“I will so endeavor,” Jahir said, and she huffed, mostly to herself, he thought. She left, closing the door behind her. He rinsed out his cup and returned it to the cupboard. “A woman of great perspicacity, Lucrezia. And introspective, as well.” When Vasiht’h didn’t answer, he reached over him for the teapot and refilled the Glaseah’s cup. “Come now. What has she said that has shocked you so? She told us the truth she observed.”
“It was… was…” Vasiht’h said and trailed off.
“Presumptuous?” Jahir guessed.
“Yes!”
He tried very hard to hide his amusement. “You did say she was Harat-Shariin enough.” Vasiht’h glanced at him, wild-eyed. “They do have a reputation for outrageousness.”
Vasiht’h stared at him. Then at his cup. “You… refilled my tea.”
“You should drink it,” Jahir said.
“I think your schedule’s going to kill you,” Vasiht’h blurted.
“I trust you will help prevent that sorry fate.” Jahir set the honey in front of his roommate. “Did not Lucrezia so adjure?”
“Uhn, there are so many bad ideas in the world,” Vasiht’h muttered, rubbing his face.
“Then let us go forth and make those mistakes,” Jahir said. “And learn something from them.”
CHAPTER 24
Vasiht’h had been attending Seersana University since he’d enrolled as an undergraduate, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember a single spring term that he hadn’t wanted to end sooner: to get to warmer, drier weather, to get to the holiday before summer, to get to the shorter term with its less strenuous expectations. But with finals looming he found he wanted everything to slow down, and nothing was obliging him.
Frustratingly, the more agitated he became, the calmer his roommate seemed: as if, having made his decision, a great weight had fallen from him. That little kernel of anxiety was still there, Vasiht’h thought, but the relief of having chosen what to do about it had given the Eldritch the peace he’d been absent since Nieve’s death.
“And what are we doing here?” Jahir asked.
Vasiht’h glanced past him as the Eldritch preceded him into the room, then slipped in himself and shut the door. The girls were grouped around Kuriel, who had a foot and hand in three separate laps; the only one not participating was Meekie, who was lying on her bed, eyes half-lidded.
“My mother said I could get my claws painted,” Kuriel said. “And Miss Jill said it might help me remember to keep an eye on my hands and feet, stop bumping them so much.”
“So we’re painting them!” Kayla said. “Rainbow colors!”
“With flowers,” Amaranth added.
“Or squid,” Persy said, bent over Kuriel’s foot and trying to hold one of her toes down for her tiny brush.
“And you approve of rainbow squid?” Vasiht’h asked her.
“Oh, rainbow squid are fine,” Kuriel said. “I asked for a dragon, but Persy said my claws are too small.”
“They’re a lot bigger than my nails!” Amaranth said.
Kuriel wiggled the fingers of her free hand. “I want them to be super-bright so I won’t hurt them anymore.” She glanced over her shoulder and lifted her tail. “Look, I even got to dye it!”
The tip of the Seersa’s tail was fluorescent blue. Vasiht’h sat next to the girls and said, “You are going to be the most colorful girl on the floor.”
Kuriel grinned. “I asked my mom if I could get my fangs colored, too!”
“And?” Jahir said, pulling up one of the small chairs and having a seat.
“And she said ‘when you start losing feeling in your gums, and not a moment before.’” Kuriel sighed and grinned. “I guess she had to say that.”
“Do you paint your claws?” Amaranth asked Vasiht’h. “You have them, right? Four fingers, four toes, claws upon those?”
“I have them, yes,” Vasiht’h said, and laughed at his roommate’s expression. “You better tell Jahir the other half, he’s never heard the rhyme.”
“Five toes and five fingers, human nails linger,” Amaranth said obediently, and Kayla held up her five-fingered hand in demonstration.
“See?” Kayla said. “Nails. No retracting. I think it must be great to have claws you could hide in your fingertips! The rest of us have to use scissors.”
“Or swords!” Persy said, bent over Kuriel’s foot.
“You have a sword, don’t you?” Amaranth added.
“A knife, at least,” Jahir said. “As I said, I am no great lord to wear a sword.”
“Oooh, that sounds like a story!” Kayla said.
“Yeah, and Vasiht’h-alet told the story last time, about Yuvreth riding the giant dragonfly,” Persy said. “It’s your turn!”
“A story about famous swords?” Jahir said, with a quirk of his mouth that was charming because he didn’t seem to realize how it made him look: like someone who could laugh at himself. “I think I can do that. Let me see, how to begin—”
And begin he did, and told some sort of convoluted tale of a queen and her quest for the perfect sword, none of which distracted Vasiht’h from the realization that while his roommate had been wearing that smile, he’d been feeling something incredibly complex, something that tasted like iron filings in Vasiht’h’s mouth, and smelled like oil and crushed velvet, musty with age, and all of it felt like pain and honor and regret.
He knew, of course, that his roommate kept his secrets close but he’d never had such incontrovertible evidence, both of that enigmatic past and the fact that the mindtouches could give him a window into it. He would have expected to feel shut out at this proof, to resent Jahir for not talking. Instead, it gave him a feeling very nearly like glee: that such secrets existed, and that he might know a little more about them than anyone else could. He rubbed his face, weary, wondering what was going to happen to him when Jahir left. More research, of course. A classroom eventually. Would having years and years of students to mentor make up for the friendship he’d never expected to make, and the mindline he’d never dreamed he’d be capable of?
At the end of their visit, Vasiht’h finished tucking in his two volunteers alongside the already sleeping Meekie and left Jahir to the remaining three. Jill looked up as he stepped outside the room and said, “Ah, here you are. So when can I sign up for your study?”
Vasiht’h managed a chuckle. “Since you already know what I’m testing, I can’t use your results, alet.”
“Can I pretend otherwise?”
If he hadn’t known better, he would have wondered if she was wheedling. Was she really serious? He peered at her. “I’m afraid it really would prejudice the results.”
“It figures,” she said and sighed. “Everyone’s been talking about it. They’re hoping to get into your next group.”
“They are?” Vasiht’h said, startled. “Really?”
“Oh yes,” Jill said. “The people who went through it this semester are so much better off. And they can’t stop talking about it, the bastards.” She wrinkled her nose. “I swear they want to see the rest of us squirming in envy.”
Jahir closed the door behind him and joined them.
“You’re making a joke?” Vasiht’h guessed.
“Oh no,” Jill said. “Absolutely not. There’s not a person who’s gone through that study with you who wasn’t glad they did it. When you repeat it—you’re going to, right? Twenty people isn’t enough?” She waited for his nod before finishing, “you won’t want for volunteers. Assuming you’re conducting it here. Please say you are?”
“I… I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Vasiht’h stammered.
“Well, do it here!” Jill said. “You can expand it to some other hospital another year.” She grinned. “Not that I’m biased or anything, but we make good subjects, right?”
“You do, yes,” Vasiht’h answered, though whether the children’s hospital staff would be any better at sleeping than the general hospital’s was beyond him. “I… could probably conduct at
least one more survey here, sure. I didn’t get all of you yet. But I really should talk to my major professor about it, see what he says.”
“Do that,” Jill said. “And if you decide to start using that technique on normal, paying clients, tell me so. I’ll be your first customer.”
He wanted to protest that he had no license and in fact would not be earning one given the track he was on, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead he said, “I will,” and let Jahir shepherd him away. They passed through the lobby, out into the sun, and the Eldritch stayed behind him and beside him the entire way, guiding him by forcing him to move or bump their sides.
“Your technique works,” Jahir observed once they’d gotten to the sidewalk.
“Twenty people isn’t a useful sample size,” Vasiht’h said automatically, but he was still reeling and he knew his roommate could tell. He said nothing, and left the Glaseah to his thoughts.
What Palland said after hearing Vasiht’h’s report—his brows lifting with each passing word—was, “Get a post-study follow-up done.”
“Sir?” Vasiht’h said.
“I can get you some permission forms,” Palland said, tapping his lip and frowning. “I have some with relevant verbiage. The consent forms you had them sign didn’t mention a follow-up, and since everything else was set out in detail it’s not going to work for this application.”
“Sir?” Vasiht’h said again. “You mean even the contaminated subjects?”
“Especially the contaminated ones,” Palland said. “Keep all your bases covered, alet.” He glanced at Vasiht’h over his desk. “You look flustered.”
“I am,” Vasiht’h admitted, rubbing his forepaws together where he hoped the professor couldn’t spot them. “I had this notion that the research would be… tidier. Instead, it just keeps getting messier and harder to get my arms around.”
“That’s to be expected when you’re embarking on something no one else has studied yet,” Palland said. “Think of it like being in the wild, woolly woods. No tracks yet to follow, and you and your machete have to start cutting a space big enough for you to even look at your surroundings and decide where to start hacking out a path.”
Vasiht’h grimaced. “That sounds…”
“Yes?” Palland said, waiting.
“Overwhelming,” Vasiht’h finally said.
“Some people would find it exhilarating,” his professor said, with a little too neutral a tone.
Vasiht’h folded his arms. “I’ll get a handle on it. And before you say anything, when was the last time you mentored a student who decided to tramp into woods so woolly no one had been there first?”
“Admittedly it’s a rare thing for students to do work this groundbreaking.”
“Then maybe you should let me feel overwhelmed about it,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m going to have a lot of people examining what we’re doing, given how new it is. That’s got to be intimidating even for people used to it.”
“Depends on the person,” Palland said. “Some people have egos so immense they can’t function without that level of attention. Speaking of which… how did that hypothetical situation resolve itself?”
“The what?” Vasiht’h asked.
“The hypothetical professor with the problem student?” Palland said, resting his laced fingers on his chest and quirking a brow.
“Oh! That hypothetical situation,” Vasiht’h said, chagrined. “I don’t know. I think—hypothetically—that the professor hasn’t done anything more.”
“I see,” Palland said. “And the term’s about to end. I trust this hypothetical professor isn’t going to flunk your friend because of it.”
“I never said it was one of my friends’ teachers!” Vasiht’h said.
The Seersa chuckled. “Of course you didn’t. But you don’t get worked up over your own problems the way you do when they involve people you care about. Should I tell you my hypothesis?”
“I won’t confirm it if you guess right,” Vasiht’h said warily.
“My hypothesis,” Palland said, “is that you’re talking about your roommate, because you’re very protective of him. And since your roommate is a new student, I’m guessing he’s going through the core classes, and that means he’s run into Sheldan. I’m betting that describes your hypothetical situation very well.”
Vasiht’h stared at him, agape.
“I’ll be nice and ignore that your expression is confirmation enough, even without words,” Palland said.
“How… how did you…”
Palland shook his head. “Let’s just say we know about Sheldan. He’s brilliant and he’s got his partisans, so we keep him around. But he’s on the misanthrope team and this isn’t the first time he’s been rude to a student.”
“There’s a misanthrope team?” Vasiht’h asked, aghast.
“Oh, sure,” Palland said. “Alet. This is the psychology faculty we’re talking about. Half of us teach because we love helping people, and teaching is a way to intersect a vulnerable population and help them get through a critical time in their lives. But the other half teach because they like knowing how people work, and they like proving it to themselves and others. Psychology for them is a weapon, a way to give themselves power over others. They don’t actually like people at all.” His smile was crooked. “So, you see why I’m fine with you pursuing the research even though we both know you’re not enjoying it. You’ll end up on the good team if you make it through, and Speaker-Singer knows we need more good teachers.”
“I had no idea,” Vasiht’h said, ears flattened.
“Now you do,” Palland said. “So, should I find you those permission forms?”
“I… yes. Please,” Vasiht’h said.
“Very good.”
As the Seersa reached for his data tablet, Vasiht’h said, “I never had problems with Sheldan.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Palland said. “You’re third-generation Pelted. For people like Sheldan, there are only two types in the worlds: the victims of engineering, and the ones doing the engineering.”
“Doesn’t seem very nuanced,” Vasiht’h muttered.
“Hate rarely is.”
CHAPTER 25
The day of the rededication was hot enough to please even his roommate; Vasiht’h marked his enjoyment by the occasional blink that lasted too long, even caught him tilting his face up to the light. He wondered if Eldritch tanned—or burned, for that matter—and had to guess not, given the way Jahir soaked in heat.
“Have you been to this part of campus?” he asked. “I know you’ve been taking more walks.”
“I confine myself mostly to the medical campus,” Jahir said. “So I have not yet seen the shrines.”
Vasiht’h smiled. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Shall I?” Jahir asked, and that was a good flavor in Vasiht’h’s mouth, like festival candy and the hope of new experiences.
He just smiled again and said nothing, and that flavor deepened until he could taste it in the back of his throat, something warm and good. It felt of one piece with the sunlight, and in it there was a hint of contentment from his roommate at the mindtouch itself. Goddess help them.
The university had built up a semicircular hill to serve the various religious needs of the student population, and surrounded it with old trees that draped the buildings with enshrouding limbs. The path led to a roundabout in the hollow, and from that roundabout little trails wound up the banks to the different shrines and temples. It was a very Alliance sort of place, Vasiht’h had always thought: so many different architectural styles, each in a cozy little subplot side by side, with the trees a unifying element that everyone could enjoy. The shade they cast, shifting with the breeze, was welcome as they stopped in the center of the roundabout.
“Is every religion represented, then?” Jahir asked, fascinated.
“Oh Goddess, no.” Vasiht’h laughed. “You’d need a lot more space for that. Even the most homogeneous of the Pelted races have multipl
e religions. These are just some of the majors. The siv’t for the Goddess is over that way, in fact.” He pointed at the end of the hill. “But we’re going to Iley’s shrine. This way.”
They went up the hill, joining a few Tam-illee who were heading for the ceremony. Kievan was at the door, greeting people as they entered; he beamed when he saw Vasiht’h and clasped his arms. “You came! I’m so glad!”
“I couldn’t not come,” Vasiht’h said, smiling. “I brought my roommate, Jahir, as my guest—”
“Ah, the Eldritch prince,” Kievan said. “We’ve heard all about you and the girls in the ward.” He grinned. “Go on in! Make yourselves at home. There will be food later, so I hope you’re hungry.”
They passed into the coolth of the shrine side by side. The sun fell in from the skylights on the slanted roof, bright on the splashing drops of a central fountain. The back of the room had another window, stained glass this time: Iley the laughing god, hands spread and ears pricked.
“I did not expect to be recognized,” Jahir murmured to him after he’d taken a seat on one of the benches lining the walls. Vasiht’h had sat next to him on the floor at the bench’s edge.
“I think it’s asking a little much for us not to have been noticed,” Vasiht’h replied. “We’re in the hospital every week, after all.”
“It is a large facility…”
“But a small family. The staff, I mean,” Vasiht’h said. He glanced at his friend. “You know it’s always going to be that way, right? People are going to remember you no matter where you go or what you do.”
“I suppose so,” Jahir said. And, with a touch of amusement, “I wish I were a more exemplary sort of Eldritch, since I must serve as their ambassador due to scarcity of more official representatives.”
“You’re fine,” Vasiht’h said. “And if other Eldritch aren’t like you, I’m pretty sure we don’t want to meet them.”
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