In the end I wound up wrong about Kor and children, not because he married but because… well, it was another strange situation, that one, and not mine to tell. But he had two children, one of his body, and one of mine. His grew up to be a Historian, a rare osulkedi Historian serving Thirukedi and the Exception, entrusted with the histories of legal precedents and changes in Kherishdar that had evolved over the span of generations, and she was beautiful and incisive and we all adored her.

Mine grew up to be Kherishdar’s Shame.

I think that’s a good enough legacy for any father.

So, then, aunera. Let’s review.

Ruj is the air between mouths when you breathe into one another.

Eshev is the taste of yourself in someone else’s mouth.

Yeles is how you look at someone you want, and ravalin is how you treat them right.

Hhelfen is where you bite them, if you want tender and close to the throat—and who doesn’t?—and gafen is what you do when you scrape it with your teeth and yes, even you have teeth that will serve.

Shava… shava is the space between lovers, between people, that makes choice possible. That makes all things possible.

And san ekain is the word for erotic stories. Literally “stories for the hands.” Oh yes! Exactly for the reason you’re thinking.

Enjoy… and you’re welcome…!

  "Always Always, Never, Never"

In the inn, while Jaran was gone washing up, I sat across from Lenore and tried to find the words that would make that look in her eyes go away. She’d been my aide for… oh, I lose count. Years, years now, since they assigned us to the mission together, a little before. I loved her like a sister, and I wanted to make the hurt go away.

I knew there would be no making the hurt go away again. There was no way out of this, not without someone suffering.

“Hey,” I said, soft. “Lenore.” When she didn’t look up, I said, “This audience. How do you think we should handle it?”

As usual, appealing to her love for the work helped. It drew her out of herself for a minute, anyway. “With… the Emperor? I… guess we’ll have to wait to speak until spoken to.”

“You think you should translate, or should I use the software? The earbud’s pretty discreet but I know they think technology’s gauche, and knowing them they’d notice. Would having you talking into my ear be more disrespectful or less than bringing gear into the chamber?”

“I… don’t know,” she said, eyes distant. “But I think they’d be more comfortable with a person doing the job. They’re just… more personal that way. And I have to hope they’d make allowances for you not knowing the language perfectly. Or me, for that matter.” She looked at me, and the pain came back, and I swore. To myself. She didn’t like to hear it when she was already feeling fragile… Lenore and words, God. When she’s around, even I understand, a little. That words can be magic, good magic and bad.

But even words weren’t enough, sometimes. So I used what Jaran’s been trying so hard to teach me and offered her my hand. It still felt awkward, but not as much as it used to.

She curled her fingers around mine then let go. Just that one touch.

“We’ll come out of the other side of this,” I said.

“But will we like who we are when we do?” she murmured, head down. And then Jaran came back in, and we put it all aside to go to him, while we still could.

I don’t know what to say about the capital. I’d been there before, once. Looking at the walls, I thought again what an alien culture it is. These Ai- Naidar… you look at their cities and think of ancient Egypt, and then you look at the world Gates and think… I don’t know what you think. I guess that’s the point. It’s so easy to make assumptions about them because of how much they hide, things that we’d show off. Maybe that’s the crux of it—we show off our progress, our technology, our smarts, and say ‘hey, look at this, look how smart we are.’ They show off their past, their social graces, their art and say, ‘here we are, we’re civilized.’

What the hell do we say to that, you know? It’s no wonder most of us bristle. There’s a put-down in there that we can’t help seeing, most of us. We’re too used to either-or: “if they think they’re great, we must be also-rans.” Me, I saw the attitude, saw how it could be interpreted… and it never mattered. Kherishdar was like a woman, a beautiful, rich, cultured woman way, way above me but who invited me in anyway. I couldn’t help reacting to that. I wanted… something. Even knowing there was no way in hell I’d have it. Just like that woman, as gracious as she was, would never have married the likes of me.

(Yes. I learned that lesson the hard way once before, on good old Terra.)

These Ai-Naidar. You have to meet them. And then either you can’t stand them, like Lenore’s brother, or you’ll do whatever they ask, you’ll just fall into their arms. The way I did with Jaran, and God knows I never saw that one coming, and most days I can’t believe it even when we’re…

Maybe some of you know. Maybe you do. You’re here, after all.

Anyway. The capital, when I saw the walls…

I somehow knew I never would again.

So, the… palace. I guess that’s what we’d call it. It looked more like a temple, honestly, or a monastery. My impression of it was more color and smell than sight, gold and sun-bright, and flowers and sandalwood or something close enough to it to remind me. I guess by that time I was… locking into denial. I had no idea what the emperor of the Ai-Naidar would do to Jaran or what he wanted with us, but I had to imagine that this was the end of the line. Beside me, Lenore was trembling; I could see that out of the corner of my eye. Both of us wanted to be somewhere else, and it was killing us because we were where any human being who’d had anything to do with Kherishdar desperately wanted to be at some point or another. We’d all heard about Thirukedi, and how could we hear and not want to know? Was he a god? Had he really lived for four, five thousand years? Ridiculous on the face of it, but… those damned world Gates. How do you really know, with the Ai-Naidar?

We were not at our best. We’d been riding for days, we hadn’t stopped to change. I was nervous. I was humanity’s representative on the colony world, and I wanted my first meeting with the head of an alien state to be more dignified. With me on firmer ground. Not presenting myself after having had an inappropriate relationship with one of his vassals, one so destructive it had… Jesus, I can’t even understand it, but upended his household and disrupted his scientists. I felt like the worst kind of ugly American, and I was sure I had road dust on my uniform to go along with it.

Lenore snuck her hand into mine and gave it a squeeze, let go. And then we were led into a chamber. Jaran prostrated himself, and I couldn’t figure out what to do. Kneeling I could manage, felt like… we at least owed Jaran that, to respect his god. But showing an alien emperor my neck? That was a bridge too far.

I kneeled, then, and so did Lenore. I didn’t lift my head, though. I watched the edge of the emperor’s robes crease and then move toward the man who’d become more important to me than… well, my job, the rest of my life. Don’t ask me how. I thought I’d gotten too old to be swept away like that. Love like that… it’s for kids, twenty-somethings… people with more energy. Or so I’d thought. I wasn’t sure in the end that I was glad to find out I was wrong.

“ij Qenain.”

His voice… went through me like a shot. I was expecting, I don’t know.

I don’t know.

“Thirukedi,” Jaran whispered.

Jaran’s head was in my eyeline, so I saw the long hand that rested on it. More of those touches. I’ve never seen a more touchy people, who also made so much of touching. It was frequent but not casual, and I have no idea how they made that work. I was still staring when I realized the emperor was coming to us, and then he had stopped before us.

“Andrew Clarke,” he said, and God, when did he learn our names? “Lenore Serapis. You need not kneel to me.”

It took a moment for me to realize… he was speaking English. With only the slightest of accents.

Lenore glanced at me, wild-eyed, then looked up at him and said, “We… were only showing respect, Thirukedi.”

I looked up at him. I don’t know what I was expecting. What do you expect someone else’s god to look like? He was an Ai-Naidari, yes. And not young. But… something about his eyes. You could believe it suddenly. That he wasn’t old, he was ancient.

“And you, Administrator Clarke?” Thirukedi asked. His voice was gentle. It made me feel like I was in the room with the father everyone expects to have and I never did, stern and kind, a patriarch like something out of a fairy tale.