Taking an Eldritch home was more complicated than Reese had anticipated.

“You mean to tell me you’re coming with us?” she asked Malia.

“I fear I must, Captain.”

They were in the mess, having some of the leftover apple pie Kis’eh’t had made for Hirianthial’s ‘welcome back’ dinner. The foxine had looked at it uncertainly when Reese had set it in front of her, but one taste had convinced the Tam-illee of its merits and she was now scraping the edges of the plate with her spoon, trying to get the last flecks of filling.

Reese watched her, puzzled. She wasn’t upset at having to host someone, but she hadn’t expected it and she couldn’t imagine what would have motivated the request. “I have a good pilot. No, I mean, a great pilot. He can do the job if you tell us where to go.”

Malia looked up at her as she stopped, frowning. The foxine’s ears perked.

“And you can’t tell us where to go,” Reese guessed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Malia said. “I’m sorry, Captain, but these are long-standing orders.”

“And when you say ‘long-standing,’ I somehow bet you mean ‘so long standing neither of us were alive when they were originally issued,’” Reese guessed.

Malia nodded, her silver bob swinging around her chin. “I see you’ve worked out a little of what it’s like, dealing with Eldritch.”

“A little, maybe,” Reese said. “Will I be taking on your other two people as well?”

Malia licked her spoon with a tiny pink tongue. Reese repressed the urge to think her adorable—that was all she needed. The twins would laugh her out the airlock. Noticing Reese’s stare, the foxine colored at the ears and said, “Ah, sorry. I’ve never had pie like this.”

“Kis’eh’t’s baking is something else,” Reese agreed.

“But no,” Malia said, setting the spoon down and folding her hands around her coffee cup. “I’ll be the only one. You won’t have to pay me, and any expenses you incur by taking me on—food, air, recycling, medical care, et cetera—would be reimbursed when we reach our destination.”

“Wow,” Reese said, staring at her. “This is a big production, isn’t it? You’re part of a company, I guess?”

“Of a sorts,” Malia said. “And if you’re allowed to go where you’re going, you’ll probably find out all about us. But in case you don’t, you won’t mind if I’m quiet about the details?”

“Of course not,” Reese said.

 

“You said that?” Irine asked Reese later, having come for her own slice of pie. Kis’eh’t was behind the counter, working on another, having seen how fast the first was going. Allacazam was sitting on the table under his sun lamp, and Sascha was getting mugs from the clatter in the galley.

“Of course I did,” Reese said. “What else was I going to say?”

“You could have said ‘no.’” Sascha set a tray on the table, then pulled out a chair and reversed it so he could straddle it. He started pouring. “I’m surprised you didn’t put up more of a fuss, Boss.”

“I think by now we’ve had enough experience with military matters for me to know when people are keeping quiet for a reason,” Reese said.

“Yeah? What’s her reason?” Irine asked, setting a plate of pie in front of her brother.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Reese said. “Maybe slavers constantly trying to steal the people she’s taking us to see?” She shuddered. “Can you imagine what would happen if slavers found out where they could get an entire planetful of Eldritch?”

“They’d have to fortify the place like a bank vault,” Sascha said.

“Because that’s what it would be. The galaxy’s biggest bank vault.” Reese rubbed her arms, trying to get the gooseflesh to smooth out. “No, I’m not at all concerned about staying quiet. Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve set ourselves up for something a little more dangerous than we’re up to.”

“We did just come from a rather successful military operation,” Kis’eh’t said from behind the counter, where the smell of cinnamon and dough was wafting. “If we could come out of one pirate den—two if you count the one we brought Hirianthial out of—then surely that counts for something? Practice, at least?”

“It feels more like we’re pushing our luck,” Reese said. She shook her head. “No, if that was the last we see of things better left to Fleet, I’ll be a very happy woman.”

Irine joined them at the table with the coffee pitcher. “Have you seen your cargo bay today?”

“No?” Reese said. “Should I be worried?”

“We have a Pad!” Irine exclaimed.

“We must have a borrowed Pad because I certainly didn’t buy one,” Reese said.

Kis’eh’t joined them, wiping her floury hands on a towel. “It’s theirs, all right. Those foxes’. Brand new, too.”

“And the modifications to the engines... are we keeping them?” Sascha asked.

Reese eyed him. “The modifications to the engines make us harder to track. I’m hoping we don’t need to use them ever.”

“You have been here for the past year or so, right?” Sascha asked, tail curling. He grinned at her expression, unrepentant.

“I don’t know if we’re keeping the equipment,” Reese admitted. “I’ll ask when we get there.”

“The Eldritch world,” Kis’eh’t said. “What do you think it’s like?”

Reese tried to imagine a world full of graceful, beautiful people with all of Hirianthial’s annoying perfections and none of his humility—because in her experience, people with an Eldritch’s supernal qualities were rarely humble—and said, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be insufferable.”

 

Hirianthial waited for the inevitable meeting, the one where Reese would arrive to demand an accounting of his behavior, or the twins would come to him privately to ask what they’d done to discomfit him into leaving, or Kis’eh’t to use their shared lab time to ask one of her blunt questions. He was therefore surprised to be stopped by Bryer in the corridor, something the Phoenix accomplished by stretching a hand to rest on the opposite wall and splaying the metallic wing that lined the arm, blocking the way. With his body bent toward Hirianthial, he looked very much like the hunter he’d been modeled on: part avian dinosaur, part bird of prey, all long beak and large, whiteless eyes in a crested head. He extended his face far enough that Hirianthial could sense his aura, usually so tightly contracted it seemed more a second skin. It registered an electric crackle, one the Eldritch interpreted as displeasure.

“You abandoned your charge,” the Phoenix said.

Hirianthial paused. “I was not aware I still had one,” he said carefully.

“You. And I.” The Phoenix pointed to a bare gold breast with one taloned fingertip. “We guard.”

“I had matters that needed attention,” Hirianthial said. “And did not think this vessel could serve them.”

“Did not ask.” Bryer pointed at him now. “Next time ask. Ask me, if not Reese. We are bonded in blood. And duty. Do not make this mistake again.”

“No,” Hirianthial said, startled.

Bryer withdrew his wing and swept past him down the corridor, the grid flooring hissing under the long trailing feathers of his tail.

The Earthrise set off from the starbase under the guidance of the Navigatrix, and they’d been several days underway before Malia came to him. He offered her the chair in his room and sat on the bed.

“My lord,” she said. “Forgive me, but there is something I would like to discuss with you.” Her aura was a muted purple, velvety with deference.

“Go on.”

“Your crewmates,” the foxine said. “They seem to have no conception at all of Eldritch customs.”

“I have observed the Veil,” he answered, wondering where she would take the conversation.

“As we all must, my lord,” Malia agreed. “But these people have been invited to the homeworld, and they don’t know what to expect or how to behave. Someone must teach them the basics of courteous behavior.”

“You assume they’ll be going with me on-world.”

“I have been told to expect that they will,” she said, meeting his eyes.

He had wondered how Reese had secured their passage. A message to his cousin directly, no doubt... but what had they said to one another? “I see.”

“Shall I teach them, my lord?” Malia asked when he didn’t go on.

“No,” he said. “No, I would like to discuss the matter with the captain first.”

“Of course,” she said, rising and bowing. “If you need my services, I am at your disposal.”

Very literally, he thought. She was... the ninth? Tenth? Generation of Tam-illee to have entered service in the Queen’s Tams. Year after year, the progeny of Lesandurel’s original mortal friend, Sydnie Unfound, pledged themselves to the Eldritch and died in that service of old age.

“Thank you,” he said, and she let herself out.

Did they ever tire of it? Of living so briefly and dying while their Eldritch patron lived on?

Did Lesandurel ever tire of it, of loving them and watching them die?

He did not linger on the matter—could not bear to linger on the matter—but went in search of Reese and found her on the bridge with Allacazam, staring out the viewport. She looked relaxed, but her thoughts were a tangle if the haze of static and colors in her aura was any indication, and in her arms Allacazam was a determined light green. At the sound of his boots, she glanced at the lift and then returned to the view. “It’s strange to see the ship flying itself on a course I didn’t okay personally.”

“That will be the least of the things you will be unable to decide on personally, if you continue on this course,” he said. He had her attention, he saw. “What did you ask of the Queen?”

Reese ran a slow hand over Allacazam’s fur, leaving a darker green swath behind her fingers. “I said I wanted to bring you home, and that I had some things to trade if she was interested. We both agreed it would be nice to meet in person finally.”

“She said that?” Hirianthial asked, hiding his surprise. “That she would meet you?”

Her voice became guarded, and he found he didn’t like that he had caused it. “Is that so strange?”

“She is the head of state of an entire world,” Hirianthial said, to lighten her mood. “Do you make a habit of personal meetings with such luminaries?”

“I can’t say I have,” Reese said, and her wariness became asperity, if touched with something pale and bright. Was it humor? “But I did fight a sector full of slavers on her behalf. I’d say I’ve earned it, with her at least.”

“So you have,” he said, after a moment, hoping for some clue as to her true mental state and failing to divine it. He sighed. “If you are planning on this, there are things you should know about the maintenance of decorum among my people, so as not to give offense if you are seen by more than the Queen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is there some reason she’d be hiding me?”

“Foreigners aren’t permitted on our soil,” Hirianthial said. “Except by royal dispensation, and even then it is a matter not to be undertaken lightly.” He thought of the polarization of the court. “It creates... issues.”

“Issues,” Reese repeated, her aura developing a tremor that traveled its length. “What you really mean is ‘problems,’ don’t you.”

“That would be a dramatic interpretation,” Hirianthial said. “But not incorrect.”

He expected a protestation or a demand for more information. Instead, she said, “You really aren’t comfortable with any of this, are you. Going back, us going with you, the reason you’re going.”

Startled, he drew back. Her silence did not require filling, but was so unusual in her that he found himself doing so anyway. “Did you understand what you saw on Kerayle?”

“You explained it, yes,” Reese said, petting the Flitzbe. “You killed some people who’d kidnapped you.”

“I killed people without the use of weapons. With my thoughts,” Hirianthial said. He repeated it to force her to face it. “I killed people by wishing them dead. I would think you’d find that marginally more distressing than my simply reading their minds.”

But she ignored his sarcasm. “I’m assuming this isn’t a random thought that ran through your head,” Reese said instead, the words slow. “Not something that could happen by accident.”

“No,” he said. Then grimaced. “I don’t know. I didn’t know I could do it; I’m not sure how I did it.”

“But you were under duress.”

Hand fisted in hair, the muted clap of the bell against his shoulder. “Yes,” he said, grim.

She nodded. “So, you’re not likely to make Sascha drop over because he said something that upset you.”

“No!” Hirianthial exclaimed. “God and Lady. I hope not.” He composed himself, but he felt cold. “I am going home in order to see that I am not capable of such accidents. There are... teachers, there. They may be able to instruct me.”

She studied him, then said, “Most people would be grateful, you know. To know they could defend themselves without a weapon.”

Hirianthial flexed stiff fingers. “Some weapons are never right to use.”

“And this one is one of them?” she asked. “Why?”

It seemed appallingly obvious to him. “Because it cannot be defended against.”

“You sure?” she asked, surprising him. “You’re telling me this talent of yours always works, and you’re sure there’s no way to fight it?” She shook her head. “Look, I know you’re upset about this. But—don’t get mad at me for saying this—you are much too quick to think badly of yourself. You’re not a monster because you can kill people. Lots of people can kill people. It’s how they use—or don’t use—that ability that makes them monsters.”

“Captain,” Hirianthial said, quiet, “You do not know all the things I have done in this life.”

“No,” she agreed. “You haven’t told me. But that doesn’t change my opinion. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re a serial killer? Or a drug lord?” She lifted her brows. “No? Didn’t think so.”

“It’s not so simple,” he said.

“Maybe you’re just trying to complicate it too much.” She tilted her head, her braids crumpling against one shoulder. “So what are you going to tell the crew? You have to tell them something. They like you too much to say it, but they feel abandoned.”

And she did not? He couldn’t tell from the shimmer of coral and pale gray that flickered through her aura. Hirianthial looked away. “I had not planned to say anything, Lady.”

“You want me to tell them instead?”

“No,” he said. And thought of Malia’s concerns. He sighed. “No. We can have the discussion when I make the attempt to dissuade them from following you on-world.”

Reese snorted. “This should be good.”

 

It was exactly as good as Reese expected.

“You’re telling us we can’t go down ourselves?” Kis’eh’t asked, feathered ears flattened. “Why? There’s some kind of non-Eldritch quarantine? Is it medical?”

Hirianthial rarely looked flustered and didn’t look it now, to Reese’s eyes. But she got the feeling he was uncomfortable and didn’t blame him. The entire crew was staring at him from around the table in the mess, and none of them looked happy.

“No,” he said at last. “It isn’t a medical issue.”

“So it’s... speciesism?” Irine asked, ears sagging. “Is that even a word?”

“Xenophobia is a word.” Kis’eh’t folded her arms, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” Sascha said quietly. “It is.”

“We’re not leaving Reese alone on a world full of xenophobes,” Irine said, her ears now flat against her golden hair.

“I’ll be there,” Hirianthial said.

“No offense,” Sascha said, voice still low, “but you walked out on us before. How do we know you’re not going to do it again, and to her?”

“The Eldritch will not do this again,” Bryer said suddenly. Everyone looked at him, and the Phoenix stared at Hirianthial.

“No,” Hirianthial agreed after a moment.

“Maybe you should explain why you left,” Reese said finally. She didn’t like forcing the issue, but she also didn’t like the hurt she could hear in the room. Even Kis’eh’t, blessed with the normally imperturbable Glaseahn disposition, sounded upset. He’d started this, by making the crew his friends...had accepted their friendship before Reese forced herself to do the same, admitted that she cared about them as much as they did her. She wasn’t going to sit back and let him walk away from the pain he was causing, not without trying to fix it.

Hirianthial looked away, and this time she saw his jaw grow taut, and his fingers... they were gripping the edge of his stool so tightly it amazed her that he could carry off the otherwise nonchalant use of it. He didn’t speak for so long that she worried she’d pushed too far. So she took a chance and spoke for him. “The esper abilities he’s got are acting weird.”

“Weird?” Kis’eh’t asked, distracted from her distress.

Hirianthial cleared his throat. “I am evincing abilities I was not aware of, and the ones I am aware of are... surprising me. I am concerned there may be something wrong.”

“So he wanted to get back to the homeworld and see if they knew anything about it,” Reese finished.

“When esper abilities go strange it can be very disturbing,” Kis’eh’t said, studying the Eldritch now thoughtfully. “Do you think the Eldritch healers can help you? If not, we can try my people. The Glaseah have mind-healers.”

“I thank you for the suggestion,” he said. “And if I find no aid where we go, I will be sure to consult with them next.”

“All right,” Sascha said. “I get that you had to leave the ship because you thought we wouldn’t be able to get dispensation to go. But why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

Reese leaned forward, face cradled in her palms. Since Hirianthial’s attempting to sneak away had struck her as cruel, she was not inclined to save him from any more questions. No doubt he knew it too, if he could read her thoughts. Was he? She imagined telling him ‘you brought this one on yourself.’

He didn’t move his head, but his eyes shot toward her. She straightened in her chair, but he was already looking at Sascha again. “Would it be acceptable for me to admit I didn’t think I could bear it?”

That answer surprised them all.

“I think if we could hug you, we would hug you,” Irine said. And then, frustrated, “But you’re one of us, Hirianthial! You’re supposed to lean on us for help! We work together to solve our problems, all right?”

“Irine,” he began, and then stopped, looking down until he could compose himself. Drawing in a breath that lifted his shoulders he said finally, husky, “Irine. There are perils in taking on family for someone like me.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you came aboard and were so charming at us,” Irine said. She stood up. “Anyway. I am going to make something hot to drink because it is like a polar ice cap in here, as usual. You—” She pointed at Hirianthial. “—are about to tell us how to behave around Eldritch so we won’t get you or anyone else in trouble. Because we’re going with Reese. Right?”

“Right,” Sascha said.

“Right,” Kis’eh’t said.

Bryer made a low chirring sound.

“Very well,” Hirianthial said. “But there is one rule above all that I must ask of you.”

“And that is?” Reese asked.

“When we are on-world,” he said, emphatic, “if I command something, it must be done. There are nuances I will not be able to teach you in the time we have, and there will be those eager to find fault. If they do—”

“Then we’ll be punished?” Kis’eh’t asked.

“Then your hosting family will be punished,” Hirianthial said.

“Which will be you?” Sascha asked. “Or...” He glanced at Reese.

“Or the Queen?” Reese frowned. “Can they really punish a queen for our behavior just because she’s the one who asked us to the world?”

“I think, very much, there are some who would like to try.”

“Yeah,” Sascha said. “We are very much not letting you go alone into this dragon’s lair, Boss.”

“Good,” Reese said. “Because I very much don’t want to go without you.”

Irine returned with a pot of steaming kerinne, the scent of cinnamon trailing her. “So, what first? Manners? Forms of address?”

Hirianthial sighed.

 

For the next few days, Reese attended Hirianthial’s sessions on proper behavior among Eldritch, and it was like something out of her worst romance novels, the ones with such stilted and self-important societies they seemed more like caricatures than actual cultures. There was a minimum distance they were supposed to maintain between themselves and strangers—a literal distance, measured in feet—and that distance shrank or grew depending on the level of acquaintanceship one claimed with another person. The rules about eye contact were equally Byzantine. There was, of course, no touching, though in select social occasions the Eldritch worked around that with the use of daggers for men and wands or fans for women. There were rules about when it was polite to speak and when not to, though he didn’t bother teaching them the language, saying only that the people likely to want to speak with them would all know Universal.

After one of these lectures, Reese went down the hall to the quarters she’d assigned Malia Navigatrix. The foxine let her in and gave her the room’s only chair, sitting on the bed to face her with a posture so like Hirianthial’s that Reese paused.

“Captain?” Malia asked, folding her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you?”

“Did they teach you that?” Reese asked. “To sit so still.”

Malia did not so much as twitch an ear. “Those of us with direct contact with the Eldritch have had deportment lessons.”

“And there are those of you who aren’t in direct contact with...” Reese stopped, held up a hand. “Never mind. That’s not why I’m here. Malia, Hirianthial makes the political situation on his homeworld sound like a warzone. Is it that bad? What exactly am I walking into?”

Malia hesitated, then her ears swept back and she grimaced, a very unplanned expression. It made her look like what she was, a young Pelted woman, and Reese liked her much better that way. “Ah. Mm. You would ask that.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It’s not that, it’s just...I don’t know how much I can tell you. I’m sworn to the Queen’s service, which means I get to observe the Veil, just like the rest of the Eldritch. That’s their custom of not divulging anything to foreigners, if he hasn’t mentioned it yet.”

“You’re joking?” Reese asked, and when Malia’s chagrined expression didn’t alter, finished, “You’re not. You’re telling me that you’ve committed yourself to a policy of keeping Eldritch secrets from non-Eldritch? You’re not an Eldritch, Malia!”

“I know,” Malia said. “I know. But this is my job, Captain. It’s a job I’ve trained for all my life. And my family’s been involved in it for generations. We’ve even got a family Eldritch.” She smiled, lopsided. “He’s been around since my ancestress met him in an apartment on Earth. They went to a party together, dressed in gold and silver.”

“Let me guess,” Reese said. “He wore silver.”

Malia’s smile grew fond. “Actually, they mixed and matched, so they were in both colors. You should have seen the pictures….” She shook herself, then nodded. “That’s how it’s been for us, Captain. He gives a little, we give a little, and we’ve made a family out of it.”

And that explained it, with the suddenness of lightning. Family. Malia was Tam-illee, but they’d adopted their ancestress’s Eldritch friend. That made sense of her keeping the Veil. She had her own Eldritch to protect. Reese studied her, then said, “All right. Granted that you can’t tell me everything. Is there something at all you can share? Even a little?”

Malia looked away, lip between her teeth. She smoothed her hands out on her pants and said, “A little, maybe. At very least you should know if the Queen has taken you on as a potential retainer. She’s very forward-looking, the Queen.”

“Wait, wait. Retainer?”

“It seemed kinder than saying ‘as one of her servants,’” Malia said. “Universal gives connotations to those words that don’t necessarily apply in their own.”

“Fine. Go on.”

“The Queen,” Malia said, “looks out for the interests of her people, and thinks that includes us. Us, not-Eldritch” She met Reese’s eyes, her gray gaze somber. “She doesn’t hold with the xenophobia.”

“So that means half the planet disagrees with her and finds the idea revolting, and probably very much wants to lynch her for the suggestion.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Malia said. “Except it’s more than half, I’m afraid.”

Reese tapped her knee with her fingers. “What you’re telling me, then, is that I’m walking into a situation where more than half the people don’t want to have anything to do with me, and the woman who sponsored me is sitting on a bomb.”

“More or less,” Malia said, ears folding back apologetically.

Reese pulled a hand down her face, stopped with her hand over her mouth. She shook her head. “These people really want that little to do with us? It seems crazy to have this much angst over outworlders. They’ve solved the problem, haven’t they? They don’t see outworlders at all. What more do they want?”

“More than that I’ll have to let the Queen explain to you,” Malia said. “If she chooses to, she’ll tell you why it’s so important.”

“Right,” Reese said. She sighed and rose. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.”

“Reese,” she corrected automatically. “While you’re on this ship, it’s Reese.” She smiled wryly. “The only people who call me ‘captain’ are being ironic about it.”

Malia chuckled. “All right. Reese.”

On her way to the door, Reese paused. “Do you speak Eldritch, Malia?”

The foxine glanced at her. “Ah?”

“You said something about the word servant in Universal not being the same for them. Do you speak the language?”

Malia pleated the edge of her tunic over her thigh. “The treaty between the Alliance and the Eldritch specifies that only a certain number of people can be taught their language, Captain—Reese. I think it’s five. Two trainers, and three people in Fleet Intelligence. For anyone else to know the language is a violation of the treaty.”

Reese folded her arms and lifted her brows.

“But,” Malia said without looking at her, “it’s sometimes helpful to know what your enemies are saying about you.”

Reese said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

When the floor shivered beneath his boots in his room, Hirianthial paused. He had some sense for the distances, having traveled them one way already, but the trip had seemed to last so long—and not long enough—and so he found himself waiting for confirmation. Usually it took only a few moments for Malia Navigatrix to re-orient the ship and send it down its new course, but when the engines re-engaged it wasn’t the quick tremor of the Well engines, but the slower pulse of the insystem drives.

They had arrived.

He reached beneath the bed for the case and pulled it out, flipping the catches and pushing the lid open. On the bed of crushed wine-colored velvet rested Jisiensire’s swords. His hand traveled the length of the hand-and-a-half, pausing on the opal that rested in the mangled setting beneath the crossguards. He had not worn these swords in over five decades, had renounced the right to carry them when he set aside the seal. In fact, he would not even have them if his House-cousin hadn’t insisted that he take them. She hadn’t wanted his title, though she’d shouldered the responsibilities of managing the families that looked to them without complaint, but she would absolutely not accept the additional responsibility of the swords. Better Jisiensire be without champion, she had said, than to cut him off from hearth and kin by accepting his complete renunciation, seal and sword.

Hirianthial thought of Bryer’s accusation and closed the case without removing any of the weapons inside.

The lift took him to the Earthrise’s cramped bridge, where Sascha and Irine were using two of the ubiquitous crates shoved into the back of the room as seats. Kis’eh’t was at the sensor station, and Reese at comm. Malia was in the pilot’s chair.

“Just in time,” Sascha said, his aura alive with a crackling anticipation. “We hit the system limit a minute ago.”

As if in response, the comm panel chirped, signaling an incoming audio-only transmission. Reese looked down at it, startled, then tapped it open.

“Unidentified vessel, you are entering private space. Give your credentials or be advised we are authorized to turn you back at the border.”

Reese’s aura bloomed white with incredulity. “Are they serious?”

“Very,” Malia said, and leaned over to address the console’s pick-up. “Outermost Wing, this is Malia Navigatrix on the TMS Earthrise. We have the Queen’s authorization to proceed to the planet.”

“Malia! Not Ferrell’s daughter?”

Malia smiled. “The very same. We’re here out of Starbase Psi, carrying home a national.”

“Ah?”

Malia glanced at Hirianthial, so he stepped close enough to be heard and said, “That would be me. Hirianthial Sarel Jisiensire.”

“My lord! How wonderful! The Queen will be delighted to hear that you’ve come home.”

Reese was staring at him; he could feel the agitation of her attention like an itch. He sifted among all the truths until he found a socially acceptable one. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

“All right, Malia... you know the way. You’re cleared to go. Remember the protocols.”

“Always,” Malia replied. “Earthrise out.”

“That was my line,” Reese said.

The foxine chuckled. “I’ll let you say it next time. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be running your own ship out.”

Reese huffed. “I’m not ready to swear to an Eldritch Veil.”

Malia smiled and said only, “Heading in-system. This may take a while? You all might want to go somewhere more comfortable.”

“And miss this?” Irine asked, ears perked. “Not for all the worlds in the Core!”

“All right,” Malia said. Then added, ears lopsided, “I felt the same way the first time I came in.”

“Well, some of us are here for more prosaic reasons,” Kis’eh’t said. “Like the fact that I can’t find signs of any station anywhere, or any ship. Who hailed us? And where are they?”

Reese frowned, then left the comm board to peer over Kis’eh’t’s shoulder.

“Don’t bother,” Malia said. “You won’t find them. They’re tucked away like that on purpose, and stealthed besides. It keeps the system from looking notable to people cruising past it. Everything in system is locked down that way.”

“Even the planet?” Kis’eh’t asked. “Planets give off a lot of noise.”

Malia glanced at Hirianthial. Turning back to her board, she said, “The planet’s not a problem.”

He could sense their curiosity and unease, but was not motivated to address it. They would discover soon enough why the Eldritch homeworld was so quiet.

No, he had come to the bridge for a reason, and he had only to wait another ten minutes for fruition. Reese’s panel chirped again, and her voice when she spoke was disgruntled. “There’s a message here for you, Hirianthial.”

He inclined his head and waited for her to move out of the way before sitting. As he expected, it was in text only.

Come at soonest opportunity. Board our guests until I can send for them.

 

It is good to have you home.

Hirianthial tapped his fingers lightly on the board once. “Malia, what time is it at the capital right now?”

The entire crew was listening; he could feel their straining attention like static electricity. The foxine said, “Just before dawn. We should be there… ah… say late afternoon local time.”

“Thank you.” He wrote simply ‘Expect me with the evening,’ and sent it on before ceding the panel to Reese. “I’ll be in my quarters if I’m needed.”

If they stared at him on the way out, he did not notice. There was no part of that message he did not find unsettling. The curtness was not unusual—Liolesa was always busy—but the combination of implied urgency and gratitude at his arrival suggested the situation on the world had grown worse, for he couldn’t imagine her welcoming him home any other way given how abruptly he’d left. He had told her when she’d been made heir that he had no interest in helping her navigate the difficult political situation, and she had not been surprised; he’d never made any attempt to hide his impatience with the constant maneuvering of the court. But as the head of Jisiensire, he represented one of the most powerful blocs of Liolesa’s supporters, and while Araelis was authorized to run the House in his absence she would not make any major decisions on her own. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because she was convinced that he would see the wisdom of taking the mantle back up again, and her refusal to wear the seal was her way of forcing his hand.

He was fond of Araelis, so the manipulation he would have found irritating from anyone else merely felt tiresome from her.

What was going on? God and Lady knew they could not bear much more bad news, given the way the world was going. He had come to see to himself. He hoped he would have the chance.

 

“What was that all about?” Sascha wondered, looking at the closed lift.

“Who knows,” Kis’eh’t said. “Secret Eldritch business or something.”

“Not so secret soon, if we’re going downstairs.” Irine took her socked tail in hand and started petting it, then gave up on it and reached for her brother’s, which was bare. “Do you know, Malia?”

“I don’t,” the foxine said. “I’m sure it had something to do with preparing for his arrival, though.”

“Can you tell us what it’s like down there?” Irine asked, and hurried on when she saw the foxine’s hesitation, “Not like that. I mean… how should we dress? What do the trees look like? Are there trees?”

“There are trees,” Malia said, smiling. “They’re fond of trees. And as for weather… it’s early winter, so you can expect it to be cold and gray. If it’s been particularly cold, there might be snow or sleet. Or freezing rain, sometimes.”

Irine’s ears had folded back. “Freezing rain. What fun.”

“Maybe we can haul out the cold weather gear Reese made us get for that ice planet,” Kis’eh’t said, amused.

“I don’t think it’ll be that cold.” Sascha drew Irine into his arms and she flopped against him with a sigh.

“It would have to be cold, wouldn’t it,” she said.

“The summers are nice, I hear,” Malia said. “But it’s no Harat-Sharii.”

Reese snorted.

 

Several hours later, the Earthrise achieved orbit around a world with cobalt-blue seas and pale green and sandy brown continents, swirled with glittering clouds. Hirianthial did not have to see it to remember it, but the sight of it when he stepped onto the bridge to find Reese arrested him. Sascha was the only one on watch, sitting once again in the pilot’s seat with Allacazam on his lap.

“They’re all in the cargo bay,” the Harat-Shar said before he could ask. “Malia’s setting the Pad up for you. Apparently they have limited coordinate sets for it, and they haven’t said why.” He lifted his brows, aura simmering with barely contained sparks.

They were all insatiably curious, and while Hirianthial couldn’t blame them he could not feed them either. He had no idea what his cousin intended, bringing them here; he would have to know her mind before he could share his. “I’m not familiar with her protocols in regards to the Pad.”

“Mmm,” Sascha said. “Nice dodge.” He shook his head. “And no, I’m not going to push you about it. But you know, if ever we needed information, arii, now would be the time. Before we walk into a completely foreign situation—“

“You’ll have some time to become accustomed to it,” Hirianthial said, “as I’ll be hosting you initially.”

“You—what?”

“You will be staying with me,” he repeated. “And there will be few people there to see you, or react to your initial attempts at orientation.”

Sascha’s eyes narrowed. Then he said, “You have a minute? They won’t be sending anything down for a bit, not until Malia’s done configuring the thing.”

“Of course?” Hirianthial said. He took the seat across from Sascha’s and waited.

Sascha ran a hand over Allacazam’s fur, a pale beige frosted with white. “You listened to me when I told you about the problems I had with my own home. That conversation... it was the first time anyone had really heard what I was saying, really understood it.” He smiled, self-conscious, showing a touch of his fanged eye teeth. “So you know if you ever need anyone to listen to your problems, you have more than one person who’ll pay attention.”

“Thank you—”

“But,” Sascha said, and the earnest warmth in his aura stiffened into an abrupt ferocity. “You need to promise you’ll never abandon us like that again, without warning. You want to leave? Fine. Go. But not like that, with us wondering if you’ve been kidnapped or killed or if you hate us or what have you.”

“Sascha,” Hirianthial began, startled at the anger he could sense just beneath that drum-taut surface.

“You think I’m kidding? You should know better. You know how many people are on your tail,” Sascha said. “And that’s you personally. You, generically, an Eldritch? Quadruple that number, because every slaver in the galaxy wants one of you people.” His ears flattened. “Maybe you don’t believe it, but we’ve got your back here, all right? But we can’t do our part if you don’t do yours.”

In some other universe, one where his Butterfly had lived and he’d remained the true head of Jisiensire, he would have taken a man like Sascha to squire and brought him up to guard captain one day...had Sascha been Eldritch, of course. But Sascha was Pelted, and Hirianthial was no longer the head of Jisiensire no matter what Araelis might hope, and his Butterfly was long gone. Still, the blazing brightness of Sascha’s anger had led him to the source of the flame, and it was loyalty. He felt it anew in the dangle he still wore woven into the hair at his neck, with its echoes of the Harat-Shar’s feelings as he assembled it. Hirianthial could not turn his back on such a thing without dishonor. So he did what he so rarely allowed himself—and made a vow, hoping he would not be forced to break it—or worse, keep it, when the keeping of vows so often led to heartache and bloodshed. “I promise.”

Sascha searched his face. His ears slowly eased from his skull and perked up again. “Thanks,” he said, finally.

Hirianthial inclined his head. “Unless there’s anything else?”

“No,” Sascha said. “Have a safe trip down.”

Hirianthial stopped for his case on the way to the cargo bay. He also unpacked the coat and scarf he’d bought offworld and a pair of gloves he’d brought with him from home: pale tan leather, soft still despite the years. He smoothed the fingers out, running a short nail along the raised embroidery stitched between thumb and forefinger: a curling vine, complete with pale silver flower. As the culmination of a culture such flourishes had power...but as a symbol of all they’d lost, it was merely pitiable. And as beautiful as the gloves were, the Alliance’s coat was as comfortable and had been far more affordable. He wondered what he had become, to have such thoughts, and to wear such a hybridization of cultures without fanfare.

Whatever the case, he was glad of the clothes when he reached the cargo bay, having forgotten how cold Reese kept them. His breath was leaving his lips in wisps.

Malia was the first to look up as he advanced on them. She said, “My lord. The Pad is ready for you.”

Bryer was examining some reading on the Pad’s base, but Reese straightened when she saw him. When he was close enough, she held out a data tablet, careful to keep her fingers on the edge.

“What’s this?”

“Malia says you need to send up coordinates for any place indoors you might want us to be able to go to. That’ll let you get them to her.”

“Ah,” Hirianthial said, tucking it under his arm. “Thank you.”

“Which leads me to ask,” Reese said, eyeing Malia, “Just how will people be able to get back up here once they’re down there?”

“There’s a Pad on-world,” Malia said, which both surprised and did not surprise Hirianthial. He’d had no idea Liolesa had one, but knowing Liolesa it was also an inevitability. She kept secrets well; in many ways, she was the most Eldritch Eldritch Hirianthial knew. Would that her detractors understood that. Malia continued. “Barring that, there’s a landing field large enough for the Earthrise within a day’s riding distance from the palace.”

“Blood and freedom.” Reese rubbed her forehead. “More horses.”

Bryer stood, chuffed. “Is ready from our end. You?”

Malia tapped in the coordinates and the Pad light flicked blue, registering an open tunnel. “My lord. You may step through when ready.”

“Call us,” Reese added.

“I shall,” he said. “Thank you.” And he stepped over the Pad and into a wall of visceral memories. The smell of the sea, of autumn leaves gone long since to mold, of the dampness of a recent rain—the color of twilight, that pale gray purple sky seen beyond the silhouettes of the distant buildings—the utter silence that wrapped around him on this world absent modern technology. He had become so accustomed to the boom and bustle of the Alliance, of the sound of passing transport, of people living elbow to elbow....

He stood in that silence until the cold wind lifted just enough to break it, soughing around his shoulders and hips, ruffling his hair away until it exposed the dangle. He twitched as if it had nicked a nerve. In the distance, a night loon crooned, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He was home.

He was also standing in a field not far from his destination, and he was already too aware of the chill; winters often seemed mild on the coast, but the damp winds off the ocean could be cruel. Flexing his fingers against the case’s handle, he set off for the capital. He was approaching it from the wilderness near the sea cliffs, where no one dwelt; it was as discreet a route as he could have chosen without the ability to Pad directly into his own townhouse, something he couldn’t do without coordinates... and also without warning the caretakers. It would have been cruel to surprise them by appearing in their midst.

So he walked, and in time found himself on the edge of Noble’s Row. Jisiensire’s townhouse was the last in the road, nearest the cliff; it was not difficult to skirt the drop and become another pedestrian on his way home. The calling hours had concluded much earlier and he hadn’t expected much traffic this early in the month; it struck him as strange that so many of the townhouses were lit in a manner suggesting occupation. The winter court technically convened at the season’s opening, but in practice most people didn’t make the journey until several weeks later. Their houses should have been boarded still, or lit to reflect a minimal occupation, by servants or staff.

Allied to the royal family through family ties as old as the Settlement, Jisiensire always left a presence in the capital to support the Queen. When Hirianthial stepped up the stone stairs, the lamp leading to the door was lit and there were candles burning in the windows. He glanced at the bell-pull and steeled himself. Once he passed over this threshold, there would be no returning. All that he had done, all that he was capable of, and all that had happened to him would be addressed, for weal or woe.

The bell sounded. His hand fell from the chain and he waited, resigned. God and Lady succor him, for he knew not what the weeks to come would hold—

The door opened on the saturnine countenance of one of Jisiensire’s oldest senior servants, and even among Eldritch who held strong displays of emotion in contempt there was no mistaking the joy that leapt into the man’s eyes, one that lit his aura on fire.

“Neren,” Hirianthial said, remembering in time to trade tongues for the baroque flourish of the language he’d grown up speaking, so different from the more utilitarian Universal he’d been using now for decades. He shaded the words silver for gentleness and pleasure. “As you can see, I have come home.”

“Oh my lord!” Neren said, hushed. “Please. Let me take your case.”

Hirianthial set it down for the servant to carry, reserving the data tablet, and let the man precede him into the central hall. The townhouses on the Noble’s Row had been designed to receive guests and allow the family to conduct their business during the seasonal courts, and the door opened directly onto a vast space, with a tall desk overseeing the bottom floor and the two groupings of furniture arranged around the front windows, and two sets of stairs leading to a balcony overseeing the interior. The private rooms were on the second floor. All of it had been meticulously maintained, but Hirianthial expected no less. The smell of the place, of wood polish and candle wax, was like an incense, and made him abruptly aware that he no longer worshipped the gods it pertained to.

Several more servants had appeared at the bell, and Neren gave the case to one of them to carry upstairs before shooing the rest back to their dormitory. Hirianthial waited until he’d finished before speaking, and all the mood modifiers and intricacies of their grammar returned to him as if he’d never left, colors to shade the words with nuance, silver, gold, white and gray. Not for his house the shadowed and black and carnal modes, not here, among kin and retainers. “Neren. You look well, and it is good to see it.”

“You are kind to say so,” Neren said, aura flushing with the pleasure he kept off his face. “My lord! I scarcely believe your presence. When I received the message from the Queen’s Tams, I was afraid to hope they were correct. How greatly you have been missed! The lady Araelis will be gratified to have you home.”

“That may be,” Hirianthial said. “But tonight I am the Queen’s, and I must go to Ontine forthwith.”

“Of course,” the man said. “I have set out your court coat in the master suite, sire. I would be delighted to attend you.”

Somehow the man still had clothing to fit him. How long had someone been maintaining it here in the hopes of his return? “Thank you,” Hirianthial said.

Upstairs, Neren set to the duties of a valet with his usual aplomb. He’d been in service to Sarel Jisiensire for so long he’d overseen the outfitting of Hirianthial’s nursery, and there was little he could be taught about the staff roles in a noble House; it was why he’d been made castellan of the principle estate. To have him here was a puzzlement, and as Neren stood waiting with the coat over an arm, Hirianthial asked, “Have you retired then?”

“Ah? Oh, that I am here, you mean, my lord?” Neren approached with the coat once Hirianthial had finished buttoning the vest. “Lady Araelis requested it not long after your departure, sire. She wanted someone here to listen for news.”

News had been spoken in the shadowed mode, hinting at uncertainties and unease. Hirianthial held out his arms as Neren straightened the coat, gloved hands carefully never touching skin. “Has it been so dire, then?”

“Dire is perhaps a poeticism, sire,” Neren said, stepping back and offering him a sword belt. “But the unrest has only been mounting, and rumors have been thick on the ground.”

Such old and familiar movements, leather tongue through the buckle, moving the frog over his flank. Hirianthial opened the case, bringing out the sword. “Anything true?”

“No one knows,” Neren said. “But the heir has been little seen of late, and there is concern there. Also, there was a rather significant event with the heir to the Seni involving the induction of a mortal into their family. That was some years ago, but it is still much discussed.”

Hirianthial froze. “For sooth?” he asked.

“Verily, sire,” Neren said. “And a strange beast it was, from all accounts. Four feet and wings and a tail and another half a body at that, and black and white all over.”

“A Glaseah!” Hirianthial exclaimed. Who was the current heir to the Seni? A man, he thought, Jeasa’s eldest son, but he couldn’t remember the name. What courage, though, to do such a thing; he would have to ask Liolesa for the full story, if she was disposed to talk to him. Taking the peace cords from Neren, he bound the sword and sat on the padded bench, acting now on habits so old he no longer remembered their formation; after dressing, one sat to have gemstones braided into one’s hair. A nobleman’s hair should be as long as his years, the saw went, an expression of the family’s wealth and the luxury of displaying it. “I assume that went over poorly.”

“Fortunately, most people gave little credence to the story,” Neren said. “It being so outrageous as to seem unbelievable. Even I had some trouble with it, particularly given the description of the creature.”

“You shall not find it so unbelievable soon,” Hirianthial said. “While I am gone, I would be pleased if you would prepare the house for the receipt of my guests: six, possibly seven, though you will need five bedrooms at most. I am not certain if we will be hosting the Queen’s woman, but if we are, then five.”

“Six guests, sire,” Neren said, opening a small wooden box and sorting through the selection of jewels there. “Very good.”

“They are all aliens,” Hirianthial said. “And one of them…is human.”

Neren’s fingers paused. “Human.”

“Yes, I know,” Hirianthial said. “But the Queen herself has asked for the human, so as a courtesy we are hosting her until Liolesa decides what is to be done with her.”

“I see,” Neren murmured. More distinctly, “It will be done. When shall I expect them, sire?”

“I’ll call before I leave and see,” Hirianthial said. “But within an hour. Best to have them here at night, when people are less likely to notice the activity. Unlike me, they will be arriving by Pad, probably in the main hall.”

“Of course,” Neren said, and then, diffident, “Very unusual times, these, sire.”

“And about to become more so,” Hirianthial said. He dipped his head as Neren lifted a chain of rubies and opals. The lamplight flashed off the metal fittings, and he saw—felt—the hand reaching toward his hair. The flood of panic was so abrupt he inhaled sharply.

Neren paused. “My lord?”

Hirianthial held up a hand, hoping its tremor was not as obvious to the servant as it was to himself. “I shall forgo the ornamentation. It is a private meeting, and my cousin knows how I feel about such displays.”

“Of course.”

Hirianthial struggled with his composure as Neren turned from him to put the chain away. If the man had touched him, would he have lashed out, without thought, without the chance to quell himself? Could he have killed his family’s oldest servant... by accident? Even now his heart was racing and there was sweat chilling his palms, though he hadn’t moved.

Neren was speaking. “...horse brought ‘round the front for you, sire.”

“Ah? Thank you, Neren. That will do nicely.” Hirianthial rose. “Tell my guests I’ll be with them shortly, if they arrive before I do.”

“I shall do so, sire.”

Without allowing himself to look back, Hirianthial left for his meeting with Liolesa. If anything, his errand had become more urgent.

 

“You all have everything you’ll need for a few days?” Reese asked. “Remember, we’re not going to be able to come back up here until we’re sent back by the Queen, and it’s hard to know when that will be. Plus, this world doesn’t have Pelted, so none of the clothes are going to fit and who knows what they’d use to groom a sapient’s fur.”

“Probably one of those brushes they use on their horses,” Kis’eh’t said, pursing her lips.

“Ugh!” Irine wrinkled her nose. “No thank you.”

“We’re good, Boss,” Sascha said. “Honest. We thought of everything. Did you?”

Reese checked herself. Duffle bag filled with clothes and horse sales materials. Telegem and tablet. Round fuzzy alien, who murmured a sleepy chime in her head in response to her itemization. “No, I’m good.” She glanced at Malia. “Everything arranged on this end?”

“Looks like it,” Malia said, double-checking the coordinates between Pad and tablet. “You should show up in the lobby, and the people there are expecting you.” She looked up, ears perked. “And I’ll take good care of the Earthrise for you while you’re gone. Anything starts making you nervous, just tell me and I’ll set her down at the royal landing field.”

“Thanks,” Reese said.

“You sure you want to stay here babysitting by yourself?” Irine asked, ears sagging.

Malia smiled. “I’ll be fine...it’s not like there’s not company in-system if I get lonely. To be honest, it’ll be nice to be by myself for a while. And I like the view. It never gets old.”

Reese drew in a deep breath. The prospect of leaving the ship with a stranger made her anxious, but the Queen of the Eldritch had sent Malia as her representative, and the foxine had guided them here as promised; no one on her crew could have set that course, or rescued the ship had Malia failed them. For better or worse, Reese had committed to this network of contacts and trust. And besides—she was about to see the Eldritch homeworld with her own eyes! How many people could say that? How could she miss it!

“All right,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”

“You first, Boss,” Sascha said. “And remember to move out of the way or it won’t let us pass.”

“Right,” Reese said. She resettled her bag’s strap and hugged Allacazam against her midriff. “Here we go,” she murmured, and stepped over the Pad into a dim space that seemed to go on forever into shadows and the suggestion of ornate railings and furniture. She stumbled a little further to give the Pad room to emit its next passenger and found herself staring at an Eldritch, and he was not Hirianthial.

“Oh, no,” she blurted. “I don’t speak the language!”

“Never fear, madam,” the man said. “I speak yours.” He touched a palm to his breast and bowed. “I am Neren Fasith, castellan of the Jisiensire estate, in service to the Sarel family. My lord asked me to make you welcome.”

It was such a smooth delivery that she almost didn’t notice the shiver of his wrist... but his skin—gloves? Were white and his livery was wine-red, and that made the tremor visible. “Ah... thank you. I’m Reese—Theresa Eddings, captain of the TMS Earthrise...”

Sascha appeared with the silhouette-limning flash of a Pad transfer, and behind him almost on his tail, Irine. Kis’eh’t and Bryer followed in short order. “And... ah, these are my crew. Irine and Sascha, those are the cats. Kis’eh’t is over there and the tall one is Bryer.”

The man’s pause was brief but Reese saw it anyway; she’d gotten too used to scrutinizing Hirianthial for similar minimalist cues. “Welcome to the Jisiensire townhouse. I have rooms prepared for you all, and there are refreshments upstairs in the solar. If you will follow me?”

Her people didn’t say anything, but the look Sascha flashed her was just visible in the low light, and she could tell his brows were lifted. She shrugged and shifted Allacazam to the other arm before starting after the man. The dark was strange: she’d never been in a place where nightfall meant the insides of buildings were dark too. Was there some custom against using artificial lights? Or... did they not have any? Crazy idea. Who didn’t have artificial lights? And the smell... the smell was overwhelming and alien. Not bad, but she was accustomed to the odorlessness of enclosed environments. When the Earthrise’s air started to smell, good or bad, it was because some filter somewhere needed changing.

The man leading them picked up a lamp at the top of the stairs. It had glass panes set in some sort of metal, and there was a candle in it. A candle. Reese had only enough time to give it a look of utter incredulity before their guide brought them to a tall and ornately painted door, which he pushed open for them onto a parlor lit by several more candles, and a fire in a fireplace. The furniture looked like museum pieces, with carved wooden finials and upholstery with embroidered scenes of people riding on horses or sitting on picnic blankets in the countryside. There were tapestries and paintings on the wall, rugs on the wooden floors, and in the corner, an honest-to-bleeding-soil harp as tall as Reese, its strings glittering in the flickering light: firelight really did flicker. Who knew? She hadn’t.

As they stared into the room, the man said, “The lord should return within an hour. If you will permit me to have your bags taken to your rooms? You need only set them here against the outside wall. Just so, thank you. If you need anything, use the bell-pull.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving them in the chamber with each other. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Sascha said, “Uh, Boss... I’m afraid to sit.”

“I bet they don’t like animals on their furniture,” Irine muttered, which made them all glance at her. “What? Don’t you get a feel about this?”

“From that man?” Kis’eh’t said, surprised. “Absolutely nothing. Did you?”

“Not from him,” Irine said. She waved a hand at the room. “From this. I mean, it’s beautiful and I really want to enjoy it but we know they’re xenophobes. We know Hirianthial never talks about his past. What more do we need to get the picture? We’re not wanted here.”

“I was maybe less worried about them hating us and more worried about putting my posterior down on a chair we could sell for a year’s worth of fuel,” Sascha admitted.

“That’s the other thing,” Irine muttered. “He didn’t tell us he was rich!”

“We could have guessed that part, though.” Kis’eh’t padded toward the fireplace and stopped short of the raised flagstones of the hearth. “That feels really nice to be so dangerous and inconvenient.”

“Don’t set yourself on fire, please,” Reese said, nervous.

“I won’t. It smells good though, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what that is?” Reese asked, and stepped a little closer herself. She hugged Allacazam tighter as sadly inadequate protection against his neural fur catching on fire, a possibility he found unworthy of worry from the soothing green colors he kept painting in the back of her mind. With him working on her she allowed herself to inhale the rich scent of hot sap and burning wood. And it was warm, which made her notice that it had been cold in the hall, very cold. “It is nice, isn’t it.”

“You’re ignoring me!” Irine said, exasperated.

“I think maybe you’re reading too much into one room,” Reese replied, but she felt a hint of unease herself. She had assumed Hirianthial had good reasons not to discuss his home. She’d also assumed he hadn’t wanted for money either, but the size of this place, even disguised by the dark, implied a level of wealth she wasn’t prepared to accept. She glanced up at the ceiling and found instead a peaked roof formed of glass panels, and beyond their silhouetted panes, the high vault of a night sky with alien constellations. What would this place look like during the day? And would she be ready for it?

“I guess these are our refreshments,” Sascha said from the side of the room. He gingerly took the pitcher from the candle-warmed cradle and sniffed the inside. “Wine, maybe? With cinnamon?”

“Food,” Bryer observed, and took one of the fruit slices, popping it in his mouth. “Apples.”

“Apples?” Kis’eh’t looked up sharply, then went to the sideboard to investigate. She frowned at the tray, then tried one. “Aksivaht’h. Apples!”

“They’re particularly good?” Reese asked, puzzled at the Glaseah’s fixation.

“They have apples,” Kis’eh’t said to her. “Why? Do they grow them here?”

“Maybe they’re imports,” Sascha said.

“On a xenophobic world?” Kis’eh’t shook her head. “So they don’t talk to outworlders, they only trade with them? That doesn’t make sense.”

Reese sat on the edge of the hearth, holding Allacazam against her stomach. “Why are we so upset about this? We should be happy, right? Someone we like has invited us home with him, offered to let us stay at his place, and we see that it’s a nice place and it’s very comfortable. Why are we picking at it?”

“First of all, he didn’t invite us,” Sascha said, ears flipping back. “We pushed him into letting us do this.”

“And he ran away from this place. If it’s so nice, why?” Irine asked. “I mean, really. He’s got a nice house, it’s gorgeous and he’s even got servants. So what made him leave it behind?”

“And why do they have Terran apples when they hate outworlders?” Kis’eh’t said.

Reese stared at them, wide-eyed, then looked up at Bryer. “What about you?”

The Phoenix swept the room with his strange whiteless eyes, then shrugged, a motion that rippled through his metallic wings. “Here now. Deal with what is, when it becomes necessary.”

“Of course,” Reese said and sighed. She petted Allacazam, who sent a query through her mind, like the rising flight of a bird. “I don’t know,” she said to him. “But I guess for now... we wait.”

Sascha poured a glass of the wine and brought it to her. “You don’t have any questions of your own?”

Reese took the glass, fingers stinging from the unexpected heat. Who warmed wine? She glanced at it, then up again at the ceiling. Finally she said, “All I want to know is... why are there no lights?”

 

Painfully inbred and weak in both constitution and temperament, Eldritch horses were already prone to skittishness, and Hirianthial’s unease made his mount painfully fractious. By the time he was waved through Ontine’s gates he was ready to be quit of both the ride and his own thoughts, tense and cruel with the fear of what might have been, and what might yet be if he did not learn to control a talent for which there was no curriculum. A groom took his mount and left him to mount the palace’s stone steps to the entrance, a cold wind off the nearby ocean stinging his cheeks and working on his joints. His court coat and cloak were little protection, and his gloves even less so; the stiffness of his fingers was new, though. When he’d been younger, the season hadn’t seemed so cruel.

Entering the front hall cut off the wind, but Ontine was cold in winter, something no number of tapestries or rugs could mitigate. He straightened his clothes and allowed the inevitable guards to examine his bona fides, and then he was striding behind one down the halls to his cousin’s quarters. He surrendered his sword to a man in the white uniform he’d once worn and was escorted into Liolesa’s office, and there he was left, in the quiet. The suite was exactly as he recalled it—he could have been gone only a few days, rather than over fifty years—with the chairs and coffee table arranged on the rug before the hearth, and her desk and cabinet of books on the raised and carpeted dais, in the corner between two windows. Her office faced the city; her bedroom, the sea. That was Liolesa: pragmatic and visionary by turns.

She was also habitually overextended, and it didn’t surprise him that she wasn’t awaiting him. He sat on one of the chairs by the fire, grateful for the warmth, and composed himself to wait. He was in fact drowsing when the door whispered on its hinges, but the sound brought him to his feet, and he would have bowed save that her expression quelled him. She was standing by the door, arrayed in taupe and cream and citrines braided in hair coiled to hold her abbreviated crown in place, and she was glad to see him for no reason he could fathom but exhausted in every other way.

“Hirianthial,” she said at last. Her heels clicked on the stone floor and then the rug muffled them as she joined him. “It is good to see you, cousin. Welcome home.”

So simple. So easy. He had not expected it, and that was why he said, “I did not think you would be so forgiving.”

“Because you fled without so much as saying goodbye?” She rested her eyes on his, and it was rest; they had known each other that long. “Did you suppose I would hate you for it?”

“I abandoned my duty,” he said. “My House. My Queen.” He paused, finished. “My cousin.”

“I would hardly be worthy of your regard, did I blame you for leaving in the face of all your losses,” she said, and her sincerity glowed in her aura, warm as hearth-fire. “Hirianthial... it is in the past. You are here now, and I am glad of it.”

“My lady,” he said, and put all his gratitude in it, for he had not realized until now how painful he’d found the possibility of losing their long friendship.

She offered him her turned cheek as she used to, and because they were both people who permitted very few intimacies, even with those they trusted, he kissed it as he used to. Her tension was almost imperceptible, would have been had he not been able to sense her sudden concern; he withdrew just enough to see her face and her gaze, always too insightful, was studying him now. He could see the green flecks in their tawny irises, and on them, his own reflection, too grave.

“Something has happened,” she said. “Tell me.”

“Corel was no story,” he said. “You so intimated once.”

“I did,” she agreed. “And it was true. He was no story.”

“I have his worst power.”

She was silent for several heartbeats, her aura tight, too close for him to read. Then she said, “Sit.”

He obeyed and allowed himself the luxury of putting his head in his hands. Liolesa’s gown rustled as she strode from him, and he heard her pouring something. When she brought it back, he could smell the sweet almond of the cordial they’d shared when they were younger. “Drink,” she said more gently, and again he obeyed. Once he’d had a long sip, she said, “Now, tell me.”

Where to begin when he wanted to talk about it not at all? “I had been kidnapped on a colony world and was under duress in my captor’s keeping when... I could no longer bear his company. In a spasm of negation, I killed him and some six other people, and struck several more unconscious outside that radius.” He looked at the liqueur. “Having discovered this ability, I immediately applied to return home. If Corel was real, there must have been... training for such talents, real training. Protocols. Something I might learn to prevent myself from accidentally hurting anyone.”

“Was it so easy to do that you fear such accidents?” Liolesa asked, in a voice thankfully devoid of horror. It was always thus with her: practical matters first. Emotional reactions, if any, later.

“No,” he answered. “At least... I don’t think so. But I have had it demonstrated to me that I can be triggered unexpectedly.” He thought of Neren and flinched. “No, I need help. Tell me there is help here to be found, cousin.”

When she didn’t answer, he looked up at her sharply. “Liolesa. Tell me there is help to be found for my condition.”

She said, “I don’t know.” She lifted her fingers at his expression. “Soft, cousin. I don’t say this to fret you, but because the history of it is tangled and you know none of it; I knew none of it myself until Maraesa passed me the crown. Indeed, if I tell you any of it, technically I am committing treason—”

“Treason!” he exclaimed.

She laughed, rueful and low. “But I think I will write myself a pardon if I am ever discovered.” Rising, she went to the sideboard and poured her own glass. “I shall put it curtly for you. The Church was founded to seek and cull talents as powerful as Corel’s, not to foster brotherly love, no matter that they developed that mission later. So while it’s true that they probably have some understanding of how to train your abilities, we would have to ensure they didn’t kill you first.”

Hirianthial stared at her, stunned.

“And for the choicest of ironies,” she concluded, “I am the titular head of the arm of the Church devoted to slaying these rogue talents—as one might expect, given the permissions they would need to stage rampant executions—but both Jerisa and Maraesa gave them their heads for so long they no longer report their activities to the crown.” She sipped from her glass. “I have been putting pressure on them, but I suspect they lie to me. Cleaning house would require a near-dismantling of the entire priesthood of the God and I don’t need them throwing in their lot against me when the rest of the court is about to explode... a court, I add, that you have timed yourself perfectly to disrupt with your presence, given that we are convening in two days.”

His cousin had never been prone to hyperbole. Hirianthial set the cordial down with fingers grown suddenly numb and said, “What’s happened?”

“Decades I’ve spent slowly moving us toward the point where our enemies can no longer fight the inevitability of my plans,” Liolesa said. “More than that. Centuries. You know, cousin.” She sighed. “And it has come all undone. I no longer have an heir, Hirianthial.”

“That rumor’s truth?” Hirianthial said, startled. “But what has happened to Bethsaida?”

She set her glass down and rested her hands on the sideboard, her shoulders hard. Then she drew in a deep breath and returned to the chair opposite his. As she sat, she said, “Bethsaida had been making noises about proving herself to me, and it appears she decided to go off-world to demonstrate that she was capable of the same exceptionally stupid acts as I was when I was her age. While she was gone, the Chatcaava took her.”

“No,” Hirianthial whispered.

“She was rescued from their throneworld by the last scion of Imthereli at great cost to himself,” Liolesa continued. “But she has returned completely unsuitable for anything but religious orders, preferably someplace far from people, particularly men. Aliens too she will no longer countenance without terror. I have sent her to the Abbey of Saint Avilana, which is as remote a location as I could manage while still placing her on allied lands, and I have done my best since to make people think she is on retreat there. But that story hasn’t held. Few people who knew Bethsaida would have imagined her on retreat.”

“My God, cousin,” Hirianthial said. “What will you do?”

“That is exactly what I have been trying to decide,” Liolesa said. “But I am without issue and consort. So are you, and your brother, of course, is no longer an option—more on that matter later. I could go outside the royal bloodline and choose someone from a minor family within Galare, but such a move will incite people to demand I consider their children since I am already looking outside Jerisa’s line. But most importantly, my enemies see that I have no one to carry on the work, and they no longer wish to stand for my policies. They think it might be easier to find some way to pressure me into accepting their choice of successor... or worse, take the throne themselves.”

“No doubt because you have made their lives more difficult for them,” Hirianthial murmured.

She snorted. “They make their lives difficult for themselves, cousin. Most of them have been incapable of fulfilling a responsibility as basic as feeding their tenants. So I have fined them for it. Every time I have to pay for food, shelter, clothing, any of the necessities they are duty-bound to provide, I charge them for it.” At his expression, she said, “It is my right. They fail in their vows to me as vassals.”

“God and Lady,” he breathed. “How much money have you taken from them?”

“Enough that most of them are now in debt to the crown,” Liolesa said. She smiled faintly. “It was my plan at this point to allow them to pay off that debt by lending me their men-at-arms, so that I might begin to win their loyalty from their lords in preparation for the inevitable conflict. Now, though, my enemies are more like to withhold those men, and the war I was hoping to win over a parley table will probably escalate to actual fighting. That, I fear, is where we are.”

“And into this, you have brought a foreigner, and a human?” Hirianthial asked, astonished. “Why? So you could accelerate their plans to usurp the throne by giving them unforgivable insult?”

“The war is coming either way,” Liolesa said, tired. “I must consolidate my allies and see where I might use their talents to curtail the conflict.” She looked up at him. “We have been shrinking too fast. If I allow a drawn-out war, cousin, I might doom us to extinction. Since it’s clear that my enemies care not at all about insignificant long-term plans such as species survival, I must continue to shoulder that burden. And if that means I call the Alliance in, then I will.”

“You do that,” he said, soft, “and you will lose them forever.”

“But we’ll survive,” she said. “And maybe, if we live long enough, we’ll evolve out of this lunatic xenophobia that’s killing us. Because it is killing us, Hirianthial. We can no longer maintain our civilization without external aid. In fact, we don’t. My off-world fortune—one I built in anticipation of this crisis, and I am not happy to have been proven prophetic—is paying for imported food. We eat from the Pelted table, a bounty brought on ships staffed by the descendants of Lesandurel’s first friendship. One that Maraesa tried to forbid.” She rubbed her brow, just beneath the gleaming crown. “Bringing food may in fact be the most useful thing your Theresa Eddings can do for us—or running it from another continent, which is how far away I would have to put any sign of technology in order to prevent its sabotage. But before I put her to work, I would like to meet her for myself. Perhaps there is some other way she can be of use.”

“And you will put her to use,” Hirianthial murmured.

“I’ll put anyone to use for this cause,” Liolesa said sharply. And then reined herself in visibly. “I apologize, cousin. It has been a difficult few months. When I set you to the task that saw you immured in a slaver’s jail, I did not anticipate being so stunningly vindicated by the results.”

“Yes,” he said. “I imagine so. And I apologize for my part in your difficulties—”

“Stop,” she said, shaking her head. “I am glad you’re home, Hirianthial. I mean that.” Her smile was faint, but real. “I have missed the benefit of your counsel. I know it has been several centuries since I was an impetuous heir and you my trusted White Sword, but I have never forgotten how much easier things were when I had you at my back.” She drew in a breath. “And this is just the beginning.”

He looked up at her.

“This conflict here is as nothing, and you know it,” Liolesa said softly. “We have a far greater enemy outside this world.” When he straightened, she said, “Do you care to imagine what will happen when the Chatcaava finally find us? Us, as we are now? Without so much as a ship to our name, a fortification to defend us? God and Lady bless the Tams, but they are couriers, not warriors, and they have neither the firepower nor the training to prevent a determined assault force from reaching us. And then we are dead for truth, cousin: enslaved and then killed, because we never last long in their hands.” She squared her shoulders. “This thing with Asaniefa’s supporters must be put paid to as swiftly as possible, or we are done.”

“The Alliance,” Hirianthial began. “They would never stand for such a thing, surely. We are their allies.”

“They have their own concerns,” she said. “Oh, they’d come if we called for help. But they would be too late. We are remote, and the queens of the past have done nothing to cement that friendship. I am certain the Alliance would seek us once the dragons had raided us, but like Bethsaida, we would return from that experience broken as a culture. Some few of us would survive, but… enough to begin again?” She sighed and sipped from her cordial. “I need all the allies I can draw to my breast, cousin. And all the weapons I can take to hand. I won’t apologize for doing what I must to see us through this crisis.”

“I am here now,” he said into the silence that followed, and shaded it in the white of pure intention and vow.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Perhaps we can begin to mend what we set in motion when we destroyed Corel... Corel and every other person with even a hint of his talents. I have to believe that’s when it began. Too many died in those purges, and left us vulnerable to gaps in our knowledge and skills, to faults in our biology. We have to stop killing ourselves, and we can start with you.” Her smile was sardonic. “Which will be its own task because the brother that—might I remind you I advised you to kill—is at Ontine now—”

“Now? Here? How—”

“—and he is the head of the order of priests charged with the culling of talents,” Liolesa said, and at the expression on his face said, “Yes, indeed, he has found work to suit his proclivities. And I assure you, cousin, he has not forgiven you for sparing his life.”

“He was the last of my family, Lia.”

“Not yet he isn’t,” she said. “But he is dying for the chance to make sure that he is. Mark me: he wants your blood. See to it that he has no reason to call for it.”

“Other than my being the reincarnation of Corel,” Hirianthial said dryly.

She sniffed. “Let me take care of that. I will send you to my chosen priests first. That should tie them up in factional battles.”

“Things really haven’t changed a whit, have they,” he murmured.

“Oh, Hiran,” she said with a sigh. “Most certainly they have. They’ve gotten much, much worse.” She held up her cordial glass. “To the task ahead of us.”

He had never wanted to come home to stay, not after Laiselin’s death and Baniel’s betrayal. But he raised his glass and touched it to hers anyway.

 

Hirianthial rode home against a bitterly cold wind, smelling strongly of the ceaseless air long over sea. By the time he dismounted his limbs were graceless with it and his cloak clung damply to his sides. His discomfort was acute, and yet none of it proved distraction from the meeting with his cousin—whom he had called Lia, falling back on habits as old as their childhood friendship, and who had called him Hiran, as she had not since they had set Maraesa’s crown on her head. How long had it been since he’d heard his milk name from anyone’s lips? The familiarity of it should have been comforting, and instead had revealed how very dire their respective situations had become. He, a killer and heir to powers unmentionable, the abused become the abuser, without family save for a murderer he’d left alive in a fit of mercy and weakness... and she, a trapped lioness beset from all sides, with her cub to protect and no time for scruples.

It was surprising to discover that he still cared about the world. Because of her, he thought: through her passion, he saw what was worth preserving in their people. But he did not welcome that knowledge.

One of the servants let him in, took his cloak and brushed his boots. From there he went upstairs in search of the crew. The solar door was cracked enough to cast a ray of light across the carpeted balcony. He paused; through it, he could see Reese sitting on the hearth with the twins by her side and Allacazam on her lap. She looked—it struck him suddenly—much as his cousin had: tired but determined. There was something of the same steel in them both. And the warmth in the room was palpable to him, not just from the fire and light, but from the weave of their auras, separate and yet harmonious. They had become familiar to him. And they would claim him as theirs, if they could.

How could he explain that there were prior claims he could not cast from him? He touched his coat; against his breast, the parchment envelope in the pocket crinkled. With a sigh, he pushed open the door.

 

“You’re home!” Irine exclaimed, jumping to her feet. The others were turning too, and Reese looked up. Her heart tightened. He was like something out of a painted storybook in bronze and burgundy, the coat all elegant sweeps glittering with embroidery. All he needed was some sort of crown, and she could be the grubby commoner, come to beg for a piece of bread.

Which in a way was what had happened, with the Queen paying off the Earthrise’s debt.

The whole thing would have been disheartening if Reese hadn’t had the very strong impression that... Hirianthial didn’t want to be here either. She petted Allacazam and let the twins make much of his arrival, while Kis’eh’t asked him impatiently about the apples and received the expected enigmatic reply. At last, Reese called, “Hey, hey, can we calm down a little? He’s barely stepped in the door. Let him sit.”

“Thank you,” Hirianthial said. “And I shall, in a moment.” He walked to her and withdrew from inside his coat an envelope. “For you, Lady.”

“Me?” Reese took it, startled. The texture of it beneath her thumb... she shivered. “It’s real, isn’t it?”

“Paper?” Hirianthial said. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He sat on one of the chairs near the fire, turning his attention to it. Either he wasn’t interested in what it said, or he was granting her the courtesy of not hovering, something the twins wouldn’t if she didn’t open it quickly. She turned it over and found it sealed in blue wax, like something out of one of her books: a unicorn on its hind legs. And she would have to break it? She tried wedging her thumb under the flap and working it gently open, but it split in half.

That bothered her. She stared at the seal a moment, then took the card on the inside out. Fortunately, it was written in Universal, in ink that glimmered silver when she tilted the paper.

Captain Eddings,

Do you come for breakfast, for I have been greatly anticipating our meeting. Hirianthial can show you the way.

—L. G.

“I guess I get to dine with royalty,” Reese said, proud that her voice didn’t shake. She handed the card to Kis’eh’t, who shared it with the twins. Glancing at Hirianthial, she added, “You’re supposed to bring me?”

“I have my own appointment there in the morning,” Hirianthial said. “We’ll be leaving while it’s still dark; the Queen wakes early.”

“And goes to sleep late, I’m guessing,” Reese said. Allacazam turned an amused sunny yellow beneath her palm. “Any protocol I should know? Other than what you taught us on the way here.”

He twitched his chin in faint negation. “You’ll find her the most cosmopolitan of our people. You are not likely to offend her. Be polite as you would to anyone else, that is all.”

“And don’t touch her,” Reese said.

“And don’t touch her,” he agreed.

“Do you think she’ll want to meet us?” Irine asked, looking up from the card.

Hirianthial smiled. “You are here, Irine. You would not be, if there were not plans for you.”

Reese didn’t like the sound of that, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t tell what it was about the Eldritch’s body language that was bothering her, but she wasn’t going to ignore her instincts. “It’s been an exciting day. Why don’t you all check the bedrooms? Get some rest, maybe.”

She expected protestations, but the twins glanced at one another and at Bryer and Kis’eh’t, and then Sascha held out a hand to his sister. “I bet the beds are big enough to sleep six.”

“I’ll be fine with a bed that sleeps two, but let’s go look anyhow,” Irine said cheerily.

As they chorused their good-nights, Reese called, “Wait, do you even know where you’re going?”

Hirianthial said, “Head back toward the stairs. First door after the solar should lead to a hall, and the rooms will be off that corridor.”

“Problem solved,” Sascha said. “See you in the morning, Boss.”

Bryer closed the door on all of them, meeting Reese’s eye with one of his inscrutable expressions. And then she was alone with her Eldritch who was, she thought suddenly, not quite as much hers as she’d assumed. He’d claimed not to belong anywhere until he’d started belonging to the Earthrise. Now... she wasn’t so sure.

“Did she have an answer for you?” Reese asked, knowing the question dared much. But he answered.

“Perhaps. There are historical precedents, but no modern role models.”

Which was a strange reply. He was staring into the fire, close enough for her to touch, but he might as well have been a sector away. “You have a nice house here,” she said, to distract him.

“This?” he roused himself, shook off his reverie. “It is not mine. It belongs to the family.”

“Is that... Sarel? Or Jisiensire?” she asked, careful of the names.

Startled, he looked at her.

“I wasn’t sure what the extra names meant,” Reese said. “But the man who showed us in, he said he served Sarel.”

“Ah, yes, Neren.” Hirianthial threaded his fingers together. Was that a touch of a smile? She thought so. “Our oldest retainer, and very exact with words.” He stopped for so long Reese almost thought he wouldn’t continue. “It is Jisiensire’s townhouse. Maintained for visits to the palace for the seasonal courts. Jisiensire has lands elsewhere. The family seat is there.”

She’d been barely able to wrap her mind around how wealthy he must be to have a house like this with servants. To learn that it was just a nicety, and his real home was somewhere else? On land with a capital “L”? Reese tried to imagine being a land-owner, a real land-owner, with acres of it, not just the soil directly under the house you were paying a mortgage on. The skin on the back of her neck prickled.

She hadn’t expected him to notice, but he did, glancing at her sharply enough to make the hair framing his chin sway. “I have affrighted you?” he asked. “How? What did I say?”

Reese stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me.”

“Are you really asking me a direct question?” she managed, and his expression made her chuckle, dispelled the unease.

He didn’t quite scowl, but she could tell he wanted to. “Captain—”

“Reese,” she said. “What is it with all you excessively formal people? It’s just Reese, Hirianthial. For the billionth time. And you didn’t scare me. It’s just that... you’re... in a completely different league from someone like me, and I never knew it. You could have bought and sold my ship with spare change. I can’t imagine you getting dirty with common people.” She thought back to old epithets. “Slumming it. That’s what it is.”

“Is that all?” he asked, surprised.

“Is that all?” Reese repeated. “Bleeding soil, Hirianthial. Yes? It’s a little like discovering you’re some long-lost prince.” Her skin ran cold at the thought. “Wait, you’re not a long-lost prince, are you?”

“I... am not in the succession, no.”

She didn’t like that pause, but she also didn’t want to know what was behind it. She rubbed her forehead.

“Lady—“ Better than ‘captain’, but still not what she’d asked him to use. “—I fear there are many such shocks in your future.”

“Maybe you should tell me about them so I hear them from someone I trust, and not from your enemies,” Reese said dryly. At his pause, she said, “Did you really expect me to think this would be some kind of fairy tale world, with princes and princesses and unicorns and magic and everything was beautiful and clean and perfect?”

“I… perhaps expected you to have no experience with which to make such judgments either way,” he admitted.

“I don’t,” Reese said. “Not with fairy tales, except in books. But you know, that’s the only place you find fairy tales, Hirianthial. In books. In the real world, there’s always someone who has to clean the kitchen and take out the trash. There’s always politics. There’s always someone who wants to get ahead and doesn’t care who they squash on their way up.” She studied him. “You’re rich, you seem to know the Queen—personally, maybe—and you’re smart, talented, and not bad to look at. People probably love you when they don’t hate you. So, no. I’m not going into this completely naïve.”

She waited, wondering what he would say. Hoped he wouldn’t call her impertinent, lecture her on how little she knew that she thought she did, or assay some cryptic response she’d spend all night fretting at when she should be sleeping.

Instead, he said, with a hint of amusement, “’Not bad to look at?’”

“Well, you know how it is,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get a puffed head about it.” She eyed him, hand resting on Allacazam. “Though knowing you, it would probably be more you blaming yourself for inflicting your looks on other people.”

“Ah!” He rested his fingers over his mouth, but she could just see between them to the twitch of his lips he was trying to hide. Nice lips. Not as full as hers, but still nice. “I am not entirely so self-effacing, lady.”

“See? You’re even modest about how modest you are.” Reese snorted and stood up. “So, next door over, yes?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll have someone knock in the morning.”

“All right,” Reese said. She stopped at the door and said, “Whatever you’re worried about… you know we’re here to help.”

“You hardly know what you are committing to,” he murmured.

“Since you won’t tell us, you’re right. We don’t. But that doesn’t change that we’re with you, no matter what.”

Slowly he looked over his shoulder at her, and that expression she couldn’t read at all.

“I mean it,” she said. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Lady.”

 

The bed in the room was not just large enough for six. It was also tall enough to merit a tiny set of wooden steps, elaborately painted with columns of purple hyacinths and intertwined jasmine flowers. Reese stopped at the threshold of the room and remarked to Allacazam, “You’d think they were tall enough without having to make their furniture high too.”

Allacazam had no opinion on this, save a faint drowsiness. She set him on the mattress and let herself stroke the fabric of the coverlet: flowers and arabesques embroidered with gleaming floss on a purple fabric that was too soft to the touch to also be so glossy. The rest of the room gave the same impression of opulence, from the densely woven rug to the gilded and elaborately carved furniture.

Someone had laid in a fire for her, and she changed near it because it was too cold in any other part of the room. Why didn’t they heat this place? What good was such a beautiful residence if it was uncomfortable? It made no sense. After rushing across the chilled floor, Reese climbed into her bed and found it warm. Puzzled, she crawled all over it, hanging over its edge, until she spied the hint of a handle protruding from beneath the mattress. And then she sat back, holding the covers up to her chest. She looked from the fireplace to the pitcher and bowl she’d dismissed as ornamental on the side table. When Allacazam rolled into her lap and muzzily sent a curl of a query into her mind, she said, “They don’t have lights. They don’t have heat. They don’t have sinks. Freedom, they probably don’t have indoor plumbing.” Her skin prickled. “And apparently those Tam-illee are their only way off-world.”

The Flitzbe wondered why this was important, an impression she derived from birds he populated a tree with, all of them cocking their heads at her.

“It would be one thing if they chose to live like this,” she told him, reluctantly lying down. It was a very soft bed, but even the softest bed was unlike her swinging hammock. “But what if it’s not a choice?”

To that, Allacazam had no wisdom to offer. She sighed and murmured, “Just don’t get lost on this thing. It’s the size of a cargo hold.”

A tinkle of chimes in her head. She smiled and drowsed off.

 

She was not quite so sanguine when she met Hirianthial downstairs the following day, just before dawn.

“It doesn’t matter how expensive your sheets are,” she said, “or even how palatial your bathtub is, if what you use for a water closet can still be called a water closet.”

He remained composed but she thought she saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I regret the facilities did not meet with your approval, Captain.” Before she could speak again, he handed her a spill of dark brown cloth. “I assume you have no coat? It’s cold out. You’ll want something.”

“And this is ‘something’?” Reese breathed. It was a cloak, but like no cloak she’d ever seen, lined on the inside in fur the same deep brown as the fabric. “Oh no. It’s too beautiful to wear. It’ll get dirty!”

“Then someone will clean it,” he said gently. At her wide-eyed look, he said, “As you said yourself, ah? Someone does the laundry.”

“Right,” Reese said, flushing. She drew the cloak around her shoulders. The clasp in the front was a lozenge of bronze metal with a hippogriff relief and she stroked it with her fingers once. “It really is warm.” She looked all the way down at her feet and added ruefully, “If a little too long.”

“No doubt if you stay you can have one made to your measure,” Hirianthial said. “Shall we? It is not a long ride, but we don’t want to be late for our appointments.”

“Right,” she said. “I... don’t guess this thing has a pocket for my data tablet.”

“No,” he said, and the amusement was more obvious now. “But there should be one on the inside for envelopes that might suffice.”

Reese checked, and he was right. “You people must write a lot.”

He said nothing to that, which didn’t surprise her.

Outside, there were—inevitably—horses. Reese could barely make them out against the dimness. As Hirianthial talked with the men holding the animals for them, she looked up and inhaled. When had she ever been out this early on a planet? The sky was a deep shade of gray tinged with lavender, and there was a smell... not like flowers, or water, or anything she could name, except to call it newness. And it was so still, after living with the noise of a ship for so long, so still that the noise of the horses lifting their hooves was muffled and distant, as if silence could have a weight.

“Shall I help you up?” Hirianthial asked in a low voice as the first horse was led to her. Did he notice it, too, the quiet? Of course he must.

Reese shook herself and eyed the animal. “No, I think I got this.” She grasped the saddle horn, put her foot in the stirrup, and shoved the cloak out of the way when it fouled her first try. Her second was successful, if utterly without grace. “There. I got it.” She patted the animal’s neck. “Not so bad once you’re used to it.”

He threw her cloak over the back of the horse and arranged it around her. “Put your hood up, Lady.”

“The hood?” Reese glanced over her shoulder at it. “Is it going to be that cold?”

“It is,” he said. “And also, some discretion is to be advised.”

“Right,” she muttered, and couldn’t tell if she resented the idea or found it unsettling. As she pulled the hood up the wind flattened its fur-lined interior against her cheek, convincing her that she cared a lot less about tender Eldritch sensibilities than she did about not feeling the cold.

The ride felt long; her placid horse was easy to handle but not very quick, and while the cloak shielded most of her body, somehow the wind found its way to every unprotected cranny: her wrists, her hands, her chin, her shins and feet. By the time Hirianthial reined his horse to a halt, Reese didn’t need to be told to keep her head down. Tucking her entire body into the smallest space possible was her first priority. She heard murmured conversation in a language she couldn’t understand, and then they were riding past great stone walls, through a fretwork gate tall enough to drive a cargo loader through. That was just enough preparation for the palace, which even in the uncertain gray dark of the time before dawn was... huge. Reese had the impression of endless flanks of ghostly pale stone worked with statues and reliefs.

“How many people live here?” Reese asked, stunned.

“Enough to maintain it and the royal family,” Hirianthial said. “But it is mostly function and guest space. And much guest space is needed.”

He held her horse while she dismounted beneath the watchful eyes of several guards. Reese wondered if they needed to be protected from the sight of her too, but Hirianthial seemed unconcerned about their reactions. He led her up a set of stairs to doors sized for giants, and then they were inside a warmly lit hall, a severe palette change from the dim gray outdoors. Here it was brilliant creamy stone and warm golden light, high distant ceilings spangled with ochre shadows.

“Here we part,” Hirianthial said. “But I will come for you when I am done with my engagement.”

“How do I know where to go?” Reese asked. There were guards stationed at intervals, but not one of them was looking at her. “Is there really no one to announce people? We just walk in?”

“It is too early, Lady. Visitation is not permitted before select hours save by invitation... and we are expected. You see, here are the pages.”

Down the hall came slim Eldritch youths in blue and silver livery, elegant and light on their feet. They separated in a maneuver that seemed choreographed, one stopping before Hirianthial and the other before her. She sought any sign of alarm in his face and saw none: only a smooth mask.

“If you will, Lady,” said the youth.

Reese hesitated, and Hirianthial said, “Go on, Captain. It’s safe.”

“All right,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She nodded to the page. “Let’s go.”

“This way, Lady.”

Obscured by the dim glow of the lamps, the wide halls Reese passed through were something out of a book. There were patterns inlaid in the stone floor, and the high ceilings were coffered and painted in deep blues and gold and white. The tapestries that hung from the walls, if they were handmade, were probably worth more than Reese could have earned in a year—or five—and there were recesses with statues, and paintings that glistened in the low light with their linseed oil finishes, and alcoves with more of the delicate painted furniture with embroidered upholstery. The implied wealth was so dizzying she almost ran into the page when he stopped before a set of double doors. She looked up and found two guards studying her, and she froze. Unlike the guards at the palace’s entrance, they were dressed heel to crown in white, with a single red strip lining the neck of their shirts. Memory intruded, brought her the image of Hirianthial awaiting her in the Earthrise’s bay with Bryer: exact same outfit, if without the blood-colored trim.

They scrutinized her and then without uttering a word opened one of the doors. The page continued; so did she. But she glanced back at the closing door and wondered what the hell that had meant.

“Here, Lady,” the page said, interrupting her thoughts. He had brought her to an open door through which spilled the flickering illumination of a fire.

“Thanks,” Reese said, and cleared her throat before stepping inside.

The woman sitting by the fire was everything Reese had expected from a painting of a queen of a fairy tale race, with the weight of the beige gown, embroidered with pearls that had probably been caught, not cultured, to the elaborately braided hair and the slim band of a crown that ran over her brow. It wasn’t until the woman looked up that Reese saw what a painting would have left out: the incisive gaze, the perfect posture and the controlled elegance of her movements as she set her teacup down, and the steel implied by the whole.

None of that mattered quite as much as the shock of recognizing her face. She looked like Hirianthial. A lot like Hirianthial. She also spoke flawless Universal.

“Captain Eddings! Please, join me.”

Reese hastened to bow. “Ah, Your Majesty, thank you—“

“None of that now. I have been looking forward to this since I sent you that first message years ago. You needn’t bow, alet… you are not one of my subjects to be scraping the floor for me. Come by the fire, you must be cold.”

Reese tentatively sat across from her and unclasped the cloak, letting it fall back. She found the Queen studying her with interest, and with no hint of xenophobia at all. They regarded for one another for several moments, and then… they both grinned at the same time.

“Do you approve of what you see?” the Queen asked, amused.

“You look like I imagined,” Reese admitted. And then asked, a little shy, “Do I?”

“Exactly as I hoped,” the Queen said, reaching for the pot.

“Are you really going to pour for me?” Reese asked, appalled. When the woman paused, she said, “You’re a queen!”

“And I was a hoyden before I was an heir, and a rebellious maiden when I was, and I fear I have not changed overmuch,” the Queen said with a laugh. “Please, relax, Captain. There’s no reason for us to stand on formalities. In fact, call me Liolesa if you like. And I shall call you--”

“Reese,” Reese said. “If you’re sure—“

“Completely,” Liolesa said, filling their cups. “I hope you like a varied morning meal. I have ordered one prepared, not knowing what you eat to break your fast.”

“Chalk tablets, for most of my adult life,” Reese said ruefully. “Or protein bars.”

Liolesa chuckled softly. “So much trouble, then?”

“With money?” Reese said. She shook her head. “Always.”

“I know the feeling.” Liolesa took up her cup. When Reese didn’t, she raised her perfect brows. “You think otherwise?”

Saying ‘yes’ seemed rude, so Reese said, “I hope your revenue problems aren’t so dire they won’t mean you’re interested in what I’ve brought to sell you….”

“Ah, yes,” Liolesa said. “Do tell? We have some time before they bring the food if you prefer to do business beforehand. You mentioned it would be of particular interest.”

Reese drew in a breath. She was surprised at how anxious she was to find out if all the suffering Hirianthial had undergone because she’d decided to lay over at Kerayle could be redeemed, even a little. She brought her tablet out, set it on the table between them and activated the advertising materials the Kesh had sent with her. The tablet’s emitter built a miniature horse for them, jogging in place, pausing, shaking its forelock from its face. It had a glossy white hide and mane of waving silver, like something out of a romance.

The Queen had frozen in place. Then she reached forward and turned the tablet slowly. “Is this what I think it is?”

“There’s this colony… they’re breeding back all the Terran purebred horses,” Reese said. “They said they could sell some to the right buyers. I thought maybe you would be the right buyers.”

“And would they have, say, draft horses?”

“Probably,” Reese said, though she hadn’t the faintest notion what differentiated a draft horse from a normal one. “They said they had everything, though they were starting with these.”

The other woman stared at the trotting horse for long enough that Reese offered, “I could set the emitter to life-size? Or if you have a gem grid I could sync the tablet to, it could even do solidigraphic data.” She glanced at the floor and said, “Ah... if you have a gem grid.”

“We are a society that needs horses,” Liolesa said. “Not wants, Theresa. Needs. It would be a startling thing to find a gem grid anywhere on this world.”

“Except maybe in the Queen’s rooms?” Reese said. “Given that she keeps company with an entire clan of Tam-illee somehow....”

“Ah?” The other woman looked up, drawn from whatever thoughts she’d been contemplating. She laughed. “You have me there, yes. Though there is no gem grid here—we have no infrastructure to support it. We have to fall back on older-fashioned means.” She glanced at the horse dancing on the table. “Yes, I would be interested in horses. Shall we discuss it in depth now?”

“Sure,” Reese said, wondering what a bargaining session with a queen would be like. Glancing at the stern lines of Liolesa’s face and quickness of the humor in her eyes, she got the feeling it was going to be… interesting.

There were two men in the room to which the page brought Hirianthial, one standing and the other seated by the fire. The former was a youth in the robes of an acolyte of the God, his aura a darting brightness of blue and green thoughts, wholesome but charged with the nervous energy of a adolescent forced to stand still for too long. The latter was an elder priest, nearly lost in the weight of his robes, with an aura so tranquil it evoked deep waters.

“The Lord Hirianthial,” the page announced, and withdrew, the door shutting softly behind him.

“Elder,” Hirianthial said, inclining his head to the priest. “Novice.”

The priest studied him with interested eyes. “So, here you are, then. Do you know why you are here?”

The question was so like the ones his tutors had offered him as a child that Hirianthial couldn’t help a smile. “To serve life?”

“Directly from scripture,” the priest said with a grin. “But you’re not here to please me with your recall, my son.”

“Very well, Elder,” Hirianthial said, sobering. “I am here because I have developed powers that may make me unfit for that service.”

“That is what the Queen has asked me to evaluate,” the priest said. “We shall do that now.”

“Now?” Hirianthial asked, startled.

“Now,” the priest agreed, and tucked his hidden hands further into his sleeves. “I would like to take a nap. Please demonstrate your powers by assisting me.”

Hirianthial stared at him, despite the impropriety. “You… would like me to cause you to lose consciousness?”

“I am prepared,” the priest said, unflustered. “As you can see, I am seated, so not likely to knock my head by falling. And I have young Belinor over there to aid me if you turn out to be a ravening monster.”

Hirianthial looked at the boy, incredulous. “You? What special talent fits you for the task of helping a man being attacked by a mind-mage?”

Solemnly, the youth said, “I can run very fast.”

He laughed then, unwillingly perhaps, but still. To the priest: “I’m not sure I can safely do what you ask. You may be hurt. Or even die.”

“Then I die,” the priest said. “And we have all learned something. But I do not think I shall die today.” He shifted on the cushion, closed his eyes. “Proceed.”

Faced with such trust, Hirianthial could do nothing but obey despite his dismay at the command. He considered the tranquility of that aura and then reached toward it until he could feel it against his palms, as tangibly as if he held a glass ornament. He suggested to it that it might part, and it peeled away beneath his attention; closing his eyes, he focused on what he might find beneath. Thoughts, yes, peaceful and slow and unconcerned. Under the thoughts, something else, something truer, a source of light, strong as a flame. To dim it without extinguishing it... he cupped it and exhaled, a sigh born of his own exhaustion and resignation, and knew when he’d succeeded.

There was more there, though, a distracting distant sparkle, like the sun shining off caltrops. That he followed to its source in the body: arthritis, born of an auto-immune response, something he’d realized while studying off-world was the source of many afflictions suffered by his kind. He swept the offending glints away as he withdrew, and found himself again in his body with the priest sleeping peacefully across from him.

And then he fell, and would have struck the unforgiving ground had not a chair appeared beneath him with a scraping squeal against the floor. As he looked up, disoriented, the novice said, “You were falling, Lord.”

“I suppose I was,” Hirianthial said. His hands were shaking, and he felt weak with... hunger? And fatigue. “You are as quick as you promised.”

The youth smiled. “Shall I send for something to drink and eat, sir?”

“Yes,” Hirianthial said. “That... that would be well.”

The novice left him with the priest and his own ambivalence. That the execution of his talent could be gentle did not change that what he’d done was possible at all, possible and easy; or at least, it had felt easy while he’d been acting. If he ended up this exhausted after every attempt, perhaps the ease was illusory. Why he hadn’t felt it in the tent? Perhaps adrenaline-fueled attempts cost less, or perhaps he’d been so injured already it hadn’t mattered. The back of his neck prickled at the memory, which he packed away before it could fully rise.

Belinor returned with a meal and hot mulled cider, and Hirianthial ate with an appetite he couldn’t recollect having for a very long time. Afterward, he drowsed by the fire himself until the priest roused, saying, “Ah, now that was a fine deed.”

“Elder?” Hirianthial said.

“The fingers,” the priest said, leaning forward. He brought his hands from his sleeves, displaying their inflamed joints. “They are not so bad right now. Your doing, I assume?”

“I made the attempt,” Hirianthial admitted. “I do not know that I was successful.”

“Mmm. Healing can come with the greater talents, or so the stories go.” The priest stood. “I have everything I need to know. Tomorrow you will come to me in the library and we will begin your training.”

“Just thus?” Hirianthial asked, startled. “No further question? You know all that you need to know?”

The man smiled. “You are no Corel, my son. Have no fear on that account. But practice you do need, to learn to control what you now command. So... tomorrow.”

“Whom shall I ask for, if I do not find you?”

“Ah. My name is Urise,” the elder said. “I was the palace chaplain during Maraesa’s reign, now retired. Such as any priest retires. I suppose God and Lady decided I needed special enticement to rouse these bones from the fire in the common room.” He paused at the door and said, “The library, tomorrow. Come before breakfast. Be prompt.”

“Tomorrow, Elder,” Hirianthial said.

How long would Liolesa keep Reese? Come to that, how long had it been since he’d entered the room? Hirianthial rose and glanced out the window, saw the sun on the lake’s surface. Long enough, surely. He rested his hands on the sill and centered himself. Despite the food, he still felt uncertain on his feet. It would be good to be back at the townhouse where he could rest. Depending on the frequency of his lessons, he might be forced to request quarters in the palace, but if at all possible he would prefer to avoid it. The apartments allotted the Jisiensire were Araelis’s now, and she was no doubt already in residence with the court opening tomorrow. He set off for the royal wing, on the opposite side of Ontine. If Liolesa was not done with Reese he could find one of the alcoves and rest.

It was pure bad luck that he reached the main hall at the same time as the party in Asaniefa’s colors—worse luck that the woman leading them was Surela. They stopped at the sight of him, much as he did at them, and together they formed their own tableau, another thing he remembered despising about court life: the endless dramatics.

“Why, my Lord Hirianthial!” Surela exclaimed. “What an unexpected delight! You’ve returned!”

“From the out-world,” her lady-in-waiting added, wide-eyed. Hirianthial also remembered Thaniet, who while less offensive than her lady was nevertheless too meek to disagree with her on any topic of importance.

“From the out-world,” Surela agreed. “How relieved you must be to have come back to more civilized lands.” She came closer, drawing her entourage after her; Athanesin was still dancing attendance on her, which meant—God and Lady help him—she was still looking for a spouse. He’d always found her interest in him appalling, particularly given their opposing political leanings.

“And just in time for winter court!” Thaniet agreed, smiling at him. “How pleased everyone will be to see you here.”

He doubted the unanimity of feeling she implied with that comment, but said, “Thank you. It will be good to see the Lady Araelis again.”

“And take back the reins from her?” Surela asked. “Jisiensire has been long without its head.”

“The Lady Araelis is the head of Jisiensire,” Hirianthial said. “And well-suited to it, being wed.”

“You have no plans to marry then?” Thaniet asked, guileless.

“Nonsense,” Surela said. “A man of Hirianthial Sarel’s poise and power? Of course he must.” She smiled at him. “Besides, everyone loves a man already broken to saddle.”

The tastelessness of it was typical of her, yet it had been so long since he’d heard anything like it in reference to his previous marriage that it caught him off guard. When he was certain of himself, he said, “Some horses will bear only one rider. If you will excuse me, ladies? I have a previous engagement.”

“Do you?” Surela asked, canting her head.

It was purer bad luck to have the page bring Reese into the hall at that moment.

 

By the end of breakfast, Reese had decided that Liolesa was one of “her” people, if a rather terrifying specimen of that class. The Queen was easier than Hirianthial in company, more talkative, and far more forthright: when she couldn’t discuss something she told Reese so, which made the Eldritch mania for mystery far more bearable. Their bargaining session had sounded like something out of a street fair, and that more than anything had convinced Reese of the Queen’s character…and of the truth of her claims about money. No one with uncountable wealth haggled with that much aggression.

As she was putting her borrowed cloak back on, Liolesa said, “I would be honored if you would accept my hospitality, by the by.”

“You mean… stay in the palace?” Reese asked, startled. Then added, “What about my crew?”

“They may come as well, of course,” she said. “But I’d be pleased to have you introduced to the court once it’s in session.”

Reese paused. “Are you sure about that? I’ve heard so much about Eldritch hating non-Eldritch—“

“Hatred and ignorance cannot be addressed without confrontation,” Liolesa said. She lifted her brows. “How else? But I will not ask you to be the head of that spear, if the notion discomfits you.”

Reese petted the inside lining of her cloak. The notion did “discomfit” her. “I don’t like to make trouble for anyone.”

“Anyone—by which you mean Hirianthial,” Liolesa said, with rather too fine an insight for Reese’s taste. “I can understand that, Theresa. But Hirianthial won’t be able to leave for some time… and if you stay, it will be increasingly burdensome to keep you hidden.”

She looked at the Queen, torn. “You think we could stay? He’s… he’s been through a lot. I don’t know if he told you.”

“A little, yes.”

“He needs to not be alone. And he never made it sound like there was much here by way of support.” Did she imagine the shadow that crossed those eyes? Probably. “I don’t want to abandon him.”

“Then move into my guest suite with all your people, and in two days I shall have you presented to the court as good servants to the Eldritch crown.” Liolesa rose, pulling at a chain around her neck until she drew free a medallion. She held it out to Reese. “Take this as proof of my intent.”

Reese eyed it, her skin stippled to gooseflesh. “I’d have to touch you.”

“We began our association over six years ago now, Theresa Eddings,” Liolesa said. “Consider it the continued fostering of our relationship.”

The medallion gleamed in the woman’s palm: a brilliant cloisonné unicorn in shining white on a lapis backdrop. She could have let it swing from her fingers so Reese could catch it without touching her. Because she didn’t, Reese reached and took it from her, holding her breath and struggling with her sense of gratitude and humility. The Queen’s eyes never wavered from hers as Reese took her hand back, and when it was done Liolesa smiled. “That was well-begun. Or shall I say well-continued?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m honored,” Reese said, quiet.

“Hush, hush,” Liolesa said. “None of that. Go on, then, and see to your man.”

Reese stopped abruptly.

“Did I say aught amiss?” Liolesa asked, for once surprised.

“He’s not my man,” Reese said, flushing.

“Not your—oh!” The Queen smiled, a wry twist of her mouth. “I did not mean it thus. We say ‘your man’ and mean… your vassal, your person, your retainer. Someone you take care of. I would not suggest otherwise with him.”

Pulling the medallion over her head, Reese hesitated. She looked at the Queen.

Surprised, Liolesa said, “He has not told you?”

“Told me what?” Reese asked, and was rewarded by the sight of a woman with more temporal power than any person she’d ever met—and most she hadn’t—putting a hand to her brow as if to still a nascent headache.

“For once,” Liolesa said after a moment, “I can honestly say I cannot say more, not because of an Eldritch Veil, but because it is a personal matter. Though if you remain at court long enough you will inevitably hear about it.”

“Something that could cause trouble?” Reese asked, uneasy.

The Queen laughed. “What doesn’t, here? Go on, Captain Eddings. Collect your people and come back.” Her eyes sparkled. “It will be… an adventure.”

Given how her last adventure had ended up, Reese wasn’t sure that was the best way to entice her. Then again, her last adventure had brought her here, to a place she’d never anticipated seeing even in her wildest fantasies. And if it had its issues, what world didn’t? “All right,” she said. “I will see you later, ma’am.”

“Liolesa.”

“Liolesa,” Reese said, and let herself out. In the corridor, she reflected that she finally knew how it felt to want to call someone by something more formal than they preferred. She would have to be gentler with Hirianthial and Malia next time they tried it on her.

Her worries that she wouldn’t know where to go next were assuaged by the arrival of a page, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. She started and said, “Where did you come from?” And then a heartbeat later, “That was probably a horrible question to ask. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

The page’s smooth mask twitched, but he composed himself quickly and said in accented but fluent Universal, “No offense was taken, ma’am. This way, please?”

Reese followed him, glancing once more at the white-robed guards. As they passed out of their field of view, she said, “Since you can talk... can I ask why the guards are differently dressed in here? Is it because of the Queen?”

“Just so, ma’am. Ontine’s guards wear the Galare colors. The Queen’s personal guard wears white. Also—” He glanced back at her. “They do not speak while on duty, save to their captain or to their liege-lady, so it is not productive to attempt to engage them.”

“Wow,” Reese murmured. “Serious.”

“It is a high honor to be so selected,” the page agreed. “Few are worthy.”

She nodded. “Thanks for explaining it to me. And not being... ah... surprised by me.”

“Ma’am, our Queen has been a friend to the out-world for all her reign. As she goes, so do I.”

They passed the remainder of their walk in silence. As Reese walked, she studied her medallion, turning it in her hands, brushing her thumb over the enamel. A Queen who was comfortable with out-worlders though her world hated them, who knew Hirianthial well enough to have at least one of his personal secrets in her keeping. And he had one of these guard’s uniforms... was that it? Had he once been one of her personal guards? No wonder he’d been so good with a knife. When the guards in white opened the doors that led out of the Queen’s wing of the palace, Reese stole a glance at them in passing. Their stern faces were unreadable, but they looked dangerous to her.

Hirianthial’s baritone murmur reached her from the entrance hall, familiar enough that it took her a moment to realize she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then she spotted the clot of people blocking the path between them. It took her all of a glance to tell that he wanted no part of them—that in fact he had an antipathy for them—and she had no idea how she knew but she’d been living with the man for nearly a year.

“Back,” she hissed to the page, and turned with a hiss of her shrouding cloak.

The page didn’t miss a step, but back-pedaled and took the lead again, heading the way they’d come.

 

How had she known? Hirianthial waited long enough to allow Reese to retreat before saying, “I do, and I would not do the discourtesy of being late.” He inclined his head. “Ladies.”

He left them fluttering behind him, heading the way Reese had gone... but he stopped just around the corner and waited, extending his senses until he could perceive their agitation at his abrupt departure. They were talking amongst themselves, from the shifting colors in their auras and the emotions they were passing one another with their words; one of those emotions he liked not at all, a salacious coral-colored speculation they shared until they’d tinged each other with streaks of it. Gossip, God and Lady help him, and Surela no doubt in the middle of it. She’d not forgiven him for choosing Laiselin over her, but he suspected she’d marry him anyway if she could force him to the altar... her and every other eligible woman at court. He had forgotten that he was something worth chasing.

At last Surela’s party moved on toward the lakeside apartments, and he judged it safe to follow Reese. He found her loitering near the door to the Queen’s wing beneath the watchful eyes of the Swords. When he approached, she said, “I could tell you hated them, so I thought it would be a good idea not to let them get a better look at me.”

“You could see that?” he asked, startled.

“Oh yes,” Reese said. “There was just something about the way you held yourself. Like you were revolted.” She looked up at him. “I’m guessing I was right?”

“Yes, and it was well done. There are other ways out of the palace.” He said to the page, “You may go, and thank you.”

“Lord,” the page said. And added a dip of his head to Reese. “Ma’am.”

Reese smiled. “See you later.”

Did he imagine the return smile? He saw it in the adolescent’s aura, if not on his face. He tilted his head. “Befriending the natives, then?”

“He was nice to me first,” Reese said, pulling the cloak more tightly around herself. “How’d your appointment go?”

“Well enough,” Hirianthial said, feeling anew the fatigue. “Though I may be forced to remain at Ontine for some time.”

“The Queen said that might be the case,” Reese said. “So they found someone to help you?”

“I believe so.” The Swords opened the doors for them and he led her back into the Queen’s wing. He would take her out through the servants’ corridors; it would land them closer to the postern gate near Jisiensire’s townhouse anyway.

“Good,” Reese said. “Just remember, if you need any help, you tell us.”

“I shall,” he said, moved by her matter-of-fact offer. Such a different conversation than the one he’d just had, from the frank phrasing of the language to the ease of speaking with people who wouldn’t push him or, God forfend, suggest that it was high time to replace his dead wife. He felt a flush of some emotion: gratitude, perhaps. Looking down at Reese as she paced him, he said, “And how was your first conversation with royalty?”

Reese snorted. “Other than it not being my first conversation, technically?” A touch of amusement then, bright sparks dancing. “It was good. I liked her.”

“Except?” he said, sensing something else.

“Except there’s so much going on here that I don’t know,” Reese said, the words slow to leave her as if she considered each before release. “I like her and I want to trust her, but when you’re in charge of things you don’t always get to make the choices you want to make. I get the feeling that happens to her a lot.”

The perspicacity of that statement caught him by surprise. “I suspect you’re correct.”

“Yeah.” Reese sighed and glanced at one of the paintings as they passed. “Anyway. I’m supposed to collect the crew and come back here to stay. I’m guessing I’ll have to bring them at night? So no one will spot them. I could probably disguise the twins, but Bryer’s feathers are going to stick out of everything but a boat and Kis’eh’t is never going to look bipedal. Though I guess we could make her look like a small horse. Are there small horses? Ponies maybe? Ponies are real, aren’t they?”

“The Queen has asked you to stay here?” Hirianthial said, cutting through the words to the one thing that mattered.

“Yes,” Reese said. “And she wants to introduce us at some court session in a couple of days.”

He stopped. So did she.

“The Queen wants to introduce you formally,” Hirianthial repeated.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Reese said, her unease palpable. “I told her so myself. Even I know that you don’t shove a bunch of out-worlders in front of a culture of xenophobes like that, but she says that things can’t change unless you have some confrontation.”

God and Lady. He said, “And you said you would?”

“Yes,” Reese said, far more seriously than he expected.

“You understand what you’ve agreed to?”

“Not completely, no,” Reese said. “But you’d have to be stupid not to know she’s trying to start a fight.” She looked up at him. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said, the word profound as the toll of a bell. It colored her aura, his, a somber gray hinting at the black of tombs and shadows.

And yet, she did not shiver, and something in her solidified. The shadows became steel and she let out a breath and nodded. “Then I have only one question,” Reese said. “Is she going to take care of us when the fight starts? Because I’m okay with taking risks for someone who’s going to treat us like her people, but not if we’re just the wood she’s going to use up to torch the planet.”

Turning to face him had put her in the light of the lamps, and the glint he saw at her breast... “Is that a medallion?” he asked.

Reese glanced down, then brought it out for him to see. “She gave it to me as proof of her intent.”

“Can you turn it over?” he asked.

Her puzzlement streaked her aura bronze and purple. He ignored it, waiting for the inevitability... and when Reese showed him the back of the pendant he sighed out. He should have known she would work quickly; Liolesa was nothing if not a master of thinking on her feet. Hirianthial had presented her with an opportunity to catalyze the war she knew she could no longer avoid and so did not want to put off. If she could start it on her terms, she would do that rather than allow her enemies to choose the time and the ground. And they both knew time was running thin.

“Yes,” he said. “She will protect you. That is her personal emblem, and she would not give it to anyone she planned to discard.”

“All right,” Reese said. “That’s what I thought from meeting with her, but you can’t be sure with politicians.” She grinned at him, then faltered. “What?”

“Just like that,” he said. “You have thrown in your lot with us.”

Reese sighed. “Blood and freedom, Hirianthial. Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She met his eyes, fierce. “We threw our lot in with you the moment we went after you in a slaver’s prison. That it took me most of a year to stop denying it doesn’t make it less true. You’re here. This is your fight. That makes it our fight.”

“You’re so sure you speak for the others?” he asked. “They may have signed up for adventure, but not for... this.”

She snorted. “Oh, hell, Hirianthial. They knew it before I did. They spent months trying to beat it through my head. And you know what? They were right. Maybe I’m too stubborn for my own good, or maybe I’m just stubborn enough to get us through things and they’re the ones who remind me to act like a normal human being, but however that works, it did, and I got it.” She shook her head. “You come back to the townhouse with me, Hirianthial, and tell them the story. I’ll bet you a horse they’re going to agree with me.”

“A horse,” he said, amused despite his dismay.

“I’ve just found out how important the things are to you people,” Reese said. “So, yes. A horse.”

“Does that mean if you win I must buy you one?” Hirianthial asked.

She huffed. “Of course it does. You’re the one with the money anyway. I’ll have to take out a loan to pay for yours if I lose.”

 

Was he really so surprised by her reaction to the Queen’s plan? Maybe he’d forgotten she’d grown up with stories of revolution. The descendants of Mars still reared their children on the bloody history of their emancipation from Earth, and as one of the more traditionalist families the Eddings had been particularly proud of their world’s struggle for independence. Reese didn’t need the whole picture to sense the tensions that were poised to rip this world apart. All she needed to know was that Liolesa had no gem grid and went through the trouble of maintaining out-world connections anyhow. That meant the people here wanted no part of the technology the Alliance offered, and that suggested technology might make it harder for them to keep whatever power they were used to wielding.

And that story she was familiar with, from bones to skin, cell-deep where stories are born. It might be dressed in silk and jewels, but she recognized it all the same.

As Hirianthial led her through the palace, she surreptitiously examined the back of her medallion and found a tiny design: a white flower twining around a sword. Obviously that meant something, but he hadn’t told her what and it was unlikely he would if she asked. As usual. She sighed and smiled a little. As irritating as he was, he was part of the Earthrise family. That meant she had to find his foibles at least a little endearing, even when they frustrated her.

“Here,” Hirianthial said, pushing on a wall which was, in fact, a door—that seemed normal for Eldritch design, these doors painted to look like the rest of the corridor. “We will exit through the servants’ halls, but we should be swift. It’s impolite to importune them.”

“Right,” Reese said, and followed him. The decor here was somewhat plainer, but the walls still had moldings and paint, and the floors were nicer, she thought: wood rather than stone. They detoured past what looked like storerooms without seeing a soul and ended up outside the palace near a gate sized for a person, rather than an army. There were guards there too, though they recognized Hirianthial on sight and let them pass.

The walk back to the townhouse took them near the cliffs. Reese looked out over the horizon, over endless waves that glittered pale gray and pewter under the morning sun. She waited for the agoraphobia and felt instead a mute wonder at the sight. What did she know about oceans? Mars had none, and she’d gone straight from there to a ship. She’d seen mountains since, and Harat-Sharii’s plains, but the sea... the sea was new.

“You find it compelling?” Hirianthial asked, quiet. When had he come so close? And why did she find it steadying?

“What? Oh.” Reese pulled the hood closer over her head and answered, “I’ve never seen the ocean. It’s... big.”

“Jisiensire’s lands include the coast in the south,” Hirianthial said. “I had missed it.”

“It’s a little like space,” Reese said, glancing toward it again. When she could pull her gaze away she found him looking at her with interest. “It has a presence. And it’s bigger than you can wrap your arms around. There are things in it you’ll never know or reach or understand.”

“That bothers you not at all?” His voice remained quiet.

“I think it bothers me less than feeling it’s finite and might fall on top of me,” Reese said, though that wasn’t quite it either and she didn’t know what the difference was. But she took a few deep breaths of the brine-scented breeze before going up into the townhouse, and the taste on her tongue felt as old as blood, but cleaner.

They found the crew at breakfast in a room Reese hadn’t seen yet, a long hall sized for its gleaming wooden table, with high windows casting slanted light across what remained of a very large meal. Even Allacazam was somnolent from the slow yellow flow of colors across his neural fur; they’d set him in a sunbeam. The twins and Kis’eh’t stood when they arrived, and Bryer looked up, the light flowing down his face.

“So?” Irine asked, bouncing a little. “Are we staying?”

Reese was deeply gratified to hear the confusion in Hirianthial’s voice when he said, “I beg your pardon?”

“We’re staying,” Reese said. “There are rooms in the palace waiting for us. And it looks like the Eldritch Queen wants to use us to upset her enemies into making a stupid move.”

Sascha pursed his lips. “Wow, sounds dangerous. I’m in.”

“What?” Hirianthial asked, now sounding ever so slightly bewildered.

Reese said, grinning, “I think he means ‘are you sure’.”

Kis’eh’t snorted. “How’s this world going to be worse than being chased by slavers? If their bathrooms are any indication, they certainly can’t manufacture a working firearm.”

“Can we go see the ocean?” Irine asked.

Bryer said, “The sea is good.”

Reese pulled out a chair. “You should move Allacazam, he’s going to get fat if you keep stuffing him.”

Irine scooped up the Flitzbe as Sascha brought her a cup of cider. “Here you go, Boss. No coffee, I’m afraid. It’s tea or alcohol. We’re going to have to import coffee along with the horses.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Reese murmured, hiding her amusement.

“You want to stay?” Hirianthial asked Sascha. “You understand the Queen is trying to start a war.”

“Are you staying?” Sascha asked, and the others grew quiet to listen to the answer.

Hirianthial looked at them, very still, very contained. “I must.”

“Then we’re staying,” Sascha said.

Reese said to Hirianthial, “You owe me a horse.”