Knowing that Okanor’s credits would be waiting for him on the capital world of the Empire, Han headed down the street toward the shuttle station, whistling.
When Han walked up to and through the gates of the Tharen estate, he noticed a small, very sporty landspeeder hovering in the paved courtyard.
He approached the door and found a young man standing inside, in the parlor. Pavik Tharen and his mother were there, talking to him. When Sera Tharen saw Han, her face fell. She was hoping I’d cut and run, Han thought sourly.
“Hi, Lady Tharen,” Han said. “Is Bria around?”
The young man turned to regard Han. He was a goodlooking fellow, perhaps a year or so older than Han himself, and he was tastefully but fashionably dressed for an afternoon of netball.
“Hello,” the young man said pleasantly, holding out his hand. “I’m Dael Levare, and you are—” His gaze sharpened, and before Han could speak up, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute! I thought you looked familiar!
Tallus Bryne, right?”
Han could think of no curse profound enough. He smiled weakly and shook hands. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Tallus Bryne?” Pavik Tharen said sharply.
“But he’s—” Sera Tharen stopped abruptly when her son nudged her, none too gently.
Dael Levare was oblivious to the byplay as he wrung Han’s hand. “What an honor this is! I still remember the day you set that record, and you did it by flying through the tunnel on Tabletop Mesa rather than over it! Everyone thought you were a goner, but you pulled it off!” He turned to Pavik. “You mean you didn’t recognize him? Is this Bria’s new suitor?
The swoop racing champion of all Corellia! Your record still stands, Bryne. Or may I call you Tallus?”
“Tallus is fine,” Han said with a mental shrug. The vrelt’s in the kitchen for sure, this time …
Bria’s entrance was a welcome interruption. Han tried to catch her eye and give her a “look sharp” high-sign, but all her attention was for the newcomer. “Dael! What are you doing here?”
“Your mother invited me over,” Dael said. “You’re looking wonderful, Bria.
I’m so glad to see you back safely—and with such a distinguished escort!
I’ve wanted to shake this man’s hand ever since he won the swoop racing championship, last year!”
She looked at her mother. “You invited him over, Mother? How nice .
. .”
Han didn’t miss the edge in her voice, and the flash of guilt in Sera Tharen’s eyes. I get it, Han thought angrily. Mama here wanted Bria to see me next to her rich-guy ex-fiance, figuring I’d come out looking like some kind of low-life jerk.
“Well, yes, dear … I knew Dael would be able to catch you up on all the news with the young crowd … much better than I could . .
.” Sera Tharen twittered nervously. Bria’s lip curled, and she turned away from her mother to smile at Dael.
“Well, Dael, it was lovely of you to drop by. Perhaps we can all get together for lunch someday. Who are you seeing these days?” As she spoke, she moved toward Dael, and in one smooth motion took his arm and started him moving toward the door. Han smiled inwardly. Slick, Bria, honey …
nicely done.
“Sulen Belos,” Dael said. “She’d love to meet Tallus, too. She’s quite a swoop racing fan.”
“Tal—” Bria caught herself immediately, and laughed. “Well, she always was!” She cast a flirtatious glance at Han. “I’ll have to watch you, won’t I, Tallus? Sulen Belos is gorgeous, and she’s never been able to resist a swoop racer.”
Han smiled at her good-naturedly. Great. Just great. From bad to worse.
“You gotta watch us swoop racers, too. We live for danger.”
Half out the door, Dael Levare laughed, as though Han had said something clever. “Well, I’ll call you. Nice meeting you, Tallus!”
“Nice meeting you, too,” Han said.
“Don’t forget to call,” Bria urged, and then she shut the door behind Levare and leaned against it.
Silence ensued.
Han had never heard such a profound silence, even inside a spacesuit in vacuum. He glanced quickly from Bria, to Pavik, to Sera. All three were staring at him grimly. Han cleared his throat. “Think I’ll take a little walk,” he announced. “Get some air.”
Not meeting anyone’s eyes, he left.
Bria felt like screaming, then sobbing, but she struggled to control herself. The situation was bad enough without her dissolving into hysterics. She was pacing back and forth in her mother’s dressing room.
Pavik was sitting on the couch, waving his arms and raising his voice, and her mother was sitting in a pink brocade chair, alternating between gasped exclamations of “Oh, dear!” and “Bria, your brother is right, we must do something!”