Far Enough

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “That sounds perfectly reasonable until I remember that your friends withdrew their support.”

  “It wasn’t as difficult as you might think. I had school to look forward to. Preparations and travel plans to make. Then I was on Dothanor Prime and—” She shook her head, smiling at the memories. Though she had struggled, plunging into a new world both literally and figuratively had been the best thing for her. “I didn’t have a spare moment to miss my former friends. Or my family.”

  “Do you ever miss them?”

  “No.”

  Salomen raised her brows. “Truly?”

  A Gaian asking that question would have been expressing doubt. An Alsean asking it—especially this Alsean—meant her first answer had not been entirely in tune with her emotions.

  “I miss the idea of them,” she admitted. “But that’s a false construction. It wouldn’t survive a brush with reality. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you stop touching me?”

  Salomen’s head went back, her dark eyes widening with surprise. “That’s not what I expected at all. Are you uncomfortable with the topic and changing it?”

  “I’m done with that topic and curious about a new one,” Lhyn corrected. “You’re more tactile than any other high empath I know, probably because you didn’t grow up being trained as a high empath. But you haven’t touched me since taking my hand on top of Tumalo Peak. I can only assume it has something to do with the potentiality of a different relationship between us, but Salomen—” She paused, looking for the right words. “If you’ve decided not to walk through that door, I hope you know I’ll understand. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to change how you behave around me. I, um.” She looked away, focusing on the water thundering down the slope in an effort to stop the water in her eyes. “I don’t miss my childhood friends or my family. But I’ll miss you if you put distance between us.”

  Salomen was so still that if Lhyn hadn’t known she was there, she could have imagined herself alone in this place.

  “Lhyn.”

  Reluctantly, she turned her head. Salomen looked stricken, another thing Lhyn hadn’t wanted. Fucking stars, she had done exactly what she’d sworn not to: put pressure on her. Now it was all about to fall apart.

  “I am so sorry,” Salomen began.

  She deflated. It didn’t take an anthropologist to see where this opening would lead.

  “Oh, for the love of Fahla. Stop that.” Salomen nudged Lhyn’s chin up, then rested her fingers along the curve of her jaw. “At least do me the courtesy of hearing me before deciding what it is I’m about to say.”

  The exasperation in her tone wasn’t what froze Lhyn in place. That gentle touch was enormously significant. She just didn’t know what it signified.

  “I’m listening,” she managed.

  With a small nod, Salomen dropped her hand. “What I meant was, I’m sorry that I didn’t explain earlier. I should have known you’d notice. I tried to be clear about needing these five days to explore this and decide.”

  “You were.”

  “But I wasn’t clear about what that entailed. Lhyn, your emotional signature—sometimes it’s like this waterfall. Beautiful and powerful and so strong that it could knock me off my feet if I’m not careful. Skin contact takes away any shielding I have against that force. I had to stop touching you, or I couldn’t be sure whether the love I feel is truly mine or a product of your influence.”

  “The love you feel,” Lhyn repeated slowly. “Present tense. Not conditional?”

  “There’s our linguist,” Salomen teased. “That took you at least three pipticks.”

  “You’ve decided?” She needed definitive confirmation.

  Salomen took her hand and interlaced their fingers. “I’ve decided.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, expecting something to be different. The waterfall should have stopped, every droplet suspended in midair as the world acknowledged the import of this moment. But it roared past, uncaring, while Ronlin and his remaining Guard stared up at them as if waiting for them to tumble.

  In that moment, Lhyn was certain that they would never fall. Not now, not at any time. The way she felt, she might just fly back down to that viewpoint.

  “Oh,” she repeated inanely, an enormous grin splitting her face. “Wow. I mean, I hoped, but…wow.”

  Salomen’s smile was just as broad. “I’m making a note of this. Your linguistic abilities fall off a cliff when your emotions get too strong.” She lifted their hands. “I wish you could sense what I feel right now. Someday soon, I’ll show you.”

  “A Sharing? We’ll be doing that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow will be a four-way Sharing. You’ll sense some of this, but that’s not what I mean. A two-way Sharing between lovers isn’t the same. Before you ask how it differs,” she added, forestalling Lhyn’s intent to ask that very thing, “I cannot explain it in words. You’ll have to experience it.”

  Lhyn tightened her grip, instinctively seeking the only contact they could have here. “I won’t survive the wait.”

  “The most patient scholar I know? You will.”

  “I’m not feeling patient now.” In fact, she could not remember feeling this eager since the day she had walked into the wrong conference room and found a Fleet captain speaking on stage. “This is like meeting Ekatya for the first time. Except I know exactly who you are and why I’m feeling this way.”

  “You’ve told her, yes?”

  Salomen had not asked before now, and Lhyn thought she knew why. Any discussion of the topic was problematic for her until she had made her choice.

  “Yes, the day of our first hike,” she answered.

  “What did she say?”

  “She laughed.”

  “She laughed?”

  “Well, it really is funny if you think about our history. Back when she first tried to leave Alsea, she thought the reason I stayed behind was because I had fallen in love with Andira. And now—”

  “She’s in love with Andira and you fell for me instead.” Salomen’s mouth quirked. “Fahla does have a sense of humor.”

  “I’m almost ready to concede that one. At any rate, Ekatya thinks it makes all the sense in the galaxy. She was just worried about me if you didn’t feel the same.”

  “What would she have done if I hadn’t?”

  “Nothing. Why? Did you think she would behave differently toward you?”

  “No, what would she have done about her feelings for Andira?”

  “Ah.” Now she understood. “Nothing.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Salomen gazed out at the water, then turned back with an intent look. “Part of the reason I asked for this time was to be certain that what I feel is for me, not Andira. She wouldn’t pursue Ekatya even with my permission. What if I miscalculated my ability to share? It would devastate both of us. All of us,” she corrected, gesturing with her free hand. “But if I have a second partner as well—”

  “It changes the equation. I know, I’ve thought of that too.” Lhyn cocked her head. “Then you’re certain? This is for you?”

  “Do you know what these five days have meant to me?” Releasing her hand at last, Salomen raised both of hers with a delighted smile. “Look at where we are! Ekatya once told me that she feels bigger on Alsea, as if there’s something in our air that makes her more. I feel that way with Andira, and now I feel that way with you. I cannot see where this will take us, but I trust the journey. We’ll keep each other safe, all four of us.”

  Safe. The word settled into Lhyn’s brain, itching in a way that said she needed to puzzle out its significance. There was a connection somewhere, a pattern it fit into…

  “I know why you didn’t tell Andira what hiking meant to you,” she said.

  Salomen blinked at her. “Perhaps someday I’ll be able to follow the way you think.”

  “You said there was no single reason. But there is.” She gestured at the roaring water
all around them. “This is a legacy from your mother. She showed you what she loved and you learned to love it, too. I know how much you’ve given up to be with Andira. The day of the windstorm, you told me that being the Bondlancer took your privacy and half your life. But you made sure it wouldn’t take this. You kept this part of your life safe by keeping it out of the equation.”

  Salomen’s brows drew together. She started to speak, shook her head, and turned away to stare out at the falls.

  When one and then two full ticks passed in silence, Lhyn slid off the rock bench and knelt at the edge of their little alcove. She only had to reach out a short distance to put her hand in the water.

  It was freezing cold, bubbling with oxygen, and flowed with such power that it took considerable effort to hold her arm straight. She glanced down at Ronlin, who had not once taken his eyes off them, and admitted that he had a reason for his fear. If either of them slipped on their way back, it would cause a global incident.

  But that was exactly what Salomen fought against. Her mother had shown her how to reach this secret place as a rite of passage. They had sat here together at least once per cycle since, until Nashta was too ill to manage the hike.

  And now, the first time Salomen had returned on her own, Ronlin tried to stop her? No wonder she had snapped at him.

  A hand appeared in her peripheral vision. Salomen braced herself and reached into the water.

  “I didn’t realize,” she said. “But I think you’re right.”

  Lhyn turned to look at her, but she was watching the water flow over her arm.

  “It’s not very rational, is it? To keep a part of my life so safe that even I cannot enjoy it.”

  “You only did that for a cycle,” Lhyn pointed out. “Not so long, considering all that’s happened.”

  “I wonder how long I would have waited if you hadn’t told me how you felt that night.” She withdrew her hand and sat back on her haunches.

  Lhyn followed suit, drying her cold hand on her trousers. It was so stiff that she could barely flex her fingers. “You were already bored and restless. And missing Andira. My guess is, not long. Besides, you made the arrangements for that first trail walk before you knew I’d agree to come.”

  Salomen’s sudden smile lit up the alcove. “Oh, I knew you’d come. What would you have done otherwise?” She planted her hands and pushed upright, leaving one wet print on the rock. “Shall we get back before Ronlin loses too many cycles off his life?”

  “Can we stay a few ticks longer?”

  “Dear goddess, I just heard my younger self. Do you know how many times I said that to Mother?”

  “I can guess.” Lhyn studied her, trying to memorize this expression and this moment. “There’s magic here for you. For me, too, by extension. This place will always be special to me now.”

  Salomen’s eyes softened. “I knew it was the right decision to bring you here. Thank you for following me.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “Because,” she said, “it had to be your choice.”

  6

  Far enough

  The autumn rains had let up for a moment, allowing the late afternoon sun to ignite a glorious double rainbow in the east. Salomen stood in the wet grass, watching a familiar red-and-silver transport fly beneath the brilliant colors, and wished she had thought to record the image.

  Andira had sent her Guards ahead and flown to Hol-Opah by herself, saying that she needed a little alone time after the intense security of her Pallea tour. “I know you understand,” she had said in their last call. They were truer words than Salomen could have wished.

  Perhaps it was better this way, she thought. There was so much about Andira’s life that she hadn’t truly comprehended a cycle ago, yet they had found an excellent balance. Everything that had occurred since then only strengthened their connection.

  In the past five days, her understanding was substantially altered yet again. And just as before, their bond had found new depths.

  She had told Andira everything last night. With her decision made, there was no reason to hold back, not to mention that her choice could go nowhere without Andira’s input and approval. That call had been the most difficult yet. Not because of what she had to say, but because her physical need for Andira’s presence was exacerbated by knowing what she wanted.

  Judging by the precipitous descent of the transport, that need was affecting them both. The engines were still spooling down when Andira burst out of the door and ran across the grass.

  Salomen met her halfway, laughing as they careened into each other. “Oh, I missed you!” she cried. Andira felt wonderful in her arms, warm and vital and here.

  “I missed you too, tyrina.” The nose in her neck was another beloved sensation: Andira was tucking in her face, a position that made Salomen more protective than she thought possible.

  She squeezed tightly and rocked, resting her cheek atop Andira’s head. “I might not let you go until evenmeal.”

  Andira laughed. “That could make our plans a little difficult.”

  “I don’t care.”

  The slanted sunlight bathed them in radiance, setting Andira’s bright blonde hair aglow and making her eyes almost transparent when she leaned back.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she said fervently. “How could I forget that in less than a nineday?”

  “You didn’t. You just needed a reminder.” Salomen pulled her in for a deep kiss, then rested their foreheads together. “I haven’t forgotten for a moment how gorgeous you are. Or how good you feel right here.”

  Andira hummed happily, her eyes closing in contentment.

  They might have stood there for another half hantick had the sun not abruptly vanished, leaving behind an unmistakable chill and the sigh of oncoming wind.

  Salomen lifted her head. “Uh oh. Time to go.”

  They raced for the back deck with the ominous sound of rain at their heels. It fell in a sudden rush, chasing them up the steps and under the shelter of the roof, where they stood at the railing to watch the drastically changed scene. The rainbow was a mere memory now, drowned in a downpour that seemed as if the clouds themselves were coming to roost on the ground.

  “Just in time,” Salomen observed.

  “In every way. I doubt I could have lasted another hantick without you.”

  She had felt the same. “Do you think it was the physical separation? Or the fact that I’m learning about my heart?”

  “Both.” Andira nuzzled her cheek. “Speaking of separation, is she here?”

  “Since half a hantick ago. They’ve had their coming home ritual, so she’s far more relaxed.”

  “Good. We want her relaxed for this conversation.”

  A gust of wind blew through, whirling droplets into their faces. Wiser women would go indoors, but Salomen simply wiped Andira’s cheeks dry and kissed her. She wasn’t ready to end these precious moments alone.

  “This feels familiar,” Andira murmured as they drew apart. “Kissing in the rain.”

  “We’re a good bit drier than last time.” Salomen smiled at her, remembering their very public kiss on the steps of the State House. “And no vidcams.”

  “Thank Fahla for that.”

  Their lips met again, precluding further speech and most coherent thought.

  For six nights, Salomen had found restful sleep only by sharing a bed with Lhyn—always atop the covers, and always with Andira’s warm, comforting presence filling her chest. To have that presence physically here kindled an overwhelming need, one which had few appropriate outlets here on the back deck.

  They made the best of the outlet at hand.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed when they finally separated, but the wind was no longer blowing and the downpour had shifted to a soft but steady rain.

  “Ekatya will agree, I’m sure of it,” she said, returning to their prior conversation. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Despite the long interval, And
ira needed no explanation. “I’m not worried. I’m just not making assumptions. There are a number of moving parts in this situation, and all of them must move the right way for it to work. Ekatya comes from a different culture. Different even than Lhyn’s. Tyrina…” The hesitant tone told her what to expect. “I wish you would reconsider.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “It’s all of us or none.”

  “That’s not fair to you or Lhyn—”

  “Andira, it hasn’t even been half a moon since you were jealous of Lhyn for being with me when you weren’t. And that was before she or I had any inkling of this. You cannot expect—”

  “That’s not why,” Andira interrupted. She turned, leaning her forearms on the railing and gazing out at the rain-soaked view. “I was jealous because both she and Ekatya were with you while you shut me out.”

  Startled by the insertion of Ekatya in that sentence, Salomen silently matched her position.

  “I need you to understand this.” Andira met her eyes. “These past five days should have been the same situation. Lhyn was with you and I couldn’t be, just as before. More than that, you were happy. Happy as I hadn’t felt you in two moons.”

  Salomen reached for her hand, needing the connection.

  “But I wasn’t jealous. I was thrilled for you. I spent every day of the trip sensing your growing joy, and every night wondering why my own was growing with it. I knew what was happening. You all but told me when you called the night of your Tumalo Peak hike. But I didn’t understand my own reaction until last night.”

  “When I confessed?”

  “Confessed,” she repeated with a smile. “Lhyn would have something to say about that word choice. No, when you said the only thing you hadn’t already. When you brought me in.”

  Her own word choices were instructive, Salomen thought. Andira was painting a clear picture.

  “You’re saying it’s not about you sharing me,” she said slowly, turning it over in her mind. “It’s about whether I fully share myself with you.”

  “Yes! And you are. Do you see why I want you to be happy even if Ekatya cannot change our part in it? It makes me happy, too.”