Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Would I do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Ell grinned.

  Tikaya touched his arm. “Listen, I want you to know… I appreciate the help you gave Rias—and me—these last few weeks.” She especially appreciated it, given that she’d been suspecting him of being the spy in the house. His eagerness to please and help out hadn’t faded of late, and she’d finally decided he’d just been following them around because he was, much like all those young Turgonians, a touch enamored with Rias.

  “You’re welcome.” Ell said it solemnly and seriously, but the grin soon returned, and he winked. “It’s been enjoyable not being the biggest ham-head in the family of late.”

  “Out of curiosity, why did you follow me to the Polytechnic that night and claim my mother sent you?” Tikaya wriggled her eyebrows to let him know she’d found out Mother had made no such request.

  “You had that knapsack with you. I thought you might be running away from home to go with Rias. Forever.”

  “Oh. I don’t think they call it ‘running away’ if you’re over thirty.”

  Ell shrugged. “I was going to offer to come along. They have surfing in Turgonia, don’t they? Anyway, I didn’t realize you were just meeting Rias to do unspeakable things together in the reading chairs in the library.”

  Tikaya decided to smile rather than wince in embarrassment, though the gesture faded as she searched again for Father amongst the seventy or eighty people chatting while they browsed the mile-long buffet table. Mother and her chosen kitchen helpers had smothered it with platters that were sending sumptuous scents into the air, and few guests were straying far.

  Someone cleared his throat nearby. “Tikaya?”

  She turned, thinking her father had joined them, but it was her brother. “Oh, hello, Ky.” He’d dressed up and looked like he meant to stay. That was something. Nothing he’d said thus far led her to believe he was excited about having a Turgonian in the family.

  “Give us a moment, Ell, will you?” Ky asked.

  “Sure.” Ell offered Tikaya a you’ll-get-through-this pat and strolled toward the buffet table, his sandals slapping against his heels, the tassels dancing with each step.

  Ky stuck his hands in his pockets. “Mother said to tell you we’ll be ready to start soon. I guess they’re almost done dressing your… I don’t know what to call him.”

  Rias, Tikaya thought, but she imagined it’d be some time before her brother would deign to speak to Rias, much less call him by his first name. “My husband?” she suggested.

  Ky grimaced. “I suppose. I had a chat with Father about… things. I hope Starcrest’s name will be as much of an umbrella as the president seems to think it will. And that he’s truly here for innocuous reasons. I don’t trust—nobody’s been in his head, have they? We don’t have any way of knowing… not really… that he’s not still the emperor’s man.”

  “Ky…” Tikaya tried not to sound weary, but it was hard. This should be a happy day, she reminded herself; it wasn’t the time to start another fight. “If he were the emperor’s man, do you think he’d be bothering with Kyatt? Yes, the empire would like a base here, but they’d like to take over the whole world, too, I gather. Rias was too talented of a naval commander to be relegated to a spy position. If he were working for the empire, he’d be back out at sea, in charge of a fleet.”

  “Huh.” Ky scratched his jaw.

  Tikaya arched an eyebrow. Had that argument swayed him? She should have tried it earlier. Maybe it would work on Father too.

  “About your chats with Father,” she said, “did he say if he was coming today?”

  Ky shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  That sounded like a no. “Did he… Do you know if the pumping house was truly an accident or…? Well, I guess he was the one around the homestead, trying to thwart me and get rid of Rias.”

  “I gathered he was a victim at the pumping house and that the incident was meant to insure his compliance. After that… he was only trying to protect the family. And you.”

  Tikaya wished Father could have come and told her that himself, instead of telling her brother. But then she hadn’t gone to talk to him in private either. Maybe she should have. “It’s good that Rias isn’t the sort to hold a grudge.”

  “I guess,” Ky said neutrally.

  Something bumped into Tikaya’s ankle, startling her. She looked down to find some sort of clockwork bamboo toy rolling around with a large jar secured horizontally to its back. Butterflies flapped about inside the glass. A hand crank and staging chamber allowed one to put in new specimens without losing those already inside. Before she could puzzle out more details, laughter reached her ears, and Lonaeo bounced over to her with a net in his hands.

  “Where did you get that, Lonaeo?” Ky pointed at the ambulatory jar wagon.

  Tikaya could guess, but she held her tongue.

  “Uncle Rias!” Lonaeo announced and plucked up the jar—it detached from the carrier wagon. “Do you want to see my butterflies? Here’s a green swallowtail and a spotted moon, a dark cerulean, a…”

  Ky didn’t manage to utter anything as this list went on, but his mouth silently formed the word, “Uncle?” over and over again.

  “We’re going to build a habitat in my room with food and water so I can keep the butterflies and draw them and study them,” Lonaeo finished.

  Ky shook his head and walked away, mouth still stuck on that one displeasing word. Lonaeo shrugged and headed to the buffet table to impress the other adults with his finds.

  “He’s built toys for a number of the kids,” Ell said, returning with a drink in his hand.

  “He’s got a knack for knowing exactly who he has to sway to his side to win a battle.” Tikaya wondered if Rias had figured out yet that Lonaeo was Grandpa’s favorite grandchild, or if that was simply a coincidence. They might not have enticed the old grump into coming to the wedding, but maybe he’d eventually join them at family dinners again.

  “Kids are easy to win over,” Ell said.

  Tikaya gave her cousin a frank stare. “Didn’t he win you over with the promise of surfboard designs?”

  “Oh, yes, and I forgot to ask you. Rias said, if it was all right with you, you two would invest in my business, enough to help me open a big shop and stock some initial inventory.”

  “Invest? But we don’t have any—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you pulled a chest full of gold off the bottom of the ocean?” Ell asked.

  “Oh, that.” Tikaya supposed they had funds to invest with after all. “The coins weren’t historically significant, so I forgot about them.”

  “You forgot. About a chest of gold. You’re a strange woman, ’Kaya.”

  “I prefer to think of her as unique,” came Rias’s voice from behind them. “Extraordinary. Sui generis.”

  “Careful,” Tikaya said, turning around. “The Kyattese love for vocabulary words might be rubbing off on…” She forgot her words when she got a good look at him.

  Mother must have brought in a tailor, for Rias finally wore clothing that fit him and there wasn’t an obnoxious pattern or color in sight. The creamy vest and trousers and white button-down shirt accented his olive skin, broad shoulders, and powerful form. He’d trimmed his thick black hair and shaved the goatee, leaving an admirable view of his strong jaw. Tikaya wasn’t certain even the most sedate plantation suit would hide the fact that Rias was a physically imposing man, but she’d have been disappointed if Mother had succeeded in making him look like a farmer or an academic. Or getting him to put flowers in his hair.

  “You’re missing the banana yellow shirt, aren’t you?” Rias asked after she’d looked him up and down a few times.

  “Oddly not.” Tikaya grinned and resisted the urge to fling her arms—and maybe her legs—around him. Too many relatives were gazing on, ready to cast judgment, no matter what agreements had been reached with the president. She limited herself to gripping his hands. “You look wonderful.”


  “Thank you. You also look lovely.” He nodded to her white, satiny dress and touched a lock of the hair that she’d let Mother talk her into wearing unbraided. The loose blonde strands dangled to her hips. “Though I am partial to your usual ensemble,” he added.

  “A hemp dress?”

  “One blotted with ink stains and draped in cobwebs and dust acquired while rooting around in attics, archives, and library wings that have been closed for repairs.”

  “I’m sure I can get this one dirty somehow tonight.”

  Ell groaned. “All right, nobody wants to hear mushy pillow talk between my cousin and the Black Scourge of the Seas. Look, Yolo is taking the pig off the spit. It’s time to get this shindig started.” With that, he sauntered away.

  “Your mother said the ceremony would begin soon.” Rias held up a pen. “Should I be concerned that she gave me this and said I’d need it?”

  Before Tikaya could explain the implement, Mother and one of Tikaya’s uncles strolled past, Mother with a plate of fig cookies to add to the bowl for Akahe, and her uncle with two chairs, which he sat down beneath the bower, side-by-side in front of the table. He rested two stacks of documents next to the overflowing bowl of sweets. Tikaya rubbed her face as Mother balanced as many cookies as she could manage on the already huge mound.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned that you’re an atheist,” Tikaya said. “Now she’s doubly concerned that Akahe won’t bless us.”

  “Is that a concern of yours?” Rias asked, probably wondering if they’d need to have the what-religion-do-we-raise-the-children-in discussion soon.

  “No. Don’t tell Mother, but I’m not that interested in religions that aren’t at least a thousand years old.”

  “Good.” Rias eyed the stack of papers on the table.

  Tikaya was about to explain them when she caught sight of Iweue and Dean Teailat strolling toward the buffet table. She’d already run into the dean that morning—after a quick congratulations, he’d reminded her that he hadn’t leaned on the police for her sake so she could run off and get randy with a Turgonian; he expected her back at work in the morning—but this was her first time seeing Iweue. Though she wore a formal dress and sandals, she still managed to look quite bookish with her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and a pencil tucked behind one ear—Tikaya suspected the latter was an accidental rather than intentional ornamentation. She hadn’t been certain about inviting Iweue, given her relationship to Parkonis, but she and Rias owed the woman for that energy source. She’d thought Iweue might like a chance to meet the legendary fleet admiral she’d only read about thus far. Tikaya waved for Iweue to join them.

  “Good afternoon, Tikaya,” Iweue said, then offered Rias a shy smile. “Admiral Starcrest.”

  “Just Rias, ma’am.”

  Tikaya didn’t think they’d met in person and was about to introduce Iweue when Rias gave her a deep warrior-caste bow. Judging by the degree of inclination, Tikaya figured he knew whom he was addressing. Iweue had apparently read enough books involving Turgonians to recognize the respect that the deep bow indicated, for she flushed and her shy smile spread wider.

  “Your energy source proved invaluable to us,” Rias said. “The Freedom needs repairs, but when she’s ready, she’ll be at your disposal for a journey wherever you wish to go.”

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you.”

  Poor Parkonis wouldn’t be happy when he learned that Rias had won over both his ex-fiancée and his mother.

  “I’ll bother you for more details later,” Iweue said. “I know you have a lot of paperwork to do today.” She winked at Tikaya before heading over to join the other guests.

  “Paperwork?” Rias asked mildly, eyeing the stacks of documents again.

  “Yes. Ah, what are Turgonian weddings like these days?” She hadn’t spent much time studying wedding customs that weren’t described in interesting dead languages.

  “The bride and groom make promises to each other and kiss in front of witnesses, then the man carries the woman over the threshold and into the bridal cabin, suite, cave or other bed-containing shelter where they… make things official. No witnesses required for that part.”

  “It’s done similarly here, except the promises aren’t delivered orally.” Tikaya pointed to his pen and the stacks of papers. “There are contracts to sign.”

  Rias’s eyebrows rose. “Contracts?”

  “Come, I’ll show you.” Tikaya led the way into the bower. “That’s your stack, so you sit there. And I sit here. When we’re all done, the priestess will notarize them, we’ll kiss, the audience will cheer, and they’ll drink and dance the night away while we’re busy making things, as you say, official.”

  “Your holy person notarizes documents. Sounds like an enlightened religion.” Rias eased into the chair, careful not to bump the table with his long legs—he was probably worried the precariously balanced sweets would tumble to the earth.

  “Almost everybody in a position of authority can notarize documents here, even the clerks at the adult novelties store. Welcome to the Kyatt Islands.”

  Rias leafed through the first few papers in the prodigious stack. “It looks like there’s something to sign on every page. During these Kyattese weddings, is it typical for the consummation of the marriage to occur on the same night that the festivities start?”

  “Not early in the night, but eventually.” Tikaya decided not to mention the essay portions she’d heard about. “Divorce is frowned upon, so we Kyattese like to make sure young people have time to think things through before they consummate anything.”

  “I better get started then.” Rias removed the cap from his pen and studied the first page. “This probably goes more quickly for people who grew up reading the language.”

  “I’m not sure how closely the documents get read, regardless.” Tikaya patted about, searching for a pen of her own.

  One appeared in the air beside her. She lifted a hand, intending to thank Mother, Ell, or whoever was providing it, but found herself looking into her father’s eyes. He wore his dark gray dressed-for-the-symphony suit, the only non-plantation clothing he had, and his short hair was damp and freshly combed, his chin shaved clean of stubble. He gave Rias a flat look. It wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t antagonistic either. Tikaya swallowed. It was a start.

  “Make sure he signs page eighteen,” Father said. “That gold won’t last forever.”

  Tikaya smiled and accepted the pen. “I will. Thank you.”

  While Rias flipped through the pages, no doubt wishing to check what eighteen contained, Tikaya glanced about, searching for Mother, certain she’d had a hand in Father’s appearance. She was carrying yet another tray out to the table, though, and seemed startled when she spotted him. With his pen and message delivered, he walked over to join her.

  “I must vow to practice my bow and spear skills, thus to ensure I can always deliver a boar to your spit?” Rias asked, summarizing the page’s contents.

  “My society wishes to ensure its mothers and children are well cared for. Given your physical prowess in other areas, I expect only the finest boars.” Tikaya winked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

  Tikaya glanced over her shoulder and caught Mother giving Father a hug. “I wonder what made him decide to come,” she mused.

  Rias said nothing, keeping his head bent over the pages and scribbling initials and signatures in the appropriate spots. Tikaya remembered the look Father had given him.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

  “I might have spoken to him this morning,” Rias said.

  “And he listened?” Tikaya imagined Rias in there, hands clasped behind his back, sturdily taking the brunt of her father’s ire. “Without calling you any derogatory names?”

  “Well, he listened. I told him I wanted to see you happy, and that it’d please you to have him here.”

  “That worked?” She was sure her mother would have already t
ried that argument, though maybe it meant more coming from the enemy camp.

  “I also promised to install the shock absorbers on his runabout,” Rias said. “That may have been the tipping point.”

  Laughing, Tikaya bounced off her chair and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you. I love you.”

  He returned the embrace, dropping his chin onto her shoulder to murmur, “Just remember that feeling when the first boar I bring home is scrawny and emaciated.”

  Before Tikaya could say she doubted he’d be anything less than a superb hunter, Mother’s voice interrupted. “Now, now, dear, you know the rules. No physical affection is permitted until after both parties have signed the contract.”

  “Yes, do get back to work, please,” Rias said as Tikaya huffed and returned to her chair. “I want to see what sorts of tasks you’re signing up for over there.”

  “Hm.” Tikaya decided not to mention the last quarter of the contract, which contained instructional information on satisfactorily fulfilling bedroom duties. Waiting until marriage to have sex had fallen out of favor in recent generations, but the contract had originally been devised to assist young couples who might lack experience in that area. More entertaining, she decided, to let Rias find that section on his own. If nothing else, it ought to amuse him how thorough her people were with labels and diagrams.

  “What’re they doing here?” Ell asked.

  On the road at the edge of the palm tree copse, several elegant runabouts were gliding to a stop. Aides and white-robed men and women stepped out, followed by the president and four high minsters, including Jikaymar and Tosii.

  “It seems they’ve come to ensure the event goes as planned,” Tikaya said.

  “Not exactly.” Rias lifted a hand toward the president and wriggled the pen. “I invited them.”

  “You, what? All of them?”

  “My side of the guest list looked a tad sparse.” His smile was on the sly side. Sparse, indeed. He might have denied an interest in politicking once, but Tikaya had a feeling he’d be one of the most popular men on the island in five years.

  Shrieks of laughter sounded as Lonaeo raced past the bower, chasing after his self-propelled butterfly wagon. Tikaya lifted an eyebrow at Rias. He gazed back blandly.