Daria nodded. "Yes; all the Speakers know. But do not let that make you over-confident of their help. It is quite likely that having you brought here and teaching you Language is all they intend to do."
She sensed a question he hesitated to ask, and smiled. "No, Steve, your adoption was not dictated by the Lords. The Speakers were informed of your need to take the Ordeal, and we in turn informed our respective Clan Mothers—but the choice of offering adoption or not was theirs. Ka'ruchaya Yarra, in her wisdom, chose to offer it, and I am glad."
"So'm I. And it may mean I do have a chance of finishing." Tarlac grinned, unable to suppress a short-lived surge of hope. He'd been prepared to die to bring peace; just the thought of living to enjoy it, as Hovan was confident he would, was enough to make him reach out and take Daria's hand even as it faded. "Thanks, ruhar. I was—"
"I know," Daria interrupted, putting her other hand over his. "That you continue when you feel certain of death does you honor. You are so intense, Steve. Relax, let the chovas soothe you."
"I can now, I guess. But I'm still worried. From what Hovan's told me, the Ordeal's no picnic, even if I do get help from the Lords."
"That is true, es'ruhar, but be easy. Worrying will only make it worse."
Tarlac was touched by her concern, and even more by what she called him—though her intonation, combined with her use of the male signifier, made that term … intimate. It was almost embarrassing, and he didn't know how to respond. "Speaker…"
"I am Daria, es'ruhar."
"Daria, then." Tarlac was acutely aware of her tone and her touch. The gray skin, despite its dense toughness, was soft and supple around his hands. This was a little too much closeness. "Uh, I think the Traiti and Empire have a lot to offer each other. For instance, you—"
"Steve, es'ruhar…" Daria interrupted again, smiling gently as she ran the backs of her claws up and down his forearm.