The wedding itself he did not involve himself in, because he was barred from it with a strictness by Felith, Irine and Kis’eh’t, all of whom insisted that men should have nothing to do with weddings. He’d considered protesting but decided he was not up to their combined intransigence. In lieu of that battle, he requested only that it involve at least some elements of the Eldritch ceremony. Since Urise had taken up residence at Rose Point, where he could watch the flow of colorful mortals pass, he thought they would have no trouble researching the particulars. The only thing they asked of him was a guest list, and that he provided before Liolesa tugged him away to discuss Fleet basing rights, and to help her bid a formal farewell to the Moonsinger, now properly crewed. The battlecruiser’s departure left them with a scout and two Fleet courier vessels in orbit, and the Queen deemed that protection enough with Lesandurel’s fixed fortifications building apace.
It was a gentle winter, and with each passing day he was aware of the promise of spring. Not just in the landscape as winter waxed and then began to release its grip on the fields and the skies… but in their society, as the Alliance began to trickle into their closed culture, like wildflowers drifting into a sheltered field… and in his own heart, as he prepared himself for the life to come.
To have a wife—to have this wife. To love again, fully. To have children… to grow old with family. To have a chance, perhaps, at the richness of aura that shone ‘round Lesandurel like divine raiment.
In this, his work and his frequent absences functioned as a vigil. In his heart, he turned his face toward the coming light.
Irine had asked if she was ready to do this. Reese had told her the truth: that it had to be done, and putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier.
That didn’t make walking the corridors of the Earthrise feel any less bittersweet. Her chest ached as she wandered through it, observing the repairs Fleet had made while the ship had been nestled in one of its berths. Even the broken locks and blinky lights worked. It made her eyes prickle with tears she refused to shed.
This place had been home—no. A refuge. Home had involved the people she’d accreted while piloting this ship from port to port, never resting, always hoping that the next big thing would be the one to bail her out of yet another looming monetary crisis.
And it wasn’t as if she was retiring the ship. Or even selling it. Ra’aila and her herd of crazy Aera, and the one or two other Pelted who’d chosen to answer her call for a crew… they’d take good care of it. The ship would be back in orbit at the end of every trip, delivering cargo to the new space station Hirianthial’s House-cousin was working on. That part, Reese liked. That the ship that had striven so valiantly to be the home she’d needed would have a home of its own, a port to come back to.
So she walked the Earthrise from stem to stern. The echoing cargo holds with their spindles for the bins, waiting for something to haul. The narrow corridors with their metal mesh floors. The bridge, somnolent, all its boards glowing the subdued blue of a ship drowsing in parking orbit. She went through the crew quarters, finding them already empty: the rest of the ship’s former crew had had time to come up, but she hadn’t, not until now. She walked through the engineering deck, remembering the pirates crawling all over the machinery, looking for evidence of perfidy. She toured the galley and the mess, remembering apple pies and coffee and less satisfactory experiments that everyone had nevertheless eaten. She checked on Kis’eh’t’s lab/clinic, brushing her fingers across the dents in the bulkhead where the equipment had been bolted.
She saved her own cabin for last.
Other than a set of crates by the door, there was no sign that anyone had come into the room. It was just as Reese had left it when she’d crossed over the Pad to Rose Point and given the ship into Sascha’s hands. Her hammock hung in the corner, next to the unrumpled bunk; her data tablet was on the desk, long gone dim, and when she touched it awake she found the ship’s accounts still bright on the surface. Her collection of jumpsuits and vests and a jacket or two hung in the closet, along with her boots, and in the bathroom, she found a bottle of chalk tablets and the box of wooden beads, fragrant still, redolent of Mars. She left the tablets and took the box with her, sat in her hammock, let it swing her gently to and fro.
In the beginning, it had only been her. No Flitzbe, no twins, no Phoenix or Glaseah… no Eldritch. Just this emptiness, the suffusive quiet. It had been crushingly lonely, but she had convinced herself that it was better than what she’d fled.
It hadn’t been. But it had led her, somehow, to something that was.
Reese looked around at the room that had been the confines of her world for years, then pushed herself off the hammock. She began to pack.
An hour later, she toggled the antigrav on the crates and tethered them together, then pulled them into the corridor. The ship’s new permanent Pad was in the cargo hold, so that’s where she took them.
She brushed her fingers against the metal near the comm panel.
“Ra’aila will take good care of you,” she whispered. “You take good care of her. And keep an eye out for Surela, too. Okay?”
The silence answered, and that felt like a good answer. Like waiting. Reese stroked the wall once, and then took the crate leash and walked over the Pad, and into her new life.
“That,” Lesandurel said, “is a horse.”
Hirianthial chuckled at the awe that set the other man’s aura glittering. They stood together in the dusky warmth of Laisrathera’s stables, which had gone from an empty shell of half-ruined stone to a fine complex for both riding animals and brooding in less time than he’d been able to credit even the Pelted with. It smelled sweetly of hay and leather, and reminded him of a youth spent breeding animals for Jisiensire. He ran a hand down the long neck of the mare studying them over the door of her stall, gathering the alert curiosity of her mind through the touch, like velvet over the nap of her skin. “Fine, is she not? And we have more on hold.”
“How many did you buy?”
“These six here, and another ten in foal—or, perhaps I should say, in dish, since they have not yet been generated.”
Lesandurel chuckled. “Alliance magic. I never tire of it. Show me the others, then. Is this one yours?”
Hirianthial grinned. “This one is my lady’s, and the first I bought. A bet I lost, and a horse was the prize.”
“And you spared no expense, I see. Well done. A woman should have a good horse. And a man, too, at that.” Lesandurel considered the mare wistfully.
“Should Laisrathera be expecting a purchase from the Meriaen, then?”
“Ha! And where would I put a horse in my little empire?” Lesandurel pursed his lips, smiled. “Well. Maybe if I buy myself a little estate on-world.”
“A man should have a good horse.”
“Ha!” Lesandurel said again. He grinned. “Show me the others.”
Hirianthial could not have wished for a more appreciative audience. The years away had not dimmed his House-cousin’s knowledge or interest in horseflesh. While discussing the topic with the Pelted who’d sold him the horses had been enjoyable enough, in its own way, it was an entirely different matter to have the discussion with another Eldritch. Horses were a passion and a hobby for the Pelted. Here, they were livelihood, transport, life.
“Of course, all that will change,” Lesandurel said when they’d repaired to two bales of hay at the back of the stables, there to share small cups of Tam-ileyan beer while watching the animals shift in their stalls and the golden light slowly creep across the floor, setting motes of dust a-sparkle. “The farms will have to be mechanized, if they are to yield a worthwhile calorie-to-effort ratio. And the Pads will make riding superfluous, except for short distances.”
“The Pelted do walk,” Hirianthial pointed out.
“The Pelted walk because it’s healthsome, not because it’s necessary. Necessity is the parent of many virtues.” Lesandurel set his cup on the wooden board they’d pressed into service for
a table. He leaned back, resting his shoulders and head against the back wall. “Things will change here, and I am not displeased with that, but… the life we knew, cousin… it will pass.”
“Perhaps,” Hirianthial said. “But we are not Pelted, Lesandurel. Those of us who lived with that life will not die tomorrow, to forget its lessons.”
The other man chuckled. “No.” He folded his arms behind his head. “I suppose we’ll see how it comes to us.”
Hirianthial half-closed his eyes, soaking in the contented auras of the horses, the comfort of his guest, the faint warmth imbued by the alcohol. “Will you stay, Lesandurel? Start a homeworld branch of the Jisiensires?”
“Andrel,” the man said. At Hirianthial’s look, he stretched his arms and said, “My nursery name. Hardly anyone uses it, but you may. And to answer your question… I don’t know.” He sighed. “I am no longer used to the country life, if you will permit the possible insult.”
“I cannot take umbrage at an accurate characterization,” Hirianthial said, still struggling with the unexpected offer of intimacy. “But you could do a great deal here.”
“I could, I suppose. Jisiensire already has a head, though.”
“So it does.” He relaxed against the wall himself and offered, “An admirable woman, Araelis Mina.”
Lesandurel eyed him. “The happy lover wishes to play matchmaker to all he espies, is that it?”
“You could do worse.”
That earned him a snort. “I don’t know her.”
“She is here for the wedding—”
“Which is tomorrow.”
“A man could do a great deal of listening and talking in two or three days.”
Lesandurel laughed. “You won’t leave off until I at least promise to introduce myself.”
“I wouldn’t think to ask it of you,” Hirianthial said. “I’ll make the introduction myself. It would only be proper.”
A snort. But Lesandurel’s aura developed a tinge of effervescent amusement. “I do admire the passel of pards she’s surrounded herself with. Sellelvi’s kin, I imagine.”
“And much delighted to have rejoined their ancestress’s Eldritch family, yes. I think they will find each other quite suitable.”
“I have always preferred the foxes myself.”
“Of course.”
Lesandurel shook his head then, and his aura darkened, as if a cloud had passed over it. “I mean that just as it was said.” He smiled a little. “I loved Sydnie Unfound.” He nodded at Hirianthial’s sudden glance and reached to refill his cup. “Yes, just as you think. I loved her, and she adored me, but not as a maid loves a swain. To her, I was… something magical, and beautiful, something to be treasured and awed by. One does not marry an idol.”
Was that why Reese had been able to love him, he wondered? Because he’d come into her life, not as something perfect and above need, but as an obligation and an inconvenience? His mouth quirked. What was it about their relationship, that always the negatives begot the positives? He said, careful, “And after Sydnie?”
“I don’t know,” Lesandurel admitted. “I became busy. The Tam-illee reproduce slowly compared to the Pelted, but compared to us? Soon enough I was drowning in the troubles of daughters and granddaughters, and that is what they were to me: people I’d known as infants, who grew into their adulthood in my presence. I could never think of them as possible lovers, when I had so lately been busy salving their adolescent traumas.” He looked away, his eyes resting on Reese’s golden mare. “Several of them loved me, I think. But all of them outgrew it. And that was for the best.”
“You save yourself for an Eldritch love, then.”
“I haven’t been saving myself for anything, and well you should know it with your sorcerous insight.” Lesandurel smiled, amusement beading his aura. “When I say I have been busy, that is precisely what I meant…! But I admit, my mind turns more and more toward the thought of a companion. Perhaps I will meet one, as you have.”
Hirianthial took a sip from his own cup. “One of the Pelted, do you suppose?”
“No… no. Most of them are very fond of children. We can be fruitful with humans, but not their progeny.” Lesandurel shook his head. “No, I think I am curious if children of my own body will be any different than children of my spirit. Somehow I suspect not very, save that they will spend longer in the awkward ages, bedeviling me.” He grinned, then allowed that grin to fade. “And you? What shall you do, when this has done?”
This being his marriage to Reese. Hirianthial held his shoulders taut to keep them from betraying him, knew that they did anyway. “Then, I suspect my cousin will keep me… busy.”
“Ha,” Lesandurel said softly. “A fair turnabout.”
They drank together, unspeaking, enjoying the rustle of the horses, the idle switch of their tails, their whuffles and soft shifting sounds.
“You could marry your cousin,” Lesandurel said.
“Liolesa?” Hirianthial asked, brows lifting. “I hardly think she needs a man.”
“No woman needs a man, arii.” A grin at Hirianthial’s start at the use of the Universal term, dropped into the middle of a conversation in their tongue. “Least of all her. But that doesn’t mean she might not want one. Or find one useful at her side. Or to give her children, now that she is without heir again.”
“Perhaps,” Hirianthial said. “I wouldn’t presume to that position. I have no desire to be King-Consort.”
“No doubt. But would you accept her, if she offered?”
Hirianthial said nothing for a long time. He tried to feel the shape of his life after Reese and couldn’t. Didn’t want to, this close to its beginning. By this time tomorrow, he would be wed.
Finally, he said, “I love my cousin.”
Lesandurel received that as the message Hirianthial had intended, and did not press.
After a time, Hirianthial added, “Hiran.”
Lesandurel lifted his cup. “Hiran, then. I am sorry I missed your tenure as seal-bearer for our House.”
Hirianthial tapped his lightly to the other man’s cup. “Andrel. You need not. We will see more than enough of one another in the future we will make for our people.”
“Eldritch and Pelted both.”
“Eldritch and Pelted both.”
“Angels, Angels, Reese… Allacazam is missing!”
Reese ignored Irine to peer at her own reflection in the mirror, resisting the urge to touch her eyes and smear all the hard work Felith had just done there. “Did you check my hammock?”
“Yes!”
“My bed, then?”
“Yes!” Irine grabbed her ears. “He keeps rolling away lately and hiding places, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“He’ll turn up,” Reese said. “He’s not going to miss the wedding, he knows it’s today.”
“Does he?” Felith asked, entering from the room the Eldritch insisted was a closet. In Reese’s opinion, it was about six times too big for the name. The room even had a padded bench in it, which struck her as particularly crazy. Who sat in their own closet? And why? To contemplate their mounds of clothing? Ridiculous. The dress they’d talked her into was fancy enough without adding enough clones to fill a cargo bin.
“Does he what?” she asked, distracted. She forced herself to admit she was nervous.
“Know that today is the wedding,” Felith said, setting the gown on the chair next to Reese. “I did not perceive him to have much sense of normal time.”
“He has ways,” Reese said.
Felith was eyeing the gown with as close to a scowl as a well-bred Eldritch woman allowed herself. “I still think this would be far more proper with a corset.”
“I am not wearing a corset under my wedding dress,” Reese declared. “The first time Hirianthial kisses me, I’ll faint.”
Irine snickered.
“Kissing of that sort is reserved for the bedchamber,” Felith said after bestowing a quelling glance at the Harat-Shar. “The kiss during t
he ceremony is a symbol of the union made manifest. It is supposed to be chaste.”
Reese sighed, rueful. “Blood, Felith. It doesn’t matter what kind of kiss he gives me. They all make me breathe too fast.”
“Oh!” Felith colored. “Well. That’s to be expected. He is the man you’re wedding.” Briskly, she continued, “Come, let us dress you. The bells will ring soon.”
“Right,” Reese said, and stood, allowing the ritual. Not just the gown, but over it, a new medallion of her own, Laisrathera’s, peach-colored stone clasped in white gold, with a bright star for an emblem: Earth as seen in the Martian sky. Felith threaded it on a long chain so that it fell past her breasts, hanging over her ribcage; it left her throat free for the choker of rubies and coral-colored moonstones the Queen had given her. All of it felt too expensive for Reese, but she supposed that was her fault for getting tangled up with royalty and Eldritch princes.
“You have a little time,” Felith said once they’d finished the toilette. “If you’d like, we can stay…?”
“No, that’s all right. I wouldn’t mind some time to myself.”
Irine nodded. “And I’ll look for Allacazam.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Then I’ll look for Sascha. I need a cuddle.”
Reese grinned. “Just so long as you remember to bring the ring.”
Irine went into the pocket of her own dress and brought out the pouch, shaking it. “Still in there.”
“Good. Then go have your cuddle. I’ll be out soon.”
Alone, she smoothed the silk folds down. It was traditional for seal-bearers to marry in their House colors, so she wore apricot, embroidered in white and honey-gold. Irine had assured her that it set off her brown skin beautifully, and she’d seen the admiration in Felith’s eyes when the woman had drawn away to consider her handiwork. They’d seen to every detail, except her hair; Reese had handled that herself, using the beads from her box. The smell reminded her of home, knitted her past and her future together in a way that calmed her anxious stomach.
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