eight
During the weekend, when most priests gave their sermons from their Temples, Mira’s host family had the choice of watching a broadcast, going into town for a sermon, or…
Well, Mira wasn’t shocked that her mother volunteered to give a sermon to everyone in the household, which included the maids and ranch hands.
They pulled chairs into the small “ballroom” that was barely big enough for a bouncing birthday party but boasted a tasteful chandelier, a floor-to-ceiling Palladian window overlooking the flowery side garden,
and soundproofing to accompany the grand piano in the corner and the raised platform for more live music performers.
Joiya picked this perch to give her sermon, and everyone else arranged the chairs—from the dining room, kitchen, and storage—in front of it, despite the radial sprawl with unequal rows it created.
Mira sat in the back while Hannu was solicited to assist Joiya with the rituals.
The younger priestess wore her simple Temple whites she had worn every day of their journey, but didn’t just pull her hair back away from her face: she wore a covering that obscured everything but her eyes.
Wonder what that’s about. Ever since they arrived a week and a half ago, Hannu had either stayed shut up in the guest room she shared with Kema or dashed into town at the earliest light.
More than once, Mira had crossed paths with her while out for a morning walk before anyone else—even Sulim—was awake.
Hannu never gave details about where she was going or what she was doing, and Joiya didn’t seem to care when Mira told her.
Guess it’s none of my business. Fine with her.
The Lord and Lady sat up front with their daughter, while the rest of the rows were scattered with whoever got there first.
Some of the house help sitting up front had the honors because of cataracts or being half-deaf.
Ranch hands preferred sitting toward the back, although Sulim and Sonall stole the seats right in front of Mira.
To her right sat Marco di’Flare, the man who held more seniority than some of the other Gardiah family members.
“It’s an honor to sit with you, Young Lady Dunsman,” he said, nodding to Mira. “We haven’t had much chance to talk since your arrival. I’ve been busy working.”
She gently tilted her head, not wanting to look like she cared that much. “Please. Call me Mira. Young Lady Dunsman is an unfortunate mouthful.”
“True. And takes so long to say. We humans have to save all the time we can.”
Great. He thought himself a charmer. “Indeed. I’m sure my mother will be happy to know you made the time to see her sermon. She does love giving them.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the Federation.”
His gaze lingered on her far longer than she liked.
Yet it wasn’t a lecherous gaze (thank the Void.)
Mira wasn’t quite sure what his deal was, nor was she inclined to ask.
So utterly bizarre. She wasn’t the type to paint all humans with that brush, but some of the men, especially, dumbfounded her with their behavior.
So she focused on the couple in front of her.
Other than Sonall hanging his arm off the back of Sulim’s chair, they looked more like acquaintances than husband and wife.
Even Sulim’s body language had her slumping away from him while he casually sat with one leg jutted over the other and fatigue on his face.
Yet whenever he spoke to his wife, she rolled her eyes in the same way Joiya did whenever her own husband teased her.
Something about it infuriated Mira, who was distracted for most of her mother’s sermon.
It’s not fair. How dare she be sitting behind such a beautiful woman who was exactly her type—and how dare that woman already be wedded to such a…
man. Well, there are few exceptional men out there, if I may be so bold.
Mira even held her own father, the most recognizable man in the universe, to a higher standard than she did her lovers.
Not that Sulim was her lover. Yet.
Oh, but she could be. The profile of her face when she slightly turned her head toward her husband teased Mira more than the stifled giggles or the tepid gasp of surprise when Joiya dropped something because she was so excited about extolling the virtues of love and nature.
Why must the Void torture me so? Because when Sulim stretched her neck back, fingers pinching her skin before her arm extended into the space between her and Sonall, she exposed the white of her throat and made Mira mad with every fantasy to pop into her devilish mind.
When Sulim straightened herself up and sat forward, limbs tucked in and hair perfectly in place, Mira realized that her seatmate was watching her.
She glanced at Marco, who in turn followed Mira’s previous gaze. He said nothing.
At the end of the sermon, Mira sprang up to stretch her own legs and to take in the ballroom’s delicate design. As her eyes traced the stencils of rearing stallions atop the windowpanes, Marco approached.
“I know this won’t impress you, but these windows and their décor are five centuries old. They were carved and put in during the family’s first big economic boom.”“Funny. That’s how old I am.”
“Really? I honestly thought you were younger.”
And Mira honestly didn’t know if he was sincere or trying to flirt with her. He wouldn’t be the first mortal man to try it. She really shouldn’t think about the other one that almost got away with it. I might go to prison again.
“I’m about twenty-five in human years,” Mira said. “In terms of physiological development and my place in julah society.”
“Fascinating. Living for centuries, let alone thousands of years, is unfathomable to me.”
“And how old are you, Mr. di’Flare?”
“I’m about forty. No idea what that is in julah years.”
That means he’s older than forty. Men of her kind did the same mealy-mouthed “about” when discussing their age. Even we don’t want to look older than we are, unless it’s around humans. The julah extolled the virtues of youth and fetishized naivete as much as humans did.
“Perhaps we’ll have a party here soon,” Marco continued, while Mira attempted to be distracted by Sulim leaving the room.
Damn. Classic! Some guy was keeping her from what she wanted!
“Graella’s fiancé is due to visit before the wedding to go over a few things. I hear that Lady Jacelah wants a proper fete, especially if you and your entourage are still around.”
“Where in the world will they sleep?”
Marco laughed. Was he surprised that she was funny? “That’s not for me to stress about. Anyway, don’t suppose I could go ahead and reserve a dance with you should that occur?”
“My, how presumptuous of you,” Mira said in Julah, because she couldn’t hold it in. When Marco’s eyes lit up in hope—or perhaps he just loved the soft and dulcet tones of Julah—she switched back to Basic for his benefit. “Perhaps. I’m afraid that I’m not much of a dancer.”
When the crowd cleared out, Mira offered to help her mother collect her things from the platform. It was also her chance to mention Marco’s sudden interest in her, which Hannu ignored… and Joiya sighed to hear.
“That’s my darling daughter,” she said with that kind of light-hearted teasing that made Mira chuckle. “Stealing the heart of every man she doesn’t want.”
“All I do is exist, Ma.”
“Your father has the same uncanny ability. You should have seen the hordes of men and women I fought off when we were courting.” Joiya looked around before continuing, her voice lowered, “Yes. Many men.”
“I mean, have you seen my father? He’s prime butch bait.”
Squeaking in disbelief, Joiya smacked her daughter on the arm, but did not disagree.
Hannu had already gone back up to her room when Lady Jacelah reentered the ballroom to ensure, as she claimed, that all of the furniture had been put back “just so.”
But even Mira could tell that the woman of the estate wanted something from them.
Namely, to invite them into her salon for post-sermon tea and cakes from the kitchen.
The fact that she latched the door to her salon once the goods were delivered piqued Mira’s interest. When she looked at her mother, Joiya responded by shrugging, all of which was done before Jacelah even turned around.
“Your worships,” Jacelah began, as if Mira were still a priestess, “I must commend you both for the fresh breath of air you have brought to my house. It has been an honor to offer you refuge, for however long you need to stay with us.”
Mira readied her ears. But?
Jacelah sat on the sofa that neither Joiya nor Mira touched. While she served tea and cake, it was with such stiff movements that there must have been plenty on her mind. Joiya stayed quiet while Mira shifted in her seat. Why am I here? Because of who her parents were?
“May I ask for your professional and spiritual counsel, Lady Joiya?”
It was requested with such a timid voice that Mira almost didn’t recognize the woman who bore the brunt of the household on her delicate shoulders.
Suddenly, her bushy skirt sagged around her legs, and the perfectly coiffed black hair that rivaled Mira’s grandmother lost its luster.
This was a deeply troubled woman. And now that she was in the company of two women who would live thousands of years longer than her, Jacelah seemingly reverted to whatever scared child had first come to this place decades ago.
Relatable. So many julah women had similar stories, even if theirs traversed centuries.
“Of course,” Joiya said. “Whatever you say will be honored with our silence.”
Mira glanced at her mother before focusing on Jacelah. The woman in question reacquired some of the color in her cheeks. Whatever had weighed on her loosened its grip.
“I do not presume for you to know much about my family,” Jacelah said, “but please, do tell me if you heard what happened here several years ago.”
Mira had no idea what she was talking about. Meanwhile… Her mother slowly nodded. “I believe I’ve seen things in the news. People died here, didn’t they?”
Jacelah shuddered. “Yes. We unfortunately lost some to a violent end. Luckily, the family was not mortally wounded… despite that being our attackers’ desired outcome.”