A Dictionary of Fools (The HouseOf Light And Shadow Book 2)

by P. J. Fox

  Kisten, hearing that, had laughed. He didn’t know how his mother stood it.

  He also didn’t know what, in terms of his relationship with his brother, the issue was. To Kisten, intimacy with his brother was, quite literally, self-love. Keshav was no more of a separate person than his reflection in the mirror. He—they—had discovered the secret, furtive pleasure of touching himself when he was about thirteen. In this, he imagined, he was much like any other boy. The difference was that most boys were, due to limitations in flexibility, sadly unable to suck their own cocks. Which was fortunate, he decided later on, as the father of a teenager; otherwise an alarming number of boys would be dead in their rooms of starvation.

  Moreover, other boys—barring serious malformation—only had one cock to play with. Kisten had two, exactly alike. It was only natural that he’d want to explore all the places he could put it. Touching, licking, fingering…things his classmates often did with each other after the lights were out, at school. Most of them preferred girls, but of course there were no girls and masturbation was ever so much easier with an assistant.

  There was a common misconception, among men who did not have sex with men, that the parties in question essentially replicated “regular” sex. Someone was always the woman, and someone was always the man. In actuality, most men liked to both fuck and be fucked as each act yielded up its own unique sensations. Pressure against the prostate gland was intensely pleasurable, for anyone who had a prostate. Interest in anal sex was an issue of anatomy, not orientation. More than one man, although not secure enough in his masculinity to admit as much in public, had wheedled and coerced his female partner into riding him with a strap-on.

  Kisten had learned all about this particular phenomenon, and others, in the navy.

  Kisten wasn’t attracted to men; he just liked touching himself and, honestly, what man didn’t? Especially when all the nubile, willing chambermaids were off limits and brothels that didn’t check identification all gave one syphilis. Or worse. Rajesh wasn’t so religious that he forbade the practice; in fact, he wasn’t religious at all and spurned the gods as figments of the collective imagination. His issue was with incest, a rather serious problem within House Mara Sant, and he seemed to feel that the boys playing with each other would lead to them marrying their sisters.

  His son’s disastrous almost-liaison with Sabihah had, naturally, done nothing to diminish this fear.

  And so Kisten had found himself rather forcibly converted to the delights of being seduced by total strangers.

  Even an establishment so exclusive as the Felix had a certain squalid air about it, not out of any wish on the part of its owners but due to the preferences expressed by its customers. Fantasies of paddling naughty schoolgirls after class, or being paddled by them in turn, ravishing celebrities and being abducted by voluptuous, sex-mad aliens were the province of prince and pauper alike. And neither money nor birth could buy taste: some men, no matter what their rank, wanted mirrors on the ceiling.

  Courtesans who worked in brothels were trained to spot venereal disease, and all brothels were required under Alliance law to conduct routine health checks on courtesan and client alike. Mostly, they managed to seductively disrobe their clients under a bright light and examine the package in question under the pretense of giving it a suck. There were panic buttons in all the rooms, themed and non-themed alike, and none of the doors were ever locked. There were hot tubs and things, too, and the manager of the Felix took pride in a water filtration system that he routinely described as “the best in the industry.”

  Under these antiseptic circumstances, it was a minor miracle that anyone ever got hard.

  But despite all the awkwardness and embarrassment, Kisten looked back on those days with fondness. He’d been so naïve, then. He hadn’t thought himself so at the time, of course; he’d thought himself a regular man of the world. But he’d been a child, and he’d been a child when he’d conceived Talin.

  He’d thought he’d done the right thing, at the time. He’d known how immature he was, at least on some level, and he’d been terrified that his son would end up carrying the same burden of guilt that he had. Talin wasn’t much younger than Zoharin; he hadn’t wanted his son to go through what he went through. He wanted his son to have a chance at a real life.

  And so he’d thought that the most loving thing he could possibly do would be to stay away.

  He was disgusted by himself. He didn’t want to be…how he was, but at the same time he couldn’t help himself. He knew that his parents were disgusted, and worried, as much as they loved him. He hadn’t felt like there was anything wrong with making love to his sister, although he knew that he should. This thing, with Sabihah…trying to throw Arjun down a well…the other things he’d done…he was flawed, somehow. Broken. He wasn’t lovable, because he…hurt people. Sometimes because he wanted to, like with Arjun, but sometimes without meaning to. When, indeed, hurting them was the very last thing he wanted.

  He discussed the Sabihah incident at length with Keshav, who’d pointed out in his characteristically bland fashion that Kisten had been kind to Sabihah when she was sick, which had in turn caused some strong feelings that she hadn’t been able to interpret. The same could be said of Kisten, Keshav said. Someone close to him had almost died and he was overwrought, too.

  He’d read about a similar phenomenon occurring between family members who’d been reunited after some kind of long term separation, like an adoption. Mothers fell madly in love with sons, daughters fell madly in love with fathers, siblings fell madly in love with each other—or so they thought. These longings, suppressed for so long that they were no longer articulable or even recognizable for what they were, had to be vented somehow.

  The burning, raw passion of a love affair was, he’d argued, on some fundamental level, a compensation. We’ll go through something similar, if we ever get married. For everyone, not just twins, the search for a partner is the quest to become whole. Keshav had been articulate, even then, and given to philosophical musings.

  But we are whole.

  No, we’re not. No one person is whole.

  And Kisten hadn’t felt whole, until he’d met Aria. He hadn’t known that anything was missing, hadn’t been looking for her…but then he’d found her, and his entire world had changed. He didn’t deserve her, and found her devotion to him both wonderful and baffling. He wanted her to love him, of course, but he’d never truly thought she would. And yet…she claimed she did. He’d tamed her after all, or perhaps she’d tamed him. He certainly found himself thinking about things he’d never thought about before.

  It was time, he decided, to go home.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Aria came in from her walk to find Alice waiting for her in the sitting room.

  She looked nervous and, according to Ananda, who looked worried, she’d been there for some time. Arriving just after Aria left, she’d refused the steward’s repeated offers of refreshment. Ananda hadn’t known when Aria would be returning, he’d said meaningfully; she might be out for some time. But far from taking the hint, Alice had announced that she’d wait. And so Ananda had, not knowing what else to do, shown her into the smaller of the two sitting rooms and left her there.

  He’d checked in on her periodically, and each time found her staring at the wall. Eventually, he’d brought her tea. He thought she might have had some; he wasn’t sure.

  Aria thanked him and went to see what Alice was about.

  As guilty as the admission made her feel, the last thing she wanted was company. What she wanted was to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and catch up on the sleep she hadn’t gotten last night. After Kisten left for dinner, Talin made his displeasure known in no uncertain terms: at her, at what he perceived as her perfidy, at his so-called father, at the whole situation. He wasn’t, he’d informed her darkly, going to stay in this house.

  She’d persuaded him into another few rounds of cards; he’d allowed himself to be convinced,
not because he’d wanted to spend time in her company but because there was nothing else to do. And she’d made herself slightly more popular by ordering in a tray of sandwiches.

  Kisten hadn’t come home until almost morning.

  The moon had set and the first birds were stirring when he walked through the door to their bedroom, looking haggard and drawn and like he’d aged ten years overnight. She didn’t know where he’d been, and he offered no explanations, but what passed between them when she’d looked up from her book and their eyes met had said everything. She’d uncurled herself from her spot in the chair, put her book down and come forward to meet him. They’d stood there, facing each other, for a long moment before he’d fallen into her arms and clutched her as a man drowning.

  Breakfast had been a subdued affair, with Talin nowhere in sight, as they’d split a pot of coffee and begun their first day as parents. Then Kisten had retreated to his study and Aria had left for her usual morning walk with Lei and, now that everyone was home from the hospital, Deliah.

  By this point, she’d passed from mere exhaustion into the kind of tired where no amount of coffee did a goddamn thing and the world seemed to be tilting a little on its axis. Even so, she put on a smile for Alice, whom she’d seen little of over the past few months, as she pushed open the sitting room door and slipped inside.

  A pair of matching couches faced each other across from the fireplace and Alice sat on one, staring off into space. Her tea was untouched. But she looked up when she heard the door open and smiled wanly.

  “Good morning,” said Aria.

  Alice summed herself up for a cheery response and then, abruptly, deflated. “Oh, Aria,” she wailed, “I’m so unhappy.”

  Aria quickly sent for more tea, and then joined her friend on the couch. Alice was dressed in a too-bright gown that made her look washed out and gave her skin a sallow cast. Or perhaps that was just exhaustion; Alice looked as sleep deprived as Aria felt, maybe even more so.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Aria.

  Just then the door opened and Talin, looking disreputable, poked his head in and looked around. “Oh,” he said, “it’s you.”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  Talin’s eyes flickered to Alice. Clearly, he didn’t want to answer her in front of a stranger. Excusing herself for a moment, Aria slipped out and met him in the hall. There was no one about; it was mid-morning and all the slaves had work to do. Aria wondered if Talin had met with his father yet and suspected from his state of dishabille that he had not. If appearances were any indication, he’d only recently quit his bed.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “So you’re not going to lecture me on where I should be?” he said.

  “No. Although I’d be exceedingly gratified if you took a bath.”

  He scowled. “I suppose you’re going to tell—him—where I am.”

  “Actually,” she countered, “I’m otherwise engaged at the moment, with a friend of mine. Alice, should you wish to introduce yourself at a later date. But,” she added, “if you intend for your whereabouts to remain a secret, then I’d strongly suggest that you not stand about in the middle of the main hall.”

  “I’m…” he began, and then stopped. “I was looking for…to see if….”

  He hadn’t seen Kisten yet, then, because he didn’t know. “Your mother has left,” Aria told him as gently as possible. “Last night.”

  “For where?” he demanded suspiciously. He was wondering, no doubt, if she’d met with an unfortunate accident. Aria had wondered the same thing. “You mean to tell me that she just left? This morning?”

  “I don’t know,” Aria said honestly. “Truly, I don’t.” And then, after a pause, “I’m sorry.”

  “She probably went back to that pervert,” Talin muttered.

  “I would imagine so.”

  “So I’m a prisoner.” He stood there, frozen, his lips compressed into a thin line as he absorbed this news. He opened his mouth and then shut it. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

  Aria watched him go and then, with a sigh, returned to Alice. She’d expected questions but Alice seemed oblivious to Talin’s presence and, indeed, to the aura of tension and stress permeating the household. Everyone, from Aria to Ananda to the apprentice pastry chef and the pair of chatterboxes who scrubbed the tiles was tiptoeing on eggshells and, collectively, holding their breath. Talin alone seemed unconcerned—with everything except his own anger.

  “Kisten’s son has come to live with us,” said Aria, pouring tea.

  “That’s nice.” Alice sounded distracted.

  She could have, Aria realized, announced that Kisten himself had given birth to a rhinoceros and Alice would have greeted the news with approximately the same reaction. She was as lost in her own world as Talin was.

  Aria passed Alice her teacup. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on,” she said.

  “I need a divorce,” Alice replied, almost at once.

  “What?” Aria couldn’t disguise her shock.

  “I hate him.” Alice’s tone was vehement. “Ramesh. He’s a terrible man and I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  She went on to detail the habits of a man whom she portrayed as rude, thoughtless, uncaring, and fundamentally uninterested in Alice. Her description did not at all match Kisten’s; Kisten described Captain Gore as a thoughtful and hardworking man who’d shown every indication of taking his responsibilities seriously. But no one could predict a man’s home life with any degree of certainty, and relationships—and the people who had them—often looked different from within than without.

  “What can I do to help?” asked Aria, thinking Alice would want advice.

  “Help me leave him.”

  “What?” she repeated stupidly.

  “Hide me—do something.”

  “Aren’t you overreacting? I’m sure, if you’ve had a fight….” Aria bit her lip.

  “No, I am not overreacting!” Alice’s mouth tightened, forcibly reminding Aria of their last interview on the subject of marriage. Aria’s attempts at counsel hadn’t gone over well then, and they weren’t now. She’d suspected, privately, that her seeing so little of Alice had been due to lingering anger on Alice’s part.

  “What about that place in the hills?” Alice demanded. Kisten had purchased a sort of hunting lodge, although neither of them had had time to use it much. “I could go there.”

  “Alice,” Aria began carefully, this is crazy. “You must realize that I couldn’t do anything like that without Kisten’s knowledge.”

  “Why not? He never goes there. Lie to him!”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Alice repeated.

  “First, because he’s my husband and I respect him. And second, because doing so would be more than my hide is worth.”

  There. She’d decided to just be honest. That she was mistress of her own home and a woman grown made absolutely no difference to Kisten, who demanded total obedience as head of household. He’d never struck her in anger, not because he disagreed with the idea but because he viewed rashly enacted discipline as the mark of a man who lacked self-control. He meted out his punishments later, after he’d had a chance to calm down and view the situation objectively. By stripping her and turning her over his knee or, on occasion, taking his belt to her bare bottom.

  He disciplined her, in his view, much more lightly than he’d been disciplined at Ceridou.

  Aria accepted that this was both part of his culture, and something she’d agreed to when she’d agreed to marry him. Moreover, she saw it as evidence of the fundamental disconnect between men and women. At least on Brontes. The average Bronte gentleman-in-training grew up raised by governesses and tutors, seeing his parents when he was brought into the library for his nightly interview half an hour before dinner. Otherwise, he lived sequestered from adults of his own rank and station in life and, indeed, anyone who might feel truly comfortable disci
plining him.

  And then he was sent to boarding school, having reached the advanced age of ten or eleven, where he had the tar beat out of him for the slightest infraction. Whether for being five minutes late to class or cheating on a midterm exam, he could and did expect the strap—or worse. Aria had heard, from varying sources around the cantonment, stories of punishments that were scarcely to be believed. Setji, in particular, enjoyed horrifying her with explicit accounts of boys being stripped naked and flogged in front of their classmates as well as enduring a whole host of other public humiliations. Invariably during dinner, while she was attempting to eat.

  Girls, meanwhile, were petted and coddled from birth. So it was hardly shocking, therefore, that men and women sometimes had difficulty relating to each other. Owing to what Aria, at least, saw as the limitations of their upbringing, most men had little else in their repertoire. They knew how to treat others as they, themselves had been treated.

  “The unremitting chauvinism and elitism,” said Alice, “how do you stand it?”

  “I suppose I never really thought about things in that light,” said Aria.

  “You put up with so much.”

  “Not really.” Aria sipped her tea.

  “This notion that the man is supposed to lead the woman,” said Alice, “is idiotic!” She was working herself up into quite a state. Her anger wasn’t at Aria, but at the world in general—and perhaps at herself. “The man leads the woman, controlling all aspects of her life—large and small! He helps her become the best person she can be, while he self-corrects!

  “He—what? Keeps her safe from herself? What an infantilizing idea! Women in this wretched, woman-hating empire can’t live according to their own rules, govern their own choices, or do anything! They don’t know right from wrong, oh no! They need a man to beat the difference into them. And spanking,” she added, unexpectedly primly, “is salacious.”