by Cari Z.
Jason nodded silently and moved forward, leaning on Dori. Before they reached the end of the hall, Perels wearing the insignia of the House of Tlann rushed forward, one of them with the white edging of a healer on his sleeves. Jason straightened a little as they went by.
“Good lad,” Dori praised him. “We’re almost there. Just a little farther….” At the end of the hall, Penelope appeared with a gurney hovering in front of her. Dori helped Jason onto it, careful not to jar the jagged ends of the quills still sticking out of him.
“Relax now, Jason,” Dori said. He gave Jason another injection, one that suddenly made his muscles go as lax as liquid. “You’ve done your job. Relax now. Go to sleep.”
And Jason, feeling calmer and more content than he had for weeks, did.
Chapter Fifteen
IN HIS interpersonal naiveté, Jason had assumed that defeating Seronn in a duel would make so many of the personal and political troubles bothering him and his various family members week after week go away. If a duel to the—well, not quite the death, but nearly so—couldn’t translate into a stronger position at the bargaining table, then what could?
In some ways, he was right. Things definitely improved within the House of Grenn. Jason was in bed for three days, and during that time every pup, male, and matriarch in the house came to visit him and congratulate him. Corran, who had seen the whole thing, told tales about it that had people believing that Jason had done it all one-handed, that he had been the one to do the leaping attacks, that he had barely been nicked by Seronn instead of having a lung, his diaphragm, and his intestines punctured so badly that Dori almost recommended a Regen tank.
The status quo had changed for Jason’s mothers as well. Jason had officially fought as the duelist for the House of Howards, stepping in on behalf of the House of Grenn. The legality of a human House was debated hotly in the Council for days, and for a time, that put the legitimacy of his win in question. But eventually it was decided that yes, if the matriarchs had deemed him able to fight in the first place, then his victory had to stand. Once a legal decision had been made that included the human House of Howards as truly official among the Perel Houses, Giselle was more than ready to argue for more trading opportunities and tariff concessions, and Grenn was backing her up.
Tlann, still reeling with the fact that her daughter’s consort had been spared, felt obliged to show her support, and that threw the conservatives into an absolute frenzy of being difficult in every way they could. The moderates still held control, with a margin of four to three, but where before there had been issues on which the two sides could compromise, now there was chaos, and the undecided status of the semilegal House of Howards complicated that equation immeasurably.
Things were still difficult on a personal level as well. The twins had returned to the House of Lronn as soon as Jason was mobile again, and he saw them very rarely. He went on with his classes, and while there was an overtone of genuine respect there that had been missing before, there was also an undercurrent of fear.
Perels from conservative Solitarian Houses that he met in the city were much more open in disdaining him, now that their matriarchs were so severely against all the changes that had accompanied his arrival on their planet. Of course, his supporters were correspondingly more vocal, and fights between rival groups happened frequently. None of them were formal enough to be called duels, but the rising level of conflict was disheartening for Jason, and a bad sign for the matriarchs, who subsequently had to exert more control over their consorts and sons to keep them in line.
And then there was Ferran. Jason really didn’t know what to do about his husband. Ferran had been with him every second as he was recovering from his wounds, but he had barely spoken at all. Jason, never a great conversationalist, was left with a silence that he couldn’t seem to break. It reminded him of how things had gotten with Blake toward the end, how they’d inhabited the same space but had somehow managed to be far apart at the same time. The thought of what had happened with Blake repeating itself now scared Jason, and he tried to talk to Ferran about it, to draw him out.
Ferran remained impenetrably polite. He spoke pleasantly, he responded to questions in the most impersonal way possible, and he replied immediately whenever Jason asked him anything—except when it concerned how he was feeling. Then he would answer, “I am fine,” leaving Jason more frustrated than before.
The only thing that hadn’t really changed was how Ferran related to him in bed. Jason had had to initiate any intimate contact between them since the duel, but once he started, Ferran was on him like a second layer of skin, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He nipped and licked and kissed and sucked every inch of Jason’s body, and he always wanted to taste him—to the point where Jason had to insist that Ferran let him return the favor and give him a blowjob. Ferran would lie there and take it and come, but he didn’t seem to get nearly as much pleasure out of his own orgasms as he got out of Jason’s.
When they made love, it was always Jason on top, even when he said he wanted it the other way around, and Ferran never turned his back. He was sensitive of Jason touching his quills now and would flinch or shy away whenever his husband managed to stroke the small of his back or press a kiss to the base of his neck. So they faced each other when they had sex, with Ferran’s legs and arms wrapped around Jason, his eyes wide and begging even as he arched his back and came.
When it was over Ferran would say, “I love you,” and Jason knew that his husband meant it with all his heart. He knew the love was there, which was part of why the loss of their easy friendship hurt so acutely.
It hurt enough that a month after the duel, even though Jason had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t bring up personal issues with Grenn, anything was better than continuing the status quo. She looked tired, preoccupied by the many battles she herself was fighting, but she set her tea down and gave Jason her full attention from the moment he walked in the door for their morning meeting.
“Tell me,” she said gently, and before he knew it, Jason was spilling the story to her, describing the seemingly impenetrable tension between himself and his husband.
“I don’t know what to do about it,” he said finally, rubbing anxious circles over the curve of his knee with one hand. “He won’t tell me what’s wrong, or if anything’s wrong. I just don’t know how to deal with it.”
“You must be patient,” Grenn advised. “Ferran is feeling very many things right now, and it will take him some time to sort them out. You two have not yet reached a point in your relationship where you can be honest with each other about everything. He simply has to decide how to tell you what he feels. And he will. Eventually.”
Jason frowned. “Why can’t he tell me how he feels now? I won’t judge him for it.”
“You two are still very new to each other—practically strangers! You are still trying to impress each other. Do you share all your insecurities with him?” Grenn asked astutely. “Have you told him of all your troubles in Berenze? How certain tea shops are closed to you? How you are publically reviled by some?”
“No, but….” Jason didn’t really see the parallel. “I’m just trying to protect him. Those things don’t really bother me, but I know they’d upset him.”
“Thus you do not share with him. And he knows it. Ferran feels what is in you as deeply as I do at this point—more, even. He knows when you are holding back, but he doesn’t know why. Perhaps he feels he is saving you grief by holding back in turn with you.” She smiled a small, knowing smile. “He knows that you love him, and you know that he loves you. The rest will come in time. Patience, Jason. Patience is key.”
She stood up. “I am going to your mother Howards’s home today, to discuss the latest political situation. We are trying to persuade the rest of the Council to attend as well, in addition to the Dorn and the Mazi. You may be called upon to join us there and speak.”
“Oh. At what time?” The latest political “situation” had a lot to do wi
th the seeming monopoly that the House of Grenn had on alien interactions, and Jason knew that Giselle wanted to do more outreach to the other houses.
“Well after you are done with your lessons. If you would stay close to your den today, rather than going into Berenze, it would be easier for me to arrange for a shuttle to bring you out. Is this acceptable?” These days, Grenn was always careful to say Is this, rather than This is, and Jason appreciated the effort, even though it didn’t really negate the fact that she was giving him an order.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you thinking of bringing Ferran as well?”
“He has already been asked to attend. It will be a good opportunity for him to interact with other aliens, something he needs more practice with before he can be Perelan’s ambassador.” She wiggled a hand dismissively at him. “Now go on. Go and learn.”
Go and learn. Yes, Jason had been learning a hell of a lot, but he still didn’t have the answers he was looking for. Patient. He was already patient. Patience didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere with his husband except more estranged.
Jason met with Matriarch Jlinn for language class, and after sitting down and going through the greetings, he asked in Perel, “What is the word for ‘patient’?”
“We are discussing the names of animals and plants today, not adjectives,” she reprimanded him.
“I want to know.”
“We will get there,” she assured him, “but you must follow the lesson plan. It will facilitate your retention of our language. Now, repeat after me.” Jlinn went on to hammer home for Jason exactly how patient he already was, coughing and growling through the names of animals he had never seen and probably never would.
He met Ferran for lunch in their den. It was a quiet affair, both of them eating and then curling up on the couch together for a while. “How late do you think you’ll be tonight?” Jason asked finally, one hand idly stroking down Ferran’s arm. The skin pebbled with tiny goose bumps under his fingertips.
“I do not know how long my mother intends for the conference to go on. It may last one hour, it may last all day.”
“When you get back… we should talk.”
Ferran stiffened. “Talk about what?”
Jason sighed. “About this.” He waved a hand between the two of them. “About us.” Fuck patience, he was done with the awkward silences and the walking on eggshells. “And that’s not a bad thing,” Jason hastened to assure his husband. “It doesn’t mean that we’re going to fight or argue, it just means that I want to talk to you. I want to… I want….” God, he was so bad at these conversations. “I want to be honest with you. I want you to feel like you can trust me.”
“I already do!” Ferran protested.
“Then I want you to feel like you can trust yourself with me. All of it, every part of you, not just the parts you think I want to see.” He felt Ferran start to move away and held him tighter. “And I’ll do the same. I know I haven’t been a perfect husband, and I damaged your faith in me when I took that duel, but I want to try to fix that.”
Ferran kept pulling, and Jason let him go, his well of words suddenly run dry. “I have to go,” Ferran said, and he stood up and slipped his shoes on quickly.
“Ferran….”
“I will see you later tonight, Jason.”
“And we’ll talk?” Jason pressed.
Ferran swallowed hard. “Yes. We will talk.”
“That’s all I want.” Actually it was nowhere close to all that Jason wanted, but he knew that it would have to do for now. Just before Ferran went out the door, Jason said softly, “I love you.”
He thought that Ferran heard him, but after the barest pause, Ferran left and shut the door behind him without a word.
“Shit.”
Jason was in no mood to stay in his silent, lonely den for the rest of the day, but he knew he had to be close so that a messenger could find him if Grenn wanted him at the conference. After a few hours of uneasy idleness and aborted attempts to relax with kata, he put on a slicker and headed up to the garden on the top of Grenn’s house.
It was raining hard enough to make his eyes sting and his skin burn a little, but Jason wanted to burn a little right now. His eyes really stung, though. Clearly, the contacts had reached about the end of their lifespan; he’d have to ask Dori about getting replacements.
Jason made his way into the garden and stood next to a boulder—one of the only actual stones he’d seen in the entire city. The roughness of it was oddly soothing, a kind of reminder that other things existed beyond the soft, spongy moss that seemed to cover everything in Berenze. He ran his fingers over the surface, watching orange and pink flowers bend under the force of the rain with his peripheral vision.
After maybe half an hour, he saw someone coming his way, and he turned to face the intruder entering the garden through the public gate. The Perel’s slicker was pulled forward to cover his face, but Jason knew who it was anyway. “Seronn.” It was the first time Jason had seen him since the duel. The House of Tlann had refused human medical help, and so the traditional doctors had taken on the task of rehabilitating the duelist. Jason had torn through a lot of muscle and perforated Seronn’s intestines in several places, and it had taken multiple surgeries to fix the damage.
As soon as he was upright again, Seronn had gone into the penitent’s cage in a public square one block from the Council House, and his weeklong tenure there had just ended. Jason wondered what he was doing here now, and vaguely wished he had thought to bring a knife with him. Grenn had assured him that Seronn wouldn’t seek revenge, but Jason wasn’t so sure. He had been expecting some sort of confrontation, however, and now was as good a time as any.
“Jason Kim Howards Grenn.” Seronn pushed back his hood just a little bit. His handsome face was expressionless, but his eyes were wide, and his voice was anxious. “You should go below.” He said it so quietly that Jason almost couldn’t hear him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Do not ask, just go!” Seronn hissed impatiently. “I must be here now, but so will they, and they will take you if you do not go below!”
“Who will take me?” Jason asked, but even as he said it, he heard the quick whistle of an air gun and felt the subsequent sting of a needle penetrating his upper back. Jason tore at the penetration site even as he turned toward the door that would take him back inside the House of Grenn, but his vision went foggy, and he fell to one knee almost immediately.
Seronn was next to him in an instant, but he didn’t help him up. Instead he took Jason’s communicator off his belt.
“They would only destroy it,” he muttered gruffly. “It is too late for me to help you here, but I will use this to tell Ferran what has happened, if he lives.”
“If he lives….” Jason wanted to ask more, to say more, or maybe to scream, but before he could take another breath, his face and throat went numb. He couldn’t speak—he could barely draw breath—and then the numbness spread to his mind, and he fell forward onto the slick, rainy ground and blacked out.
Chapter Sixteen
CONSCIOUSNESS CAME back slowly, like waking up from a Regen coma but without the accompanying sense of renewal. Instead, his shoulders were clenched up around his ears, he had a headache that made his eyes feel like they were going to melt out of his face, and he wasn’t breathing very well. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, but the thick layer of grit and slime that had taken up residence in his lungs didn’t want to be moved.
A foot nudged his shoulder, and the surface he was on swayed slightly. There was a low, hoarse growl, and the sway was waveringly corrected.
Jason tried to open his eyes, but the brightness of the lights—floor lights; he could tell he was lying on a floor—made keeping them open inadvisable. He assessed his state. His arms and legs weren’t bound, but he couldn’t really move them either. They felt heavy and dull, barely twitching against the floor when he strained to shift them. The pain in his head was slowly clearing, but what he mad
e out through it wasn’t at all comforting.
He was on a shuttle, he knew that much. He was with someone who didn’t care about his physical state. Whoever he was with also seemed pretty unfamiliar with the technology he was using, if the hiccups Jason could hear coming from the engine were anything to go by.
When Jason opened his eyes the second time, he was able to keep them open, just as slits. He lay in a heap just behind the copilot’s chair, so his upper body was in the line of sight of whoever was abusing this shuttle. The shuttle itself was a small industrial model stripped mostly bare, with no extra seats and no flooring other than the metal mesh digging lines into the side of his face. Dangling from the walls were cables and ropes that could be used to tie something down more securely, but apparently, Jason hadn’t been deemed a very high risk, because none of them had been used on him. The entry ramp that made up the back wall of the shuttle was closed, but the light that would indicate it had been locked wasn’t on. That could mean the light had burnt out, or it could mean they simply hadn’t bothered to lock it.
Strange work, very shoddy work for a kidnapping, but Jason delayed thinking about that in favor of figuring out what the hell was going on.
He looked over at the Perel piloting the shuttle. It was a male—an older male, given the roughness of his quills and the lines on his face. He wore a plain gray jumpsuit with no insignia, but it didn’t take long for Jason to recognize who it was and what House he belonged to. He had only seen him once before, but that had been a day of firsts, and Jason remembered them all.
“I see you wake,” the Perel said. “I see you thinking, intruder. Invader. Outsider.” The Perel growled derisively. “I knew from the moment I saw you. I should have drugged your tea and taken care of you while you were still weak.” He reached out and kicked Jason’s shoulder with his foot this time, hard enough to slide his head back across the floor.
