Andrea Höst - Voice of the Lost

Ieskar’s voice, cool and dreadfully even, inserted itself into this vista: "What would you have done, Medair, if I alone had returned?"

Horrid thought. She turned back to look wide-eyed at him, not even trying to hide her dismay. "I would have mourned Illukar," she said, roughly. "And–" She swallowed the next breath. "And I would have run from you. Frantically." She looked down at the ground, feeling utterly lost. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

Ieskar stood up. She supposed they would go to The Avenue now, to rest, recover, and shred themselves inside because of the bar which divided them. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, flayed by self-recrimination. She could have lied, she could have told him she was strong enough to overcome her hatred for him alone, to openly be Ieskar Cael las Saral-Ibis' lover. She could have at least tried. When she thought she knew an argument which would convince him, she would try. She refused to just give up.

Cool fingers touched her cheek. Teetering into astonishment, Medair looked into ice-blue eyes as Ieskar cupped her face between his hands. He still wore no expression as he traced the shape of her cheekbones with his thumbs, touching her because he could, because there was no longer a law to forbid it, and she had said she wanted him to. Because he had believed her, after all.

She knew she must look stricken, terrified, and lifted her hands to cover his, to declare her desire. Her coward self and her vengeful self could be suppressed. Not hating wasn’t one choice, but many, and she would make them all.

His eyes went grey, then blue again. Ever graceful, Ieskar bent his head to her, and paused. He shivered, and that ran through his hands. Then there was the warmth of his breath, and then the tiniest graze against her lower lip. The smallest touch, and it made her blood turn somersaults and ignite. She had not lied to say she wanted him.

Wondering if she could possibly put into words this sudden burning sun, Medair shifted so that they touched: knee, hip, chest. He was still sodden, shirt and skin cold and damp. Her chin grazed his, soft and smooth. So close, she could see in precise detail the way grey flecks rose to crowd out the blue of his eyes. Like a storm of snowflakes, or a hundred thousand butterflies. Then, just as quickly, that ice blue was at the fore, and his lids dropped, a screen of heavy white lashes.

When he moved again, she opened her mouth to meet his, remembering that he had become Kier very young, that the laws which bound him would have meant he would not even have been permitted to touch Princess Alaire, would have had to use magic–

She tasted his lips, and had to grip his wrists tightly because her legs did not seem quite able to keep up with her disbelief. But she did not stop, nor shift away, or even take breath as tentative exploration turned into deep, needy investigation. Hers to touch, hers to taste, to take.

Medair might possibly have stayed there forever, trying to weld her mouth to his, but a distant shout brought an unwelcome reminder of a world outside a white-skinned man with eyes of blue and grey. She quite literally sobbed as she broke from his lips, turned her head only just enough to see the riders.

Islantar, true to his word, had returned for her. At the head of a small unit of guards, he had reined in and was simply staring. Medair thought she had never seen the Kierash look so young.

After another moment, listening to distant peeping, a jingle of harness, and the rasp of breath in the throat of the man who held her, she came back to herself enough to realise that she had her arms wrapped around him again, oblivious to his sorely bruised back. It had to be agonising, but when she hastily adjusted her grip and looked up at his face, she saw no pain, but blue eyes opened wide, almost dazed. Full five hundred years of longing laid bare.

With Islantar and his entourage approaching, Medair was not quite equal to facing those eyes. Not when there was no time to respond. She hid her face in his throat and listened to the tumultuous pace of his heart instead.

There was no need to see blue shift to grey to know it was Illukar who relaxed the death grip about her waist, who squeezed her in quick, silent encouragement before easing back. She caught at his hands, looking up into eyes that were stunned and overjoyed, and even Telsen would not have been able to find a way to say what she was feeling.

"Are you going to tell them?" she asked instead. Her voice was hardly audible. Illukar and Ieskar. She was holding them both.

His eyes shifted to blue. "Islantar will recognise me," he said, quite hoarsely. Speech seemed a thing of long ago. "And I must tell–" He hesitated, shifting to blue-grey, then grey. "–my Kier. But the rest? What gain? I am still Illukar las Cor-Ibis and my memories are my own."

"And Ieskar’s."

He half-nodded, then the blue crowded to the surface. Ieskar blinked, and took a breath, then said, "Both," with a little more of his old self-command. "But this is Illukar’s life, and I will not appropriate it."

His eyes shifted to grey. "Sharing our life is something we talked of, returning to shore. We cannot suppress each other, would not choose to do so, but Ieskar has no wish for a public face." Illukar looked toward the horses, as a jingle of harness warned that the riders had overcome their initial shock and were hurrying toward them. "Just you," he added, quite seriously.

She touched the mouth which was Ieskar’s. It made her ache, suddenly, that she would never really be kissing Illukar’s lips again. Just as they would never really return to Finrathlar, but something almost the same. Would he think she loved him only as Ieskar’s shadow?

She lifted his left hand, the unscarred one, and pressed it to her cheek. "Can you do this?" she asked, anxiously. "You know, don’t you, that it’s not just– That you and I–?"

But Illukar smiled at her with unimpaired joy. "I know how you looked, when I woke beside you just yesterday," he said. "That had little to do with Ieskar."

"It is still–" She watched his eyes flicker. "I don’t want to give you less than everything."

"I infinitely prefer you loving him than hating too much to let us keep what we found together." With perfect formality, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Butterfly light, the kiss still carried a world of reassurance. For, despite everything, they were his lips. "I think we’re going to be happy, Medair."

She stared up at Illukar’s face, with those subtle shifts which also made it Ieskar’s. His eyes were grey as he glanced out over the bright expanse of the Shimmerlan, at the blank stretch of water which was almost the fate of all Farakkan. As he looked back down at her, they flicked to blue-grey, and briefly grey as he squeezed her hands. Then they turned to blue again.

Slowly, as if venturing into unfamiliar territory, he smiled.

AlKier- The god of the Ibisians, ruler of everything and considered able to manifest as anything, but most commonly depicted as a transparent, idealised hermaphroditic figure visible among clouds.

an- A Farakkian naming custom designating the maternal line. an Rynstar means that Medair’s mother was of the Rynstar line.

ar- A Farakkian naming custom designating the paternal line. ar Corleaux means that Medair’s father was of the Corleaux line. However, since she was not an acknowledged child of her father, granted heir rights, she should not use the name.

das-Kend- The Kend’s second in command.

decem- A Farakkian unit of time a little more than 70 Earth minutes. A single day is divided into twenty decems.