by Cari Z.
“No. You two won’t do this.”
“The challenge was delivered and he accepted,” Seronn hissed. “It is tradition that not even you can break.”
“This is my class, and both of you are my students. Your actions in this place are my responsibility, and I’m going to handle this. I forbid Corran from fighting you over an insult to me. If you’re determined to duel about something so petty, then you’re going to face me instead.”
“No!” Corran wailed, but Jason had already made up his mind.
Seronn, for his part, lit up like he had been given a gift. In a sick way, he had. “Accepted,” he said smoothly, his quills already settling.
Corran was so tense he was trembling, but Jason ignored him to look Seronn in the eye. “Leave.”
“My matriarch shall contact you.” He turned and walked out without a backward glance.
Only if there’s anything left of me after my matriarch gets through with me.
IT TURNED out that Jason didn’t have to break the news to Grenn. She knew about the duel long before he made it to her office in the Council House, Corran trailing miserably in his wake, and to say she was furious would have been a grand understatement.
“You are an alien, and aliens cannot accept duels!”
“I thought you wanted me to be more integrated,” Jason said wearily. Giselle had just arrived, and she was as mad as Grenn, and he was tired of being yelled at. “Consider me your interim duelist.”
“This is the most ridiculous path to integration anyone could ever conceive of! Are you suicidal, to accept Seronn’s proposition?” Grenn demanded.
“I’m not suicidal.” But he was getting impatient with being treated like a child who had to be protected instead of an adult.
“Jason, don’t do this,” Giselle said, interrupting when Grenn looked like she was going to burst with rage. “You can’t do this. If you die, human-Perel relations will be irreparably damaged.”
“If I win, they’ll be immeasurably strengthened,” he challenged. “Won’t they?”
“Jason….” Giselle visibly forced herself to take a deep breath. She looked as though she were trying to gather strength, but he could see her worry was stronger than her annoyance. “Death is never a good option. Perel rules on dueling are very specific, and they always end with one party dying. You don’t even have what you need to duel—the only weapons Perels use are their own quills.”
“I’m sure we can come up with a substitute for me to use,” Jason replied.
“Jason—”
“Jason—”
“Would you rather I let Corran die?” he asked, speaking over both of his mothers. “Honestly, would that have been the better option? Because Seronn set him up to take this fall. He manipulated him and used him, and he would absolutely have killed him given the chance. I’m sorry.” Jason looked over at the young Perel sitting on a stool behind him, head so low that his chin slumped against his chest, “but I’ve taught you both and it’s true. You’re not skilled enough yet.”
“Of course I don’t want my nephew to be dead,” Grenn growled, “but there was the chance that I could have talked the House of Tlann out of a duel, if it had been a matter between the two of them. Now it is a matter with you, and Matriarch Tlann is being courted by the House of Srell. She will not let this opportunity slip from her, not when your death could result in new alliances for her house.”
“It was precipitous,” Giselle added. “It was short-sighted. It was downright dumb, Jason. You should have brought the problem here first before you signed on for a primitive fight to the death!”
Jason shut his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts and keeping the fire of anger swelling inside him from spewing out of his mouth, provoking him into telling off his mothers. “Neither of you were there,” he said at last. “I acted in the best way I knew how at the time. Second-guessing my decision from a position of ignorance after the fact isn’t going to help any of us. You should help me figure out what I can use in the fight and when it will be, not castigate me over how foolish I was to accept. It’s done.”
“The duel will be tomorrow,” Grenn said sourly, “of course. Traditionally, duels occur on the day of the acceptance, but it’s too late now. And I will not sleep this night, because now I have to negotiate for concessions that might save your foolish life. And you,” she said, opening her gleaming eyes wide and staring seriously at him, “will have to explain to my son, your consort, why you are throwing your life with him away.”
“I’m not going to die.”
“If you are very, very lucky, Seronn may not kill you. Ferran might still decide to, though.” She tilted her head. “You know his father died this way, don’t you?”
Yes…. Shit. Jason didn’t say anything, but Grenn read his feelings and smiled a twisted little smile. “Then you know the task you have ahead of you. Go home to him. Try to explain. I will come with the details of your duel when they are established.”
Giselle cast a frustrated glance at Grenn. “Surely there must be something you can do, some kind of loophole.”
“No. I will tell you why, but Jason should go home to his consort.” Grenn glanced at Corran. “And you shall walk home and think about what you have dragged your family into.”
Corran didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move except for a brief twitch of his ears.
Jason felt bad for him, but at this point, there was nothing he could do. He stood up, inclined his head to his worried, furious mothers, and walked out.
Despite the distance, Jason decided to walk home as well, to give himself time to think. Even in perfect hindsight, he didn’t regret his actions, but he wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Ferran why he had chosen to step in. Ferran didn’t like to talk about duels.
The little Jason had learned about dueling had come from the twins. “There is a room in the Council House that is reserved for them,” Neyarr had explained, his face solemn. “The actual space for the duels is enclosed, and surrounding that are places for the observers to sit. The cage is very dimly lit, but all else stays in darkness, to keep from distracting the duelists. It isn’t large, but there are handholds on the walls and the ceiling for the opponents to use if they wish to. For climbing,” he clarified. “A duel is a fight that occurs on all sides.”
“The weapons are our quills, of course,” Garrell had chimed in. “They are broken off and used during the fight. You cannot really throw them, but they stick in a wound and cannot be pulled out easily.”
“If a duelist is cruel, he can keep his opponent alive for hours. It is considered offensive but still acceptable. There is no time limit on a duel,” Neyarr had said. “It took Ferran’s father over a day to die. They all had to watch him suffer.”
Now Jason was going to put his husband in the same position.
He hadn’t looked forward to breaking the news to Ferran, but as it turned out, the news had been broken well before he got back. Perels of the House of Grenn mobbed him as he came in through the garden entrance, all of them talking, some of them pleading, and a few of the smaller ones crying. Grennson latched on to his leg and wouldn’t let go until Jason gave in and picked him up, carrying him all the way to the door of his own den before handing the pup off to another Perel.
“It couldn’t be helped” was all he said to the crowd as he walked. Before he went inside his den, he added, “Be kind to Corran.” Then he shut the door behind him, leaving just him and Ferran inside.
Jason felt cold, and he knew the shaking in his hands wasn’t from the walk. When he raised his eyes and saw Ferran sitting on the edge of the couch, a terrible look of desperate hope on his face, Jason felt lower than dirt.
“Tell me it is not true,” Ferran breathed, his voice so faint Jason could barely hear it. “Tell me you did not do this. You would not. You promised you would never leave me.”
“I couldn’t let Corran accept that duel.”
“You must not do this.” Ferran’s hands w
renched at the fabric beneath them, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned even paler from the strain. “My mother…. She must have a solution. There must be another way.”
“I already talked to her. There isn’t another way.” Jason pushed away from the door and moved closer. He was saddened, but not really surprised, when his husband moved farther back. “She’s going to do what she can for me, but I think at this point it’s mostly about what kind of weapon I’m going to be using since I don’t have any quills.”
“No… no, no.” Ferran’s voice got a little louder, and he shook his head violently. “There must be some way to prevent this. You aren’t the duelist for our house!”
“Ferran, there is no duelist right now for the House of Grenn,” Jason sighed. “There’s only a kid who wants to be one, and Seronn would murder him in a minute. It’s true I’ve never fought a Perel before, but I….” Remember that year, the hot sands, the blunt metal bars that took weeks to sharpen enough so that they killed as quickly as you wanted, the harsh reality where a choked-off, blood-filled scream meant you were doing the other person a favor…. “But I have done this sort of thing before. I can handle it.”
“How can you handle it?” Ferran asked with helpless, growing anger. “How can you handle what you do not know? We are stronger than you, we are faster, we see better in the darkness. Seronn will have a tremendous supply of weapons, and you will have what? How can you handle that?”
“However I have to,” Jason replied. His husband stared at him, eyes and mouth both gaping as strong emotions flooded his face, highlighted by a blistering sense of betrayal. “Ferran….” Jason reached toward him and cupped a hand around his neck, but pulled back almost immediately with a small hiss of pain.
They both looked down at his fingers, which were curling together against the blossoming pain of dozens of razor-thin cuts in the tender flesh.
Ferran keened, high and broken and desperate in the back of his throat. Jason reached out again, but Ferran leapt to his feet and ran out of their den a second later.
Jason watched the door swing closed with a kind of detached despair, already working on separating the urge to run after his husband and beg for forgiveness from the calm that had to keep his mind still and focused right now. So. That had gone about as expected—terribly, and with no redeeming results whatsoever.
He didn’t expect anyone else to bother coming to speak with him, so he moved over to the couch, lay down, and forced himself to relax enough to fall asleep, setting his mental alarm clock to go off in eight hours.
HIS ALARM didn’t get the chance to go off before a hand thumped down on his chest. “Wake up.”
Jason knew who it was before he opened his eyes, but he didn’t quite believe it even when he saw him. “I thought you were supposed to be adjusting.”
“That time is over,” Neyarr told him, his expression dark and serious. “Matriarch Grenn asked our new mother, Lronn, for our help in this time of crisis, and she agreed. Garrell is with Ferran.”
“Where is Ferran?” Jason asked, trying to ignore the fast, anxious beating of his heart. It wasn’t that he’d expected to see his husband here, exactly, but that he wasn’t made the fact that they’d fought so much worse.
“With his mother in an emergency meeting of the Council, trying to wring a few more concessions from them that might benefit you in this situation.” Neyarr sat back and shook his head. “It is stupid—”
“So everyone tells me.”
“Let me finish. It is a stupid reason to duel, but I am so grateful to you for Corran that I cannot say that it was the wrong thing to do.” Neyarr looked down at his twisting hands and then back up. “Our mother was Grenn’s sister, and she also was not very fertile. She had only four pups, and my sister died very young. Corran can be frustrating, but he is much loved, and he would probably have died today if you hadn’t helped him in this. Thank you.”
Astonishing. Someone actually thought Jason was doing the right thing. “You’re welcome.”
“That doesn’t mean that I will ever forgive you if you die,” Neyarr added, helping Jason to his feet before he could puzzle out what exactly the Perel meant by that. “We must find your sword now.”
“My sword?” A little knot of tension that Jason hadn’t even identified relaxed inside of him. “I get to use my sword?”
“The blade is less than two feet long, yes?”
“Just about two feet,” Jason said, leading the way back into the studio. He was aware of Neyarr avidly taking in the room, the half-finished paintings and the piles of carved wooden staffs in the corner, made for his students’ use when they advanced in ability.
“That will still be acceptable. Ferran convinced the matriarchs to let you use a weapon that you had experience with, and the blade is not much longer than the longest of Seronn’s quills.” He watched as Jason took the tube that held his sword out from behind a tapestry. He opened it up and the sword slid into his hand, the sheath and handle shining a deep, dark red.
“Will the color be an issue?” Jason asked, although frankly, the Perel concept of red as unfriendly was right in line with what he wanted to project right now.
“No. No one will really see the color anyway. What else do you need to do here?”
“I need to shower and change.” Boy, did he need to change.
“Go fast. Grenn wants you at the Council House within the hour. Your physician has to look you over before you can duel.”
“And the duel itself?”
“Scheduled to begin an hour after. Go and get ready.” He flicked his fingers impatiently at Jason. “I will make you something to eat.”
As Jason remembered it, cooking had never been one of Neyarr’s strengths, but he didn’t have the time to dispute it. “Something small,” he warned and then walked away into the bedroom.
He didn’t really look at the bed, their ridiculous, poofy, too-soft bed. It was so soft that it held the shapes of their bodies throughout the day, and Jason knew if he looked at it, he’d see his own flat shape and the crescent moon of Ferran curled around him. Instead, he focused on the shower, warm water and soap and fluffy towels.
Afterward, he looked through the clothes in his closet until he found what he was looking for. The pants were wider than he usually wore, broadening down his legs until the separate halves were barely distinguishable at the bottom. Jason had learned to comfortably move in them back when he’d studied kendo, and the sheer amount of cloth involved might make it harder for Seronn to attack his legs.
With the shirt, he went the other way, choosing one that was skintight, long-sleeved, and high-necked. He had worn it beneath power armor on some of his rougher missions, and the fabric was resistant to tearing, which would also be helpful. Jason pulled it on, pushing back memories as the silky fabric spread over his skin like water. He belted the sword to his waist, slipped his feet into a thin-soled pair of shoes, and walked back out to the kitchen.
Neyarr was sitting in a chair with a cup of tea and cut fruit spread out on a plate before him. He looked up at Jason, and instantly, his pupils blew open. “Jason… you look beautiful!”
Jason had to chuckle. “You sound so surprised.”
“I am. You’ve always hidden yourself with clothes. But why are you afraid to show this off?” Neyarr gestured at his body while Jason sat down. “You should dress like this all of the time. You are very, very nice to look at.” He straightened his back and pushed the cup of sweet tea toward Jason. “Starting tomorrow, you are going to vary your attire. Trust me, it will only make our people like you even better.”
“Starting tomorrow,” Jason agreed, warmed by the subtle assurance of faith. He drank half the tea, ate a few pieces of the mealy fruit, and then decided that was all his body was going to let him get away with right now. “I’m ready.”
“Then we will go.” Neyarr stood smoothly. “A shuttle is waiting to take us to your matriarch. The rest of the House of Grenn knows to give us a wide berth today.�
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“How many people will be watching this duel?” Jason asked as they walked down the long, darkened hallway.
“Every member of the Council of Matriarchs, naturally. The House of Tlann will be allowed five representatives, as will the House of Grenn. And your human mother, Matriarch Howards, will be allowed to watch as well, along with her staff. Three in total for her, I suppose. For Grenn it will be the matriarch herself, Ferran, me, and both my brothers.”
Jason grimaced slightly. “I’d rather Corran didn’t watch this.”
“This duel is a direct result of his inability to control himself. Your matriarch thinks he needs to see it, whatever the outcome is, and I tend to agree with her. Don’t concern yourself with your audience, Jason. You should be thinking about your defense.
“You must guard your head.” The last came out very sternly. “Seronn is well acquainted with human anatomy, and he knows where you are most vulnerable. Our quills are tough, but they aren’t as hard as your steel. He knows that he has to go for the softest spots, and he will certainly try to blind you.”
“What’s the most common line of attack?” Something I should have asked sooner.
“Those who are strong prefer to play all the angles. He will come at you from above, below, and behind.”
“All right.” Get your back to a wall, move along it if you have to, and keep an eye out overhead. “What about grappling?”
“What is grappling?” Neyarr asked as they got into their shuttle.
“It’s like wrestling. Fighting on the ground.”
“All pups play this way, but I don’t think it’s something duelists do. It would be too easy to injure yourself while you were trying to injure your opponent. Also, he is stronger than you are, Jason. He would hold you down, and then it would be over.”
“I see.” Not that groundwork is my strong suit, but it’s something to think about. “What else can you tell me?”
By the time the ride was over, Jason was feeling somewhat better educated, but he had managed to scare Neyarr into silence with the weight of the possibilities. A crowd watched them walk into the Council House, and they detoured to Grenn’s personal office. She was there, along with Ferran, Garrell, and Giselle. Ferran’s cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and he looked up at Jason through his eyelashes, his face expressionless.