Blood Reunion (21 page)

The magistrate stared at Marid of Belancour. He remembered all too well the legal debacle on Cloudsong. He huffed out a sigh and pulled up the legal records for their home planet of Shaaliveer.

* * *

Lissa's Journal

"A letter from the judicial system on Shaaliveer," My assistant, Grant, dropped the envelope on my desk. "How are you feeling?" he added. With a worried frown and an eyebrow lifted, he asked the logical question. Likely it was because my face was turning a pale shade of green.

"Queasy," I muttered, holding a hand against my belly.

"Do I need to get someone?" Grant was backing up. He was vampire, just as Heathe, my other assistant was. His nose, like any vampire's, was quite sensitive. "Lissa, are you going to hurl?" he asked in alarm.

I didn't answer; I was too busy losing my breakfast in the wastebasket. Grant was out the door and shouting for a healer in less time than it took to blink.

* * *

"Nissa?" Shadow stood in the doorway of Nissa's tiny workshop—Calebert had given it to her to learn alongside Frimus, a Second-Tier Wizard who taught some of Calebert's more promising students.

"Daddy?" Nissa looked up from her work—she'd been imprinting a spelled design into a gold-washed sword pommel.

"Nissa, come with me, baby, your Great-Grampa wants to see us." Shadow held out his hand. Nissa finished off the spell she'd just done on a whorl design before setting the heavy sword aside. Nissa felt her stomach tighten. Was Great-Grampa going to send her down to her former level? She was working as quickly as she could.

"Baby, this doesn't have anything to do with your work. Calebert says you're doing fine—he just has to make sure you understand exactly what he wants from you, otherwise you tend to do too much. He has to reel in your talent so it's suitable for the job at hand." Shadow actually smiled at Nissa.

"Good," Nissa sighed with relief. "Do you know what Great-Grampa wants?"

"Not much of it. We need to hear it from him, I think."

Nissa walked beside her father as they traversed the endless halls and corridors of Grey House. Protected by wizardry and enlarged too many times to count, Grey House filled nearly the whole side of a huge mountain. Grey Planet was small—as small as a planet might be and still be considered a planet. Surrounded by spells and wizardry of Greys uncounted, it appeared to anyone without talent as a burned-out asteroid circling its sun. Nissa had seen the beauty of the mountain range surrounding them since she'd first been taken outside Grey House as a small child. Nissa reached over and slipped her hand inside her father's much larger one as they walked along. Shadow Grey squeezed her fingers lightly and held on.

* * *

Lissa's Journal

"Lissa, are you well?" Gavin was there in moments, but Karzac had already arrived and removed the offending smell (along with the wastebasket) from my study with power. I leaned back in my chair, a cool cloth draped over my forehead. Karzac was kneeling next to the chair and stroking my belly while light formed around his fingers.

"Better now," I mumbled.

"Sometimes we just have to deal with this," Karzac said softly, making slow circles over my skin.

"Gavin?"

"Cara mia?"

"Open that envelope on my desk—the one from the courts on Shaaliveer."

Gavin lifted the envelope—it was heavy and bore the crest of the Shaaliveeran judicial system on the front. Forming a vampire claw on a single finger, he slit it open carefully and drew out the contents.

* * *

"Daddy, we already found out about it—Tory and Ry had to do an assignment over the economic impact that Trell's destruction had on the Alliance. One thing led to another." Nissa toed a carved leg of Great-Grampa Glendes' desk. The leg resembled the head of a sea serpent. She wasn't looking at her father, her grandfather Raffian, who'd also come, or her great-grandfather. She was worried she'd be in trouble for the information she held.

"Nissa, they are offering Melida's child to us. And to your mother, since she was Shadow's other mate at the time. Melida was married to your father for a short period of time, although they were never close." Glendes looked across his desk at his great-granddaughter. He should be holding her in his lap or next to him to deliver this news. Why had he held back all this time? The poor child looked completely lost. Nissa held so much of her mother in her. Glendes sighed.

"Are you going to take him? Or her?" Nissa amended her first supposition.

"Nissa, this child will be turned over to the courts on Shaaliveer if someone doesn't come forward."

"Does he have talent? Why won't his other family keep him?" Nissa didn't understand this. The mindspeech she'd gotten from Tory indicated that the Belancours were doing fine.

"We don't know what he has—they haven't bothered to send him through the rite." Glendes slid a photograph across the desk toward his granddaughter. Nissa glanced briefly at Glendes before lifting the photo. She gasped at the image.

* * *

Lissa's Journal

"Lissa, do not hyperventilate—I only got your stomach calmed down," Karzac was attempting to get my head pointed toward my knees.

"What," I wheezed, "did those idiots," another wheeze, "think they were doing?" I was breathing with difficulty and trying to straighten up at the same time. Karzac shoved me down again.

"Lissa, you should have waited to go
Looking
," Karzac scolded gently.

"She," I huffed, "took," another wheeze this time, "drugs." I started coughing.

"Love, do not distress yourself," Connegar appeared, causing Gavin and Karzac to step aside. Connegar knelt beside my chair and placed one hand on my forehead, the other on my abdomen. "There, that's right," Connegar soothed as a calming light formed around me. "Take this one as yours, Lissa, and Reemagar and I may be able to set some things right."

"But he's fifteen," I wailed in distress.

"Does that mean he needs love less?"

"No." I reached up to wipe away the tear that insisted on falling. "Connegar, what are we to do?"

"Hush, now, the Wizards of Grey House are here. With your daughter."

Chapter 11
 

Trikleer Belancour stared at his shoes. One was larger than the other. It didn't matter—he couldn't walk anyway—the smaller foot was attached to a shorter, withered leg. One of his hands, too, looked the same—withered and nearly useless. Trik had learned to feed and dress himself one-handed over the years. He ghosted about the Belancour Manor—the lower level of it anyway, in a motorized chair.

Since his mother's death, none of the family bothered to speak to him. Even Melida had gone for days without speaking to her only child. Marid, Trik's grandfather, refused outright to test Trik for talent. Trik had overheard too many conversations during his fifteen years. Conversations that always began with "He's useless without both his hands."

Trik had come to hate those words. His right hand wasn't completely useless. He used it to brace things, or he could grasp lightly, if it were clothing to be slipped on. Trik used every bit of what he had to the best of his ability. He'd taught himself, too—thankfully, someone had shown him his letters early and he'd picked up reading quickly. They wouldn't have bothered, otherwise. Now, he often sneaked into his grandfather's library at night, pulling down books that wouldn't be missed with a pole he'd devised himself, with a little help from two younger cousins. It would reach up and grasp things that were too high for him to get any other way. Family members usually grumbled if he asked them to do it for him.

Now, he'd been asked to dress nicely for visitors. For Trik, it was his nicest outfit, handed down from one of his cousins. Seev had outgrown just about everything, and this particular tunic and pair of pants hadn't seen much wear before Seev needed something larger. Trik hadn't asked why he needed to dress nicely—he'd heard the whispers. If these people didn't take him, he'd be sent off to one of the state-run homes and spend the rest of his natural life there, an oddity that nobody wanted.

* * *

Toff had seen the photographs, just as Ry and Tory had. Tory swallowed hard at the image; Ry's expression had been grim. Toff's heart thumped painfully in his chest—here was likely another who'd been bullied and ignored because he didn't have what the others did. Now, Toff stood between Queen Lissa and Roff, while Tory and Ry stood with their fathers. Karzac had come, too, with Connegar and Reemagar.

Toff learned how easy it was for the Larentii to disguise themselves. They looked like any other humanoid, now. They were waiting in a reception area of Belancour Manor until the contingent from Grey House arrived. A Belancour Wizard—an old woman, stood near the door, waiting for all of them to gather before taking them to see Trikleer Belancour.

"Toff?" Nissa's voice was almost breathless when she tapped him on the shoulder. Toff's grin was wide with relief as he hugged Nissa, lifting her off the floor the moment he turned around. He'd been afraid she wouldn't be allowed to come.

"I missed you," Nissa whispered in Toff's ear as he set her down again. Nissa stepped back and adjusted her finely woven tunic; the fabric was dyed a beautiful shade of green. Toff thought Nissa looked very pretty in it.

"Come with me," the female wizard snapped, bringing Toff's attention back to their mission. He thought he heard a slight snicker from Lissa before they all moved forward.

"Straighten up, Trikleer," Marid ordered sternly as Trik leaned over a bit to catch a first glimpse of the group of people walking toward Marid's private study. Trik stared, his mouth open. The woman was stunning. And the man standing near her, did he have wings? Marid hadn't given him any information regarding the identities of these people—he'd only said that his mother had ties to them somehow, and since Marid could no longer keep him in his home, he would either go to these people or to the state facility. After getting a good look at these, however, Trik knew what his fate would be. All these people were whole and pleasing to look upon. Trik had none of that. They would turn him away without even speaking to him. That's why he was shocked throughout when the woman walked up to him, took his withered hand in hers and said, "Hello, Trikleer. Are you well today?"

* * *

"Call me Trik," Trik had no idea how he'd come to be seated between the woman who'd introduced herself as Lissa, and a man who said his name was Connegar. Trik thought that slightly humorous—someone had named his son in the Larentii fashion. Everyone knew Larentii names always ended in "gar." They were having luncheon at Marid's formal table today—Marid ordered an appropriate meal for his guests, at least.

"How far have you advanced in your studies?" Lissa asked, watching Trik work his way around the veal on his plate by cutting it with the edge of a fork. Trik had given up years ago on any hope of holding a knife and fork at the same moment.

"I have read all of grandfather's history books—he doesn't have anything newer than sixty turns ago," Trik said, nibbling the piece of veal. He waited until he'd chewed his bite and swallowed before continuing. "The mathematics books are probably outdated as well, but likely are still good unless there have been new advances. If so, I would certainly like to see the new materials. I wish I had a comp-vid, but grandfather doesn't allow them in the house."

"Do you ever want to practice wizardry?" Another male—dark-haired and gray-eyed, asked from farther down the table.

Wizardry. Trik longed for that more than he longed for anything. Yet his hand—his grandfather had refused to consider wizardry for Trik because of his hand. Trik sighed.

"Don't tell us what others think," Lissa said quietly beside him. "Tell us what you think. What you want."

"I've always wanted it," Trik dropped his fork and lowered his good hand to his lap. "But I don't have two good hands."

"How do you feel about coming to live with strangers?" Lissa asked.

"I think it might be worth a try." Trik found almost anything more appealing than a sterile existence at a state-run facility.

"Trik, if you agree to do your best, I will agree to do my best in this matter." Lissa's blue eyes met his.

"Then I will do my best. If you wish for me to work to help earn my keep, then I will do what I can."

"Then we may put you to work," Lissa nodded. "Don't worry, everything we put in front of you will be within your ability and hopefully to your liking." Lissa patted Trik's shoulder.

"But what about your children?" Trik hadn't failed to notice those four. He hoped they wouldn't tease him or take his things away the moment the adults' backs were turned.

"Ask them."

Trik jerked his head up. "Now? Here?"

"Of course." Lissa smiled. Trik drowned in that smile.

"Don't worry, I think everybody wants you to come," Nissa leaned her head over her plate so Trik could see here easily.

"If you don't like it," Trik lowered his eyes again, "you can always take me to the home."

Trik
, the voice came into his mind, shocking him speechless
, I don't think that will be necessary
.

* * *

"Don't worry, I'm new, too." Toff came to sit on the sofa next to Trik's motorized chair. "I've only been with them a few weeks. I—I love all of them already. Just be prepared for some of them to be, well, different."

"I know about different," Trik blew out a breath. "I've dealt with it all my life." He stared at his withered, useless leg.

"I think you have a better education than I do, and you've taught yourself," Toff went on. "I'm trying to catch up with my studies. Master Morwin is very patient."

"Master Morwin?"

"Our tutor," Ry came to sit next to Toff. Trik watched as the tallest of the males, Tory, sat beside Ry. Nissa was talking quietly with the black-haired, gray-eyed man in the corner.

"We'll have the same tutor?"

"I think so," Tory said. "I think they'll put you in our class," Tory pointed to himself and Ry.

"He won't be—is he—will he?" Trik couldn't think of a way to ask if Morwin would mistreat him because he wasn't whole.