Shorts

Short stories! SIMPLE YET EFFECTIVE.

A Dangerous Brood

Gerald and Gerude first. After all, they came first in this batch, and they'll never let anyone else forget it.

The 'first' thing is so very important to both of them, especially when it comes to competitions with each other. That has died down just a little bit as they've grown older (grown up is not a term I can apply to either boy) but it's still prominent. Back in the old days, though, the training days... it was hard to separate them for even a moment when those two trained for Armed. Separating them implied one would do something before the other did.

The competition served me well, though. What can I say? I rarely have trainees that eager to trudge through swampland or clean the barracks. I couldn't keep them away from the most grueling tasks. One taking the easy road meant that the other twin could claim a harder victory. We can't have that.

Gerald got his Arms first. Oddly, something he doesn't rub in Gerude's nose. Then again, Gerude was only a week behind him. After Gerude got Caerig and Kennit, it would have been a bad idea for Gerald to crow on about first place and second place. And before Gerude got his Arms, it would have stood to reason that he would get his Arms soon, and any jibes or taunts in that Armless period would be remembered and tucked away, prized for that fateful day...

Not that I'm saying Gerald was really that smart and wary of his brother. Gerude was always known as the clever one, between the two. It's just, if Gerude ever did shoot Gerald's nose off around that time, it was without my knowledge. For all I know, Gerald managed to get himself a replacement nose quick enough that I never found out about it. And, now that I reflect upon it, that's likely what happened.

The two, when together, make an unstoppable team. That's only when they forget their rivalries, though. As Armed, I don't tend to pair them up, because the times that those two forget their rivalries are rare. The results involve far too much collateral damage for the risk to usually be worth it. To give you an idea of what collateral damage I think is worth it, keep in mind that Katherine and Gerald went out on team assignments with my hearty approval.

On the whole, however, the first two trained quickly and well. Considering how much scrapping the pair got into while I raised them, they almost had training enough before their official training began. I hustled them both into Arms training, in fact, just to ensure that one of them didn't manifest Arms early in the middle of one of their increasingly epic fights. I can't help but say I regret that a little. It would have been the ultimate one-up in their ongoing series of I-did-it-first arguments. But then one would have blown the other's head off, and I can't have that in my living room.

It would figure that they would both have a pair of guns as their Arms' primary form, though. That has never ceased to charm me.

Lute. Lute has been a rather singular child, which is a bit odd for one who's a twin. I have to be thankful for that, though. I'm not sure if I'd like to imagine a world in which Lyric was Lute #2. On the other hand, maybe I would - for one, I wouldn't have to deal with Ebrellin-i anymore, because he'd be dead.

Lyric is, however, profoundly himself, something I am thankful for. He is also not Armed, not a bit. I do not grieve this. If it's not suited to him, that's a simple fact of life. Also, it's hard enough with all the other children who are Armed. They carry a tiny piece of myself with them at all times. While this sates the part of me that wants to always know what anyone is up to, there's the other part of me that becomes horrified at knowing what my children are always up to. They have sex, for one, even though they shouldn't be allowed to. Well, Stevane's mother settled that issue with me, so I suppose Stevane is allowed. For now. All the others, though, their mothers left or don't care or are Katherine, so they're not allowed to mess about! (Yes, yes, I know - but they never listen to me.)

All that to say - with the places that Lyric has been, do I really want to have a closer angle to see him? Absolutely not. Lyric is a special boy. He can stay a Poet, and write about all of it, and Elete can tell me ahead of time which parts not to read.

Back to Lute. The difficult part about Lute was teaching him when not to be Armed. I admit I may not have succeeded. He's been a precocious boy from a young age, but I won't fault him on this: he always brings back his kills. Sort of like a cat, in that respect. You just have to remind yourself that they think they're giving you a present. I slipped up once and gave him a kitty treat last time this happened. He ate it.

Lyric and Lute aren't alike in many regards. No, they still act like twins. It comes out in weird ways. But they don't fight like Gerald and Gerude do. If Lyric were another Lute, and the two did fight? I wouldn't have a house anymore and I'd have to call in the Armed to help quash the fighting.

Don't think that I don't have pride in Lute. I have immense pride in him. I get questions every now and then, you know, on if it's hard having him as a child. No, not really. He cleans up his messes, and by this point he's learned which of them to drag home. He's also the only one out of the whole lot that will wake up early and cook up breakfast when I want to roll over in bed for the next thirty minutes. He's the only one who can carry out an entire conversation in the morning without a war breaking out over makeup, manners, clothing or girlfriends. In a way, he's the most normal out of the bunch, now that he's older. With my other Armed kids, the Armed came first, and eventually they got their Arms to match. Lute seemed to be the other way around. It's as if he was Diyn's kid in the beginning, and then slowly learned to be mine.

He's a good boy. Don't try to tell me any different.

Ahh, Jennelcia. Jenny is somewhat of a prodigy among my children. She knew how to keep herself quiet when she was little (as long as she was properly furnished with toy ponies and was kept well away from Stevane) and very quickly applied herself to the arts of the Armed as she grew older. She took after her goal with quiet enthusiasm, and never caused a ruckus unless stabbing a fellow trainee in the kneecap (and all of them deserved it). She's really done, to be honest. Camden and I have agreed to keep her in training for now for safety's sake (though if it's her safety as a Cruxradia or the public's safety, I can't decide). She's also quite useful for training others. There's nothing like having Jenny handy as a standing example of what an Armed can be, and her quiet, perfectly aimed cutting remarks can sometimes reach deeper than Camden's screaming. (He really does have a gift though. Those hill people have lungs that could shout Theos down, I sometimes think. Though I'm quite unsure what they would do once that was accomplished.)

She's so much like her mother that it's frightening, and so much like myself that it just makes me beam. It's a shame she doesn't quite have a respect for the Law in her, though. One reason I'm glad I have her on my side. Jenny's the sort who could spark and fuel a rebellion quite happily, just for the sake of it. When she'd retooled her play ponies into war horses and set them on a siege against the gingerbread men her sister had made earlier in the day, I wasn't quite sure what to do. Consider my entire life leading up to her upbringing a success, or start planning defenses in case Jennelcia ever defected to another country.

She has a love of the Arms, though. All of them, not only her own. Other Arms, not just her own. She respects them, reveres them, and talks to them. They talk back to her as well - the most surprising part. Armed typically fancy only their weapons, and may admire others a bit, but usually build up rivalries and play games in which they mock (and dodge) each other's Arms. Arms don't typically care to speak to others besides their Armed, certain other Arms, and myself. That so many Arms will speak to Jenny quite amiably is impressive. And that will keep her at our side, no matter what falls to chance.

If you consider me odd for calculating on the possible defection of one of my children, well... that's my own private matter. I will say that I have my reasons, and there are other children I have that I am not mentioning in this little reverie. And no, it's not Muriel - I just can't think of him and Arms at all together. It works even less than musing on Lyric being Armed.

Stevane is a treasure. But she is very different, and this is where things can go wrong. All of the others who've been through training have gotten their Arms already. But I'm not sure how to deal with Stevane. Elete does it effortlessly. But he's the Poet King. Not the Judge. (There'd need to be help for us all if Elete ever became Judge.)

While growing up, Stevane would often stare into the distance for about a minute, then slowly tilt her head and then go "Huh," before turning around and walking off. I knew this right away as Poet Potential, and was correct - soon after walking off, she was usually writing or drawing. Except, now that it's finally time for her to train as an Armed, she'll often stare into the distance at a target, tilt her head, and then go "Huh," right before dead-nailing it with whatever weapon she's aiming with. That's great, except it seems to be the only time she hits during training sessions. I'm not sure the skill will be much use to her as an Armed, but it's certainly giving me some thought as to which state of mind brings her closest to communing with her Arms-to-be.

I never thought I'd be asking these questions, really. Usually Armed are very matter-of-fact. You can't ask Stevane a question without getting a reply that has riders attached. I keep talking to Elete about this and he says that she prefers to be precise. And this is why Myles is training her. She pays attention to him for some reason, and cuts all the crap. I mean, not that it's crap, entirely. It's just, when she's training in the Armed Hall, it's like she never left the Poet Hall.

Elete says I'm just angsting over not having Stevane as a pure Armed. I'm not, really. I just don't know what to do with an Armed trainee who woolgathers that much but still isn't caught off-guard. How can you reprimand for that? It's valid practice of subterfuge! Then when I suggest to Julia that maybe Stevane's got potential to serve in the Shadow Division, Jhe Wysthaven stares at me as if I've grown a third nose and she's about to stab me in whichever two of them she likes least.

That's similar to her reaction when I proposed the same thing for Raven, though. And he's in her division now, with her pride backing him. So I don't know what that means.

Then there is Katherine. She is not my daughter, of course, but I've had the raising of her, and I know her, and I've seen her grow up (to some degree) several times now. It's still different, though. Even beyond the fact that she's not my child, she's the Advocate. For her, being Armed is different. It's something she's been since she's born, similar to how it is for me. I simply am what I am. The Advocate is not a position that can be bestowed upon a person - she simply is the Advocate, just as I am the Judge.

As she grew, training was not a matter of her learning to be Armed. It was a matter of watching her learn control, something I can coach on, but can't quite teach. Especially for her - she's one that controls me, at times. Even better that she's not my daughter. I'd hate to have the experience of one of my offspring handing my ass to me the way that Katherine has managed to from time to time. More often than I'd like, as a matter of fact.

Am I proud of her? Of course, but it's a different kind of pride. It's the pride one feels for a partner rather than a student. It's the kind of pride I can't quite feel for myself at the same time, as I can the other Armed. In a way, she's similar to Camden - he sort of came to me ready-made. But the difference is that she doesn't answer to me - she balances me out. To admit to pride in her is to admit that I myself depend on her. It's a bit humbling.

But do I feel pride in her? Of course. Every day. Do I want to beat her smug smile out of her every time she notices that pride? Of course. She surpasses my children in that regard - I don't think any of them could ever piss me off as much as she does.

April Fools 2010 - Four and One

This was originally posted on April 1st 2010 as Chapter 39 of Peacock King Book 3. As such it contains spoilers for chapters 1-38 of Book 3! You should probably read those first!

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I know when it happens. I'm already on my knees, hands covering my face. I don't want anybody to see, which is silly. I'm still alone, still sneaking around. Still trying not to let 'Sy find me. And for a moment, I just stay there, rock back and forth, and let the sorrow press in. It's going to come whether I try to stop it or not, and it'll pass easier if I just accept it.

I tried so hard to extend Elete's life. 'Sy and I both did. Considering that, it's especially cruel how he went. I can feel it all out, sense 'Sy's reasons as if I was there at the time. And, in a sense, I was. He couldn't Judge someone without me.

I just... I wish I would have been there. Why didn't Elete let me be there? He was a Time Lord, he could have--

That's what breaks me. The sobs take over for a little while, everything is white and grey and snowy. When I come back to myself, arms are wrapped around me. Big, strong arms.

'Sy's crying too. I pat his head. My hand's still so small. I wonder, for a moment, if I could have stopped all of this if I had been fully recovered at the time. But it's nonsense to think that way.

"There was no time," he says. "There's still no time, Katherine. I'm so sorry."

My fists clench. They're still so tiny now - I still look so young. And I feel young now, with that sense of the whole world betraying me that children feel so keenly because they don't understand things yet. I don't understand this. 'Sy pats my shoulder, and it makes me feel better, but it still doesn't make me understand. "What are we going to do, now that he's left us?"

Not 'now that you've killed him.' Elete brought this on himself, it was no murder. It was no suicide, either. It was just... tragic.

"...I." 'Sy finds himself speechless. I'm not surprised. I've asked him a question that I don't think he can begin to answer. How can he? He's not a Poet.

I am, though. And I can feel out these things in a way that 'Sy can't. It's difficult - there's a hole in the fabric of that which I'm running my mental fingers over. It's the absence of our Poet King. Without him there, it's so difficult to map out the possibilities, the try-to's and the don't-do's. It's so much guesswork, but I think...

...I think...

...I might just have it.

"Quick," I say. "We've got to talk to Elric. Now."

* * *

It's so good to see Elric after so many years without his cheerful, bubbly presence. The man in front of me is a pale reminder of those happy days - Elric has bags under his eyes, his skin is stretched tight on his face, and he has a natural cringe to his posture.

What's worse, he already knows what's happened. The hardest thing for him is seeing past the tears, but he's holding them back now. He's listening to my explanation. There's a light dawning in his eyes - dim, but there. He opens his mouth to speak to me in his excitement - Camden is the one that claps his hand over Elric's lips.

Poor Elric. He looks so sheepish, with a hint of depression creeping onto his face. I speak up before it can encroach any further.

"As much as you're trying to choke those black words back, they may be the very thing that saves him."

Elric looks afraid, and Camden raises a protest, but they both know it's true. 'Sy only stands behind me, arms crossed, and shifts with discomfort at this very idea.

He hasn't told me no, though.

Elric looks pained as he considers it. Finally he looks back up at me. The brush of his mind is tentative. Do you really think I can do it?

Yes, I answer.

I just hope it's not too late.

* * *

Elric stands ready, Camden standing beside him with a hand on his arm, lending as much support as he can. Elric has to focus very hard on this task, and so Camden must be the one to make sure that Elric's guard doesn't slip enough to let... something out. I'm doing my best not to hear Elric's words. And 'Sy...

Well, he's standing behind me, readying himself. He'll draw Diyn and clean up any messes if one of us... well, if something goes wrong.

Elric keeps up his Nulspeak. By the look on his face, he's trying his hardest not to listen to his own words. Camden will stop him before he talks off his own tongue - I know he will.

I know this will work. It has to work. It's the only thing I could feel out, the only possibility in the shredded fabric of time that was left in Elete's absence.

Do you really think this will work? 'Sy sounds so... cautiously hopeful.

Shh. I have to concentrate.

He doesn't reply, but he shifts behind me, nervous as we all are.

The first sign isn't obvious. It's a wrinkle of shadow... or of unshadow. Like light, but liquid, almost transparent. Like the sheen on dragonfly wings. It ripples, then blossoms... and then it wells up, huge and whole. As it does so, Elric continues to speak, and concentrate, and we all focus.

We're almost there. If something distracted us now... but no. No, it'll all happen smoothly. It was meant to happen this way.

Elete sighs up from the Void, from nothingness, and then collapses onto his hands and knees. He shakes. He breathes. He looks up at Elric, bewildered but proud.

Elric keeps speaking, locked in a trance. Camden motions to him, then shakes his arm. Finally, the Poet falls out of it and stops. His tongue is still there, and really... really, he looks better than ever.

Elete looks better than ever, too. I fall to my knees and hug him. The Poet King just blinks, shaking his head, and then he looks up to me. He grins, then wipes away one of my tears with a finger.

"Really, girl."

I just cry. I'm so happy.

"Chanting Nulspeak backwards? That's so ridiculous that it had to work. My commendations to you all." He rises, 'Sy leaning in to help him to his feet. The Judge is grinning. We all are.

"Alright," says 'Sy, "the time has come at last."

"We're going there, then? Finally?" Determination wells up inside me. Everyone's posture straightens a bit. I can tell we all can feel this.

"Yes." 'Sy's grin is so huge that it's almost terrible, almost wrathful. "Let's go to Disneyland."

* * *
Irk
* * *

My April Fool's prank written and posted, I grab my bags. Time to change my name and move to somewhere my readers won't be able to find me.

* * *

Characters:

Brothers in Arms

* * *

Gerald

* * *

It's damn near impossible to control my breath in a situation like this: slumped next to a wall, guts squishing wetly out from between my fingers, the lower half of me in white-hot agony. Blood runs in thick, warm gushes over my hand, and I have to keep checking to make sure it's just blood and not my intestines escaping. My fall is marked by a crimson flower leading from a spray roughly five feet up the wall, the stem diving straight down to a hidden point behind my back. I figure I look pretty damn heroic like this (if we ignore the bit of gore trying to find its way into my lap), and can't hold back a smile.

My girlfriend, bless her cruel, warm heart, is trying to fix the situation so hard that she's mouthing her thoughts as she tries to find a place to start. Funny... a few hours ago, she was doing a damned fine job of trying to help them escape. The sensation of her hands roaming my torso bring my thoughts to a strange conclusion. Dying is damned hilarious, dying while Katherine is trying to save me is even more hilarious, but I also have to admit I'd rather those hands were exploring in a slightly less bloody scenario.

Only slightly. This is my Kathe we're talking about.

Her eyes widen, meeting mine. I watch her irises dilate, then constrict, each individual line and fleck of deep green and honey as clear and beautiful as I've ever seen them. I realize as the cool rush of her attempts to heal the damage trickle through the inferno raging in my abdomen that I can smell her. The faint scent of roses, laid in layers with leather, frankincense, and smoke waft on the breeze, and I definitely prefer the smell of her to the smell of my blood. Her lips move, and I'm entranced by the quick movements, the shape of her lips, the flashes of ivory as she enunciates something, her eyebrow tilting in that familiar question, and her lips again, mouthing a word that jerks me out of my reverie and back into this mess I'm in. "Gerald?"

I stare at her a moment longer, then grin. She's really too serious about this whole thing. "Do you smell onions, Kathe?"

"What?" She sits back, her eyebrows furrowing. "Oh. Oh dammit, you slow-brained vagrant excuse for cow fuel, stop joking right now and tell me what --"

"Darlin'," I drawl, "you ain't patching this up."

"But..." She sighs, and her face loses some of its tension. "Damn. Oh damn, this isn't..." I catch the extremely rare sight of tears forming in her eyes, and she swipes them so hard I think for one bright moment that the daft girl has actually punched herself. She uncurls from her crouch to sit next to me. I cough a little, the blood in my lungs starting to tickle, and she carefully tucks back a stray bit of me that slid past my thumb. "Gerald, we can't die. This is stupid. Quit it."

I try to shrug, but have to settle for a small twitch of the shoulders. Katherine has been around me long enough though, all my life in fact, and she recognizes the ghost of the gesture for what it is. "So we don't die for good. It's still..." My voice trails off as I try to piece together the rest of my thought before it vanishes into the haze forming in my head. "It's still... something." I cough again, and this time there's a soft rattling that I've heard far too many times from my brothers in arms. Never really thought I'd hear it from myself. I look over at Katherine. She's staring at me, this time with this look of understanding and shared misery. It hits me then, really hits me, that I'm dying. Not only am I dying, I'm dying all over Katherine, and I had better do a damned good job of dying because if I don't, my father will make sure I die his way for making her look that sad on my behalf.

Hell, I'd do the same thing in his place. After all, it's Katherine, and crazy as she may be...

I must have drifted again. She's staring out at the horizon, the darker of her Arms in her hands. She's Aiming at something, although someone less accustomed to Kathe's habits would mistake the barrel being pointed about two feet in front of her and held in such a loose grip for a sign of relaxation. I follow the direction of her Aim, but I don't catch any sign of the bastards who took us down. Damn them, anyway. Like their shitty little city was worth... I mean, it's not like we did that much damage to it. Hell, I figure we improved the place by demolishing chunks of it.

"Were we followed?"

"Mmmmh." She shrugs with one arm, her gaze moving a few degrees to the left, giving the impression of letting her attention wander. It seems to work; a scant moment later, Gevurah's barrel snaps up, the sharp CRACK of her report echoing off the rubble around us. I can barely make out the minuscule figure that ducks with the motion, but the mental roar of DAMMIT KHATARINA that nearly slams my head into the wall does a fine job of identifying my father as the target.

I sneak a quick glace. Her default expression is back: hard, sharp, and five seconds from gut-ripping or humor. Good luck discerning the difference. I'm glad to see it back. It's the sign of a far more peaceful death than the one I feared. Her eyes are soft, though, and alert and aware in a way that only seems to appear for my dad.

Partner or no, she really didn't need to be looking at him that... tenderly. She should only look at me that way. I allow myself the luxury of thinking bastard at him. After all, what's he going to do, kill me?

I blink, and he's crouching in front of me, his face absolutely unreadable. "I could. I should."

I suppose I might have peed myself, but there's enough fluid leaking from me right now that it's impossible to tell for certain.

His regard turns quickly to my injuries, and there's that odd shift in the air as our roles change, and it is The Boss in front of me, not my dad. That's just fine with me. I'd rather die in front of the Judge than the Dad. He gently pulls my hands away from my torso for a better look. There's a curious sliding sensation, and I close my eyes against the choking wave of nausea and dizziness. There's just nothing right about the sensation of your insides spilling out like so much pasta out of a bowl.

"I see why you were just sitting there," he says quietly to Katherine. She frowns.

"You thought I was just playing catch-up?"

The Judge doesn't answer her. Instead, he gently leans me forward, inspecting the ruined mess of my back. The wave of dizziness hits again, and he senses this, leaning with me somehow, bracing me.

Only now does it occur to me that I'm not feeling any pain. "When did..." My voice trails off. The haze is back, stronger now. "Pain, I mean. It's..." I shake my head, trying to find the words. Big mistake.

"Easy now, son," the Judge says, one hand on my shoulder, the other in front of my ribs. There's the sliding sensation again, in reverse this time, and this time I gag. Nothing comes out, of course, save for a few bubbles of blood that I feel pop. One of them must have been pretty big, judging from the new splatters on my father's sleeve.

I have enough time to notice that I'm at least intact on the surface when the black hits, and there's another, fuller sliding sensation, and then nothing but the thought that I forgot to say goodbye.

* * *

Katherine

* * *

The plains feel a lot emptier without Gerald by my side. The relationship may have ended, but he is still my partner. He belongs on the trail with me, bickering and snarking and making dangerous comments about my cooking. Not... dead somewhere in the Void. Not Ger.

The hot breeze whips my hair into my face, stinging my eyes and tickling my nose. I'm shivering in spite of the heat, my teeth rattling in my skull. It hasn't been long since his blood had started drying on my hands, since 'Sy gathered the body of his son into his arms with heartbreaking tenderness and handed him into the care of Tia. Since we managed to find our way to the horses... or rather, since 'Sy half-carried me back. I couldn't see my own feet for some reason.

I feel so numb, so confused. Trying to remember even a few minutes ago is making dizzy.

The horses were there, my darling Kosheen looking at me and huffing gently about my pockets for treats, and Morgan was shoving his big head in the way and pissing poor Kosheen off as usual, the geldings flattening their ears and stamping and snorting, and then they waver a bit and I'm on one of them.

Morgan. Must be Morgan, because Kosheen won't let 'Sy ride, and...

I shiver again, harder, the spasms becoming full-blown shudders. I feel 'Sy shift, looking down at the top of my head. "Tchere?"

"I'm okay, really, just..." I hiccup, and the shudders become huge, gulping sobs as I double over the pommel with the force of my cries.

I barely manage three good wails before his arms are around me, and I'm pressed hard enough against him that it's almost uncomfortable. His arms tighten, and he murmurs something in my ear, his words lost in the unflatteringly loud honks I'm producing. I can't see anymore through my tears -- I'm drowning in them, the sobs coming so hard and fast that they trip over each other in my throat, and it hurts but that's alright. It's just right.

"Oh, tchere."

The world tips a bit and spins, and then I'm cradled against his chest, crying into his neck. Through the fog of my own misery, I notice his shoulders shaking, too.

We ride like that for a while, the sun dipping further into the horizon as my sobs slow into little gasps and huffs. He runs his fingers through my hair, humming a fairly monotone tune at the edge of my hearing. Insects are buzzing around us, falling silent as we pass, the low musical tones drifting through the twilight once we're far enough ahead to pose no danger. The world around us seems at peace. I slump against him fully, heave one last deep sigh, and drift.

Some time later, I sit up with a sharp gasp, momentarily disoriented by the dark and feeling the ground beneath me. "Ger?" No. No, not Gerald.

"Shhh," 'Sy murmurs, reaching over and pulling me down into the blankets, tight against him. "Go back to sleep, tchere."

"Mmmh." I wiggle a little as I settle and sigh. "''Sy?"

I feel him sigh, and then I feel him shift and prop himself up on one arm. I roll onto my back as I start to form a reply and freeze, words vanishing unspoken from my tongue. He looks so much like Gerald with his hair down like that, the same concerned tilt of the eyebrows, but... it's the years, maybe. The smallest of lines at the corners of his mouth, the little furrows between his eyebrows, the stronger lines of his nose and jaw. I don't know. I must have an expression that matches the funny feeling in my chest, because his eyebrows shift just a touch, and he doesn't look so much like Gerald anymore. No, there's something very different there, something all at once very much 'Sy, but he... he looks different.

"What is it, Kathe?"

He must have seen something, then. Perhaps a change in expression, or in my breathing, but he's not making that patient 'I'm listening, please make it quick' look. It's... new, an expression I've never seen on his face before. Slowly, he traces the curve of my cheek, then my jaw, then my neck. I shiver and he freezes, eyebrows furrowing. Questioning. I want... I want to pull him down, by the hair if necessary. Anything to make him keep going, bring him closer.

His hair curtains around my face, his golden eyes staring into mine. The heat of his skin, where his forehead is resting against mine, nearly burns me. "Tchere. Nai l'henne, Khatarina. What are you doing, ah'va?" I couldn't have looked away from his eyes if I had wanted to. The moon is terribly bright all of a sudden, eclipsed as it is by his head. I can make out his features in the shadows, even though everything is at once too bright and too dark, and he's staring at me, into me, and my mouth is dry and why, why is this happening with Tesynnodai?

"Khatarina?"

"I don't know." My whisper sounds strangely harsh in my ears.

"What, then, am I doing?" Amusement colors his voice, humor and a touch of wonder.

"I don--"

Warm, his lips are so warm, almost burning. For one startled moment, I consider darting away, escaping back into comfortable and familiar territory, but...

But instead, I close my eyes and disappear into this new world of ours, shedding the agony of the day with the rest of my ruined clothing.

Court, Poets, Babies, and Royal Declarations

I don't know. It just seemed funny... and still is. Kids are awesome. Kids messing up formal events? AWESOMER.

(Set 16-17 years before the Peacock King Trilogy, in Radia's Court.)

* * *

Elric

* * *

"I can't see."

I stifled a giggle, recognizing the tiny imperious voice at Edward's feet. He closed his eyes against the firm tug at the hem of his waistcoat and let out a slow sigh.

"I'm sorry, Princess, I can't pick you up. I'm on baby duty."

"You have a baby?" Stevane's eyebrows raised. "Let me see."

Edward glanced once towards his father's dais, then knelt, his head disappearing below the rest of the crowd. He angled his arms so that the sleeping infant's face rolled away from his chest. One tiny fist shot up, fingers uncurling a moment, then tucking into a tiny ball once again next to a rosy cheek.

"You have a pretty baby." She frowned, looking firmly into Edward's eyes. "Where did you get him? He's not yours. You're too old to have babies."

"No I'm not," he protested, then stopped himself and laughed. I bit my own lip, holding back a chuckle. Stevane tossed a glance my way, then looked again.

"Elric! Elric, Edward stole someone's baby."

I grinned and picked her up, grunting a little with the effort. My little shadow had gotten a bit longer in the past few years. Edward stood as well, carefully tucking the blanket over the baby's head, shielding him from the light in the Court. "No, sweetcake, that baby is his little brother. That's your new cousin."

Stevane wrinkled her nose. "Oh." She gave me a sly look. "So, Unkie stuck his penis--"

I clapped a hand over her mouth, my face turning bright red. I noticed a couple pairs of shoulders in front of us twitch in silent laughter, and Edward's eyes were twinkling as he held back laughter.

"Stevane, that's not an appropriate topic for a lady, let alone in the Court."

She nodded, and I lowered my hand from her mouth. She leaned forward and stage-whispered wetly in my ear. "Unkie knocked up some silly whore, then?"

I choked on my own snort, and Edward couldn't quite bite back his bark of laughter.

From the throne, Jhe o'Radia's blue eyes glanced our way. The corner of his mouth curled ever-so-slightly, presumably at the sight of his niece's mop of red curls, and looked away. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Stevane, sweetheart, where did you learn those... improper words?"

She leaned back, her gold eyes staring wide into mine. "I heard them."

I nodded encouragingly. "Where did you hear them, dear?"

"In the practice arena, Elric."

I contained a deep sigh. "Sweetcake, we've talked about what we hear in the practice arena, didn't we."

She looked down, her hands twining together, fingertips playing with the edge of my sash.

"Sweetcake?"

"Yes, Elric."

I jogged her in my arms, her curls bouncing about her face with the motion. She peeked up at me through them. I smiled, and she looked up a bit further, encouraged by my pleasant demeanor. "And what did we discuss about those things, sweetcake?"

"We don't repeat what they say, because people who are trying to kill each other rarely do it in a mannerly fashion." She blinked, then shook her said. "I'm sorry... people who are trying to kill each other say things that make other people upset on purpose." Her eyes twinkled. "Part of being Armed is having no manners."

I giggled and kissed her forehead. "Don't let your father hear you speaking like that, sweetcake, or you're going to get us poor downtrodden artists more trouble than we can handle."

She nodded again, then looked over at the baby. "Edward?"

"Yes, tidbit?"

"That's Unkie's baby?"

He grinned. "Yes, bit. He's my baby brother."

She leaned over to get a better look, forcing me to widen my stance as to not stumble into Edward. "He's cute. His hair is curly, like yours."

"And yours," Edward said, reaching up and gently yanking a lock of her hair. She giggled and clapped her hands on the top of her head.

"Ow!" She rubbed her head. "That hurt," she said, ruining her pout with a bubbly stream of giggles.

Edward stuck his tongue out, and she promptly did the same.

"Manners, you two," I muttered. They shot me near-identical eyerolls.

"Can I play with him?" she asked, gently pulling the blanket away from his face.

"Not for a while," Edward said, shifting the baby to give Stevane a better view. She stared down at him, smiling, and stroked his cheek.

"What's his name?"

"Jaxhelshon."

Stevane glanced up and gave Edward a cross look. "What a stupid name. What kind of name is that?"

"I don't know, bit," he said, his eyes nearly disappearing into his cheeks from the force of his grin. "You'll have to discuss that with your uncle."

She twisted in my arms, facing over the crowd. "Unk--"

I clapped my hand over her mouth, my eyes darting to the throne. "Not right now!" I hissed, apologizing as best I could with my eyes when the Jhe o'Radia glanced my way once again.

To my amazement, he held up one hand. The dignitary who had been speaking paused, his expression a touch confused. The Jhe o'Radia signaled to me with one finger, and I set his niece down and knelt next to her, giving her a little push. "Your uncle wants to see you," I said, my voice exceptionally steady considering my heart had just tried to hammer its way through my chest.

Stevane marched through the crowd, people nearly tripping over each other to get out of her way. She mounted the stairs to the dais with the arrogant confidence of five-year-olds everywhere and marched over to her uncle, charmingly oblivious to the stir she was causing behind her. She stopped in front of him, her tiny fists on her hips, and cocked her head. "Unkie?"

"Yes, Jhe Stevane?"

The title gave her pause, then she plowed forward. "J'Unkie."

Someone in Court bit off a laugh.

"J'Unkie," she said a little louder, and the Jhe o'Radia raised an eyebrow as the same someone laughed again, a particular cant to his expression that seemed to be reserved for his children.

"Jhe o'Radia," he whispered.

"Sorry," she whispered back. "Jhe o'Radia," she said, her voice suddenly carrying through the Court, "I have a question."

He waved a hand to her, palm up.

"What kind of name is 'Jaxhelshon'?"

He stared at her, then burst out laughing, picking her up and pulling her onto his lap. "If I let you sit here and watch with me, will you be quiet and I will tell you later?"

She nodded and grinned, kicking her feet over his knees.

He waved a hand, but before the dignitary could get more than a few words out, Jaxhelshon woke abruptly and wailed.

The Jhe o'Radia buried his face in one palm, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please, 'Sy," I heard him choke out. The Jhe 'hAkribastes shook his head and quietly apologized to the befuddled diplomat, then dismissed Court.

"It's a stupid name," I heard Stevane announce over the increasingly high-pitched screams of her cousin, as I followed Edward out the doors into the hallway that lead to the Jhe o'Radia's offices.

This time, I didn't bother to hold in my laughter.

Characters:

Halloween 2011 - Hunger

* * *
Kiley
* * *

"Kiley, I'm hungry." Marco's voice rises up to me in its characteristic whine. He's always the first to ask when the next meal is, though to his credit, the rest of the camp is quick to echo him every time. Everyone's hungry. Everyone's always hungry.

I'm hungry too. But I know what's best for the tribe. It's difficult to be rational about this sort of thing when food is in such short supply, but I've probably got the best memory among us, and I know how long we can go without. We're tough people. We can go for a long, long time without eating. It's hard to tell myself that, but when my mind argues with my stomach, my mind wins almost every time. Hunger is just a sort of pain, that's all. We Armed were trained to endure... even when our Arms have long been lost to us.

"Dinner won't be served until after dark. You know that. I told... told everybody." I blink, then steel my mind a bit. We can last a long time without food. We can last a very long time. "Sunset's already started. It won't even be an hour."

Marco bites his lip, looking up at me through shaggy brown bangs that have bleached to red in the harsh sun of the desert. His eyes implore me, reminding me of a time when they were once brilliantly blue, not foggy white. My heartstrings twang the tiniest bit, but then he starts to gnaw on that lip of his by accident. I smack him lightly on the cheek.

"None of that, now. You know it never helps." I meant it about the begging, but it goes for the chewing as well. My fingernails are gnawed down to the quick just like every other person's in this camp. It's so easy to give into temptation when what you want to do most is chew, taste, swallow, gorge. We're not civilized people anymore, I know that. But we've got to have some rules, damnit. We used to be the Law.

Sandalfas says we still could be the Law. I think a couple meals back, think to when Sandalfas was, in fact, one of those delicious courses. Some of us try to live on wishful thinking, I guess. The Judge left us in the desert after taking one look at us. I think that says everything about where we are now in relation to the Law.

But we'll be civilized, at least. As much as we can be.

Marco contemplates arguing with me, says "hungry" again, then turns and leaves. He knows better than to fight about it. He'll get his meal just like everybody else. I wish he were more excited, really. Tonight's a special night. No jackrabbits or half-dead buzzards on the menu, like we've been getting for so long.

Tonight, I got us some real food.

* * *

"Hey, Kiley... question?" Levin tugs at the scraps that are left of my jacket. "Question?" He looks at me, head cocked. He always holds it a little sideways, and none of us are sure why. Levin didn't hold together as well as some of us did, though at least he can talk a little. "Kwe... shun."

I reach out and pat his head, noting that his hair's braided today. Veronica must have done that for him. She's a sweet girl, always trying to patch things together. She's got her work cut out for her here. "Hey Lev. Maybe I can answer your question, if you ask it."

He grins, his lips parting a little strange at the corners of his mouth, but he always does move funny. "We need a cat." Except it's a bit more muffled than that, since he doesn't part his lips when he talks, this time. "Why can't we eat a cat? We get a cat."

I blink. "We had cat a coupla times this month, Lev. Maybe you don't recall too well. And that's okay. But tonight we get something better than cat!" I feel so cheerful about it, too. It is pretty exciting to have a proper meal, ghoulish as it might be to look forward to it. But I'm hungry. I'm always hungry, and it feels so good to eat what satisfies you most.

He shakes his head, then grunts and smacks his jaw a little, trying to get it to work. I wait patiently. There's nothing to do until sundown, anyway. He finally convinces his mouth to work. "No we... we get people when we eat, righ'? I'm here after all... why we don' get a cat when we eat a cat? Wanna cat."

I'm stunned into silence. Once I figure out what he means... I sort of wonder too. "Well, I don't really know, Lev. I guess us people are special." I lean forward and hug him. "I miss having pets too. But there's lots of people around here to talk to, okay? You have plenty of company."

I send him off with a pat on the back. His question still gnaws at the back of my mind like... well, like one of us. There's no real logic or reason behind what we are... we're just diseased, cursed, unlucky. That's what I like to think: that we're just one of those things that happens in the world. But... why not the animals? Why don't they come back too? Why does this happen to people?

A wave of sickness washes over me before I manage to quit thinking about the question. It's too late for us. We are what we are. We do what we have to do to survive, and be happy. There's no sense in explaining a senseless tragedy.

That's what I tell myself as I head down to the pantry.

* * *

There's a bit of a stink down here, which is my fault, I suppose. Akau must have panicked without anyone down here to keep him company. "Oh, Akau. I'm sorry to have scared you. I assure you, we weren't going to abandon you. We remembered you all this time." The smell of vomit is ripe, yes. But layered over it is a better scent, an inviting scent.

As Akau lifts his chin defiantly at me, I'm almost overwhelmed by that scent. His scent. I'm dizzy with it. For a moment, I forget why I've been waiting.

"I'm not scared of you," he says, the courage in his voice an obviously flawed steel. He's tied up, after all. We Armed remember how to tie knots, no matter how much we've forgotten how to be decent people. His voice brings me out of the trance I'd slipped into.

Well, trance or hunger pang... it's all semantics, I suppose. I put a smile on my face and, for the first time in ages, hope that I look like a presentable young lady. "I'm happy to hear that, Akau. I didn't want these moments to get awkward between us."

He spits out a few words. The meaning of the Moanan phrase is lost on my ears, but the tone could make it nothing else but a curse. "I don't know how you've stopped my letters from getting to the Poet Hall, but they'll send someone soon to check on me."

I can't help but laugh. "It's nice to have something to hope for. We have Poets here besides you. No one's come for them. No one ever comes for us." I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Look, this is for your benefit, okay? I didn't go in... the nicest way. And you're going to go. Whether you like it or not... we're hungry, and nobody is ever going to come help us. We've got to help ourselves."

Akau narrows his eyes. "Help yourselves to me?"

When I lick my lips in response, his dark skin pales just a tad. "Sorry. I... this is getting awkward." No, this is getting horrible. But it's always horrible, always been horrible here, and I can't make that better. "It's not going to hurt, okay? And you'll wake up afterward. And you'll... well, I won't lie, you're going to feel a lot different--"

"Just stop talking, okay? I don't want to hear about it. Just do whatever you're going to do." He looks to the side, his bottom lip jutting out.

I look at the floor. I guess there really was no way to make this better. It's time. And, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, he smells really good.

"Sorry," I say, right before I knock his head with a rock. Not the best thing to do for someone who you want to keep alive for a long time, but... when he wakes up, that part won't matter.

* * *

I drag dinner up out of the pantry right after the stars come out. It's been a long time since any of us quite had something that hit the spot, and though I feel a little wrong, it doesn't gnaw at me as hard as the hunger does. I'm sated while I eat, and for a short, blissful time, I don't feel that awful hunger at all. In my mind, in my Law-forsaken heart, it's worth a tiny bit of guilt. Every bite is worth it.

* * *

I'm just through licking my fingers when Akau wakes up. It's hard to explain how Jacob's still sucking the marrow out of the bones when it happens. Try as we might, none of us can ever remember the moment between when a meal is over and when the eaten shows up as one of us. It's a blurry smudge in my mind, just like the bone in Jacob's hand that fades to nothing as Akau sits up.

That's when the hunger starts up again... but it's a small hunger, for now. We ate well. It'll take longer for it to get really bad.

Akau looks over at me. In life he had black eyes, not just dark brown, but black. He had beautiful eyes. I'll have to remember them like I remember Marco's eyes. Now the iris and the pupil are solid white, like mine... like all of ours. They stare at me with a little reproach... but not too much. "I'm hungry, Kiley. Is that normal?"

I nod.

He shakes his head, palm rubbing his forehead. "Real hungry. Gosh. No wonder you ate me."

I can't help myself. I laugh. After a few moments, he starts to laugh too. Our laughter runs together over the desert, an wordless verse, the punchline to the worst joke in the world.

* * *

Characters:

In Which Erynn Does Not Get Laid

Today's short was written by the wonderful and Trav-y Travellyr, and I swear I will totes put in a better biography for her in this spot, unless she wants to write one for herself? DO IT, TRAV. DOOOOO EEEEET.

Irk's note: This is in place of this week's PK3 chapter update. Trav agreed to write some material so I could have a week's break, since this novel is running long and I am exhausted. Trav has my eternal gratitude - and also made me laugh a LOT with this. Please comment on her story so we can have more nice things! Next week Peacock King will resume, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel, ONWARD TO THE END.

The town was smallish and rather sleepy, but that could have been due to the hour. It was late and we were tired when we rode in, and by “late” I mean “the sun was rising.” It was, without possible room for argument, “tomorrow.” I wanted a drink and some time to examine the insides of my eyelids. Food could wait until I was rested enough to actually be hungry.

There was some kind of thing going on in the town, trade fair, spring celebration, hell, maybe even a wedding, but the point of the matter was that the inn was full. Both of them. And the boardinghouse.

Of course they were.

I was tired, dammit.

"At least let's get breakfast," Erynn pleaded, and that sounded close enough. I could get something to drink and maybe, just maybe, catch a nap at the table. We asked for a recommendation, crossed the street, and went inside.

There we no empty tables.

Of course there weren't.

But Erynn, bless him, turned on the charm and we found room with a sandy blonde named Linnet and a little old woman introduced as her grandmother, Keila. Erynn introduced himself, and me, with all the bells and whistles, and Keila smiled like a little girl. She asked Erynn where he had learned such "fine manners," and then promptly interrupted him.

"When I was a little girl my mother taught me manners. We sat at the table, and we wore our nice clothes, and we had gloves whenever we went out!" This wasn't a conversation. It was an oration, paced to emphasize every trivial detail, and it was all Erynn, a fully trained Poet, could do to even vaguely steer the flow speech. I was impressed.

Linnet was looking at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"You look about done," she said.

"My apologies. We've been riding all night and most of yesterday." Not that it seemed to be bothering Erynn much. Must be the prospect of a party.

"Ah," she said sympathetically. "The festival lasts for a week and the next town's a couple hours' ride from here. Would you like to have a nap at my house? There's a spare bed and a sofa, and you and your friend can fight over who gets which."

Erynn was on his own. "Thank you," I said as sincerely as I possibly could, which was quite a lot. "I'll take you up on that. Erynn?" We'd sat down at the end of their meal, but Erynn was apparently substituting food for sleep.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up." He smiled at Keila. "It was lovely to talk to you, my dear, thank you."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," the old woman gushed, grinning gape-mouthed. "Why, it was my pleasure." It certainly was. "Do you know the address?"

"I've got it, grandmother," Linnet cut in smoothly.

"But he doesn't know the town! I'll tell you what," she said. "I'll stay here with Eric, and give him directions, and he can take me home!" She beamed at all of us as if this was the greatest idea anyone had ever come up with. "I live right next door," she assured Erynn.

"Are you sure?"

"Go on," Erynn assured us both. "We'll be fine."

~*~

The bed was narrow but it was clean and it was comfortable and it was a bed. It was midmorning when what sounded like an army of screaming children woke me up. I looked out the window to find... an army of screaming children. Children ran rampant through the streets shrieking and flinging things at each other. Of course they were.

"I'm sorry," Linnet apologized when I came into the kitchen, though she didn't look particularly sorry. "The festival starts tomorrow, so the children have all been released to help decorate."

"It's fine." It was just after ten in the morning. "Did Erynn come in?" She shook her head.

"But my grandmother got home half an hour ago," she clarified.

I sighed and went to go look for Erynn. I found him in what was probably going to be the area cleared for dancing--a large, open, grassy area with a trestle table to one side and a bandstand--being mugged by a couple of old people.

No, really.

The tiniest, wrinkliest old woman I had ever seen was snuggled (there was no better word for it) around Erynn's elbow and keeping up a constant narrative that seemed to boil down to "where are we going? What are we doing? I like you." She was the one holding him down. The one doing the mugging was an old man so bald and bandy-legged he looked like a frog wearing pants. The contents of Erynn's rucksack were scattered around them and he was trying to stop the old man, hide his rucksack, pick up his things, not step on them, not trip over the old woman, and not hurt either of them in the process.

He was not succeeding.

“No, I—take that out of your mouth—would you—stop--Ger!" He'd spotted me. "A little help here?”

“Nah,” I smiled, watching a frail little old man rifle through Erynn's pockets while a little old lady petted his hair and babbled incomprehensibly, “I think you're doing just fine on your own.” Watching Erynn try (and fail) to avoid being groped and get control of the situation without hurting either one of them was hilarious.

“Bastard. Hey, Sir. Could I just get that--”

“What are you doing?!” The old guy had a surprising set of lungs on him. He also had Erynn's purse clutched to his bony chest. Erynn had tried to take it back. This, apparently, was a mistake. “This's mine!” he spat. “Sissy gave it to me for my birthday!”

“No, um--” Erynn, astonished, didn't have a chance. "You took that out of my pocket." The man blinked. "It was in my pocket," Erynn repeated clearly.

“It was? It was! It's mine! And it was in your pocket! How'd you get it? Why was this in your pocket? Huh? HUH? This is MINE Sissy GAVE IT TO ME and it was in your pocket! THIEF! THIEF! YOU TOOK IT I SAW YOU!” He began to do his feeble best to beat Erynn to death. Erynn did his hampered best to avoid being hit without snapping the guy like a twig. He was hampered by the little old woman cuddling his arm like a winkly, senile limpet. Lovingly telling him it was wrong to steal.

I was hampered by laughing.

“Oh for—Jerry!” A hassled-looking brunette rushed past, voice chirpy and her sweet expression pasted on. “Jerry, I haven't seen you in forever! Hi Jerry!” She held out her hands in a credible, if vastly over-dramatized, welcome. The codger blinked at her, smiled toothlessly, and took her hand. She held it in hers, and in the act of beaming at him deftly turned him to take Erynn out of his line of sight like a pro.

“Nice tits!” Jerry, the old man, said, smacking his lips in delight as if he'd never been angry. He tried to paw at her and I had the chance to appreciate how masterful that kindly hold was. The old man couldn't coordinate a cross-body reach with what was evidently his non-dominant (purse-clutching) hand.

“Excuse me, that's my-”

“Hide,” she hissed to Erynn.

Erynn tried. He really did. In the middle of an open field, twenty-five paces away from the nearest cover (a trestle table) with an old woman who refused to let go of his belt. Evidently how to hide at a hobble was not part of Poet training.

“Okay, okay, don't leave me now, okay, where are we going? Okay,” trilled the little old woman, as near to bolted onto Erynn as I had ever seen anything.

“AND HE STOLE MY PURSE!” the old man roared in reply to nothing. He must've caught sight of Erynn.

“He stole your purse, Jerry?”

“But-” Erynn looked pitiful.

“Shut up,” the brunette snapped.

“Thieving bastard!”

“Don't go too fast, okay, don't leave me now, oh, look, it's Susan. Hi Susan! Okay. And it's Jerry." She smiled. "He found his purse.”

“Ooh!” the brunette woman made an exaggerated expression of surprise. I could just about see the light go on over her head. The little old man's attention swiveled to her. “Jerry! Let's go put that someplace safe, okay? We don't want anything to happen to it.”

“But it really is my-”

“I'm watching you,” Jerry hissed, allowing himself to be guided off.

Erynn looked like he might cry. The old woman petted his hair clumsily and asked what they were doing.

"Thanks a lot," he said to me, and I grinned.

"Any time." I took enough pity on him to help him pick up his stuff. "I'll buy you a beer if you tell me how that started." I grinned wider. "You can bring your date."

~*~

Erynn's new shadow, because the woman would not let go of him, they were even sharing a chair, was named Ginny, and she never stopped talking. She interrupted Erynn constantly to ask what he was talking about and what were they doing? Constantly peppered with a trusting "Okay, don't leave me" like a tic. I could tell from the stricken, rather hangdog expression that every instant Erynn thought of leaving or even interrupting the dotty old thing he thought of Bronwyn. It didn't matter that she wasn't here; even the thought of her knowing that he'd ditched a little old lady was enough to stay him. Benny being disappointed is enough to crumble sterner hearts than Erynn's.

I settled back with a smirk and flagged the barman for another round. "What I can't help but notice, Erynn, is that you haven't explained how you managed to escort the first little old lady next door and then get waylaid completely across town."

"We're not going to talk about that."

I snorted. "Or how the guy got hold of your bag in the first place."

Erynn gave me a dark look. "We're not going to talk about that either."

"What are we doing?"

Erynn sighed and patted her hand with the only one he had free. "We're sitting here, Ginny."

"Okay," she said happily, and snuggled tighter. "Don't leave me."

"Well!" I said cheerfully, "I'll just go check on the horses and leave you lovebirds alone."

"You're a bastard, Ger," Erynn said glumly. I clapped him on the shoulder and left.

~*~

By the time I got back Erynn was alone. I handed him one of the beers I was carrying. "How'd they liberate you?"

Erynn pouted. "Her niece and her family showed up and they peeled her off."

I settled back down. "Did they use a stick?"

"No, no thanks to you." Erynn sank lower in his chair and pouted harder. "It was horrible. I had to hide under the bar so she'd calm down. They didn't even give me a free beer!"

I was laughing into mine. Erynn punched me in the arm.

"Hey there." It was the brunette who had rescued Erynn from the enraged old man. She smiled. "I see you got rid of Ginny."

"Um, yeah," said Erynn. He looked profoundly uncomfortable.

The brunette's smile got kinder. “Here.”

“What- my purse! Thanks!” Erynn beamed. Then he looked crestfallen. “I thought--”

“Never argue with Jerry. He's too senile. Whenever he takes something we just watch him until he puts it down, and return it when he forgets about it... and that's about a minute after he can't see it any more. Just make it so he can't see whomever he's yelling at, then provide a distraction, and if you're quick then it's as if nothing ever happened. Do you have a hat?”

“What?”

“A hat. To tuck your hair up under. He fussed too long. We have to make you look a bit different or he'll throw stuff at you the next time he sees you.”

“I thought you said he wouldn't remember.”

“He won't remember who you are or where he met you, but he will remember he hates you. He just won't remember why.”

Erynn winced. “Charming.”

“And it'd be a good idea to change your jacket. Or at least take it off.”

"Hey, Gerude, give me your jacket."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why don't we just leave instead?"

"But-"

"Unless you wanted to take your date to the festival tomorrow."

The brunette (what was her name again? Susan? Helen?) laughed. "Or two. I heard Keila was quite taken with you at breakfast."

Erynn got that kicked-puppy face that meant what he wanted to do was fighting with his inner Bronwyn and losing. The woman patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a nice guy," she said. "Thanks for not hurting Jerry," and left.

Erynn hunkered behind his beer, looking at once irritated and woeful.

"You," he glared, "owe me a lot of alcohol."

“Oh, don't worry,” I said, snickering. “I'll be sure to tell Benny how valiantly you fought the old people.”

Erynn pouted. “Jerk.”

"Two to one, it was, and the senility was winning-"

"I remember senile from my grandfather, Gerude. This wasn't senile, this was deranged."

I smirked. "Demented, actually."

"Shut up," he scowled. "Fat lot of help you were."

I saluted him with my beer. He glared at me. Beadily. It was hilarious.

"We're leaving as soon as I finish my beer," he told me, "or so help me I will stick an old lady on you."

~*~

The next town was a couple of hours away, and they did, thank every God and dragon and cracker in the universe, have room for us in one of the inns. It was even a respectable establishment, wonder of wonders. It was again so late it was early, and I was once again awake, but at least this time I was indoors, fed, clean, and on my way to being asleep. The special thing about two in the morning is that there aren't nearly as many people trying to take your attention after you've been awake twenty hours, and after being awake for twenty hours, an uncomfortably scant amount of sleep behind said hours, not being talked at is damn near paradise.

Erynn was talking. Of course he was. It was as if the words, dammed up inside him by a dotty old lady and a long ride of alternately dozing and sulking, were now fountaining up. "Fountaining" was a good word. He'd been going pretty much non-stop since dinner whenever he wasn't actively engaged in swallowing. It was like listening to the verbal equivalent of a pressure hose.

I rolled my eyes. "Erynn, shut up."

"But have you? I mean, really."

I hadn't been listening. "Nighttime is quiet time, Erynn."

"You're an old man, Ger."

I leered. "Because I know how you like that sort of thing."

Silence, pouting, victory-tainted silence, was sweet.

Characters:

Gerude

Erynn

Short Stories

Obligations

Today's chapter update was pretty short, since it's the last chapter in Part 2 of Book 2. So I'm posting this short up to go with it - it's set during the events of Book 1, before and after Ebrellin-i and Luciprochoros's chess game. I had to hold back on posting this until now because it contained a bit of spoiler content, especially for character relationships and parentage. (I was holding back especially because Katherine is Ebrellin-i and Luciprochoros's daughter.)

* * *

Luciprochoros

* * *

"I'm not bargaining, and I'm not fooling around, either." I lift my glass as I speak, peering over the bowl at my brother's baleful yellow eyes. He's not happy now, but then, after I decide to issue any sort of directive, is he ever? What is it about a man doing an honest day's business that makes 'Sy so cranky?

His eyes narrow, his brow furrowing as he frowns from behind the laced fingers of his hands. "You're playing down my words in your head. I can see it in your face. I can practically hear it. So you might as well put the words out in the open where we can both hear them." He removes his mask of fingers, parting one hand from it to cup his glass of wine. He doesn't drink from it. He just swishes it lightly around and stares at it from the corner of his eye. My, he's very serious, if he's paying his wine that little attention.

I smile at that remark, though I don't put the full radiance into it. I may have my airs and graces to put on, but they're not needed here, and try as he might to deny it, I do respect my brother a great deal. "Of course. You're shooting down my ideas before they even get a clear sight of the sky, just because of who is throwing them out there. For anyone else, you'd never put this idea to so much rigorous questioning. It is only me, your dear brother, who incurs this level of inspection. And though you may sneeze at the very concept," I gesture forward, the wineglass still balanced in my palm, "I would go so far as to say that you're not being fair to me."

I'm right. He does sneeze, or rather he snorts. I think I might have even gotten a laugh out of him. "I'm looking at your office, Jherdai, not your relation to me. You know that, and we get into this every time I respond to your official directives in a way that you dislike, but my office commands. I can't very well bend things for you. I can't change reality, I can't change how things are, and you very well can't expect the rest of the world to become foolish along with you when you get it into your head to--"

"See, there you are, doing it again." I cut him off with a wave of the same hand that's holding the wineglass. "You wouldn't dress down someone else like this. This is fraternal discrimination. Why do I have to deal with this?" I toss my hands in the air, repress the urge to toss my hair as well. The motion would be lost on him. "I have an empire to run, and I won't have full-time to do it either this week, what with my travelling. I have obligations that I can't ignore. You can't decide that I don't have them just because they might take me to a place that you don't particularly like." I sniff, looking down into my sadly shallow glass with a pout that I can't suppress. "I think it's a rather nice place to have a meeting. I'd visit more often, if I were invited."

I wager a glance back up to my brother. He's almost unreadable. To anyone else, possibly Katherine excepted, his face would be a granite wall. I can see the anger in it, but not nearly as intense as I expect it. Just a few touches, really. What's up front and plain to my eye is much more distressing to me. Concern. Deep concern.

I sigh, the sound something more honest than I'd normally let out. My forehead's resting in my palm, fingers digging into my short blonde bangs, elbow on the table. He got me. I hate it when he does this. I'm supposed to see through the rest of the world - I don't like anyone in it seeing through me. I hate showing weakness. Most of all I hate walking into showing it. "It's just business." I'm lying through my teeth, to my brother who is the Law shoved into a body, and damned if we didn't both see it coming that I would. I hear him sigh, a short exhalation through his teeth.

"The day any one thing any man does is 'just business' is the day I let my children go on dates without putting the fear of Me into whoever dares to think they're worthy of them. You're a fool and you'll be more a fool there than you will be here. I can't believe I'm letting you go without me." I feel his eyes on me. I'm glad I'm not looking up into them. I only feel relief. I knew he'd let me off. Well, I was pretty sure.

I am the boss here after all, right?

"I'm sending escorts with you." I feel the heat of his gaze skirt away from me. He must be looking away, glaring holes into my walls or something like that. "You're lucky I don't send Katherine with you, just to punish you for pulling a fool stunt like this." He pauses.

My, I think he might actually be wondering if he went too far.

"I trust whatever guard you decide to put on me will be sufficient." I turn away, hand still to my face. I don't want to let him see. His eyes always see too much, and so do mine. "Go on. It's a fine night, and I've packing to do. No sense in keeping you pent up here when you could be out fighting the good fight." I'm really being generous - I can feel my brother's urge to cut into things from here. He needs to go deal some Justice. Work some stress out of his system. Katherine will always be happy to accomodate that.

I hear the door close a few moments later. He didn't bother to reply.

* * *

I finally manage to make it into my quarters. Over a week's worth of journeying and diplomacy means there's far too much waiting for me back at home. Many of these things I can wave away or delegate until I can handle the issues myself. The blessing and curse of employing middle management, as they say.

One of the issues that I cannot so easily dismiss is waiting for me in my little personal wet bar. [Well, okay. Maybe not-so-little. Adequately sized.] His ubiquitous jackboots are propped up on the mahogany bar, his frame leaning easily back into a plush leather barstool. [My barstools have backrests. It's saved my ass one or two or a thousand nights.] He's got his hands crossed over his midsection, and he's just grinning at me. To be fair, there's already scotch waiting on the bar for me. How generous of him. He's cradling a brandy snifter himself, swishing the amber liquid around as I settle up in front of the bar.

Well, I'll give him this: he may not know it yet, but my brother picked a damn good position to be in when I give him the news.

He watches me with that same smirk as I knock back a few gulps of the scotch. "You're picking up the next round, I hope you realize."

I snort. "Fancy you telling me that in my own bar, 'Sy." I chuckle. "It's just like you, though." I can't pry this grin out of the side of my cheek. It's embedded there, like a fossil.

"Glad to be back in Radia, I see." He sips his brandy, then regards me with those golden eyes. Damn him, he's going to make me talk as much as he can. There's that old sensation again, of the words starting to be pulled out of me. I...ignore it. I have plenty that I want to say already, in my own good time.

I lean back and sigh, stretching my arms over my head. "You bet! Just can't get enough of the air here, really. I keep forgetting how stuffy it gets, especially in his Palace! I don't know how his daughter with him takes it, really, but scant little anyone knows about her. Shame." I sniff, peering down into my scotch. There's not enough of it, but is there ever? "I suppose you're waiting to hear of news of your new trainee who arrived there recently."

He grins. I know 'Sy loves it when he's got the charge of employing someone's kid. I'm not sure if it's a form of vengeance so much as his opportunity to correct everyone else's parenting skills. Of course, when it comes to Jaxhelshon...I look forward to that sort of thing. What can I say? Katherine wanted and needed to be Armed. Jaxhelshon needed it and thought he wanted it. That sort of thing is an education that money just can't buy.

"Well, the reports did come in...but yes, I am waiting to hear of it." Smug bastard. He thinks I'll be upset, does he? No, but he doesn't think he'll hear anything right now that he doesn't want to. Add to that his attitude before I left here...

I shrug. "What's to say? He's your charge now. The Jhe o'Sul cheerfully informed me that my youngest son's being put to use shoveling up horse manure. After that, it's not my say to know, is it? He's your charge." And then, it comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to catch it: "I'm accustomed enough by now to having to take a step back away from my child's upbringing."

His facial response to that is interesting: leashed anger mixed with a wistful sadness, and just an edge of surprise. Well, why not? He knows every bit of what I've gone through to raise that first child of mine, and how little I could see of her at times, and for exactly which reasons. He knows what I've done to keep what I love, and how many attempts some other person made to take that all away.

"...How did that go?" He sips his brandy, eyes down. Ah, the meat of the matter. Maybe he planned on discussion of Jaxhelshon to lighten up the mood. It's alright, though.

I've had this talk many times before.

"Tense. ...Acrid. He'd like to kill me sooner than look at me. Nothing's changed. Peacekeeper Briarseal looked like a bowstring pulled taut. Certainly a more than adequate guard. He keeps his composure." I can sense my brother waving me onward, even though he doesn't bother making the gesture physically. "We talked of the important things. I will say for him that he would like our daughter to go and visit him, but he doesn't wish me to put any of the paperwork in motion myself."

"Then why are you saying it?" That cold, calm voice, lacking the tone of reproach but managing to express it on another level. Damn you 'Sy.

"...Because I still try to make this work, and it was a thing that happened. He..." I sigh, then get up to fix something a little stronger for him and me both. "He hasn't gotten any better. I suppose that sums it up. He hasn't gotten any better, and when I think of Katherine visiting him right now, I can't help but feel--"

"I understand." I nod, and pour. "Any more on that matter in an official context would be inadvisable." He grins. "...But, if there's nothing else to be officially voiced, feel free to rant unofficially. The Law has no qualms there."

I snort, and then set his drink down in front of him before walking around the bar and cradling my own. I took the liberty of leaving the bottle out within easy reach. He raises an eyebrow at the glass, then redirects that eyebrow at me. I simply lift my glass up to him in reply. "Cheers." I knock the vodka back. It trots down my throat in heavier boots than 'Sy's.

"Za zdorovje!" He follows that foreign garble by, well, quaffing. I wasn't sure you could really quaff vodka, but there's 'Sy, always proving me wrong. I raise an eyebrow at him. What the hell was that? He smirks, showing a grin of even white teeth that's been the last thing more than a few criminals have seen before their deaths. "To health."

"Ah. Illuminating." I shake my head. "That was about as incomprehensible as the speech that canters out of Jhe Briarseal's mouth sometimes. It's not the same region, though."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "It hails from the same land as the vodka. So," he helps himself to more of the spirits, "just what brought this on? Was Ebrelle that provoking, this time?"

I mimic him and have some more vodka myself before going on with this. "Well, yes. He had a new angle this time. Something I certainly didn't expect, and held my composure through." He gives me an eyebrow twitch and an air of impatience, but lets me go on. Good. The vodka's taking effect. Great, even. "Your son."

He startles, but doesn't jar from his slouch too much. "What mistake's Gerald made this time? I imagine Camden can haul him out of jail, just the same." He pauses. "...In fact, that's such a common occurrence that I'm amazed it gave you any pause. What new twist could there possibly be to Gerald getting caught at what he's doing?"

I sigh. Of course he's not all that concerned. He's thinking of the wrong son. "None, because that's not what happened. What happened was that the Jhe o'Sul paraded your son around trussed up like a member of his own personal harem and officially named him his consort to me. And before you go on thinking that Gerald wouldn't look very attractive in that sort of role, let me stop you right there. I saw Lyric face-to-face in the King's Palace in Sul, Tesynnodai. He served the tea." I top off his vodka for him. He has this stony face that I don't like to remember. No parent ever would. He knocks back the vodka then, thankfully. I wanted to blunt that blow, after all.

After he swallows and the drink starts to hit him, he sits up. I can feel the heat of his anger boiling up, regardless of how much the alcohol wants to push him back down. I prepare to push him back down myself - he might try to burn off the alcohol, sober up, and do something stupid. Maybe something about my posture makes him think better of that idea. Whatever the case, he nods at me. "Keep talking."

I also keep pouring, but that's already implied.

"Lyric's in a tough position. He probably went there willingly. He had no idea what to do with himself while he was attending us. He followed the Jhe o'Sul's orders and acted according to rules of protocol. He didn't break his mask at all, even though he could tell I recognized him. He...he was brave, in a way, 'Sy. He offered me coffee when Ebrellin-i refused to provide it to me."

'Sy swallows, eyes closed. "Oh no." He plants his hand over his eyes and keeps it there, and I can feel him worrying.

"Don't worry so much. Just..." I sigh. "Look, you can go get him back without causing too many waves. Pick up my son while you're at it and I'm sure Ebrellin-i will consider it an even trade. He doesn't..." I tilt to the side just a little, then offset it by tossing back some vodka. Why not go for broke? "Ebrellin-i has no idea whose son he has. He wanted to parade a consort in front of me during that situation, in that setting, to rile me. He probably picked Lyric because he's pretty."

"...His consort." 'Sy's elbow is planted firmly on the bar, his head resting on his palm, fingers digging through his bangs. He's looking right past the bartop, right past everything. Who knows what he's really seeing?

I pat him on the forearm. "It'll be alright. He's safe, okay? S' the most important thing. He's obviously valued and he looked...healthy. Whatever it takes, just bring him back, alright? I can back an offer if it's necessary. I've got land I don't need. Money. Whatever. It'll be more valuable to Ebrellin-i if it's mine. We can manage this peaceably."

'Sy's eyes are almost hollow. Then he lets out the deepest sigh I've ever heard wheeze out of him. Now he just looks angry and exasperated.

I top off his glass. He takes it, studies it. "Whatever it takes. It's been ten years. I just want him home."

With that, we work on draining the bottle and its cousins.

* * *

Pretty Ponies

* * *

Jenny

* * *

They call me the disruptive kid. The one who gets into fights at school and beats up all the other kids and makes all the trouble. The loud one, the punk. Well, that's true and all, but nobody notices me in the room when my sister Stevane's there. At least when she's causing a scene. And I'd have it no other way - because that means I get to watch.

So, to set the scene here: I've got my brother Gerude in the games room. He's helping his best buddy Erynn find some notecards so they can play a dice-and-word game. Something Erynn just learned while training in the Poet Hall. I'm actually playing with my ponies. Daddy gave me ponies, and Mommy gave me a little brush so I can keep their manes done up just-so, and I play with my ponies in their little stable and paddock nice and quiet when I'm here, and Mommy and Daddy go off in their room and have sex (and pretend I didn't figure that out three months ago when I picked their bedroom lock for the fourth time). Mommy and Daddy are funny people.

So, Stevane comes in too, to see if she can get my ponies to stage an attack on "marshmallow tower", which she has glued together with toothpicks and gumdrops, and is really a respectable work of architecture in that you can eat it. And I don't really like sharing my ponies with Stevane, but if I let her then I can blame eating all the marshmallows on her, because she started it, technically. 'Technically' is a word that I learned a long time ago, when I was two. Daddy was so proud. Anyway, Stevane is a great sister because I can get away with pretty much anything or get into pretty much anything when she's around, so it's kind of a shame she's 'at her mother's' so much, or 'at the Poet Hall' so much, or 'confined to her room so we can have some peace' so much, or 'well I don't know where she is' so much. I'm pretty sure they know where she is when they say it, and I don't know why they lie, but right now I've got marshmallows and my sister's claiming that Paisley can totally ride Poppy's back if you kind of smush the marshmallows just like that. So anyway, then Daddy comes in, looking for Stevane. He walks up to us and kneels and looks Stevane in the eye.

"Honey?" He sees the marshmallows and...on-purpose looks away with that weird expression he gets when he's trying very hard to ignore something. "Daisy-girl, your Mommy just got here. Do you want to go with her or stay and play for a little bit? She's...not in a hurry." He's got that got-to-poop expression on his face again. Actually, every time Stevane's Mommy visits, Daddy needs to poop. I wonder if she brings bran with her.

Stevane pokes out her lower jaw to make her thinking-face. "Huh. I was just teaching Jenny about glue, Daddy! About horse-glue."

Daddy looks mortified.

"See, glue is made out of horse-bones. Gerude tol' me that and Jhe 'hLete said it was totally true. So I decided that you can't glue horses, 'cuz it's mean. They'd know, you know? And that's bad. So, I showed Jenny how to use marshmallows, and then it doesn't hurt their feelings."

Daddy can't close his mouth for some reason. I like when Stevane talks to Daddy. He always looks funny when she does!

"So anyway, I just wanted to make sure it worked. I can come real soon! I can go get you!" Stevane grins, then pats Daddy on the head with an only-slightly-sticky hand. It sticks to his hair a bit. He flinches, but still smiles.

"Yes, dear. You two...play nice." He stands up. He always looks so worried when we're together! Like Stevane and I are gonna do something. But after that one time I almost stomped her head in, and that one time she sealed me into the closet with 'a totally cool mommy vortex I just wanted to SHOW her', we've been totally cool and not fought hardly at all! Daddy is weird.

He's about to leave when Stevane does that thing where she causes a scene again.

"Hey, Erynn? Are you 'Rude's boyfriend?"

Erynn looks up from a box of boardgames, dust coating his hair and nose. He looks totally confused, like Stevane just asked him if he had snakes in his shoes. He sneezes. "Uh...what?" He looks over at Daddy. He looks kind of nervous.

Daddy looks all not-having-an-expression right now, and I never know if that means things are bad, because it usually means things are gonna get pretty funny.

Gerude opens his mouth and closes it again a few times, to check if it's still working. "Uh..." He looks over at Erynn. He's horrified.

"I asked if Gerude and you are boyfriends." She turns to Daddy, hands on her hips. "Daddy, is it okay if Gerude goes out with Erynn?"

Daddy's starting to look like he's gonna sneeze, or maybe he's gonna cry. Nah, sneeze. Daddy doesn't cry.

"I mean, Erynn's pretty nice, and he says he's not gonna marry me, so I guess that means he's gay, right? So Gerude can go out with him, right?"

"Uh, no." Erynn bites his lip, hands straight down at his sides, like he's in front of a firing squad. "I... don't think Gerude likes me that way. And I um... I like girls, Stevie, I just um... you're a nice girl, but you're... you're... you're too... shorter-than-me."

Stevane looks confused. "But Gerude and you are the same height, so it should be okay. And Gerald says Gerude hits like a girl, so that's the same thing, right?"

"He WHAT?" Gerude squawks.

Daddy isn't listening too much to all of this. He's doing that squinty-eyed stare at Erynn. It's the same one he makes when he's aiming a gun, so that's kind of weird.

"I um..." Erynn looks to each side of him, like he needs a hiding place. "I... it's not like that, Stevane. Why don't... um. Why don't you go see your Mother? I'm sure she misses you... very much."

Stevane pouts. "You should go out with him, otherwise he's gonna fall for some silly whore."

"Stevane." Daddy pinches the top of his nose, like it's got a leak. "Did you sneak up by the training grounds again?"

She looks downcast. "Sorry, Daddy." Her voice is soft. She shifts her feet, already impatient with staying still this long.

"That is no language for a young lady to use, no matter who said it front of you. Now, get your things ready to go to your Mother's. Nobody is getting married to anybody. Ever."

"Yes, Daddy."

He casts a final glare at Erynn, who just about shrinks into the wall. Then he leaves. I sigh, and play with my ponies. It takes me forever to clean off the marshmallow goop, and with Stevane gone Mommy blames all of the marshmallow stuff on me.

It's two weeks before Erynn visits the house again, and when he does he talks very loudly about how he has a girlfriend now, and she's very pretty, even prettier than Gerude. Then Gerude clubs him over the head.

* * *

Tea and Hatchets

I look up to see a dark cloud descending before me. That would be him, in his billowing robes and layers upon layers of fabric and silk ties and sashes. He settles into a self-assured posture as the hems of his robes cease fluttering against the floor. He's leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, hand cocked at the wrist, rings flashing from just under his chin, regarding me in this stance. As if he owned this place.

I posit in the back of my mind that it's just ever-so-possible that he might think he owns me as well. I discard the notion as something not worth my time to ponder. It would only make me angry, and besides that - I already know that it's true, at least by Xaillyndesse reckoning. This place, though - this Poet Hall that we're having such a relaxed teatime in - this place is mine.

That relaxed pose of his, though- I do wish I had the ability to adopt it right now. The closest I can get is to keep my shoulders back, stop myself from hunching forward on the defensive, and lace my fingers together in front of me. I am glad there is a low table between us. I wish it were three or five kingdoms instead, or perhaps just a sizable piece of continent - as is the norm. At least, at the very, very least...we have tea.

He gives me a nod. "'Lete. It has been some time." His voice dips slightly into a low tone, condescending just an inch for me, informing me that it's my fault I never write, I being the Poet King and not even bothering with letters. That is what one of his last missives said, after all. It's to the point where I'd have a Poet read them and send form replies for me if I weren't concerned with the confidentiality breaches I'd face then.

He knows entirely too much and hides more of it than I can dare to speculate. Why am I even allowing him to sit in close proximity to me, or in my Hall at all? But diplomatic talks are finally concluding, and 'Sy said it would be a good idea to 'if not bury the hatchet, rest it on a low shelf somewhere and pretend that you both think it's decorative.'

"My name is Elete, dear brother." It's out of my mouth before I can even set timing to the score, but it's perfectly paced as it is. There is an advantage to being who I am, right now. I'm not just Elete, and definitely not 'Lete, my brother's old pet-name for me. I'm the Poet King and that means words are at my very beck and call. If I were someone else...I might never know what to reply to him. "It has been some time indeed. Ten years. You appear to have changed little. I assume appearances do not lie, and that the years have been kind to you?" I crook one eyebrow, and watch his expression. It doesn't shift, except for the barest flicker in his strange multi-colored eyes. I faintly remember them being green, but my family refused to talk about that change... among many others.

"I suppose you've heard how kind indeed the years have been to our Kingdom, and our Empire." He allows his chin to lift a little at that, letting slip some haughtiness to grace my eyes. "I miss you at home. You really should accept an invitation, dear Elete. I've so many now that you've declined. Does my new Palace in Aurocale not suit you? Should I have a new wing built? I realize the Jhe o'Radia treats you well, and can't imagine you lack for much in his Empire...but is it really that grand, compared to what I can offer you? You can spare a week, yes? A week is more than enough for a good stay, even with travel." He tosses his hand back beside his head, wrist flicking up in that dismissive gesture that's such a trademark of his. "He manages it regularly." His eyes narrow and flick to the side, deflecting a glare that isn't meant for me. "Even without going through the most proper channels of invitation."

I only nod to him politely. "I'll consider it. Thank you. Please do not feel burdened to construct any edifices on my behalf." It crosses my mind that I've enough architects working on harebrained projects within the Hall right now. I should probably check up on that.

He finds some way to pout dramatically in a diplomatic fashion, and leaves his protests at that. "Well, then. How have you been?" Another handgesture, another flash of his rings. I'll have to keep an eye on those. He could have snuck something in, even with the security I've put in place here. Poison rings? No, not for me at least. Maybe some drugs, though. I wouldn't put it past him. I certainly know not to speak in confidence with him here. I might need the whole place swept afterwards. ...I think I'll do that, yes.

I lean forward and pour out his tea, then my own. "Honey? Sugar? Lemon?" He requests just a bit of lemon, then picks up the saucer, sniffing the steam that wafts up. I put honey in my own, and then give the tea its proper attention, avoiding the question for just a few more moments.

"I've been very well, thank you for asking." Was I just a bit too terse? I wonder, in the back of my mind, if it really matters. Of course it matters. It's proper etiquette. And it is also a tiny, tiny game, played with hundreds of tiny, tiny pieces, and we've each been keeping the score of it in the backs of our heads ever since I defected to Crux Radia from right under his well-bred nose.

He's never forgiven me for that, and I know it.

He nods, sipping tea to mask any consternation. I see his eyebrow twitch just a little. "Excellent to hear. You're so brief in your responses to my letters, after all. I might worry after you, if I didn't have so much faith in you as a capable person." He lays down his saucer on the table, looking me square in the eyes. The fading colors from left to right disarm me, just as they always do. I don't remember them looking like that when we were children... but childhood always has to end someday. I just don't think mine lived its term before it was killed. "Elete. My brother. Are you quite alright here? It is a great burden to bear. So much work. I tell those in my circle that I'm proud of my younger brother, King of the Poets, of all things. But...working so closely with the Armed...often I wonder at your methods." He sees me cock my eyebrow in preparation for a response as he speaks. "Oh, not that I mean to presume. It's just that... well. They're a dangerous lot, sometimes. I worry."

I sit back, sip my tea, and force my shoulders to lower. "Dangerous lot? You mean the Armed, or my Poets?" I keep the possessive on purpose. I want to prepare the ground I know he has the gall to tread on.

His eyebrows jump up in response, his head cocking just a bit to the side. He strikes me as a bird for not the first time since things soured between the two of us. A stupid, mocking, chattery bird. "Why, Elete. I hadn't bothered to think about that. But, now that you mention..." He looks into the distance, pondering, then laughs airily. "Oh, but you must be joking. Except that you never joke, brother. You need to lighten up! But really..." He leans forward, arm draped over the armrest, supporting his weight as his shoulder juts upward. "Are you joking? If Poets present a danger...well, it's to themselves, dear brother. Or to you, and some of their associates. Do you find yourself recruiting quite often for new ones? Your current 'army', as it were...well, I suppose they are their own means of population control? This is only from what I hear, of course. But really..." He leans back, waving his hand forward, then craning it up under his chin. "A talk with your neighbor the Judge would be prudent, I think. After all, while his seem to expire with an alarming regularity...at least he's trained them into generating the largest possible amount of collateral damage when it occurs."

I school my expression to react as one that was cast in porcelain. Oh... my. Some part of my head is reeling from the fact that he even said all of that to me. Maybe the shock is keeping me calm. Part of me has gone so far as to pray that I can maintain control of my emotions right now. That... that was quite the calculated delivery, I must admit. He must have been thinking of that one for quite a long time. And really, it's best delivered in person, where I don't have the time to calm down before responding.

Oh my. I really just want to punch him right now. Maybe I can paint it later, after he's left, and savor it then without any repercussions. He might feel it a little, but he'll have had it coming.

"Well, it certainly would seem that way to the untrained, casual observer, with no skills nor talents in these fields to train them into properly noting the hard facts of the case, but in reality, these would be incorrect assumptions, lent to you by those who must often, sadly, leap to conclusions before ever properly researching their theses. In actuality, it so happens that my Poets have an unusually high survival rate in comparison with the average citizen, since their remarkable abilities, combined with the proper training and expertise on how to use them, give them an edge in almost any situation. ...'Sy's Armed are his own problem." I shrug. "Whatever harm they might seem to cause here is no more than what you'd expect from a visit to a rowdy bar, and there are properly-observed rules already in place regarding their behavior and the sanctity of the Poets' working environment. The Armed are extremely helpful when it comes to security and helping to improve the Hall the Poets live and work in. They make for excellent Poets as well...or so you might have heard." I look over to my brother. Has any of this reached him? Any of it at all?

He looks up at the ceiling, shrugging into the air. "Only suggestions, dear brother. I really don't know how you survive here, with reckless endangerment constantly surrounding you, but I suppose there's only so much that I can plead with you before giving up on it." He sighs and crosses his arms. "Do you really want to stay here, brother? You could do this work elsewhere...in my Kingdom, for example. I have better supply lines for your materials, and lots of space for your Poets to operate separate from the Armed. It's...well it's a bit vexing, to find out that my brother is all but roommates with the Judge, instead of getting his own suite, as it were. Do you see where I would be concerned, Elete? It's my duty to make sure that you're being treated fairly and kept safe...my duty as elder brother."

I nod before thinking of my next move. It's an automatic reply to my brother at this point - there's even a certain tone and mood to it that is just for him. It's not quite agreement, just acknowledgement that, yes, I did hear him speaking just now, and I understood all the words just fine own my own. "I will have to devote proper time to the consideration of your rather impressive offer, so I must demurr for now. I'll send you a missive in due time on the subject." Or, I could have outright said 'no', but I want to have the time to prepare a response that is appropriately condescending and pompous. In any case, he looks pleased with my answer. There's even a touch of giddiness to him, which surprises me.

"How exciting. I look forward to seeing more of you in our Kingdom again, dear Elete."

Ah. He's just assumed I'll accept. Of course - it's an offer from him, so how could I not?

I shake my head, holding up my index finger in a 'please wait' motion. "Ebrelle? Radia is my Kingdom now. It is my home and has been since I set foot in it. I am no longer of your citizens."

His eyes narrow and his shoulders straighten as he sits up in his chair. Not quite the pose of command, but oh so close. "My name is Ebrellin-i, dear brother, and I trust you, of all people, to remember that." He cocks his head, scrutinizing me in a way I can't describe. He blinks, and then a slow realization comes over his face. "...You're serious, aren't you? This isn't some prolonged display of rebellion. You're not coming back to me. To our Kingdom. You've actually moved into this..." He looks around, trying to scrape up any sort of acceptable word. Considering where he is, he shouldn't have to look far. "...place." He looks at me, eyes still narrowed, trying to figure out what to think about this.

He rises. It's like watching an exotic garden take to its feet.

"I must be away for the night, dear brother. I've quarters to settle into while I stay here, and knowing the Jherent o'Radia...Jhe o'Radia." He smooths over one of his silks as he covers up the faux-pas. "...Well, let's just say I'd like a long look at them before I relax in this place, yes?" He nods to me as I rise to see him off. Then he gives, to my surprise, a short bow that I'm still not accustomed to receiving yet.

Acknowledgement from one ruler to another. Even though his Kingdom dwarfs my Hall considerably...within the laws of etiquette, it is required. I'm oddly touched that he deigns to remember it. An Emperor is allowed room to forget such sacred things - it's Ebrellin-i's choice that he remember it.

I return it gracefully, and see him out.

The Noble Spoon

(This is set seventeen years before the Peacock King Trilogy. Stevane is a wee five years old. It is about parenting and dinnerware.)

* * *

"Daddy."

There's a dainty little tug on the lace-edged cuff of my sleeve. I peer over the edge of my book. Two very wide, very golden eyes peer back up at me.

I wonder why her voice was so hushed? I make a show of looking to each side, checking to make sure there are no spies about. Then I lean forward, eager to learn of what conspiracy is at play today. "Yes, Stevane?" I stage-whisper.

"Daddy. You're talking too loud," she whispers back, "someone will hear you."

"Sorry." I school my voice much lower. I ruffle her hair, then check for more spies. It seems to be the proper thing to do. "What's the secret this time, Stevane?"

She frowns, lip jutting out, signaling her intense seriousness. "There's no secret. I want you to tell me about the eyeballs." She looks around to make absolutely sure that no one's listening.

I understand her now. I, too, want to make sure no one catches me telling Stevane about the eyeballs.

When the discussion really starts, we've relocated to the piano bench, Stevane's hands idly dancing over and around the ribbons trailing down her skirt. It's hard to see her face under the thick red mop of curls surrounding her head. Her hair's pretty, but it's almost a helmet. We keep trimming it back and it does nothing. I've tied bows in it that just plain disappear. It's like her Mother is hiding in there.

...I check around again for her Mother, with that thought. Stevane's eyebrows lift as she watches me.

"Is it safe in here?" I nod. She grins. "Lute said I had to ask about the spoon."

I disguise a sputter with a cough into my hand. "What was Lute doing telling you about the spoon?"

She sighs, looking to the side. "Lute couldn't tell me anything about anything. He said if he got caught he'd get in real trouble." She pouts at me, as if any tragedy involving rules is utterly all my fault. I chuckle, fighting to keep the mirth quiet for the sake of conspiracy.

"Lute knows better than to tell you something that's my job to explain." Her eyes light up, which is good. Telling her that is much better than letting her realize that Daddy can get into just as much trouble as his son can for getting caught saying certain things. "Okay, okay. Spoons. Did he say which spoon?" I fight to keep my voice low. This is getting into territory that I'm very enthusiastic about.

Stevane shakes her head so fast that all I can see is a blur of bouncing curls. "There's more than one?"

I just grin.

* * *

We're in the kitchen now. I am of the opinion that every good lecture must have its proper visual aids. Stevane sits up on the counter, watching me dig for another fork. Spread out on the counter is a complex variety of dinnerware from shrimp forks to cheese knives. (Cheese knife is as big as the knives get in this tutorial. She's still young.)

I hold it up. "This is an escargot fork." Her eyes widen. Yes, already I can see that she knows its potential. "It's good for scooping cooked snails out of their shells."

She grins. "Does it scoop out other stuff?"

I grin back. "I can unsocket an eyeball with this thing so fast that most people don't even notice until they see me holding their own eye up to look back at them." She grins and applauds. "And see, the best thing about it?" I point at the space between the two prongs on the fork. Stevane scrutinizes the engineering of it. "If my scoop is perfectly centered, this part here grips the optic nerve and yanks it right out of someone's skull by the roots!"

She snorts with laughter, pitching forward so fast that I have to remove the fork rather quickly so that she doesn't become a classroom demonstration. After that we both dissolve into giggles. I'm wiping tears from my eyes when I hear a subtle, quiet noise from the kitchen doorway.

"Ahem."

I feel both of our hearts sink simultaneously. It's like the earth moves along with them in sympathy.

After her mother's ensuing discussion with me, I am no longer allowed to teach Stevane how to use silverware.

It makes me cry. Elete knows his etiquette like any Xaillyndesse knows his hair, but he'll never tell her what you can do with two salad forks and a corn cob holder.

Tiny Little Song

This one takes place a little bit after the Peacock King Trilogy, but the timing of it's pretty flexible. Although there isn't much in the way of spoilers (especially if you're reading the wiki), if you're dead set on not knowing who some of the extended families are of the main characters, you might want to skip this one.

On a different note, this is one of my favorite shorts I've written for this universe. While I can't claim to achieve 'Sy's levels of hostility towards anyone noticing my kids THAT WAY, I also have to admit my own aren't old enough. Yet. ... I can see myself getting there, though.

---

The sinking feeling that some unwashed, unworthy male is taking notice of your precious baby girl is not something I expect you to relate to immediately, but I will say this much: it's worse than the first time I walked into a Hall full of Shenanigans. It's that spine-climbing sense of cold horror that gets to me, followed by the slow burn of righteous anger.

And my anger was righteous. There were rules about my children, very well-known rules, and I expected those rules to be followed.

I stood there, my boots firmly planted on the bricks in front of the entrance to the Armed Hall, and felt that dual-wash of emotion run through me as my counterpart's son dared smile at my daughter.

Nevermind that she had smiled first. It is her right to smile at whomever she pleases; the boy's mistake was in paying more than the proper, dutiful amount of attention to that smile. Proper, dutiful attention did not include turning to face her full-on with a return smile, much less a smile that attentive, or eyes that noticed a bit too much about my daughter.

The second that whelp misstepped, his ass was mine.

---

From the way her eyebrows were angled when I walked in, Katherine had felt my approach from some distance away. It was to be expected, of course. I was furious by that point, and certainly wasn't about to prevent knowledge of my ire from reaching the masses. Perhaps it had been far too long since I had last put the fear of Me into the general population, particularly regarding familiarity with my offspring.

Katherine's head tilted to one side, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. I realized I had been standing in the doorway, staring at her. She curled one hand upward and rested her chin on it, the smile on her face slowly spreading.

"Oh, so you know, then?"

My breathing caught in my chest, which was steadily feeling tighter with each passing moment. "Do I know what?"

As usual, my Poet failed to be properly alarmed by the tone of my voice and outward display of gathering office. I glared at her, but the silly creature simply grinned back, daring to look amused. "Why, that he's been courting her for a while now, my dear."

I reacted first to having my pet phrase so carefully flung at me, then to the actual content of her statement. Of course I didn't believe her. Who would be so profoundly without sense as to approach one of my children in such a manner without first consulting me?

Katherine delicately cleared her throat, earning another futile glare from me. "Rachella."

I couldn't actually glare any harder at her, so I switched tactics and went completely expressionless. The rotten woman actually tilted her head and chuckled at me, biting down on the tip of her finger in the most distracting manner. It was a deliberately teasing move on her part, and the gambit worked in diverting some of my attention in spite of my valiant efforts to remain in full fury. "'Sy, you didn't take any action when I went after Gerald, either."

"That was different," I said, steadfastly ignoring the hint of petulance in my own voice. "I was too confused to figure out which of you I should kill, and by the time I did come to any conclusion, the matter was already out of my hands."

She snorted and simply folded her hands. Point to me, then; she didn't have a ready response.

"Tie, darling. I distracted you from your rather pissy mood."

Said pissy mood slid firmly back in place, augmented with an edge of indignant peevishness. "Tell me more of this so-called 'courtship'," I said, schooling my face back into its normal steady, impassive mask. She twirled her pencil through her fingers as she shifted her chair sideways, making room for my feet on the edge of her desk. I dropped into the chair next to her, then swing my feet onto the surface of her desk with a solid THUNK. She lifted one eyebrow, letting me know that I wasn't fooling her one bit, and brushed away the few stray chunks of dirt that had fallen from my soles from the surface of her desk.

Not that I was going to apologize for messing up her workspace. Not right now, at any rate.

"What's to say? He's a polite boy, very well-mannered and well-raised. He has a good head on his shoulders and recognizes a treasure when he sees it. Really, Tesynnodai." She sighed, dropping her chin back onto the palm of her upturned hand. "I'm beginning to think you get yourself worked up over these things simply to have something to be worked up over."

I stared at her a moment, and she stared right back. "Not quite," I grumbled.

She laughed, sitting back in her chair and brushing her fingertips across my leg in a light swat. "Don't kill him, 'Sy. Give him a chance to prove himself. Give Stevane a chance to prove herself." She raised an eyebrow at me, and I didn't need her to actually voice the reprimand I read in her eyes.

Sometimes I find it very difficult to believe I let her live. The cheek.

She looked over my shoulder and waved a hand. Almost instantly, a hot pot of coffee was carefully placed on her desk, a safe distance from me feet on the off chance I decided to sweep everything within reach off her desk with my boots. She poured a mug for me, silently handing it to me before pouring her own. I watched her as I sipped, contemplating pulling her hair out of that twisted braid and throwing her across the desk for a bit of fun. Unfortunately for me, she's far too on guard when I'm in this sort of mood, and most of the actual fun is in taking her by surprise.

"He's hardly the worst thing to pass her way," she said, picking the conversation back up where we had left off. "I can think of several poor souls who were discouraged from approaching her." She chuckled. "Poor Erynn couldn't walk for a week."

"My dear," I chuckled, "that was your doing."

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Was it? Oh my."

It was my turn to snort. "I do recall still owing you for taking on that particular task for me." I was pleased to see that she wasn't sure which way to take that statement, and I certainly wasn't about to enlighten her. The most delightful part was that when I got around to actually repaying her for that favor, she still wouldn't know quite which way I had meant it.

"... Yes. Well." She curled her fingers around her mug. "If you really feel so strongly about it, talk it over with his father. I'm sure you two could work something out." She paused, then chortled, sharing a small flash of just the sort of interaction she was picturing. "Or," she continued, "try talking to Stevane's mother about things. After all, she is her mother, and I'm quite sure she'd be pleased that you sought her out on such a delicate matter concerning her dau--" She choked, coughing and laughing at the same time.

I swear it wasn't my doing -- although I will not say one way or another whether or not I had entertained the thought of throttling her at that moment.

"Perhaps I will do just that," I said, pausing to savor the look of shock on Katherine's face. "You are quite right; she is her mother, and should have some say in the matter of her daughter's unusually brave suitor." I set my half-empty mug down on the serving tray and bowed low. "Do keep me informed of any further developments?"

I waited long enough to enjoy a couple of openly surprised blinks, then vanished.

---

I appeared before her still in a low bow, and held my position until I heard her quiet giggle.

"Really, Dai'sy, you needn't be so stuffy."

There was no real point in containing my wince, but I tried anyway. She giggled again, a high child-like delighted bubbling that -- loathe as I am to admit it -- I found utterly charming.

She stepped down from her throne. It was rather like watching liquid gold run down a pillar of ivory. She tilted her head to one side and grinned as she walked towards me, her bare feet dancing a little as she stepped across the distance between us. She stopped in front of me, and I straightened to my full height and smiled down at her. She grinned back up and poked me in the center of my chest with one long fingernail.

A butterfly sprung from the spot and wafted away, leaving a rapidly-disappearing trail of gold dust in the shape of a daisy on my shirt.

"You!" she chirped, poking me again and giggling as another butterfly fluttered away. "You visit so rarely, dearest Dai'sy! What dire event brings you about now?"

"Stevane."

She raised an eyebrow and clapped delightedly. "Oh! Let me guess." She backed away a few steps and scowled into my face. "Well. Judging from that burly man-smell coming off of you and the daddy-hackles, I'd say some nice young man has come around." She grinned, swinging her arms behind her back and bouncing on her toes. "Well? Of course I'm right, right?"

I sighed. "This is your fault, isn't it."

"Well of course it is," she chirped, turning and dancing away, flowers springing from the tiles and fading into gold dust where she stepped. "Silly silly, I do think it's rather cute, the way those two gawk at each other." She stopped and turned, looking at me with one gold eye over her shoulder. "Rather selfish of you to hog all the happiness, don't you think, Arik'tighesynnodai-theoni?"

It rather felt like my entire being turned to heavy stone. "Please, lady, I'd rather you didn't call me--"

"What?" She turned and poked me again in the chest, then a few more times in quick succession. My shirt looked like it had blossomed a bouquet of gold daisies. "Oh, don't tell me you don't like your name anymore, you giant doofbucket." She snorted and poked me again, hard enough to make me flinch. A goldfish drifted up from my shirt and stared me in the face before vanishing with a small pop.

"It's not the name," I sighed, reminding myself for the millionth time that getting angry with her had a very detrimental effect on my mental health for the following century or so. "It's the..."

"Spirit of delivery?" Something in her tone made me take careful notice of her words. The edge in her voice warned me that I'd better dance lightly indeed, and dance well. "Tell me, little dragon, have you ever actually shared that little whisper in your name?"

I hate it when she's direct. I didn't want to answer her, so I steeled myself and remained silent. It was a definite tactical error, and I felt the consequences bearing down on me as she turned and looked at me, the barest hint of a smile playing about her amber lips.

"Strange," she purred, her nails scratching across my shirt, catching in a bit of lace. She curled her fingers around it and tugged. "Strange that one so interested in the truth would be so eager to hide it." Her nails slid through my hair, pulling me down to my knees. I sank to them gracefully, almost gratefully, hating myself for this easy submission even as I acknowledged the truth that there is simply no other way with her. Her fingers caught my chin and lifted my face, and I found myself trapped by the Void between the gold flecks in her eyes.

I knew, in a moment of sinking relief, that she wasn't interested in revealing that particular part of me. Not yet.

She raked her nails over my scalp, not quite hard enough to be painful. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, right at the back of my neck, and pulled me just a little further back, exposing my throat. I swallowed, my nerves rising in purely instinctual alarm. I wanted to close my eyes rather badly, but I couldn't tear myself away from her gaze even in that small way.

I swallowed, hard, when she bent over and lightly kissed the pulse in my throat. She giggled so softly that I wondered if I merely recalled it, and her eyes flashed with amusement.

The humiliation of being lowered like this finally hit me, and I couldn't contain my growl. I felt her then, laced through me, hiding in the very weave of my being, and it pissed me off so deeply that I threw myself at her somehow, snarling a challenge. Part of me tried to stop myself -- I'm playing right into her hands, letting her call that unrestrained part of me that I contain so well, save when I'm with her...

"You're lying to yourself!" She released me, and I fell forward onto my hands, coughing and sore and utterly confused. "Look at yourself." She arced her cigarette holder over my head with a sweeping flourish, deftly depositing a bit of ash on the tip of my nose. "Look at what a mess you're making of things, you crazy Archo'ne, before you make a more interesting mess of yourself."

... and then I'm standing before her again, very aware that she's marched me backwards in time, and she's standing in front of me like a tiny gold sundrop. She poked my chest -- no butterfly this time, just the slow ripple of gold as it formed a tiny rose.

"Who are you?" she whispered with a familiar glint of mischief in her eyes.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't form an answer.

She snorted and whacked the tip of my nose with her cigarette holder.

"Leave the kids alone, Dai'sy," she said, whirling and strutting away. "I'll be really irritated with you if you get in the way of my daughter's... interests." She turned and smirked at me, poking her tongue out and making a rude gesture with one hand.

My lip curled upward in mute horror, my thoughts colliding and tripping over themselves. My baby doesn't have any "interests."

Tia draped herself across her throne, kicking her bare feet in the air over the right arm. "That's where you're mistaken, dearest 'Sy," she said in sing-song. Her feet paused mid-kick, and she turned and grinned. "Our elder daughter tells me the most delightful things about the adventures she has with her strapping young men, and I've heard-tell that her little sister has made a few of her own friends as well."

The sound that escaped me could have been a whimper, but it's much nicer to think of it as a quiet groan. I tried to focus on something, anything but the cheerfully-supplied image of one of my girls in flagrante delicto.

"Wait... you know where Letitcia is?"

"Nope," she said, her feet resuming their kicking. "I hear from her quite a bit, but she's ever so careful to avoid mentioning where she actually is." She laughed, quite amused. "She's been busy, though! We're going to be great-great-great-great-grandparents in no time!"

I tried to keep my thoughts to myself, but of course it was quite useless here. She held up one beautifully manicured finger and wiggled it in my direction without actually looking at me. "Now now, Dai'sy, it's not nice to call someone a wretched whore. I don't demand payment, after all."

I really wanted to leave. By this point, I was utterly confused as to why I had bothered to come in the first place, and the longer I stayed, the more I was convinced that she had somehow kidnapped me just to torment me for another hundred years.

"It was twenty, darling. Nice try." She waved her hand at me imperiously. "Go on, get. Say hi to your brother for me, and remember what I said about the kids."

I didn't bother to bow. I just wanted to get away.

---

Katherine had a very large glass of bourbon ready when I popped into her office. I took it gratefully and dropped gracelessly into her chair. She sighed and leaned back against her desk, watching as I drained the glass and set it down with a heavy thud.

"Remind me not to kill you."

"Noted," she said, crossing her arms. "I can't quite believe you went there."

I looked up at her. "It wasn't you?" She shook her head, a frown spreading across her face. I snorted, then scowled at the toes of my boots. If it wasn't my Poet writing suggestions into my head...

"Meddling fairy."

She raised her eyebrows and lightly tapped her forehead. I nodded, and she laughed. "I wonder why."

"Probably hadn't finished brushing his hair and wanted to buy more time."

Katherine choked back a laugh, but thankfully refrained from pointing out that our favorite Poet King was quite capable of arranging things around his toilette. If -- no, the alternatives weren't worth considering.

Stevane poked her head through the door and spied me camped out at my Poet's desk. Her eyes widened a touch, but she flung the door open with flair and tromped her way through Katherine's office to the outer door, her nose sailing through the air like one of my brother's damned ships. She shut the door behind with with a loud bang. Katherine watched the whole thing in stoic silence, waited a few moments, then burst into giggles.

"You're going to have to talk to her before too long, you know."

I gave her a look of naked terror. "Must I? I'm sure you would do a better job of things."

It didn't work. She kicked the side of the chair, right under my elbow. "Get it over with, you giant turkey." Her eyes narrowed. "Remember how well the last one turned out when you avoided the talk for too long?"

I thought of Lyric and sighed.

"You're not pushing this one off on me," she added, kicking the chair again for emphasis.

"I know," I growled. "It's nice to pretend I could for a while."

Katherine blinked at me, and I tried to block a second too late. "What is wrong with you?"

I pushed back from her desk and stood, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. I frowned; she really was worried. "Later. I need to..." I choked a bit.

She snorted and waved at me. "Go, go. Have fun explaining sausages."

I glared at her as I left.

---

It turns out I needn't have bothered. Quite the opposite. In fact, I should have armed myself with a few bottles... or a whole bar.

My daughter looked at me with her big gold eyes and calmly explained that not only was she aware of what two or more people did when their clothes came off, she was well-versed in what one could do, and that she generally preferred only one other partner but couldn't deny she had quite a bit of fun with five. At least, she thought it was five, but it could have been more.

"It was a pretty busy night," she said primly.

I had a passing notion that Katherine knew already what I was walking into and had neglected to notify me of the actual situation for her own reasons.

"Actually," she said, and I noted with horror that she was beginning to blush -- what could possibly make her blush, after what she had just revealed to me? -- "Well, Myles, he... uh..." She ducked her head, and even her ears were red. "He doesn't like to share, Daddy, so... yeah. I'm not doing a lot of that stuff anymore."

... This presented me with a dilemma. On the one hand, I still had some lingering resentment for the boy due to his assumption that he was good enough for her. On the other hand, my daughter had just demonstrated a working knowledge of carnal activities that looked to rival my own in a few short years, should she continue uninterrupted. She had just handed me the solution to keeping her in che--

She... she outmaneuvered me.

My expression only changed a little, but it was enough to inform Stevane that her gambit had worked. I was rather proud of her, actually. It's usually pretty difficult to check me, but she had managed pretty deftly. Granted, the particular weaknesses she was exploiting are well-documented and bereft of any true challenge, but it demonstrated an aptitude. It also meant that she was likely going to make my future a waking nightmare of pride and horror.

Things are so much simpler when they're little, before they learn how to break their father's heart.

I reassured my daughter that I wouldn't destroy her intended, nor would I attempt to interfere in any way, shape, or form. She also wrested a promise that I wouldn't get anyone else to do it for me, which was probably an intelligent move as well.

They grow up so fast.

---

'Sy Akribastes, Katherine Cruxradia, Stevane Akribastes, Tia, Myles Akribastes

Tiny Little Song - Koyasu Takehito

(Irknote - No they weren't siblings, it's just that Myles was adopted by the Judge, who is a very civic-minded man that doesn't bother thinking up original surnames for all the Armed orphans.)

UHopping - The Scientist and His Cat

This short was written as part of the UHopping Project in the WebLit community. You might want to start reading here!

* * *

Waldgrave's skin goosebumped slightly as the chill of the room pierced his clothing, but everything around him remained pitch black. The soft whisper of cloth against skin reported the presence of at least one of his party behind him, but he dared not move without first confirming his location. He blinked, but the absolute darkness remained.

A low chuckle rolled through the dark. Waldgrave stood stock-still, alert to any indication of motion or direction. Behind him, there was a slight scuffing -- he noted the sound of familiar boots. Jackson, likely.

"Rillyavanaiyo, i'lyiaatch languages... ah, I see the adjustments have already been made. Good sir, please lower the artificial light. It will do you no good." The voice was nearly laughing as he spoke. "You are blind, not surrounded by darkness. Now, if you would be so kind as to seat yourselves... ah, forgive me for not providing proper seating, but I fear injuring you, and the gods only know what sort of harmful interactions might stem from too much contact between materials from such different worlds?"

There was a sharp clatter and a quick yelp, followed quickly by a low, angry growl. The man sighed heavily. "I do apologize for the uncivilized manner in which you are being treated, but there is no need to go about brandishing weapons. Please do not upset the kitty any further?" The hair on the back of Waldgrave's neck prickled as if he had just stepped through a wall of static electricity, and then he could see.

As his eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light, he recognized some of the usual paraphernalia of a laboratory, definitely further behind than the technology he was accustomed to, but with an alien bent to the designs.

Curious. His target was not supposed to be even this advanced.

He turned his head slowly, carefully looking around. His feet were rather firmly attached to the ground, but he had full range of motion throughout the rest of his body. A quick glance revealed the condition of his party; the men were sound asleep on the floor, and the Ada replica was sitting cross-legged, a beatific smile gracing her otherwise blank expression. The man he had been hearing was seated on top of a long metal desk, his pose carefully casual. He tilted his head slightly, his glasses catching the light and obscuring his eyes as he smiled.

"I do beg your pardon for the rude handling, but I had to make sure nothing would harm the integrity of my labs." He pursed his lips together, then slid off the table and stood. "Now that your companions are comfortable and conveniently unaware, I'm sure we can have a rather civilized conversation, yes?"

"...Yes." Waldgrave steeled himself as the man approached. He was incredibly tall, his dark hair styled in an intricate series of knots and braids. He stopped a short distance away, then waited, watching Waldgrave with the sort of curiosity normally reserved for interesting specimens. He simply returned the regard, his calm, composed mask firmly in place even as he felt tiny claws march their way up the back side of his body, followed by a wet nose in his ear.

The man grinned warmly, presumably at the small feline now perched on his shoulder, purring and making very deliberate stabs at his shoulders as it kneaded. "Introductions are in order, I suppose? I am Ebrelle Xaillyndesse," he said, his wrist turning with a flourish, "and the darling young lady on your shoulder is Mischief."

The kitten meowed and dug a set of claws deep into his shoulder. He couldn't entirely contain the grimace as the spot burned. "Aaron Waldgrave. I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, considering the circumstances." Ebrelle's smile hardened. "Care to explain why you were attempting to access the Nursery?"

Waldgrave raised one eyebrow, his chin lifting a touch. "As a matter of fact, no." The kitten's tail lashed against the back of his neck. He tried to raise an arm to dislodge the feline, but his arms refused to move. His jaw tightened.

Ebrelle laid a finger against his chin, studying Waldgrave. "Interesting. Are you sure? I'd really recommend you volunteer the information in the spirit of scientific exchange. Mischief is unfortunately getting rather hungry." His mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "It's been a while since I've let her enjoy a fresh meal, as well."

Waldgrave glanced sideways. The tiny Siamese stared back at him with immense blue eyes, then deliberately licked her chops and purred.

There was a chance that this was merely a bluff. On the other hand, the way the cat kept staring at his eyes was rather disconcerting. The animal was obviously intelligent, and seemed to be waiting for him with a fixed curiosity not unlike her master's. The cat raised a paw, and he watched as she delicately washed it, flexing her claws, keeping one eye on him as she groomed. A spot of blood near the base of one claw disappeared, and he thought her purring might have increased in volume.

"Threatening is such a crass way of exchanging information, particularly between learned men such as ourselves. Very well. I am surveying worlds and collecting information. The reports surrounding that nursery were particularly intriguing, and I wished to explore them for myself."

Ebrelle nodded, and the cat abruptly jumped down and trotted out of his vision. "That was a dangerous move, Jhe Waldgrave. Had you been any less lucky, you might have actually reached your destination, and would have promptly been annihilated." He studied his fingernails, then buffed them against his sleeve. "It so happens that we had reason to suspect an attempt like this was being made, and considering dear Katherine's rather unfortunate track record in preserving her life, we felt it prudent to take certain measures." He looked up, his eyes twinkling. "In the interests of furthering my research into certain areas, I took it upon myself to add a few extra measures to the ones already in place." He swept one hand in a smooth arc. "Such as making sure any unexpected guests were routed here first."

"That wouldn't be noticed?"

Ebrelle laughed. "Oh, it's been noticed. I suspect we only have another minute or so before the Judge figures out who was behind this unexpected development, and then I'm afraid it's the end for you." Ebrelle's smile widened. "On the other hand, losing another valuable mind would be such a tragedy."

Waldgrave found himself grinning in return. Familiar ground, detestful as it may be. "And what is the price on my head, Mr. Xaillyndesse?"

A long blink was the only sign that Ebrelle had even noticed the mangling of his name. "Quite simply, I want to know exactly what you are after, and I would love a sample of your blood. Untainted, of course. Mischief's digestive system does nasty things to life samples."

Waldgrave paused, then nodded. "I am after something quite similar, then. A simple skin sample from one of the extraordinary children in that Nursery."

"Katherine is the only child currently in the Nursery."

"One is enough."

Ebrelle crossed his arms, cupping his chin in one hand, and stared. He was quiet a moment, then nodded. He waved a hand, and Waldgrave's knees buckled slightly. He straightened, automatically straightening his clothes as well.

"Follow me," Ebrelle said, turning and walking. Waldgrave found he had to move at a rather undignified trot to keep up. "Move quickly. Time is running short, and unfortunately that is one factor I cannot control." He glanced back and grinned. "Yet."

Ebrelle led him through a maze of pipes and steamwork, and various shelves filled with all manner of curious artifacts, until they came to a low bench strewn with small tools and vials. Ebrelle reached for one, turning it over in his hands and adjusting it. "Your sleeve," he said, his voice clipped, never looking away from the device. Waldgreen hesitated, then obligingly rolled up his sleeve. He felt a moment of icy sting, and then Ebrelle was tilting the instrument into a larger vial. It sealed itself with a hiss, and then joined several other bottles on the rack.

"Take this." Ebrelle pressed another vial into his hands. "It's the sample you came for." He smiled. "I'm sure you'll find it rather interesting. Now..." He looked up, and Waldgrave followed the direction of his gaze, back towards the others. "Now, you might want to get out of here. If you're caught with that..."

Waldgrave nodded, then jogged around the machinery, leaving Ebrelle at the table. The men were sitting and blinking, and the Ada replica was at her feet, tensely surveying the room. "Get us out of here, Smith," he growled. Smith just nodded, and the laboratory vanished.

* * *

The Poet King sighed at his brother. "You do realize what you have done, don't you?"

Ebrelle grinned. "Certainly. I provided a clear sample of the Advocate, which I presume will be used to create either some sort of hybrid or clone."

"What do you expect will happen?" He didn't bother to disguise the weariness in his tone.

Mischief jumped onto Ebrelle's shoulder. He scratched her chin and grinned. "It will be curious, won't it, to see what becomes of a world where the countries that form the Treaty do not exist? If you do write about it, you simply must share. It would be such valuable information!"

The Jhe h'Logos sighed and buried his face in his palm. "By the golden breast of the Void... Dearest brother, would you be so kind as to prepare tea?"

Ebrelle raised an eyebrow at his other guest. "Would you care for a cup, Jhe h'Akribastes?"

The Judge grinned. "Indeed I would, thank you. Jhe h'Logos, do provide me a copy of any documents as well? I find the topic rather lifts my spirits."

The Poet King groaned.

Characters:

April Fool's 2011 - Tempus Interruptus

* * *
Alestere
* * *

I exit the room with no further dramatic pronouncements. I wonder if Jhe Emily shall be with Jhe Aaren in his room, or if she's elsewhere? They don't need to be physically near each other to be as connected as they are, which is the beauty of such a connection. But for the purposes of our meeting, I need Jhe Emily with us.

My brother's door opens behind me. I turn around to see who has emerged. Jhe Katherine glares down the hall at me, then closes the door behind her. "You," she says with a glare.

I nod, clasping my hands behind my back. "Me."

She takes the opportunity to catch up with me, then hooks her hand around my elbow. "Don't just take off like that! Who knows how long you could be away?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I should think that as a Blue Lord, I would know."

That throws her off for a moment. She holds a finger up, trying to think of what to say next.

"You were going to suggest that it might take a very long time indeed," I helpfully inform her.

"I... yes." She tries to glare, but is unable to meet me in the eye. "And then I was going to say that... uh." She bursts into laughter. "Damn it Alestere, don't steal other Poets' lines, you of all people should know better! Now my timing's all off!"

I chuckle behind my glove's fist. "I do apologize, Jhe Katherine. It is a grievous error on my part. However can I make it up to you?"

She punches me lightly in the small of my back in a gesture that's more playful than it is a serious attempt to get past the padded armor that is my set of robes. "We've got plenty of time. Let's go back to your quarters and screw already."

"Ah, but time waits for no man," I say, tucking my arm around her waist and taking her to my suite directly.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Jhe 'brelle and Unkie are talking about something. I should probably be paying attention to it. It's my job to pay attention to Jhe 'brelle. But, well, they seem to be getting along alright for once. And, to be honest, I'm distracted.

See, Jhe h'Lete and I used to be closely connected. I suppose Jhe h'Leste forgot about that, because I'm hearing a bit of what he's doing, and well...

Katherine's a lucky girl. Oh my gosh. But, well, if I can mentally hear those two going at it (not that I'm complaining), there's the chance that Jhe 'brelle might hear it from me, and that... that might get him and Jhe h'Leste in trouble, you see. So I need to concentrate on Jhe 'brelle not finding out that his brother is nailing his daughter right now. Even though it is totally hot.

And asking Jhe h'Leste to cut off the connection would mean not seeing it, so I suppose I'll just have to withstand the torture.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

The great thing about getting down to business with a Blue Lord is that he can get you into bed in record time. That means we can get right down to business, as it were. Incredibly hot, sticky, naughty, x-rated business. I come about three times, and he's not even in me yet. He's just that sexy when he crooks those supple Xaillyndesse eyebrows.

I just can't help it. I can't keep my hands off of him. There's a fire in my belly that I'm sure there's no way Stevane could be responsible for the igniting of. I think her daddy banned her from setting internal organs on fire when she was five, come to think of it.

I freeze. I choose an extremely purple and turgid position to do it in, and Alestere grunts a little as I stop gyrating like a shenanigan in a hamster ball. I can't help it, no matter how good he feels right now. 'Sy. I thought about him.

I hear Gedulah cough in the back of my mind, not quite hiding her disappointment in me. Have I given myself away? Of course. In one moment of flaming red passion, I let the volume of my feelings go unmuffled, and 'Sy heard it like one of his kids secretly practicing tuba in his basement. The same kind of unavoidable resonance... and the same awkward sort of honking, come to think of it. Alestere can do some interesting things with his tongue.

My heart stops. It can't really, actually stop, I know. It's too aflame with the fires of illicit passion, and also, 'Sy can't kill me from a distance, even if he tries to think really hard about it.

But... he can come here.

Alestere looks up at me, then wiggles his hips a little to remind me of what we're doing. Poets are prone to distraction during any task, after all. We certainly proved that last night in this bed. I hold up a finger in response, signalling that we should wait. Alestere just ogles the finger and wonders where I'm planning to stick it.

I smack him on the cheek. "You idiot, he's found out and he's coming--"

The door creaks open. My heart maybe does stop for just a moment. I do feel cold, so cold, which I guess means all my flames of passion just got snuffed. I didn't think he'd walk right in here. Into Alestere's sleeping quarters, us both naked, me straddling the Poet King, said Poet King doing some sort of complex thing to me with his fingers that I'd need sheet music and interpretive dance to properly describe.

'Sy gapes. He meets my eyes. He looks... betrayed. He takes another step in, his actions stiff, and...

Well. Something else stiff too.

His brows knit together. "You wily little thing! I wanted to tap that ass first!" Then he closes the door behind him before shucking off his clothes and leaping onto the bed. We have to strangle each other for a few moments, because in the days before he left we'd gotten so tense that that was the only way we've been able to get in the mood for a bedtime romp. Alestere watches on in confusion until we both accost him, and then heat surges up as my flames of passion are stoked once more.

It's totally hot.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I nudge Stevane with my toe.

"Strange. Is this a common Poet affliction? She's gone catatonic."

* * *

Ed. note: Yes, this is just an April Fool's chapter. The actual one will be up on Saturday (no foolin'). Also, I feel really dirty and horrible and am now going to go take a shower and wash the dirty dirty prose off of me mommy why ew bad touch bad touch

Characters:

Special Short Stories for Immature Adults

These are the stories we wrote that might make you have to change your underwear. (In the good way, not like in the way Lyric gets when something startles him.) You have to have adult access to be in this section. Request access here!

Characters:

n/a

Short Stories

A Sapphire Set in a Delicate Chain

Set in Book 1. BDSM/rough sex warning.

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

I've made quite the confection, and now I plan to unwrap it. He peers up from inside the silks, sashes and ornaments, blue eyes sparkling up at me like jewels. Those eyes are nothing I can disguise or hide, not with makeup, not with masks. Even through a veil those eyes betray him. The most I could do is blindfold him, which would be its own sweet joy - how he would gasp!

But I'd not cover those precious jewels. They're his sweetness and I want them to enchant me. I want to see them, most of all, as my own secret entertainment. I can pin J'Lotus's arms behind his back and twine them in silk and beads, I can tie his legs overhead with the satin cords, I can even tug on the dainty collar I've set round his neck. He squirms with each new restraint, shifts his hips so invitingly - especially when it's the collar. When it's the collar he bucks against me and screams, and I can hear the joy betraying itself inside those cries.

Like rose petals scattered over shards of glass, you can only behold some types of beauty by breaking something.

I'll not cover his eyes. The veil was enough. The veil made me chuckle, even - especially when he looked so frightened, so pinned. He shivered underneath me, breaths panting in those short little puffs, and tried so hard to be good for me. That is what I love about my J'Lotus - he tries so very hard.

I reward him. I always do. Even if it's with a silken strand strung loosely around some sensitive place, then pulled slowly so that it whispers along his skin, then tightens as what it's wrapped around grows plump. He lets out those tiny little yelping moans, which is his way of begging for either more torture, or release. I scratch my nails ever so lightly across his back, run them down his spine. I don't even leave marks. It's merely a tickle, but you wouldn't think it by the sweet sound that wells up from his chest.

Luciprochoros was always like that. Only vocal when tightly bound and in the worst predicament to get out of. It took so much time to devise the loveliest traps to seduce him with - but it was time well spent.

Dying J'Lotus's hair was a divine pleasure, but as of yet I've not grown too eager to try it again. I keep telling myself that I'll grow tired of that honey blonde, that it's reminding me of sweet days that turned sour years ago. But I never grow tired of burying my fingers into J'Lotus's hair and giving the slightest twist and tug to it while I fuck him. He's not as high-pitched as Luciprochoros, but that yelp still brings back favored memories. However much I hate that infernal King now, I will always love the memory of him underneath me. A pity he couldn't stay there.

But J'Lotus will stay there. He'll stay wherever I order him to. He loves to please me. Just as I know Luciprochoros did - but J'Lotus has no power, and no ambition. Most of all he is no traitor that steals my daughter away and claims the Law's protection in his defense.

No, J'Lotus knows nothing of the Law... and fears it rightly, for he's broken so much of it under my supervision. There is nothing so satisfying and sweet as knowing that you've rendered a potential weapon harmless against you before anyone could have thought to raise it. He shudders as I thrust into him, too ramped-up by my machinations to deny himself ecstasy. This time, I won't punish it. He's been such a good boy, given himself up as subject to my every whim. Besides, now I can watch the guilt creep across his face before I finish inside him.

I love looking into those blue eyes as I do so. I'm sure Luciprochoros fancied the boy for them just as I do. But now, J'Lotus is mine. He's my little Jhe o'Radia doll, and he dances for me, begs for me, screams for me.

I wonder if he'll ever know.

Characters:

Dominance and Submission

Dominance and Submission

This is a Smut Saturday short set in Book One, after Lyric agrees to spy for Gerald and to work to get Faun out. There were plenty of opportunities for Lyric to train Faun that weren't shown. This is before Faun told Lyric about Hespiredes or of his earlier involvement with Ebrelle. It might trip a tiny bit of continuity with some things that are revealed, but I did plan on adjusting those details just a tad when I rewrite PK 1.

* * *

Lyric

* * *

It's always so strange how I never walk to the cell. (The cage. It's a cage. Faun is a kept animal here, and animals are kept in cages.) I am walked to the cage, even though my King knows that I know my way around his Palace very well now.

But he couldn't have me roaming around free, could he? Because I am a kept person, and so I am not safe alone outside of my room. (My cell. Cells are for people.)

(Let's ignore that I mistook Faun for a person the first time I saw him. I have to think of him as an animal when the King is around. That's the only way this is going to work. Gerald says the Peacock King can read minds. Oh shit, is Gerald watching all of this again? I can't tell!)

The Peacock King's hand guides me as I walk. "And you have done so very well with him lately, Jhe Lotus. I cannot hide my pride in that." His hand is between my shoulderblades, palm resting on the knob where my spine ends. His fingers, cold and smooth, are perched higher, stroking the back of my neck where the short fine hairs are. It keeps giving me shivers. I'm starting to wonder if he leads me around like this just to play with me.

I remind myself to reply. "I am glad, your majesty. It is a pleasure to serve you in this task." He chuckles at the response.

"Training Faun-doe is its own pleasure, though, isn't it?" There's such a blatant hint laid in those words, almost purred out, that I have to force myself not to look up at him in shock. He can tell that he's gotten a rise out of me. I can hear the smile in his next words. "Be very careful, Jhe Lotus. Some acts are more against the Law than others."

I can't hold back my response. "Like keeping an animism in a cage?"

"Touché, my prized attendant." His voice is dry, but still amused. "Keep that in mind if you decide to take any liberties." He chuckles again. "Though, of course, the punishment I would fear from crossing the wrong line with your task is not from the Law, but from the animism himself. I would be very vexed to find you dead in there, Jhe Lotus. For one, it would mean you'd allowed my pet to taste blood. Such a faux pas."

That warning sits with me uneasily, like a queasy feeling in my stomach. "Here we are." I take the excuse to part ways with the Peacock King with some relief. Faun's cage is a welcome sight. "Good morning, King's Pet."

Faun spits at us in response, a sound that should come from a cat, not a person. Animal. He's an animal. I have to remember that.

The Peacock King laughs. "Have fun with your quarry, then, Jhe Lotus." He unlocks the cell for me. (The cage! Animal. Cage.) I walk in, and then the Peacock King locks it behind me. "I bid you both adieu, for now. Faun-doe, remember your manners." He turns before Faun spits at him again. Then my liege leaves in a flutter of silks and feathers.

Faun and I look at each other. The stare endures for several minutes. Then, slowly, the animism begins to smirk, or to show some of his fangs. I can't tell with him.

"You may sit," he says magnanimously, making a gesture that trails chains as if they were bell sleeves. I realize that he's making fun of my boss. He laughs, a sound much like a bark, at my reaction.

It's then that I remember that my boss is gone right now, and for just a little bit, I can be Lyric again. Dropping the role is like shrugging off a heavy cloak. Lotus has so much baggage attached to him by now - he used to just be a stage name. But having to perform according to the Peacock King's expectations has turned 'Lotus' into a full-on role, separate from myself. It's a relief to shed the extra weight and just be Lyric - but it also feels dangerous, like the Lotus role was an extra layer of armor and protection. I just stop think about it, sigh, and sit.

"Ruling your cell like a proper King, then? I didn't know animisms held Court."

Faun's chuckle involves too many fangs for a sound that should be coming out of a chipmunk. "They don't, but learning human protocol has been a pleasure. Like any mating or dominance displays, they are intricate but communicate exactly what they are meant to. With all there is to be said from them, I wonder why humans bothered to learn to speak."

I raise an eyebrow. "Then why did you?" Faun looks at me for a moment, considering me and my question far longer than I expected he would. Finally, I have to break the silence. "What?"

"You remind me of the Peacock King when he was young." He sees my dismay, and holds up his hand, palm out, to stop any more fretting. "Do not balk. It is meant as a compliment. He and I knew each other very well before he decided to carry on as if he owned all the land and the spirits in it. He asked many questions of me, to try to understand me and my kind. That was one of them." He considers for a moment, his expression that of someone chewing the inside of their cheek, if they also had cheek pouches. "I learn the language of all animals. Human speech is one of those. To many creatures, your words are just chirps and barks and whinnies. To be honest, there is no difference between a human and an animal. You simply hold yourself to not be animals, just as birds hold themselves above every other creature, and foxes, and snails. It is only natural that I speak all of your languages. I am not, however, human. I am not a bird or a fox or a snail. I am that middle ground. Perhaps I am what humans would be if they were not tame."

I blink in the silence that follows. "You think a lot about these things, I see."

He laughs, and the smile that ensues is indistiguishable from a snarl, but somehow I can parse the subtle difference. "I started thinking about them when your King first began to ask me them. Before then, I did mingle a bit in human affairs, in an attempt to keep my kind, and my creatures, safer from human predation. But it was the young Peacock King who first encouraged me to seek further, to ask questions. He is really quite intelligent! It is a shame he keeps me in a cage." He smiles at me. "It was kind of you to accord it as a cell. He thinks of it as a cage, though, so that is what it shall be." He gestures toward himself. "Come over here."

I don't move. "Why?"

"Because there's something you won't understand about your King unless I show it to you. I won't bleed you, boy. Not unless you let me."

Of course, I don't consider that ceding to his request is, in fact, letting him. I move forward, hunched down, but ready to spring away at any moment. It's slow going, and I admit that one of my hands stays perched on my whip. Finally, I'm a few feet away from him, barely out of the reach that his chains permit him.

He nods his head, gesturing for me to come closer than that. He laughs softly as I hesitate. "Come on. You won't get anywhere with me if you don't take risks."

"What if I don't want to take risks?"

That laugh again. "You wouldn't be in this Palace if you didn't want to take risks, boy. Now get over here before I cut you. You've underestimated the reach of my chains, and I've still let you live for it."

I double-take. How can he-- he's hiding extra loops of chain behind him. He was decieving me from the outset! I tell myself that it's not entriely me he's decieving - he could have been poised like that in case my King entered the cell instead. Still... still, I've been trapped, and if I don't go forward I'm probably going to get my throat ripped out.

I inch forward, just a little bit. At Faun's beckoning, I creep closer still, until I'm only a foot away from him. It's close enough to smell him (and wonder how he got that animal scent on him, even though we gave him a bath just yesterday). It's close enough for his breath to rustle the tiny hairs on my skin. It's close enough to feel uncomfortably warm about that closeness.

"Good enough," he says, and then grasps my head on either side before I can possibly dodge the strike, He yanks me forward, bites my lip without blooding it, and then presses his mouth over mine. While the realization slides over me that he's stealing a kiss from me, his fingers curl through my hair, claws raking lightly against my scalp. The kiss becomes more intense, and with it the claws increase their pressure. I finally kiss back before they start to draw blood. The purr he replies with makes me get cold shivers. Then he takes one arm and wraps it around me, hand at my back, claws sinking through layers of cloth and stopping before they prick my skin.

He takes his time with that kiss before releasing my mouth, and I come up from it gasping and wondering just low long his tongue is. That hand at my back begins to knead, the gesture possessive and just a little bit painful. It's like having a cat in my lap - and I don't want Faun's claws anywhere near my lap, no sirree. The grin on his face is all fox but, surprisingly, very little savage. It's playful. It's an animal type of playful, which means it's still dangerous, but at least it's not a very hungry look. His breath is very hot, his eyes are hooded. He pulls me closer. The slightest bit of resistance makes those claws dig into my back, so I give in quickly. My chest is touching his. One hand's still clenched in my hair, the other's kneading up and down, raking the fabric and snagging threads, as if he's sharpening his claws on my back. He pushes my head down, and once he's got enough of an angle for it, he bites the back of my neck. I can't tell if he's drawn blood. It doesn't feel like it. Yet.

I'm not scared of him the most. What I'm really frightened of is that, deep down, I'm enjoying this. Not very deep down, at that. A little farther down than my waist.

One more rake of his claws, a slight grind with his teeth that makes a little tremor run through me, and then he releases my neck. "Do you want to know something about the Peacock King that nobody else does?" I know better than not to nod. "Back when he asked me questions, when he still respected the land, he did this with me as well. He was just as scared as you are now. I think he's forgotten that fear."

I swallow. I don't think I'll forget this fear. Not for a long, long time. "Do you miss him?"

He grunts with surprise. He didn't expect me to ask that. "Why else would you be in this position now." Those claws dig in just a little deeper. I can't hold back the whimper I let out in response. It only makes him purr more. "Do you think, in this position, you're just like I am in position to him? Chained up, trapped, made a pet?" The question seems a little odd. It's not idle - he wants to know the answer pretty badly. I have a hunch that there is a wrong answer to it, in fact, and it would be in my best interests not to give that answer.

"No," I say, trying to keep my voice level as my heart beats so fast, as everything feels so damnably hot. "I came to you willingly, and I'm not your pet now. He trapped you, and only thinks you're his pet."

He purrs in response. I hope that's a good thing. "Well, then, do you know what makes a person a pet?" Those claws are still kneading down my back, and I gain a pressing fear that he's going to shred my outfit.

I bite my lip. "Of course I do. I've been one. One could say that I am one right now, for the King. A pet is someone who lets themselves be kept. A pet can be a human or an animal - by your rationality, there is no difference between the two anyway. A pet doesn't need a collar, or a cage. A pet follows its master regardless."

"But what makes a pet do that, Jhe Lyric? Why would a pet want to be kept?" Those nails are raking harder now, and my scalp's about to get bloody.

"Because a pet is conditioned to feel safe when it is kept. Maybe not by its master, and maybe on accident, but that's the result. A pet is not a slave - a slave is mere property, to a master. Pets are more valuable, because they are acknowledged as living things that the master enjoys keeping." I allow myself a few moments to breathe, because he's not killing me yet. "I could not tell you why a master keeps pets or owns slaves."

"I did ask that question of him, once, but I do not expect you to answer it. It is not a lesson that I think you will ever need to learn." His claws stop raking me so hard. I'm left to wonder if I've just been insulted or complimented. "So, then, Jhe Lyric, what am I doing now, if not keeping a pet or binding a slave?"

"You are demonstrating dominance."

"Indeed I am," he says with a smile in his words, "and you are playing as an excellent bitch."

Then his fingers curl tight in my hair and he shoves my head down into his lap. The hand on my back balls up into the fabric there, holding me firm. He growls, something guttural and very wild, and I get another of those chills that I enjoy too much.

In a way, there's more to enjoy here than there is in playing as someone's pet. It's a much simpler game, and I don't have to worry about airs or graces. I also don't have to worry too much about what clothing to pull out of the way to prove Faun's dominance. The Peacock King has given him a very simple, easily accessible set of robes. I reveal Faun's erection as he pushes my head down onto it.

There's little art to this - Faun's not pushing me down here because of my expertise or my beauty, he wants to prove that he can do it. I am willing to prove that he can, in fact, and as my lips tighten around his hot member I start to ache in a way that tells me that I want to prove it. I lick and suck at him, evoking a growl as I drag my head up along his length. He shoves it back down in reply, making me ache between my legs even more. I let out a whimper, which is probably the best idea I've had all day. His grip slackens a little in response.

I think as I'm down here. You do a lot of thinking while giving a blowjob - at least, I do. There's not much talking to do, after all, and the bedroom talk from most of my partners during this act gets smug and boring. I'm a lover of conversation. To be frank, I'm thinking of how Faun said that the Peacock King has been in this position, once before. I wonder if he's been in this exact one? Something tells me yes. If he didn't end up here, he'd have ended up dead.

I honestly wonder why he didn't end up here more often, because Faun's silent grunts and clawed, forceful grip are fabulous. Why would you try to own a person like this? Person, animal, animism. I can't tell anymore.

Of course, it's right when I'm swallowing the tip of Faun's penis (an action that makes him let out a guttural sound that makes me even happier) that I get a flash of my Father's face. Does this ever happen to you? It's probably not as bad for you, even if it does. Your Father is probably not the Judge. He is probably not the force that I have to reckon with if I touch an animism in an inappropriate manner.

I wonder if this counts as inappropriate. I tongue the shaft anyway, coaxing Faun into an orgasm and swallowing the musky result. I've tasted a lot of that particular substance in my travels, but Faun's flavor is unique. It's like saying that venison is gamey. Can semen be gamey? Because this is.

As he goes limp in my mouth, Fauns grip slackens a bit. I take a chance and start to sit up. His hands are still on me, but they're not forcing me to stay hunched into his lap. I lick my lips as I rise, cleaning one final drop of Faun off of them.

Did I just lick a death sentence off of my lips? is rivaled only with Was my brother recording that? as the most mortifying thought that's gone through my head this week. The former must be written across my face, because Faun's smug look shifts to amused comprehension.

"You may touch me in any way I invite," he purrs, "and the Law will have nothing ill to say of it."

I gulp. "You don't know my Father very well."

His hands don't release me, and I'm pretty sure he's planning on more activities to help assert just who in this cage is alpha male, but then we hear someone approach. He lets go of me, and I spring back to the other side of the cell immediately, my whip uncoiling with an unnerving CRACK. Faun only smirks at that, then schools his expression into a scowl when the Peacock King appears in front of the cage.

The Peacock King notes the expression. "I trust this has been a productive session, then?" At my nod, he motions to me to exit the cage, then locks it behind me. There's a final hiss from Faun, and then the King places his hand at the small of my back and leads me out.

We're quiet. I'm grateful for the silence, for the mental shield that is my role as Lotus. After a few moments, I suppress a tremble. The Peacock King looks down at me, then traces a circle at the small of my back. His nails remind me of Faun's claws - not as sharp, but probably as deadly.

"You should have relieved that little pressure while training him, my boy. Did you not figure out how?" His voice is a low murmur.

I realize, my face growing red as I do so, that the urgency between my legs is still there... and it is very pressing.

"Perhaps I should show you," he says as we arrive at my room.

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Notes of Berries

This is a Smut Saturday feature written in accordance to A.M. Harte's request, and features Gerald and Katherine.

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I sit atop an oaken cask, swinging my foot back and forth. On each swing back, my heel kicks the cask, making a pleasant hollow knock. As I perch, I swish the vintage around in my glass, the liquid dark and ruby. I sniff.

"Notes of chocolate, berries, and a hint of-- OOF." I manage to keep hold of my glass after Katherine's elbow into the ribs. Just barely. I look up at her, eyes hurt, lip pouting. "I was trying to Poet."

"Maybe use your nose first instead of making it up." She wrinkles hers as she sniffs the white vintage in her own glass. "Berries I can sniff in this one, and I guess it'd go well with a cheese." She shrugs, then gulps it down.

I wince a little. Daddy's been trying to teach us wine appreciation. I was just trying to emulate him instead of acting like a drunkard. Then again... the latter is sort of why we're down here.

Daddy's on vacation, you see. Well, a mission outside of Radia, but it amounts to the same thing. Lute's watching over the house in his absence. Lute's not gonna tell anyone we're down here, though. I've got some material that he wouldn't want turning up in the wrong hands. You know. Daddy's hands. Hey, blackmail's just another form of family bonding. Yeah, he's five, but you've got to learn early, right?

So, meanwhile, Katherine and I were the only ones with the guts to come down here and take some personal samples from the wines. Daddy's got lots of them, after all. He won't miss a bottle or two. We'll blame the cat.

She catches my eye after leaning over and refilling her own glass. That weird grin of hers crooks up in her cheek, her long hair falling over her face to obscure the rest of her expression. I'm left with the twinkle in her eye and the grin assuring me that everything is okay and we're being friends, not fighters. The latter's something that happens quite often in this household - some of it for actual training purposes. But what can I say? She's not my sister, but we're just like siblings, her and I. Heck, sometimes I feel more like her brother than I do Lyric or Lute's brother.

She lifts up her glass and clinks it against mine. Then we give each other a solemn look in the eyes before tilting our heads back and draining our glasses.

A bottle goes by, and sometime during that I end up on the floor instead of on the cask. Well, maybe I should two bottles. Kathe and I are each going through our own vintages right now, after all. So, a bottle each. A bottle does a lot more than I thought it would, I'll tell you that.

For instance, it's made me notice something strange. And I guess it's not that strange, but for some reason, sitting here right now, it's strange to me.

Katherine is a girl.

She giggling her fool head off, too, and so am I. Somewhere between her and I and the current wine bottle (which is well on its way to becoming the previous wine bottle), we are exchanging the most hilarious jokes we've ever heard, just making them up off the tops of our heads. Neither of us remember them afterward, of course - and they might not even be this funny when we're not drunk. But still, right now, we're the funniest two people in the world. And I am laughing, right here and right now, with a real live girl who isn't my sister, now that I come to think about it.

I'm thinking about that still when either Katherine tries to reach for a bottle or I lean forward to pick up her glass or something along those lines, and then we both figure out at the same time that movement's a lot harder when you've got... one and a half bottles of wine in you? I guess that's what it is. I mean to move left, she means to move... somewhere else, we end up bumping right into each other. Face to face, chest to chest, and then her back to the floor. Then we're on our side, I think, and then she rolls me on top of an empty wine bottle.

For some reason, even with her pressed on top of me, this is a lot less uncomfortable than you'd think. I think maybe it's because she's on top of me, which is a little weird but for some reason seems right. Something else seems right too, but Katherine's doing it, not me. She's sliding her hands along my hips, and sliding forward against me, and my hips grind up against her of their own accord, and damn. That feels really good.

It'd feel better with the bottle not wedged between my shoulderblades, but she's got me pinned and I know better than to beg Katherine for mercy when she's not going to give it. She's got that look in her eyes that always gives me the chills - except now it's giving me different chills, and now my pants are way too tight.

She looks at me, scrutinizing, contemplating me as if I'm some sort of thing to study. I just stare back up at her, and some sort of whimper-squeak comes out of my mouth that was probably intended to be a question. I'm not sure what the question was, either, but Kathe answers it all the same by biting the tip of my nose.

Then she's sort of all over me, which I guess makes sense considering she's on top of me, but hey. My pants are trying to come off, which means one of us is pulling at them. I'm just not sure which of us it is - I know someone's working on Kathe's pants, though. I try to roll us over off of the damn bottle, but Kathe will have none of that. She grinds her hips against mine in a way that makes me forget about complaining.

"Ger?"

I blink up at her. "Yeah?"

She makes that thinky-face again. "You don't want a baby, right?"

My eyes widen. "Wait, what? No!"

"Good." Then her lips are on mine and I'm left with my panicking mind asking how she was going to make a baby with me in the first place. Then I remember the time that Daddy and Unkie brought out those charts and grumbled through some sort of presentation on something we should all be careful about (and, later Daddy amended that we SHOULD NEVER DO, EVER), and it all makes sense. This is the charts. This is what that talk was about. This makes babies, at least in our case it makes babies if we want it to. Apparently it works a little different if you're totally human, but I never paid too much attention to that. Not my problem, right? This here, though - this is my problem.

Kathe doesn't want a baby. Okay, I guess I don't want a baby either. Good, that's settled. I want to keep doing what it is we're doing - I do, right? What about the charts and NEVER EVER?

Neither really matter near so much as the bottle pressed against my back, or Katherine's toungue twining up with mine. It's warm and wet and tastes of berries and chocolate and casks. I think I'm starting to understand this wine-tasting thing. Also, my pants are finally off, and I think I'm starting to understand a few other things.

I manage to roll us both over then, and with Katherine pinned under me, I know exactly what to do. I thrust.

I am drunk. I thrust against the floor.

Several minutes later, Katherine rolls me onto my back again, and we try again. She promises to stop laughing, the oath itself broken by her swallowing back chuckles. Her hand comforts me, though. It's soft and warm and wraps around my penis like it's the neck of a wine bottle. A few strokes, and I've forgotten all about the pain... mostly.

Then, well... then I'm in her, or she's on me. I forget all about any pain. I feel the way music must feel when it's being played by a virtuoso. I feel like Kathe and I, together, are making that music. Like some kind of song, some kind of symphony. It feels like it lasts forever.

It's only a couple moments, though. We're left looking at each other, wondering what to do next. I wonder if Lute saw all that. He hasn't seen the charts yet, after all. It may invalidate my previous blackmail material. I may have to think of something.

Then Kathe pulls me by the hair and I've got other things to think about, more music to make, and all sorts of new things to learn.

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