by Jean Johnson
“You’re welcome . . . but I meant, we should buy time for the Veilway to reopen,” he stressed. At her bemused look, he explained. “Kefer said he was keeping the inheritor clause as a fallback plan, and that it was quite solid. We know he would prefer the alternate ruling that would secure this world under Fae protection, but there are gaps in its armor, gaps that he cannot fill in and cover without access to Fae precedent archives. The inheritor contract gives us twenty or thirty years to have a half-breed child be raised by both sides, and to make the decision twenty-plus years from now as to which side has a better claim to protecting and managing this world.
“Use that twenty-plus years, Jintaya,” he urged, hugging her gently. “Establish so much precedence during that time for your people’s ability to protect this world that it is beyond obvious the kindness and caring of your people should rule here as our right, as far as outworlder control is concerned. You can generously build into that contract the chance for the Efrijt to do the same, to give them a fair opportunity for themselves . . . but we both know it is not their way to be that generous naturally.”
This time, she didn’t just press two fingers to her brow. Jintaya rubbed at it with all of her fingers, to get her heavy frown to ease. Frowning gave her a headache if she did it for too long. Lowering her hand, she eyed him skeptically. “And who, exactly, will I convince to beget an inheritor?”
The arm around her shoulders squeezed a little again. Ban gestured at the doorway out of the grotto with his free hand. “The pairing is obvious. It would be Muan and Daro Dakin, the Efrijt who constantly greets and converses with her whenever she visits with the negotiating team. The Efrijt who is included every time they come to visit us as well, despite his low rank and uselessness to the negotiations.”
She frowned up at him. “It is obvious to me that he has been directed to be nice to her, Ban. We know from all the spying we’ve done, locally and remotely, that they want to try to gain some of our Fae advantages with the local magic through their influence over a half-breed child. Choosing him would be aligning with their wishes.”
“Yes, but they actually do seem to get along,” he told her. “I believe their conversations have been genuinely interesting for each of them. If we must ask anyone to do this, it should be two people who can get along.”
“Well, of course it should be,” she dismissed. “The needs of the child alone require that the two sharing the responsibilities of parenthood need to get along. Unfortunately, I cannot control anything the Efrijt will say to the child when they are in the other parent’s custody during their formative years. I can only have a say in how we raise the child, when they live among us . . . and now I am extra grateful for Shava’s presence,” she muttered. Catching his curious look, she went on. “Kefer explained that by the rules of an inheritor contract, the child must be raised in the culture of each parent, and that means raised and trained to Fae standards, not to the lesser standards we have been letting the locals raise the Dai-Fae of the Flame Sea. Having a formally trained educator on hand will help ensure the child is properly raised when they are with us.”
“Then it only remains to be seen if Muan will accept a parenting agreement with this Dakin person,” Ban pointed out. “And of course, if he will accept her . . . and if the Efrijt will accept their pairing, and if both sides will accept the contract . . . and Kefer and Jinji will need to see how many subtle clauses they can bury in it, to give us subtly accumulating advantages over time while we wait for your fellow Fae to reestablish contact,” Ban said.
“You make it sound so simple,” Jintaya muttered. She sighed and pressed her fingers to her brow. “It is, since we have already arranged the groundwork for the contracts, if only as a backup option. I know it is . . . and I know that even if we have to wait years to reestablish the Veilway—stars avert that idea; may it be so much sooner—this is a far more pleasant place to live while we wait and wait than any of the places you have suffered.”
“Of course it is,” Ban told her. His other arm came around her, pulling her close to his chest again. “This universe has you in it.”
A wry smile curving her lips, Jintaya closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. “This world has you in it. I would not care to be anywhere else, if you are not with me.”
***
The theater dug into the granite cliffs lining the main wadij of the settlement of Ijesh looked and smelled fantastic. Rua-taje had somehow conjured or coaxed plants to bloom, allowing the Flame Sea humans to plait wreathes and garlands for the mating ceremony between Muan-taje and the Efrijt, Daro Dakin, cousin of the first Efrijt whom Tuki had ever met. Everyone who was anyone had agreed to come, and humans, Fae, and Efrijt had spent a day or two cleaning themselves and preparing their celebration garments for this event.
The mating took place with three ritual parts, one for the Fae version of a “parenting contract” and one for the Efrijt version of “parental mating,” and a third for the local custom of a fertility pairing. Tuki thought the Efrijt looked a bit uncomfortable, being draped in bone beads in the hopes of strong children, and leafy greens in hopes of plentiful resources to support those children. It took the teenager a little bit to realize it was the plural, children, that caused the outsider named Dakin that visible discomfort.
It seemed silly to him to select a mate for just one child, but he knew he was young. Such things did not yet interest him. Much. Anuda would make a good mother someday, of course . . . The tajet of the Efrijt—so weird that they had three co-leaders, though the other two did defer mostly to the sejo female—came forward to bless the newly mated pair. Unlike the Fae, they did not smile much, and the male with the black curls and dark red eyes, Seso Parut, even scowled a bit.
It did make him think, though. Scooting sideways on the bench seat of the theater tiers, he edged over close to Siffu. Unable to get close enough, he murmured an apology to Anuda and Seda when he shifted in front of them, which made Hallo on their far side frown at him. Crouching behind his target, he touched the aging woman on the shoulder, and whispered in her ear.
“Grandmother Siffae,” he stated, making it clear with the variation on her name that he was talking to the matriarch, and not to the mere tribe member. When she gave a tiny, curt nod, granting him permission to speak, Tuki asked, “If the Efrijt are bad anima-beings . . . what does it mean that a good anima-being takes a demon as her mate?”
Siffu mulled over his question. Tuki waited patiently, knowing that with seventy-two years of experience and thought behind her words, she would not speak until she was certain of her wisdom. When she did, she curled her fingers, making him lean over her shoulder so she could murmur her reply in his ear.
“Good and evil must always be present.” Catching sight of his confused frown, she explained further. “If you do not know sourness, how can you tell just how sweet something is? We prefer good things most of the time, pleasant things, but if we have never known hunger, we stop appreciating good food. If we never know pain, we do not appreciate pleasure. And remember, the demons of one tribe are always the gods of another. They may not be a good tribe, but they do have their chosen gods.”
“They are not pleasant people, Grandmother,” he reminded her. “They are not generous, they are not compassionate, and they are not always kind. Unless it gives them some advantage.”
“. . . Perhaps they are like Ban-taje,” she said after a few moments of thought, confusing him again. “You are far too young to remember what he was like. Your mother was just a little child when we came here. Ban-taje used to not care about anyone, just Taje Djin-taje-ul. But then young little Zuki—who was almost but not quite a young woman—convinced him to talk with her. And convinced him to be her friend. And convinced him to be friends with others in the tribe. Now he cares for many of us. I hope they are like him. That they will learn to care, and grow to care. I am just not certain if I will live long enough to see it.”
/> “So . . . they are not demon-beings?” he asked. “They are god-beings?”
“I did not say that,” she cautioned him. “They are not our anima-beings, and therefore are not our gods. They are like Ban-taje as he was in the beginning, and we are a foreign tribe to them. It is up to us to tread carefully around them, to try to gain their respect and friendship, so that they do not attack us. So no, they are not god-beings. They are not our friends. Yet.
“For now, they are demons, outlander god-beings, but not ours; they are cold, calculating, and do not care about us. But one day,” she murmured, watching the Efrijt finish their blessings and move back so that the Fae could move forward. “One day, they might be something else. We shall see. Now, return to your seat and be respectful. This is an important day.”
“Yes, Grandmother Siffae. Thank you,” Tuki murmured, and returned to his spot on the bench behind hers. He had a lot to think about, including the fact that these demon-beings were not quite as simple to understand as he had thought, if they could possibly turn nice someday. For now, though, he would watch. All of them would watch, both those who followed Grandmother Siffae in their carefully concealed worship, and the Fae themselves, in this wary, cautious alliance with these Efrijt, these demon-people. This mating was meant to last until a child born between Muan-taje and Daro Dakin reached the age of twenty.
They had plenty of time to watch.
Jean Johnson is the national bestselling author of both military science fiction and fantasy romance, including the Flame Sea novels, and various series, such as Theirs Not to Reason Why, First Salik War, Destiny, and Guardians of Destiny. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, and enjoys chatting with her readers on social media, such as on Twitter @JeanJAuthor.
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