Some Things Transcend (Princes' Game 2)

Given a choice, Lisinthir Nase Galare would have stayed in the Chatcaavan Empire to help its reformed Emperor and Queen remake the worlds in their image. But when his presence proved a threat to the Emperor's attempts, he bowed to necessity and accepted an exile that he thought would kill him... for what was left without duty and the company of the beloved? Adding insult to injury, his escort home included two psychiatrists, as if he was something broken and in need of therapy... and one of them was another Eldritch. Did they expect him to spill his soul to anyone without the courage to make his sacrifices, and to a member of a species he now considered completely craven? And would he even have the chance, when the Emperor's enemies had a vested interest in never letting him see the other side of the border?

Xenotherapists Jahir and Vasiht'h of the novels Mindtouch and Mindline make a guest appearance in this second book of the Princes' Game, and the game is as large as the fate of three nations and millions of worlds. Perhaps there's a role for an additional prince on the playing field....

Excerpt from Chapter 1

If Jahir's residency had taught the two of them anything, it was that it was best to be prepared for emergencies...which is why they had a patient priority alert despite it being less of a necessity in their line of work than in other medical professions. Now that Jahir volunteered now and then at the starbase's civilian hospital, they heard it more often... and if Vasiht'h never enjoyed being jerked awake by it, he was at least a little less shocked to hear it.

The alarm that ripped through their suite was not the patient priority alert.

"What in Her name is that?" Vasiht'h asked, falling off his mound of pillows.

A scrabbling from the bed, a muffled, exasperated noise—Jahir slept under a lot of blankets, and tossed enough in his sleep to wake up tangled. "That's a comm request."

"Comm requests don't wake us up in the middle of the night!"

"No," Jahir said, and his tension sang in the mindline like electricity, "they don't." And then he was off the bed and out of the room.

Vasiht'h shoved the pillows away from his splayed feet and lunged out of his nest, hopping a few times to wake up a nerveless foot before hurrying after his partner.

Jahir was sitting in their common room in front of the wallscreen, nearly invisible in his pajamas: loose long-sleeved shirt and pants in midnight blue, a lot like the scrubs he wore in the hospital. His braid fell against that dark fabric like white silk, and it was the brightest thing in the room until the screen lit.

"Incoming transmission, well-streamed, Riggins-encrypted, destination code unlisted. Accept?"

"Yes."

Vasiht'h's ears flipped back. Real-time encrypted transmissions from unknown sources, going to an Eldritch, probably involved....

"Jahir Seni Galare."

I am not seeing the Queen of the Eldritch in my apartment at mark four in the morning, with sleep-rumpled fur.

/You are, and I believe I am a fair sight more inappropriately dressed than you./

Vasiht'h winced, not having intended that thought to travel. He padded up behind his partner so he was visible at Jahir's shoulder, and together they met the eyes of the Eldritch Queen, a woman he'd seen only once, at the wedding that had resulted in his induction into Jahir's family. Even transmitted across half the Alliance, she looked inimitable. Something about her eyes... like she was seeing more than surfaces, or the right-nows of a thing.

Jahir was talking. "My Lady. I apologize for how you find us—"

"I am aware of the time there and expected no differently. If my errand could have waited, I would have delayed, but it cannot. A vessel is waiting for you at the Veta military dock. If you are willing, it will bring you to a ship which will make rendezvous at the border with a vessel carrying the former Alliance Ambassador ad'Chatcaavan Empire, whom I believe you know. Your expertise there will be crucial."

Vasiht'h had known his friend for over a decade now, and he had yet to experience a flat-footedness quite as complete as the one the mindline now conveyed to him. They had had some communication with the Ambassador, it was true: the Alliance had requested their help—or more accurately, Jahir's help—speaking the Eldritch language in secure transmissions directly to the Ambassador. But they'd arrived one day to be turned away with the information that they were no longer needed. Both of them had assumed it was because the Ambassador had returned. But that was nearly a year ago...! Vasiht'h could sense how desperately Jahir was scrabbling to respond appropriately in the face of their entirely reshaped understanding of the situation. "...crucial, my Lady? In what fashion?"

"Because the tensions at the border are becoming critical, and the Alliance at last has an ambassador who may have enough information to help them understand how to win the inevitable confrontation."

Vasiht'h said uncertainly, "And he needs therapy," when what he really wanted to say was 'And he doesn't need a medical team.'

Liolesa glanced at him, spared him a distracted smile and even his name, impeccably pronounced in her flawless Universal. "Vasiht'h. Yes." Her smile became less symmetrical. "He has been in the Empire for almost a year, and out of contact with sympathetic voices for so long. We believe the face of a countryman will be salubrious."

"You're telling us," Jahir said slowly, "that the man we were in contact with—briefly—has been there all this time, my Lady. An Eldritch. Along among dragons and slavers. A man whose last communication with us was a refusal to return in the face of possible capture and punishment."

Liolesa looked at Jahir now, and that expression... the two of them had counseled Fleet personnel before, and now and then Vasiht'h had wondered what it must be like to send people into war, knowing they might die. That look told him, somehow. Vasiht'h's stomach wrenched, and that was nothing to Jahir's shock at the confirmation, so abrupt it felt like smashing into a wall.

"I send you to your House-cousin, Lisinthir Nase Galare. If you leave tonight, you will be in time to meet him at the border. Otherwise, you will have to wait for him at the nearest starbase." Something in her eyes, then: was she... unhappy? No. Pain, he thought, stunned. She was not a woman he thought of as being easy prey to grief. "The transition may be difficult. It would help, perhaps, for you to be there sooner. Particularly you, since yours was the last friendly voice he heard. I would consider it a favor. To me."

"Of course," Jahir managed. "At once, my Lady."

She nodded. "Thank you. They're expecting you at the base. And cousin—I will remember your faithfulness."

Jahir managed a twitch of his head, a negation so instinctive he defaulted to the minimalist body language the Alliance had polished out of him years ago. "My Lady. I do my duty."

"Nevertheless." She smiled. "Goddess and Lord with you on your errand."

"As you say, my Lady."

And then the transmission ended.

What Vasiht'h could come up with, what he could pull out of the shocked and tangled thoughts in his head, in their head, was, "They left him in the Empire? After engineering the return of all those slaves? And they knew he'd done it?" He paused and added, astonished, "And he survived."

Jahir's nerves were so jangled, his muscles so tense, that Vasiht'h's shoulders ached. His partner stood. "We have to pack."

"Right," Vasiht'h said, and hastened after him despite his misgivings, a flood of emotions so overwhelming he almost hit Jahir when the Eldritch stopped abruptly and turned to him. Back-pedaling, Vasiht'h looked up at him.

"I know," Jahir said softly, and rested a rare hand on the Glaseah's shoulder, warm and gentle. "I know, ariihir. But we have to go."

Vasiht'h covered the long white fingers with his shorter, furred ones. He managed a lopsided smile. "Well. A case involving an Eldritch and a species of pathological sociopaths, dropped in our laps by a Queen with all our expenses paid by the military. How bad could it be?"

Jahir managed a smile, squeezed, and vanished into their bedroom. Which made Vasiht'h suddenly think it could be that bad, and worse, because when had he ever made a joke like that without Jahir laughing... on the inside, at least, if not on the outside?

"Goddess," he muttered. "Walk with us."