“I think that sums it up for all of us,” Arman said, setting his glass down. “I suspect it was offered as a mark of regard for you, and respect for the boys. It was a kind gesture, like Kamus being at the funeral. I must say that astonished me.”
“Do you think that means Utuk approved of her murder?” Romi asked. Karik stiffened, but Romi saw no reason to sugar-coat the reality. He already hated having to conceal some of the possible facts from him, but Mayl hadn’t died of natural causes, that much was certain.
“No, I think it means Utuk is, as the Rulers are, grateful that we’ve avoided a potentially dangerous conflict. We’re already arranging for that treaty to be renegotiated.”
“She tried to escape her responsibilities and her punishment, but found death,” Karik said. “It’s justice, but harsh.”
“But still justice,” Tije said quietly, but then he looked at Kei. “Sometimes, mercy doesn’t have a chance to operate.”
“But yet there is mercy, Tije. The children didn’t have to watch her die, or be taken screaming from her grasp. This could have been worse for them.” Tije acknowledged Kei’s words with a nod of his head. Romi wondered what the hell this was all about.
Karik was pale and drawn—it had been a long and perfectly awful day—and they needed to get the cart and jesigs back, so Romi said they’d better go. Karik promised to be back in the morning, and the details of the boys’ care would be thrashed out over the coming days. After hugs and handshakes, Romi got his lover into the cart and drove them slowly back to the barracks, fire sprites lighting their way. Karik said nothing, leaning on him while lost in his thoughts. Romi kept his arm around him while he got them home.
They only had the briefest of washes—Karik just wanted to get back to their own quarters and privacy. Once behind closed doors, Romi took Karik into his arms and kissed him. “How do you feel?”
“Numb. I was looking at her body, the grave and...I just couldn’t feel anything.”
“I think perhaps you did, but it wasn’t what you thought you would. She’s beyond your help or concern now. All that matters is the boys. Did you see Kei and Arman? Already they love being parents.”
Karik gave him a small smile. “They are, and I know this is the right thing to do. Kei was born to be a father, and so was Arman. I...think I know what it’s been like for him all this time. Kei, I mean, watching me with my parents. When I walked out of their room tonight, it was such a wrench. I just wanted to stay and look after them.”
“You will, love. They can’t do this on their own, and they need you. The boys will look to you for advice and love, and I know they’ll get it. Mayl didn’t care what happened to them, but though she didn’t mean to, bringing them here was the best thing she could have done for them.”
“She seems to have had a knack of finding people to do what she couldn’t,” Karik said, sounding slightly bitter.
“Better that than nothing—if they’d only had her, the boys would probably be almost past saving.”
“Yes. I need to find someone who can dig me up a couple of tero stones.”
“I’ll set the team on it as an exercise,” Romi said, kissing his forehead. “Now, to bed.”
“Make love first?”
“You need to ask?” Karik smiled a little as Romi pinned his wrists behind him, then plundered his mouth. “If we don’t make love, I’ll be very disappointed.”
“Can’t have that, can we?”
Bearing Fruit: 17
“Your letters, my lord.”
Arman looked up and accepted the small pile of envelopes from his assistant. “Thank you. I’ll be leaving in an hour or so, Jia—you could go now if you wanted.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you. Say hello to the boys for me.”
Arman smiled and agreed. His sons were the pets of the House—the first Ruler’s children in nearly ten years, though there had been grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. It was something of an effort to avoid the boys being spoiled.
He looked through the mail and saw there was one from his father, attached to a small parcel. He slit the seal and opened it.
Oh, you sentimental old....
He looked at the signature, and felt his eyes getting a little itchy. ‘Your loving father, Armis.’ Not at any time in the past forty-nine years had his father signed any note to him that way. Arman folded it carefully, and would keep this letter safe—his father wasn’t the only sentimental member of their family.
Nothing from Karik, but then with communications so slow and this trip being so short, Arman didn’t expect one. He’d had a letter a month ago saying they’d arrived safely and that recruiting and training had started. Karik and Romi should be back within weeks, which would be a relief to everyone, especially the boys, who had had some difficulty accepting the idea of him going away for a long time, but then coming back. In their limited experience, people who went away for a long time, never returned. Karik was determined to prove them wrong, and Arman fervently hoped he always would.
There was nothing much else of significance in the post. Nothing from Cirin, but that also wasn’t unexpected. That he’d replied at all to Karik’s note had been a considerable surprise to Arman, and that the letter, while very stiff and formal, had thanked Karik for letting him know about Mayl and about the existence of two sons, had surprised him even more. Cirin hadn’t exactly invited Karik to stay, but he’d sent a gift of a hundred gelden for Minan and promised to send more when the boy was older. He’d also asked Karik to keep him informed of their progress, and said that should either of them need assistance, Karik should ask because he would not be refused. Cirin, whatever his woeful taste in women, was clearly neither dishonourable nor a coward. Arman was grateful for that, and for him not rejecting Karik as Arman had been sure he would. He’d thought there had been good breeding in the lad—and he’d been proved right.
He opened the oiled leather pouch and looked at the items enclosed therein—three exquisitely carved, silver-chased seals. Identical. His father was a great believer in symbols and appearances, and Arman wondered if Karik would appreciate what his legal grandfather was saying here. Arman certainly did, and sent silent thanks to his parent. Thanks—and love. “Good breeding in me too, Father,” he whispered.
He carefully repacked the seals, and placed them in his document wallet. Then he cleared his desk, and took off his robes. These days, he was very prompt about leaving no later than five, often as early as four, and that was on the days when he wasn’t at home or off. His routine had changed quite a bit, as he’d known it would when he’d urged Kei to adopt Minan and Ry-zilim. He spent two whole days away from the House every week—one at home, half working, half taking the children to the barracks for a riding lesson and other amusements, and one completely free, with Kei. Kei did the same, and one or both of them always ceased work early to collect the boys, Minan from the little academy school for the staff’s children, and Ry-zilim from the crèche where Seiki worked. Two or three evenings a week, as they would tonight, they returned to the House, and Arman and Kei would work for a few hours after the children went to bed, or Arman attended meetings—but when they were at home, no one disturbed them for professional reasons. And these days, Arman often delayed arriving at the House until Kei and the boys could accompany him.
Somewhat to his surprise, his productivity had hardly altered. It just meant he did things faster, and arranged matters so he delegated more and relied more on his assistants. Kei had ditched a little teaching, delegated other tasks, and simply refused additional duties. Between that and Marta, the young woman who worked at their home three mornings and two afternoons a week, they managed very well.
Maybe it was just age, but Arman found that giving up some of his duties and the time he spent working at the House, was no burden at all. Or maybe it was the joy at going to the crèche and seeing a happy little boy running to him, carrying an unidentifiable blob of raw clay, and yelling “Pa! Pa! Look what I did!”
; If someone had told him even a year ago how absurdly happy it would make him to be called ‘Pa’ by one of Mayl’s children, or to have that child jump into his arms and demand a ride, he would have called them fools to their faces. Which made him a fool, he thought fondly.
“Hello, Ry-chi—what on earth is that supposed to be?”
“A lemul, Pa.”
“I see. It’s got...five legs?”
“Dat’s the tail, Pa.”
“Oh. Oh yes. Not sure the tail goes quite like that, but yes, now I can see it’s not a leg.”
“Tail, Pa.”
“Yes, son. Hello, Seiki. Has he been good?”
“I’ve been extra good!”
Seiki chuckled. “Yes, you have, Ry-chi. Don’t get clay on your Pa’s shirt now. Why don’t you leave your animal here to dry and then you and Pa can go for your swim.”
“Swim! Yes, swimming, Pa?”
“In a minute. How’s Mila and Hali?”
“Fine. You only just missed them. Mila brought her in for a check over. But she took Jes back a few minutes ago.”
“Ah, well, we’ll see her at supper next week.”
“Pa, Jei-chi made a worm with hair!”
“Did she? Why ever for?”
“Cos she said it needed it.” Ry-zilim nodded as if this made perfect sense. Seiki just grinned. Arman had already learned it was better not to question some of the more extraordinary things that came out of four-year-old mouths.
“Well, it might have done.” He kissed Seiki on the cheek. “Right, young man. We need to find Minan and Kei-chi and then go for the swim.”
“Swim! Yes!”
Ry-zilim was a child of intense likes and dislikes, Arman had found, and he had an abiding curiosity about everything, which often meant he got into things he shouldn’t. But his sheer lust for life was so appealing—it made Arman re-examine almost everything through his enthusiastic eyes, and find it new. Though they wore him out, he almost felt like the years were stripping off him with every week.
Kei and Minan were waiting for them in the schoolroom, Kei with Minan on his lap, reading a story to him. “Oh, hello, you two. Ready for a swim?”
He spoke in Darshianese as he nearly always did with them, to encourage them to learn it. Ry-zilim had already picked up enough to understand all that, and answered in the same language. “Uh huh. Kei-chi, I made a lemul!”
“Did you? I thought only other lemuls could make lemuls. Well, I never.” Minan grinned at his father’s joke. “I suppose we better go and have that swim. Unless we should dig a hole instead? I think the gardener wanted to dig holes—what do you think, Minichi?”
“Swim, please,” he said firmly.
Kei ruffled his hair. “Well, you said please, so I guess it’s a swim.” He got up and kissed Arman’s cheek. “Any news?”
“A letter from Father—tell you when we get back. Nothing bad,” he hastened to add.
They’d had to alter their exercise habits to fit in with the children’s smaller strength and stamina, though Arman found that just running around after the two of them was enough exercise at times. Mile long swims were out, short dashes and lots of splashing and chases were in, as were sand castles, hole digging, shell hunting and running around on the sand. They had started to get to know the other regular visitors to the beach, and invariably one or more children would come over and say hello. Arman had also discovered that children were the ultimate conversation starter—he’d had to get used to people casually dropping by and introducing themselves. To his surprise, he not only had grown used to it, but also liked it. Kei of course, was Kei, and to him, this was all wonderful. More people to talk to and to be friends with—for him, that was what made life rich. Kei was finally and completely in the perfect environment for him—and Arman and the boys all basked in his happiness.
During the winter, keeping the boys active and amused had been a bit of a struggle, though Karik and Romi had done their bit, and fortunately their departure to Andon had not been long before the water became warm enough to swim in once again. Now, after a long swim and the walk back to the Rulers’ House, even the boys’ abundant energy was almost exhausted. There was just enough to bathe, eat supper, and then have stories read to them, sometimes in Prijian, sometimes in Darshianese, before they dropped off to a well-deserved sleep. Then Arman and Kei could have their time together, even if it did mean sitting at the same desk, working on papers, for a couple of hours.
Finally, Kei sat back and cricked his neck. “Oh, enough of that. If I’m confusing timkir with tertrir, I’ll end up writing a prescription which will kill someone. Or at least make them wish they were dead. Are you done?”
“Yes.” He had a little more to do, but then he always had a little more to do, and there were more important things in his life—like this beautiful man next to him clearly in need of a kiss, and who got one. And another, just to be sure. In moments, they moved to the couch so they could cuddle and kiss a little more, Kei’s hands inside his shirt and all over him.
But in all too short a time, and with his eyes almost crossed with lust, Kei somehow managed to sit up and make an effort to be sensible. “Ah...you know, if one of them wakes up and comes out here....”
Arman sighed. This was true, unfortunately. “Then let’s go to bed.” The boys had been told they could come into the bedroom, but to try and remember to knock. So far, they’d been good about that—Arman suspected that was Mayl’s training more than anything. But the living areas were open, and he and Kei had to be responsible. Kei hated being responsible. Arman was beginning to see why.
“Wait—that letter? From your father?”
“Ah...yes, of course.” He straightened his shirt and adjusted his erection, to Kei’s amusement. “Oh, stop it—you do this deliberately.”
“Yes, I do because you’re so handsome when you’re mussed.”
“Now I know why you have such an affinity for Ry-zilim—you’re only about three yourself.”
“And proud of it. Letter?” Arman fetched it and the oilcloth packet—he handed Kei the packet first. His lover’s eyes widened as he saw the beautiful seals. “Gods, they’re lovely.” He squinted at the design. “Isn’t that the same as the one you brought from Utuk?”
“Yes. Only this mark here,”—he indicated it near the rim—, “means it’s the son of the crest holder. Mine has a similar mark, making it distinct from Father’s. The son’s crest is always the same, only with a slight alteration. “
Kei held the seals in his palm. “Three...Minan, Ry-chi...and Karik?”
“It’s Father’s way of acknowledging them. Read his letter—he says he presumes I wouldn’t have thought of having them made, so took the liberty of arranging them. Normally they would be given to a son at eighteen, ah....”
“But he won’t be around then,” Kei said quietly. “It’s a lovely thing to do—but Karik?”
“Karik is my son by Prijian law. Father is his grandparent by Prijian law. He can’t announce two new grandchildren to the court as he’s done, and ignore the first and legal one. It’s not that he doesn’t know, Kei. He’s simply saying that Karik has claims upon him, as do our own sons, in law and by moral right too. As he does.”
Kei looked at the seals again, then wrapped them carefully up in the oilcloth. “He’s welcoming them to the clan—blood or not, they are his kin and clan.”
“Yes. Not how we put it, but yes. And putting them under his protection, rather as Zexu did with those pendants.” A parcel had arrived only two weeks before, containing two beautifully carved and inlaid ovals, depicting dolphins. The verbal message that came with it said Zexu was very happy to learn the children were safe, and that the pendants were symbols of his tribe. They would protect the boys against evil and drowning. The boys now wore them along with the tero stones Karik had obtained for them—the stones, Arman now realised, were Karik’s own way of symbolising his protection of his brothers. A lot of people were watching out for those two children.
>
“People didn’t say anything about you adopting Mekus’s supposed son?”
“Oh, I imagine the announcement at court caused something of a stir. I also imagine he loved every bit of it, the old bastard.”
Kei grinned. “I think he probably did. I wonder who was more taken aback—the Mekus faction or the anti-Mekus faction?”
“I don’t know—I’m hoping Tijus will tell me more, or that Tije will. Ah and—Kei, he’s invited us all to Utuk so he can meet them.”
“This year? I don’t know that we can, and the boys are just settling down...but if we wait until next year....” Kei looked stricken. “We’ll just have to go. He should meet them. It’s important.”
Arman kissed him, and slid his arm around him. “Yes it is, but if we don’t get there in time, then he’ll understand. That’s why he sent the seals. There are letters for the boys and for Karik too which they can open when they’re ready. Even if he dies before we get there, the boys are already claimed and will remain kin, part of the line of Armis, forever. He’s even altered his will to include them—and Karik. To a Prij, that’s about the strongest statement you can make about how important someone is to you.”
“Still...he’s such a remarkable person, and our boys are such wonderful children...it would be a shame if they never met. We should see if we can entice Karik down there too.”
“Karik met him, actually. However, it would be nice if they could meet when Karik wasn’t petrified and Father wasn’t being grand Senator Armis. And I wasn’t being a complete arse to the boy.”
“You never told me about this, beloved.”
“Because I’m ashamed of myself, that’s why. Karik’s forgiven me—but I still consider my behaviour inexcusable.”
Kei sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll have to make you sit on the naughty stool. How long should you get?”
“Oh, years, I suspect.”
“Very likely,” he said dryly. “We should try to go there this year though. I did say I’d try for the academy too, and you know Romi wants to take Karik to Urshek and visit friends in Temshek.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 20