected himself. "Borril is of the species that fills the watch-pet niche here." He smiled at her. "For all reasonable purposes, a dog."
"Oh." She looked at the napkins. "Who gets what color?"
"An excellent question. I was wondering the same." He placed them carefully in the center of the table. "We shall discover."
She grinned. "Clever. Something still missing though—oh." She turned and made her silent way across the kitchen to where the old woman was fussing with her flowers. "Zhena Trelu?"
Zhena Trelu started, nearly overturning the vase, and recovered with a breathless laugh. "Goodness, child, but you gave me a fright. What is it?"
Miri blinked at the unintelligible tirade, opened her mouth to ask for the missing items—and closed it again. The old lady wasn't going to understand any more than she was understood.
All right, Robertson, she directed herself. Use your brain—if you got one.
She looked about, then picked up the wooden spoon lying on the stove and showed it to Zhena Trelu. She turned and pointed at the table, beside which stood her partner, watching the proceedings with interest.
The old woman looked at the spoon, looked at the table, and then laughed. "Oh, is my memory going back on me! Silverware, is that it?" she asked the girl, who only smiled, uncomprehending.
Taking the spoon and putting it back where it belonged, Zhena Trelu went to the cupboard once more. "Spoons," she said clearly. "Knives. Forks."
" Spoons." the girl repeated obediently as each set was placed in her hands. "Knives. Forks."
"That's right," Zhena Trelu said encouragingly. She made a sweeping motion with her hands, trying to indicate all the items the girl held. "Silverware."
Meri's brows pulled together in a
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