by Y. M. Roger
“Not that there would actually be a place for anything else if it did – everything seems to fit just fine and Miannmarr seems content to say it is finished, you know, kardesh?”
And Mysstree actually took excellent care of the unattractive floor covering – it almost always appeared not only clean but its pile was always carefully sculpted.
Strange.
But Balstir had seen worse when it came to strange family idiosyncrasies so, he had simply shrugged it all off because, all-in-all, Mysstree was a great little sister. She was loving and gentle and actually tried to take care of him despite her being the one with the handicap – calling him her kardesh and never ever being a bother or even an annoyance no matter their age difference. On top of that caring personality, she was very independent – living in her own detached apartment behind their parents’ house – and rarely, if ever, let her lack of visual sight hinder her ability to accomplish just about anything she set her mind to do.
“So, you see, this opportunity could not have come at a better time,” Mysstree chortled to herself as Balstir and his beast simply listened in wonder – their heads only slightly shaking in unison, “We look forward to ‘seeing’ this Captain Marid because we feel he will be easy to care for if he is as strong a personality as you say he is – he should be very easy for even my sight to follow. And, do not worry, kardesh, we will have the floorplan layout memorized in short order – Miannmarr and I will take care of that.”
And Mysstree had taken that wonderful independence and “emotional vision” as she liked to call it and earned her degree in adolescent ruhbilim in addition to a minor in bakim. She worked as a volunteer at the secondary school on the afternoons when she had no scheduled appointments at the clinic or at the Peacekeeper headquarters where she was employed as a private consultant.
“We are not …,” Balstir tried to interject.
Well, that was better than he had managed up until now – his beast laughed as Mysstree continued as though Balstir had not tried to say more than the three words they had managed that time.
“Oh, I know you were not saying such, we just wanted to reassure you that we will be sure to handle Captain Marid with the utmost care and get him fit for duty again before you know it, okay?”
Balstir chuckled along with his hydenna as they both settled in for the ride back to the palace without much talking on their part.
Because their Mysstree had started a whole new monologue about what she had researched regarding the inner-auditory functionality of cognates in general as well as demercrieres in particular.
Yes, their beautiful Mysstree could certainly talk.
Chapter 24
Dalis woke to the quiet stillness that was a cognate’s absence. Although his mind thought that he could see, there was nothing there on which to focus – it was just a soothing blend of light and color that caressed his “skin” and tickled his senses. Dalis waited before reaching out with his thoughts, giving the monger time to realize his awareness before pushing outward.
I am working on something, Dalis, and the kichigai Prime Magistrate has not stirred. Letting me finish would be nice.
Although the monger never spoke Bohrean, his and Dalis’ mental communication remained the same – Dalis, however, had to speak verbally in order for the communication to be complete when he was absent even though he had never actually “puzzled out” how such was perceived by his Mischief. And Dalis had always envisioned that Mischief actually “spoke” verbally during his present times although it sounded like standard monger “chatter” to those in the present reality.
“Good Morning to you, too, starshine.”
Dalis felt their countenance wilt somewhat and their energy level waning just in the slightest – the colors in his vision were somewhat washed out and not nearly as brilliant as they usually were.
Sorry. Preoccupied.
“Okay, but have you eaten anything? It seems as though …
A loud screech that could probably be heard both by himself and everyone outside their quarters – obviously Mischief was annoyed about something.
You left us no food, and your pants are now ripped in the crotch. At least you forgot and left the portable turned on when we were researching yesterday. Gaaah!
Dalis smiled inwardly – there was that drama again. The old steward reached out with his ‘hands’ and ‘feet’ and thought intensely about caressing Mischief’s fur – the tension in the “air” surrounding Dalis definitely easing with his actions.
“I apologize, my friend. I believe our age must be catching up with me – yesterday was quite draining both mentally and physically.”
A gentle growl sounded through his being this time – no screeching.
Ts’okay. Dalis could actually feel Mischief sigh. And, you are right, we do need to eat soon.
Dalis simply nodded in acknowledgement as he let his entire being relax. He could use this absent time to get his thoughts together – his age never seemed to weigh on him here, and the respite as he waited on his monger was much preferred to being startled awake under a bed or, worse yet, up a tree.
“Agreed. Now, would you like to share what made you faint last night?”
Dalis had debated with himself about even broaching the subject, but the knowledge would certainly help with his getting his own thoughts together. However, his question was met with an almost cold and even defiant silence.
“Mischief?”
The tension returned to the colors and to the “air” again.
I am almost finished. We can talk more during food.
Dalis sighed. This was not quite like his Mischief. When the monger was into something – usually some ‘mischief’ into which he should not be – he was usually filled with laughter or constant jokes that did not make much sense – almost as if he were talking simply to occupy Dalis’ time in absence.
Dalis continued his stroking.
But it was not like that this time.
“Yes, I am sure some nourishment will help as well before your sleep time.”
Mischief’s low growl transitioned into a heavy sigh as Dalis felt Mischief let go and pull him into the present.
Food definitely, Dalis, but I will not be sleeping this day.
Finding himself standing nude in front of the portable’s vid-screen, Dalis started to turn toward the bed to grab his shirt and continue his conversation until what was on the screen seemed too interesting . ., “Now, why would you not get at least some res …,” the old steward had to lean forward to grab the tabletop for support instead, “Mischief!!”
The monger simply fidgeted incessantly inside of him as Dalis stared, unable to breath, at the vid-screen in front of him.
Mischief had set the screen to split-mode.
One side was a close-up of a feminine hand wearing the jewelry in the painting with which Mischief had always been enthralled – the same jewelry that Hanfendi Chiyoto wore that the Prince had instructed them to research. But on the other side – oh, Makers! on the other side was … was … one of the large paintings that hung in Prince Rafal’s residence – it was the huge one that hung in his study behind his desk. It was of some long-forgotten Empress – her beautiful and almost mystically bright pink and lavender coif flowing down over her shoulders – and Emperor with their daughter, her hair the same as her mamé’s except it was shorter and not as full – seated on the Emperor’s lap. Mischief had highlighted the daughter’s little hand to show that the jewelry she wore was the same as. . .
Dalis fell backward in disbelief to sit hard onto the floor – the feel of the hard, cold surface a shock after the apparent warmth and complete comfort of his absence.
She is unbelievable, Dalis – everything and more than that we have learned and heard from the gnysues and legends – both written and whispered. I do not even think that I beheld all that she is.
/> Dalis’ breathing hitched, and he actually felt his heart flutter.
Although Chiyo – is that what you said her name is? – must have dyed her hair. At least that would explain why it does not fit with …
“She is Hanfendi Chiyoto,” Dalis tried to find a footing in reality, “And he does not know, Mischief. Oh, Makers! Prince Rafal does not …”
Dalis felt his Mischief soothing him now – what an almost comical turn of events! Comical, that is, if not for the revelation that had just been thrust into their laps.
But Mischief also knew of the deep feelings that Dalis had for the Crowned Prince who housed the beast from the realms godsfall, in the monger’s words.
And it is not our place to tell him, my Dalis. She is OUR Empress-Heir, NOT his.
Mischief seemed very adamant in that belief, and although somewhere in his mind he knew the monger was correct, he still did not want to see Rafal – yes, he was the Crowned Prince Rafal to the Empire, but he was still Dalis’ personal charge albeit self-assigned – hurt any more than he had already been in his lifetime.
The royal male deserved so much better than he ever got.
Nearly choking on everything and nothing, Dalis breathed deeply as he tried desperately to calmly raise himself from the floor and find some clothes – his thoughts in complete disarray as he ran through the events of yesterday in his mindseye.
“That is not what the Prince thinks, my Mischief,” Dalis felt his fidgety yet humbly loyal monger nod his head in agreement with his words – both of them realizing the depth of Prince Rafal’s feelings for his special female … the Bohrean Empress-Heir he had vehemently insisted was his mate, “That is not was he thinks at all.”
Dalis fumbled with his clothing as he continued to mumble to himself – his thoughts roaming all over the place.
Food, Dalis.
Dalis felt his Mischief yawn – the steward was not the only one affected by their getting on in cycles. But then, again, the monger could also be just a bit stressed. Then, in typical Mischief fashion …
We need to focus today – Cheo and Margreet are waiting.
Dalis hrrmphed at Mischief’s line of thinking as he unsealed their quarters – their mate was the one thing in the near future on which they could definitely depend and almost predict. Still, Dalis felt himself grow hard and his hands begin to itch to touch their mate …
Well, they are, Dalis. So, what are we having for breakfast?
Dalis rolled his eyes and had to grin.
“There was fresh fruit in the delivery yesterday along with extra bottles of that protein energy concoction you like.”
Mischief growled in discontent – it would have been nice to have one or two of them left out for him last night since he was denied free run of their entire shuttle suite.
Well, I hope YOU enjoy it, then. We will need the extra energy today for our homecoming.
As they made their way on silent feet to the food prep area, Dalis inwardly sent an apology once again for his lack of forethought before sleep last night, but he found himself outwardly mumbling in agreement with his monger’s final statement.
Neşeli contentedly rubbed the top of his elongated upper torso firmly against one of the sharpest stone outcroppings in the play-yard as he tore apart and scattered the uneaten portions of the small, six-legged feline he had caught slinking about his property. It had been a nice snack, but there was no reason to leave any traces of his violence in case their Affie chose to come out and play in the yard today – Tazirr could call her Afacan, but Neşeli could not bring himself to call such a beautiful little being a name with such derogatory connotations. The little being had already managed to calm his Tazirr beast even more than a meal of freshly-skinned tiemsaho during breeding season.
The over-sized zehirakre warmed all over at the thought of their little find – they had tucked her snuggly into their bed before dinner last evening. In fact, Tazirr had taken extra care to make sure the covers were actually tucked tightly on both sides so she would not roll out. Then, he must have fallen asleep on the entertainment lounge sometime after his final fermenti (Neşeli had already been asleep by that time) as it was there that the zehirakre had found itself sprawled when it had become present upon waking earlier this morning. But, as usual, Neşeli did not require the amount of sleep that Tazirr did, and the hulking zehirakre had stopped by the bedroom door to peer in to see the mess of blonde hair sticking out of their bedcovers and had quietly slinked out a few hurs before starlight to exercise and “play.”
Early morning was Neşeli’s favorite time of the day, and Tazirr was definitely not an early riser – those differences as well as the overlaps in their awarenesses had always worked well for them both.
As the day star began to show its first rays over the horizon, Neşeli stared intently at a small colorful bird atop the nearby boulder – the zehirakre’s rear turned toward their workshop entrance as his dangerous raised tail with that deadly ornament twitched with the intensity of his observation. Neşeli’s large, almost hand-like front phalanges inconspicuously clawed at the soft soil in anticipation of his pounce on the unsuspecting winged creature. The bird hopped down the rock face to land on the ground immediately to his right, and Neşeli’s comfort rubbing against the rock instantly ceased as he froze and predatorally bared his poison fangs in attack posture – his hulking body slowly and practically unnoticeably lowering itself into a striking stance. The bird was far too focused on the insect it pursued to notice the over-whelming behemoth that was Neşeli, but, just as the zehirakre would have sprung, a loud high-pitched giggle interrupted his entire poise.
And, of course, scared the targeted bird to instant flight.
Surprised and without thought as to what his appearance might do to her, Neşeli wheeled his entire massive body around to face Affie – his unintended growl and adrenaline rush waking Tazirr in the process. Neşeli froze again, this time his intentions not to scare their … their little? female – the zehirakre took a breath and could not speak even though he heard Tazirr’s worried questions inside of him.
“Neşeli? What is it? Is there something …?”
Neşeli tried to mumble a reply as Affie walked toward them – her little turned-up nose once again working overtime trying to get a scent of them – her little feet obviously enjoying the feel of the loose soil beneath them where they stuck out from Tazirr’s shirt just above her … her knee? Did not the garment drag the floor last evening? The maybe-not-so-little female’s hand placed over her mouth where that smile threatened to release more of those shrill outbursts.
She seems taller this morning, Tazirr, but, of course, I am lower to the ground than you are.
“She cannot be taller, Neşeli, but do not spook her. Please!”
Now, why would I try to spook our Affie?
Tazirr growled at Neşeli’s shortening of their little female’s name.
She is ours. I can call her anything I wish, yes?
The young female stopped right in front of them – her little lips moving to attempt to make the clicking and hissing sounds that Neşeli made as his speech in joking retort to Tazirr – her trembling hand reaching out to fist in the thick, nearly weapon-resistant fur atop Neşeli’s head while the other gently touched Neşeli’s long, protruding fangs.
She is touching me, Tazirr, and she is not afr . …
“Not. Bite.”
Affie’s beautiful maroon eyes sparkled at Neşeli as she carefully spoke the two words.
“Neşeli? Did she just tell us …?”
The huge zehirakre lifted its large head up and dipped its chin so that what would be considered its forehead leaned into the young female’s forehead – her feminine scent laced with a trace of poisonous danger spreading through the lethal predator and attaching itself to every part of Neşeli’s being. In fact, Tazirr could almost feel his altre sigh with an
almost profound protectiveness as a deep, contented growl rose up from inside of the zehirakre – physically allowing Tazirr into the present. Now, the massive huntmaster’s forehead pressed against the definitely-not-as-little-as-last-night female’s.
Ours, Tazirr. Affie belongs to us.
Just as Tazirr appeared in Neşeli’s place, Afacan squealed that piercing giggle again and flung her arms around his neck. Tazirr grasped her body and stood to inhale her scent and pull her against them.
But, to his initial shock, Tazirr realized that his Neşeli had been right. The female, while still quite small compared to them, was substantially taller. He would guess her apparent age to be somewhere around eight or even ten cycles this morning . …
“Oh, Gods and Makers! How in godsfall is this even possible, Neşeli?”
But even as he whispered the questioning words, Tazirr knew he could not let the female go – could not report this odd occurrence – they would take her from him. But his little female calmed parts of him that he never even knew were angry and unsettled – and he could not, would not, lose her.