Local Custom

by Lee, Sharon; Miller, Steve

• ISBN13: 9780441009114
• ISBN10: 0441009115
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2002-01-29
• Publisher: Ace

Summary

The first of the seven books set in the Liaden Universe tells a rich and sweeping story of warring families and star-crossed lovers in a fantastic, other-world galaxy. "I was mesmerized, awed, and totally entertained. I am hooked by the Liaden world. Bravo!" (Mary Balogh) "Fans of interstellar adventure will not be disappointed." (Robin Wayne Bailey)

Excerpts

CHAPTER ONEEach person shall provide his clan of origin with a child of his blood, who will be raised by the clan and belong to the clan, despite whatever may later occur to place the parent beyond the clan's authority. And this shall be Law for every person of every clan. -From the Charter of the Council of Clans Made in the Sixth Year After Planetfall, City of Solcintra, Liad"No?" his mother echoed, light blue eyes opening wide.Er Thom yos'Galan bowed hastily: Subordinate Person to Head of Line, seeking to recoup his error."Mother," he began, with all propriety, "I ask grace ..."She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Let us return to 'no.' It has the charm of brevity."Er Thom took a careful breath, keeping his face smooth, his breath even, his demeanor attentive. Everything that was proper in a son who had always been dutiful.After a moment, his mother sighed, walked carefully past him and sat wearily in her special chair. She frowned up at him, eyes intent."Is it your desire, my son, to deny the clan your genes?""No," said Er Thom again, and bit his lip."Good. Good." Petrella, Thodelm yos'Galan, drummed her fingers lightly against the chair's wooden arm, and continued to gaze at him with that look of puzzled intensity."Yet," she said, "you have consistently refused every possible contract-alliance the head of your line has brought to your attention for the past three years. Permit me to wonder why."Er Thom bowed slightly, granting permission to wonder, belatedly recognizing it as a response less conciliatory than it might be, given the gravity of circumstances. He glanced at his mother from beneath his lashes as he straightened, wondering if he would now receive tuition on manners.But Petrella was entirely concentrated upon this other thing and allowed the small irony to pass uncriticized. "You are," she said, "captain of your own vessel, master trader, pilot-a well-established melant'i. You are of good lineage, your manner is for the greater part, pleasing, you have reached your majority and capably taken up the governing of the various businesses which passed to you upon your thirty-fifth name day. It is time and past time for you to provide the clan with your child.""Yes," murmured Er Thom, because there was nothing else to say. She told him no more than the Law: Every person must provide the clan with a child to become his heir and to even-tually take his place within the clan. His mother sighed again, concern in her eyes. "It is not so great a thing, my child," she offered with unlooked-for gentleness."We have all done so."When he remained speechless, she leaned forward, hand extended. "My son, I do not wish to burden you. Necessity exists, but necessity need not be oppressive. Is there one your heart has placed above others? Only tell me her name and her clan, negotiations will be initiated . . ." Slowly she sank back into the chair, hand falling to her knee. "Er Thom?""Mother," he murmured miserably, eyes swimming as he bowed. "I ask grace . . ."Grace, after all, had not been forthcoming. He had scarcely expected it, with him tongue-tangled and kittenish as a halfling. His mother had no time to waste upon baseless sentiment, not with her illness so hard upon her. She had granted grace to one child already-and those genes lost to Clan Korval forever by reason of her leniency.So there was to be no grace given Petrella's second child and the hope of Line yos'Galan. Er Thom wondered at himself, that he had dared even ask it.Wondering still, he turned down the short hallway that led to his rooms and lay his hand against the lockplate. Late afternoon sun bathed the room beyond in thick yellow light, washing over the clutter of invoices and lading slips on his work table, the islands of computer screen, com