FIFTEEN YEARS LATER #2
Now, not only was the salon Sulim’s to do with as she pleased—including finding the damn hiding spot—but she kept a mental note of every available room.
And, unlike Jacelah, she had warning of how many people were coming.
It required turning down every single available room in the house, but Sulim had done it in record time… and only one maid had cried.
“…That’s certainly not required.” Sonall’s voice echoed from the den, where he stood with Kema, both dressed up.
Which, for Sonall, meant nice trousers and the long-sleeved shirt Sulim had helped herself into his closet to pick out.
The look Kema gave me… Sulim ignored her most of the time.
The hybrid woman was the romantic partner of Lord Gardiah, but even she knew that everyone else enforced the hierarchy that Sulim was the Lady Gardiah.
Especially Mira. Whatever conversations the two cousins had over the years, Kema had learned to stand down unless it was something in her direct purview.
“You always do this,” Kema hissed, while Sonall rolled his eyes. Sulim hung back, biting down a mischievous smile. She did love some good drama. “I’m trying to do something nice for your family, and you won’t let me do it. It’s just some lights.”
“Lights that you’ll spend the next four hours powering with your mind while depleting your energy. Come on, it would be nice if you could make it to midnight without passing out.”
Sulim chose that moment to interrupt. “Mira has gone to greet the guests, who should be here any moment. Nolan just returned and is freshening up.”
She glanced between Kema, who was visibly annoyed, and Sonall, who was neither present nor distant.
To the latter, she continued, “Did you find those documents?”
“No, because like I told you, you’re the one who is good at finding shit around here.”
“They’re your father’s files.”
“Uh-huh, and you’re like one of Master Marlow’s dogs, who can sniff out anything once she gets a faint whiff.”
“You sound annoyed by that.” She turned toward the couch. “Try the second drawer in the back desk. The one by the closet.”
“Left side or right?”
“Right.”
Sighing, Sonall headed back upstairs. Before Kema said anything, Sulim followed him.
Sure enough, he was already in the second right drawer of the back desk by the closet when she arrived.
Sulim hung back until her husband found the document detailing Arrahite succession laws.
It was one they had both seen before, and while Sonall swore he put it back where he found it over a decade ago, he forgot everything.
I forget nothing. Like how he was prone to alcoholism if allowed to indulge too much, or how he had to say no to something at least once before grumbling in agreement.
Especially since becoming Lord Gardiah, a role that he both relished and wished had never been foisted on him.
“It’s a big day,” Sulim said when Sonall looked askance at her with the document in his hand. “You gonna be okay?”
He gazed back down at the paper before answering. “I always dreamed of a day like this,” he said. “Back when I was… someone else.”
Sulim kept her distance, but lowered her arms to make herself emotionally available to the man who was supposedly her best friend. “You’ve got your family. Your estate. Even a wife and a mistress. You’re a big time man.”
“No, I’m a simple man. I don’t like it when things get complicated anymore.”
She sighed. “Today’s not the day for moping around. Enjoy what you can of the party tonight. Tomorrow, we head to Dassil to finalize who your heir is.”
“I know.”
“He’s not an Arrahite, and we have to fix that.”
“I know.”
Sulim soft-launched a smirk on him. “Look at you. Not even any gray hair! What is Kema doing to keep them at bay?”
Sulim was one of the first to notice that Sonall was already going gray in his late thirties.
Kema claimed she had something to “fix” it if he were interested, because julah were famous for using sorcery to change their hair color, not that Sulim met many who did.
And Kema is both very talented and not at all.
What she was good at, she excelled at; what she wasn’t good at, she avoided. Then there’s Mira…
“Kema hasn’t done much of anything about my hair. That would be your woman.”
“You’re kidding. Mira’s doing your hair?”
He ignored that. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment before things get crowded.”
Sulim patted his shoulder. “You didn’t use to avoid a crowd.”
“I got older.”
Things happened, I know. It wasn’t enough that his parents were murdered—again.
There was reconciling two sets of memories in a body that went against one set.
There was waiting to hear about Graella’s fate.
There was reconstructing the estate, realizing that he was now the surviving patriarch at barely twenty-four years old.
There was addressing the emotional dissolution of his marriage while agreeing to keep it legal for everyone’s sake.
There was moving into his parents’ old room with another woman while the wife shacked up with someone else.
There was finding justice in their own way. One of the few things Sulim was not privy to knowing the details about—all she knew was that Marco di’Flare and his Lord accomplice were both long dead.
So, to know that Sonall had made it this far without a complete breakdown was a triumph for the family. Like I’d let him.
“See you downstairs.”
“Hey.”
She stopped halfway toward the door. “Hm?”
Sonall drummed a pencil against his desk. “Thanks for being understanding. Sometimes, it still feels like you’re the only one who gets what I’m thinking when I can’t find the words.”
“Yeah, well… that’s what I’m good at.”
“I mean it. We’re entering a new phase of… change… around here, and I’m worried I’m going to fuck it up.”
“You won’t. If anything, you’ll be the favorite. You and Mira.”
“Why not you?”
She shrugged. “You know me. I’m the one who gets serious quickly when it’s necessary. I’m the one with only real authority to tell someone off. Over the years, it wears down your PR. Which is why I know I’m the one who will have to reveal any hard decisions in the future.”
“Maybe I should pick up some of that slack.”
You said it, not me. Sulim jerked her head toward the door. “I’m needed downstairs.”
That wasn’t a lie. The clock ticked closer to the evening hour, and if Sulim knew anything about their imminent arrivals, it was that they were punctual. It was one thing the long-living julah valued that surprised a lot of humans.
Sure enough, the moment Sulim reached the bottom of the stairs, a commotion erupted in the yard.
Mira was already gone, and Sulim could only presume that her partner had gone ahead to begin the hugging and kissing and acting the presumptive Lady, if only because she knew how the role worked.
She’s like… the least qualified one on the chart.
Worked for Sulim, who pulled a maid aside to give some curt instructions before heading outside into the misty yard.
“Sulim! Oh, you are radiant!” Joiya was faster than her swishing travel cloak as she barreled forward and extended her hands to Sulim.
After the cheek-kisses and a hardy hug, she wrapped her arm around Sulim’s and escorted her to the empty yard, where more people gathered for shrieks of welcome and the kind of half-armed clutches that could have only originated on Yahzen.
“I’m sorry we’re a minute late. I think those clocks on Qahrain are not quite aligned with Federation timekeeping!”
She was quickly distracted by Mira, who teased her mother for wearing such an “old-fashioned” cloak. Joiya was quick to quip in Julah that she didn’t want to hear it when her own daughter—the very modern, very stylish daughter—had been caught using a stave in the past twenty years.
Four people had come along with her. One was Master Marlow, who would be using this as an excuse to visit Kanhith at the nearby Temple.
But he was needed to port three humans and their luggage across the universe.
This can’t be everything. The women had more suitcases and handbags than the boy, who would be staying the longest.
Was he shipping the rest? For while the Qahrainian contingent visited with julah aid once or twice a year, they still expressed that it was an unworthy honor.
Even when Joiya couldn’t make it and had to send some distant cousins from House Dunsman or Lerenan to help the humans with instantaneous travel.
Sometimes, Mira and Kema have to do the work.
Sulim didn’t like keeping score, but… she couldn’t help it.
“Sulim. It’s been too long.”
Since surviving the attack at her own wedding, Graella had lost the ability to project her voice, but it never stopped her from coloring her words with her emotions.
When she stepped forward and embraced Sulim, it was with the reassurance that she was still doing well.
Sulim returned the hug with alacrity, taking note of how well the scar on her sister-in-law’s throat had healed over the past fifteen years.
You can barely see it. Graella either wore high-collared dresses or applied makeup to cover it, but when she was with comfortable company, she left it exposed.
“You look well.” Sulim tipped up Graella’s chin to check her coloring. “How’s Lewin?”
“He’s fine, and expresses his lament that he couldn’t make it. It’s harvest season back home, you know.”
“Yes, I remember it well.” Sulim had lost many days of adolescence to harvest season.
Graella turned toward the others. “Arabelle! Rechar! Come here and give your salutations to your Aunt Sulim!”
Two youths made their way over from the luggage. The older one, the girl, dressed much like her mother and curtsied to Sulim, whom she had met so many times before that one had to wonder if this was her natural state or if she felt particularly pressured that day.
As for the boy? He stuck his hand out to Sulim before remembering to remove his glove.
“Wow, you really don’t change appearance!” he barked. “Not like Mom. She looks so much old—”
Arabelle smacked her brother on the back of the head before turning around with a hmph. Graella berated her son, and Sulim was merely amused. At least he has a sense of humor. That was much needed around Gardiah Estate.