She was not the woman she’d been when she left Mars. Nor the one she’d been when she met Hirianthial. She’d seen it in her own face, sitting patiently while Felith had applied the cosmetics that had edged her eyelids in gold and gilt her lips. Strain had etched lines in her face, and worry. But she liked her eyes better. She didn’t mind meeting her own gaze anymore.
The bells started singing, summoning the celebrants. She lifted her chin, brushed her skirts and answered the call.
The thing Reese remembered most about the ceremony was how little of it she did. In the days to come, it would fade into a pastiche of sensory impressions and a vague sense of overwhelming happiness… and that was fine with her. She had plenty of people to remind her of the details and she looked forward to their teasing and their company and the years of friendship those things implied.
Some parts, though, she did recall. Rose Point had once had a cathedral on the grounds encircled by the curtain walls, a building long since reduced to a rumpled stone foundation… but the keep’s private chapel remained mostly intact, boasting three walls and enough of the roof to support its bell tower. The garden’s vines had overgrown one wall, knotting through the mortar and spilling over the pinnacle into the nave. With the advent of spring, the roses had died off… but other flowers had bloomed, shining gold, tiny and fragrant. Reese had ordered the place swept, the stained glass windows replaced, and had the bell serviced, and liked the result: old and new, natural and man-made, sacred and somehow casual enough to be borne. That, then, was where they’d decided to host the ceremony.
She remembered the heady perfume of the flowers and the sea, and the warmth of the sunlight on her shoulders and Hirianthial’s, the way it made the wine red velvet of his coat seem to glow like garnets. She remembered—vaguely—Liolesa, as the head of the Goddess’s order, and Urise, serving for the God’s, saying something about love and duty, posterity, joy.
She remembered the gifts, because those were important: she gave him one of the matched set of rings she’d had made with the Laisrathera star-on-apricot field, and a new dagger to replace the ones she kept misplacing: a dagger, not a sword, as acknowledgement that while he had accepted the role of Laisrathera’s sword-bearer, he had a greater responsibility now to the kingdom—empire—as a whole. That dagger went on his belt alongside the sword he’d used on his world’s behalf, and she found herself okay with the reminder of all that he could do, and had done. If there was violence in their futures, she trusted that they would handle it.
When it was his turn, he gave her his life, because that was what men pledged to their brides, and she remembered him bowing his head to her when he vowed it.
She remembered sipping from a shallow bowl of honey, symbol of the sweetness of the life they were to share. And she remembered his lips tasting of it when he’d tipped her chin up with gloved fingers: sweet gloss on warm, dry skin.
…Reese definitely remembered the kiss.
The priest had wrapped their joined hands with the binding cloth, then, apricot and gold for Laisrathera, bronze and burgundy for Jisiensire, and meeting in the center the unicorn that spoke of Hirianthial’s royal blood. Hirianthial had removed his glove for that and she’d felt his fingers warm in hers, close in the dim heat of the silk.
After that, there was the expected celebration… for everyone else. The Eldritch, Felith had confided, expected the happy couple to leave the festivities for the guests and ascend to their rooms to consummate their bond. And then, if it pleased them, to return. The revelry would last for three days, and while they were expected to make an appearance it was not at all untoward for them to leave it until the last day. Indeed, it was something of a triumph if they did, hinting at many forthcoming years of marital bliss. Reese thought it all a little dramatic, and probably a way for people to enjoy the food and board of a rich family—Felith admitted to it without embarrassment. But when Hirianthial tucked her hand under his arm and suggested they depart, she thought there might be some merit in not having to suffer through a big dinner and hours of well-wishers before finally being alone with the man she’d married. The sounds of the party carried up through the halls as they left it behind, made it feel like they were escaping. Her heart raced, and she found she was grinning.
He surprised her by taking her by the waist and lifting her, twirling her. “That is how I like you,” he said in that baritone that she now allowed herself to admit had always made the hair on the back of her neck rise. “Laughing.”
“I’m not laughing,” she protested, though by then she was.
“You’re laughing on the inside,” he said, and kissed her, and then she wasn’t laughing—that was fine, though. Better than fine.
“Come,” he murmured against her mouth. “Let us find our bed.”
…and that was nothing like she’d imagined, because she wasn’t capable of imagining just how good it could be. Except that it was tender and wonderful, and that maybe that cultured exterior was capable of hiding something untamed. And that was good, she thought with her hands wound through his short hair, tangled in the hair-chain that sang as she pulled him down. A man should always have something a little untamed in him.
“A woman too,” he said against her sweat-glossed cheek, in a tone almost like a purr.
“A woman too,” she agreed, gone all to goosebumps and not at all minding.
The light through the window had faded to silver in a dark sky. It was later—how much later, Reese didn’t know or much care. The party was no doubt still going, but her crew could handle it, and what they couldn’t, Liolesa surely would. There was no reason in the world to descend, and every reason to linger here with her cheek on this chest, with this muscled arm curled around her shoulders, keeping her close. How had the muscle never occurred to her? A light-gravity worlder who had learned the discipline of the sword, consigned to decades in heavier gravities? She should have known, but it was instead a delightful surprise. A delicious surprise. She traced a scar on his side, thinking that she would ask him about it one day, but not today, and that maybe she’d taste the skin there, but not just now.
“If you will permit,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead. “There is a custom….”
This roused her from her pleasant drifting and she laughed, husky. “Another one! Sometimes I think you people are nothing but customs.”
“Remove one and we may all collapse?” He smiled against her skin; she could feel it. “Sometimes I wonder myself. But this one is pleasing. I think you may find it so also.” Rolling onto his back he stretched an arm toward the table alongside the bed and brought back a little box. “For you.”
“A present?” Reese sat up, pulling the blankets up onto her lap.
“During the wedding is traditional for the bride to bestow gifts because she is invariably the one with the wealth,” Hirianthial said, lying on his side beside her with his head resting on a palm. “But if a man is pleased with the match he will bring his own offering to the marriage bed. A troth gift, it’s called politely.”
She glanced at him. “And impolitely?”
He laughed. “A stud gift.”
She couldn’t help it… she laughed too. “You people and your horses. So do I open it now?”
“I would be pleased if you did.”
The box was small enough to fit in her palm, but so intricately carved she couldn’t fit her nail into some of the cuts. The pattern reminded her of something but she couldn’t place it: leaves maybe? How long had it taken someone to make this box? Because, being Eldritch, someone had to have made it by hand. Knowing that made it incredible, like something out of a storybook.
Strange how wary she used to be of gifts, when looking at this one all she could think about was how it felt anticipating something new and wonderful. She carefully opened the lid.
There was a kernel inside. A kernel she would have recognized in her dreams, and yet seeing it here, in this context…. when she touched it her fingers were trembli
ng. “Is this really….?”
His voice was low. “I took the liberty of having it engineered using the material in the bead you wove into the dangle. It is viable—you have only to choose where to plant it.”
“It may be too cold here for a eucalyptus,” Reese said, her eyes watering. Her voice was going hoarse on her.
“I’m given to understand that some cultivars thrive in the cold, so long as they have the right exposure. Or we could build it a greenhouse.” He smiled. “The Queen has enough of them for her horticultural experiments. Why should not Laisrathera have one as well?”
She was going to cry. Was already crying, and didn’t care that he could see it, because he’d resurrected her eucalyptus, the one that had given her comfort in her troubled childhood. Had come up with the idea, had somehow divined how important it had been to her, and he’d done that for her, and sacrificed the bead she’d given him to do it. That’s what the familiar pattern was on the box—she looked a second time—those were eucalyptus leaves, as seen through the eyes of some Eldritch artist.
As she wiped her eyes, Hirianthial reached for her, gathered her into his arms. He didn’t try to reassure her, didn’t mistake her tears for an expression of some feeling that needed comfort. It didn’t, because she was crying for release, for relief, for knowing that for every loss, there was a possibility of a returning. A potential for redemption, for a second try. She’d gotten hers… he’d gotten his. Everything was right with the world.
Everything was clear.
“Heart,” she said suddenly against his chest.
He canted his head, just a little, to look down at her, and she met his eyes.
“That’s your song name,” Reese said, quiet. She curled her fingers around the kernel, bruising her fingertips on it to make the scent cling to the skin. ”My Heart. That’s what you are. And what you gave to me.”
He touched his fingers to her lips and whispered, “Oh, love.”
“Exactly,” she answered, soft. And kissed his fingers. Then she thought, if she could kiss him first, maybe there were other things she could try doing first. So she set the box aside, and the kernel, and did, and smiled at his ardent welcome… and maybe they lost a few more hours.
In the morning, while he ran a bath in the mercifully renovated chambers because God and freedom help her if she was going to use another water closet no matter how much she liked this world, Reese donned a robe and dared to peek out into the corridor. She almost tripped over Irine, who was sitting crosslegged beside the door, reading a data tablet. At the sight of Reese, the woman set it aside and perked her ears. “You’re out sooner than I thought!”
“I’m not out for long,” Reese said, belting the robe closed. “I just wanted to find out how things are going.”
“Oh, it’s great.” Irine laughed. “The crowd’s over half-Pelted, you know, and those Harat-Shar who came to be Araelis’s family are awfully charming. Felith’s got everything running on a schedule for people who want events: picnics and little outdoor games and contests and feasts… something for everyone. But honestly, most of us are enjoying it for the chance to get to know one another. All the movers and shakers on this world are here, right now. We’re seeing the future happen, you know?”
“I do, a little,” Reese said, smiling. She sat next to the tigraine, leaned into her and sighed. This fur smelled like home, too.
“Happy?” Irine asked, gentler, nuzzling.
“Yes.”
“Just like that.” Said fondly, but with a little bemusement, too.
“Just like that, sure,” Reese replied, finding it funny. “If ‘just like that’ means having to get through my whole life to make it to this point.”
“Yeah,” Irine murmured, sliding an arm around Reese’s shoulder. “I can see that.”
“Worth it though.”
Irine grinned and nudged her. “So I smell.”
Reese colored and poked a furry side. “If you were anyone but Harat-Shar, I’d be embarrassed.”
“But I’m not,” Irine said. “So it’s all good. Oh, and you know… I found Allacazam.”
Allacazam! She had forgotten he was missing. “Where was he?”
“In a closet. Budding!”
Reese sat up, stunned. “Budding??”
“Budding,” Irine said, satisfied with her shock. “There are now two more little Allacazams rolling around. Must be something in the air.” She grinned. “Maybe we can send one of them off with Ra’aila and the Earthrise. It would be weird for the ship to be running without a Flitzbe.”
“It would,” Reese agreed. And added, “When they’re older. Freedom.” She laughed and rubbed her face. “God.”
“And Goddess and Angels and all the good things in life,” Irine agreed, and wrapped her tail around Reese’s waist to go with the arm.
They sat like that a while, content, and then Irine bumped her hip. “Go take that bath with your man. And tell him that the Queen said something about him owing her a harp song or something.”
“A… a harp song,” Reese said, bewildered. Then the image of Hirianthial sitting at a harp with his fingers—his long and very knowing fingers—on golden strings came to her, and she wasn’t sure whether her shiver was anticipation or something a little more blushworthy. “All right. Thanks, arii.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She grinned and pushed Reese to her feet. “Go on, now. Work him hard! It’s been too long for him. And since it’s been never for you, work yourself hard too!”
Reese covered her face and fled.
When she let herself into the bathroom, Hirianthial was just setting out the towels, and the sight of him doing something so domestic, so normal…
…while naked….
He took one look at her expression and started laughing, a real, deep laugh, unfettered.
“I like you laughing too,” she said, grinning, her heart squeezing in her chest at the sight. “And if all it takes is me leering at you, I’ll take lessons from the twins.”
“You can try,” he said, kissing her fingers. “But you can’t leer, my Courage. It’s not in you.” Merriment pricked color from his wine-dark eyes. “But you are welcome to stop short in shock anytime you wish.”
“You are terrible,” she said, and pulled him close to kiss him, and let him draw her down into the bath. “So I hear there are events going on downstairs. Picnics and games and feasts and such.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“A picnic actually sounds kind of nice.” He was rubbing soap onto her shoulders and back, and all the tension was oozing from them. She continued gamely. “We could pack a nice lunch, go out in the sunlight.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Take those horses you bought… they’re kind of nice horses.”
“Mmm.” His lips were on her neck now.
“Hirianthial Sarel Eddings Laisrathera, I can’t concentrate while you’re doing that!”
“That was rather the idea.”
She tried her last volley. “We could make love in the flowers?”
“Maybe later,” he said, mischievous.
She sighed warmly and twitched her hair out of his way. “Okay. Maybe later….” And after a moment, amended, “All right. A lot later.”
He laughed that low, gentle laugh, and Reese smiled, turned in his arms, and reached up for him. The flowers would be there tomorrow, and if they weren’t… well. She’d still have roses in winter.
The Alliance is mostly composed of the Pelted, a group of races that segregated and colonized worlds based (more or less) on their visual characteristics. Having been engineered from a mélange of uplifted animals, it’s not technically correct to refer to any of them as “cats” or “wolves,” since any one individual might have as many as six or seven genetic contributors: thus the monikers like “foxine” and “tigraine” rather than “vulpine” or “tiger.” However, even the Pelted think of themselves in groupings of general animal characteristics, so for the ease of imagining them, I’ve separ
ated them that way.
The Pelted
The Quasi-Felids: The Karaka’An, Asanii, and Harat-Shar comprise the most cat-like of the Pelted, with the Karaka’An being the shortest and digitigrade, the Asanii being taller and plantigrade, and the Harat-Shar including either sort but being based on the great cats rather than the domesticated variants.
The Quasi-Canids: The Seersa, Tam-illee, and Hinichi are the most doggish of the Pelted, with the Seersa being short and digitigrade and foxish, the Tam-illee taller, plantigrade and also foxish, and the Hinichi being wolflike.
Others: Less easily categorized are the Aera, with long, hare-like ears, winged feet and foxish faces, the felid Malarai with their feathered wings, and the Phoenix, tall bipedal avians.
The Centauroids: Of the Pelted, two species are centauroid in configuration, the short Glaseah, furred and with lower bodies like lions but coloration like skunks and leathery wings on their lower backs, and the tall Ciracaana, who have foxish faces but long-legged cat-like bodies.
Aquatics: One Pelted race was engineered for aquatic environments: the Naysha, who look like mermaids would if mermaids had sleek, hairless, slightly rodent-like faces and the lower bodies of dolphins.
Other Species
Humanoids: Humanity fills this niche, along with their estranged cousins, the esper-race Eldritch.
True Aliens: Of the true aliens, four are known: the shapeshifting Chatcaava, whose natural form is draconic (though they are mammals); the gentle heavyworlder Faulfenza, who are furred and generally regarded to be attractive; the aquatic Platies, who look like colorful flatworms and can communicate reliably only with the Naysha, and the enigmatic Flitzbe, who are quasi-vegetative and resemble softly furred volleyballs that change color depending on their mood.
One of the unique features of the Eldritch language is the ability to modify the meaning of a word with emotional “colors.” In the spoken language, these are indicated by the use of prefixes, which can be used as aggressively or as infrequently as the speaker desires; a single prefix can color an entire paragraph, or the speaker can use them to inflect every word. Uninflected language is considered emotionally neutral. This modifiers are not often used in the written language, but when they are, they take the form of colored inks.
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