CHAPTER 10

When Vasiht'h woke and found the pillows alongside his empty, his first thoughts were rotten through with panic. He'd pushed his partner into the practice with Lisinthir, had all but demanded that Jahir do something he found uncomfortable while also fighting far too many other pressures. When it had been over, the mindline had been so dense with aching exhaustion there'd been no room in it for additional information, and the Glaseah had been forced to watch his partner fall asleep instantly, as if dropping unconscious. It had been difficult for him to lie down himself, without the chance to apologize, to explain, to tell Jahir he loved him and it was just the stress of their situation that was making him like this—

But the mindline was not blank, and it was not thick with discomfort or cold with fear and distance. There were numbers in it, and frustration, and the suggestion of mercury flashing: the Eldritch at work on something, thoughts quick-flowing. Vasiht'h rolled onto his paws and checked the bunk—the Ambassador was still asleep—and then he headed through the door into the other room.

Already dressed, Jahir was sitting in front of the table with a hand to his temple, a pen hanging lax from his fingers in a way somehow reminiscent of Lisinthir and his cigarettes. Spread before him were several sheets of paper, a data tablet, and the leather case where the Glaseah had found the hekkret, now missing several rolls.

"Arii?" Vasiht'h said, hesitant.

Jahir looked up, smiled—true warmth, though marred by frustration and concern. "You're awake. How did you sleep?"

"As well as I could, I guess." Vasiht'h padded closer, encouraged by the normalcy in the mindline. Not just normalcy… but intimacy and warmth, an openness that reminded him of their best days. He sank into it the way he would have a sun-warmed nest of pillows. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to divine whether we have a problem." Jahir rolled the pen between his fingers, and the mindline communicated its texture to Vasiht'h: cool and smooth and somehow rewarding, as if sensation had become something new and worthy of analysis. "In this case… how long this supply of the drug will last."

Vasiht'h's ears flicked back and his fur bristled. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I hadn't either until I woke." Jahir sighed and leaned back, resting his booted foot against the table's edge. While it wasn't rare for his friend to have such looseness of posture, it was unusual when they were 'out.' Somehow, this cabin had become a place Jahir felt safe. "But it appears he's going through two of these a day, and unless he has another package of them secreted in his luggage…."

"You could maybe synthesize more?" Vasiht'h offered, sitting with his tail folded over his paws.

"Not likely. The genie eats power. It was the first thing they shut off, do you recall?" Jahir rubbed his brow. "And that is without the analysis that would have to be done first, which would also require the clinic's machinery to be available."

"Maybe we could risk a few seizures? We managed to bring back the wet victims…."

"It's not the seizures that concern me… or at least, not only." Jahir shook his head. "There are too many unknowns, arii. I still don't know what the hekkret does to him, so how can I plan for how his body will react in its absence? I am guessing at the effect on the nervous system, and perhaps that has been corroborated by the seizures we've seen him undergo. But there are inevitably other symptoms, and I am no healer to predict them. He may live quite ably for a month… or the taper may kill him without warning."

"And you don't want him to die," Vasiht'h said, quiet.

"No." Jahir glanced at him, puzzled at the question, and it tasted like cardamom on kerinne: unexpected but not unpleasant. "Of course not?" And then, as if seeing the expression Vasiht'h was keeping hidden, "Oh, no. Do you think me angry at you? Or angry at him?" Jahir reached and rested a hand on Vasiht'h's shoulder, surprising him. "No. How could I be?"

"I don't know," Vasiht'h said, rounding his shoulders and ducking his head. "Forcing you into fighting with him wasn't very nice of me."

"But it was a needful thing. You were both right. Shall I hate you for it?"

His partner's certitude was better than any cookie. More like soup, the kind of soup you craved when you were sick and needed something unctuous and easy to complete all the hollow places in you that demanded nourishment. Vasiht'h shivered, then chuckled. "No, but I expected resentment. It would have been natural."

"It would have been, but not productive. And not fair either."

"And… Lisinthir?" Vasiht'h asked, hesitant. "You've forgiven him?"

"Have I needed to?" Jahir sounded surprised, but more at himself than at the question. "He is acting according to his nature. And he is fond of me, and I am of him."

Fond of him! Vasiht'h tried to curtail his surprise at what felt like understatement and received for his pains the faint bubbles of his partner's mirth, tickling at his paws as if to make him dance on them. His grin was reluctant but he couldn't help it.

"It is fondness," Jahir said. "Though there is… a dimension to it that I am unaccustomed to feeling."

"And… that doesn't make you uncomfortable?" Vasiht'h asked carefully.

Jahir's smile had a whimsical quality. "How can it, when he treats me as he does?"

Vasiht'h couldn't help his confusion. "You mean the baiting and the fighting."

"I mean," Jahir said, quieter, "the tenderness, and the absolute certainty that I am precious and in need of protection." His smile grew lopsided. "It's rather difficult to maintain shame in the face of such aggressive admiration."

"He really treats you that way?" Vasiht'h asked, softer.

In reply, Jahir slid that hand down Vasiht'h's arm to the hand and cupped it between both of his. Through that touch he offered a memory: nothing too distinct or sexual, for which the Glaseah was grateful, and that in itself was a surprise, that there was any memory of something non-sexual. A kiss at the corner of the brow, the rue and sweetness in it mingled like nettle tea swirled with honey: bracing, medicinal, stinging him to life and assuring him of its value.

"Oh!" Vasiht'h whispered. "Is he like that with you?"

"With me?" Jahir repeated, emphasizing the last word with interest. And gave a soft 'ah' in response to the memory Vasiht'h shared, of the embrace when he went alone to the Ambassador's room and the safety he felt there. "Yes. I see. And it is entirely typical of him, now that I understand him well enough to see it."

"That he needs someone to protect," Vasiht'h guessed.

"He is what our culture strives to shape a man of our station into. A sword set in defiance against all that would cut down the family and the House." Jahir glanced at the paper and Vasiht'h followed his gaze. He knew enough to recognize titration schedules, but not much more than that; as usual, what distracted him was the refinement of his partner's penmanship. It remained a revelation to see something as modern as chemistry and as spontaneous as jotted notes rendered in calligraphy that elegant.

"You're thinking," Vasiht'h said suddenly into the silence, "that your culture failed to make you that way."

"No," Jahir admitted, the mindline seeping more numbers. "I am fretting at the biology."

"It could turn out fine," Vasiht'h said. "He didn't have a seizure yesterday, after all?"

"We think he didn't. By his own report, he spent some time here with his head in the lieutenant's lap—" That observation accompanied by a rising curl of mirth that somehow evoked the hekkret smoke, "—long enough probably to use one of those in its entirety. But there are seizures that don't produce grossly observable symptoms. She might have believed he was lost in thought when in fact he was in the throes of one." Jahir pressed his thumb under his brow-bone. "We will have to set Hea Borden to any further watches. She'll have the training to recognize any partial seizures."

"Should be do-able," Vasiht'h said. "So long as we're not treating her. Why are you frowning like that?"

"Because I think we should have a discussion with Captain Raynor," Jahir said. "So perhaps we should summon her now to that vigil."

Raynor was in the mess, having what Jahir presumed was his breakfast, and the ubiquitous and universally unloved ration bar fell from his attention immediately when he saw what the man was pouring into his cup. That aroma, ambrosial—"Is that...?"

"Coffee, yes," Raynor said, amused. "Please, be my guest, both of you."

How amazing it was to cup a warm mug, taste something more complex than water, accept in that first sip a reminder of civilization and comfort. Was it their peril and the long days of a diet of minimal variation that made him so sensitive to the flavor? Or had Lisinthir woken in him some long ignored awareness of how intense sensation could be?

"I take it the two of you haven't come by to have something to eat," Raynor said once they'd joined him at the table. "What can I do for you?"

/This is your show,/ Vasiht'h murmured, subdued.

So it was. "It concerns the Ambassador's health."

"Go on."

How to say it? Perhaps plainly was best. "I don't believe it prudent to wait before attempting our own rescue."

Raynor had a long pull at his mug before setting it down and tapping his fingers lightly on its lip. "You're telling me he needs a Medplex that badly?"

Jahir considered his uncertainties and measured them one final time against the dangers he could guess at. "Yes. I can't say what ails him, Captain. That's part of the problem. What I can say, and I believe Hea Borden will agree, is that he is of too great a value to the Alliance alive to leave him at risk."

"You think it's a grave enough danger to risk bringing the Chatcaava down on our heads."

Did he? "Yes."

The man had another piece of the bar, chewed. Jahir watched him, feeling Vasiht'h's matching attention in the mindline like an outstretched limb, trembling with effort.

"Will you consider his plan?" Jahir finally said.

Raynor finished the bar, chuckled. "Aletsen. I've already decided to implement it. Why do you think there's hot coffee? All the crew's had a ration. Our way of saying we're in for a pound now, so the power's either going to matter or not really soon now."

Vasiht'h blew out a breath. "We thought we had to convince you."

"Nah. We were going to have to call for help at some point anyway," Raynor said. "Given that, it's in our best interests that any Chatcaava we accidentally attract will be primed to underestimate us. Best case scenario, they never come at all and our rescuers arrive in force, expecting a fight, and are pleasantly surprised. Worst case scenario, our enemies find us... at which point we've positioned them as best we can for an ambush. There's really no other choice. Given that, there's no reason to wait. The faster we call, the faster we have a resolution." The man lifted his cup. "One way or the other."

Vasiht'h's shudder felt like waking in winter with the fire gone cold. Jahir said, "When, then...?"

Raynor stood. "As soon as the Ambassador's available to coach us through the scripts... so when he wakes up, will you tell him? Borden tells me he's under observation now for seizures?"

"That's correct, and we will." As the man drank off the last of his cup, Jahir said, "Thank you for your time, Captain. Will we be seeing you for next session? I believe you're among the only members of the crew Hea Borden hasn't taken us to aid."

Raynor chuckled. "I am, and I'm looking forward to it tonight. But between now and then there's a lot to be done, eh? Enjoy your coffee. That's the first and last pot we'll be brewing before we get out of this."

"We will," Vasiht'h said, emphatic.

At the door, Raynor added, "And aletsen? You might want to consider your own roles in this since there's no way I can guarantee you'll remain uninvolved if we're attacked. If you have any skills you can use...."

Vasiht'h's shudder this time was visible at the edge of Jahir's vision. "We'll discuss it with the Ambassador."

"Good plan. He seems to know what he's about."

Alone in the mess, Vasiht'h said, "It's nice to drink something that's not water, at least. Though I miss tea."

"If the Captain is correct, we will have our tea again sooner rather than later." Jahir thought about making the cup last, but the warmth of it was too welcome. The chill in the air had become pronounced, though it helped that Vasiht'h didn't feel it; some of that came through the mindline, made his own skin a little less sensitive to it.

"But between us and that…."

"We will deal with what's between us and that as it comes to us." Watching his partner take a sip from his coffee, flavoring it with his resignation, Jahir said, "Perhaps you should take self-defense classes also when we get home."

"Me!"

The indignation and distress was almost—almost—humorous… and only because it had been his reaction to Vasiht'h's suggestion that he do the same years ago. Some hint of that feeling must have bled through their link because the Glaseah sighed. "Right. It is ridiculous for me to be objecting, isn’t it."

Because the distress hadn't faded, because it had in fact begun to solidify into obstinacy, Jahir said, "It does strike me as… peculiar… that you would recommend to me a course of action you're unwilling to embark on yourself when the need for it is being proven to us as we speak."

"We're not exactly going to find ourselves in a war zone again!"

"Are we?" Jahir asked, quieter. At the Glaseah's sharp glance, he finished, "We are the Queen's to command. Or I am, at least. And you have made your own pledge that you must honor however you see fit."

"I go where you go," Vasiht'h said after a moment, but all the mindline was taut with quivering fear.

Jahir let that lie until the Glaseah was no longer so flustered. The question surprised him on the way out, but he found he needed to know the answer. "Is it that you have some sense that I am better suited to combat? Is there some violence in me that I am unaware of but that you can see?"

"No!" Vasiht'h bared his teeth, shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. The opposite, even! Half the time I feel like I'm the one who should be protecting you… no, more than half the time. But… you… there's a belief in you that I don't have, that things inevitably come to violence. Or can. I don't have that in my heart. To me, violence is an aberration, an accident… something people might go their whole lives without seeing. It's not like that with you. You love peace because you've seen war."

"Not war," Jahir murmured, thinking of what was to come. The scale of it staggered him; that Lisinthir could encompass it astonished him, much less that he could take strength from it. "But violence, yes." He finished his coffee. 

"I'm sorry," Vasiht'h said, looking away. "I can't believe I've done this to you. Pushed you to take on the responsibility for the fights that might actually result in injury or death or blood just so I could maintain my own innocence. My… purity."

"You are being too unkind with yourself," Jahir said, gently. "You have rushed to defend life yourself."

"It's different in a hospital," Vasiht'h said. "That's not malice."

"It is when the injury is the result of violence."

"And you didn't see me volunteer for the medical track, did you? I don't like hospitals. Disease and old age and accidents I can fathom, though I wouldn't want to deal with them day after day. But violence?"

"And how is emotional violence any different?"

Vasiht'h looked down at his cup. "You can live through emotional violence."

"Arii…" Jahir gently pried the mug out from between Vasiht'h's fingers and turned the other to look at him; perhaps physical touch had its uses. It certainly left the Glaseah open to him in a way he wouldn't have been had Jahir tried to do this with his voice alone. "You are creating a distinction that doesn't exist. All violence is cruel and ugly. All of it can kill. You and I have seen words kill people. And we cannot afford to be ignorant of the physical. Neither of us. Not anymore."

Vasiht'h looked up at him from beneath his forelock and Jahir could feel his heartbeat shuddering in the mindline, too quick. "You say that as if this isn't going to be over when we get back."

"I'm praying that it will," Jahir said. "But if it's not, would you rather end up in that situation unprepared?"

Vasiht'h bit his lip, dropped his head. His 'no' was a shivery thing, a bare echo hanging between them, but with all his heart Jahir empathized with his partner's rejection. With his wish to remain an innocent.

/Me too,/ he whispered, putting all his regret into the words like the smell of dust and stale air. /Would that we could both remain pure./

/It's not about purity,/ Vasiht'h roused himself to say. He reached over and hugged Jahir. /We're not going to be less pure because we learn how to take care of ourselves./

/Exactly./ Jahir rested his head on Vasiht'h's.

/I still wish we lived in a world with no Chatcaava./

Jahir thought of his cousin's passions, of how the Chatcaava had given him purpose and completed him. What would the hunters and the aggressors of the world do without something against which to strive? Would they all end up in a xenotherapist's office, being talked down from their restlessness and their need to protect a world that needed no protection? Jahir had been lucky: he had found a place that valued his talents and allowed him to be and feel productive. Not everyone was.

What would have happened to Lisinthir had the Queen not sent him on?

"My coffee's getting cold," Vasiht'h observed ruefully.

"Finish it and let's go back," Jahir said. "Borden will be wanting relief."

"We could take her a cup?"

"We could, and she would probably be grateful."

When they arrived, Borden was sitting on the table beside the couch staring at his cousin, who was lying with one hand on his chest and the other on his brow, as pretty a picture of nonchalance as one could contrive. As Vasiht'h set down the coffee, Jahir said, "Things went well?"

"For some values of 'well,'" the Seersa replied. Her tail was stretched behind her on the table and the tip was flicking, as clear a sign of agitation as any vocal or facial cue. "He had pain that culminated in a bout of vomiting."

"Vomiting!" Jahir exclaimed. "But what? We have been feeding him intravenously!"

"No idea," Borden said. "He didn't tell me until after he'd done it. And a fine job he did of pretending everything was normal while he was in there until he was done."

On the couch, Lisinthir opened one eye, and despite the lines cradling it there was an unmistakable satisfaction in that look.

"Did you give him the vial?"

"When he woke up," Borden said. "But I don't see how that could have triggered it. We're bypassing his digestion entirely. There's something else going on, and we're not going to figure out what it is short of putting him under a halo-arch... and if we're going to do that I need to get authorization from the Captain."

"Somehow I doubt the Captain's going to want the clinic using up the stores when he's about to throw us at the dragons," Vasiht'h muttered.

"He is?" Borden's ears perked. "He made the decision?"

"He did, yes," Jahir said. "And this cup is for you. It is part of the ritual, it seems."

She chuckled and took the mug, inhaling deeply. Her fur fluffed at the throat, just visible above the collar of her uniform. "Oh, yes. Something to fortify us for the work."

"No seizures then," Jahir continued.

"No. And I haven't given him anything for pain."

"And you are in pain," Jahir said to Lisinthir in their own tongue, shadowing the words.

Lisinthir clucked before answering in kind. "So stern, my healer. And so demanding."

That was teasing, particularly with the flash of the carnal mode on the last word... but Lisinthir's voice was rasped, and it hurt to hear the loss of the round fullness of his usual timbre. "You could at least have told her what it was that came out of you. It's important." When Lisinthir didn't reply, Jahir stripped the moods from the words so that they came out in an impersonal staccato, the closest he could come to a physician's brisk neutrality in their language. "And if I kiss you, will I taste blood in your mouth?"

"Would you kiss me to find out?" Lisinthir asked, interested.

Jahir's eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Lisinthir drawled, the words baroque with shadows, "that was a dare. And no, I don't think you'll take me up on it."

In Universal, Jahir said, "Will the two of you give us a moment?"

"Sure," Borden said, rising with the mug. "Maybe you can tell me a bit about how this therapy of yours works, Vasiht'h-alet?"

Vasiht'h sent him a wary surge, and Jahir soothed it away, saying, /He needs disciplining./

/Does he!/

/A thing between Eldritch, yes?/

Vasiht'h eyed him as he walked past with Borden. /If you're sure..../

Jahir put his determination into the sending. /I am. Or we'll have no end of fights with him over his healthcare. He needs to test limits too much./

/I guess I'm not surprised. All right, we'll be in the corridor. You'll tell him Raynor wants him?/

/When I'm done./

The door slid shut on the Pelted, leaving him staring down at his cousin, arms folded over his chest.

Lisinthir chuckled. "So now what? You will harangue me about making your work more difficult—" He paused. Jahir did also. He didn't remember leaning down and grabbing the front of Lisinthir's shirt; both of them looked down at his fist in surprise.

"This is my last proper shirt," Lisinthir observed.

"Then I advise you not to struggle," Jahir said, and took the kiss, and with it the taste of bile, sour and sick. He pressed his cousin back into the cushion, concentrating on it as data first... and then as demonstration. I am your physician, and you will not cross me in this.

Lisinthir let him, supremely contented if their skins told truth, and in him the act was languor, curiosity, a willingness to let him lead. That part Jahir hadn't expected. The affection, the indulgence in those eyes, half-hidden by their lashes... that part he had.

"Have I made my point?" Jahir asked, breathless and ignoring it.

"You have, and beautifully."

"So did you vomit up blood? Or anything unusual?"

"You didn't have the taste of it from my mouth?"

Jahir glared at him. Lisinthir chuckled softly and brushed the backs of his fingers against Jahir's cheek, and it felt like a brand: so soft, to be so intense a sensation. "No. No blood. Nothing but clear spit, though it burned. And you are a dedicated man, cousin, to chase your evidence into my mouth that way. You should have let me chew a mint leaf first to welcome you properly."

Jahir sighed, let his head drop. "You could let me do this without so much fighting."

"But I love to see you fight me," Lisinthir said. "And on medical matters, you oblige me with such grace. It's the only place you will fight me with grace, Healer, because you are graceless with other weapons."

Jahir looked up at him, startled.

"Do you blame me for loving the sight of you in your power? Or do you think me incapable of loving the strength of others?" Lisinthir lifted his brows. "Tell me you don't think that poorly of me."

"No, I don't." Jahir traced the lines framing one of those eyes. "You're still in a great deal of pain, and hiding it effortlessly."

"I assure you, there is rather a great deal of effort involved. I merely have... the benefit of practice."

"I could give you another analgesic—"

"But you don't want to."

Jahir started. "Did you read that off me so easily?"

"It's in your voice." Lisinthir smiled faintly. "You are concerned. And I can't afford to start hemorrhaging from my liver if I'm due to help these people plan our ambush."

"It wouldn't be hemorrhaging," Jahir began, unable to help the correction. He stopped and shook himself minutely. "You also can't help them plan this ambush if you're in enough pain that your body has taken up vomiting out of the desperate belief that it will relieve you."

"I can manage."

"You can... but maybe you don't have to." Jahir reached for Vasiht'h, murmured, /Come back, arii./

The two returned. To Borden, Jahir said, "Hea, could you return to the Captain and tell him the Ambassador will be ready shortly?"

"I'll do that, sure. I need to return the mug to the mess anyway. Do you need me for anything else today?"

"Not until it's time for us to work on the rest of the crew," Jahir replied.

"All right. I'll see you then."

That left him with his partner, who approached. /So?/

/I have an experiment I would like to try./

/All right?/ Vasiht'h sat alongside him.

/I am thinking... we might be able to improvise a nerve block./

Vasiht'h pursed his lips. /You think we could?/

/I think it's worth the attempt./

Vasiht'h nodded. "All right."

"All right what?" Lisinthir asked mildly. "Or am I not to know?"

"Your work at this moment is to endure," Jahir said. "I'm sure you'll find that a familiar task."

Lisinthir snorted. "While the two of you…."

"Do our work, to which you have consented." Jahir lifted a hand, just enough to catch his cousin's eye. "Or do we need to have another fight?"

That won him a grin. "Will I get another kiss to begin it?"

"Incorrigible," Jahir said, reaching for his partner's hand. "Rest you there and try not to be distracting."

"Do you hear this, arii?" Lisinthir said to Vasiht'h as he settled with his hands folded on his chest. "I am 'distracting.'"

"Could be worse," Vasiht'h said, amusement suffusing the mindline. "You could be annoying."

"Oh no. I am never annoying. I skip directly from distracting to infuriating. Saves time."

Vasiht'h chuckled. /He really is something./

/Yes,/ Jahir said, smiling. /Come./

How to begin it? Touch, of course. There was no entering anyone this deeply without it. Jahir made sure of his grip on the Glaseah's hand, then set his palm on his cousin's chest, above and to the right of the folded hands. The gleam of Imthereli's drake drew his eye: the signet ring, of course, but not the Galare unicorn as he'd assumed. What must it be like to be part of a failing House? He had never known want in his life, and that want in particular... what had it been like, to grow up with their responsibilities, but without the power to fulfill them? Pain, he thought, and a pain he would have been hard pressed to explain to any of the Pelted. Perhaps that is why it had been inevitable that they would become allies, of a sort. Who in the Alliance could understand them?

Jahir closed his eyes and sank past his cousin's aura, to the level of thoughts and then past them without pausing to read them. What he was seeking was closer to what he wanted when working with wet victims, a subconscious fretwork of impulse and light.

It stung him when he touched it. He snatched his ephemeral hand back.

/Arii?/

/Not harmed. I continue./

A sense of uncertainty, but Vasiht'h strengthened his hold on the outer world, keeping them both anchored in this darkness, one they perceived only on the insides of their own eyelids. So easy for it to slip away… but Jahir dove and found pain, whispered songs to it: calm. Numbness. A lack of alarm. Soothing, where there was irritation. Building walls where he found stubborn defiance. How long would any of this last? Would it even work?

When he pulled back he was exhausted. There was a hand over his, and it was warm on cool fingers.

/Did it work?/ he asked, forgetting to ask aloud.

"It worked," Lisinthir said, quiet. He lifted Jahir's cold hand to his and kissed the fingers, reverent. In their tongue, "Beautiful healer," spangled in gold and white.

Jahir flushed. "I don't know how long it will last."

"I am grateful for even a short respite." Lisinthir sat up. He pulled Vasiht'h over and hugged him too, kissed the top of his head. "I thank you also, arii."

Flustered, Vasiht'h said, "You're welcome."

Lisinthir chuckled. "Did you think I touched only in extremis? It's far more gratifying for pleasure."

"I can't argue that," Vasiht'h said. The effervescence in the mindline had hints of bemusement and shy pleasure and confusion and Jahir enjoyed it all. Over Lisinthir's arm, the Glaseah eyed him and said, /You are having too much fun./

/I think we are owed a little fun for living with this situation./ He switched to speech. "If you are feeling well enough, the Captain has asked for your aid."

"That I can do, and be grateful for a task. I am ill-suited to idleness." Lisinthir pushed himself upright, and from there to his feet. He paused to roll one shoulder, fingers gliding along the upper edge of the joint. "I suppose I should be glad you haven't ripped my only remaining shirt."

Jahir caught Vasiht'h's sharp glance out of the corner of an eye and managed to ignore it. "You could borrow one of mine if necessary."

Lisinthir snorted. "You are taller than I am, and broader through the shoulder, so unless this vessel has a tailor I think I'll make do."

"And you will wear our attire?" Jahir asked, careful of the words. In their tongue, "Will you call yourself one of us again, then?"

Lisinthir sighed and let a hand drift over the edge of Jahir's face, along the temple, near the hairline, stopping to push a few strands behind the ear. What a strange intimacy, to also be so familial. To be neatened like a child, or like a sibling. "I never stopped being one of you." He smiled a little. "Besides, it's wise to dress as you want people to treat you. The Captain expects an Eldritch ambassador. I'm not sure he will respect someone in the relative dishabille of a dragon."

"I don't know," Vasiht'h said. "Lots of Pelted races wear less."

/You are not fooling anyone with your nonchalance, arii./

Vasiht'h's smug amusement burbled like a creek at the ankle. /Clothing's for special occasions./

"Many Pelted races do wear less," Lisinthir agreed, tapping Vasiht'h on the top of the muzzle twice, and the Glaseah's startlement made Jahir hide a laugh. "But Fleet requires a uniform, and to others in Fleet, proper dress is a signal of trustworthiness. In my own quarters, I'll go as nearly nude as I like. Among others, I will dress to ensure the proper response."

"And when we fight the Chatcaava?" Jahir asked.

"Then I will wear the Eldritch garb." Lisinthir smiled. "And you will ask me why, and I will tell you one answer to distress: because you don't have Chatcaavan garb, and if I can use our similarity to fool them into a mistake, I will do it. And I will tell you another to comfort: I have spent months fighting someone whose only aim was my humiliation and submission, not my death. Being naked then meant I was scraped and bruised and bled, but not destroyed. But if I am to go among people who will not be so careful of such distinctions, then a few layers of clothing between their talons and my skin will be welcome. And if they snag their hands in the velvet and are thrown off balance for a moment... a moment is all I need."

"Practical," Vasiht'h said.

"Survival makes everyone practical," Lisinthir observed. "I go to change. And cousin—you I expect after my session with the Captain and his crew. We have a practice to observe."

"Of course," Jahir murmured.

Vasiht'h watched him go, then muttered, /Unstoppable./

/He would not have accomplished all that he has if he were otherwise./