Vasiht'h leaned back, hands on Jahir's arms. He looked away from his beloved partner's face... saw sunlight streaming through the stained glass. As he expected, it was beautiful. "Then... I passed?"
"You passed," Jahir agreed, voice rough with something that the mindline rendered as dawn breaking, as a relief heady as the cradling arms of a mother.
"I passed," Vasiht'h whispered, and tried not to wobble. "I think I'm going to throw up..."
Jahir laughed and gathered his upper body close again, and Vasiht'h rested his nose against that warm alien hair and breathed in the strange-familiar incense smell of it and ignored the bump of a no-doubt priceless blue pearl against his muzzle and just smiled. Smiled, and relaxed, and maybe squeezed a little water from under his lashes.
And when he could, he whispered, unrepentant and a great deal triumphant, /Told you I'd be fine./
/You were right,/ Jahir said, his laugh rueful but bright, like yellow flowers nodding in the spring sunshine. /I'll listen next time./
/I'll hold you to that!/
"The family is satisfied," Jeasa said from the door. "There remains only the formality."
Vasiht'h straightened, releasing Jahir and hoping no one else had seen their no doubt utterly inappropriate embrace. "My lady?"
"Vasiht'h, as head of the Seni Galare, I am pleased to extend to you the invitation of kinship. Do you still desire it?"
"I do!" Vasiht'h said, the words filling the mindline, spreading out, spilling like sunshine. "I do."
She came forth then with a medallion strung on a long silver chain, which she looped around his neck. "Then be welcome to the family. We will write your name in the book, and no one shall challenge your right to walk among us again."
The medallion dropped onto his chest, cool against his fur. He picked it up and twisted it to look: a cloisonné unicorn on bright blue enamel background. At least, he thought gratefully, it wasn't made of some unspeakably precious stone; that would have made wearing it on the starbase somewhat more conspicuous than he liked.
/It's a lot less conspicuous than it could be,/ Jahir said.
/They come more obvious than this?/ Vasiht'h said, bemused.
/Oh yes,/ Jahir answered, amused. /Remind me to tell you a little history one day about the link between the Galare house medallions and the far more ostentatious amulets rampant./ At the feel of Vasiht'h's disbelief, he added, /You can always take it off when we get home./
/After how hard I worked for this?/ Vasiht'h said. /I don't think so...!/ And added, with smug pleasure, /Brother./
Jahir grinned.
"And now, if you feel able, kinsman," Jeasa said. "We should present you to the rest of the family..."
"...starting, I hope, with me," said a new voice in flawless Universal.
At his side, Jahir twisted and went to one knee, hand on the thigh and head bent with hair shrouding his face. Jeasa dropped into a deep curtsey and did not rise, and Sediryl gained her feet to do the same. Slowly, he looked up at the owner of that voice, and even without the crown and scepter he would have recognized her. In truth, the trappings were superfluous. The steel in the woman's mien and the aura of power that radiated like heat from the furnace of a sun were all the scepter and crown she needed. With them alone she could rule the world—did rule it.
"Ah... Your... Majesty?" Vasiht'h managed, grateful that he was already sort of kneeling already.
"And you, the first outworlder to use Sellelvi's rite since it was created for her," the Queen of the Eldritch said. "You are...?"
"Vasiht'h," he answered, meek, and then with a touch of stubborn pride, "Vasiht'h Seni Galare."
Liolesa laughed, and a sound of such richness he'd rarely heard: satisfaction, self-assurance, amusement, power... a matching pride. Goddess! he thought. No wonder Jeasa spoke of civil wars. Such a woman would inspire deathless allegiance, or utter defiance, for she would steamroll anyone of less conviction.
"Yes, indeed," she said. "And as the head of the Galare House, I welcome you to it. You've chosen well..." Her eyes drifted to Jahir's bent head. "And this, your choice, yes?"
"Yes," Vasiht'h said, fierce.
"And you, then, heir to the Seni?"
"Your Majesty," Jahir said and hesitated. Then said, finally, "I am content."
"You've done well in your wanders," Liolesa said. "And better yet, to bring your treasures home. We trust you will do so one day for good."
Vasiht'h's mouth went dry at the implied command. He'd figured out what he thought Jahir was about, but he hadn't expected it to be brought into the open quite so soon.
Unperturbed, Jahir replied, "My lady, when the time is right."
So much through the mindline, but mostly the clarion sound of the address: not of a man to his queen, but of a vassal to his liegelady. So few words, to be so clear a promise, and with it, the ordering of both their fates for all their lives before them.
/Do you regret it?/ Jahir whispered.
/No,/ Vasiht'h said, and put all his earth-and-water truth behind the word.
/Brother mine,/ Jahir said. /I still think this is more than you bargained for./
/What else?/ Vasiht'h answered. /The goddess needs some room to work./
Jahir laughed silently.
Liolesa had turned to Jeasa. "Seni Galare, rise." When the woman had done so, she said, "I had heard there was a wedding...?"
"There may have been such a rumor, my lady," Jeasa answered with a flicker of a smile.
"A wedding requires a representative of the Lady, does it not?" Liolesa said. "Why, do you suppose there would be any trouble with my offering my services?"
Jeasa laughed. "My lady, I think no one would stop you even if they did."
"Just so," Liolesa said with a fire in her eyes that was rather more ferocious than Vasiht'h would have liked directed at him. "Please do me the honor of introducing me to the guests."
"My lady," Jeasa said with relish, "the honor would be mine."
The wedding was, in retrospect, anti-climactic. Vasiht'h was still a little wobbly from the drug's aftereffects ("Sorry," Sediryl had said, "the anti-toxin bit was a fiction."), but he'd recovered enough to brush out his fur, don the orange sari with its gilt, patterned edges, and arrange the new House medallion over the top. He'd even secured a couple of sleigh bells from Jeasa and hung them on his wing thumb-joints, though he was feeling measurably ambivalent about wishing fertility on two pre-pubescent children... one of whom couldn't even be convinced to stand near his bride, because she was a girl.
During the reception that followed, Vasiht'h stayed near Jahir and watched the Queen work the room. She was too far from him for Jahir's mind to catch any of the conversations, but even Eldritch were subject to the laws of humanoid body language. Everywhere Liolesa went, he saw people bend to her; whether they started out ruffled and resentful and outraged, or whether they were already hers before she spoke, they one and all showed signs of respect or submission by the end of the conversation... and all without the Queen making any noises other than those indicating courtesy and modest emotion. She owned the room, as she had the house the moment she entered it. Had the groom's family entertained any notion of reneging on the wedding because the bride's family had had the poor taste to make an outworlder kin, Liolesa's arrival had blown all such plans out of the water. One did not manufacture flimsy excuses against a union when one's sovereign arrived to play its priestess for your son.
It made him wonder how she'd known to come, and how she'd gotten here so quickly... and with guards to boot; his gaze wandered toward the doors where the stern-faced men with swords were standing, unobtrusive but somehow very very obvious. But however she'd done it, he found himself selfishly glad; with the Queen of the world in the room, no one was paying any attention to him.
As the night advanced the reception began to diffuse into the household, and from there onto the grounds. Some of the guests retired, and some took their discussions elsewhere. Vasiht'h heard the echoes of music in the h
alls, finally filling them with something more lively than the lonely footsteps he was used to. Seeing Jahir occupied with a few peers, Vasiht'h slipped out of the hall. He was halfway down it when he thought better of sneaking out completely unnoticed and whispered, /I'm going to get some fresh air./
/You sure you're entirely steady on your feet?/
He smiled as he passed through the foyer. /I'll be fine./ And feeling the steel-brushed finish of his partner's wry humor, added, /What?/
/Just wondering how you can find the outside so comforting so soon after the rite./
/Oh!/ Vasiht'h walked through the great doors and looked up at the vault of the sky. In lieu of answering, he let the mindline absorb his wonder at the sight of that glittering vista: so many stars, winking at him, as if sharing their ancient secrets. The hard vacuum starfield visible outside most of the starbase's great windows seemed without character in compare.
/Ah,/ Jahir answered with a smile he could feel like the gleam of a full moon. /I'll see you in a while, then./
Vasiht'h nodded, pleased, and let his feet wander. He avoided people's voices, and took it slowly, getting used to his own skin again, to being whole, to being alive and out of danger... to being... well, kin to an Eldritch, and now allowed the liberty of the house without anyone's objection. He glanced over his shoulder at the manor, at the lamps burning in the windows, the glitter cut by the sharp edges of beveled glass. Such a beautiful place to be so empty, and so old, so long to yearn for renewal and change. So much to be addressed. He sighed... and chuckled a little also, and turned back to the long path leading toward the commons.
There, once again, he found a distant figure, dwindling and familiar. He squinted at it, frowned, then hurried after it.
"Sediryl!" he called, and she reined in the horse. No pony this, but a tall, fine-limbed creature whose shoulder was well over Vasiht'h's. He slowed a few respectful body-lengths away from it and approached more cautiously. "Sediryl? Where are you going? It's late for a ride."
"I'm not on a pleasure jaunt, Vasiht'h," she said. "Or should I say 'cousin' now, maybe?"
"I'd like that," he admitted. "It's appropriate."
"Cousin, then," Sediryl said. The hood of her cloak was pooled at the back of her shoulders, reminding him strongly of her appearance in the ritual. "I'm on my way home."
"You're leaving already?" Vasiht'h said. "But... the reception's not even over..."
"It's close enough," Sediryl said, "and I have no reason to stay. I already said my farewells, my aunt knows I've left."
"Jahir didn't tell me you were leaving...," Vasiht'h said, confused. "I would have come to say goodbye—"
"Why would I tell Jahir?" Sediryl asked, head canted.
And then he realized, a horrible, slow thick realization, that she didn't know. Hadn't known how Jahir felt about her... until now. He saw it break over her face, animate her too-fierce eyes as she looked down at him in surprise.
"Oh, Goddess!" Vasiht'h exclaimed, holding out his hands so suddenly the horse shied. "Please, don't say a word! Don't tell him I told you!"
"You didn't tell me," Sediryl said, but her words were slow, and her gaze was entirely internalized... on what great shift inside herself, Vasiht'h hardly dared guess. "I figured it out." She grinned, and as abruptly as that she was in the moment again, wearing her glib mask. "That's the problem with family. It's so hard to keep secrets from them."
"Sediryl..."
She shook her head, gathering the reins in her slim gloved hands. "No, Vasiht'h—cousin. Don't ask."
Of course, that made him desperately want to. But the more he looked at her face, the more he read the grim determination in her voice and the tension of her hands, the more he understood that he didn't have to. Instead, he said, "He'll regret not having seen you off."
"No, he won't," Sediryl said. "Cousin, what I said to you outside the commons is still true. Jahir is a true son of this world, and will be back. But there won't be any coming back for me. I'm not wanted, and I don't belong." Her smile grew crooked and sad, and he thought of a tree grown into a strange shape, seeking light it couldn't find. "My desires have never been honored by my homeworld. My choice is to stay here, and be denied until I grow sick with unfulfilled needs... or to find my own way. I've made my choice." She shook her head and finished, quieter, "No matter what I want, my path doesn't lead back here."
To that, he could find nothing to say... nothing she would believe. So he let her press her heels against the horse's barrel, the stirrup leather squeaking, and watched as the dark shrouded her, shadows stealing up her black cloak as she drew away.
"I'll tell him you said goodbye," he called.
She laughed, and didn't look back.
Vasiht'h was in the nest of pillows that night long before Jahir returned. He had time to tour his partner's suite, to really examine the furniture, the tapestries, the instruments, the books... to examine and see that Sediryl had been right about them. He'd gone to his bed thoughtful, and grateful to have something soft to lie on after the chapel's unforgiving floor.
He woke when Jahir quietly closed the suite's door behind him. Struggling to one elbow, he peered past the pillows to see his friend sit on the divan in the common room to begin stripping off his boots.
/Things go okay?/ he asked, not wanting to break the starlit silence.
/As well as could be expected, given the excitement,/ Jahir answered, his voice faded with distraction. /Tomorrow the groom's family will depart, and take Juzie with them. The Queen will leave also. And you and I... we should think about leaving ourselves./ He sighed and straightened. /I don't know about you, but I'm ready to be gone. I miss home./
/Me too,/ Vasiht'h said, and withdrew from the conversation to let his partner bathe and prepare for bed in silence. He didn't speak again until Jahir's silhouette darkened the entry to the bedroom. "I'm glad we came."
Jahir paused in the act of tucking his robe more closely around. "You are?"
Vasiht'h nodded. "I miss home too, and I'll be glad to be gone. But yes. I'm glad we came. And Jahir... I'll keep your secrets. Even the one about humanity." He lifted his head to meet the Eldritch's eyes. "That one was true, wasn't it."
Jahir hesitated. Then smiled faintly and sat on the stepstool leading up to the mattress. "Yes."
Vasiht'h nodded. "She had to throw some truth in there to keep it believable, I guess."
"Just so," Jahir said. And after a moment, said, "Thank you. For the promise."
"Our secrets now," Vasiht'h said. "Not yours. That should make things easier."
"Yes," Jahir said. And smiled. "Brother."
"Ariihir, if we want to use the affectionate Seersan form," Vasiht'h said.
"I like both terms," Jahir said.
Vasiht'h offered him his hand. Jahir reached across the gulf and took it, winding his long white fingers in Vasiht'h's shorter furred ones. They shared the heartbeat subjectivity of time through their touch, and more sublime things as well. If there was grief for the inevitable heartbreak in their future... well. There was wisdom in all the Goddess's creations, sorrow no less than joy.
"So about that girl with the spotted back," Jahir began.
"Oh no," Vasiht'h said. "I haven't even settled into the family I've just gotten, I am not starting a new one!"
Jahir laughed and climbed into the bed. "Goodnight, Vasiht'h Seni Galare."
"Goodnight, brother mine," Vasiht'h said.
/I still think she was cute./
Vasiht'h kicked the mindline, and ignored the soft chuckle from the bed as he curled up on the pillows to sleep.
Return to the Alliance!
Dear Readers,
There are several series and interlocking storylines set in the universe of the Pelted. Most of these involve the long lead-up to the conflict with the Chatcaava, which Jahir and Vasiht'h become--believe it or not!--directly involved in. But before they do, they have their own run of pastoral stories; if you haven't already read the story of how they met,
the Dreamhealers duology, Mindtouch and Mindline, tell that tale.
Many other Eldritch are also involved with the Pelted; the most famous of those is Hirianthial, who is rescued by the merchant trader Reese Eddings, a human very down on her luck. If you like space opera complete with pirates, court intrigue, and crazy Harat-Shar, you'll want to start with Book 1 of Her Instruments, Earthrise. Or, if you prefer short fiction, you can take a side-tour and pick up my collection of Pelted short fiction, Claws and Starships.
For those of you who want darker fare, Even the Wingless goes straight into the Chatcaavan Empire itself to show us the iniquity that the Alliance will be facing, and pits Lisinthir Nase Galare, an Eldritch ambassador, against an entire court of torturers and sociopaths. It is a tense, bloody, and violent book, and sets up the events that will affect the course of intergalactic history. It is, however, full of triggers; readers, beware! Even the Wingless is only the first in the new Princes' Game series, which will intertwine many of the plotlines from disparate novels as we discover what's in store for the Alliance, the Eldritch, and all their allies, new and old. This is where Jahir and Vasiht'h return, in Book 2, Some Things Transcend, and in the forthcoming Book 3, Amulet Rampant.
I also write other novels; if you want to try some fantasy, romance, or military science fiction, please drop by my website and have a look at what I have to offer! Or if you prefer, sign up for my newsletter to be alerted when new books arrive!
-M
About the Author
Daughter of two Cuban political exiles, M.C.A. Hogarth was born a foreigner in the American melting pot and has had a fascination for the gaps in cultures and the bridges that span them ever since. She has been many things—web database architect, product manager, technical writer and massage therapist—but is currently a full-time parent, artist, writer and anthropologist to aliens, both human and otherwise. She is the author of over 50 titles in the genres of science fiction, fantasy, humor and romance.
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