Chapter Three
Tor
Thurnil and Solil had both been absent from dinner.
It turned out that Solil had left a week or so ago for Vayrin, and Tor felt a surge of desperate hope that he’d manage to catch Terila’s eyes, and Tor would have nothing to worry about.
It seemed, unfortunately, not very likely, but maybe Tor could get lucky.
Thurnil’s absence was unexplained, but Tor didn’t make a fuss about it, because he’d much prefer the man not be there.
After dinner and once a reluctant Hena had been put to bed, Tor spent a bit of time with Par, who’d asked to speak with him.
They were seated together on a couch in one of the sitting rooms on the same floor as the nursery. The furniture looked sturdier and better-suited to children than some of the fancier rooms that Tor had seen. Tor angled his body so that he was closer to facing Par.
Last time he’d visited Ada, Par had been Para, and he seemed a little anxious about Tor’s reaction, fidgeting as he asked if Tor minded.
There was a hollow ache in Tor’s chest, and he wondered if he’d done something to make Par doubtful. But the only important thing now was acceptance and reassurance.
“You can express yourself however you want,” Tor told him firmly.
Par made a face, hesitated for a long moment, and then blurted out, “Sometimes it changes. Tomorrow, I might be Para again.”
Tor blinked at this and said a bit blankly, “Oh. Well, that’s fine.”
Par raised an eyebrow sharply and looked at him with an eleven-year-old’s scorn. Tor’s shoulders relaxed at that unfiltered reaction.
“Sorry.” Tor laughed a little. “I probably sound foolish. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced, but if that’s what feels right to you, then that’s what you should do.
Do you like to be referred to as she when you’re Para and he when you’re Par?
Or do you prefer they? Or something else? Did I get it wrong?”
Par’s body seemed to loosen, and he smiled at Tor. “No, the first one. She for Para and he for Par.”
“I can do that,” Tor confirmed. He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “No one’s giving you any trouble, are they?”
Shaking his head, Par said with supreme assurance, “Father would flatten them.”
From everything Tor had heard, King Stronex had been fierce in battle.
He was one of the rulers who’d sprung up during the war, when the original sovereign and the whole royal family had been killed, and the Fealty of the realm had passed on…
unexpectedly. Normally, it was inherited by family, by bond or by blood, but if there was no family left, the goddess gifted it to the person of her choice.
Stronex had been naturally Extraordinary, and people had rallied around him.
Had he not decided to support Tor’s parents and the call for peace at the end, there was no saying what might have happened.
He’d been nothing but supportive and non-aggressive since then, which was essential to their continued peace—but Tor still liked the idea of him crushing anyone who didn’t treat his children the way they deserved.
“Good,” Tor said firmly, smiling at Par. “You should always be able to show the world who you are.” Then he hastened to add, “I mean, if you want to.”
Par nodded. He was silent for a moment, and then drew in a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders slumping a little.
“Sometimes, I just feel… itchy. All over. Like I’m in the wrong body.
And if I dress differently and use a different name and people see the right me, it helps, somehow.
” He made a face. “That sounds foolish.”
“Not at all,” Tor assured him. “I know we talk a lot about the importance of knowing yourself and being confident and all that, but it absolutely makes a difference how other people see you. How they react and treat you can seep into how you treat yourself, even if you don’t mean it to.
You don’t owe people any part of yourself, but you have the right to show them your true self if you want to do so. ”
Par leaned into Tor, and Tor wrapped him up in a hug, feeling his slender body with a pang. He was so much bigger than Cala or Hena, but he was still small, still a child, and Tor wanted to protect him from everything.
Like it was a confession, he whispered, “Thurnil said a girl wearing hose is still a girl.”
Oh, he was going down! Tor didn’t care if it started a war.
But then Par drew back and added conspiratorially, “Sol punched him.”
Tor’s eyebrows rose. Quiet, mild-mannered Solil had punched his brother?
“I knew I liked him,” Tor said firmly.
Par was frowning down at his lap now, his hands twisting together.
“But girls do wear hose sometimes, don’t they? Like the ones in your guard?”
Ah.
Tor waited until Par looked up at him again, all dark eyes and pointy chin like his sister.
The braid was gone, Par’s hair now cropped short, though it was longer than Tor’s.
But that was still all just physical. “Girls can choose to wear hose, like my guards or others whose jobs are better served by such clothes. Whether you wear hose or a dress doesn’t matter, or at least it shouldn’t.
What matters is who you tell people you are.
If you’re telling people you’re not a girl, then no one has the right to tell you you’re wrong, not even your brother. ”
Had Varex spent any time with Thurnil? Or had he just decided that was the best alliance and thrown his only sister at the man? If it wouldn’t endanger Ada, Tor was sure he could arrange an accident. The world would obviously be better off without the man.
Par hesitated and then added, “Thurnil apologized. He always gets it right now.”
“Good,” Tor said emphatically, trying to swallow his own feelings.
This was Par’s brother, and there was a small chance he’d actually learned something.
But he thought it was telling that Par didn’t shorten Thurnil’s name the way he did Solil’s.
If he wasn’t feeling the familiarity or hadn’t been invited to do so…
Yeah, Tor didn’t think he was going to be changing his opinion about Thurnil any time soon.
“If I ever mess it up,” Tor told Par, “it’s me screwing up, not you. Feel free to correct me—or get your brother to punch me.”
Par grinned, wide and open, his body relaxing. “I know you wouldn’t mess up on purpose, Uncle Tor.” Then his expression faltered. “And I know it’s not exactly normal.”
Tor scoffed. “Normal is boring. And let’s say it’s not common. Being uncommon is no bad thing, you know.”
It could also be hard and isolating and painful, but Par seemed in need of support right now. Besides, Par had his father and Ada and Solil and Hena. Tor knew they’d support him, and that would surely help a lot.
“People are foolish and unreasonable sometimes,” Tor added.
“They make a big deal about body parts when there are obviously way more important aspects of a person. I mean, I like how people look, but I’m not going to be attracted to somebody because they have boobs or don’t have boobs.
” Then Tor blanched. “Wait, that sounded better in my head!”
Thankfully, Par dissolved into giggles.
Tor cleared his throat. “Yeah, I was just trying to say your body parts are your business, and you’re made up of so much more than that.”
Goddess preserve him, Ada was going to punch him in the face at this rate.
Par was still smiling. “Thanks, Uncle Tor.”
He was glad Par had taken Tor’s not-entirely-appropriate comment in a stride, but they should probably do something else now.
“Want to go sneak some dessert from the kitchens?” Tor proposed.
That bright grin was back. “Yes!”
So that’s exactly what they did.
Lying in bed that night, Tor pondered if being allied to Lotar was bringing them as much benefit as his brother thought.
It was true that if Ada wasn’t here, Tor wouldn’t be visiting like this.
He probably wouldn’t know Par and Hena well, and that would have been a shame.
But was the alliance actually responsible for keeping the peace?
If Ada wasn’t here, was there a better chance that King Stronex would suddenly decide to attack Alossa or any of the other realms?
Tor wasn’t convinced. But it had become increasingly apparent over the years that Tor didn’t share his brother’s feelings on many such issues.
Fernila seemed to think he harbored some resentment about not being High King, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
He didn’t want to rule, not if it meant political marriages for himself and his siblings, not if it meant putting the realms above their well-being.
No, Tor was happy just the way he was—or at least he had been until so many people had told him his life was terrible.
The sour grapes of Fernila and her influence over Varex was one thing, but Ada wouldn’t ever say something with the sole intent of hurting him.
It was true that Tor resented his brother’s order.
He’d have liked to join his troop in their drinking.
But part of him already recognized that it had been a habit…
or a way to stave off boredom. It felt less necessary on this visit as he spent time with his sister, Par, and Hena, and tried to figure out how he was going to get out of this particular coil.
What exactly had Varex said? He’d stopped short of ordering Tor to marry and said simply that he needed to court Terila… hadn’t he?
Tor frowned, wishing ruefully that his head had been a little less fuzzy when he’d had that particular interview. That wasn’t quite right either, was it?
Varex had broken it down into short sentences, like he worried Tor couldn’t follow along otherwise.
He’d said that Tor needed to visit Vayrin. That he needed to seriously consider his marriage prospects… and that he needed to make a serious effort at courting.