Triangle

by Sara L Daigle

  Merran shrugged. “Scattered.” He went over to the couch and threw himself on it, resting his head against the back. Her eyes drifted to him, but she managed not to focus on his bare chest this time. “It usually takes a week or so after Festival to get all the clothes sorted out … if we manage to do it at all. Most of us show up wearing nothing but a trench coat. It adds an odd mystique but prevents too many clothes from getting lost.”

  “So that was Festival? Last night? The song in my head? The fact I don’t remember a damned thing? That’s what everyone has been talking to me about for months? The grand, mysterious Festival that none of you would tell me the specifics about?”

  Merran nodded. “Yes. Festival. The aarya call it Kyarinal, which means all that is possible becomes possible.” he said, sounding like he was suddenly quoting Greg. “Throughout the night of Festival, everything is possible, and we explore the possibilities without any judgment or restriction. Most of us don’t remember. Which sometimes is better.” There was an edge to his voice that made her suddenly wonder what he remembered.

  “Did we … uh … do anything?” she asked, looking down at herself and flushing.

  Merran shrugged again and lifted his head, but it was his turn not to meet her eyes. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t remember.” Again that edge. What was he thinking? He was so shielded it was almost like he wasn’t there.

  “How many people did I … were there? Did I do it with everyone in the room? With everyone?” Tamara asked, feeling more than a little scandalized. The flush in her cheeks deepened.

  Merran’s dark eyes met hers. She could feel him, even through the thick shields between them. Reassurance spilled from him, reassurance mixed with a peculiar gentleness. “Don’t worry about it, Tam. Alawahea. Just enjoy having shared the aaryaSong and let it go. No one’s going to remember anything about what happened, and it’s not like any of us are going to pass judgment about it. We all go a little wild during Festival. It’s part of what it’s about.”

  “Alawahea, right.” She hesitated. “But I woke up in your arms. Not Alarin’s.”

  Merran lowered his gaze to the floor. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “It is when I’m the father of the child you’re carrying,” he answered. He gave her a faint smile. “Nothing’s changed in any other way.”

  “What do women normally do after Festival to keep from getting pregnant?” She relaxed slightly. He was right. Nothing else had changed. Waking up in his arms was just a pleasant trip down memory lane. He was still who he was and she was still who she was—and she was still marrying Alarin in the summer. She could let it go.

  “They have a couple of days after Festival to take care of things if they don’t want to get pregnant,” Merran replied, sounding distracted. “And if they do, well, Festival babies are treated differently from most children on Azelle. As you know, formal adoption doesn’t normally exist on Azelle, since the extended family almost always takes a child in. Festival babies are the exception, because the father is unknown. They can be adopted by any family looking for a child, no matter who the father is.” He looked away momentarily and then continued. “I can sense Alarin’s waking up,” he told her. “Go ahead out and I’ll stay in here and start the cleanup process.” He got to his bare feet and padded to his desk.

  She obeyed him, even though she wasn’t ready to face the roomful of naked people again. She paused at the door. “Merran.”

  “Hmmm?” he asked, looking up.

  “Thank you for the shirt.”

  “You’re welcome.” A wealth of unspoken words stretched between them. Despite what she’d said to him about not remembering, she did have a flash of something, of the very familiar sensation of sliding into Merran’s mind, sharing with him as though they’d never broken up. It was as hazy as a dream, but this morning there was a thread she could almost see, a thread that ran through her, the baby, and into him. Opening the door, she slipped out and closed it quietly behind her.

  This time the sight of eight, no nine, other people—of which she only recognized three or four—hardly startled her, although she hastily turned her eyes away. They still slept in abandoned poses, totally relaxed and completely naked. Even as she made her way over to Alarin, stepping over sleeping bodies, she managed to ignore them.

  Alarin stirred and moved as she sat next to him in a cross-legged pose. He opened his green eyes and looked up at her. “Morning,” he murmured, stretching and sitting up. His mind wrapped sensuously around hers and she welcomed him, letting him in completely. His presence didn’t precisely chase away the lingering touch of Merran’s, but she had another flash of memory. She and Merran might have shared something during Festival night, but so had she and Alarin. She embraced the memory—this time she did have a stronger memory of Alarin’s body against hers—and allowed the disturbing sensations from Merran to slip away. “Merran’s?” he asked, reaching out and tugging on the shirt hem.

  Tamara nodded. “Yes. I woke up early and was a little … disturbed. He’s in the office.”

  Alarin glanced at the people sleeping on the floor. “Let’s see if he’s got something for me.” He got up gracefully, slipping past the people who were beginning to stir on the floor.

  Tamara followed him back into Merran’s office. Merran was standing and leaning over his desk, this time with a half-buttoned shirt added to his attire. He looked over as they entered. “Morning,” he said to Alarin. “Late morning anyway.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.” He glanced at Alarin, who dropped lithely onto the couch. “Did you want some clothes?”

  “If you’ve got some. You two are dressed, so I’d like to be.”

  “The weather is not terribly conducive to wearing nothing anyway,” Merran said, getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom again. “It’s too damned cold, even though we turned up the heat as high as we could last night.” He reappeared with a shirt and pants for Alarin and tossed them to the young man. “I hate winter Festivals.”

  “It wasn’t bad for my first Festival on Earth. I don’t miss the sand in my various body parts like we experience at home, but I do miss the sensation of being outside. Does Festival happen outside, ever?” Alarin asked as he slipped into the clothes. They didn’t quite fit right, but they did cover the important parts.

  “Sometimes, but with Denver’s cooler evening temperatures, even in the summer, we usually end up inside. It’s a little chilly to sleep naked in sixty-degree temperatures.”

  Alarin looked down at the floor. “I noticed when we got here last night that the floors were covered. You lay down carpets for everyone?”

  “Would you want to sleep on marble and wood? One of the reasons we asked the Council to give us some warning, so we could prep the embassy.”

  Alarin studied him. “You were up in the mountains yesterday, weren’t you?”

  Merran didn’t answer. Tamara came to sit on the couch by Alarin, ready to interfere should the redhead’s temper get the better of him. She hadn’t reacted quite the same to the news that the playboy ambassador had new eye candy on his arm, but Alarin had been rather upset—probably because it was Idara, his ex-girlfriend.

  “We saw the newscast,” Alarin’s voice had a hint of anger in it.

  Merran shrugged. “We played it up. It prevented the media from sniffing out Tamara.”

  “With Ida?”

  Merran paused as he appraised Alarin. Tamara relaxed slightly. It was hard to be tense when one was so utterly relaxed—whatever had happened last night, it felt absolutely wonderful. The world felt fresh and clean and newly scrubbed. It seemed like Merran, at least, shared her feelings in that regard, because he didn’t react to Alarin’s irritation at all. “What’s bothering you? That I was with Ida or that Ida was with me?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t know,” Alarin said flatly.

  “Either way, Ida is using me as much as I’m using her. We both know it,” Me
rran said unemotionally. “She wants to be a model. She thinks I can help her do that.”

  “Can you?” It was impossible to tell exactly what Alarin was feeling from his voice, but he seemed physically as relaxed as she and Merran were.

  “Sure.” Merran leaned back. “Last evening, she made all kinds of contacts. I run in the circles she needs to be in, and I can open doors that she can’t open herself. Already, I have to reschedule two interviews this morning with modeling agencies that were supposed to take place today up in Aspen,” he continued thoughtfully.

  “It doesn’t matter, Alari,” Tamara interjected, placing her hand on his arm. “Neither of them concerns us, right?”

  Alarin shook his head. “I just can’t believe you and Idara …” He trailed off and shrugged. “Whatever. All right, fine, it’s your life, do what you want to do. Just remember that Ida tends to fall for people she can’t have. She’s very good at lying to herself.”

  Merran spread his hands. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m open to suggestions for how to prevent the media from finding out about Tamara. Ida and I can always have a huge breakup on the newscasts.”

  Alarin sighed. “I don’t have any better suggestions.” He shook his head. “I don’t have any worse ones, either. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Merran snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m trying.” He got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to start the process of getting the embassy put back together.” He offered them both a short bow and left the room. As he left, a certain tension spilled out with him. We might have come a long way since the ending of our three-way relationship, but we still have quite a distance to go, Tamara thought to herself.

  She curled up next to Alarin, resting her head against his shoulder. “What now?”

  “We go home as soon as we feel fully awake, then get showered and move on with our day,” Alarin replied, slipping an arm around her. He rested his head against hers.

  “Did Merran seem strange to you?” Tamara asked, after they’d cuddled for a few minutes, lightly linked.

  “We are all a little odd the morning after a Festival,” Alarin replied, sounding sleepy. “It has something to do with the energies the aaryaSong releases in us. Hmmm,” he said, pulling her closer. “I wouldn’t give this up for all the power or fame in the world.”

  Alarin finally stirred after what felt like the entire day had passed, but was probably not more than an hour later. “We should give Merran his office back,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck. “I think he’s managed to get most of the others awake and out.”

  Tamara shifted her legs into a more comfortable position and got up stiffly. “I’d like my clothes back,” she said wistfully, adjusting the long shirt so it didn’t ride up quite so high.

  “Let’s go find them,” Alarin suggested, getting up and holding out a hand. “I don’t know where we wandered last night, but it couldn’t have been too far.” Hand in hand, they went in search of their clothes.

  They finally found most of Tamara’s attire in one of the conference rooms downstairs, although she had no recollection of having been in there the previous night. Tamara got dressed as Alarin watched the door. She was still missing a few important pieces of her outfit, including her underwear, but at least she’d managed to get herself completely covered. Merran either avoided them or was too busy to talk to them again, because she didn’t see him except from a distance during her hunt for her shoes. Had they shared their bodies during Festival? That thought was not one she pursued for long, though, because down that path lay far more disturbing memories—like how many people had been in the room when she’d woken up and the uneasy idea that she might have slept with more than just Merran and Alarin. By the time they left the embassy, she decided to let it go. It wouldn’t lead anywhere for any of them. Far better to let sleeping Azellians lie, she thought to herself as she followed Alarin out of the embassy and back to their normal life.

  Chapter 10

  Merran performed his duties mechanically, cleaning up after Festival without much enthusiasm, his mind still on the Festival he’d told Tamara he didn’t remember. It was true, for the most part. He didn’t remember most of it clearly—no one ever did, not if they’d truly given themselves up to the Song. He did remember melding with Tamara, however, the excuse of Festival allowing him to indulge the desires that had tormented him since they’d broken up. He did love her, and the brutal honesty of Festival, during which one’s deepest desires are brought to the forefront and allowed expression, had ripped the pretense away. He didn’t remember if there had been a physical release or not—it was almost irrelevant anyway—but there had most certainly been a mental communion, the likes of which he’d never felt before. Their daughter provided the bridge across which he’d poured himself into her. It had been very different from the connection they’d established at her Awakening, but not necessarily any less intense. The added dimension of a child of his body—there was no longer any doubt in his mind that the baby was his—had heightened the strength of the connection to a point he wasn’t sure he could walk away from if he wanted to. How much of it did Tamara remember? He didn’t know and didn’t want to ask, but there was something in her behavior toward him that told him she knew their connection had changed.

  “Merran?” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

  Merran jerked back into himself, taking note of Greg, who stood directly in front of him. “Hey, Greg,” he said, trying to recall the past few moments. He’d been so far away he probably wouldn’t have noticed if a marching band had stepped in his path.

  “You’re a thousand light years away,” Greg commented, echoing his thoughts. “What’s got you so distracted this afternoon?”

  Merran glanced around to see his assistants and embassy employees helping to roll up carpets and clean up what was left from the Festival frenzy they’d experienced last night. “Not here. Let’s go up to my office.”

  Greg followed him upstairs. “You were with Ida last night, weren’t you?”

  A vivid memory of Idara up against a wall, enthusiastically encouraging him, washed through him and he winced. “You saw that?”

  “It was early enough in the evening that I think quite a few people saw that. Not that most people will remember it.”

  “I’m surprised you did. We cut it close enough that if it had been any later, Ida and I would have been caught outside in the cold. Literally.”

  “I fought it a bit. I was worried that you guys wouldn’t make it. I’m surprised that you remember, though.”

  Merran shrugged as he opened the door to his office. “I always remember more about Festival than most people.”

  “I’d have expected, considering your training with the aarya and being an acolyte, that you would have less control, not more.” Greg followed him into the office.

  “I didn’t say I had too much control, I just have good recall. Too good sometimes. I remember far too much of what happens during Festival. Enough so that it’s a curse sometimes.” Merran grabbed two waters from the fridge in his office, offering one to Greg.

  The Healer took the water and twisted off the cap. “Have you seen Alari yet?”

  “Yes. He was upset at my show with Ida yesterday.” Merran sat down, sagging back into the chair. “Despite what you saw last night, Ida and I are not lovers,” he said to Greg, pushing away the thought that technically they had been. “In case, as her brother, you were worried about it. She wants to be a model, and I am helping her get there. In exchange, she’s helping me misdirect the media.”

  “I know. She told me about it this morning after we woke. It’s not a bad idea, actually. It’ll help keep them focused away from Tamara and the baby. But if you don’t think you’re lovers in the purely physical sense of the word, you’re deluding yourself. Yes, last night was Festival, so it doesn’t count, but she told me you had sex with her earlier in the evening, before Festival started.”

>   Merran shrugged, unwilling to talk about Idara and particularly not with her brother, even if Greg had never been protective of his sister. Whether their relationship in private would go anywhere beyond that night and Festival, he did not want to dwell upon it.

  “Just so you know, she now has this idea that you’re some type of love guru. She was full of questions about you this morning and whether I knew you could do some of the things you did. I’ve never seen her so … giggly.”

  Merran coughed. “I … uh … used what I had at hand.”

  “If I hadn’t known you practically from Awakening, I would have thought you learned all those esoteric sex techniques rumors say the Temple teaches,” Greg teased. He winked at Merran. “Pity you’re so emphatically into women.”

  Merran glared at Greg. “Enough already. Don’t you start.”

  Greg leaned back against the couch and eyed Merran clinically. “You know, for someone who claims he’s not that interested in lovers and sex, you certainly attract them.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t mean to.” It was hard not to let the exasperation show, so he didn’t bother to hide it.

  “Don’t worry about Alarin.” Greg shifted so his head rested on the couch as he put his hands on his stomach. “He’ll get over the shock of seeing Ida with someone else. He’ll probably even be happy it’s you, because it will mean to him that you’re not playing for Tamara anymore.”

  Merran winced and didn’t try to hide it. Not from Greg.

  “Did something happen between you and Tamara last night?” He sat up and peered at Merran intently.

  “Yes. It’s the reason I was so distracted downstairs,” he admitted. “Read,” he invited Greg, lowering his shields. “Tell me we didn’t reignite the bond that we forged during her Awakening. Please.”

  He could feel the Healer shift into professional mode and slip into his mind. Greg was somber when he slipped back out again, all traces of his earlier humor gone, his expression thoughtful.