"I do feel," he said apologetically, "that my plundering days may be at sunset. Nor have I ever been more than adequate as a pillager."

"And here I married the man," Anne said, and sighed abruptly, playfulness deserting her. "That's the crux, isn't it? Again. They're never going to accept us, those—people."

"Some of those people," he corrected. This was a course they had flown before. Anne's was a naturally happy nature; all he need do was to remind her—

She raised her hand. "No, love, spare yourself. I know and treasure our friends, each and every one. It's only that this—" She waggled her fingers, perhaps illustrating this "—this is a strike to the House, not merely a snub at a party. Mr. pak'Ora kept the house properly—don't think I didn't know it! I depended on him, he never failed me, and—now. Ranvit's little game puts the Service Houses at odds, doesn't it?"

Oh, it did that, Er Thom admitted. There would be more than one delm up late into the night, toting up profit and risk, trying to guess which way melant'i would fall, and whether they dared step over the line Ranvit had drawn. Anne had never used to know such things, Terrans not counting Balance. She had learned to reason out the lines and motivations, and had over the years become proficient.

He, on the other hand, had grown up steeped in Balance, melant'i and the subtle dance of alliance, the why and how of it settling deep in blood and bone. He need do no more than draw breath to know Ranvit's piece of spite was, indeed, as Anne had said—a strike at the very heart of Korval.

Melant'i depended upon right action. Right action and complete social Balance was the core of the Liaden ideal. More—melant'i called to melant'i, a truth so universal even Terrans had a true-say for it.