"No," Hesa said, kissing me and pulling me down to it. "No, I know you wouldn't."
"Then why...."
Hesa rested its fingers on my mouth and repeated my words. "No fear in your House."
"No," I said, voice stiff. "I hate fear."
"And that is why people will love you, and already do," it said, and wrapped one lean arm around my neck to guide me down. I tasted tears in its mouth when we kissed, but it did not allow me to break away to tell it that I also hated grief. I resorted to other ways to make that known. They were more effective anyway.
As before, Darsi came to us before dawn. He remained at the door, ears trained toward the hall, but he watched Hesa this time as it dressed and stole a final kiss before leaving. I stretched and sat on the edge of my bed, savoring the memory before rising and joining Darsi in the antechamber.
"It looks so... happy," Darsi said, still staring out into the hall.
"Does it?" I wondered. The jar of wine was still on my table. It was no longer warm but I took a sniff of it and found the aroma good.
"Yes," Darsi said. "Maybe we should do this more often."
I looked up at him.
Darsi rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's risky, but... it's our House, isn't it? Other than the handful of spies, it's all our people. In here, anyway, and the Jokka we’re borrowing to help work the fields… well, they’re eperu. That minimizes the danger."
"But doesn't remove it," I pointed out.
"No," he said. "But... you could also fall down and crack your head open on the corner of your desk."
I studied him, then sat in one of the chairs. "This sounds like you talking yourself into something, Darsi. To be honest."
Darsi made a face, then sat down too. "It's just that... well. You forget, I've known Hesa all my life. My adult life, anyway. And we've worked together for a long time. And I've... gotten to know it, well enough to see its moods...."
"This is a very roundabout way of saying that Hesa is a good friend of yours," I said.
Darsi said, exasperated, "We're not supposed to be friends with neuters, Pathen. You know that. The empire finds that to be in poor taste."
"I know," I said, more gently.
"What I'm trying to say is that I've never seen Hesa... happy. Like this," Darsi said. "Committed to duty, sure. Pleased or satisfied with things, absolutely. But... this?" He looked at me. "You've given it a home, a purpose, and someone to love. And it deserves all those things."
His certitude gave me pause. And then I chuckled and said, "At last, something we agree on completely."
Darsi said, "You'll let me arrange this more often?"
"Do you think I want to say no?" I said, amused.
"Good," he said. And padded into my bedroom. He returned wearing one of my robes and then tossed his clothes on the ground, pants here, shirt there, sash and wraps... when it was strewn to his satisfaction, he said, "I'll be back with a pot of tea." And left quite boldly wrapped in my clothes, no doubt to reinforce the story of our relationship. I used his absence to wash my face and build the fire. By the time he returned with a tray I had donned a battered old shirt and was seated again.
"Do you mind that I'm staying?" Darsi said, setting the pot and a plate of fruit between us. "I thought it would be useful to make sure that if the truth is uncovered there will be at least some conflicting rumors."
"I don't mind," I said. And I didn't. We had the tea and fruit and spoke quietly of business. Hesa had left the work of managing the House's day-to-day affairs to Darsi while it took on the financial contracts. He cared about that work and did it well, everything from assigning quarters to scheduling people to do laundry to listening to grievances. I very much enjoyed the chance to hear him talk about it.
An hour and a half later, he dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes. There were people in the halls now, enough to see him saunter back to his room, yawning and rumpled. I leaned on my doorframe and watched him go, arms folded and a smile on my face.
The next day was very quiet. Darsi and I made an appearance at the cheldzan where Thesenet greeted us and shared a drink over a high table. I was gratified that he wasn't holding our discussion against me... if anything, he seemed easier in my company.
I was not the only one who noted it, either. The following morning I had a missive from Rabeil, one that prompted me to summon Kuli to my office. Such a funny thing: no one ever knew where to look for Kuli and yet they knew they had only to ask enough people to find her among some group, talking, watching them at their labors, helping in her own way. House Asara adored her... and her contentment came with her through my door. She settled on the edge of a chair in front of me, one leg folded under her; today she was in someone's tunic, a little too large for her but in a harmonious soft gold edged in brown.
"Ke Pathen?" she said. "I hope there's not something wrong?"
"Rather the contrary," I said. "Rabeil has approved our request."
Her eyes brightened. "Then..."
"If you have two names I can give them for our first candidates," I said, "they'll send them along."
"Oh, ke emodo!" she exclaimed. "How did you convince them?"
I thought of wine in cups on a shared table. "They reached the decision for their own reasons, I'm sure."
She sat back, which for Kuli meant sitting upright rather than leaning forward in interest. Folded her hands in her lap and cocked her head. "And you were one of those reasons. It really is true, isn't it."
"What is?" I asked.
"You said that we're safe here,” she answered. “That you have made it safe here."
I hesitated. "That's my goal, yes."
She smiled and rose. "Start with Ineret and Selfa. I'll be glad to have their company again and neither of them has seen the sun in a long time."
"I'll tell Rabeil," I said.
"Thank you," she said, touching the heel of her hand to her womb and then to her brow. And then she left, taking her enigmatic expression with her.
The week that followed was a good one. Freed by Thesenet to use its best judgment, Hesa began work on the warehouse contract in earnest, and it was rarely happier than when it was executing a difficult and engaging project. I knew this because the trysts that Darsi safeguarded saw it into my arms several times, and I drank its satisfaction like a heady liquor. We received our anadi as well and their gratitude at being free, if only for a few weeks, was heart-wrenching. Kuli brought them outside to help her with the gardens, and while they were shyer of House Asara than Kuli, the emodo and eperu could not help but care about them. It was a rare day I didn't glance outside an east-facing window and see the three of them in a patch of shade by the gardens, being aided by whatever member of the House could be spared. Someone always had a little time to spare.
But only a little. At the end of the week, Abadil called me into the great room he and the others had converted into a paper-making facility. There on a table was a single page, a square as wide as my open arms. It was a smooth, dark cream color, faintly textured, and seeing it I wanted immediately to feel it and stopped. "May I?"
"Go ahead," Abadil said, satisfied.
I lifted the edge and felt the gratifying lightness of it—a lifetime of handling waxed rounds and slates had trained my wrists to expect something with more heft. For what it was, though, the paper felt sturdy and the texture was as pleasing to touch as it had been to look at. "This will last?"
"This will last," Abadil said, arms folded. Then added, one ear quirked, "We're fairly sure, anyway. The only way to know is to use it and see if it falls apart in five years or fifty."
One of the emodo behind him spoke... our spy, I saw, Kaliser, who by his glowing eyes had well and truly become a believer. In paper, at least. "We've tested it in every other way. Tearing, rolling, folding, dropping water on it, dropping it in water, staining, pressing..."
"Even chewing," someone said in the crowd, prompting laughter in my watchers.
"As far as it's possible to com
pare, it's like the paper we have remaining from the archives," Kaliser finished.
Abadil bent and retrieved a small wooden tray from beneath the table. There was a pot of ink on it and a brush, like the ones Transactions kept for painting House stones. "If you would, ke emodo? We've been saving it for you."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Please," he said.
I took the tray and set it carefully on the edge of the desk before uncapping the pot and dipping the brush in it. My fingers chafed the barrel as I considered what to write and how to write it... a brush doesn't handle like a stylus or a piece of chalk. And who had ever had such a vast field to write on? It would be more like using a stick to draw on the ground than the cramped motions we used for writing anything official.
Tasking myself to treat it more like the breadth of the World than like a tiny stone made me suddenly feel it that way. How cheap paper would open minds. What a wonder to sit in front of a stack like this and know you could write large, write your thoughts no matter how long...!
I smelled the acrid fragrance of the ink as I set brush to paper. I wrote the date, each letter as tall as my palm, and then under it: "House Asara recreates the art of paper-making."
I stepped back, wiping the brush on a towel, and Abadil moved into my place. He read the words aloud and his team erupted into cheers. As they congratulated themselves, Abadil grinned and said, "We'll hang this page on the wall once the ink dries and get to work making you some money, ke emodo."
"By revolutionizing Ke Bakil," I said, amused.
"Of course!" Abadil said. "I'll be one of the rarest of things: a historian who makes history." He bent toward me, smiling. "Do you doubt it?"
I thought of the sense of freedom that had suffused me, feeling the brush in my hand and all that space before me, waiting to be filled. "No. Not at all."
"If it weren't for Darsi, I'd never see you," I said between ravenous kisses and Hesa laughed against my mouth.
"I know it must seem that way," it said, and made its way along my jaw, nipping. "But we are very busy. We want to send the first caravan out by the end of autumn."
I rested my hands on its arms, pulling away just enough to be able to concentrate. "That's barely two months from now."
"The sooner they go, the sooner we can tend to our own needs as well as het Narel's," Hesa said.
"If you're sure it can be done," I said, thumbs chafing its arms, slowly. "I don't want our people collapsing of exhaustion."
"We'll be fine," it said, reaching for the buttons at my chest. "I'm finally able to run an operation with more than a double handful of eperu! What I would have given in het Kabbanil to have that luxury, but we lost most of our eperu to the empire when it first took power." It smiled up at me, eyes bright. "No fears, Pathen. The work is good."
"If my pefna says it is so," I said, tangling my fingers in its mane, "then it must be so. But I must say, you're terribly ambitious."
It laughed. "You hardly know the depth of it, setasha."
Sometime later we slept... that too was a gift Darsi made us, since the frequency of our nights together meant we spent less of them sating urgent needs and more of them just... touching, or talking. Or even sleeping together. Eperu do not sleep the deep sleep of breeders, but I grew accustomed to the rhythm of its breathing as it moved through its lighter dreams. I could judge the strain of the day by how deeply Hesa slept. Now and then it even approached a breeder's slumber.
There was no excuse for both of us failing to hear our trespasser but we didn't until a scrape of a paw against stone jerked us both awake. The noise was in the bedroom, not the antechamber. I sat up, claws out, about to demand a name.
"Ke emodo?"
I frowned. "Kuli...?"
"Ah, I'm sorry. I should have said something earlier but I didn't want to wake you—"
"Earlier?" I hissed. "How long have you been here?"
"Not long," she said, sounding distressed. "I just... I've been pacing outside, a little. There is a question I have wanted to ask you."
In the middle of the night? I thought, torn between irritation and concern. "All right, Kuli. Could you... just wait outside the bedroom while I dress?"
"Yes," she said. "Yes, and... I'm sorry for interrupting your sleep, and ke Hesa's."
"W-what?" I said.
"It's here, isn't it?" she asked, her voice earnest. "I can't see it, but I can hear it breathing, and smell it."
Behind me, Hesa had frozen. And then, low, it said, "Pathen, get a light."
I reached to the side-table and fumbled for the lamp until I could start it. The flame revealed Kuli by the door, hugging herself and looking confused.
"Did I say something wrong?" she said. "I'm sorry. I haven't said anything to anyone—"
"How did you find out?" I asked, tense.
"I wander at night," she said. "Most anadi do, we're used to being more wakeful at night when it's cooler. The other two don't have the habit so much because they've been underground, but I was with House Rabeil before I came here and I got used to being up at night. I saw ke Hesa coming here earlier."
"Kuli," I began.
"I know," she said. "I won't ever say anything. Don't you think I know better?" She flattened her ears. "I would never betray you or anyone in Asara to the empire. That's... that's why I'm here, actually. Seeing ke Hesa come here, it was the last thing I needed."
Hesa drew itself up behind me, resting a hand on my back and looking over my shoulder at Kuli. "Needed for what?" it asked.
"To make my decision," Kuli said. She drew in a breath and met my eyes. "Ke emodo. I want to give House Asara a baby."
I was glad I was already sitting. "Kuli... I'm… not sure I heard that correctly."
"I think you did and you just can't believe it," she answered. "But I mean it. I want to give the House a child. Maybe several."
All three of us were silent then. Hesa's hand on my back trembled, but that was all.
"I've borne two already," she said. "If you're worried about my health. I know I can do it."
"Two pregnancies without the mind-tax is rare enough," I said. "Kuli, the risk..."
"It's worth it," she said. "I want to do this. Ke Pathen..." She trailed off, then shook herself and said more firmly, "Ke Pathen. I don't want to give children to anonymous emodo. I don't want to risk myself for strangers. But House Asara has become my family. I care about the people here. And more importantly, it's safe here. To live and love and thrive." She glanced at Hesa, then back at me. "I want my children to be born here. I want them to grow up here."
"But you don't have to—"
"Have children?" she finished. "But if I don't, who will?"
"Is that a good enough reason?" I asked, ears flattening.
"Maybe not," Kuli said. "But... it's not my only reason." She padded into the room and stood in front of me, looking down at the two of us on the bed. She licked her teeth, then said, "I've marked the lights in the sky twenty-four times, ke emodo. I was born anadi and I stayed anadi through all my Turnings, and I've spent my life afraid or in a listless despair. The empire's arrival didn't really change anything for us. In some ways it was a relief because the Stone Moon didn't tell lies about the lot of the anadi. But things in Asara are different. This is the first place I've been happy. I have friends. People talk with me, have real conversations... I have a daily jenadha game! And I have a garden full of plans and a reason to look forward to seeing those plans bear fruit. I wake up looking forward to being awake...!" She smiled and all of that, all of it was in her smile. "I find I love the world at last, ke emodo. And that makes me want to give that world to someone new."
Hesa hid its head against the back of my shoulder, though I could feel it shaking. I reached for Kuli's hand and curled my fingers around hers. "Is that truly how you feel?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then why all the pacing outside?" I asked gently.
She flushed and looked away. "I thought you would think less of me.
"
"Less of you!" I exclaimed.
"For wanting to have children," she said. "Anadi don't want children. I don't even think emodo want children, except in abstract. I wasn't sure what you'd think of me bearing them, and then having to raise them when Houses don't have jarana anymore to help with the child-rearing, and that's without what it would cost you to fight to keep the children here—"
I touched her hand to stop her. "Kuli. Kuli! No, I don't think less of you. Quite the opposite."
Hesa cleared its throat and said, "We can work out the logistics."
"We can," I said. "Though the most important question is... who will you have as the sire?"
"Oh!" Kuli said. She smiled a little, uncertain. "I thought... well, I thought I'd ask all the emodo who went to the residence. If they'd like. We wouldn't know which of them had sired the child, but... after their experiences there, I wanted to give them a happier memory. That includes you, ke Pathen, if you want." She smiled over my shoulder at Hesa and said, "Though I know ke Hesa is good to you."
"You do?" I said, bewildered.
"Yes," Kuli said. "You're both happy. Everyone can tell." She lifted her hands at my expression. "Not that you make each other happy, but that you're a good Head of Household, Pathen. Like in the days before the empire. When there was a good Head of Household, everyone was happy. That's what they say."
"I see," I said, dizzied.
"So... will you allow it?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her breast.
"If you're certain," I said. "Yes."
"Oh!" she said, sighing. "Thank you. Thank you, ke emodo." She gave us the Trinity's full gesture which I hadn't seen in so long... I couldn't remember. When had the sexes intermingled enough to make it necessary outside of the temple, and who bowed to the gods with the Stone Moon's foot on their necks? But Kuli set her open hand at her womb—anadi—then touched her heart with the side of her hand—eperu—and rested the base of her palm at her brow—emodo.
The proper response from me was an open hand at my brow, so I gave it to her... felt Hesa behind me mimick me, but with open hand at its heart.
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