He was healthy—alive, free, and more hale than he'd felt in months—and he had steel beneath one palm and skin beneath the other, and the kiss was fire and softness and yielding, tasted of mint and honey. Lisinthir drank from that cup until he felt Jahir's pulse racing and then let him go... but not far. One finger on his cousin's chin kept him nigh.
Lisinthir shone his words white, for sacred acts, for the acceptance that the swords represented, for the kiss that had been benison and welcome and homecoming. "Thank you. For keeping them. And cleaning them."
His cousin met his eyes, gaze grave despite the flushed cheeks. "I wasn't comfortable releasing them into a locker, nor did I think you would want them there."
"No," Lisinthir said, feeling better with their weight to anchor him. Not that he expected trouble on Fleet's home station, but after months of living in perpetual danger he would have felt unfinished not knowing where the blades were, as if someone had cut off his claws. "That was a kindness. Thank you." He traced his cousin's lips, savoring the dry satin of the skin. "For all of it."
Jahir cleared his throat and smiled, but it was a faint smile and Lisinthir wondered at the shadows in it, the ones that floated free of the trust and love he sensed through their skins. His cousin looked more careworn than one would have expected given their safety, and his words when he spoke were studiously neutral, tinged with gray. "The least I could do. I'm afraid the swords are all that's left of your time in the Empire. Not even your coat survived. The original one, anyway. I had to cut it off you when we arrived on the bridge of the Chatcaavan vessel. I had a new one made to your measure, so that you'll have aught to wear... but I'm afraid as mementos go a bag of clothes is rather paltry."
Vague memory then, not of the coat's destruction, but of the sound of voices, and then nothing. And a dream…. "Tell me what passed. And where your beloved is?" He glanced at the door.
"Gone to stretch the kinks from his legs, or so he says," Jahir answered. "He is giving us time alone, I suspect, in case you had some mad desire to kiss me."
"He is prescient, your beloved," Lisinthir said, amused. "And I will probably find myself in need of several more kisses. But I want to know what's transpired first."
"Duty before pleasure?"
Lisinthir smiled at him, fond. "And you are surprised."
That won him a curve of lips in return. "Not at all."
His cousin took the stool beside the bed, then. His summary was more complete than Lisinthir had expected; it had no doubt required the interview of at least some of the scout's officers for information on the battle that had seen them rescued. Jahir had even contrived to hear word of the Chatcaavan vessel's successful return to Alliance space. That last pleased Lisinthir, particularly given what he now knew about its mysteriously oversized complement.
It was the events that followed their arrival to the base that startled him most, however. "I beg your pardon. I did what?"
"Almost died?" Jahir smiled another of those faint smiles, and at last Lisinthir knew what was inspiring them. "I assume you weren't told. Surgeons tend to grow more taciturn with increasing talent and responsibility, and you necessitated the Head of Surgery's intervention. But yes, your liver failed completely during their attempts to address all the issues afflicting you, and the blood they cloned from a sample drawn from you and then filtered caused such violent rejection that for a moment…." He trailed off, shook his head minutely. "Whatever the case, they pulled you back from the brink and put me to work donating blood for you. That, you accepted."
"I almost died?" Lisinthir asked, bemused. "And yet, I feel perfectly fine now. Other than a little hungry."
"You feel perfectly fine because they replaced most of your digestive tract, your liver, and your blood volume," his cousin replied, and what would have been a joke had his tone been wry was like a wind over a grave when delivered in that husk of a voice. When Lisinthir met his eyes, Jahir said, "You didn't see... God and Lady, what it was doing to you, the hekkret. The way it was just... blistering your alimentary canal. You were starving to death in front of all of us."
And I couldn't do anything about it, was the whisper that went unspoken, the shadow that haunted his cousin's eyes. Lisinthir reached for Jahir's hand, and when their fingers entwined, the astringency of that leftover terror remained, like a metallic tang in the mouth. "But I didn't," Lisinthir said, gently. "No doubt in some part because of how quickly you noticed the issue on the ship."
"Perhaps." Jahir looked away, exhaled, managed a lopsided smile. "The way you attract trouble, cousin... I feel I should commission you another secret rampant. Or perhaps a dozen."
Lisinthir chuckled and tugged him close enough to kiss, just a chaste chafe of skin that still colored his cousin's cheeks. "I don't need it. You are my amulet rampant."
"Nevertheless," Jahir said after composing himself. "You gave us all a scare. Do not that again, if you would."
"I'll do my best to oblige."
"What did happen to the amulet I sent you?" Jahir glanced at him. "I did not mean to foist a sentimentality on you. I know it's a rarely indulged custom these days."
"Ah, no. I appreciated the impulse. And I did use it." He remembered the hiss of fabric parting around knives. "I went to a terrible fight wearing it, and woke up in a Chatcaavan gel tank naked. I suppose it might have gotten cut off, but I like to think it evanesced after keeping me alive."
Jahir grimaced. "Perhaps I really should send you a new one, given that in all probability you will go straight back into the fray. You will, won't you?"
Had he dreamt? Oh, but he had. It was real to him. I'll send for you. Lisinthir shook off the clinging memories, of hide and teeth and fevered promises. "I have some notion of what I'd like to accomplish while I'm here. And I will be here for a while, I think."
"By our standards? Or by the Pelted's?"
Lisinthir touched his own chest beneath the thin hospital shift, trying to trace the place that ached. "By the body's." He smiled, lopsided. "Don't fear, cousin. I won't go haring off without cause. I need to train these people first in what I know. After that... I have my own intelligence to gather, and that will have to be done discreetly. I suspect they'll want to help me do it, so rest assured that whatever mad scheme I devise will be supported properly by some number of pragmatic Pelted co-conspirators."
"I suppose I can ask for no more than that."
"Wise you are to see it." Lisinthir glanced at the door. "Will you call your beloved? I would like to thank him. I trust you are well together again?"
Jahir nodded once. "You were correct in that the anticipation of battle was worse than the actual fight... though I suspect Vasiht'h would disagree with me." A smile, less brittle this time, though still small. "We can laugh about the disagreement, though."
"Good."
Vasiht'h peeked in through the door. "I hear someone is awake?"
"I am indeed," Lisinthir said. "And apparently near ready to be released."
"You look it." Vasiht'h padded closer, but even before he joined his partner at the bedside, Lisinthir could see that he was no longer strained. Changed, perhaps—the Chatcaava always brought change, for was that not their nature?—but no longer limping beneath the burden of neurotic thoughts. Jahir also looked better for the Glaseah's arrival. They were once again an unbroken whole, which was what Lisinthir had wanted... no, had needed... to see before leaving.
The Glaseah said, "Jahir tells me you're feeling better."
"Much, and I have you to thank for it, among others."
Startled, Vasiht'h said, "Me?"
"You and your beloved got me to the bridge, I hear," Lisinthir said. "And this after a harrowing fight in an enemy vessel. I should think that merits at least a 'thank you.'"
"I... I don't know why you'd thank me for that," Vasiht'h exclaimed. "It's not like I had a choice...! It was that or die!"
"And there you have elucidated a choice, have you not?" Lisinthir felt a swell of affection for the Glaseah. So
like the Slave Queen had been... trapped in their own thinking, assuming the worst of themselves because they measured themselves against the only people of agency and power in their worlds and found themselves lacking.
"It doesn't seem like much of one," Vasiht'h said. "Given that death is the ending of all choices. There's no more potential for change or growth or action at that point."
"And yet people make that choice," Lisinthir said. "I imagine as therapists you've seen it."
Vasiht'h flipped his feathered ears back, looked away. "All right. I can see that." He sighed. "I admit I walked in here expecting a 'hi, how are you, glad to see you on your feet' sort of conversation, and here you are, challenging and baiting. Not even an hour from your deathbed!"
"A bit of an exaggeration," Jahir murmured.
Vasiht'h folded his arms. "All right, a little." He eyed Lisinthir, chuckled. "I guess that's just who you are."
"Eternally, I'm afraid."
"The only reason he's being challenging is because you are refusing to accept his compliment," Jahir offered.
Vasiht'h began to speak, then stopped. Could Glaseah blush? Lisinthir couldn't see anything beneath the pelage, but he somehow suspected the skin there had tinted.
"I understand," Lisinthir said. "It's difficult to accept compliments for the parts of yourself you are uncomfortable with. We want to be appreciated for what we think are our strengths, do we not?"
"Goddess!" Vasiht'h said, rueful. "You are terrifying, you know that? Can you stop doing these devastating observations before you give me a coronary?"
"If you are to have one, it's not a bad place," Lisinthir said. He set a hand on the Glaseah's arm, startling him. "I apologize for your discomfort. Will you forgive me? I can hardly be the wild uncle to your children otherwise."
"You heard that?" Vasiht'h asked, surprised. And then laughed. "Of course you did." He shook his head. "I'm not upset at you. Just... it's been a long couple of weeks."
"Then I won't keep you. May I have a familial kiss?"
That won him a wary look. "I've never seen Eldritch family do much kissing."
"Obviously a custom that needs changing." Lisinthir framed the Glaseah's face in both palms and kissed him on the brow. "There. Take care of my cousin for me."
"I will. And... thank you. For thanking me." The Glaseah's ears sagged. "I didn't take the compliment gracefully, but I appreciate it. I didn't take any of it gracefully, really. I should have done better—"
Lisinthir held up two fingers, stopping him, and said, "You're welcome."
The Glaseah laughed. "Right. Feel better, arii. And we'll see you again, I'm sure."
Once Vasiht'h had gone, Lisinthir said, "That went better than I feared."
Jahir's voice was cautious. "Did you think he would hate you?"
"You're the psychologist, cousin. Tell me what we tend to think of people we associate with uncomfortable experiences, whether the situation's of their making or not."
"I like to think we are somewhat more self-aware than that," Jahir said. And finished, chagrined. "Somewhat."
Lisinthir let that lie. "So... will they keep you for fear of my health degrading?"
"No... no, they'd like me to remain available for a few days, but that's caution speaking. They aren't anticipating your needing me. Since I have an errand on Selnor, I probably will stay a few days longer, but I doubt they'll call me." Jahir considered him, smiled a little. "You have your feet under you again, Ambassador. I'm with the Head of Surgery, who no longer has fears on your behalf. She tells me your health right now is better than mine." His smile had a frangible quality. "I did not argue the point. It has been a rather fatiguing several days."
Lisinthir brought his cousin's hand to his lips and kissed the fingers, gentle. In their tongue, shaded gold, "Your aid was appreciated, Galare."
"Imthereli," Jahir answered in the white. "It was a joy to serve."
Lisinthir let that moment linger so he could savor it, the ease of being in the presence of another Eldritch, and one he trusted, one who understood him. But there was work to be done, and reluctantly he brushed the backs of his fingers against Jahir's cheek. "Go rest, Healer. They will want me to do the same. And if I don't see you before you go, go safely."
"I don't have to leave—"
Lisinthir shook his head. "You are exhausted, and Vasiht'h as well. Go home and rest." He lifted his brows. "Recoup your energies so you can bring them to me when I call for you."
"If you're certain...."
"Even if I wasn't, you should be," Lisinthir said. "You've been through enough, cousin. We'll talk again, among other things, when we see each other next."
Jahir hesitated, then leaned over, pausing. Lisinthir let him work through his hesitation and then answered the kiss, sliding his hand up the back of Jahir's neck and through his loose hair. He missed the braid... he'd have to insist on it when they met again next.
"Stay well," Jahir murmured against his mouth. "Until I see you again."
"And after, I pledge you," Lisinthir promised, smiling. He nudged his cousin. "You to your duties, cousin, and I to mine."
"As always."
"As always."
After Jahir had departed, Lisinthir leaned back against the wall with both palms on the swords. He had purpose again, and his health. He had promises to keep, and to expect. He even had people worth fighting for, fighting with, and loving. And there was a war coming, and he still had a role to play. He'd won a Chatcaavan Emperor to the side of light and compassion... had led a slave to the love of freedom, and the embrace of her own personhood. He'd won his cousins to him despite their unease with combat. All that was left was to convince the Alliance to support his Emperor's cause.
Not enough of a challenge, that. Fortunately, there would be others to follow it.
Vasiht'h's entrance interrupted his concentration, which suited Jahir. He was not having an easy time of this letter, had in fact been laboring over it for an hour after putting it off for most of a day. But they were expected in Heliocentrus by afternoon, local-time, and he would rather not go with the task hanging over him.
"Still writing?" Vasiht'h asked, curious.
"A letter to the Queen," Jahir agreed. "And I cannot seem to decide how to impart the events of the past two weeks to her."
"Wouldn't it be easier just to call her?"
"Maybe," Jahir allowed. "But interrupting her is not something to be done lightly. I'm not guaranteed to speak with her even if I do call. And..." He trailed off, remembering too much: kisses, given to him, and given to Lisinthir through memories he'd borrowed; blood raked by talons true and phantom; endearments and harassments in Chatcaavan, understood intimately or not at all. "I'm not sure I could tell her without...."
/Embarrassing yourself?/ Vasiht'h asked more quietly, the mindline soft with compassion.
/It is too close yet,/ Jahir admitted. /The letter permits me some distance from it./
Vasiht'h switched to speech, respecting the confidence. "So what has you stuck on it?"
Jahir looked at the data tablet. He'd been scribing the letter with a stylus and missing real paper and pen, but all the supplies he'd packed had vanished with the courier and it seemed wasteful to request it of their hosts just so he could digitize the results and Well-boost them across the Alliance. It was strange to look at the words on a data tablet, but that hadn't been the problem. What had stopped him? "I feel as if... nothing I write puts forth the magnitude of what the Queen has wrought with Lisinthir."
"Which is?" The mindline acquired a sharp tang, something tasted, something that woke the palate.
What could he say? "Change."
The silence that followed that word seemed shaped by it, had power. They could both feel it.
Vasiht'h said, quiet, "I think she knows."
Did she? Of course she did. Vasiht'h was right. She was the Queen, and she knew the Pattern, more intimately than ever he would. His stylus sagged in fingers gone suddenly slack... then he took i
t up and chased that inspiration. Vasiht'h withdrew, his satisfaction a distant hum in the mindline.
To My Lady, Greetings and Devotion:
As requested, we have met our cousin Lisinthir Nase Galare and escorted him back to the Alliance successfully despite the attempts of the Chatcaava to prevent it. You will no doubt hear the details from Fleet, and I am not in possession of all that information, so I will leave that to more capable people to report.
On the matter of our cousin, I believe you have little to fear. You sent the striking drake's scion to an empire of dragons, and a wingéd lord returned from that crucible. You knew what you wrought—I hope you do not think it an impertinence for me to say so—and you have succeeded.
The war comes, my Lady. Lisinthir himself tells me so. I pray you give him the freedom to pursue his instincts on your behalf, and every support as he does so... and that the Alliance does as well. Neither of you will regret giving him his head; not as much as you will trying to direct him. That is a beast that will bear the touch of neither rein nor spur, anymore... but if respected, will serve until his heart gives.
If you—or he—have need of me again, I am ever—
At your service,
Jahir Seni Galare
He hoped the Queen would forgive his insolence, suspected she would. She had willingly set out to create what Lisinthir had become, and was herself something of a firebrand. Such a woman would not punish a forthright tongue when married to a dutiful spirit. Perhaps it was always the way with such men and women, he thought: they needed the quiet and the willing to abet them. The world needed earth and water and air as well as fire.
"All done?" Vasiht'h asked.
Jahir sent the message on its way. "All done, and ready for our visit to Heliocentrus."
"Good, because we have just enough time to Pad down. We're meeting everyone at the hospital's front entrance."
"It will be good to see them again," Jahir said.
Vasiht'h grinned up at him. "Even if Paige brings you hot buttered coffee?"
Jahir touched his brow with his fingers. "God and Lady... not the buttered coffee."
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