A Time For Always

Chapter 22

With the arrival of spring, after a rather rambunctious winter, a new visitor to Azov came to Diomid's attention. "What do you think of Lord Fatima?" He asked Sasha after a rather spectacular romp in their own private playing field.
      "I think Avilan's smitten," he grinned, waving his feet in the air.
      "Avilan?" he grinned back, stroking his lover's buttocks. "Did you see the look he gave Arkay?"
      "No, tell," Sasha's green eyes blazed with curiosity.
      "Oh, he'd take Arkay in a heartbeat," Diomid chuckled. "I'm surprised he hasn't."
      "What Lord wouldn't if they didn't have you at home," Sasha licked one of his own tentacles slowly. A shiver of renewed interest ran up Diomid's spine. I should be tired, but his body had other ideas.
      "You flatter me, Sasha," he let his hand wander downward.
      "Hardly," he shifted his weight from side to side. "Anyways, we were talking about Arkay, the second most fascinating Sharm Lord on the planet."
      "Even before Avilan?" Diomid didn't think his putative uncle was that intriguing. He'd certainly seen the way most lords skittered around the poor man. He hoped he'd never have the rank to scare away lords the way Arkay did.
      "Avilan is sweet, but he doesn't have the same depth you or your brother do," Sasha's smile never faltered. Diomid felt his own heart stop. Sasha's slips were becoming more and more frequent, but they hadn't hit this close to home before. They'd never talked about Diomid's suspicions of his parentage since the birth of the twins, and to find out Sasha so blithely figured he was Vanya's son as well as grandson made his blood run cold in his veins. "Did I do something wrong?"
      "No, no," he shook his head. He felt his smile tremble and tried to force it still again.
      "I did," Sasha looked away. "I'm sorry."
      "Oh, lover," he gathered an unresisting Sasha into his arms. "I love you with all my heart and soul."
      "Even though I say stupid things?" Tears glimmered in his so beautiful eyes. The thought of the light and life going out of them was even more daunting.
      "No matter what," Diomid realized Sasha had been loosing weight, but it had not been brought home so forcefully before now. "Oh Gods Sasha, I love thee until the end of years and the rebirth of time. I'd move heaven and earth to have thee with me for all my days."
      "But you won't," he sighed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Sometimes I wonder if I've wronged you horribly by clutching you to my soul as a drowning man clutches a bit of wood."
      "Never beloved," he rocked Sasha in his arms. "I'd not forgo a single moment of your life for all the selyn in Moskva." He licked the tears from his lover's face. Salt lay bitter on his tongue. "Don't cry for me my beloved Alexander. You've given me such joy I count as blessing each second you share with me."
      "Until the stars fade forever from the sky and the night fades into eternal sunshine my heart and spirit are thine Diomid." He smiled through his tears. "I can give you this little."
      "It is more than eternity, as eternity lies in every moment we share and every heartbeat we cherish." He traced Sasha's gentle lips with his fingertip. *Our turn, Arkay,* he sent his mentor, desperately wanting the reassurance of Sasha's touch for yet another day.
      *Yes, of course,* Arkay sent back, his mind voice understanding.
     
      Alexi could feel his mind slipping away as sand washed away from the shore after winter's storms. Sometimes he lost track of whole days as he drifted away from everyone. He clutched Diomid's love to his heart with a frantic desperation to hold onto something. "I need you, beloved," he caressed Diomid's broad hand.
      "As I need thee," Diomid's voice cracked again. The pain he was causing his lover drove knives of guilt deep into Alexi's heart. "Don't go."
      He smiled bravely at Diomid's catching his thoughts of suicide. "No, not as long as you love me."
      "I will always love you, Sasha," Diomid's pet name for him was as sweet as the first day he'd known the young man, lying battered beneath his self inflicted wounds.
      "Then love again, Diomid," he reached out for him. "For me, please. Don't follow me into peace."
      "I will do anything you ask," Diomid's hand cupped his face. "No matter how difficult."
      "The impossible only takes longer." His traitorous eyes threatened to sag shut again. *NO!* He howled against the unfairness of it all.
      "Beloved, Sasha," Diomid called to him. "Don't go."
      Panting with the effort of it, he gazed up into Diomid's soft blue eyes. "Beloved. Forever."
     
      Avilan watched as Alexander struggled to stay with them. None of them could do anything. He was failing faster than even Lukian had. It had taken even him by surprise. Less than ten years since he'd paired with Diomid and already his mind was more absent than present.
      "Come with me, Diomid," he gestured to the young man.
      "I know," he kissed Alexi's brow. "It will be soon." Diomid's face turned towards the open window. The forest was green with spring, promising a false hope of new life.
      "Dio?" Alexi's voice cracked.
      "Yes, my beloved," tears poured down Diomid's face. "Anything."
      "Now," his green eyes were blessedly lucent. "I love thee."
      Avilan wanted to stop him. "I can do it."
      "No," Diomid shook his head. "I love thee with all my heart and soul, Sasha. Never forget as I will never forget thee so long as I live."
      "My heart," a faint echo of Alexi's brilliant smile brought more tears to Avilan's eyes.
      "Yes, my heart is thine, though I will do as you ask," and with this, Diomid leaned down and kissed his lover one last time. Avilan wanted to pull him back. Somehow stop this. Alexi was so young. Both of them were so young. Too young to die. His mouth opened to say something, but his throat was barred with sorrow. A brief flicker of selyn and Alexander Azovich Azov was gone.
      His heart crushed, Avilan had to try to help Diomid somehow. He reached for the young man as he moved across the room. Diomid looked up at him, his shattering grief rising from him in waves. "I understand, Diomid."
      "Yes, you do," with this, Diomid launched himself into Avilan's arms. "Why Avilan, why?" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "I love him. He never harmed anyone. He was the most wonderful, beautiful, gentlest man. He gave me my life, Avilan!"
      "I know," he stroked Diomid's back. Deep, wracking sobs tore the young man's throat. "Remember him, Diomid. Remember the time you had."
      "It was so little," he wailed. "NO!" He screamed though a voice shattered beyond recognition. "Not now, not yet, it's too soon!"
      *Arkay!* Avilan couldn't keep Diomid's mind from turning on itself. Long rents appeared in his skin as his healing talents turned for ill. Soon his hands were slick with blood as it spilled from Diomid. "Listen to me," desperate, Avilan reached within himself. A door opened. Waves of crimson washed over him as Diomid's self destructive grief pulled at him.
      "Shen it to hell," Arkay charged in. Only a tiny fraction of Avilan's mind heard the words. Grief stricken himself, he struggled to wrap himself around Diomid. The faintest veil of gauze bound the desperately writhing mind from absolute destruction.
      "You are loved, Diomid," Avilan hugged the broken man to his chest, crooning to him. "Don't go." He begged with all his heart.
      "Diomid, don't go," Arkay pleaded as well. "Hear us."
      "I swore," Diomid's weight dragged Avilan to the floor. "I want him." He howled one last time and was still.
     
      Diomid woke in an utterly unfamiliar bed. The pillow beneath his cheek was wet with tears. A void filled his mind where the warm loving presence of Sasha had been. He sobbed, clutching at the sleek warm body next to him.
      "Cry, Diomid," Arkay's deep voice told him, stroking his back.
      "He's gone," his fingers dug into strong Sime muscles.
      "And you loved him enough to give him the greatest blessing of all," the unfamiliar Sime caressed his cheek with delicate tentacles.
      "How can you say that?" His hands clenched into fists.
      "Because I've done it," gray green eyes met his. Now he recognized Lord Kirov. "Yes, my father, and before him my beloved mentor."
      Diomid could see the depth of loss out shadow even his own. "You didn't have him for long."
      "Her, she was my lover as well as my mentor," Valentine's voice cracked. "Sorry, I miss her still. She ascended me, Diomid."
      "I'm sorry."
      "I'm not," Val stroked his face again. "Grieve for your beloved, but honor him as well. I will honor Nivanya's memory until the day I die."
      "Nivanya Kiranova?"
      "Yes," Val's eyes closed momentarily. "Our love is eternal, as she showed me the world in her heart. We had but months together, but each of those days are forever branded in my soul. She gave me the gift of life as I gave her the gift of peace."
      "Not a fair trade," he knew his words were cruel but couldn't help them.
      "It was for us," an image of an ancient crone formed in Diomid's mind, softened by love to an everlasting beauty. "She'd been denied peace for years by her grandson's cruelty. I gave her that peace, saving her from even crueler torment."
      "But she was old," Diomid shook his head, wanting to deny reality.
      "Not in her mind," Val smiled gently. "In her heart she was always twenty five."
      The truth of Val's statement stunned him speechless. Yes, his own chest unclenched with the epiphany. He looked into Val's . "There you go," he murmured, holding Diomid tight. "We go on, Diomid. To do any less denies their memory."
     
      Empty and aching still, Diomid tried to return to his work with Arkay. A flicker of chestnut hair made him stop and stare.
      "No, Diomid," Arkay's hand landed on his shoulder. "We have to talk," he steered Diomid's numb body into the nearest examination room. Diomid's eyes burned.
      "It's been weeks," he looked down at his hands. The dark scabs where he'd scratched himself in his sleep mocked his attempts to move on.
      "Look at me, Diomid," Arkay tipped his chin up. "You have to take a break."
      "If I do I can't sleep," he clenched his fists.
      "Then get out of here for a while." Arkay's thumb caressed his cheekbone. The gesture was so like Sasha's his throat tightened.
      "Excuse me," he ran for the restroom. Nothing came up this time, thank all the Gods, but his stomach ached under the abuse.
      "Diomid," Arkay crouched next to him. "You aren't well."
      "I won't get better if I don't try," he let Arkay wipe clean his brow.
      "You should go to Sergei. We don't have the people here to take care of you."
      "No," he pleaded. "I want to stay here. This is Sasha's." He waved his hand towards the rest of the town house.
      "But if you stay, you'll always be thinking you see him."
      "Maybe I am," he leaned back against the cool tiles. The ghosts he felt in the rooms he'd shared with Sasha were happy ghosts. His eyes closed and he could clearly see himself and Sasha in the big mirror trying on all the old garments left in their closet. Their laughter from that time seemed to still ring through the empty rooms.
      "Diomid, you can't live in the past," Arkay told him. "You're tearing yourself to pieces." His hands wrapped around Diomid's wrists. "Look at yourself."
      "I know," he realized he'd picked loose many of the scabs on his arms. "Sorry."
      "No, Diomid," Arkay shook his wrists. "Don't apologize for being human."
      "You sound like your father," only at the last moment did Diomid remember Arkay didn't know.
      "You should talk with him."
      "No," his stomach clenched again at the thought. He swallowed against the knot in his throat. "I can't."
      "Then let me or Avilan in."
      "I don't want to be a burden," he focused on the green ceramic fixtures. "I'll get someone to take down my field. I'm probably just high."
      "That isn't it, Diomid." Arkay stood and filled a glass of water. "Here, you should drink something."
      "I'll be sick again," he couldn't swallow any, but he let it wet his lips. The cracks in them stung. As he removed the glass, he saw blood on the rim. Furtively, he tried to wipe it away.
      "If you don't drink or eat, I'm going to have to put you on some kind of drip."
      "Do it," Diomid was so tired of fighting his body. "I can't leave Arkay."
      Arkay tipped his chin to the light with his hand. Diomid didn't even have the strength of will to blink. The daylight bright lamps burned in his eyes. "So be it."
     
      Arkay couldn't understand why Diomid was so adamant about staying at Azov, but he couldn't bring himself to send the young man away. "Avilan, could you give me an assist?"
      "You require my help in the infirmary?" Avilan plucked at his tattered green shirt.
      "Yes," he sighed. "And I'd like to get another Sergei trained healer for Azov."
      "Diomid's still grieving?" Avilan's blue eyes were gentle.
      "Worse," he couldn't help but see his pale face against the pillow in his mind's eye. Avilan swept past him. "He's in the top suite."
      "Good," Avilan snapped on his way out the door. Arkay hurried along in his friend's wake. RenSimes skittered away from the two of them. When Arkay reached with his mind, the diamond hard set to Avilan's nager told him why.
      "Oh, little one," Avilan dropped to sit at Diomid's side. Arkay'd done the best for him he could, but the bindings on his arms looked like shackles and the two intravenous drips like torture devices. Avilan's fingers caressed Diomid's hand. "What happened?" He looked up at Arkay.
      "Sick," Diomid turned his face away. Arkay reached for the soft cloth he'd left by Diomid's head and wiped away the new tears from his face. The hair at his temples was matted and sticky with salt. Raising the head of the bed, he gently cleaned the young man's face.
      "Why are you bound?" Avilan looked back at Diomid.
      "Hurt myself," Diomid flushed. "Don't know why. Don't want to."
      "Because he learned too young to escape emotional pain with physical pain," Arkay explained. Diomid avoided his eyes. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Diomid."
      "I want to live, Arkay." The flat tone absolutely denied his words. He'd desperately hoped Val could manage to draw Diomid back to them, but unfortunately it seemed all he'd done was intellectual. Reaching the emotions was far harder.
      "I didn't," Avilan said. Diomid's eyes widened in shock. "When Lukian died, all I wanted to do was follow him."
      "Didn't you give him peace?" Diomid's chest trembled as his hands strained towards each other.
      "I couldn't." Avilan rested his hands on Diomid's breast. "Val did it."
      "But Sasha's last touch was so beautiful," a faint smile came to Diomid's face. "His love was there, with all the lights of heaven."
      "I couldn't love him enough," Arkay could see Avilan's hand shake. "I failed him."
      "I didn't fail Sasha."
      "No, you didn't," Arkay reassured him. "Remember him, Diomid."
      "I do," Diomid's lower lip quivered. "Oh Gods, to have him back."
      "He'll never be back, Diomid, except in your memory. You have to love him still."
      "I'll love him until the day I die, Avilan." Diomid's eyes blazed. "No one can take that from me."
      "You can," Avilan snapped. "You're doing it."
      "Avilan, stop," Arkay was aghast at Avilan's cruelty.
      "No, Arkay," Avilan looked at him with a face drawn into a skull mask. "I failed Lukian. I won't fail Alexander."
      "He's right Arkay," Diomid flipped his head. He licked his cracked and bleeding lips. "I have failed Sasha. I won't do it anymore." With a massive straining of his arms he snapped loose the restraints.
      "Here, let me get those," in awe of Diomid's purely physical strength, Arkay deftly removed the needles. "Are you feeling up to solid food?"
      "Yes," Diomid jerked his chin up. "I will, Arkay." His blue eyes burned in their darkened sockets. "I will not fail the last Azov Lord."
      "Bless you, Diomid," Avilan breathed. "I couldn't."
      "With your assistance today, you didn't," Diomid rested his hand on Avilan's wrist. "I would like to spend some time below, however."
      "Yes, young Diomid," an echoing voice came from the corner. Arkay turned to see the veiled Lord Tzarya Fatima standing there. "You will live among us for as long as it takes."
      "At your will, my Lord," Arkay bowed his head.
      "No," Avilan straightened his back.
      "You refuse us?"
      "I do," his jaw tightened. Arkay wanted to ask him what in the hell he thought he was doing. "Six months, no longer."
      "He may not be well by then," Tzarya snorted in scorn.
      "He is born of Azov and will return to Azov. He will not take the Veil for life." Avilan held up his hand. "This is my words as Sharm Lord Azov and ruler of Azov. I'll not see him bound by chains of your making and steal Alexander's memory from us."
      Stunned yet again, Arkay stared at his old friend. Then he felt the most overwhelming joy come from young Diomid. He turned to see Diomid truly smile for the first time since Alexi's final decline. Yes, this is the right thing. "You will always have a home with Azov, Diomid. My word as Lord and Ruler of Russia. Return when you will and none shall bar your way." Tzarya did not seem amused, but at least she did not gainsay him, even when she put her arms around Diomid and they both vanished.
     

Chapter 23

      The dimly lit corridor echoed with the footsteps of ages. Centuries of soft soled shoes had worn deep paths in the stone beneath Diomid's feet. Shadowy figures hurried by on unknown errands. He kept his face turned away as they passed.
      The whispering silence swathed his numbed mind in a blanket of indifference. It was a relief not to have to speak with any of his fellow creatures. He made his way to the room indicated on the map left on his desk. After having been neatly deposited in a tiny cubicle, no one had disturbed his long hours of study. Books had been left for him. One following another in endless succession.
      They had succored his badly damaged soul with their emotionless descriptions of medical minutia. Now Diomid knew the extent of what had gone so very wrong with his beloved. Their clinical precision let him distance himself from the neural degeneration which had claimed Sasha's life.
      "Come in," a rasping voice came through the partially opened door. Diomid rubbed his hands dry on the skirts of his woolen robes. "Oh, you can look at me." A dark snort made him jump in surprise.
      He looked up from his leather shod feet to see a large figure leaning back in his chair. Beringed fingers steepled beneath a heavy jowled face. "I admit I'm not much to look at, but I'm not hideous either." Silver eyes peered at him from fleshy sockets.
      "No, I wouldn't say so," Diomid shifted his weight towards the single chair.
      "Oh, sit, sit," the man flicked his fingers towards it. Gingerly Diomid sat. The chair creaked normally beneath his weight. "We are human, more or less."
      "I'd never thought otherwise," he heard his own voice creak with long disuse.
      "Don't lie to me," another of those snorts made Diomid grin. "My name's Tzakiran, young Diomid. Or not so young now. You've been through a great deal in your few years."
      "True enough," Diomid sighed. "Thank you, as I assume it was you, for the books."
      "Such is what we do here," Tzakiran rested his expressive face on his hand. "So, have you any questions, Sergeyevich?"
      "That would have been my only other," he closed his eyes at the shock of knowing for certain his paternity. "However, if I am allowed?"
      "Speak," Tzakiran's voice was soft.
      "I would learn more," he trailed off diffidently. The calm and peace of this place was something Diomid did not yet wish to relinquish. The plain stone walls were adorned with inexplicable maps and diagrams.
      "How would you pay?" The question of money made Diomid start. "Not in selyn, how shall you serve us?"
      "I already do," Diomid blinked in surprise. "We all do."
      "Not knowingly or willingly," Tzakiran's eyes bore into his. "Would you take the Veil?"
      "No," Diomid could not stay here forever. "I would not let Alexander's memory fade in such a way."
      "Good," Tzakiran smiled. The rapid reversals were bringing new life to Diomid's sluggish brain and for the first time in far too long he felt his pulse quicken with renewed interest. What does he want? "What does your foresight hold, Sergeyevich?"
      "Exactly that," he spoke without thinking.
      "Well done," Tzakiran's voice dropped to an amused rumble. "So, how do you expect to gain the position?"
      "I hadn't known before you asked," his heart was racing with all the shocks. "What will happen is all I know."
      "Such is often the case with Sergei," he leaned back in his chair and for the first time Diomid saw how massive Tzakiran was. "No, Sergei can do little for me."
      Diomid shook his head and went to him.
      "No, no," Tzakiran tried to wave him away. He held out his hand in invitation. "Oh, all right," Tzakiran placed his atop Diomid's. The contact went through his mind like ice breaking free in the river. Massive strength, choked by flaws riddling Tzakiran's body made whirlpools and eddies of selyn back up and pool sluggishly in his body.
      Reaching for those patterns he now knew were right, he tentatively tried to smooth away the worst of it. Some did respond to his occasionally brutal corrections, others simply generated new flaws, less intense than before, but still present. After doing what he could, Diomid relinquished the contact. "Better?"
      Tzakiran took a deep breath, flexing his hands into fists. The nerve impulses shivered through the new conduits Diomid had carved through the detritus of wastes damming the man's systems. "Yes, much," he gave Diomid a rather crooked grin. "You didn't have to."
      "I wanted to," he wished there were more he could do. The wrongness in Tzakiran's body cried out to be healed.
      "There's no true healing for many of us," Tzakiran's silver eyes caught his. "But my thanks for what you could do."
      "I could do no less," suddenly Diomid was very aware of how awkward and unwieldy his own field was. "My apologies," he stepped back, trying to draw it in around himself.
      "Don't worry it," Tzakiran gave him a knowing smile. "Would you feel up for a personal transfer or would you like something less intimate?"
      "How would I best repay for learning?"
      "Slow learner," Tzakiran snorted. "We don't take payment in selyn. Would you be available for consultation after you leave?"
      "Of course," he snapped, surprised at the question.
      There's no of course to it," Tzakiran leaned forward. "Oh this feels good," he shook his head. "Anyways, not all of our means are kindly. You'd sometimes be asked to do things which are personally painful or ugly."
      "Like what was done to my father to produce me?" he put his trembling hand to his chest. I really need a transfer. Diomid realized how badly his nager was straining its bounds.
      "Oh, settle yourself," Tzakiran snapped and Diomid felt his nager retreat under another's control. It was a surreal sensation, as if someone else were forming Diomid's shape like clay with their hands. "But yes," Tzakiran told him. "Exactly like."
      "How could you do that to someone?"
      "Do you not like being alive?"
      "Now," he grimaced. "I had no idea what was wrong with me."
      "Not much, or you'd be down here with us," Tzakiran flipped his hand towards the chair. "Oh sit, you're putting a crick in my neck. I don't like healers hovering over me. My nager's as full of holes as the earth beneath this city, but my mind still works."
      "As does your tongue," Diomid returned to his seat.
      "Good shot," Tzakiran snorted. "True enough though. As I was saying, are you willing to pay our price for learning?"
      "What exactly is involved?" Diomid realized what he could learn here might well offset what might be asked of him, no matter how vile.
      "You've seen the worst of it." Tzakiran sighed.
      "Myself and ...?"
      "Young Alexander of course," Tzakiran's field tried to display remorse. "You should not have gotten tangled up with him. We'd hoped to end the Azov line cleanly without any one else getting caught up in its destruction."
      "Why did you do it to them?"
      "Because we couldn't isolate the animal handling genes from either larity or fragility."
      "What of Ilira?"
      "Why in hell do you think we mated her to Alexander?" Tzakiran gave him a disgusted snort. "We had to try to keep it."
      "Such a high price," Diomid could see Sasha's laughing face in the darkness behind his eyelids.
      "Yes," Tzakiran admitted. "Is it worth it?"
      "I don't know," muscles were twitching beneath his skin. Annoyed, he clenched at his thighs.
      "Oh, get out of here, Diomid," Tzakiran looked at his arms. "Let me know after your seclusion, if you decide on a personal transfer."
      "With who?" He waited with his hand on the doorknob. Splashing his nager all over the place made his skin tight with embarrassment.
      Tzakiran tipped his head to the side. "Are you willing to take care of yourself afterwards?"
      Diomid thought about it for a moment. For all his arms itching for contact, the rest of his body was cringing at the idea of the additional empathy of bedding someone.
      "As I thought," Tzakiran wiggled his fingers towards the door. "Down the hall and to the right. The door will open for you."
     
      Diomid couldn't bring himself to look at the arm braces after the first time. Instead he looked down at his scarred arms. The scars were fairly shallow compared to Arkay's, but they were stark against the blood flushed skin of his forearms.
      His forehead and throat were tingling with longing for release. "You might be more comfortable blinded."
      "No," he turned back to the one who'd brought him here. Tzarya's hand trembled on her veil. "I'd see."
      "I've been waiting for you," she tipped her head, exactly as Tzakiran had. He felt his eyes narrow. "Yes," she snorted, "he's my uncle."
      "So," Diomid couldn't bring himself to sit behind the steel and leather contraption dominating the room.
      "You are uncomfortable."
      "Well, yes," he rubbed at his arms.
      She snorted in amusement and let her veil fall. Knife sharp features framed by fine silver hair caught his immediate attention. "Oh, the rest is no where near as pleasant." Muscle bunched at the back of her jaw.
      "Not from what I can sense."
      "Why do you think I go robed?" her hands were gloved as well.
      "Because you are ashamed," he stood and went to her.
      "True," she turned her face away. "I am not entire."
      "Neither am I right now," he brushed his hand down his body. "I need, but that is all."
      "That is all I know," she gazed over his head. Diomid could see her swallow heavily. Bolstering his courage, he stood on his toes and kissed her throat. "How can you stand to touch me?"
      "You are human," he reached up to caress her cheek. It looked as silken as a child's. She moved away. "Tzarya," he protested.
      "I'm not," her skin reddened. He could feel its heat even through the air.
      "You changed your name?" She turned back so quickly, his knuckles brushed her face. "No, I thought not."
      "I'm not human though," her face burned beneath his touch.
      "Close enough, as I would I hope I am," he let his hand move down to her jaw. The perfection of her skin startled him.
      "You are male," the tension in her body made her voice quaver.
      "As you are female at the moment."
      She reared back and glared down at him. "How dare you mock me?"
      "Because I am no more a sexual creature than you now," he didn't even want to think of it.
      "Only because of need," her silver eyes turned hard and brittle.
      "No," his throat worked to pass the single word. "I am alone." He used the single word of high Simelan to convey his absolute solitude without Sasha.
      "And this has emasculated you?"
      He flushed at her harsh words. "If you'd rather another," Diomid tipped his head towards the door.
      "No, I'm sorry, Diomid," her gloved hand caressed his cheek in return. "I didn't mean to hurt."
      "Far too easy to do right now," his stomach was churning with nerves.
      "Oh, hush," she snorted, again very like her uncle and Diomid looked up at her. A faint smile played about her lips. "I'm often a rather rude aggressive person."
      "So I've noted of the Veiled." He saw her expression soften. "I would know you, Tzarya." Diomid offered his hand in transfer formally.
      "But would you see me?" Her eyes flicked towards the door.
      "I would," he breathed, wishing for at least some contact.
      "How can you?"
      "Easily," he twined his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her body was as taut as a strung harp. His fingers dug into the muscles.
      "That feels so good," her eyes rolled up in her head.
      "Then let us retire some where more comfortable."
      "We don't usually ..." she looked towards the braces.
      "Can you?" He knew her handling tentacles had been excised.
      "If there is enough trust," her robes trembled as if a breeze had spilled through the room.
      "Then let me try to earn it," he offered.
     
      Diomid looked around his tiny cubicle with new eyes. The bed was hardly large enough for him alone. "Let me help," Tzarya pushed his single table out of the way. Then she reached in under the bed. "There we go." With a pull, it slid out another half meter.
      "I didn't know it did that," his bemusement at the odd arrangement spilled over.
      "Most of us are fairly solitary, but sometimes we do wish for company." she sat on the edge of it. "This is much better." With her sitting, they were nearly of a height and he grinned at her. "Yes, I am a bit tall."
      "More like I am a bit short," now they were here, his nerves snarled into knots again. Is she going to be disgusted with me? Diomid knew his body was rather coarse, even for a Sharm Lord. Her fingers trembled as she reached up for her hood. "Let me," he moved closer and brushed it away from her hair. It was as silvery and soft as thistledown. Leaning down, he kissed her scalp.
      "I like that," she wrinkled her nose at him. Reminding himself not to get too forward, he tapped it in play. She giggled, looking upward. Her expressions were so childish his reluctance fell away as if it never had been. "Like this," he tickled her behind the ears.
      "Stop," she shook her head playfully. Then he rubbed at her neck again. "Oh yes," she purred, the first faint tremors of need sliding through her shielding. With deft hands, he loosened the ties of her robes. "I'm not entire."
      "You're repeating yourself," he reached into the cowl of her robe, sliding his fingers across her slender shoulders.
      "Let me look?" She reached for his robes.
      "I'm not very fancy," he didn't stop her though. Her slender fingers pulled it from his body.
      "Oh hush, Diomid," she rested her hand on his chest. Even through the gloves the heat of her body was stunning. He knelt at her feet. "Cute."
      He laughed. The innocence of her as she dropped her stance was as refreshing as cold water in August. "Thank you, m'Lord." He let his field spill over its bounds again.
      "Wow," she blinked, staring at him. "How long has it been?"
      "Don't really know," he rested his chin on her knee. "At least a few months since my last complete transfer." His chest contracted at the memory of Sasha's last attempts to draw from him. They'd been so feeble it'd been all Diomid could do not to force himself on Sasha in a desperate attempt to restore him.
      "I met him too, Diomid," she tipped his face up gently. "He was a beautiful young man."
      "Unlike me," he couldn't meet her eyes.
      "In a different way," her obvious lie made him grimace. "No, no, Diomid," she kissed his brow. "You're pretty too."
      "I was to him," his throat tightened down again.
      "Help me with my gloves," she held out her hands to him. Grateful for the reprieve, he slid the silk from her arms. They were so bare without the heavy sheathes of the handling tentacles. His finger stroked the lines of scar tissue where they'd once been. "That does still feel good."
      "You have nerves there still?"
      "My body remembers them," she shifted her weight nervously. To Diomid's non-physical senses, he could see them reaching out to caress his wrists.
      "Lets finish this job," he managed to get her out of her heavy robes.
      "It's much cooler without those things," she shivered a bit. The thin garments she wore beneath her Veiled black were threadbare and translucent with age.
      "Let me warm you," he sat next to her on the bed.
      "This is even better," her tongue peeked from between her teeth and the next thing Diomid knew he was sitting on her lap. "Smelly."
      "Sorry," Diomid realized it'd been a while since he had a bath. Such trivia had been far from his mind for the last weeks.
      "Oh, I'm being rude again. I'm sorry." She licked his nose. Maintaining his dignity with a wet nose was beyond Diomid.
      "You are sweet," he pulled himself even closer to her and wrapped his legs around her waist.
      "No one's ever said that," her eyes were huge with surprise.
      "I just did," he licked her back. A flicker like heat lightning shimmered through the darkness of rousing need. She giggled again, even as her eyes blackened with the first stage of desire for transfer. There was absolutely no physical response to his body at all. "This is wonderful, Tzarya."
      "How so?" She murmured against scalp.
      "Because of your innocence."
      "Because I'm neuter," her muscles snarled beneath his wandering hands again.
      "Yes," he matched her forthrightness with his own.
      "Thank you, Diomid," she leaned back and looked him in the eyes. "I took the Veil because I couldn't tolerate being lied to. Having someone zlin this," she waved her hand down her spare body, "and tell me it was nothing, I couldn't bear."
      "You are wonderful in your own unique way, Tzarya," he kissed her on the end of the nose.
      "As are most of the Veiled," she shrugged, "but it's sweet of you to say so."
      "I mean so," he realized she was stalling. "You've never done this before?"
      "Not without the braces," she looked away.
      "Let me," he pulled his shirt off. "This might work better for you." Diomid was not entirely sure of his ability to keep his arms completely still as she drew.
      "I think so," she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Oh, I like this," she purred, examining his back with her fingertips. "Fields of plenty."
      "Bad Sime, no dates," he teased back at her excruciating pun.
      "Dates?" She chirped. "You like dates?"
      "I don't, but I get the feeling you do."
      "Coffee too," she looked at him through thick, long lashes.
      "Then let us sport and later we will have coffee and dates." He promised, pulling her back to him. Her arousal was so slow, Diomid worried he was not pleasing to her.
      "Oh, I'm just Fatima," she lipped at his ear. "Don't worry so."
      "I won't," he wasn't sure why Fatima was so different, but filed it away for later study. Instead he held her and cuddled her as he would a child for long hours as she gradually opened her need to him. Eventually the darkness of deep need spread before his senses. Traces of lightning flickered through the midnight depths of her field.
      "Oh yes," at last wet traces from her laterals brushed his shoulder blades. He waited until she set her lips to his. Her hands spread against his back and all four of her laterals flattened against his skin. Diomid held his breath. Selyn poured from him with her tentative draw. More, his body demanded, growling at him with frantic need.
      She faltered. His own field reared up and challenged the darkness he could sense. Need ripped through her reservations, throwing them into the velvet night on mists of selyn.
     
      "That was fun," her laterals retracted, leaving chill traces of roniplin on his back.
      "Yes, it was," he had to grin at her innocent laughter. "Thank you." Diomid nuzzled her neck.
      "Do you have to ... ?"
      "No," he realized while his body was reacting to being post as it always did, there was a distance between him and it, as if it were happening to someone else. "I might clean up later." Not that he felt any real desire to touch himself. More a sense of backpressure wanting release, much the same as he felt first thing in the morning.
      "You do require a shower," she shook her head.
      "Then I'll go take a quick one," he looked into her silver eyes. "Want to join me?"
      "Don't you have to, well, take care of things?" The image in her mind was as crude as it was innocent.
      "No, little one," he chuckled. "Not that I think you'd be offended."
      "Not really," she wrinkled her nose. "I think it's pretty silly all together."
      "Sometimes it is," he licked traces of roniplin from his lips. "Come on," his knees creaked as he got to his feet. Reaching within himself, he realized it was later than he'd thought. "Lets go take over the big bath down stairs."
      "Only if you wash off first," she gave his tented pants a jaundiced look.
      "I get the hint," he rearranged things so he wouldn't be quite so obvious. Even that touch did nothing for him. "Lets go." He took her long fingered hand in his.
      "Like this?"
      "It's late, no one will care." He led her to the door.
      "If we go quickly," laughing together they ran to the great baths beneath the halls of the Veiled. He did clean up thoroughly in the shower before soaking, taking care of his body's needs as quickly as he could. It was not something he wanted to dwell on. Besides, he really wanted to splash around with Tzarya.
     

Chapter 24

      Avilan finally managed to corner Arkay beneath a great spreading fern hidden at the back of the conservatory. He was surprised to find him with his arms wrapped around his knees and curled into a ball. There were smudges on his normally immaculate trousers, while both his chest and feet were bare. What's wrong? He knelt at his friend's side.
      Arkay's shoulders shook beneath his touch. "Go 'way," he muttered into his knees.
      "You don't mean that, Arkay," Avilan sat down next to him.
      "No, don't suppose I do," he reset his feet. Avilan slipped off his shoes and put his foot over Arkay's. He liked to touch and sometimes wished Arkay weren't quite so reserved. "Just that it's not so important." He finally looked up and Avilan could see where he'd soaked the knees of his trousers with tears. This was so unlike Arkay he felt a chill run up his arms. "I'm just post."
      "Beloved, look at me," he turned Arkay's face to him. His eyes were reddened as if he'd been here for hours crying. "What is it?"
      "Nothing critical," he rubbed at his face, smudging his cheek. Avilan'd rarely seen Arkay so defenseless. He gathered the older man into his arms. "Don't bother, Avilan. It's silly."
      "Hush," Avilan had gotten good at saying hush with five children. He rocked Arkay as he would young Sevrin. And like his youngest son, Arkay stiffened in protest at first. "I'm not going to hurt you when you're hurting Arkay."
      "I know that," a rasp entered Arkay's tone and Arkay gave him a hard look. "Sometimes it's just that I want to be alone."
      "I doubt it," Avilan searched his memory for what could have set Arkay off. "Have you been having problems with your new assistant?"
      "She's an idiot, Avilan," Arkay waved his hands so fast he came within cents of smacking Avilan in the face. "She doesn't know a compound fracture from drug compounding."
      "Then teach her," Avilan now felt he knew what was driving Arkay's sorrow.
      "I said she's an idiot. Even ..." he stopped and looked away.
      "Even Alexi knew what he was doing?"
      "Yes," Arkay stared off into the distance. Avilan could see his throat work convulsively. "He tried so damn hard to learn for Diomid. And he managed. He had no talents for healing whatsoever, but his touch was so kind people would get better to please him."
      "I miss him too, Arkay. I miss both of them." Avilan twined his fingers with Arkay.
      "You miss having babysitters on tap," the corner of Arkay's mouth quirked upwards.
      "Some," he admitted. "More I miss the way they could pin you to the bed and make you take a nap. Or the way they could make you laugh after turnover. Or their ability to get you out riding poor Kiri."
      "I put him down this morning," more tears followed the first.
      "God, Arkay, why didn't you tell us?"
      "He was pining for Alexi, I think," Arkay rambled on. "He kept sniffing the arms of every person who got near him. Even stood and watched the house for hours on end."
      "Are you sure he wasn't looking for you?"
      "No, I was right there," Arkay dropped his face to his knees again. "He was so stiff and sore with arthritis, but every time a Sime with Alexi's look left the building, he pranced. I couldn't let it go on. He was old and in pain."
      "You did right Arkay," Avilan could feel the massive sorrow weighing him down.
      "I know I did, but I wish I could have explained it to him better," he swallowed again. "I even had Ilira try to talk with him."
      "Could she get through?"
      "She did," Arkay's face dissolved back into tears. "He screamed Avilan. It was as if he were grieving. Ilira said he'd known Alexi was gone, but when she told him for always, the light went out of his eyes."
      "Alexi loved that horse, didn't he," Avilan hugged Arkay close.
      "We both did," Arkay finally turned to him and clutched at him. "They're all gone, Avilan. Alexander, Kiri, Diomid, Nivanya, Aliana, even Ilya," his fingers dug into Avilan's back with enough force to leave bruises.
      Avilan wished he could reassure Arkay at least Diomid would return, but it had been months since either of them had heard from him. Arkay knew the Veiled far better than he did, and if he said Diomid was dead then he'd not be returning from the Veil.
      "Gods, some mornings I want to give up," he sobbed. "Why do I keep going?"
      "In their memory," Avilan thought of T'aszo and Lukian. "Diomid will return."
      "No, he's gone with the rest," Arkay shivered. "I should have gone instead."
      "No, Arkay," Avilan made him look at him again. "I love thee, Arkay. Karola loves thee. Thy son loves thee. Don't go."
      "I wouldn't," he tipped his head back. "But sometimes I want peace so badly I ache for it."
      "What you want is true peace, beloved, not the peace of death," he crooned a lullaby as he rocked Arkay. "Rest here in my arms for a while. We have no place we have to be and no one we have to appease right now. Diomid will return to us."
      "You aren't precognitive."
      "No, but he won't desert Alexander's memory for all the selyn in the world, Arkay."
      "But would he for anything else?"
      "No," he held the certainty of his knowledge in the front of his mind as he held Arkay. It was rare for them to impose on Karola to get them both post at the same time, but perhaps he and Nashen might be able to do something to let him share Arkay's grief.
     
      Nashen timidly knocked on the door frame. "I coulda but been announcin ye." The guard gave him a disgusted look. Their Russian might be poor, but the Azov renSimes were far from brutalized into submission.
      With a quick gesture of his tentacles, he waved the guard silent. "I'm only visiting," he forced through a smile. His stomach quivered with need and tension. Avilan had asked him a favor and he was going to do his best.
      "Come in," his normally honey sweet nager was grayed.
      After a quick zlin, he stepped through the door and closed it behind himself. Avilan's eyes were dark ringed with his late cycling and some other stress he couldn't zlin down. "Don't mind me," he put his embroidery down and stood.
      "I always mind you," he said softly. "What is it?"
      "Arkay requires our help," the words burned through Nashen's mind like nothing else could. His tentacles lashed out in protest.
      "Anything," he stepped forward.
      "Even a transfer knowing your partner will be hysterical afterwards?" Avilan's field trembled with strain.
      "You've been hurt?" Then why is he asking for Arkay? Nashen tried to figure out what was going on.
      "Sit," Avilan led him to the couch against the wall. For some odd reason, neither Karola or Arkay were here. This was the first time he'd been truly alone with Avilan.
      "Is there something wrong with Karola or the children?"
      "In a way," Avilan ducked his head. "Arkay just put down Kiri."
      Nashen gasped in shock. The old stallion had been Arkay's delight.
      "Oh, it gets worse. We just lost his second's mate. The young man has taken the Veil," Avilan held up his hand to hold off Nashen's expression of sympathy. "He'll be back. He must to keep his lover's memory. But right now, Arkay misses them dreadfully."
      "As it seems do you, my friend," he dared to use the term.
      "Well, yes," Avilan turned his face away. "I would grieve as well. I know how much Kiri meant to Arkay. As well as the young Lord who died."
      "Who was he?"
      "T'aszo's son," Avilan said softly. Nashen's breath hissed between his teeth.
      "Why in hell didn't you tell me?"
      "Because you aren't part of Azov," Avilan's hands twined in his lap. "I didn't want to impose."
      "Oh bullshit Avilan," he pulled the man to him. "Of course I'd help."
      "I didn't want to push you," his shoulders tensed. "You aren't obligated to us."
      "Listen to me Avilan," he tipped the man's chin up so he could look into Avilan's eyes. "Yes, whatever you need right now."
      "I don't know if I can pay you back," the horrible dry sobs of someone trying to cry through need tore at Nashen's heart.
      "I don't want to hear about payment, Avilan," he stripped off his tunic with indecent haste. "Come to me Avilan. No strings, no obligations," he caressed his stubbled jaw.
      "Are you sure?"
      "Absolutely," Nashen braced himself for the massive quantity of selyn he'd have to shunt to give Avilan a good transfer. Avilan's field dissolved into sparkling motes of gold. He's a mess, Nashen grabbed the fields before his friend could collapse completely.
      Dark eyes turned on him, already foreshadowing the collapse Nashen knew was coming. With all his force of will, Nashen amplified his own need onto the ambient. With hardly more warning than that, Avilan grabbed at his arms.
      I will, Nashen pushed himself to his limits. Avilan's lips parted beneath his. There was no sense in the older Sharm Lord's mind, only need and desperation. Ins'Allah, Nashen breathed, giving himself over to God in hopes He'd keep him safe. Selyn poured into him with the force of a thunderstorm, unstoppable and inescapable.
      It drove him under. Grasping for the light, Nashen reached out. Then it was over. Bruised and battered, he gasped as Avilan collapsed against him. I'm going to have one sick headache, his temples were already pounding. But it was done.
      He got himself under Avilan and picked him up. The larger man wailed against his chest. Tears soaked through his shirt. "You poor thing," he reset his grasp and carried him through to the bedroom. Karola looked up from the bed as he kicked open the door. Arkay was thrashing in his sleep, as if in the grip of a hideous nightmare.
      "Go to him," he placed his burden down. How he wished he could comfort Arkay as well. With a heart like lead, he watched as Avilan grasped Arkay. They truly were beautiful together, but he wished there were more he could do than watch.
      "Thank you," Karola said, watching over the two men as well.
      "It was the least I could do," his knees were threatening to give out as he turned to go.
      "Don't go, Nashen," she said.
      "Are you sure?" He knew his headache must be excruciating to the other Lord.
      "Yes," she nodded. "They require you now more than ever before."
      "Then I'll stay," he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Avilan's shoulder.
      "Quit," before he knew it she'd stripped him and made him lie down. Her tentacles twined with his as they met over the two Sharm Lords. "Stay," she commanded.
      Not at all loathe to try, he wrapped himself around Avilan. She did the same for Arkay and together they held the two men as safe as they could.
     
      As usual, Diomid woke to find the pillow beneath his cheek soaking wet.
      "Would you like to talk about it?" A gentle voice asked.
      "He's never coming back," he could still feel Sasha's slender body curled up in his arms from his dream. He'd dreamt of taking his lover so very gently they both drowsed between awake and asleep as they loved. Knowing he'd never do so again had brought him from sleep in tears.
      "No, he's not," Tzarya stroked his side. "I'm sorry."
      "It's true," he sighed, trying to get up the will to drag himself out of bed. "Oh hell," he bolted for the bathroom. This was getting old. The horrid acid taste of sickness drove him back again and again until he writhed in pain on the tiles.
      "Diomid," Tzarya's hand was chill against his back.
      "Go," he tried to get his stomach to settle down. "Wait for me," most Simes would be set off by a sick Gen.
      "I'm tougher than that," she snorted and got him sitting back up. Her arm felt like ice on his shoulders. "You're burning up, Diomid. We had transfer twelve days ago."
      "Turnover," he clenched his jaw against another wave of nausea. His vision dimmed as the room spun around him. Together they overwhelmed his control and he heaved again.
      "I'm calling someone," Tzarya snapped.
      "I'll be fine," he said as soon as he could get the words out.
      "No you're not," she told him. "My uncle will be here in a few."
      The tiny room was soon cramped with all three of them in it. "Get him off the tiles, Tzarya," he growled.
      Diomid clutched at the basin with nerveless fingers. "I'll be done soon."
      "Stop thinking you're above," Tzakiran's fingers ran down Diomid's spine. "I'm not Sergei, but you are very sick, Diomid. Go back to bed."
      "I'll make a mess," he protested.
      "Take a bowl," Tzakiran backed from the room. His head throbbed as Tzarya picked him up.
      "He's heavy," Diomid could feel her augment to lift him.
      "Not as heavy as he should be," Tzakiran snorted. "Into bed with you." Soft, warm blankets were tucked around his aching body. Diomid shivered violently even as he sweat burned in his eyes. A soft hand caressed his face. Diomid turned blind eyes to it. He couldn't see for the knives driving into his skull. "You require sleep, Diomid."
      "Can't," he shook his head. The motion set his stomach off again. Too weak to get up, he turned his face to the side.
      "Don't worry so," Tzarya had placed a basin for him. Little came up, but he was grateful for the gesture. "What's causing this?"
      "No sleep and too much stress." Tzakiran's voice echoed in his pounding skull. Diomid could have said as much, if he'd had the strength.
      "I've been sleeping with him," Tzarya sounded confused.
      "He's been dreaming," a soft hand pushed his hair back from his sweaty face.
      "I know that, Uncle," her amused tone made him blush. He knew exactly why she'd known the intimacy of his dreams. They'd had to switch places on the bed with her holding him because of his importunities.
      "No, they're making it so he gets no rest from his sleep," Tzakiran's tone was unwontedly gentle. Diomid wondered if he'd ever sleep truly again.
      "You will," Tzakiran responded to his unspoken question. "Now, I have something to help you sleep, if Tzarya is willing to keep an eye on you."
      Anything he longed for some kind of peace, if only for a short while.
      "Good," he breathed. "Tzarya, you are going to have to stay and watch him very carefully. If he is sick in his sleep, he could drown."
      "I will watch," her treble was so kind Diomid felt his muscles begin to relax of their own accord. "He's my friend."
      "I'm glad you could find a friend," with this, Diomid felt the sharp sting of a needle. Warmth spread from his limbs to his chest. The smooth wiping away of pain dragged him down into a deep dreamless sleep at last.
     

Chapter 25

      The sweet smell of new growth tickled Diomid's nose. His eyes blinked open to see a canopy of leaves budding on the oaks of home. A trickle of water sounded in his ears. "Not again," he put his arm over his eyes. Recognition of his and Sasha's favorite trysting spot burned like acid.
      "Hush," an achingly familiar voice told him. "We're here."
      "I can't do it Sasha," he had to see his lover's face. "I tried," Sasha's face was as he remembered it from their fist glorious days together. Then he heard a horse's snort and saw familiar black tipped silver ears. "Oh God," he reached for the two of them.
      "Yes," Sasha's hand trembled as he reached forward. Suddenly he stumbled. "Kiri!"
      Kiri flipped his nose at the two of them. Sasha's perfect warm body landed on his. Unlike his earlier dreams, it was solid and so very alive. Diomid could feel the pulse of life surge beneath Sasha's sun browned skin.
      Diomid buried his face in Sasha's silky dark hair. "I love thee," he could taste the sweet fragrance of his lover's skin on his tongue. Strong Sime muscles gave beneath his desperate clutch.
      "Oh my beloved Diomid," his warm breath against his ear was more exquisite than Diomid could have dreamed. "You are free of your promise. I never knew."
      "No, lover," his very bones seemed to melt as velvet tentacles traced his ear. "I can't go with you, unless ..." he didn't dare ask if Sasha were asking for himself.
      "Thank you," he breathed. "Oh bless you," his strong arms made Diomid's ribs creak. "I wouldn't ask, but I did pray you'd stay behind. Much as I love thee ..."
      "I understand," here, in this place, he could feel Sasha's longing for those he'd left behind. "I'll take care of them."
      "Even your brother?"
      "Of course," he looked into Sasha's eyes, those wonderful eyes which echoed the green of spring leaves. "I miss you." How he'd longed to hold Sasha one more time. He'd been so fragile the last few months of his life, Diomid had hardly dared touch him. To have him so strong and solid again was heaven.
      "Are you sure you want to do this?" His fine hand traced Diomid's temple.
      The simple gesture brought tears to his eyes, tears of joy. "I would love thee until the end of days. Though hell's fire or heaven's gates bar the way." He reached up and brushed Sasha's unruly hair from his face. "If thee will wait, I'll love thee and know thee again."
      "Tarry a while beneath me, my love," Sasha leaned down. His hair brushed Diomid's eyelashes with the delicacy of snowflakes.
      "Anything," he opened his heart to his ghostly lover knowing this once, he'd not wake before they'd finished.
     
      Diomid woke for the first time in months feeling rested. Memories, whether false or real, of loving Sasha and then sleeping in his arms one last time were forever a part of him now. Aware of the rank smells of illness and even the sweet yeasty smell of a body destroying itself brought him the rest of the way awake.
      "Welcome back," Tzarya's treble sounded odd to Diomid's ears after Sasha's warm tenor. "Was he well?"
      "They both were," somehow she'd known who he'd seen.
      "Both?"
      "Arkay's stallion Kiri as well," he closed his eyes to see the image of the great stallion running free and playing as he'd not been able to for years. "How is Arkay?"
      "Not well," she grimaced, setting aside the book she'd been reading. "Although better than you."
      "Had been," he tried to flip aside the sheets. His muscles refused to respond. "How long?"
      "Nearly a week," she sighed, coming to his side. "Lie still."
      "I have to wash," he wrinkled his nose. It felt like the blankets weighed as much as his last sharm lord's kador. "I hate being sick." He gave up struggling with the recalcitrant bedding. "Why didn't anyone feed me?"
      "You were comatose," Tzarya made the blankets look light, even though she didn't augment at all. "Besides, if it was your time, we didn't want to prolong it."
      "True enough," he glanced down at his lax body. He'd never supported intravenous or tube feeding for the terminally ill himself and to find himself treated the same way made a feeble shiver tighten his skin. Or maybe it was the itching. "However, it is not true now."
      "I take it you are hungry?" Her lips quirked upwards in a grin. His stomach growled making a verbal answer unnecessary. "Sponge bath or food first?"
      He had to think about this. If she'd offered a real bath, it would have been no challenge. She chuckled and sent, *Food!*
      *Lots!* At least his ability to shout mentally still worked.
      *Not yet, youngling,* Tzakiran's tone was far more pleased than stern. A pitcher and two glasses appeared on the bedside table. Diomid blinked at them.
      "Oh, my uncle has his ways," she shrugged and poured a glass of translucent, milky fluid. "Although if he thinks I'm going to drink any of this he's out of his mind."
      "Why?" Diomid took a tentative sip from the straw she proffered. "Oh," he grimaced. The sweet salty drink was balm to his parched throat and undeniably easy on his stomach, but that was all to recommend it. Much as he wished for more, Diomid knew he was not up for it. The thought of a juicy, blood rare steak made all thoughts of a long convalescence entirely untenable.
      "We can get you one," she shook her head. "When you are well enough for it."
      "That will be a while," he grinned wryly. "I hate this."
      "You already said as much," she set the empty glass on the table. "More?"
      "No," his eyelids were drooping again. "Bloody hell, I'd wanted a bath." He struggled against sleep.
      "Rest, Diomid," she brushed the side of his face. Her nageric tentacles were a breathy presence against his skin. "I'll take care of you."
      "I'm the healer," he looked into her innocent silver eyes.
      "Not right now," she closed his with her imaginary handling tentacles. "Sleep some more."
      "Been too ..." between one word and the next, darkness swamped him and drew him back under.
     
      Diomid looked over the edge of the book he'd been studying. Pathologies of maturation, both establishment and change over were far less interesting than company. "Tzarya!" he caroled, putting the book aside.
      "Good evening, Diomid," she laughed and threw herself into his arms. "You look wonderful."
      "I'm still a rake," he sighed, thinking of his own shock the first time he'd seen himself in a mirror. "I'm still hungry too."
      "I bet you are," she nuzzled his ear. "Thank you for the ring," she tipped her head.
      He lipped the single gold ring she now sported and chuckled. "You deserve at least one."
      "We don't usually gift our partners," she looked at his wrists, her chin quivering.
      "You don't have to," he shyly stilled his bracelets. "You healed me."
      "You healed yourself," she traced her finger over the intricate gold wheat sheave bracelet Sasha'd given him for their first anniversary.
      "It couldn't have been easy to watch and wait to see if I'd die or live," he caught her slim fingered hand. "Thank you, and bless you."
      "I'd still bracelet you if I could."
      "What's stopping you?" He asked, making sure to cast the question in terms relative to the veiled. There was no way he'd even want to imply she owed him any such thing.
      "Nothing, actually," her gamin grin was wicked. "Stay here a ..." with that she zipped out the door again. Sometimes Diomid wondered if Tzarya's mercurial nature were part of her perpetual youth or simply a facet of Fatima. He'd had no experience with Fatima Lords before he'd come below. As he probed at why, he found yet another of those little markers showing interference by the Veiled.
      In his time below, he'd managed to learn far more the extent of manipulation by the Veiled than he'd really planned on knowing. At first he had the idea he might have pulled one over on them, but they'd turned away that notion quickly. They knew nearly everything. It was daunting to say the least to realize how intimately they involved themselves in the goings on above.
      Sometimes Diomid wondered how much he'd remember of his time here. It did seem something like a dream, far less real than his final dream of Sasha even. Now he knew how strong his Sergei talents were. They were stronger than either his father or half-brother Arkay. In many ways he was one of the strongest Sergei talents to ever live. Most destroyed themselves shortly after puberty.
      The gold leaf winking on the book describing the great talents of the Demenses on the shelf mocked him. They'd lost so much in pursuit of excellence. Before the Veiled had turned the path of the Demenses to sustenance, they'd bred demons and saints to rival the angels spoken of by Maryam. Men and women who could destroy armies or create new life. The very last of those demons to haunt their steps were only now being put to rest.
      Diomid wasn't entirely certain he was worthy of carrying the banner of Russia. He knew he'd eventually receive Sergei as Sharm Lord. This much was without doubt. If he'd be able to honor him and their mother Rodina was another matter entirely. Would he, with no father to guide him or son to follow him, be able to lead Sergei's people?
      The latter he had no plans to ever produce. He'd seen his own gene scan and pedigree while living here below. Neither were reassuring.
      And while he now knew who'd fathered him, Vanya wasn't to be sure Diomid was his son. Diomid knew he suspected what had happened, but the Veiled had placed an alternate possibility in Vanya's mind, Arkay.
      What a mess, Diomid stared up at the cove ceiling. The arching joins where walls met ceiling made the room feel smaller, more secure.
      "I'm back!" Tzarya landed on his lap.
      "Woof," Diomid couldn't catch his breath.
      "Sorry," she grinned at him, tongue peeking between her teeth. He kissed it. "Icky!" He'd learned to like doing things like that to her. It was like having a younger sister. She squirmed around on his lap like an eel. He tickled her, making her wiggle even more. "No, stop!" She squealed, batting at his hands.
      "It's fun," he smiled at her flushed cheeks. "So, what do you have?" He knew she'd managed to get him a bracelet, but Tzarya's enjoyment of these simple games was an absolute delight.
      "You know," her lower lip jutted out in a pout. This he did not care for at all. "Close your eyes."
      "Yes, m'Lord Tzarya," he held out his hands as well.
      "Which wrist?" Her innocence touched his heart.
      "It is your choice," he told her, eyes still closed. Even if she placed it abominably, he'd wear it there for at least a month. A bracelet given for anything but a long standing partnership was always placed by the donor.
      "It won't fit," she tried to slide it onto his right. He didn't dare tell her the right was traditionally for intent to partner for the next transfer.
      "Let me help," he slid his hand over hers and showed her how to fold his hand to fit through the ring. "There," he settled it with the rest, jangling all of them. It was surprisingly heavy and had an odd tone against the others.
      "Now you can look."
      Diomid gasped as he caught the fist glimpse of it. Channel cut diamonds were set into platinum in such a way he could see through them and clear emeralds, sapphires and rubies below them to his skin. Selyn seemed to shimmer through the layers to create a rainbow of his nager bounded by the metal.
      Those aren't normal stones, no mineral would pass selyn like that. He turned his wrist. The colors shifted chimerically. "Oh my God," he realized those were not natural stones, but rather fire stones, an artificial glassine material which refracted selyn into the visible range. "Tzarya, do you know how much this is worth?"
      "Less than you," a smile peeked through her unwontedly serious demeanor. "Do you like?"
      "Yes, but a single one of these," his fingertips caressed the bracelet, feeling the warmth of the material grow with his own nager.
      "It nearly died and now look at it," she traced his path with her own fingertips. "They must be worn."
      "Like pearls?"
      "Very like," she smiled at him.
      "Where did you get it," for a moment he feared she'd stolen it from some holy statue. That was the only place he'd seen such stones.
      "My Uncle had it waiting for me," she turned her face away.
      "Truly?" He made her look at him. Her eyes met his squarely. There was no deceit in Tzarya when she was not bound to the unity of the Veiled. "Oh, you are shy because he'd thought of it first."
      "Yes," she lowered her eyes again. "He'd left a note. It said to give it to you."
      "Thank you, both of you," he caressed the warm weight of the magnificent jewelry. "You do know that placing it on my right wrist implies intent for transfer?"
      "No," she put her hand to her mouth. "I didn't." But her field danced with pleased amusement.
      "You aren't bound to it if you don't want to be," Tzarya was not someone he'd want to force himself on. He knew her end as well and it was ill enough he would save her any harm he could. How do people live like this? He asked all the Gods in heaven. As usual, there was no answer, but only his own rote response of to go on.
      "I would," her fingertips caressed his wrists. "I'd know you again."
      "Are you sure?" He knew his field was not particularly attractive at the moment, tattered with his illness and the long stretch of inadequate transfers. "I could do an impersonal this month and be fresh for you next."
      "No," she stroked the fine hairs of his forearms in a startlingly intimate gesture. "If you would, I'd take you as you are."
      Diomid curled his fingers around so he could brush her arms where once her handling tentacles had lain, "As I would have you as you are."
      A shiver of pleasure greeted his shy caress. "Yes, I like it when you touch me."
      "Then I shall," he no longer felt any revulsion for what had been done to her. The Veiled were so much stronger than any Lord living above, they had to be cut to be at all safe around normal people. Necessity was often a cruel mistress, but better this necessity than a Lord who could kill at whim. Besides, it wasn't as if she didn't feel. His fingers stroked the still sensitive nerves underlying her skin.
      "Oh, Diomid," she purred, leaning against him. "I'm not ready."
      "I'm only making sure you will be," he licked his thumb and stroked the top of her arm.
      "Afterwards?"
      "I'll be fine," for all his healing body, he had no desire for any more intimacy than necessary. The scars there were still too fresh for any pressure.
     

Chapter 26

      "Avilan, do you see what I do?" Arkay grabbed the sleeve of Avilan's robe. "Do you?"
      "What, who?" He looked around. "Diomid!" He shouted and leaped down the stairs. Arkay was half a step behind him.
      "And court is adjourned," Karola called out.
      "What about my suit?" Kila asked.
      "Later," she beat both of them to the young man. Arkay whooped with glee as he grabbed up all three of them in a huge hug.
      "You're back," he had to look into his face. Arkay was so excited he couldn't sense a thing. Diomid was frightfully thin, with skin drawn into hollows over his cheeks and temples, but his eyes shown with life. "Oh Gods, I thought we'd never see you again. You were gone for so long. Are you well? Will you be well? Can you stay? Do you want to? What can we do for you? Would you like to see Ilyan?"
      "Let him answer, Arkay," Avilan cut in. "Vanya and Arkayana are going to be so glad to see you. Vayer has been asking about you. Kirina is a handful. Sevrin is willful as he's been since the day he was born. Ilyan is just like his father. They're all upstairs. Are you going to come back up with us? Don't say you're going away again. We missed you. Everyone missed you. Vayer cried for weeks. He thought he'd done something wrong. We couldn't convince him otherwise."
      "Avilan, Arkay," Karola bullied her way in. "You haven't been eating right, Diomid. Didn't they feed you? Where did you get that fantastic kador. Your hair is so long. I wish mine would grow out when I'm not pregnant. The children missed you dreadfully. So did we. If you do wish for your old rooms back, they were kept for you. Gitanya's flute is waiting for you."
      Diomid broke down in tears.
      "Look what you've done," Karola wrapped her arms around him and clucked at him. "Don't mind those two big bullies. They're all bark and no bite. Would you like some coffee?"
     
      "Yes, please," Diomid couldn't believe the warmth and welcome the three of them gave him. He soaked it up like rain on sand. His vision blurred as he tried to focus on even one of their faces. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I didn't mean to interrupt court, high court at that." I can't see a thing.
      "We were done," Karola said so quickly he could hardly understand her. "Come on," she tugged at his hand.
      "I'm coming," Arkay and Avilan nearly picked him up in their haste to move him from the hall. Everyone seemed to be grinning at him.
      "Welcome back," Beris and Lissa called out.
      "Welcome back, Diomid," more people shouted.
      "Welcome home!" A mass cheer rose from the court.
      Diomid leaned back against the pressure the two other Sharm Lords had put on him. They stopped. He turned to face the court. Raising his hands, he called out, "Bless you and thank you. I'd never thought to be welcomed so warmly. You are Azov. We are all Azov and through us he shall live forever!"
      Their cheers rang from the rafters and nearly buffeted Diomid off his feet.
     
      Diomid looked down into Ilyan's tiny face. The lad was hardly more than a few months old, but already Diomid could see his and Arkay's light blue eyes start to show through his baby blue. His finger traced the sleepy child's cheek. Illyan's face turned towards the light pressure.
      "There's nothing for you there, little one," he let Ilyan try to stuff his broad finger into the lad's open mouth. "Bites," he noted as Ilyan gummed him vigorously. "Good strong grip."
      "I know," Karola had the silliest smile on her face. It looked like she'd just gotten caught again. "It's too soon."
      "True," his heart was still pounding with how overwhelming their welcome had been. "Wouldn't you like something to eat?" Ilyan seemed entirely content to chew at Diomid's fingertip.
      "My line," Karola reached for her child. With a sigh, Diomid found himself cuddling Ilya closer. "Thief," but she didn't look at him.
      "Oh, they steal babies too," he caught Ilyan's bright gaze with his own. Diomid crossed his eyes. Ilyan's smile was as brilliant as his father's.
      And babies steal hearts, Diomid felt his resolve quaver to never sire a child of his own.
      "Both of you, Diomid," Ilya's eyes widened at his mother's sharp tone. Diomid had to brush his nose. It was so soft. Ilyan reached up and tugged at his ears. "I'm talking to you, young man."
      "You just want to play with Uncle, don't you little one?" Diomid made fish faces at Ilyan. He squealed back, grinning gape mouthed. "Yeah, that's what you want," Ilyan plucked at his lower lip.
      "She was talking to you, Diomid," Arkay tried to distract him. Diomid let Ilyan flap his lips and hummed at the child. The juicy sound was well received from Ilyan's delighted reaction.
      "May I have my son back?"
      "No," Diomid crossed his eyes again. Ilyan burbled with glee. "Careful baby," the lad had put his tiny fingers in Diomid's mouth.
      "Mine, Diomid," Karola's hands came down to take him back. Suddenly aware of what he'd done, Diomid blushed furiously and let Karola retrieve the child. I do not want one of my own.
      "Bullshit, Diomid," Avilan snorted. "You would have carted him off without a backwards glance." His arms felt cold and light without Ilyan's trusting weight in them.
      "Not true," he wondered how the rest of the growing family was doing.
      "You can't have any of them, Diomid. Ours." Arkay watched as Ilyan followed Diomid with his eyes. "No matter how much they beg."
      "Do you share?" He knew his heart was in his eyes as he watched Ilyan gazing back at him. One of mine would look much as he does, he crossed his eyes again. Ilyan howled joyfully.
      "If you don't stop doing that it'll be permanent," Arkay's glare burned Diomid's scalp. They did ache a bit, he realized as he rubbed at them. He looked up sheepishly. Actually Arkay wasn't glaring, but rather giving him a smile. "Hungry?"
      "Dumb question, Arkay," Karola muttered. "Try again." Diomid blinked at her. He hadn't even thought about the fact he was far from interested in food. "What would you be willing to eat?"
      Diomid had to think long and hard about how to weasel out of that question.
      "Give it up, Diomid," Avilan cocked a leg over a chair arm. His tattered pants did nothing to conceal his attributes. Admittedly, most Sharm Lords wore very little under their kadors, but this was taking it a bit far. Diomid twitched at his loose cotton shirt self consciously, well aware of his new finery. "You're stalling."
      If you don't answer soon, she's going to feed you something awful," Arkay put his arm around Karola's shoulders and looked down into his son's face.
      "No I won't," she relented. "No I didn't." She glared at him. "If you don't shape up in sixty seconds, you're getting what's on tap." Her free hand unfastened her blouse suggestively.
      "Um," he rummaged through his brain. "Uh," one of her dark eyebrows raised. "Oh, um ..."
      "Hurry up, Diomid," Avilan was smirking.
      "Roast unicorn and golden apple salad," he blurted out.
      Karola threw back her head and laughed. "You win," her eyes danced with amusement. "Could you suffer through a bit of soup and pickled cabbage?"
      "Avilan's?" the tangy beet soup he made with a bit of sour cream on it actually sounded rather good.
      "Yes," his deep blue eyes were so kind Diomid felt his skin heat with another blush. "You should eat more."
      "Not hungry," he sighed.
      "Believe me, I understand," he opened the portal in the door and gave the orders to the guards. "I'd be twenty kilos lighter if Nashen didn't pick up on my months off."
      "What happened to Taina?" He asked shyly.
      "Didn't work out, before you left, actually," Arkay grimaced, nodding towards Ilyan. Ouch, her refusal to bear Nashen a child must have hurt. Everyone knew how much he'd doted on her. "We're hoping he'll manage with one of my many kin."
      "I'm afraid I'll have to pass for now," he grimaced. There was no way he could manage to function as Sharm Lord Fatima yet. I'm too young.
      "True enough," Arkay nodded. "Perhaps some day."
      "Maybe," he couldn't meet their eyes. "Is there a place for me here?"
      "Always," Arkay told him. Startled, he looked up.
      "Yes, as Sharm Lord Azov, our home is yours. You've honored your house and your kin beyond recompense. In perpetuity, be welcome among Azov." Avilan's formal welcome of Diomid into Azov as Sharm Lord, only beneath the household of Azov in rank stunned him. Only those who'd paid in their heart's blood ever were given such status. "You have, and more than." Avilan's hand clasped his wrist.
      Diomid grasped him back, sealing his acceptance. "At your will, in the eyes of Rodina and her children of Azov, I give my self to your hand."
      "And I think we both can take a month off," Arkay's extraordinary smile lit his face. I wish I looked like that. Diomid despaired of ever having half the charisma of his kin. Then his words sank in and he stared at Karola, dumbfounded.
      "Yes, I think so," she winked. "I would guess you can do a splice transfer by now."
      "Um, yes," he couldn't refuse. Not as if he would want to. "When?" He didn't dare reach for her as deeply as he'd have to in order to determine her current cycle.
      "Go ahead," she cocked her head at him, seemingly daring him to open up to her. The challenge was irresistible. He reached and felt his eyes roll up in his head at her strength. Here was one who'd not be delicate. The strength of solid stone and steel glimmered in his mind's eye, darkened with need, but still days out from transfer. "You've learned."
      An ephemeral fingertip touched his lips before he could speak of having known Tzarya Fatima. He shook his head at the gesture, but obeyed. "I'm far more experienced than last time." Diomid remembered the awkward youth he'd been when she'd stripped him so many years ago.
      "Time does have that effect," her eyes were knowing with more than her years. "Happens to all of us."
      "Some more than others, m'Lord Azov." He nodded his head.
      "Too true," Avilan sighed. "Would you like to visit with the rest of the horde, as they are coming to be called?"
      "Actually I think I'd like something to eat first," their incredible offer had actually managed to raise a glimmer of appetite in him.
      "Good idea," Arkay leaned back in his seat.
     
      Diomid's fingers traced the nameplate on the room he'd shared with Sasha. It still held both their names. "If you wish to move ...?" Karola asked.
      "No," he shook his head quickly. The nest of cushions had been left as they were. His memory was such he knew the position of each and every one had remained constant, even though the servants had obviously been in here to clean. Their soft leather shoes whispered on the wood floor as he made his way to the bedroom.
      Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. The ornately carved bed still stood in pride of place. Dark sheets had replaced the stained and worn cream linens, but that was the only change. Over the mantle, someone had placed a framed portrait of Sasha. Smiling sadly, he went to it.
      The artist had caught Sasha's expression perfectly. His mobile lips were curved upwards in a knowing smile, just as they had been when he'd sat, sometimes uneasily for the painting. They'd only come off seclusion less than a few hours before the sitting, and Sasha's rear had been a bit sore from their horseplay. Diomid's hand trembled as he touched the wooden frame.
      "We thought, if you came back here, you'd like it." Karola told him.
      "Yes, very much," it gave even more of a feel of his only having stepped out of the room, not gone. The scent of his lover had faded with time, but still he could imagine the sweet amber he'd loved so much. Diomid pulled out one of the drawers. His grandmother's earring lay on black velvet.
      The fantastic firebird in platinum and gemstones winked back at him in the low light. He'd placed it on Sasha's ear, only to have been dismayed at how it clashed with his dark chestnut hair and thought better of the idea. Instead he'd found a delicate ivy and mist piece for him, which had gone with him into the grave. His heart missed a beat.
      "Diomid, don't push it," Karola rested her hand on his shoulder. Diomid could see her reflection in the glass covering Sasha's portrait.
      "I'm fine," he wrapped his hand around the bracelet Tzarya had given him. The warmth of the fire stones soothed him in an odd way. "Truly."
      "If you're sure," her fingers tightened.
      "Yes, I am," he turned to her. A few strands of silver had already appeared at her temples. Diomid reached up to brush them back. "Thank you for caring."
      "Of course," her desire to not loom over him tickled him. "What's so amusing?"
      "You don't have to hunker down," Diomid was used to being short. Even though with Sasha he'd never felt short. "Sit, sit," he waved to the bed.
      "I have to get back," her hand shivered on his shoulder.
      "Don't lie, Karola," he sighed.
      "All right, I feel like I'm surrounded by ghosts here." Her violet eyes held his.
      "As do I," he looked over his shoulder at the painting. "Kindly ones."
      "You win," she bent down and kissed him on the brow.
      "Bad aim," he growled, reaching up to puller her down the rest of the way. Her chuckle was far more light hearted as he kissed her squarely on the lips. He found he'd actually missed such contact with the opposite larity and hummed as the shock of adult contact ran through his body. "Tasty." Diomid tried to distance himself a bit from his body.
      "True," her grin had been pasted on a bit crooked. "I look forward to the end of the week."
      "As do I," he admitted, caressing her cheek and then letting his fingertips brush down her body.
      "Smooth, very smooth," her heartbeat made the fine cloth of her shirt tremble.
     
      Diomid hadn't been this nervous about a transfer since he'd faced his fourth. He'd removed the traditional black draping over Sasha's portrait and now grinned up at his love. Taking a sort of bottled courage from the image, he breathed deeply and rubbed the hair on his arms smooth. He'd learned a great deal from the Veiled and knew there was going to be a problem.
      "Anyone home?" As he'd asked, Karola had walked in on her own.
      "Sort of," he held out his hand to her.
      "You zlin nervous," her statement of the obvious rocked him back on his heels.
      "I have something to say first," he met her eyes squarely.
      "Yes?" Her tentacles twined with his fingers. The intimate touch brought back a wave of memory. She began to pull away.
      "No," he clasped the strong digits. They felt wonderful, if achingly familiar. "Karola, you have to know. I'm impotent, sexually." There, he got it out.
      "Surely if you managed good transfers?"
      "No," he grimaced. "I can't. We tried," the burning shame of his last attempt was fresh in his mind. Sria had been very kind, and most appreciative of what he had been able to do for her, but he didn't want to face it again. "If you wish to go...?"
      "I don't," she clasped his hand with hers. The contact shunted aside his shame, but there was still a frozen core to his soul. "What would you have me do?"
      "Don't be upset," he watched her silvery tentacles stroke the back of his hand. They felt so wonderful.
      "Never," she tugged him towards her. "As much as you are able, Diomid."
      "Thank you," he tried to grin for her. It didn't work well and came out rather lopsided.
      "Is that why you wanted to have me here?"
      "Yes," he admitted sheepishly. To have either Avilan or Arkay know would have been humiliating in the extreme. Diomid felt no pain from his condition, but he doubted anyone else would understand.
      "They would never say a thing," she looked him right in the eyes.
      "But they would pity," he grimaced. "No fault to them, so would I." He stood on his toes and kissed her soft lips. "So shall we?" He let his free hand come around and pull her down. Her silky, thick hair twined between his fingers.
      "Hmmmmm," her eyes had softened. He gave her a quick lick. She chuckled. "Such soft hair," her hand came up to the back of his neck. It was his turn to hum softly. He arched his neck, pleading for more. With strong fingers, she dug into the locked muscles.
      "Oh my," his knees wobbled. This made it really hard to kiss her. Even though he managed to get his eyes to focus and found himself staring at her amazing chest.
      "Go ahead, Avilan and Arkay do," she continued to work at the knots in his neck and pulled him closer. He found himself nose first in the most padded part of her anatomy. "They're big because I'm nursing Ilyan, silly."
      Her neck rub made his response incoherent. Not wishing to zlin the complete idiot, he tried to surreptitiously refrain from drooling. It didn't work very well. Oh Gods this feels good, he moaned to himself. A strong Sime arm came around behind his back as he knees gave out completely. "You're way underweight, Diomid."
      "Sorry," he mumbled through his growing relaxation. "Don't stop."
      "Onto the bed with you," in what must have been a practiced gesture, she knelt down and caught him up before he could hit the floor. "Rubber knees," her cheerful commentary made him grin. "That's better."
      "I'm supposed to be doing the work," but it felt so wonderful to have someone cosset him. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
      "You'd better not be, or I'll throw you back for being unripe," as if she did it all the time, she tossed him onto the big featherbed and followed. "I do," her eyes were bright with amusement. "Arkay gets himself into a snarled knot on a regular basis."
      "I'll probably feel a bit like him," the first flickers of need were loosening the bonds on his tongue.
      "Indeed you do," one of her eyelids dropped in a wink. "Not my place to worry it, but Avilan knows."
      "How?" He struggled to sit up.
      "He always does, not that he tells me most of the time," she pushed him back into the mattress. "Now, as I am Lord Azov, you're going to do what I say."
      "You do know how to deal with a Sergeyevich," he muttered under his breath.
      "Indeed," she cocked her head. The warm weight of her zlinning tugged forth his own need a shade more. "Ah, poor lad," her eyes held understanding. "No, if you are not comfortable with it, I'll not say a thing." Her fingertip touched his lips.
      "Thank you," he kissed her touch.
      "Now, as I know a certain other Sharm Lord Sergeyevich can get his back up in a knot when he's not been feeling well, I would assume the same is true of you. Turn over," she didn't wait for him to protest, but instead flipped him over and stripped both his tunic and shirt off.
      "Hey," he told the blankets. They listened as well as Karola did.
      "Have got to feed you up," her hand spread over his back. She reached for the bedside table. He had no idea what had been left in there. "Quit squirming." The drawer slid open. Karola whistled in astonishment. He cringed.
      "Just don't get any clove oil in your tentacle sheathes," he sighed, realizing Karola probably didn't see anything she didn't recognize.
      "Not sure if mint oil is any better," out of the corner of his eye, he could see her pull out some of his favorite lavender scented walnut oil. "Good choice, hmmmm?"
      All he could do was nod sheepishly. He really was glad she didn't go rummaging through the rest of the drawers. Some of the other implements would have been far more embarrassing. Even though perhaps later.
      "Your smile is absolutely wicked, Diomid."
      "Later," he promised.
     

Chapter 27

      Diomid was glad he could send Karola away with a smile and a laugh. As it had been every month since he'd seen Sasha in his dream, he'd enjoyed the physical contact with a Sime after transfer, but his body'd been unresponsive. Sighing, he looked up at the canopy overhead.
      "Time to get going," since he didn't have any urge for sexual intercourse, he figured there was no reason to waste time in seclusion. He flipped the blankets aside and padded into the bathroom. A quick shower and shave later, he was ready to get back to work.
      It felt good to get back into harness. Arkay was still in seclusion, having let Karola strip him to keep him in cycle with her. And hopefully get her properly bedded, Diomid did regret not having had the interest. Even though her soft curves had been a bit too Gen for his tastes, her body heat had been pure Sime.
      A sharm guard made a fantastic double take. "Yes, I'm back," he told the woman.
      "Be good te be seein ye, m'Lord," her tentacles clutched at her spear.
      "It's good to be back," he tried to reassure her with his denuded field. She dropped her eyes. "Be well and do your best, renSime," the feeling of rejection left a chill on his arms.
      "At your will, my Lord Diomid." Her shaking voice made his own stomach clench. He hadn't eaten, well, in a few days and her unease was making it worse. Knowing nothing he could do would make it better, he hurried past. On the far side of the sharm, he found Arkay's office a shambles.
      "Ouch," he eyed the stacks of tablets and piles of record books. Dust had collected on some of them they'd been sitting undisturbed so long. With a will, he threw himself into organizing them. Before long he had all the back tablets recorded and books well on their way to being up to date.
      Diomid found the keys to the drug vault by dint of judicious scanning, and prepared to do a quick inventory.
      "Arkay don't ask us te do it," a middle aged renGen eyed the ring suspiciously. "Yer thinkin o'getting a pick me up?"
      "Gods no," he put on his best scowl. "Why ever would you think such a thing?"
      "Rumors have it Arkay ain't above it," the woman dropped her eyes.
      "Rumors are none of your business."
      "What makes you mister Sharm Lord high and mighty?"
      "I've earned it," even though it didn't work very well trying to glare up at her. "Your name is?"
      "RenGen Tami," her nager trembled. Before she could duck, he grabbed her shoulder. The distorted twisting sensation of phetamin addiction was clear with the contact.
      He snorted in disgust, "Pots shouldn't call teacups black, renGen."
      "Don't turn me in," she rubbed at her arms nervously.
      "Quit spreading rumors," he warned.
      "In the sharm?"
      "About your betters," he let a growl come into his voice. "Get out of here."
      "At yer will, m'Lord." She scurried from his grasp.
      Diomid leaned against the desk as soon as the door closed behind her. It would be so easy to loose all his pain and torment with the contents these keys unlocked. He closed his eyes. What would it feel like to no longer hurt? What would it feel like to no longer be ridden by his demons? What would it feel like to have even some little bit of peace?
      On nerveless feet, he made his way to the great vault, second to only Sergei's. He waved away the assistance of the pharmacist.
      "Are you sure?" the sharm lord's eyes were wary. Is he going ...? the image of Diomid abusing the contents of the vault were painfully clear to his mind's eye.
      "Of course not," he snapped, clenching his jaw. "I have too much work to do which requires my head to be clear." He stared into the woman's dark eyes. She lowered them first. "No, I'm past that."
      "I only wouldn't condemn you for it."
      "Thank you," he stepped into her lowered line of sight. "Really, I'm not going to do such a thing."
      "Some do," she shrugged.
      "And I'm not going to condemn anyone if the records don't match. I do know how easy it is to get in and out of this thing," he waved his keys as the iron bound door. "Any half way decent lord can prescribe half the drugs in the vault and with the connivance of a sharm lord, there's very little they can't get."
      "What of the Sergei only drugs?"
      "Not my business," he looked at her carefully. "I didn't think we held any."
      "Some," she flushed a bit. "For the use of Arkay Sergeyevich."
      "I see," he opened the door. Careful to keep the keys on his person so he couldn't get locked in, he scanned the racks of vials and powders with a practiced eye. "Half of these are out dated."
      "I know," she bit at her lower lip. "We haven't had the cash to keep up our stock."
      "Or you've been replacing in bottles," he sighed. It was a mess. Some vials, particularly the black labeled, were so old the printed had faded to illegibility on their faces. "Out."
      "At your will," she left with a skitter of soft clad feet. Hours later, Diomid had a tidy pile of containers to be destroyed with their contents.
      His fingers slipped as he reached for a bottle of halirin. It shattered on the floor. He jumped out of the way. "Oh hell," there was no way he would ask anyone to clean up this. Not only black labeled, but viciously addictive to any Gen, he couldn't ask another to handle broken glass which had halirin all over it. With shaking fingers, he managed to pluck up the single piece which had the label still attached.
      The expiration date was many years past. Relieved it would be significantly less potent than fresh, he grabbed a whisk broom and dust pan from the wall. After spreading fresh sand on the spill, he scooped up all of it and dumped it into the sharps container.
      Making sure he didn't miss anything, he caught a twinkle from a shard which had embedded itself in the lowest shelf. Using a trickle of water, he cleaned it off. After taking a deep breath, he set himself to pull the bit of broken glass from the soft wood.
      His nails slipped as he pulled at it. Fresh, sharp pain coursed through his nerves. Diomid shivered at the sensation. It was so very different from the dull ache of his loss. He heard a moan in the tiny room. It was himself. Blood trickled down his finger.
      "Yessss," he pulled the sliver out and rested it on his palm. With the slightest gesture, he could drive it into his flesh. It would be a simple accident, no more. No one would have to know. It wouldn't affect his ability to work, unlike the halirin it had contained.
      Diomid clenched his fist. The pure knife of fleshy pain drove the ache from his heart and soul. His breath hissed in his throat. "Oh, Gods, yes," finally his body responded. Crouching in the store room, Diomid cried for the joy of having regained his body.
     
      "I'm worried about him, Arkay," Karola caressed the thick hair on Arkay's chest.
      "As am I," he turned to face her. "He's not well."
      "Don't I know it," Avilan sighed behind her. "But what can we do?"
      "Let him be for now," Arkay grimaced. "I'm doing my best to keep an eye on him."
      "He's not taking anything, is he?" Karola wished Diomid hadn't made her promise to keep the information of his impotence to herself.
      "Not that I know of," his broad hand caressed her hip. "Did he say anything?"
      "Nothing I can legitimately pass on," she looked into his gray blue eyes.
      "No, I'd never ask you to violate a confidence," Arkay let her off the hook. "He's been working himself to a wreck, Karola."
      "As you don't when you're stressed?" Avilan's tone was darkly amused. Karola waved her hand at him to hush. "Both of you."
      "True enough," she managed to swat him one. "But there's more going on in that young man's head than work."
      "As I would expect," Arkay laced his fingers behind his head and looked towards the canopy overhead. "He's had a horrible shock. I wouldn't expect him to pull out for years, if ever."
      "And that's what's getting under my skin," Karola rattled on, letting her tongue have free rein. "He's acting too normal."
      "How so?" Avilan asked gently.
      "Other than the fact he's working sixteen and twenty hour days, there's nothing to show he misses Alexi." The deadness in Diomid's field made her want to scrub at her arms. "I mean he's even eating fairly normally now and I know he doesn't have a regular partner."
      "He's played with Kila a couple of times," Avilan noted.
      "Now there's an odd couple. She's days behind him." Karola's tentacles twined in protest. "How can he stand to let her take him."
      "He doesn't," Arkay said, rather unexpectedly.
      "What?" She stared at him. "Then how does he get taken?"
      "I thought you'd been stripping him?" Arkay stared back at her.
      "No, I haven't," she shook her head. "There's something very wrong here, Arkay."
      "Maybe he's stressing it off," she could tell he was trying to reassure her.
      "Dumping selyn through stress?" Karola knew some Sharm Lords could have very erratic cycles if they were badly stressed, which certainly described Diomid.
      "Possibly," Arkay didn't seem too convinced.
      "He's not entirely sane, Arkay, Karola," Avilan told them. "Give him time, as long as he isn't damaging himself."
      "Not quite," Arkay concurred. "Close though."
      "How long can he go on like this?"
      "Months, years if he doesn't damage his heart or liver with underdraw or lack of post reaction," Arkay captured one of her hands and nibbled on a tentacle. "The best I can do is make sure he doesn't."
      "What about finding him another partner."
      "NO!" both men were so vehement, Karola blinked in astonishment.
      "Let's be as quiet as we can around him, for a while at least," Avilan's advice seemed to please Arkay as well, as the older man nodded.
      "Yes, if he's not destructive, actively, let him try to find his own balance. I would not put myself between him and his desires unless they threaten another." Arkay grimaced. "He may well choose to suicide yet, and it isn't our place to stop him."
      "But if he doesn't want to," she clenched her fist. "Oh, I know it's unethical, but if he's fighting himself, don't we have a responsibility to help him see which way he wants to go?"
      "Yes, that's the problem," Arkay pounded the bed with his fist. "He's had plenty of opportunity for suicide, that's for sure."
      "How so?" She asked, unease coiling in her gut.
      "He's taken over the vault because of the rumors of my, well, past indiscretions." Arkay grimaced. "No, I'm not complaining. I don't want to be around so much temptation."
      "And he hasn't availed himself of them?"
      "None," Arkay caught her eyes again. "I'd know."
      "Then we watch and wait?"
      "I'm afraid so," Avilan rested his chin on her shoulder. Arkay nodded agreement.
     
      Diomid tried to unlock the cabinet near the fireplace. It took him three tries, his hands were shaking so badly. He had to get in there. Tears spangled his vision before he got it open. "Yes," he breathed as the sticky lock finally gave way to his persuasion. It had been years since he'd resorted to their enticement, but he had to find some peace.
      The gleam of light on polished steel rewarded his efforts. The scalpels he'd filched from the infirmary winked at him in complicity. The first line of crimson across his thigh was always the hardest. Pure physical pain seared through the dross of nightmares. His hand steadied.
      By the third, his loins had tightened in anticipation. "Not yet," he promised his unruly body. Realizing he'd turned up the lights, he waved them off. The ruby glow of the coals in the fireplace echoed the trickles of red down his leg.
      At last he'd finished. He could still feel each touch of steel on flesh. The ache of loss had been drowned out again by the brilliance of fire. At last he could cry. The renSime who'd died under his hands hadn't needed to. He could have saved him. The broken flesh hadn't been so bad.
      If only Diomid could have caught his arms. He hadn't let a Sime take him since Karola, but he should have tried harder. The salt of his tears burned with renewed life in the cuts he'd made. Even blinded by tears, he could see the man's crushed thigh.
      Arkay had said there wasn't anything more they could do. The renSime had begged for peace. Arkay had given it to him. Diomid himself had been unable to intervene. There was no more sacred charge than to give peace when honestly requested, as it had been, but he'd still longed to save the man. Weeping even harder, he pulled his knees to his chest.
      "I could have saved him," he cried on his knees. Blood ran wet and slick across his chest. He panted at the renewed shock of pain as the cuts reopened with the motion. "Yes, take me," the red of blessed agony pushed away the image of the lost renSime. He threw his head backwards and hissed as pain merged with the pleasure of forgetting.
      Shivers tightened his skin. His heart pounded in his chest. Diomid knew to the millimeter how deeply he could cut without risk, but that edge was seductive. He could see selyn sliding from his body, freeing it to feel the real world, as it had after transfer. Darkness returned to his vision as he passed beneath the threshold of need again.
      His body demanded release as sensation bombarded his skin. "Yes!" He howled to the uncaring night. Freed of need by his own actions, he met his release in the dark womb of pain he'd created to assuage his soul.
     
      Arkay ran his finger down the column of numbers again. Where are the gauze and bandages going? He knew there hadn't been so many minor injuries to come through since last winter. Most could be healed in moments under his or Diomid's attention. He paused for thought. And it was all at once, late last night with no signature.
      The image of Diomid's halting progress this morning was burned in his brain. Since he'd come back from the veiled, the young man had been as unreadable as stone, but his body language spoke volumes. Staring at the white on black banded book on the shelf, he could remember the words about Sergei as if they were branded on his skin. He, himself, had a decidedly addictive personality. The thought, as usual, made him reach for his pocket.
      Scanning around, he noted everyone but himself and Diomid had gone home. Furtively, he pulled out his pipe, filled it and lit it. "Better," he sighed as the nicotine hit his brain. Avilan would scold him furiously when he got home, but right now he had to think. Why was Diomid limping? He'd done so occasionally in the past as well, he remembered, even when Arkay could think of no reason for his having been injured.
      Tendrils of blue smoke reached for the yellowed ceiling. Arkay snorted again as he realized how often he resorted to smoking his pipe when trying to think through a problem. Teeth clenched on his amber pipe stem, he scanned the lines in the record book again. "Oh hell," he leaned back in his chair. Only one person would require bandages in such quantities rather than simply having his wounds healed, Diomid.
      *If you could come in here a moment?*
      *I am busy,* Diomid sent back an image of his giving a sweet to a tearstained child. "There you go little one. Now don't run so fast on the stairs next time."
      "I'll try," her big blue eyes were as guiless as any youngsters.
      "If you don't run on the stairs, you can't trip on them so hard you hurt yourself."
      "You run stairs," her lower lip stuck out in an unattractive pout.
      "I'm an adult. I have to so I can keep healthy. I've hurt myself too." Arkay could feel the screaming pain in Diomid's thighs as he knelt before the child. They all knew he'd taken to spending hours in the weight room, but this was more than muscle soreness. "But you're a growing child and should learn to run better on flat ground first."
      "Yes, otyet," she ducked her blond head shyly.
      "Not otyet, just a friend who wants to see you healthy," he mussed her short hair. "Now off with you. I have another friend to talk to."
      "OK," she grinned. "Look at what I got!" Her excited shout came back through the door she'd forgotten to close. The girl's caretaker rolled his eyes and followed after her at a run before she could get into more trouble.
      *Now?* His reluctance was absolutely clear.
      *Yes, I think so,* he quavered.
      *If you only think so, I would like to work out first,* Diomid cut him off, not rudely, precisely, but with far more alactricity than Arkay would have preferred.
      With the bit of contact, Arkay's suspicions had been confirmed. "Do I really have to rake him over the coals for this?" He asked the ceiling. What Diomid did to his own body was really his prerogative. In law, in the Demense of Azov, Diomid was Arkay's equal. Only outside Azov did Arkay have rank over the young man. The truth stuck in his craw like a forked stick.
      His pipe had gone out with all his ruminations. Growling at its perfidy, he pried himself out of his overstuffed chair and headed for the door. Maybe if I go work out with him, he'll open up. Of course sweating a lot and then sluicing off would remove the worst of the tobacco smell and then maybe he wouldn't get another dirty look from his housemates, either.
     
      Diomid wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a tattered towel and concentrated on the lead and steel apparatus. His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep breath. Straining, he removed the bar from the holder. "Careful, my Lord," the young lords on either end nearly broke his concentration.
      "Shut up," he hissed and lowered the bowing bar slowly. The two hundred kilos descended majestically. A slight tremble warned him. It took all his will to raise it back up. Good, healthy pain arced across the muscles of his chest and arms. Breathing through his nose one last time, he set the weights back down without a clank.
      "Impressive," Arkay's deep rumble startled him so badly a cramp threatened to knot his entire breast. Another deep breath and it retreated.
      "Yes," he grinned up at him. Diomid rolled his shoulders and sat up. The burning weariness of well worked muscles felt good to his tired mind. He'd found years ago he could keep his field low by working his body so hard it burned off selyn to heal. The result had been worth it. He rarely felt need of any sort and liked it that way. It was peaceful.
      "How much was that?"
      "Two hundred," he shrugged if off as if it were nothing. He'd feel it in the morning, but Arkay's summons had so rattled him, he'd had to do something. He rubbed his gloved hands on his thighs. "Want to help me with squats?"
      "Like those monsters?" Arkay eyed the heavy bar he'd lifted with only his arms. His doubt was nearly visible.
      "More," he got up and placed the heavy weights on the slider. After checking the padding, he set his shoulders against the weight. The two lords gave him the oddest look. Having Simes as spotters could be a pain, but they could augment and he couldn't.
      "Yer gonna have to help with this one, m'Lord Arkay." The younger of the two eyed him dubiously. "We don't have the mass."
      "Neither do I," Arkay flipped his towel over a convenient rack. "But I can heal him if he manages to hurt himself." He stood in front of Diomid.
      With a wicked grin, Diomid set himself and pushed. Almost three hundred kilos of lead and steel did his bidding. His thighs held easily under the load. As slowly as he could, he let the massive weight lower towards the floor. Showing off, he raised it back up in a smooth lift. "One," he breathed. By the fifth, his thighs were trembling and burning, but he managed the same, smooth gestures. A faint clank made him flinch as he replaced the weights.
      Arkay's gray blue eyes were huge as he looked around the end. "Good grief, Diomid!"
      "It's a hobby," he swiped more sweat out of his eyes. "I might be short, but I figure I should make some use of it." He grinned.
      "I can see you haven't been abusing yourself," Arkay's response nearly made Diomid slump in relief. "Mind if I try?"
      "Better take some of it off, m'Lord," Diomid winked, making a joke.
      "Damn straight," Arkay loosened the cotter pins.
      "Let us," their companions scurried around to take over. The bar had so much arc to it, they had to be careful weights didn't slide off onto the floor. "Two fifty?"
      "Better make it two hundred," he eyed the weights dubiously. "I don't usually do this."
      "It's fun," Diomid set the other side easily. "There you go."
      "Remember I'm an old man," Arkay tried to scrunch under where Diomid'd had it set. Diomid waved the Simes back and pushed the bar up a couple of more notches himself. "Wow." Arkay looked down Diomid's shirt. A bit selfconciously, Diomid looked up at him.
      "I've seen smaller breasts on Sime women."
      Diomid blushed furiously. So had he. "Yes, well," he warned both Simes not to snicker. "So, think you can do it?" He stood far closer than his spotters had. He did not want Arkay to overextend himself. Reaching with his mind, he realized Arkay'd misplaced the padded bar. "Here," he lifted it a bit and shifted it to the right position.
      "Thanks," Arkay's neck was too tight.
      "Relax," Diomid rested his hands over the bar. "It's from here," he used his talents to show Arkay how to balance the weight. "That's better."
      "Thanks," Arkay managed the first two squats, but Diomid caught his thighs trembling on the third. With his field, he told the lords to come in and lighten the load. Arkay dropped out from under it like a poleaxed ox. "Ow," he whimpered.
      Diomid frantically ran his hands over Arkay's legs. There weren't any tears, but he'd badly strained a few muscles. With a twist in his mind, he convinced Arkay's body to heal the insult. He also caught a bruise forming on Arkay's neck where the bar had shifted. "I think two hundred was a bit much."
      "I think so too," Arkay grimaced. "You make it look easy."
      "I've been down here twice a day for a few of years now, Arkay," he tapped the older man's nose. "You don't do this kind of heavy lifting?"
      "No, never before," he grinned. "Now I know why."
      "Come on, it's not so tough once you get used to it."
      "You used to say that about riding."
      "Yes I did," Diomid grinned at having gotten back at his old mentor. "Let us show you around this place." Only Diomid required the assistance of two lords when he worked out here, but they were both quite experienced with the equipment. After having gotten his pride squashed down to size, Diomid was glad to see Arkay listened to him when they went on to the other exercises.
      By the time they were done, Arkay was a sodden mess and Diomid was feeling ready to do another round. "Tell you what, Arkay, go take a shower," he sniffed the air pointedly.
      "You're off the hook for our talk," he was still puffing a bit. "Later?"
      "Sure," Diomid smiled, knowing full well there would be no later. Then Arkay grinned back. Uh-oh.
     

Chapter 28

      Arkay couldn't help but grin as the trap sprang shut. If Diomid said no, he'd show more backbone than he ever had before in his life, which would do him good, if he went along, well, then Arkay'd have him right where he wanted, "I'm going to require some help washing my hair." He pulled the sodden mass over his shoulder ruefully. This was not feigned. Usually he tied it up better before he got it sweaty.
      Diomid looked towards the weight bench hopefully and sighed.
      "If it's too much bother," Arkay didn't keep the rasp from his voice.
      "No, not at all," he shook his head and flipped his towel over his shoulder. "Why don't you come up to my rooms. I do not want to be ogled in the shower." The younger man flipped his nager towards the two lords. Both of them tried to look innocent. Arkay well knew why lords spotted Gens in the weight room, the chance to zlin scantily clad, straining Gens was a treat for them.
      "They'll enjoy it," Arkay teased him. The fury of his blush was entirely out of proportion. "Hey," he put his hand on Diomid's shoulder. Muscle twitched beneath his hand, like a horse shaking off flies. "I'm fine with your bath." Through the contact, he could feel the heat of Diomid's body. Surprisingly enough, it was only slightly warmer than Gen normal.
      "Thanks," he rolled his eyes, like any other young Sharm Lord still a bit insecure at being zlinned by lords. Diomid took the stairs three at a time, daring him to do the same. His knees trembled by the time he reached the top, long after the younger man. "You look flattened."
      I feel worse, his thighs hadn't hurt this bad since he'd taken up stair running again at Azov. He clutched at the banister as he tried to catch his breath.
      "Since you didn't let me finish my second round," Diomid swept him off his feet. Arkay yelped in surprise and grabbed his neck. It was like grabbing an oak tree. No Sime, no matter how strong, had this feel of solidity. Diomid didn't even pant as he ran up the rest of the stairs. His chest expanded, but there was no strain at all.
      "I'm impressed," Arkay'd never known any Gen who'd built themselves up like this.
      "It keeps me out of trouble," he shrugged as easily as if Arkay were no heaver than a feather. "You should see sharm lord Betany."
      "I think I have," he rummaged through his memory. "The woman with the black eyes who looks like she could lift my horse?"
      "Same one," Diomid winked as he opened his door. "She's been teaching me. Says I'm a fairly decent study. Wouldn't know." As Arkay's feet came back to the floor, he had to keep a hold of Diomid to stay upright.
      "You do this every day?"
      "A couple of times, actually," he tossed the towel into the laundry chute. Arkay threw his and missed. Diomid snickered as he tossed it into the air with his toes and managed to bat it into the chute.
      "Show off," the burn of overused muscles was fading to the pleasant warmth of fatigue. "A couple of times?" Diomid's words finally sank in.
      "Yes, in the morning and in the evening," he set the taps for warm. Steam rose from the water. Arkay was still mopping sweat from the back of his neck. "Into the shower with you."
      "It's too warm," he protested.
      "No it's not." Diomid picked him up again. "In." Feeling very much like a horse, he let Diomid dump him into the shower, work out clothes and all. He fumbled at the ties to his shirt. "Hold still," Diomid's practiced hands slid him out of his wet clothes. The hot water really did feel good, not that he'd say anything after his initial protest.
      "Been practicing?"
      "Not really," his light blue eyes were shuttered tight. "Sometimes I don't like to wait to get washed off. These clothes can take it." Diomid had left his calf length pants on. "They require as much washing as I do."
      Arkay took off his own in suggestion. He had a feeling he knew why Diomid was being so reticent.
      "Nice bite mark," there was a certain snigger to Diomid's tone. Arkay tried to look back over his shoulder. Off balance, he slipped. He is part tree, Diomid put him back upright.
      "Well, as I don't know how big it is, I'm not sure whose fault it is." Last transfer had been a bit wild, with Nashen joining in to make a fourth. Thinking about it made his mind wander a bit far. Get back here.
      "Looks like you had fun," Diomid raised a suggestive eyebrow.
      "How was yours?"
      "You should well know." Diomid snorted.
      "How so?" He turned around the rest of the way.
      "You have Karola every other month," Diomid finally took off his ragged shirt. There were dozens of fine white lines crossing his huge chest.
      "That was years ago," Arkay was aghast. "How can you stand it?"
      "Well enough," he shrugged, tugging loose his braid. "Don't much miss it really."
      "Like hell," he caught Diomid's chin and made the younger man look at him. Diomid's shirt made a wet smack as it hit the wall. Surprised, he released him.
      "I'm well enough, Arkay. Leave it."
      "Not without transfer or sex."
      "There's more to life than either," Diomid's eyes blazed up at him. "I've found a sort of release. It does well enough as I am."
      "How so?" His arms itched with the thought of going without any sort of intimacy for so long.
      "I'm no good to anyone but myself, Arkay." Diomid's jaw clenched.
      "You no longer have any desire to share of yourself?"
      "It won't do any good," Diomid seemed to shrug again and he stripped off his pants.
      "Hey," Arkay tried to get his attention back. The rough handling he'd given himself had broken open more than one cut tracing across the tops of his thighs. Blood trickled down the young man's legs in parody of the silk ribbons some people would decorate themselves with. "You can talk to me. I am another Sharm Lord."
      "One who's never failed." Diomid pushed past him as if he weren't there and rinsed out his hair. "Of course now you're going to lecture me on this." He waved his hand toward the wounds on his body.
      "No," Arkay didn't bother unbraiding his hair, but rinsed it out as it was. It was far too much bother to mess with more than he had to. Water drowned out whatever response Diomid might have made. He finished off and let the warm water pound into the knotted muscles of his neck. "I'm not your confessor and I'm not your Lord, Diomid. What you do with your body is your own business." Rarely, but thankfully at the most opportune times, Arkay managed to grab onto the characteristic insight of his line. He wasn't sure why, or how, but gave thanks now was one of those times.
      "You outrank me," a brief flicker of light shone through Diomid's gray facade.
      "Not in Azov," he reached for the soap and proceeded to scrub himself thoroughly.
      "Here, let me get your back," Diomid turned him around. Is this what Karola feels like sometimes? Arkay wondered at the ease with which Diomid could push him around. It was a bit disturbing. Very few people out massed Arkay to the point where they could move him about like a child. Huge hands dug into the muscles of his back and shoulders.
      "Oh my," even Avilan couldn't rub backs this well. Arkay leaned against the tiled wall before he melted. Or at least part of him melted. Part of him thought this was quite fine. Would you shut up? He glared downwards. The fact Diomid worked all the way down to his buttocks did not help. "Too bad you aren't interested in Sharm Lords."
      "Not at all," Diomid snorted. "Or perhaps I should say least of all."
      "Your turn," Arkay pushed himself back upright.
      "If you insist."
      "I do," he tried to turn it into a jest with a flip of his field.
      "Whatever," the shutters came back down in Diomid's nager with a clang. By the time he got turned around, Diomid's back was to him. Arkay had to close his eyes for a moment. He'd never seen anyone quite this impressive. While Arkay was not a small man, Diomid's shoulders looked like they were nearly a meter across.
      Trying not to think of what he'd like to be doing, Arkay soaped up his hands and began rubbing Diomid's shoulders. Diomid rolled his head, as if asking for more. Arkay tried. Even leaning with all his weight, he could hardly make a dent in Diomid's flesh.
      "Relax, Diomid. I'm not going to take you." Not that his body didn't want to.
      "Didn't think you would," muscle twitched beneath his hands. Finally, Arkay pounded on Diomid's back. "Oh, that feels good." His head tipped back. "Do that some more, harder." The leverage was vile, but finally Arkay managed to get Diomid at an angle where he could do some good. Diomid's skin reddened as he hammered on his back with the sides of his hands. "Thank you," he flipped his head around. "Oh, much better."
      Arkay was panting again. I really have to get back in shape. The past years of playing with the children and sitting on his behind, or Avilan, were not doing his health any good.
      "I wasn't going to say anything," Diomid twisted the water out of his hair after turning off the shower. "But you should be spending more time in the salle and exercise rooms."
      "I've always been a bit lazy," he grinned wryly, trying to get Diomid to open up again.
      "Aren't we all," Diomid let another flicker of light through his shuttered mind. "Do you want to talk for a bit?" Is that a touch of desire for conversation I sense?
      "If you don't mind my stomach growling through it?" Arkay didn't dare sound too eager.
      "Since it's just us Gens, how about we make pigs of ourselves?"
      Arkay had to bite back a cheer. "Sounds great." His mouth watered in anticipation. "Fish?"
      "Your hunger is catching," Diomid wrapped a towel around his hips and padded towards the door. This was eminently distracting to Arkay. "Do I have spots?"
      Arkay realized he'd been standing on one foot and staring the entire time Diomid had been ordering dinner. "Oh, no, um," he looked at the towel threatening to mutiny and throw itself on the floor in surrender. Did he use a hand towel?
      "No," Diomid chuckled. "I use so many of them, the laundry has given up and I get all the mismatches and random bits of toweling. Works great on the hair." He wrapped a strip around his own and tied it on top of his head. "Here," again Arkay found himself turned around. He stomped his foot in frustration. It worked for Avilan.
      "I'm not Karola to be distracted by a pouting Sharm Lord," Diomid neatly took care of Arkay's hair for him. "Better?"
      "Much," he eyed Diomid dubiously.
      "I cared for Sasha alone his last months," Diomid rubbed his thumb against his forefinger. "I'm afraid I got rather used to taking care of someone."
      "Why haven't you looked for another partner?" Arkay dove in at the deep end, as he would have preferred had the situation been reversed.
      "I looked," Diomid lied.
      Arkay raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
      "All right, why should I look?" Another flare of light glimmered through Diomid's reticence.
      "Aren't you lonely?"
      "Not really," he leaned back against the cushions. "I spend most of my time around other people. It's rather nice to be able to spend some time alone."
      "Some, but not all, certainly?" Memories of long winter nights talking with Alexi and Diomid in this very room cluttered Arkay's mind.
      "I'm not so alone," Diomid's hand caressed the large, worn pillow Alexi had favored. "I have my memories."
      "But they can't keep you warm at night."
      "They do," he sighed. "Gods Arkay, I miss him so much. But here, at least, his spirit remains."
      "In your heart as well, I would think." Arkay waved Diomid back as he went to get the food from the door. "Be well and do your best," he dismissed the servants easily. One of them blinked a bit and Arkay realized he was still wearing nothing but his hair and a towel around it. Sometimes he forgot how body modest the renSimes could be.
      "At your will, m'Lord Arkay," the timid one blushed a Kirov red and they scurried away. One of the guards winked before going back to his resting stance.
      He placed the heavy platter on the low table before the cold hearth. "Karola's been talking with the cooks again," Arkay eyed the enormous quantity of food. "You have to help."
      "I take it she tries to stuff you?"
      "At least when Avilan doesn't manage," Arkay grinned at Diomid's blush. "Help yourself." Diomid bowed his head momentarily, as if praying, and then reached for the flat bread.
      "I love these carrots," he scooped up a big bite of the tangy carrot and aubergine mixture. "Good."
      "Managed to steal one of Nashen's undercooks," Arkay bragged. "She wanted to see the sun occasionally. We traded for a clerk who was so agoraphobic he had a hard time in the conservatory."
      "Good trade," Diomid nodded. "I am glad you let me keep these rooms."
      Arkay wondered if had been such a good idea at the time, and now entertained even more doubts. "Of course. It isn't as if you don't deserve a suite like this on your own."
      "It's huge, Arkay," Diomid chuckled. "Not that I don't appreciate it."
      "Why don't you find someone to share it with?"
      "Matchmaker," Diomid tapped him on the nose with an oily finger. "What Lord would have a Sharm Lord like me?" Crippled for anything other than a first transfer, the thought was shockingly loud.
      "How so?" Arkay made sure Diomid got some of the fish. The cream and onion sauce had been perfectly seasoned with dill and a bit of wine.
      "Oh hell, Arkay, I would have thought Karola would have told you," Diomid caught his eyes. There was a well of darkness behind them no years could erase. "I'm impotent. If some Lord wanted me for transfer, that's all they'd get."
      "After all this time?"
      "Most likely," he shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. "I'm not on duty tomorrow."
      "I didn't think so," Arkay's thoughts ran in tiny little circles. "Then why don't you take one of the first transfers and find out?"
      "I have no desire for transfer or sex, Arkay." He shrugged as if it were no matter, but his field was streaked with blood red shame. "It's as if that part of me died with Sasha."
      "Every spring the green returns from under the snows, Diomid," he quoted one of his favorite passages from the Way of the Rus.
      "It's been a long winter," Diomid flicked his fingers towards the hearth. "Truly, I don't feel it."
      "Because you can't or because you can't let yourself?"
      "It's a physical thing, Arkay," the muscles of his neck corded. "I can't even get an erection."
      "When you haven't had a transfer at your own level in years? I'd be shocked if you could." He stretched out his legs.
      "And what new Sime is going to be able to take me?"
      "One of our children should be able to," he put his hand over Diomid's. "Or we can go outside Azov."
      "No," Diomid shook his head. "Not outside Azov. This is my home, my hearth, my heart."
      But he hadn't rejected the offer entirely. "Then the first of our children to change over, and you'll try?"
      "How can you offer such a thing?" Diomid's eyes blazed. In their depths, Arkay imagined he could see Kirina. The flash of precognition rocked him back on his heels.
      "Because I want them to have the best," Arkay fought down his disorientation. It was rare when he foresaw anything, but he'd never been wrong before. It would be years yet before she changed over, but where there was a future, Arkay figured there was hope.
      "Then take them yourself or let Avilan," Diomid shook his head.
      "You'll be high field," he hoped the blackmail might keep Diomid from bleeding his own field down. "The twins are nearly of an age."
      "Oh, damn you, Arkay," amusement countered Diomid's words. "I'll do it. If I don't catch them for their first, when the first one changes over, I'll find a partner."
      "Would you let us help, if there is a problem?" Another flash of insight made him want to chuckle. There was one Lord who was almost a perfect match for Diomid. They were of an age as well, and a taste.
      "If they're over me, or if they require my help, I'll do it," Diomid grasped Arkay's hand in return. "I only hope it isn't Vayer."
      "He's going to be a Sharm Lord," Arkay insisted.
     
      Diomid looked at Arkay with new eyes. His insistence on his first born being Gen had set in stone. At their lessons this month, he'd sensed the first traces of Vayer's impending change over. It would be sometime next spring, but the signs were perfectly clear to any Sharm Lord who could see past their preconceptions.
      "Be that as it may," his thumb traced circles in Arkay's palm. If nothing else, Vayer would change over well beyond Diomid's capacity. "What would you have me do to prepare?" As if his roots had broken through to water and food again after winter's dormancy, he trembled as energy coursed through his body.
      "Get used to being around Simes again," Arkay's tone was hesitant and shy.
      "You mean Karola, don't you," Diomid caught his meaning easily.
      "Yes," Arkay nodded. "She misses you."
      "I haven't been avoiding her," he thought of all the times he'd worked with her in the infirmary or with her children.
      "But you haven't been willing to open up to her, either," Arkay managed to stick his finger right on another sore spot. He was good at it this evening, Diomid noted.
      "True enough," his stomach quivered around the huge meal he'd eaten. "I don't know if I could."
      "Then perhaps it's time you found out."
      "Maybe," he thought of the last time he'd felt Sime tentacles on his wrists. Again he felt a quiver of interest, as if he'd made it through to the far side of some great stone wall. Diomid remembered the feel of a sleek Sime curled up against him.
      "Although I do see some physical problems may well have abated," Arkay made a wry face.
      "Oh," Diomid ducked his head and blushed furiously.
     
      Diomid knew Lord Nashen Fatima was bringing Tyanir Sergeyevich with him to first thaw. This was plenty of excuse to keep him at home. He had no desire to deal with his and Arkay's obnoxious half-brother. How Nashen, or for that much matter anyone, could deal with the overbearing Tyanir was beyond Diomid's comprehension.
      A grue had crawled up Diomid's spine when he say Vayer rub at the back of his neck while running to take his place in the dining hall at Azov. Oh shen, Diomid realized what was going on. It was going to be a long night. Arkay still insisted Vayer was going to establish.
      Over the last months, Diomid had kept a close eye on Vayer. The lad had slimmed down a great deal, despite his father trying to feed him at every opportunity. Diomid flicked his field hard and Vayer turned his head towards the alcove Diomid hid in. Tonight or tomorrow, Diomid knew. He only hoped Vayer would have the sense to not eat too much. For some reason, change over always emptied the poor child's stomach, sometimes violently.
      Knowing full well where Vayer had made his little nest for exactly this situation, Diomid hurried off to be sure he'd managed to get everything he'd require, other than a Sharm Lord of course. There were a few ragged blankets and a chipped basin in the corner of the room. Actually it was rather clever of Vayer, as all young people in change over tended to want a soft, protected, hidden place. He made note to modify the change over suites in Azov to a configuration similar to what Vayer had provided for himself.
      This would never do. Diomid prowled around the old building until he'd gathered a large selection of far warmer blankets. There was still a great deal of snow on the ground outside, and this was an outside room. A freezing draft crawled up Diomid's kador. He lit a brazer and set it behind a screen where no one would notice it. After creating a comfortable nest for the Sime to be, he went to make sure someone would find Vayer in time when he was ready.
      The feast went on interminably. Diomid was stiff and cold by the time Vayer bowed himself out of the dining hall. As soon as the door closed behind the lad, he bolted for his nest. As softly as he could, so as not to alert him, Diomid scanned Vayer. He cut it close, Diomid's heart raced with concern.
      "I have to do something," he told himself. Whistling, off-pitch of course, Diomid placed a sharm lord's veil across his face and made for the dining hall. Holding the image of Vayer's hiding spot in the forefront of his mind, he walked into the hall and bent over Arkay's shoulder.
      "Yes?" Arkay asked, not really paying any attention to Diomid, but rather some bit of esoterica he was debating with their father.
      "If you have a moment?" Diomid really wanted to jab Arkay in the ribs. But doing so to a high field Sharm Lord in a mixed crowd would not have been healthy. Nashen dropped his fork onto his plate with a stunning crash and bolted from the room.
      "What's his problem?" Tyanir muttered around a mouthful of pasta and began to stand.
      "Lord problem," Diomid put a rasp in his voice. "He'll be fine."
      "My job," Tyanir looked down his beaked nose.
      "Shut up, Tyanir," Arkay growled. "He probably wants some time alone." You've been hanging all over him all day.
      "If you say so," he sat back down uneasily.
      "Now Vanya," both Vanyas looked at Arkay expectantly. "Father, you have to admit caffeine addiction is not crippling to Simes."
      "It is, Arkay," he snapped back, in what was obviously a well worn argument. "Once they become addicted, they can't live without it."
      "I can't live without water, either," Arkay clapped his hand on the table.
      "Arkay," Diomid did nudge him.
      "What?" Arkay asked and then turned back to his father. "No, they're fine. Unless they take a lot of it, far more than most could ever afford, their kidneys aren't going to fail."
      "Move," he jabbed Arkay in the ribs, making Karola glare at him.
      "If you'll excuse me a moment?"
      "Certainly," Vanya smiled. "It isn't as if we haven't been debating this point for the last ten years."
      Diomid tugged at Arkay's sleeve. That was sure to get his attention. It did and they hurried out to the hall.
      "What is it, Diomid," Arkay glared down at him. "And what's with the sharm lord's kador?"
      "I couldn't let Tyanir see me. And if you don't get a move on, your son is going to die of attrition!"
      "What?!" Arkay bolted ... in the wrong direction.
      "He's not in the infirmary, Arkay," Diomid grabbed the older man by the collar. Thanks to Avilan's workmanship, the garment held. "That way," he made the image of the tiny room again, with a map. Arkay took off at a dead run, in the right direction this time.
      Diomid slumped against the wall, hoping Arkay'd make it in time.

Comment on this Story

Go on to Part 4

Ann Marie's Index

The Secret Pens