A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles #1)

by Foz Meadows

“Just—” I hesitated, hands stalled helplessly in midsign. “—just keep him from my bed, and me from his. You know I can’t be trusted.” “He didn’t deserve you,” Markel signed fiercely.

Was one sex truly so much simpler than the other, I’d asked, or was I just doing something wrong?

The first time I’d heard that whispered word, litai, was seared into my memory; I’d lied to myself before then, but in that moment, I’d felt branded by the term, as undeniably bound to it as if some storybook sorcerer had evoked my true name.

The two of you would suit each other well, I think.”

His predations had left me with an intense sense of my own vulnerability: I’d risked rough treatment before, and been threatened with same, but enduring it was something altogether different, and doubly so at the hands of a man I’d trusted.

“I’m sorry that my unwillingness distresses you, envoy. I wish I could be otherwise. In so many ways, I wish I could be other than I am. But I am only myself, beyond alteration. Refusing my duty earns me nothing and strips me of everything, and so I consent to it, even when it pains me. And for now—for you, and me, and your Tiern Caethari Aeduria—that must be enough. You cannot ask any more of me.” I tried to smile, and failed. “I have nothing else to give.”

That first night, after hours of riding steadily uphill, we camped in the shadow of the Snowjaw Mountains.

Saints, he’d even been asked his opinion on whether they ought to modify the betrothal contracts in deference to Ralian sensibilities, and he’d argued against it! Not, of course, because he’d wanted to stay in contention for the match: he’d simply hated the idea of denying his own rightful status—his worthiness as a person—just because some asshole Ralian disliked what he did with his cock.

Which was the other thing Cae was angry about, or at least deeply frustrated by: no matter who he asked or where he searched, he couldn’t seem to learn anything about Velasin vin Aaro beyond his former residence in Farathel, the Ralian capital; his age—twenty-four to Cae’s twenty-eight—and the fact that, despite his family’s recent elevation, he wasn’t eligible to inherit their lands.

Enlightening was one word for Kita’s testimony; baffling was another.

Flipping the knife up, over and back again, he began to map out his plans for Velasin vin Aaro.

“You’re blushing,” Laecia remarked. “Don’t you agree that he’s blushing, Riya?” “I don’t know,” Riya said, pretending to study Cae. “If anything, I think he’s a little pale.” “Saints, give me strength,”

Cae couldn’t decide which he was more: frustrated with Velasin’s stubbornness, or impressed by his tenacity.

We’ve only just met, and you’re already bleeding on me.”

You’d almost think he likes being hurt,

which meant, of course, that the only bed available was his own.

From the little he’d seen, Velasin was exactly the sort of person to whom Cae was naturally drawn, and though the feeling didn’t seem to be mutual, he couldn’t help hoping that a little forced proximity might give them some common ground, however awkward the context.

His irises weren’t brown, Cae realised belatedly, but hazel, flecked with golds and greys, hooded in a way that looked both languid and intelligent now that he was no longer on the brink of exhaustion, and something about the observation made his throat dry up.

Mouth unaccountably dry, Cae said, “We are lucky to have you, I think.”

“Please don’t hurt me.” “I won’t.” Slowly, so slowly, Cae began to inch towards him. “I won’t hurt you, Velasin, I promise. I’ll swear by anything you like.”

He dropped the knife, and Cae moved in a flash, snatching up the blade and flinging it away. Velasin stared at him, breathing hard, and Cae didn’t think: just dropped to his knees and said, in halting Ralian, “On my life—on my house, on the name Aeduria—I swear by my saints and your moons together, I would sooner die than force you, or allow you to be forced. I swear it, Velasin.”

“Can I hold you? Do you want that, or—?” “Please,”

He broke off, shuddering. Cae shut his eyes and held him as tightly as he dared, relieved beyond measure when Velasin hugged back. Steadily, the pressure of contact soothed them both, until they began to relax their grips on one another.

The bed was big enough that they weren’t touching; nonetheless, there was an unequivocal intimacy to it, especially when Cae rolled on his side, so that they were facing each other.

The spirit might protest, but the body still needed respite from its adventures,

But I do mean to see you safe.” You already have.

We shared a brief smile at our mutual incompetence.

“That depends on your definition of beating. Let’s just say, I learned early on that appearing to lose by a narrow margin earned me more peace than winning by a large one, and acted accordingly.”

Last night, I’d chosen to believe in Caethari’s goodness instead of dying, such that now, in daylight, I badly wanted that trust to be justified by more than my own raw need.

But I was still trapped; that I’d gone willingly into the cage—that I found it more hospitable than expected, even—didn’t change my inability to leave it. And without that freedom, I couldn’t ultimately choose to trust anything about my situation, because the choice itself was an illusion.

“Yours is a strange and stubborn endurance, Velasin.” And then, more softly still, such that I might almost have imagined it: “Just like your mother’s.”

A strange and stubborn endurance.

Litai. A husband’s husband. Such a small word, to mean so much!

Good humour looked well on him. He deserves better, I thought, than to be married in misery.

“My mother always prayed to the moons; their stories were her favourites. Father always grumbled about that—said she should’ve prayed to the First Star, in honour of her sons—but she never did. She was stubborn about it, like me. Strange and stubborn.”

It shouldn’t have felt intimate. It shouldn’t have been anything but perfunctory, a courtesy. Ruya’s grace, it should at least have been brief, but Velasin took his time, and Caethari let him.

Bare days ago, he’d been angry at the thought of marrying a foreign stranger; now he lay awake worrying for Velasin’s safety.

It wasn’t just the marriage vows, though they were certainly part of it: he felt bound to his husband in some deeper sense, responsible for protecting him—from assassins, from himself.

“My dear Caethari,”

“My favourite tutor used to say that magic is energy steered by will informed by knowledge. Without all three, you’ll either accomplish nothing or set fire to your own eyebrows, and even with all three, you still need a construct or an anchor to define your intentions, or else you’ll set fire to someone else’s eyebrows.”

It was, after all, only practical: the closer Velasin was to him, the easier he’d be to protect, and they still had a great deal of getting-to-know-each-other to do.

“So. This Tiern Velasin—what’s he like?” Cae manfully resisted the urge to squirm away from the question, but couldn’t quite suppress a sigh. “Impossibly stubborn. Witty. Kind. So clever he cuts himself with it. Brave.” And utterly beautiful.

“I’m glad you rushed,” said Velasin. His words startled them both; Cae stared at him, unable to look away from those languid, gold-grey eyes.

“Decency is one thing; compassion is another. I haven’t—” He glanced away, jaw working. “I keep prickling at you. Bristling over nothing. You deserve better from a spouse than whatever it is I bring, but you still—” He turned back, expression shaky, and before Cae could so much as brace himself, Velasin leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. His lips were soft, and Cae shivered at the contact, tingling all over as Velasin pulled back. He wanted to reach for him, pull him in for a real kiss; could only stare at Velasin’s mouth, lips parted on a shaky exhale.

Smoothing out his lin, Cae spared a final glance for his husband, whose cheeks were still beautifully flushed, and opened the door to his wretchedly interrupting little sister.

He felt off-balance; his mouth still burned with the imprint of Velasin’s lips. His husband, still flushed, gave a minute shrug, which Cae interpreted to mean, She’s your sister. What am I to do about it?

As they reached the corridor, Cae was frustrated to see that Velasin had smoothed his face into a pleasant mask, all trace of earlier sentiment gone. You kissed me, Cae thought at him, you kissed me and I don’t know why. What did you mean by it? Was I meant to kiss you back? I wanted to kiss you back, but what would’ve happened if I did?

A tingling numbness swept through me, putting me at a queer remove from my own flesh.

“Velasin,” Caethari said, voice tense with worry. “Velasin, you need to c—” “Moons help me, if you tell me to calm down, I will bite you!”

“Velasin,” said Caethari, and just that, just the sound of my name spoken with so much feeling, undid me as nothing else could.