Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Chapter Twelve

GYFT:

“MINNIEL.” A SWIPE of my palm across my comm brings up a hologram image. He looks uptight in his starched uniform—the same one I usually wear.

“I realize you’re out celebrating your marriage,” he says drily. “But you did say you were returning to the castle as soon as you retrieved the human. You haven’t even sent for a liestrel to deliver the Earth shuttle.”

Guilt rushes through me. Truthfully, I haven’t even thought about work.

“Oh, yes. A lot has happened—”

“—which I would know if you’d been checking in.”

“I am on my marriage celebration,” I return. “Normally a couple is sequestered for at least two cold seasonal rotations. Two moons according to the Earth calendar.”

There’s a pause. “Which is why I sent out a team to bring in the shuttle myself.”

“Oh.” That changes the conversation from personal to work-related. “Have you studied it?”

“We have.”

“And?”

Frustration laces his voice. “There’s nothing spectacular about it. Nothing unusual. No reason why it should have made it through a black hole and no reason why it should have landed in one piece on the other side after traveling faster than the speed of light. Yet we all saw the proof. Your bride was delivered in it. There’s got to be a component we’re missing.”

When he pauses for a moment, I relay my news. “We’ll find it. I should have studied the shuttle more myself, but I was intent on finding my bride. Olivia had woken up from the sleeping gas early and left the shuttle.”

“That close to the deadlands? She’s okay?” He sounds strangled. I know it’s not personal care about her safety... I was the same way not long ago. Our priority was political in making sure the alien was alive and kicking. It had nothing to do with her as a person.

“I found her in the woods before a mongortial did. But I needed some time to recover and we came upon a homestead owned by Minstrel and Monesse Grekl M’irshlak. Gray farmhouse? They have a set of twin souls.”

“Ahh, I remember that family. Right outside of the forest, correct?”

“That’s the one.” There’s a pause. “The twin souls are a bit of a handful. The family has a bush of fichiels and the seedlings ate a few blossoms.” The bushes are native to the deadlands but long ago began to grow outside the borders. We hack them down as fast as we can. They’re useful for repelling certain creatures that exist on the outer edges of the forest, but warned against for families with seedlings. If eaten, the person can go into a drugged trance and heed a call from shapeshifting beasts that reside within the inner deadlands. It’s a sort of folklore charm to keep the bushes as repellant, though we’ve explained the dangers of eating the berries.

“Before dark?”

“During sunset.”

“What happened?”

“They went into a trance and were drawn to the deadlands by a Shirdist shifter.”

“Damn countryfolk believing their urban myths and thinking those berries will protect them! Were they rescued in time?” he barks .

“Yes. By the bride.”

“What?”

“She’s okay so far. She hasn’t changed, well, except for her human hair.”

I can almost hear his flinch. “Earth will notice that during a vidcam. No fangs?”

“No. I imagine we don’t know how the change will affect her species.” I clear my throat. “She wants her best friend to visit. This... Ivitt.”

“Earth was firm in only one human female coming here. That she be your bride.”

“This is what she wants. I want it to happen.”

“I’ll open negotiations once I notify them that she has been found and is relatively safe.”

Relief washes over my limbs, rolling through the muscles, tingling my fingers and unwinding my tail. Then it’s chased by a new emotion.

Complete, utter happiness.

I’ll be the one to bring Olivia what she wants most in the world. Her best friend. Her Ivitt.

“Well, keep focusing on the shuttle. I’m sure the key is there somewhere. There’s something we’re missing and it’ll be an easy fix once we find it. We’ll probably laugh about how easy it was.”

“I hope.”

“Waiting on you, handsome!” calls a sweet voice from outside the balcony.

I clear my throat again, hoping he didn’t hear the voice that reduces me to a lovesick fool. “Minniel, I have to run. We’re heading to H’liyio today. We’re going to come back to the castle before the next cold hits. Hopefully you can have her Ivitt by then?”

“I’ll work on it.” He sounds irritated. “I imagine I’ll have to keep the creature occupied until you return. ”

“Thank you.” Unwilling to push my luck further, I disconnect before Olivia can call out again. As soon as I step out onto the porch, she and the twin souls start clapping as if I entered a theater.

I take a bow, watching my bride’s face break into a huge grin as she approaches.

“Way to make an entrance, Commander.”

“Let’s get loaded,” I say, tweaking her nose. My hands span her waist as I carefully lift Olivia—my delicate, human bride—into the carriage.

“We have horses on Earth, you know. They look nothing like your beasts—”

“ Wildebeasts ,” Brisa says from where she hops into the carriage behind Olivia. Kyno sits directly behind me. “Kind of hard to say shorses .”

“ Hoshes ,” Kyno repeats, and they erupt into a fit of laughter.

Olivia watches them settle and then her gaze falls onto me. “We kind of look like a matching family with our white hair.”

She tilts her head my way when no one responds.

“Having the freelig on our heads change color used to be a curse,” I say. “Until the homes were built around the deadlands with the condition that suites would be given to protect the soldiers who defend them. When our hair turned white facing the Lealair’ash, which is the creature you called a pond-monster, it became more honorable to carry white freelig.”

She watches me carefully out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed. “When?”

“Excuse me?”

“When did it become popular?”

I shrug, trying to appear uncaring but failing miserably. “In the last decade of the planet, or so. Since the twins have been alive.”

“So, you’ve worn white freelig since it was unfashionable?” she asks. Rather astute, my bride.

I give a simple head nod .

“We’re excited the Commander and his troops protect us,” Kyno says, giggling when his sister pokes him in the side. They both laugh, identical white heads pressed together, and draw their hood over their heads. They’re dressed in one shared brichet, as many twin souls do, and it’s wider than most to accommodate two heads.

“I’m sorry your hair color has changed. I hope your father won’t be too upset—”

She barks out her laughter. “Upset? He won’t blink an eye at the change of color. He won’t even notice. Trust me.”

How is that possible that a parent wouldn’t notice his seedling’s glorious hair color has changed? I’m thunderstruck.

Olivia slides her hand into mine and squeezes. Then, like a young seedling, she giggles too. “You have an extra finger. It doesn’t quite know where to go when we hold hands.”

I huff teasingly. “I don’t have an extra. You’re missing one.”

“And a bleeby,” Brisa calls out, then the two erupt into a fit of laughter.

I can’t help the smile that tugs my lips.

“Bleeby?” Olivia asks.

I clear my throat. “It’s slang for breast. You’d call it a boob.”

She starts to laugh. “I thought Monesse Menga was unusual. She had a large shelf-like rack.”

“A rack!” Kyno giggles, pleased with the new slang.

Our laughter rings out.

“Livvy?” Brisa calls from the back when they sober. “You want to learn a song to sing for traveling? It’s called Ninety-Nine Twin Souls In The Stars?”

“Sure,” Olivia says.

The twins begin singing the childhood rhyme. “Ninety-Nine Twin Souls In The Stars. Ninety-Nine Twin Souls... Pluck one out, spin it about. Two Twin Souls will be born. Ninety-Eight Twin Souls In The Stars, Ninety-Eight Twin Souls... pluck one out, spin it about. Four twin souls will be born. Ninety-Seven Twin Souls In The Stars, Ninety-Seven Twin Souls...”

Olivia joins in. “Pluck one out, spin it about... six?”

At the twins’ enthusiastic nod, she continues. “Six twin souls will be born.”

I join in the next chorus, and the twins take the next. Olivia follows with her turn, her voice sweet and pure, her hand squeezing mine, her thigh pressed up against me.

“Love this,” she whispers when the twins are singing loudly on their turn.

“Do you think you’d like your own seedlings one day?” I ask softly.

“I do.”

Her voice is wistful.

“Me too.” There’s a pause and I imagine we’re both wondering what our seedlings might look like.

“Do you think they’ll have hair or freelig?” she asks.

“Not sure. But I hope it’ll be red like yours.”

She gives a soft laugh. “Like mine was .”

Then it’s her turn to sing the next count in the song, and she does it with a sweet ringing voice that makes me go hard.

When we finally pull up to the gates of the city, I’m greeted by city officials who wave the wagon through. Funny how, just a season ago, I was traveling by hoverpods, dressed in full uniform. Now, I look like a simple farmer, my uniform mangled, my bride wearing my brichet. We’re definitely worse for wear.

But we’re happy. So much more so than when we first met. We’re holding hands in a public display of affection, the twin souls latched onto Olivia’s other hand like a happy foursome. Heads turn to watch us; people are curious about my alien bride. This time, I’m proud to be with her; proud that the hood of her brichet isn’t over her head.

There are a lot of stares—not shocking. I scowl at everyone, making sure they don’t say anything stupid to hurt Bride’s feelings. Having Monesse M’irshlak as our hostess works in our favor, since she’s obviously called some of the local females bragging about how my bride was so brave to save her twin souls. I hear many greetings about how I have a bride deserving of my bravery.

As if I deserve hers.

The more that word gets around, the more I notice others look interested.

“H’ronak,” calls a deep, male voice. Next to us, the twin souls squeal.

“Livva, this is our professor. Minstrel B’lacer! Hi, Minstrel! Hi!”

“Brisa. Kyno. How are my favorite twin souls?” The professor’s voice is deep, he’s definitely not as aged as professors were when I went to school—he looks like a male in the prime of his life.

He studies my bride with open curiosity, even as the twin souls respond.

Then he turns to Olivia.

“Rakel B’lacer.” He holds out his hand in greeting and Bride takes it first, her lacking fingers clasped loosely in the professor’s.

“Welcome to our planet,” he says.

I scowl. Why haven’t I ever thought of saying that?

“Thank you! It’s such a beautiful place.”

“I’m sure yours is just as lovely.”

“It is, but very different than yours. Yours looks like old world Earth, but that’s probably just this location. We have a ton of continents that are all different. Some very modern, some older.”

“The cities here are more modern, though the castle itself resides on the outskirts of the city. But I’m sure you already know that. You live there, right?”

The professor turns to me, and salutes. A sign of respect... that came from not wanting to touch one of the King’s Guard that has been through the deadlands. “Rakel.” He nods, introducing himsel f

In a small snub, I give him my full name and title. “Honorable Mention Gyft T’shil of the Third District, High Commander of the Kashian fleet.”

The only one who looks impressed is Bride.

The professor nods as if he knows exactly who I am. Good, let Bride see her husband is well known. Well respected.

“Minstrel B’lacer, do you think me and Brisa can be in the school play now? With our different freelig color?” As Kyno asks, he reaches up with his hand to smooth the ropes that are beginning to spike with his emotion.

Rakel’s eyes linger on their hair, then take on the color of mine and Bride’s. I clasp Olivia’s hand in mine. As she mentioned earlier, we do look like a family unit. I want this male to see that.

“Of course you can,” the male says gently to Kyno, whose spikes drop in relief. “You and Brisa were signed up before your freelig went white and the color makes no difference in the play.”

Is it just me or does it appear that Bride is smiling wide at the professor?

“You’ll have a few more years in regular school before you’ll go to the castle to attend training.”

“I’m not sure I wanna.” Brisa scowls.

“You’ll change your mind by then,” Professor B’lacer says smoothly. “You’ll grow bored in regular school. You’ll want more exercise to adapt to your changing body. More training to satisfy your new strength and speed. But you don’t have to worry about it now. You’re just ninety seasons old.”

“Livva is twenty-four. Just a baby,” Brisa says.

Olivia smiles, locking her arm around Brisa. “To be fair, we count by years, not seasons. Oh, and we get four seasons a year, not as many as you do. Spring, summer, autumn and winter.”

“We count by the cold seasons. There are ten each annual year, but we don’t count the annual until it ends. So, these two”—he reaches out to ruffle the kids’ freelig— “are ninety until the end of the count, then they’ll jump to one hundred. And, our seasons are always like this, warm weather until the cold one hits.” The professor holds his arms out, making his well-formed physique pop. Does it seem like Bride’s gaze drifts there? “After twenty-four or so sun cycles, we have a cold season that lasts about seven sun cycles. It starts all over again.”

“So your sun cycles would be one of our days. Then you have a week of winter after a little more than a month later. Doesn’t the cold snap kill off your vegetation? Don’t mind all my questions. This is fascinating.”

“No, a... week isn’t long enough to kill our crops. Our planet has probably evolved differently than yours. If a cold season lasted... maybe three of your weeks, the plants might wither and die.”

I don’t like the way these two get along. Surely I should have been the one to explain the differences in our planets? To be fair, we just started understanding each other.

“An interesting theory. If we have an early winter, we tend to cover our plants for the colder nights to keep getting crop from them as long as possible. Our days are still quite warm. I’d love to learn more. I might have to attend school one of these days with the twins.”

A smile makes the professor look roguishly handsome, but I’m sure if he was faced with the deadlands, he’d squeal like a seedling. “We’ll learn just as much from you as you would from us.”

“Yes, Livva, yes! It would be so fun for you to come with us to school. Can it be soon?”

My stomach sinks. I can’t have Bride exposed to the professor. He’s too suave, too smooth, too impressive.

“Olivia hasn’t the time!” I snap. “She doesn’t live here. She must settle into her grand new home at the castle. Not everyone can live there, you know.”

“Well, later then,” Brisa says, looking at me like I’ve grown a second tail. They wander off with their precious Professor B’lacer .

Olivia is also staring at me like I grew another tail. “Well, that was awkward.”

“You’re my bride. Not theirs.” I’m not sure who looks more surprised—Olivia or me. My words hit me just as hard as they hit her.

“I know,” she whispers and lifts herself up on her toes to kiss me.

In public.

No brichets.

And what do I do? I kiss her back like there’s no tomorrow. I kiss her back like I’m not the First Commander of the Kings Army. I kiss her like I’m not aware of people’s stares at the sight of a Commander kissing his alien bride.

His beautiful alien bride, because surely all these nosy commoners are jealous.