head slightly so that she could see the side of his face.
"Cousin Pat Rin!" she exclaimed, with a measure of astonishment that he found not particularly flattering.
He inclined his head. "Cousin Nova," he stated, with deliberate coolness. "What a surprise to find you here."
The instant the words left his lips, he wished them back. He had spent the last year and more deliberately honing his wit and his tongue until they were weapons as formidable as the palm pistol he carried in his sleeve. Surely, it was ill-done of him to loose those weapons on a child.
"Is Cousin Luken to house?" she asked stiffly.
He rose carefully to his feet and turned to face her.
Nova's twelfth name day had been celebrated only a relumma past, and already she showed warning of the beauty she would become. Her hair was gilt, her eyes amethyst, her carriage erect and unstrained. She had, so he heard, passed the preliminary testing for pilot-candidate, an unsurprising fact which had nonetheless woken a twist of bitterness in him.
Today found her dressed in sturdy shirt and trousers, well-scuffed boots on her feet, passkey clenched in one hand, and a glare on her face for the ill-tempered elder cousin—for which he blamed her not at all.
"Alas, one's foster father is away on an appointment," he said, moderating his tone with an effort. "May I be of service, cousin?"
Her glare eased somewhat as she glanced about her.
"Father sends me to help Cousin Luken sort the carpets from the Southern House," she said tentatively. "However, I find you at that task."
It was not meant to be accusatory, he reminded himself forcefully. She was a child, with a child's grasp of nuance.
Though she had grasped the nuance of his greeting swiftly enough. He had the acquaintance of adults who would have not have taken his point so quickly—if at all.
So—"Cousin Er Thom had not written us to expect your arrival and assistance," he answered Nova, deliberately gentle. "I happened to be at liberty and took the work for my own."
She blinked at him, jewel-colored eyes frankly doubtful.
"You are aware, are you not," Pat Rin said, allowing himself an edge of irony, "that I am Luken's fosterling?"
"Ye-e-s-s," Nova agreed. "But Cousin Kareen—I heard her speaking with my father and she ..." Here she hesitated, perhaps nonplused to discover herself admitting to listening at doors.
Pat Rin inclined his head. "One's mother was adamant that I not be trained as a rug merchant," he said smoothly. "Alas, by the time she recognized the danger, the damage had long been done."
Nova's straight, pale mouth twitched a little, as if she had suppressed a smile.
"Will you come into Cousin Luken's business?" she asked, which was not an unreasonable question, from a daughter of the trade Line. Still, Pat Rin felt his temper tighten, spoiling the easier air that had been flowing between them.
"I've gone into another trade, thank you," he said shortly, and swept his hand out, showing her the pile of rolled rugs waiting to be inventoried. "For all that, I am competent enough in this one."
He sighed, recalling his mother's plans for him, and shook the memory away.
"If you like, you may assist me," he murmured, and that was no more than the Code taught was due from kin to kin: Elders taught those junior to them, freely sharing what knowledge and skill they had, so that the Clan continued, generation to generation, memory and talent intact.
Nova bowed, hastily. "I thank you, cousin. Indeed, I would be pleased to assist you."
"That is well, then. The sooner we address the task, the sooner it will be done. Attend me, now."
He moved over to the pile and kicked a smallish roll out into the work area. Dropping to knee,
Learning to Kill: Stories