Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

me to be pleased?”
    Syl Vor met her eyes. “I had thought—surprised, ma’am.”
    “Ah.” Her mouth softened—not quite a smile, but definitely not a frown. “I believe the point is yours. I am also surprised.” She moved a hand, showing him the table, and the teapot. “Please, make yourself at ease.”
    “Thank you,” he said, bowed again—too rapidly, because he had forgotten!
    Straightening, he held the tea tin out across both palms.
    “I bring a gift of your favored leaf,” he said, careful of his mode. “I hope that it pleases.”
    Her mouth tightened—again, not a frown—and she stepped forward to receive the tin, and to spend a moment regarding its label.
    “The gift pleases,” she said then. “It is kind of you to recall. Now, my child—sit.”
    He’d left his pack with Aunt Anthora and Mike Golden in the waiting parlor, but he still wore his jacket. His mother did not seem to notice this, and he sat down at the table feeling both nervous and relieved.
    His mother sat in the chair opposite him, placing the tea tin carefully to her right. Syl Vor sighed. Where Aunt Anthora was round and dark, his mother was slim and pale. She had been counted a beauty, so Padi had told him, back ho— on Liad, and added that he looked exactly like her.
    That was a piece of Padi’s foolery, and it had made him laugh.
    “Before we begin, my child, you must allow me to beg your pardon. When I had suggested that we speak face to face, I had not intended to—put you aside, or to belittle your concerns in any way.”
    “I had thought you were busy in the town,” Syl Vor said, “which is why I came to you.” He hesitated. “Mike Golden said that you’ve been running as fast as you can, just to stay in one place.”
    “An apt man with a phrase, is Mr. Golden. Indeed, it has been precisely so.”
    “His jokes aren’t very good.”
    His mother raised her eyebrows. “Of that, I fear I am no judge. And I am again remiss. May I pour you a cup of tea, Syl Vor-son? Will you have cake? A sandwich, perhaps?”
    “I had redjuice and cookies with Mike Golden just now,” he said, then added hastily, as he recalled his manners, “A cup of tea would be welcome.”
    His mother poured, and they both sipped, to show, as Grandaunt had taught him, goodwill. Syl Vor put his cup down, and his mother lowered hers.
    “Now,” she said, “how may I serve you?”
    “It is I who can perhaps serve you,” he said. “I would like to go to school, here in the city.”
    His mother’s mouth dropped open. He had never seen that happen before, and what it might portend, he could not say. Hastily, in case he had overstepped in a way that Mike Golden had not predicted, Syl Vor added—“Or I might help Mr. Shaper paint his barn.”
    “Mr. Shaper . . .” His mother closed her eyes for the count of six, and opened them to gaze at him sternly.
    “Mr. Shaper does not always . . . enjoy company,” she said. “I hope that he has not come to regret us as neighbors.”
    Syl Vor thought about that.
    “I think . . . not?” he said carefully. “He seems to sincerely regard Granduncle Daav. When I met him, he proposed that I help him plant the spring seedlings, and—and declared to Diglon that I had been of use. It was he who said that I might come again, and that the barn wanted paint.”
    “I see . . .” His mother sighed. “Let us place Mr. Shaper’s barn to one side for the moment. This other proposition—that you attend school here in town. Do your tutors bore you, my son?”
    Syl Vor shook his head—bit his lip and slanted a glance to his mother, who was merely watching him as one awaiting an answer to a question.
    “If I am bored, Mother, it would be wrong of me to blame my teachers.” He paused. This had to be treated with care. He did not wish to cost either of his tutors their positions, though he thought that Ms. ker’Eklis would not be sorry to leave Surebleak.
    “I had not thought of the school—I did not know