CHAPTER 15

The urgency with which they were ushered into the new ship's Medplex was almost humorous, given the languor of the past few days. Even now it clung to Jahir, a mantle that made everything seem diffuse, as if the world's edges were laced with webs leading into some infinite net he could no longer grasp. And yet it was still there, and he could dimly sense it, and wondered if it was reflected in his eyes. Was there something fey about him? The crew of the Starsight kept glancing his way.

/You look a little more stereotypically Eldritch than usual,/ Vasiht'h offered. When Jahir looked down at him, the Glaseah's amusement trickled into the mindline. /The way people expect you to be. Sort of fairy-prince-ish./

Jahir considered as he watched the healer direct his assistants in Lisinthir's disposition beneath a halo-arch. /I think I may have a trifle too many aches and pains to pass for an elf out of legend./

Vasiht'h snorted, but he was amused, and fond, and it was so much like how they'd been before that it almost made Jahir miss that things were not the same. Not bad, either. Just different. His partner had seen the Pattern too, and played his own part in it, and perhaps now they both had questions to answer about themselves.

/Integration,/ Vasiht'h said, a little more subdued. /We have answers to questions, they just haven't settled yet. And we won't know the questions those will inspire until after that./

/We have learned a great deal about ourselves and one another./

/And how we relate to one another./ Vasiht'h smiled a little. /And I didn't think there was anything left to learn./

That made him smile. /I'm rather glad there is./

/Me too./

"Lord Seni Galare?" That was one of the healers-assist, a Tam-illee youth with a very serious demeanor and chocolate points that extended into a partial mask over green eyes. His delicate build was belied by corded arms and large, dexterous hands. "If you'll lie down on this bed for us?"

It was a relief to give himself over into their care after having suffered through field medicine on the deck of a Chatcaavan vessel. The foxine was careful not to touch him, but he went to work with reassuring competence once the halo-arch slid over him. Jahir closed his eyes and drifted while it murmured its harmonies, until he felt a shadow cross his face.

The senior healer of the Starsight—C-med, Triona had called him, the Chief of Medical—reminded Jahir strongly of his mentor Healer KindlesFlame. He had the same air of easy authority, though unlike KindlesFlame he was human, and built as solidly as a destrier. "Lord Seni Galare. Your injuries are minor, you'll be happy to learn."

"I had suspected as much. Thank you, alet."

"I'm Ale Morales," the human continued. "I've been told you and your partner were handling the Ambassador's case in concert with Healer-Assist Borden of the Quicklance? And that you have some chemistry background?"

Of the Quicklance, Jahir noted, not "on it." Alas, for the lost vessel, and the courageous personnel who'd borne witness to her death in battle. "That's correct."

"Can you summarize what you know about the case for me? The Ambassador's stable, but I admit I find his state… interesting."

Jahir couldn't help a laugh at that, and if it was hesitant and fatigued, and if it was also more demonstrative than his typical, he could surely indulge. They were safe. They were heading home. "Yes, I imagine you must. This is what I know, then."

Morales listened attentively to his recitation, waiting until he'd finished to ask questions. Finally, the human sighed. "Of course, the only samples of the drug are atomized somewhere spinward of here."

"Will it be a problem?" Jahir asked.

The healer shook his head. "No. I'm confident that we'll get him to the hospital at Fleet Central, and they'll be able to handle anything short of an act of God snatching him personally from their hands. It's more a matter of lost opportunities. We could have analyzed it, maybe found an antitoxin."

"Perhaps there will be other opportunities."

"Maybe." Morales considered him. "And now, in the interests of clarification… I've received notice that you are the Ambassador's next of kin, and as such empowered to make medical decisions on his behalf. Is that correct?"

"I—yes," Jahir said, surprised. Technically he and Lisinthir were only distantly related by blood. Politically, however: "Yes, that's correct."

Morales nodded. "As you've probably been told, we're on our way to Sector Alpha to deliver the Ambassador to the proper authorities. Until he's competent to make his own decisions, you'll be asked to remain there. I wasn't sure if you'd realized that, so I thought I'd pass it on."

"I hadn't, and thank you." Jahir paused. "If I may, from whom did you receive notice?"

"The Captain tells me the head of your household?" Morales smiled, a vague crinkle of cheek on one side of his face. "She refused to divulge more."

Given the Veil… yes, he imagined. But he was also grateful that the Queen had not bruited about his relation to her. That was information he would rather not have more generally known. Bad enough to be called 'Lord Seni Galare,' no matter how correct. "Ah, yes. Thank you."

Morales nodded. "Rest, then, Lord Seni Galare. You might not be mortally injured, but you've dented yourself up enough to need it."

"Vasiht'h—"

"With Hea Taniltan right now," the human said. "Having his own check." He smiled more naturally. "Everything's under control… and we'll be docking within two days. Less than that, given how the Captain's putting on the steam."

To think they'd be back that soon...! And if not home, then in the Alliance and not far from Starbase Veta. Even traveling at more conventional speeds, he and Vasiht'h would not be long away once Fleet released them. Jahir thanked the healer and composed himself for rest, and it was easier than he'd expected; he really was tired. He turned his head on the pillow and glanced across the way to where Lisinthir was lying in similar estate. His cousin looked grim, but already the halo-arch was at work on his injuries. On its own, the halo-arch was incapable of solving grievous injury... but what it could not fix it could hold stable.

Reassured, Jahir let himself fall asleep. Either he would wake up when they docked, or he would wake up and have access to a water shower and a hot cup of tea or coffee, and either situation accorded with him.

Lisinthir was unconscious but stable. Jahir was asleep. Having been released from the Medplex as injury-free after a short session with Healer-assist Taniltan's sealer, Vasiht'h made straight for the rooms assigned him and into the bathroom.

The shower was a tight fit, but he couldn't remember the last time one had felt so good. He tried very hard not to notice that some of the water running off him was pink or a grimy brown. That could be anything, after all. Stepping through the drier fluffed his fur so badly he wished for a brush, but all his toiletries had vanished with the Quicklance and the complimentary ones left by the Fleet personnel weren't going to make a lick of difference. That was fine too. He relished having so little to worry about.

After that, he asked the genie for a cup of tea and a serving of fresh fruit—random—and took them to the table and that... that meal was so satisfying that he lingered over it, savoring the flavors, the wet tartness of the juice, the soft texture of the melons, the astringent bite of the tea and the way the warmth of it made his tongue tingle after eating berries off the cool metal spoon. Wrapping his hands around the mug, he let his head sink forward and his eyes close.

Strange to have such silence. Though he and Jahir didn't spend every waking moment with one another, the enforced intimacy of the past few days made his present solitude feel incongruous, as if he'd had a limb amputated. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he explored it carefully, the way he would have probed at a splinter in his finger.

Things would change. He knew that now. Maybe not in the next few months, but... he'd confronted his own mortality and discovered how much he'd left undone. He'd not had children yet, and while he didn't feel ready yet, he thought he was long past due to work out the practicalities. Having children would involve him asking some of his extended family to move to the starbase...or moving to where they were. And Jahir... if he married, he could hardly sleep in the same room with Vasiht'h anymore. His wife would probably find that distressing. And Vasiht'h couldn't imagine them raising an Eldritch child in the Alliance, at least, not full-time. Assuming Sediryl married him. Assuming he asked. But what if he asked and she said 'no'? What would happen to his partner then?

It was all very scary, but on the whole, Vasiht'h thought it could be positive. If everything worked out, anyway. So many uncertainties... he'd never liked uncertainties.

The vessel had a Well drive, and they were no longer in enemy space. Vasiht'h woke the wall-screen in the room and checked Anseahla's local time, then placed his call. He did not, however, reach his mother or father. It was his eldest brother who answered, and Bret'hesk took one look at him and put up his brows. "Little brother! What happened to you? You look like you've been through the thoughtless hells."

Did he? "You're just saying that because I haven't brushed my fur down."

Bret'hesk folded his arms. "Are you in trouble?"

It would be Bret who answered… Bret who'd always thought him feckless, a dreamer. In the past, Vasiht'h had always backed down from his challenges and meekly accepted his corrections, because his eldest brother had been right: as a youth, Vasiht'h hadn't had a focus. Eternal student, his mother had said, but with amusement because she'd been confident he'd find his way eventually. Bret'hesk had never seemed to believe it, and as self-appointed disciplinarian of the children, he'd felt it his duty to educate the wayward sibling.

Suddenly, Vasiht'h was tired of it. And offended. Had his brother just been attacked by Chatcaava, possibly earned a personal thanks from Fleet? Had his brother just washed someone else's arterial blood off his fur? Had his brother just kept a man vital to the security of the Alliance from dying by anchoring an Eldritch mindhealer to reality?

The answer to all of that was 'no.'

"I'm not in any trouble," Vasiht'h said. "And I don't see why you have any cause to talk to me this way."

The perplexity—was it because he'd defended himself? Or was it because… he almost chuckled. He was talking like Jahir, wasn't he. Ridiculous. An Eldritch Glaseah. A Chatcaavan Eldritch. What a mess. But a glorious mess, maybe. He felt the warmth of his medallion against the puffed-up fur on his chest.

At last, Bret'hesk said—more cautiously—"Mother and Father aren't in."

"Then tell them I called," Vasiht'h said. "I'd like to talk to them, once they're free. Dami particularly."

"Can I tell her what it's about?"

Vasiht'h thought of Lisinthir's bare-teeth snarl: 'You haven't earned that right.' He understood, suddenly. "No."

Taken aback, Bret'hesk said, "You… really aren't in any trouble, right? I know I've been hard on you, arii, but it's for your own good, and I'd never turn you away. You know if there's something going on, you can count on your family to help you."

"It's good to hear you say that," Vasiht'h said. "Tell her I called, all right? And give my nephew a hug for me. Be well, Bret'hesk." He leaned over and terminated the call before his brother could answer and felt a moment's small pleasure in it. His education suggested multiple reasons for Bret's behavior, most of them sympathetic. Had Vasiht'h taken him on as a client he would have had plenty to work with: his brother's need for perfection and order, his worries about the family, his sense that someone had to take care of everyone when Dami and Tapa had been so busy with their careers. Managing a Glaseahn family tended to involve an extended network of relatives, and all of the older children were expected to help. As the firstborn, Bret'hesk would have had to take on those responsibilities without role models to suggest how to do it gracefully.

But knowing all those things didn't make Bret any less irritating. That Vasiht'h no longer felt he deserved his brother's opprobrium, not just because it was unfair, but because he really wasn't that uncertain boy anymore… that was novel. He'd never stood up for himself before to his family.

Some changes were good changes.

Vasiht'h refreshed his tea and settled to catch up with his mail. He steeped himself in normalcy until it flavored his spirit, and fed that down the mindline to the sleeping Eldritch who'd brought so many wonderful things into his life… including his crazy cousin. Sometimes you needed the crazy cousin in your life, and Goddess bless the chaos that ensued. That was family for you, and he should know.

It was the smell that escorted Lisinthir out of unconsciousness at last, a mélange both modern and familiar. He opened his eyes on a colored ceiling, but it was not the pale green he'd expected… a light blue, rather, in a stylized cloud pattern. Strange; from the scent he'd expected the hospital at Fleet Central where he'd undergone his acclimation regimen, physicals, and inoculations. He was definitely in some sort of facility, and under a halo-arch, a rather substantial one. That was also strange, because he felt very much as if he didn't need one. He couldn't remember the last time he felt more rested. And hale: he could take a deep breath without fighting, and the core of his body didn't feel uncertain to him anymore.

The door whispered open; he glanced toward it to find a Tam-illee foxine approaching him with the determined gait of a doctor. Probably an important one, from the speed and the brusque finish to her movements. She stopped at his bed, swept the readings with tawny eyes, then considered him. "Ambassador. How do you feel?"

"Remarkable," he said. "I assume I've been here for some time?"

"A few days," she said. "A few very exciting days, might I add. I'm Healer-Surgeon TrustBody, and I'm in charge of your case. Do you feel well enough to sit up for me?"

"I'd prefer to stop lying down, to be honest."

She nodded and waved the halo-arch down. "Give it a try."

Lisinthir got his hands beneath him and pushed himself up, and though he felt a tremor in his arms they served. A brief moment of lightheadedness and he was upright, the blanket puddling over his lap. "A much better vantage."

"Dizzy at all?"

"No." He paused. "Perhaps a touch. I think I might be hungry, which would be a novelty."

"Yes, I bet it would be." She considered him. "You look good. Your vitals have been good for almost twenty-five hours now. If you're willing, we're going to try to get you out of here as soon as possible. There are people waiting to debrief you."

He glanced at her. "Is there some reason I cannot receive them here?"

"Yes," TrustBody said firmly. "You weren't well enough before. And now that you are, I'm not letting you strain yourself into a relapse until you're ready to go."

"Is a relapse probable, then?" he asked, startled. He felt vitally alive, as if he'd been striving through a nightmare for weeks, a physical one that dragged at every limb. He found he didn't miss having to fight so hard to move well.

"I don't think so," TrustBody said. "Like I said, you've been showing good results for most of a day now. Another couple of days like this and we can let you go." She lifted a finger. "You'll have to rest, eat, etcetera. You're probably aware of the drill... you've been in this hospital before, haven't you? This is FCH."

She must have heard it from gossip; Lisinthir knew the censors would have scoured the records database once he'd left for the border. And quite a job they must have had, given how long he'd stayed initially. "I have, yes. Though the ceiling is a different color."

"We vary them from section to section. Could have left ours blank, though; most patients don't remember the acute care ceiling." She smiled. "Do you feel up to guests? You've got family in the visitors' lounge."

"Certainly."

She nodded and departed without further comment, and he was not sorry to see her go; while not offensive, he found her clipped speech exhausting.

And here, at the door, was his cousin, dressed as he had been when Lisinthir had first espied him, in tunic, blouse, trousers, boots, all warm brown and without ostentation; the cut could be mistaken for something modern, had indubitably been chosen from some library of offerings in an Alliance catalog. Thus did his cousin pass for as close to unremarkable in the Alliance as possible. It suited him, but Lisinthir found he wanted to see Jahir garbed as a Galare heir, and wondered what that said about his own reconciliation with Eldritch culture. It made him smile, ever so slightly.

His cousin had arrived without his beloved... but with a silk bag, and Lisinthir knew immediately what it must contain. Jahir did not greet him, either, but came to his bedside and loosened the drawstring, his movements freighted with a ritual weight that should have seemed an anachronism given the setting, and did not, because they were what they were, they two.

Was he holding his breath?

From the bag, Jahir drew one of Imthereli's swords, then the other, setting them on a stool. He presented the first formally on his open palms with lowered head.

Lisinthir ran his hand over the matte surface of the scabbard, observing that it had been cleaned and wondering how long his cousin had spent at it. His last memory of the sword involved grabbing the hilt and finding it slimed with blood, probably from his own wounds. And yet here it was, with every evidence of Jahir's care, exercised on the weapons his cousin had watched him wield in cruelty and violence. Lisinthir let his fingers trail over the hardened leather until they skated over the base of Jahir's palm, and with that touch he drank in his cousin's conviction, his peace—

look at what I've become

how can it be right

am I now a monster

—Lisinthir's last, unspoken fears bleached away, like shadows before the morning sun. If he could not trust himself in this, could not trust himself to recognize when he had become unfit for civilization, he could trust Jahir. And his cousin had reached a decision, and was offering it on open palms.

To that trust there could only be one reply. Lisinthir lifted the first sword off Jahir's hands, and for once bowed his head willingly, accepting not absolution, for that was no one's to give but the Divine, but something far more precious from a mortal man, and from this one in particular: I am the one who will willingly go to your cruel hand and kiss it for gratitude.

The soft chirps of the retracted halo-arch, the hush of the recirculated air, all of it drew back, leaving them in a cocoon of silence. Something welled into it, replenished the dry places in his spirit, and the breath he took broke the quiet, wicked him alive, left him eager for the fight to come. The second sword he accepted with one hand, leaving the other free to clasp his cousin's wrist. Jahir waited at that touch, and his obedience was pleasing because Lisinthir knew how intransigent the man could be when he chose. That he had not yet recognized just how intransigent made it all the more appealing, this acquiescence. Letting go of Jahir's wrist, Lisinthir cupped his cousin's jaw and brought him close for a kiss.

He was healthy—alive, free, and more hale than he'd felt in months—and he had steel beneath one palm and skin beneath the other, and the kiss was fire and softness and yielding, tasted of mint and honey. Lisinthir drank from that cup until he felt Jahir's pulse racing and then let him go... but not far. One finger on his cousin's chin kept him nigh.

Lisinthir shone his words white, for sacred acts, for the acceptance that the swords represented, for the kiss that had been benison and welcome and homecoming. "Thank you. For keeping them. And cleaning them."

His cousin met his eyes, gaze grave despite the flushed cheeks. "I wasn't comfortable releasing them into a locker, nor did I think you would want them there."

"No," Lisinthir said, feeling better with their weight to anchor him. Not that he expected trouble on Fleet's home station, but after months of living in perpetual danger he would have felt unfinished not knowing where the blades were, as if someone had cut off his claws. "That was a kindness. Thank you." He traced his cousin's lips, savoring the dry satin of the skin. "For all of it."

Jahir cleared his throat and smiled, but it was a faint smile and Lisinthir wondered at the shadows in it, the ones that floated free of the trust and love he sensed through their skins. His cousin looked more careworn than one would have expected given their safety, and his words when he spoke were studiously neutral, tinged with gray. "The least I could do. I'm afraid the swords are all that's left of your time in the Empire. Not even your coat survived. The original one, anyway. I had to cut it off you when we arrived on the bridge of the Chatcaavan vessel. I had a new one made to your measure, so that you'll have aught to wear... but I'm afraid as mementos go a bag of clothes is rather paltry."

Vague memory then, not of the coat's destruction, but of the sound of voices, and then nothing. And a dream…. "Tell me what passed. And where your beloved is?" He glanced at the door.

"Gone to stretch the kinks from his legs, or so he says," Jahir answered. "He is giving us time alone, I suspect, in case you had some mad desire to kiss me."

"He is prescient, your beloved," Lisinthir said, amused. "And I will probably find myself in need of several more kisses. But I want to know what's transpired first."

"Duty before pleasure?"

Lisinthir smiled at him, fond. "And you are surprised."

That won him a curve of lips in return. "Not at all."

His cousin took the stool beside the bed, then. His summary was more complete than Lisinthir had expected; it had no doubt required the interview of at least some of the scout's officers for information on the battle that had seen them rescued. Jahir had even contrived to hear word of the Chatcaavan vessel's successful return to Alliance space. That last pleased Lisinthir, particularly given what he now knew about its mysteriously oversized complement.

It was the events that followed their arrival to the base that startled him most, however. "I beg your pardon. I did what?"

"Almost died?" Jahir smiled another of those faint smiles, and at last Lisinthir knew what was inspiring them. "I assume you weren't told. Surgeons tend to grow more taciturn with increasing talent and responsibility, and you necessitated the Head of Surgery's intervention. But yes, your liver failed completely during their attempts to address all the issues afflicting you, and the blood they cloned from a sample drawn from you and then filtered caused such violent rejection that for a moment…." He trailed off, shook his head minutely. "Whatever the case, they pulled you back from the brink and put me to work donating blood for you. That, you accepted."

"I almost died?" Lisinthir asked, bemused. "And yet, I feel perfectly fine now. Other than a little hungry."

"You feel perfectly fine because they replaced most of your digestive tract, your liver, and your blood volume," his cousin replied, and what would have been a joke had his tone been wry was like a wind over a grave when delivered in that husk of a voice. When Lisinthir met his eyes, Jahir said, "You didn't see... God and Lady, what it was doing to you, the hekkret. The way it was just... blistering your alimentary canal. You were starving to death in front of all of us."

And I couldn't do anything about it, was the whisper that went unspoken, the shadow that haunted his cousin's eyes. Lisinthir reached for Jahir's hand, and when their fingers entwined, the astringency of that leftover terror remained, like a metallic tang in the mouth. "But I didn't," Lisinthir said, gently. "No doubt in some part because of how quickly you noticed the issue on the ship."

"Perhaps." Jahir looked away, exhaled, managed a lopsided smile. "The way you attract trouble, cousin... I feel I should commission you another secret rampant. Or perhaps a dozen."

Lisinthir chuckled and tugged him close enough to kiss, just a chaste chafe of skin that still colored his cousin's cheeks. "I don't need it. You are my amulet rampant."

"Nevertheless," Jahir said after composing himself. "You gave us all a scare. Do not that again, if you would."

"I'll do my best to oblige."

"What did happen to the amulet I sent you?" Jahir glanced at him. "I did not mean to foist a sentimentality on you. I know it's a rarely indulged custom these days."

"Ah, no. I appreciated the impulse. And I did use it." He remembered the hiss of fabric parting around knives. "I went to a terrible fight wearing it, and woke up in a Chatcaavan gel tank naked. I suppose it might have gotten cut off, but I like to think it evanesced after keeping me alive."

Jahir grimaced. "Perhaps I really should send you a new one, given that in all probability you will go straight back into the fray. You will, won't you?"

Had he dreamt? Oh, but he had. It was real to him. I'll send for you. Lisinthir shook off the clinging memories, of hide and teeth and fevered promises. "I have some notion of what I'd like to accomplish while I'm here. And I will be here for a while, I think."

"By our standards? Or by the Pelted's?"

Lisinthir touched his own chest beneath the thin hospital shift, trying to trace the place that ached. "By the body's." He smiled, lopsided. "Don't fear, cousin. I won't go haring off without cause. I need to train these people first in what I know. After that... I have my own intelligence to gather, and that will have to be done discreetly. I suspect they'll want to help me do it, so rest assured that whatever mad scheme I devise will be supported properly by some number of pragmatic Pelted co-conspirators."

"I suppose I can ask for no more than that."

"Wise you are to see it." Lisinthir glanced at the door. "Will you call your beloved? I would like to thank him. I trust you are well together again?"

Jahir nodded once. "You were correct in that the anticipation of battle was worse than the actual fight... though I suspect Vasiht'h would disagree with me." A smile, less brittle this time, though still small. "We can laugh about the disagreement, though."

"Good."

Vasiht'h peeked in through the door. "I hear someone is awake?"

"I am indeed," Lisinthir said. "And apparently near ready to be released."

"You look it." Vasiht'h padded closer, but even before he joined his partner at the bedside, Lisinthir could see that he was no longer strained. Changed, perhaps—the Chatcaava always brought change, for was that not their nature?—but no longer limping beneath the burden of neurotic thoughts. Jahir also looked better for the Glaseah's arrival. They were once again an unbroken whole, which was what Lisinthir had wanted... no, had needed... to see before leaving.

The Glaseah said, "Jahir tells me you're feeling better."

"Much, and I have you to thank for it, among others."

Startled, Vasiht'h said, "Me?"

"You and your beloved got me to the bridge, I hear," Lisinthir said. "And this after a harrowing fight in an enemy vessel. I should think that merits at least a 'thank you.'"

"I... I don't know why you'd thank me for that," Vasiht'h exclaimed. "It's not like I had a choice...! It was that or die!"

"And there you have elucidated a choice, have you not?" Lisinthir felt a swell of affection for the Glaseah. So like the Slave Queen had been... trapped in their own thinking, assuming the worst of themselves because they measured themselves against the only people of agency and power in their worlds and found themselves lacking.

"It doesn't seem like much of one," Vasiht'h said. "Given that death is the ending of all choices. There's no more potential for change or growth or action at that point."

"And yet people make that choice," Lisinthir said. "I imagine as therapists you've seen it."

Vasiht'h flipped his feathered ears back, looked away. "All right. I can see that." He sighed. "I admit I walked in here expecting a 'hi, how are you, glad to see you on your feet' sort of conversation, and here you are, challenging and baiting. Not even an hour from your deathbed!"

"A bit of an exaggeration," Jahir murmured.

Vasiht'h folded his arms. "All right, a little." He eyed Lisinthir, chuckled. "I guess that's just who you are."

"Eternally, I'm afraid."

"The only reason he's being challenging is because you are refusing to accept his compliment," Jahir offered.

Vasiht'h began to speak, then stopped. Could Glaseah blush? Lisinthir couldn't see anything beneath the pelage, but he somehow suspected the skin there had tinted.

"I understand," Lisinthir said. "It's difficult to accept compliments for the parts of yourself you are uncomfortable with. We want to be appreciated for what we think are our strengths, do we not?"

"Goddess!" Vasiht'h said, rueful. "You are terrifying, you know that? Can you stop doing these devastating observations before you give me a coronary?"

"If you are to have one, it's not a bad place," Lisinthir said. He set a hand on the Glaseah's arm, startling him. "I apologize for your discomfort. Will you forgive me? I can hardly be the wild uncle to your children otherwise."

"You heard that?" Vasiht'h asked, surprised. And then laughed. "Of course you did." He shook his head. "I'm not upset at you. Just... it's been a long couple of weeks."

"Then I won't keep you. May I have a familial kiss?"

That won him a wary look. "I've never seen Eldritch family do much kissing."

"Obviously a custom that needs changing." Lisinthir framed the Glaseah's face in both palms and kissed him on the brow. "There. Take care of my cousin for me."

"I will. And... thank you. For thanking me." The Glaseah's ears sagged. "I didn't take the compliment gracefully, but I appreciate it. I didn't take any of it gracefully, really. I should have done better—"

Lisinthir held up two fingers, stopping him, and said, "You're welcome."

The Glaseah laughed. "Right. Feel better, arii. And we'll see you again, I'm sure."

Once Vasiht'h had gone, Lisinthir said, "That went better than I feared."

Jahir's voice was cautious. "Did you think he would hate you?"

"You're the psychologist, cousin. Tell me what we tend to think of people we associate with uncomfortable experiences, whether the situation's of their making or not."

"I like to think we are somewhat more self-aware than that," Jahir said. And finished, chagrined. "Somewhat."

Lisinthir let that lie. "So... will they keep you for fear of my health degrading?"

"No... no, they'd like me to remain available for a few days, but that's caution speaking. They aren't anticipating your needing me. Since I have an errand on Selnor, I probably will stay a few days longer, but I doubt they'll call me." Jahir considered him, smiled a little. "You have your feet under you again, Ambassador. I'm with the Head of Surgery, who no longer has fears on your behalf. She tells me your health right now is better than mine." His smile had a frangible quality. "I did not argue the point. It has been a rather fatiguing several days."

Lisinthir brought his cousin's hand to his lips and kissed the fingers, gentle. In their tongue, shaded gold, "Your aid was appreciated, Galare."

"Imthereli," Jahir answered in the white. "It was a joy to serve."

Lisinthir let that moment linger so he could savor it, the ease of being in the presence of another Eldritch, and one he trusted, one who understood him. But there was work to be done, and reluctantly he brushed the backs of his fingers against Jahir's cheek. "Go rest, Healer. They will want me to do the same. And if I don't see you before you go, go safely."

"I don't have to leave—"

Lisinthir shook his head. "You are exhausted, and Vasiht'h as well. Go home and rest." He lifted his brows. "Recoup your energies so you can bring them to me when I call for you."

"If you're certain...."

"Even if I wasn't, you should be," Lisinthir said. "You've been through enough, cousin. We'll talk again, among other things, when we see each other next."

Jahir hesitated, then leaned over, pausing. Lisinthir let him work through his hesitation and then answered the kiss, sliding his hand up the back of Jahir's neck and through his loose hair. He missed the braid... he'd have to insist on it when they met again next.

"Stay well," Jahir murmured against his mouth. "Until I see you again."

"And after, I pledge you," Lisinthir promised, smiling. He nudged his cousin. "You to your duties, cousin, and I to mine."

"As always."

"As always."

After Jahir had departed, Lisinthir leaned back against the wall with both palms on the swords. He had purpose again, and his health. He had promises to keep, and to expect. He even had people worth fighting for, fighting with, and loving. And there was a war coming, and he still had a role to play. He'd won a Chatcaavan Emperor to the side of light and compassion... had led a slave to the love of freedom, and the embrace of her own personhood. He'd won his cousins to him despite their unease with combat. All that was left was to convince the Alliance to support his Emperor's cause.

Not enough of a challenge, that. Fortunately, there would be others to follow it.

Vasiht'h's entrance interrupted his concentration, which suited Jahir. He was not having an easy time of this letter, had in fact been laboring over it for an hour after putting it off for most of a day. But they were expected in Heliocentrus by afternoon, local-time, and he would rather not go with the task hanging over him.

"Still writing?" Vasiht'h asked, curious.

"A letter to the Queen," Jahir agreed. "And I cannot seem to decide how to impart the events of the past two weeks to her."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to call her?"

"Maybe," Jahir allowed. "But interrupting her is not something to be done lightly. I'm not guaranteed to speak with her even if I do call. And..." He trailed off, remembering too much: kisses, given to him, and given to Lisinthir through memories he'd borrowed; blood raked by talons true and phantom; endearments and harassments in Chatcaavan, understood intimately or not at all. "I'm not sure I could tell her without...."

/Embarrassing yourself?/ Vasiht'h asked more quietly, the mindline soft with compassion.

/It is too close yet,/ Jahir admitted. /The letter permits me some distance from it./

Vasiht'h switched to speech, respecting the confidence. "So what has you stuck on it?"

Jahir looked at the data tablet. He'd been scribing the letter with a stylus and missing real paper and pen, but all the supplies he'd packed had vanished with the courier and it seemed wasteful to request it of their hosts just so he could digitize the results and Well-boost them across the Alliance. It was strange to look at the words on a data tablet, but that hadn't been the problem. What had stopped him? "I feel as if... nothing I write puts forth the magnitude of what the Queen has wrought with Lisinthir."

"Which is?" The mindline acquired a sharp tang, something tasted, something that woke the palate.

What could he say? "Change."

The silence that followed that word seemed shaped by it, had power. They could both feel it.

Vasiht'h said, quiet, "I think she knows."

Did she? Of course she did. Vasiht'h was right. She was the Queen, and she knew the Pattern, more intimately than ever he would. His stylus sagged in fingers gone suddenly slack... then he took it up and chased that inspiration. Vasiht'h withdrew, his satisfaction a distant hum in the mindline.

 

To My Lady, Greetings and Devotion:

 

As requested, we have met our cousin Lisinthir Nase Galare and escorted him back to the Alliance successfully despite the attempts of the Chatcaava to prevent it. You will no doubt hear the details from Fleet, and I am not in possession of all that information, so I will leave that to more capable people to report.

On the matter of our cousin, I believe you have little to fear. You sent the striking drake's scion to an empire of dragons, and a wingéd lord returned from that crucible. You knew what you wrought—I hope you do not think it an impertinence for me to say so—and you have succeeded.

The war comes, my Lady. Lisinthir himself tells me so. I pray you give him the freedom to pursue his instincts on your behalf, and every support as he does so... and that the Alliance does as well. Neither of you will regret giving him his head; not as much as you will trying to direct him. That is a beast that will bear the touch of neither rein nor spur, anymore... but if respected, will serve until his heart gives.

If you—or he—have need of me again, I am ever—

 

     At your service,

     Jahir Seni Galare

 

He hoped the Queen would forgive his insolence, suspected she would. She had willingly set out to create what Lisinthir had become, and was herself something of a firebrand. Such a woman would not punish a forthright tongue when married to a dutiful spirit. Perhaps it was always the way with such men and women, he thought: they needed the quiet and the willing to abet them. The world needed earth and water and air as well as fire.

"All done?" Vasiht'h asked.

Jahir sent the message on its way. "All done, and ready for our visit to Heliocentrus."

"Good, because we have just enough time to Pad down. We're meeting everyone at the hospital's front entrance."

"It will be good to see them again," Jahir said.

Vasiht'h grinned up at him. "Even if Paige brings you hot buttered coffee?"

Jahir touched his brow with his fingers. "God and Lady... not the buttered coffee."

"How much do you want to bet she'll show up with a bottle?"

"I won't take that bet."

Vasiht'h grinned. "Because I'd win."

Jahir sighed, smiled, and let the Glaseah lead him out. As the door slid shut on their temporary quarters, he wondered how long it would be before he was in something like them again. He was going to see old friends on an outing that he and Vasiht'h would enjoy, but he felt the shadow of the war like a coolth on his skin, and it prickled as if Lisinthir was kissing it.