by Cari Z.
Jason opened his eyes and stared at Ferran. “What are duelists? I thought fighting was forbidden here.”
“Fighting is forbidden,” Ferran agreed, “but dueling is ritual and respected. In a situation where the two sides cannot reach an agreement, a reason for a duel may be declared. Each House has a small number of males who specialize in dueling, but only one can represent a House at a time. The duelists meet in a neutral territory, and the House of whoever survives wins the conflict.”
“Wait, whoever survives? Duels are to the death?”
“Always,” Ferran affirmed. “It is tradition. One even matriarchs must respect, and no male would dream of disregarding our heritage with an act of cowardice.”
“I thought all life was sacred….” Jason trailed off, not really knowing how to reconcile the two violently opposed viewpoints.
“It is. That’s why the ability to resolve things with duels is so important. They prevent loss of life on a larger scale. There are times when not even a matriarch can cool the blood of the males in her family, and at such times, a duel is the perfect outlet. One family will spend their energy in triumph and the other will use it in grief, and the tension will be relieved.” Ferran hesitated. “My father was the duelist for the House of Grenn. He died that way. It happened right before my brother left Perelan, and I think it affected Veyall greatly. You remind me a little of my father, sometimes.”
Jason gazed wordlessly into Ferran’s eyes, not sure how to react to such a revelation. Ferran saved him the trouble of thinking up the words and kissed him. “Do not worry. I would never treat my father so. And you will never leave me.”
“Never,” Jason promised. “As long as it’s in my power, I’ll never leave you.”
“Good,” Ferran purred. He kissed Jason again, licking at the edge of his lips and opening Jason’s mouth, stealing the last of his concentration away from the performance and bringing it back where it belonged, on the reason he was here in the first place.
Jason pulled Ferran closer against his body and smoothed his hands down Ferran’s back until they hovered just above his lover’s hips. The urge to thrust up against Ferran was growing fast, and Jason was seriously considering it before he heard the door open again. There was a discreet cough.
With an internal sigh, Jason let go of Ferran and looked over at the door. Grenn was there with her her hands folded, her face genial but not giving anything away. “Hello.”
“Mother.” Ferran got up to greet her, but Jason stayed where he was, waiting for his body to calm down a little before standing up and making his arousal even more noticeable. Not that he really expected Grenn to care about his modesty, but Jason had his limits.
“That was a very enjoyable demonstration,” Grenn congratulated him. “An interesting blend of art and technology. How long will it take to teach our people those skills?”
“Years,” Jason replied. He hadn’t held anything back in this performance, and while it was just kata, there was a lot of technique that went into it, and that could only be learned with consistent application. “Less for the technological side of things.”
“Years,” Grenn purred. “Excellent. And how many people could you teach at once?”
Jason thought it through. “It depends on the length of the class. For one hour, I’d only want about twenty students. Two hours, I could handle thirty. That way, everyone gets my personal attention for some of the class. And they would have to see me two to three times a week to actually improve. More if they want to get better quickly.”
“Well. You are going to be very, very busy for this next year, then,” Grenn said with satisfaction. “Because this demonstration of your considerable cultural gifts for Perelan was very successful. There have been more requests for your time and attention than you could possibly undertake. Tomorrow, you and I will discuss when you will start teaching, what you will need to do it, and how many classes you will take on. Tonight, you must celebrate this success with your family.”
“Must I?” As excited as Jason was that things had turned out well, he was still incredibly tired. He didn’t really want anything more than to climb into bed with Ferran and take a day off, which he’d had yet to experience on Perelan.
“Of course you must. Both of you must,” she added when Ferran opened his mouth to argue. His quills were sharp and raised, and he didn’t look happy, but he didn’t refuse either. “The audience chamber has been cleared of all but our own family. They expect you as soon as possible.” She left as abruptly as she’d come in, and Jason let his eyes shut again. It was very comfortable on this couch. Sinfully comfortable, really. It was almost a crime that he was expected to lever himself off it when he was so tired….
Ferran’s hands stroked gently down his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Jason bit back another sigh and let his husband help him up. “Hopefully we won’t have to stay up too late.”
“We won’t.”
That was the idea, at least. But apparently Jason’s performance was enough of a coup for the House of Grenn that it warranted more than a simple round of handshakes and a “Good job.” Fresh tea and fruit were brought out, music far livelier than any Jason had heard on Perelan before was played over the speaker system, and every pup in the building begged for him to teach them the form. It was flattering for a while, but then it simply became tiring. He finally excused himself after three hours, leaving Ferran to smooth over any ruffled feathers—or quills, as the case might be—and fell into bed, fully expecting to get only a few hours of sleep before he was roused again.
Chapter Nine
JASON’S INTERNAL alarm went off right on schedule, but before he could do more than roll toward the edge of the bed in preparation for getting up, Ferran’s arm wrapped around his waist, holding him down. His lover’s sleep-roughened voice said, “We do not work today. Our instructors already know.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Jason didn’t ask again, just rolled over, kissed his husband’s shoulder, and fell asleep without even opening his eyes. It ended up being the laziest day he’d spent since leaving Jacksonville, and easily the best one as well. Not even the twins could drag them out of their den, and that was exactly how Jason wanted it.
At the start of his second week on Perelan, Jason’s situation had changed for the better. He had greatly increased his status with the other matriarchs and their families, he had gained a level of celebrity that didn’t directly have to do with the fact that he was an alien, and no one was openly speaking out against him. He was still learning to speak Perel, the twins were taking him farther afield, and more people were willing to approach him in public….
Those were the things Jason chose to focus on that second week, because the process of learning how to manage his time and still have more than a moment to kiss his husband as they passed in the halls of Grenn’s den was more trying than he could have anticipated. Jason maintained all of his own classes while beginning two more as an instructor every other day: one for the interested pups in the House of Grenn, and the other for adult males, with at least one male attending each from the seven most powerful Houses. He had twenty students in each class, and that was after fighting with Grenn to keep the numbers down and the class length at an hour.
The other thing he’d had to compromise on was the location of his classes. Grenn’s house was the ideal place to do the classes, but the conservative matriarchs wouldn’t have it. It was yet another unfair advantage, and so Jason was required to teach all of his students in an auditorium inside the Council House. That was about as far from ideal as Jason could imagine, but there was nothing he could do about it. Fortunately, one of his students in the adult class was Corran, the twins’ younger brother, and he had already volunteered his services as a translator if one was needed. It shouldn’t be, since a condition of participation for the adults was fluency in the Federation common language, but Jason and Grenn both figured it was better t
o be safe than sorry.
Corran also came early to help translate for the children’s class, and that was a totally different endeavor. It was actually far more relaxing working with the pups, despite the fact that Jason was an only child and had never spent any significant time with children in his life outside of a classroom. He gave them three rules they had to follow, and when they didn’t, he sent them to the side of the room to watch while the rest of the students continued.
On the first day, he explained the rules twice, along with his title, before beginning to go through the basic stances, punches and kicks.
Some of the pups were disappointed. “When do I get to have the wood that shoots demons?” one asked, his lower lip sticking out in a ridiculous pout.
“When you can be disciplined enough to remember the rules before you speak out of turn,” Jason replied, and the stupefied pup was sent to the wall. None of them had trouble remembering the rules after that.
“And what are the rules?” he asked at the end of his first day of classes with the pups.
“Be respectful to our teacher, to each other, and to our dojang.” Dojang was the word for “house of discipline” in ancient Korean, and Jason thought it was fitting to bring some of the original terminology into what he was teaching them.
“And how do you show your respect?” Jason asked. “What do you do when you wish to speak?” He pointed at a young child on the far right.
“Raise… raise….” The pup looked at Corran in frustration and growled something.
“Raise your hand,” Corran translated.
“Very good. How do you show your respect to others? Do you fight for your place in line?” He pointed to a pup on the left.
“No, we be nice.”
“Polite. Yes.” He waited for Corran to translate before continuing. “And how do you show respect to your dojang?” This time he chose Grennson to answer.
“Bowww… on. Boww offff.”
“That’s right,” Jason congratulated him, and the pup smiled shyly. “You bow on and off of the floor. There are special rules in this space, and if you can’t respect them, you can’t be a part of this class. Do you all understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good.” Jason pressed one closed hand into the open palm of the other in front of his chest and bowed. The class bowed back, some of them more smoothly than others, but all of them slowly and with control. “Dismissed.”
The bows getting off the mat were much less slow and controlled, but Jason was pleased to see them happen, at least. A large shuttle was waiting to take the pups back to the House of Grenn, and one of the older consorts was there to shepherd them. Not one of Grenn’s consorts. She had only taken three—far fewer than most matriarchs—and only one of them had been fertile. All of them were dead. But there were plenty of consorts among the lesser matriarchs of Grenn’s House who were willing to help, given their wives’ permission.
Once the children were gone, the second group began to assemble. Jason anticipated that this would be a much more challenging class, and not just because he was dealing with young, strong, curious males, not all of whom would be inclined to be kind to him. That, he could handle. He had handled it numerous times throughout his life. What he didn’t know how to deal with yet was the politics of the situation. All of his students should be treated equally, but Jason expected that every single student coming into his class was coming with an agenda, and it would be his responsibility to figure out what they wanted, how they were going about getting it, and what he could do to allay their expectations without being rude.
The class began well enough. Jason introduced himself, laid out the rules, and told the students that if they wanted to argue with his rules, they could leave. “I don’t want you as a student if my species is a problem for you or is going to become a problem. If you have an issue with what I’m teaching you here, you can bring this issue to me after class—not to your matriarch and not to mine. This class is not about anything or anyone other than you, me, and your fellow students. Is this understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
It sounded almost bizarre to hear so many people speaking Jason’s own language all at once after so many days of hearing nothing but Perel. “Good. Let’s get started.”
The class was… interesting. The males who had gotten in were clearly assessing not only Jason but each other as well: cataloguing, documenting, and trying to outdo each other all at once. They were far more physically proficient than the children, and by the end of class, Jason began teaching them the first kata.
“This is for fighting, sir?” one of the males asked. He was taller than most of the others, and they gave him a subtle but noticeable extra amount of space. He was very handsome, from Jason’s perspective, with the sensuality that all Perels had coupled with strong, regular features that couldn’t be anything but appealing. He was also the most arrogant person in the room, and Jason was just waiting for the smugness about him to manifest as confrontation.
“No. This is a form of exercise and meditation.”
“But for humans, this is used for fighting, isn’t it? Sir?”
“This is a very stylized form of the art,” Jason said firmly. “Humans haven’t used this for fighting for thousands of years.”
“But you could teach us to fight. Or at least, something more relevant than this.”
Corran looked like he wanted to intervene, but Jason waved him back. “No. I’m not going to teach any of you how to fight like humans do. That isn’t the purpose of this class.”
“Because your fighting techniques are inferior to ours?”
Jason smiled, almost relieved to have the “Perel versus human” question out in the open. “No, because my House supports a path of peace. My mothers agree that there are some things that are better left unshared. And you forgot to say ‘sir.’” He pointed at the floor. “One hundred push-ups. Go.” Timeouts wouldn’t work with adults, but making the other male do push-ups in the middle of class was a display of power that Jason could get away with.
The rest of his first class went smoothly enough, and after he dismissed the students, Jason pulled Corran aside and asked, “Who is he? One of Srell’s sons?” Grenn had warned him that Srell’s family members would most likely be a handful.
“No, he is of the House of Tlann. His name is—”
“I will introduce myself,” the tall Perel said as he walked back on the mat, dismissing Corran without a second glance. The look he turned on Jason was bright and anticipatory. “I am actually surprised you don’t remember me, Captain. We met over a year ago, on your ship. I knew your husband, Blake, very well.” He smiled. “Very intimately.”
Ah, yes. That. He had seemed slightly familiar, and now Jason knew why. His throat tightened reflexively, but he managed to speak around it. “Blake and I were never married, and while I remember your face—”Your smug, wicked, hurtful face. “I don’t remember your name.”
“Seronn, son of Tlann, consort of Hrill.”
“I see.” There were worlds of subtlety that Jason was missing here, from the look of things, and he needed to find out what they were. Fast. “I’ll remember you now.”
“That is good.”
After Seronn turned away, Jason pushed the last of his more curious-minded students out the doors. There was a shuttle waiting for him and Corran, and they rode it in uncomfortable silence.
Corran fidgeted and looked like he wanted to speak, and when they stopped and Jason stepped out, he finally did. “Next time, I will help you better,” he promised. “He should not speak to you in such a way. I should have supported you.”
“His problems with me have nothing to do with you,” Jason promised. “You did fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast. Thanks for your help.”
“It’s my honor to help you,” Corran said seriously. “You are my family now, just like my brothers and Ferran. I will always support you.”
Jason wasn’t at all sure he deserved unquestioni
ng support, but he was happy to have it for the moment. “Thank you, Corran. Go and get some sleep.”
It was good advice—the kind that Jason wanted to follow himself—but he hadn’t had time to eat dinner earlier and hadn’t seen Ferran all day, and he wanted to ask him about Seronn. He wanted to explain to him as well, because the last thing Jason needed was Ferran hearing through the Perel grapevine that Jason had been married before. He and Blake had never considered marriage. Looking back on it, Jason wondered if that wasn’t one of the many problems Blake had had with their relationship.
Their den was warm and dimly lit, with a few lines of bioluminescence glowing along the floor but most of the light coming from the lamp in the kitchen.
Ferran was there, and he had been cooking. It smelled amazing.
“You’re home.” Ferran enfolded Jason in a tight hug, and the stresses of the day eased their grip on Jason’s body.
Hugs were for evening, when they were both tired and needed the full physical connection. The rest of the time, they used the Perel version of a farewell or hello. Jason liked them—preferred them at times—but not right now. He hugged Ferran back, kissed his cheek, and then pulled away. “You cooked.”
“Ambassador Howards gave me fish. I made salmon on red rice.” Ferran pointed to the small table that was set for the two of them. “I asked her for the things to make kimchi. She said she would order them with the next shipment of supplies.”
“Thank you for that. Did you ask her about the emitters as well?”
“Yes. She told me not to nag.”
Jason laughed a little as he sat down. “That sounds like her.”
Ferran sat across from him and they began to eat. “How were your classes?”
“They went well enough. I enjoyed working with the children.”
Ferran smiled. “They were so excited when they came home. All of the others are very jealous now. My mother wants you to do more classes, but I told her no.”
That was a little surprising. “Did you?”