Winter's Orbit

by Everina Maxwell

  Kiem was still waiting. Jainan realized he was expecting an answer, and gave a slow nod.

  “Right! Yeah,” Kiem said. “So we can just stay like this, can’t we? Being married won’t stop you doing anything you want to do. If there’s someone you—if either of us was to start seeing someone on the side, that’s—that’s fine, right? We can both keep it quiet. So we can make sure the marriage doesn’t get in the way of, of either of our lives.”

  Someone on the side? Jainan realized he was staring at Kiem, groping in vain for some sort of response, and made himself look back down. “I see.” It was not his business if Kiem wanted to see someone else. He must get offers all the time. At least he was being honest about it.

  “Right,” Kiem said. There was more uncomfortable silence. Kiem reached for the open ration pack and wrapped it up to put away.

  Someone else. It was like an invisible splinter: Jainan didn’t want to press at it, but at the same time he couldn’t leave it alone. “This is an impolite question,” he heard himself say, “but may I ask who it is?”

  The wrapping in Kiem’s hands ripped.

  “What? Me?” he said. “No, wait, there isn’t anyone! This isn’t me telling you I’m seeing someone!”

  “Why not?” Jainan said. It was easier to sound calm and reasonable if he didn’t look at Kiem’s face. “Your marriage isn’t fulfilling. I don’t mind.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to them,” Kiem said. He sounded baffled, which didn’t make any sense. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “I see,” Jainan said. He didn’t. Kiem seemed to be undermining his own argument. Jainan felt like he was trying to unravel a mathematics problem, but he cared about it too much to have any chance of solving it. “So you would like to see someone in the future.”

  “I just thought—I thought you—” Kiem opened one hand in a frustrated gesture. “Look, it’s better than you going off to a monastery.”

  Something unreasonable shot through Jainan’s chest like an energy cutter. He looked down at the coffee to conceal it. It was starting to boil, but he couldn’t seem to move his hands to do anything about it. The orange light flickered on Kiem’s face, highlighting his expressive eyes and the consternation there. Jainan had somehow hurt him. He didn’t know how to fix it.

  “Sorry,” Kiem said.

  He apologized to make Jainan feel better when it wasn’t even his fault. Jainan’s chest hurt. Kiem meant well; if only Jainan weren’t so inadequate. If only Jainan could be good enough for anyone. He shut his eyes. It was his cardinal rule not to ask questions in a situation like this: they tore away more remnants of his dignity and they irritated his partner. But Kiem said everything he thought, and Jainan had to try. “Is there anything I can do,” he said, his voice coming out flat and toneless, “to make myself less repellent to you?”

  “Repellent,” Kiem said, and stopped.

  Jainan tried not to pay attention to the shriveling feeling inside him. The moment’s pause stretched out to eternity.

  Then Kiem said, “What?”

  They should never have gotten into this conversation. Jainan wished he could erase the last five minutes from existence or somehow switch to a continuum where he had not asked the most inappropriate question possible. He turned away to take the water off the heater. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Where the—what the—Jainan.” Kiem leaned forward on his hands in the tiny space. Jainan stopped in the middle of screwing a lid on the water cup. He had seldom seen Kiem reduced to stuttering. “What do you mean, repellent? You can’t mean you. We’re not talking about—” His hand gesture included Jainan from head to toe, but he seemed to realize what he was doing and snatched his hand back.

  Jainan put the cup down and tapped the heating canister, which was quietly hissing. He couldn’t make himself meet Kiem’s eyes. “I know you’ve tried to spare my feelings, and I am grateful. But you don’t have to pretend.”

  Kiem didn’t say anything. Jainan had handled this so badly that even Kiem couldn’t think of anything to say. He was just looking at Jainan as if Jainan had hit him over the head. Jainan opened his mouth, ready to take it back, but then stopped. It was better to have it in the open.

  Kiem groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Jainan,” he said into his fingers. He pulled his hands down until his dark agonized eyes met Jainan’s. “You’re beautiful.”

  The world twisted sideways. “What,” Jainan said.

  “It’s really distracting,” Kiem said. Then he added hastily, “Not that that’s your problem. That really isn’t your problem, sorry, I’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jainan said. “If you think I’m—” He broke off, and his mouth moved but nothing came out. He tried again. “If you think—that, then why—” Another sentence he couldn’t see how to finish. “Then why?”

  “You were grieving!” Kiem said. “Are grieving, I mean.”

  Jainan’s thoughts were transparent and slippery, and every time he tried to face one, it fled. All this time he had been trying to figure out Kiem: what he wanted, what he liked and disliked, what made him angry. Jainan felt as though he’d been asking himself the wrong questions the entire time. Kiem wanted him. It was true he was in mourning; had that held Kiem back? When he looked back Kiem’s eyes were still locked on his, and a jolt ran down his back—not fear, but something foreign or forgotten. He knew fear. This was something else entirely.

  “I haven’t stopped living,” Jainan said. He meant it as an explanation, but it somehow came out more like a challenge. Kiem had already had a chance and had turned it down. “You left. The night we were married.”

  Kiem hadn’t taken his eyes off Jainan’s. Jainan could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “I thought you were just doing your duty,” Kiem said. His hands had clenched where they rested on his knees. “You were shaking. You had to force yourself to touch me. I might be slow, but I can tell when someone’s not interested.”

  Oh. Jainan hadn’t expected that. Whatever was happening between them felt like pebbles gathering speed at the start of an avalanche; a voice in Jainan’s mind told him stop, told him that he was misreading Kiem’s intent. He deliberately blocked it out. He didn’t even let himself listen to his own voice as he said, “I’m interested now.”

  He saw Kiem’s throat move as he swallowed. The sight of it sent a curl of warmth to Jainan’s stomach.

  “So…” Kiem said. He trailed off. For once he didn’t seem to know the right thing to say.

  “So,” Jainan echoed. The shadows of the tent wavered. Jainan took his courage into both hands and plunged over the edge. “Come here.”

  Improbably, unbelievably, Kiem moved. He was drawing closer even before Jainan’s voice died away, as if his words had weight enough to make this happen. Jainan knelt up in the cramped space to meet him. Kiem’s mouth on his was warm and sure. Jainan didn’t remember it feeling like this. He barely recognized this feeling in himself at all, not this hunger for another body pressed against his. Kiem’s hands had crept around to the small of his back, but lightly, as if he wasn’t sure he would be welcomed. Jainan leaned forward in an experiment, pressing their bodies together, and Kiem’s hands tightened convulsively.

  Jainan felt his breath constrict, his blood starting to thump. He tugged at Kiem’s shirt, and after a moment Kiem realized what he was doing and stopped kissing him just long enough to get it over his head. Jainan felt a spike of victory which he capitalized on by putting his arms around Kiem, feeling his glorious, solid weight and the warmth of his skin, and pulling him down with him. They fell into a tangle on top of the sleeping bags, barely cushioned from the ground below. Jainan didn’t remember consciously wanting anyone to touch him—he’d spent so long avoiding it—so he didn’t understand why the heaviness of Kiem’s body against his was like water after a drought. He pulled Kiem closer.

  “Jainan—” Kiem caught himself with a hand on either side of Jainan’s head, not quite on
top of him. It cast a shadow over Jainan’s anticipation. He had misunderstood something again, somehow. Kiem was going to stop. Jainan shut his eyes as if he could change reality by ignoring it.

  He felt the fabric of his shirt move just before he felt the warmth of Kiem’s hand resting on his bare hip. It took him a moment to realize the shaking wasn’t coming from him. Kiem was trembling.

  Jainan opened his eyes as something coursed through his body like molten metal: shock and need, his own desire casting off its last restraints. Kiem’s face was very close to his and his eyes were dark. Jainan said without even thinking, “You really do want me.”

  “Oh, fuck yes—please—Jainan, I’m losing my mind—” Kiem broke off and swallowed, his touch still a pool of heat on Jainan’s skin. “Not if you don’t want it,” he said. “And not for duty. Never for duty.”

  Jainan had spent so long not knowing what to do. He had spent so long misunderstanding Kiem, wasting time, that it came as a surprise to find he had no doubt anymore. He covered Kiem’s hand with his own. “Yes,” he said. He could hear his voice come out rough and edged. “Kiem. I mean it.”

  That was all Kiem needed. He kissed Jainan and eased up his shirt, and Jainan lost the ability to string together words under the touch of Kiem’s hands. Shivers of pleasure went through his muscles; Kiem’s touch was light, almost wondering, and Jainan’s body answered it without Jainan even having to think. Kiem talked in fragments that were barely audible, can I, and you’re beautiful, and Jainan, Jainan, his name whispered against the skin of his neck over and over like a prayer.

  Jainan’s hair was still bound back, out of the way. He hadn’t thought of loosening it so far, but Kiem’s hands seemed to stray there often, running over his hair, or his fingers stroked the short strands at the back of Jainan’s neck. On impulse Jainan unwound the cord that held it. He didn’t have any time to regret it: Kiem’s breath caught and his eyes widened as if this was a revelation. When he kissed Jainan again, his hands were buried in Jainan’s loose hair.

  Jainan had forgotten. It was supposed to feel like this.

  He only realized then that he had done almost nothing for Kiem in long minutes. It took him an effort to find his voice. “Kiem,” he said. “Should I.” Kiem raised his head from Jainan’s chest and didn’t seem to comprehend. “I don’t want to be selfish.”

  “What,” Kiem said. He propped himself up on his hands. “What do you mean selfish, this is—you’re just—I’m babbling, aren’t I, please stop me talking.” Jainan felt astonishment, which turned into something like a laugh, which was absurd; this wasn’t something you were supposed to take lightly. But he felt light and giddy enough to float off the ground. “Jainan, please, anything you want,” Kiem said. “Tell me what you like.”

  The question took Jainan off guard. “What?”

  Kiem caught Jainan’s hand and laced their fingers together. “We’ll do what you want. What do you like?”

  Jainan only just stopped himself from saying, I don’t know. He couldn’t remember being asked. But he could feel Kiem’s expectation and his stirring of surprise when Jainan didn’t have an answer. Something dark and defensive rose up inside Jainan; it would be easy to make Kiem move on by bringing up his last partner. He could ask if Kiem wanted to be compared. He didn’t know any other way out.

  But he didn’t want to. Let Kiem think he was strange. Let him ask awkward questions tomorrow if he had to. Maybe tomorrow Jainan would find out that Kiem didn’t mean any of this as he seemed to, that he hadn’t meant to look at Jainan as if Jainan were the only source of beauty in the world. But tonight Jainan owned Kiem’s gaze and the touch of his hands, and everything else was irrelevant. Tonight he could do nothing wrong.

  Kiem was still looking down at him, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Jainan reached up and touched his cheek, which seemed to stop Kiem’s breathing. “We could … find out.”

  * * *

  It was too short a time before the sky lightened around them. They were quiet and content, lying side by side half under a sleeping bag. Jainan felt the exhaustion of yesterday in his limbs, but the heating capsule filled the tent with warmth, and nothing could affect his deep well of happiness. Kiem had his head propped on Jainan’s shoulder. He was pressing against Jainan’s arm—or maybe Jainan was pressing against him, because he didn’t want to leave space between them. “Mrm,” Kiem said, half into Jainan’s shoulder. “Y’know, your elbow. ’S perfect.”

  Jainan shifted his head and made an inquiring noise before he had time to realize that Kiem was still half-asleep, or might even be talking in his sleep. But Kiem woke up further and seemed to take that as a request for clarification. “I mean, probably both your elbows. Can’t see the other one. Everything’s perfect.”

  It took Jainan a long, startled moment to absorb that—which was absurd, because Kiem had said that and a hundred things like it last night. Jainan hadn’t realized he would keep doing it the next morning. And he knew what Kiem said was what he thought. “Really,” Jainan said aloud, his thoughts unguarded, “I think you just verbalize everything.”

  “Sorry,” Kiem said, raising his head. “Stopping! Stopping. Promise.”

  Jainan turned over so they were nested beside each other, his head in the hollow between Kiem’s head and shoulder. Helpless amusement settled around him like warmth. “No,” he said. “I like you talking.”

  Kiem smiled that ridiculous, unfairly stunning smile. “Did I say thank you, by the way? You know, for saving my life. Possibly twice. I must have said thank you.”

  Jainan just wanted to store that smile in his memory forever. He groped for a reply. “I didn’t save your life.”

  “You did. You fought off a bear.”

  “That was chance.”

  “Fine, play it down,” Kiem said. “I’ll sell the story to a vidmaker, then you’ll see.”

  The helpless amusement was getting worse. Jainan held his grave face with an effort. “It’s hardly vid material.”

  “It’ll star me, falling into a river. In my undershirt. The ratings will be off the charts.”

  Jainan’s felt his face crack into a smile. “I might watch it for that.”

  Kiem let his head drop back, as if Jainan smiling was all he needed to be supremely satisfied. The fabric of the tent was luminous from the sun outside. “Day’s getting on,” Kiem said lazily. “We should … go and do something.”

  “Something,” Jainan said. “You mean: seek rescue from our stranded situation and attend the treaty signing.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position. Kiem made a noise of protest when he moved.

  “Well, I dunno,” Kiem said. “I mean, being stranded: not too bad, right? Look at us.”

  “So maybe we should just stay here,” Jainan said. “Just you, me, acres of snow, the bear…”

  “Bears often hoard rose petals to strew on hiking couples. Little-known romantic fact.”

  Jainan couldn’t stop the chuckle that came out. “Even so,” he said, once he had control of it. “I would like to eat something that doesn’t taste of plywood and perhaps reassure my sister that I’m not dead.” He reached for his clothes.

  Kiem groaned and rolled over. “Point. Argh. Why is moving so hard?” He pulled his undershirt over his head and got his arm stuck in the neck hole. “Civilization is overrated,” he said, his voice muffled. He waved his arms until he somehow sorted out the tangle and his head emerged. “We could just start again out here.”

  “You will find it hard to get the dartcar results from here,” Jainan said. Kiem’s hair was disordered, and Jainan’s fingers itched to neaten it. He didn’t let himself; they weren’t in bed anymore.

  “I could live without them.” Kiem picked up the heating cylinder and reluctantly snapped the inner sleeve away.

  “I’ll get water,” Jainan said. He pulled on his boots and coat. When he emerged from the tent, it was into a glorious landscape where the sunlight reflected blindingly from the snow. He drew in a lungful
of cold, fresh air, raised his hand to cover his eyes, and squinted in the direction they were traveling.

  “Oh,” he said, startled. “Kiem!”

  “What?” Kiem was already sitting in the tent entrance, fully clothed and putting on his boots. He followed the direction of Jainan’s pointing arm.

  The dawn sun had burned off the fog. In the cleft between two valleys, just visible past a rocky shelf, pylons stretched out of the mountains like metallic trees. A silver thread of magnetized cable gleamed between them. They’d reached the rail line.

  CHAPTER 19

  The rescue flycraft descended on the peaceful mountain scene like an invader, its hover drivers filling the valley with an ear-splitting whine. Its orange bulk would have been easy to spot kilometers away even if it hadn’t been constantly sweeping its surroundings with a rotating white light.

  Jainan watched it descend with mixed feelings. His emotions were raw in every way, singing with exultation and tension like taut wires—he could barely deal with Kiem’s presence next to him, let alone anyone else. He didn’t want to let the rest of the world in. Part of him perversely wanted to stay here with Kiem in the solitude of the snow and the mountains so he had the space to sort out his bubbling feelings. He wasn’t ready for them to be rescued.

  “Urgh,” Kiem said beside him. “Do you think we’re going to have to stand up?”

  Jainan turned. They’d been sitting on a rock shelf for the last hour, resting while they waited. Kiem had been unusually quiet after the first twenty minutes, but Jainan had just assumed he was tired from the trek. Now, though, he saw Kiem had let his head flop forward onto his knees, and Jainan realized this was more than muscle ache. “You’re stim-crashing.”

  “Maybe,” Kiem said into his knees.

  “How many tabs did you have?”

  “Five? Uh. Six.” It sounded like it was taking him some effort to talk. “Should probably take another. Get through getting rescued.”