Vasiht'h caught a flicker of shapes in the mindline. "With people?"
Jahir glanced at him. "Am I leaking so much?"
"Maybe a little," Vasiht'h said. "Probably inevitable, given where we are."
"Probably," Jahir agreed, drawing in a deep breath. "Yes, with people. My brother, Sernataila, and my cousin, Sediryl."
"You haven't spoken of either of them before," Vasiht'h said carefully.
"I wouldn't have," Jahir said. "We parted under less than ideal terms. Sediryl... well. The less said about that, the better. And I don't even know where Amber is at any given moment. Maybe he'll be there, at the manor... that would be good, I think. To see him again."
"But not your cousin," Vasiht'h said.
"Sediryl does not have a high opinion of us as a species," Jahir said, voice growing tight with discomfort.
There was something in that sending that struck Vasiht'h as strange, somehow. Some color: flushed incarnadine, glazed like the paint on porcelain. But he did not ask. "How far are we now?"
"We'll be there this afternoon," Jahir said.
"Four days," Vasiht'h murmured. "And we've not seen another Eldritch. Are you so sparsely settled then?"
"You could say that," Jahir said, wry. Then, more seriously, "We're not exactly populous. Probably for the best, given how long we live, or we'd have carpeted the world from end to end by now."
"Are you serious?" Vasiht'h asked, unable to tell. "Or rationalizing your own ambivalence about family?"
For a long moment, Jahir stared at the vista before them, his eyes unfocused. Then he chuckled. "A little of both, maybe."
Vasiht'h sighed. "I sympathize."
Jahir glanced at him. "Ah? This is something new." He lifted a brow. "You keeping some secret from me, as well?"
"Not so much keeping secret as not wanting to think of it too much myself,'" Vasiht'h said. "But I'm reaching the age where I am subject to messages strongly suggesting I come home and add to the genepool."
Jahir frowned, resettling himself on the horse and looking more closely at his partner. "This is new. When did this start?"
"About half a year ago," Vasiht'h said. "When I had my birthday." At Jahir's scrutiny, he lifted his hands. "It's not specific. Literally. We all get messages once we hit midlife. Males are asked to consider sperm donation, or to visit the local kis't. Females are asked to donate eggs. All of us get lectures about the benefits of family life."
"Then... that woman on the base? The one who invited you to dinner..."
"Had gotten her own note, yes," Vasiht'h said. "She wanted to know if I was willing to donate. Said that I was successful, xenophilic and healthy and would make a good match."
"That... seems... rather cold," Jahir said.
"Maybe," Vasiht'h said. "But we were engineered without sex drives, arii. None of us have children by accident. We choose it with a life partner, or we are reminded to do it. But it's entirely artificial, the maintenance of our population." He grimaced. "It takes work."
"I admit I had never thought through the implications of your lack of... interest," Jahir said slowly.
Vasiht'h snorted. "You? O celibate one? Surely you jest."
"I'm not without feelings," Jahir said. "Just... ah... there are extenuating circumstances."
"Like what?" Vasiht'h said, amused.
Jahir colored. "Like age," he said. "I'm not that young anymore, that any pretty thing will turn my head."
"Or there's some particular pretty thing you're saving yourself for?" Vasiht'h teased, and was completely unprepared for how quickly the mindline went dark. "Ah! Arii? Did I offend?"
"No, no," Jahir said, brushing a hand over his hair. "Just..." He flushed. "Not a subject I'm comfortable discussing." He sighed, smiled. "It's not you, Vasiht'h. It's just... we're home, and we're going home to attend a wedding, and I am having to face all these things again. I don't like pressure any more than you do, but here among us having more than one child is considered proof of unusual fertility and my mother had two of us. There is a great deal of speculation about whether I inherited her... vigor."
"Just you? What about your brother?" Vasiht'h asked.
"He is subject to the same speculation," Jahir said, a sour lemon taste filtering through the mindline. "Or why do you suppose both of us have vanished from family affairs? I pledge you, it was not curiosity about the outworld alone that spurred us both away."
"Nothing like it," Vasiht'h said, rueful, "family."
"No," Jahir said. He glanced at his partner. "That woman... did you...?"
"No," Vasiht'h said, without meeting his gaze. Across the mindline there was nothing, just a blank that soaked emotion like cotton. "I told her I wanted to be involved in the lives of my children, and that I wasn't ready yet."
There seemed no good reply to that, so Jahir spoke none until the path hove into view. His horse's hooves struck packed earth as he guided it up the embankment and onto level ground. "We are nearly there."
Vasiht'h scrabbled up after him, digging claws into the earth as he climbed. He brushed off his fur once he reached the path, regretting the day's dirt on his legs. He would have liked to arrive glossy and picture-perfect, having some suspicion of how susceptible the Eldritch were to appearances from some few hints Jahir had let slip over their long partnership. Those same hints were all he had to prepare him for his partner's house.
...they were not sufficient preparation to clear the forest and find something Vasiht'h would have called a palace, from its size and opulence.
"Here we are," Jahir said. "My family's country seat."
"Your family's country seat?" Vasiht'h repeated, incredulous. "It's enormous! How big is the non-country version?"
Jahir glanced down at him, then said, "Oh, no... no you have a misconception. The family's city presence is smaller, more like a... a townhouse, one of many on the Nobles' Row."
Only slightly mollified, Vasiht'h aligned himself as close to Jahir as he could without distressing the horse. They were walking down what felt like an infinitely long path among topiaries and waist-height hedge mazes—hedge mazes!—and ornamental gardens toward the vast building at the path's end, an edifice of gray and pale stone that Vasiht'h imagined must require a fleet of servants to maintain and clean. He was not well enough acquainted with architecture styles to know what it reminded him of, but it was encrusted with statues and columns and friezes that, had they been any other color than white, would have been utterly overwhelming. As it was, from a distance the whole thing reminded him of some kind of wedding cake.
"I had no idea you were rich," Vasiht'h murmured finally as the path went on... and on... and on... and the estate seemed to grow no closer.
Jahir's voice was uncomfortable. "I wouldn't draw any conclusions."
"Jahir?" Vasiht'h said, unable to help the tension in his voice. "Are you making a joke? Can you actually see this place? Are you actually looking at it?"
"Appearances aren't everything. Speaking of which..."
They were coming upon a garden: an occupied one. Spread across the lawn were several Eldritch ladies in dresses so voluminous Vasiht'h thought it fortuitous they were seated, as he could hardly imagine walking in such things. They were companioned by an equal number of males, in coats somewhat less ostentatious, but only just. They were arranged in a rough circle around a single male, who was reading from a book. A very rough circle: if they were courting couples, Vasiht'h would surely never have guessed from how much space they kept between them.
It was useless to think they'd go unnoticed, even with Vasiht'h safely hidden on the other side of Jahir's tall gray horse. One of the women waved to him and then the whole group was rising.
The first woman called to Jahir, and the single word she used was so long and so unintelligible that Vasiht'h could hardly believe she had formed it so easily with what looked like a merely mortal mouth. He had not had much chance to hear the Eldren language; what little of it he knew of had come from Jahir's dreaming mind, o
r from occasional slipped thoughts through the mindline. He had no idea it was so... he licked his teeth. Thick. Drippy. Flowery. It felt like eating flowers—
—no, the mindline was giving him that feeling. That, and a translation. He strained his feathered ears forward, unable to help the reflex even though the words he could understand were echoing in his head, not in his ears.
"...so good to see you again, milord, it has been so long."
Not long enough, was the strong thought that shivered the mindline. But the words Jahir actually spoke meant, "...it certainly does feel so, my lady cousin."
"Will you be staying?" she was asking, leaning on the fence and smiling at him in a way that Vasiht'h found profoundly discomfiting... as if sizing him up for breeding. "It would be a great pleasure to renew our acquainta—Goddess and Lord what is that!"
Her squeal was so distressed Vasiht'h jumped and looked for whatever had upset her... only to realize she was staring at him, and so was the rest of her party. Their expressions made him wonder if his travel through the countryside had spread him with something more unsavory than dirt.
"This," Jahir said, "is my partner and friend, Vasiht'h."
"Your partner?" she said, and the mindline spread that translation with scarlet in a way that made Vasiht'h's skin crawl.
"Not that kind of partner!" he interrupted, dismayed.
They all looked at him, with shock and distaste. Vasiht'h colored beneath his dark pelt, grateful that his blush wasn't visible.
"It speaks," one of the males said, the translation swirled in shadows. "In Universal, is it? The tongue of mortals."
"Yes," Jahir said, dry, "one would expect a citizen of the Alliance to speak Universal. I seem to recall you once had lessons in it yourself, Bashinal. Or have you lost your facility?"
The longer he listened, the more he heard the colors. Jahir's also: there was something wicked and black in the last few sentences, something that gleamed like steel.
"I hardly had reason to maintain it," the male answered with a sniff.
"Come," Jahir said to Vasiht'h, nudging the horse. "My lady mother expects us."
"Right," Vasiht'h said, shoulders tight. As they walked away, he muttered, "Am I right in thinking you're snubbing them but good by cutting off the conversation?"
"Some things are universal," Jahir responded, voice low. "I am sorry, arii."
"Is that... the kind of thing I should expect, then? And what's with the colors?"
"I'm afraid so. My family is among the most liberal in all the world; excepting one other family, we are the most likely to embrace the outworld, both its peoples and its ideas," Jahir said. "But that doesn't mean we don't have our share of bad seeds. And that's only my side of the family. My cousin is marrying into a far more parochial House. More typical of Eldritch than the Galare. A lot of them will be here for the wedding." He paused. "Did you say... colors? You heard the colors?"
"Saw them more like," Vasiht'h said, and tweaked the mindline. "Through here."
"Ah," Jahir said. "Of course." He smiled a little, lopsided. "Our language can be modified for nuance, and the modes are named for colors."
"They're certainly very expressive," Vasiht'h said. "I didn't like half the things they were implying if I was reading any of it right."
"I didn't think to solve the language problem," Jahir murmured, frowning. "I'm glad the mindline appears to be doing that for us."
"As long as we're listening to the same person," Vasiht'h guessed. "That means if I end up alone or if you're paying attention to something else, I might not get anything. Is there no one who speaks Universal?"
"Or who will admit it?" Jahir said, tired. At the Glaseah's sharp glance, he said, "Oh yes. Most of us learned in childhood by the Queen's decree. But one must practice a skill to maintain it over centuries of life... and to do that, one must value it."
"Maybe," Vasiht'h said slowly, "you should have left me at home."
Jahir looked down at him, pained.
Approaching the manor did nothing to assuage Vasiht'h's growing sense of unease. The softly splashing fountain in the courtyard, the opulence of the facade, the broad, shallow steps leading up to the doors, which were well and again large enough to admit not just himself, but five of him abreast... it was overwhelming. He had assumed Jahir to be well-bred, and Vasiht'h had caught some of the university registrars referring to him as 'Lord Seni Galare' when they first met... but he was not at all prepared for the implications of the wealth and size of his partner's family estate.
The youth that appeared to take Jahir's horse only stared at him, at least, but did not speak. Distressed to feel relief at such treatment, Vasiht'h followed the Eldritch to the door and through it, into a towering foyer, a hemispherical room lined with statues set into alcoves and illuminated by an enormous lacy chandelier... a chandelier with candles. Shocked into staring at it, Vasiht'h missed the murmur of conversation that sent servants scurrying away.
He was still wondering whether anyone ever worried about candle wax dripping on their heads when he felt the flush of affection through the mindline, so warm and deep it was like drinking wine. Old wine.
There before him was his partner... holding the hands of a woman in an outrageous display of intimacy between Eldritch, who never touched. In her face Jahir's crisp features were softened, and age had traced lines beneath her eyes. But she was lovely, and there was a great peace about her. Vasiht'h relaxed despite himself.
"Vasiht'h," Jahir said in Universal. "My lady mother, Jeasa Seni Galare. Mother, here is my partner of long association."
"Vasiht'h," the woman said, smiling and offering her hands to him in turn. Surprised, he took them, and with them a feather-soft mental touch, like a benison. Her Universal was softly accented but perfectly understandable, and she spoke with quiet confidence. "I have read so much about you. You have honored our house by accepting our invitation, and delighted me personally by coming. I have wanted to meet you."
"My lady," Vasiht'h said, blushing again. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
She smiled at him, then touched Jahir again, on the arm this time. "No doubt you are both tired from the journey. I have had your room prepared, my son, and made arrangements for your guest."
"Thank you," Jahir said. "We wouldn't mind the opportunity to wash up before supper."
"Go on then," she said, smiling. "The packs off your horse should already be there. If you wish, you can join me in the salon afterwards."
"Nothing would please me more, my lady," Jahir answered. /This way,/ he murmured to Vasiht'h and set off. Bewildered, Vasiht'h followed through a succession of ever more luxurious rooms. He caught a glance of himself in one of the mirror-lined corridors: sadly, he looked as stunned as he felt.
His partner's rooms—the plural was accurate—were up several flights of stairs, and comprised a parlor, which shared a fireplace with a sleeping chamber, a study lined with books, and a bath. The entirety of the suite was hung with tapestries and impressive paintings, portraits and inevitable pictures of horses... the floors thick with rugs which, if his paw pads were any judge, were woven of some kind of silk fiber. There was a harpsichord in the parlor that Vasiht'h was afraid to ask the age of, an orrery that appeared to be ornamented with precious gems, and the bed in the sleeping chamber was a monument, large enough to sleep three or four Eldritch, be-curtained and lavish with brocade covers and mounds of pillows. It was also high enough that it came with a miniature step-stool.
Vasiht'h stood in the center of the finery, dusty with four days' worth of grime and wearing a perfectly serviceable but rather worn set of packs, and felt like the lowest and drabbest menial in a fairy tale palace.
"Ah... I... suppose I should have warned you about all this," Jahir said, folding his arms and looking down.
"Yes, you could have," Vasiht'h answered. And then, more normally, "Though to be fair, I don't think being warned would have really helped." He looked at his partner, who was leaning against the
wall beside one of the windows—the panels were propped open, and they were made of stained glass. "Aksivaht'h's breath, Jahir! Why... why did you leave this? I had no idea you were... were..."
"What?" Jahir asked, voice low.
"Rich!" Vasiht'h exclaimed. "Noble! Goddess, arii, you have... you have an estate, and servants and... your private gardens are the size of our entire neighborhood on Veta!"
"Technically they're not mine," Jahir said. "They're my mother's, and will remain so for centuries, barring misfortune."
"But this is your house!" Vasiht'h said.
"Yes," Jahir said slowly. "This is my family house. And yes, it will be mine at some point. And I left it because... I had to, Vasiht'h."
The bell that sang through the mindline beneath those words was clear and deep and bone-shivering. Startled, Vasiht'h met his eyes.
"I had to, Vasiht'h. I needed the Alliance. Wanted work that means something, wanted the interplay of cultures and ideas and lives. Wanted... the vibrancy of living out there," Jahir said. He looked out the window, his yearning urgent enough to turn Vasiht'h toward the view by force. "I'll live another dozen centuries. I can't imagine doing that here, where nothing changes. Where my only chance of seeing an unfamiliar face is if any of my peers are lucky enough to beget a new generation. Even then, it's not the same. It's not... random, the way my life is with you." He turned back to Vasiht'h. "There's no serendipity here. Nothing unexpected. Sometimes I fear there never will be."
"You hate it," Vasiht'h said, genuinely surprised at the thickness of the feeling in the mindline.
"Utterly," Jahir said. He drew in a breath. "When you met me, I said I wasn't sure what I was doing on Seersana, and I couldn't imagine what I'd do when I finished school. Every word of that was true, arii. Because my life here had never prepared me to consider a life that wasn't scripted."
"You escaped," Vasiht'h murmured. "And before it could become habit. That inability to imagine a different future."
"There's no fortune on this earth or any other worth the loss of that plasticity," Jahir said.
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