How are we to pretend not to be Bonded? Joron asked as he and Tarvak prepared for bed. It had been another long, wearying day and the Romulan was close to emotional exhaustion.

There are male couples in the Federation, Tarvak reminded, then took Joron’s hands. Beloved, you do realize that will hardly be a real concern.

What do you… Joron began in alarm.

Calm, Dei’lrn, Tarvak soothed. What I mean is that we do not know what will happen to us when our hosts return to their home. These bodies are not ours to keep.

But… Kah-lir, I thought…

Can you truly wish to usurp them now, beloved? the older man interrupted gently. Orliot’s message was for us.

We are not dishonored dead! Joron protested stridently, We did nothing to create this situation, we did not ask…

But if we were to attempt to claim them, to erase or subjugate their true owners…

No, of course, not that, but… Tarvak, I don’t want to… we co-exist easily now, do we not? The Vulcan – Spock, he quickly corrected himself, has said we are real beings, worthy of respect and…

And considering the impossible situation between him and DelMonde, how could we continue to co-exist? They would not want to be near one another, they would not wish to allow our Bond to tie them…

I mentioned this to Del before, Joron continued pleadingly. If they would but allow our union to heal them, to claim them, they could share the golden female. She could be our Third, Kah-lir, a true Third, not this charade we play with Ve’el…

Tarvak’s mind was silent for a moment. If they could agree to such a thing, he mused softly, there would be no dishonor in it.

Just so! Joron exclaimed. And it would be best for them as well. This rivalry of theirs tears at both their minds. It makes Del drink too much, and attempt to dull his thoughts with drugs. That is very harmful to a Dei’lrn, my Bonded. It causes Spock true pain, it threatens his union with his female. And think of how much help we could be to their Federation…

You think to betray the Empire? Tarvak broke in.

Have we not already? Is not our helping them fool the Telanate, to further their mission make such betrayal inevitable?

All the more reason to vacate….

But we don’t know how! Not even Pelori knows how such a thing will be accomplished! If we aren’t trapped here, whoever is responsible for our lives will only place us within other bodies to do further harm to the Empire. I couldn’t bear that, Kah-lir, to endure a succession of new bodies…. If we prove of use in these… He paused. I like this body, Tarvak, as you do Spock’s. Please, we must convince them we can heal them. We must convince Pelori’s superiors to allow us to remain. Tears gathered in his eyes. Please, beloved, please, I don’t want to be dead!

Tarvak gathered the younger male in his arms. The anguish and grief that colored Joron’s thoughts pulled at him, demanding he find some way to ease them. We cannot know what awaits us, he said. It may be another solution will present itself. We have this time, beloved, no matter how brief it may prove to be. Let us enjoy it, let us revel in one another as we have always done. I love you, my Dei’lrn. With Telan’s help I will not leave you, not in this life, and not in that which comes after.

Joron wept bitter tears of frustration and despair and Tarvak held him, sharing the sorrow and the pain – and the hopelessness.

Stop complaining, Pelori told Ve’el as the Romulan irritably brushed out her hair.

This is too long for me to do it properly by myself, the Romulan stated as the brush hit another snag.

I manage, her host returned blithely.

Then you do it!

I don’t dare come to the forefront for that long a period of time, MacEntyre reminded. The Telanate can scan us at any time, day or night.

It would serve you right, Ve’el snapped.

And just what do you think they’d do to you if I were discovered? the Indiian retorted.

What does it matter, I’m already dead.

And while you may be able to hide behind my doors, Pelori countered, they’d eventually rip them down – and you’d feel just as much pain as I would, maybe even more since they’d undoubtedly use techniques honed on Romulan minds.

I hate you! Ve’el seethed.

You’re not my favorite person in the galaxy either, but the sooner we get back to the Federation, the sooner we’ll be severed.

Don’t you wish you were as sure of that as you were a few weeks ago, the Romulan sneered.

Pelori stiffened, then let the steel of her training infuse her thoughts. Whatever befalls me, Ve’el, also happens to you. Remember that.

Lahs sat alone on the edge of his bed, carefully going over the day’s lessons. He was still awed at the fact that he had a real bed, not a cot – as awed as he was by nearly everything that was happening to him. His clothing was the same utilitarian uniform of all the Candidates, no more but no less either. He ate the same food, at the same times. He was allowed complete privacy in his cell, just as his Mis… the Lady… Ve’el and Joron and Tarvak were. He was taught defensive techniques, just as they were. Even his obsession with numbers had been noted with a certain approval by the Telanate officers – a fact which was both prideful and apprehensive.

He recognized the kindness Second… Joron had done him in pushing him to be able to execute the ‘judo’ throws. It was unseemly, he knew, to have had to have been made angry to follow the instructor’s directions. Joron must know him well indeed to know exactly the right things to say to elicit that emotion.

Of course, he knows your thoughts, he reminded himself. He vowed to be more amenable to instruction in the future – though he could not fathom what that future could be. His primary teacher had used the word ‘aide,’ but he had no idea what such a position would entail.

Don’t try to out-guess your betters, he told himself. They will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.

He paused in his thoughts. Was it still proper to consider them ‘betters’? He had been told to behave as subordinate, but not slavish – that he had to begin to see himself not as owned, but… but what? Surely not equal! Wouldn’t a respectful ‘aide’ still consider those who employed him as ‘better’ than himself?

Maybe in certain areas… maybe they are only superior in information, or experience, or…

His head started to hurt, and he deliberately cleared his mind, laying down on the soft mattress of his bed. One and one are two, he began quite subconsciously. Two and two are four. Four and four are eight…

“Your name is Liison Kenrin,” the instructor said to Joron. “You are the Indiian diplomatic liaison and interpreter to the Vulcan scientific team which consists of Sevok,” he pointed to Tarvak, “his assistant, T’Pal,” he indicated Ve’el, “and their aide, Sonan.” His last gesture was to Lahs. “This exercise is to be a formal diplomatic dinner,” he continued to the foursome. “You are expected to use the information at your disposal to convince our test subjects of your personas. They have been told not to scan your or in any other way communicate telepathically. This test is to judge your outward behavior and interactions only. If you succeed, we will continue on to the next portion of the training. Do you understand?”

There were murmured assents, and the Telanate led them to a lavishly appointed table.

T’Pal, huh? DelMonde’s voice chuckled in Joron’s head. That funny, that is.

It’s pronounced ‘T’p-ah-l’, not ‘Tee-p-aw-l’, Pelori corrected, but her mind, too, was grinning.

Enough chatter, if you please, Tarvak put in. We must concentrate.

The testers entered the room. Tarvak, Ve’el and Lahs immediately straightened, each presenting the picture of reserved interest. Joron took a step forward, smiling. He placed his right hand on the upper portion of the left side of his chest, his fingers spread in a traditional Indiian gesture of greeting. “Honored evening!” he said in flawless Indiian. “I am Liison Kenrin. May I present Professor Sevok and his assistant, T’Pal…”

Introduce Lahs, Tarvak added silently.

“...and their aide, Sonan,” Joron continued smoothly.

The three ‘Vulcans’ nodded, though Lahs’ eyes were a little too wide.

The entire group, testers and candidates, took seats. Immediately, servers appeared, moving to stand at their left sides. But these servers neither knelt nor offered the dishes to those seated. They simply bent slightly, giving the name of the dish with a carefully neutral, “would you care for some soup – or whatever the dish was – ‘ma’am,’ or ‘sir?’ If the answer was an affirmative, they placed the food item on plate or in bowl or glass as was appropriate.

This is normal in the Federation? Joron asked Del, a little uneasily.

Yeah, why?

Doesn’t that leave ample opportunity for the servers to – contaminate the food in some way?

If the cooks not do already, Del returned, then snorted at the feeling of dismay that swept through his guest’s mind. Non, mon ami, we not usually poison one another. He chuckled again. You not worry ‘bout that wit’ the household help?

You mean the non-gifts? Joron replied. Why would they even think of such a thing?

Maybe ‘cause o’ the way y’all treat ‘em?

The way we…? There was true puzzlement in the Romulan’s mind.

Never mind, Joron. Go back t’ bein’ an Indiian.

“I have found your analysis of the data quite interesting, but there are one or two factors I think you’ve overlooked,” one of the testers was saying to ‘Sevok.’

“Indeed?” Spock returned with a lifted eyebrow, quelling Tarvak’s immediate indignation.

“I believe I may have mentioned that in our last consultation, Sevok,” ‘T’Pal’ put in, just a little too snidely.

“And we reached what seemed, at the time, satisfactory resolutions to the potential problems you saw,” Spock continued smoothly. Ve’el, an assistant would not so correct her professor in a diplomatic situation such as this. Any questions she had would wait for an opportune, private moment.

I don’t like being relegated to the background, Tarvak, Ve’el sent back.

That is the way of Vulcan, my Lady, Tarvak apologized

Get used to it, Pelori added.

“I have a copy of your research here, Professor,” the tester went on.

Tarvak glanced at Lahs, who was already producing the data in question from the small case that stood next to his chair.

“Thank you, Sonan,” Tarvak said. Lahs’ eyes grew wide again, but he only gave a short, precise nod.

One of the testers was female, and as the others began a detailed discussion of the imaginary ‘data,’ she turned to Joron with a half-smile.

“I’ve never met an Indiian before,” she said coyly. The emanations of both curiosity and desire were plain to Joron’s empathy.

“I’m pleased, then, to be your first,” he replied with a gracious smile of his own.

“Hardly,” she chuckled, with clear innuendo, “but perhaps, later on, my first Indiian?”

Joron froze for a second, his mind going over the cultural norms for Indiians.

Look at your left palm, Del suggested. You not married. That mean jus’ ‘bout anyt’ing goes.

The Romulan gave silent thanks, then smiled again at the woman across the table from him.

“I think, dear lady, that would be an absolute delight,” he said, then reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. She blushed, and he let his skin warm, knowing that, when fully disguised as the Indiian he was supposed to be, it would make his face glow softly.

“A few corrective notes,” the instructor said when the testers had left. “Ve’el, do not criticize Tarvak in public. That is not the way of Vulcans.”

As was pointed out, my Lady, Tarvak said with deferential chagrin.

“Tarvak, your performance was almost flawless. You have obviously used your time here well. However, a Vulcan would not thank his aide for performing an expected duty.”

“I thought guests might expect such behavior,” Tarvak returned in explanation.

“They might, but that would not compel a Vulcan’s response,” the Telanate corrected.

“Understood,” Tarvak replied, ignoring Ve’el’s silent, Ha!

“Joron, you also did quite well, particularly in flirting with the female tester,” the instructor continued. “However, Indiians do not kiss the fingers of a casual bed-partner. Due to the importance they attach to certain marks on the hands, such a thing would signify quite serious intentions.”

Joron grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I’ll make a note of it.” Why didn’t you tell me? he demanded of DelMonde.

Del shrugged. Hell, son, I not Indiian.

Finally, the officer turned to Lahs. “You did very well,” he said. “You’re a little too awed by just about everything, but if we create a scenario where this would be your first time off of Vulcan, it will be easily understandable. You’ll do, Candidate.”

Lahs had started blushing the minute the Telanate turned toward him. “Yes, sir,” he responded quietly. “Thank you, sir.”

“I believe we can begin the next phase of training,” the instructor said to them all. “This will entail learning how to telepathically and empathically send out a false life-flame signature. The Indiian race is able to determine species by such a thing, and your projection of Vulcan and Indiian essence must be flawless.” His gaze turned to Ve’el. “We will require your aide in the conditioning of Candidate Lahs,” he said. “As he was your former servant, you know his mind best.”

“Certainly,” Ve’el replied with true pleasure.

I’ll be taking care of that, Ve’el, Pelori warned.

You don’t trust me? the Romulan said with mock-surprise.

No, MacEntyre returned straightforwardly. I don’t.

“Try to relax, Lahs,” Ve’el ordered sitting down at the table opposite him.

“Yes, Mis…” The slave caught himself. “Ma’am.”

The Lady took in a deep breath and thought about the instructions the trainers had given her before she entered this bare little cell with its one table and two chairs to speak with her former servant.

“Although we like our non-gifts to be malleable and obedient,” the female trainer had said. “Sometimes, well below the surface, they can be very strong-willed.”

Ve’el had agreed with a rueful grunt.

“Candidate Lahs is eager to please and very bright for a non-gift,” the male trainer put in. “However, as sometimes happens in these sorts of situations, he is resisting assuming the new identity.”

The female trainer nodded. “He is very uncomfortable with his change in status. At the deeper levels, he seems divided.”

Inside Ve’el, Pelori MacEntyre snapped to attention.

“Sometimes,” the male trainer said, “a non-gift will try to hang onto his slave identity out of fear, ignorance, stubbornness…”

“Or,” the female trainer put in, “because he does not feel he truly has permission to do so from his owner.”

“We still sense possessiveness in you,” the male informed her.

“And even though he cannot read your thoughts, after being attuned to your moods for years, he can see that you are still very watchful, very critical.”

Ve’el released a long breath and tried to take this reproving feedback from social inferiors docilely.

“What you must do now is to speak to him,” the trainer instructed. “Let him know that he must fully embrace his new persona and that he has your blessing to do so.”

The lady nodded. “I will say whatever is necessary.”

“And Ve’el,” the female had stopped her by the door. “We want to see that you mean it.”

In the cell with Lahs, Ve’el could sense the minds of the trainers. However, as in the role-playing scenarios that had been completing recently, the officers were only maintaining the lightest of surface scans as they watched the former mistress and slave on monitors in a nearby room. It was safe enough for MacEntyre to come forward if she was careful.

Pelori smiled across the table at the non-gift. “My hair's a mess, isn't it?”

“I wish they would let me brush it for you,” Lahs replied earnestly.

“I must learn to do so myself.” She reached across the table and patted his hand comfortingly. “We must all learn new things.”

“Yes, Mis-m-m-ma'am,” the non-gift stammered uncomfortably.

MacEntyre took his hands into hers and looked into his soft brown eyes. “You must cooperate fully with the training.” She would have liked to have put her fingers on his throat, but that would have looked too odd.

“Yes, ma'am.” The non-gift flushed at the contact. “I am.”

MacEntyre was at first pleased to see that her blocks were still holding strong. Upon reflection, though, she began to see that strength might be what was sending up red flags to the trainers.

“Are you, Lahs?” she asked with gentle reproach, keeping her grip on his wrists. “Are you truly cooperating? Or just giving the appearance of cooperating?”

He lowered his eyes guiltily. "I will try harder, ma'am."

She could feel the Lahs persona actively suppress the base subject’s impulse to defend his efforts.

“You complete the acts they require,” she pressed, watching for reflexive resistance from the base subject, “but you do not adopt the proper attitudes to play these aliens.”

It flared a little. “I try.”

“Your obedience is only skin deep,” she said, loosening the restraints on the base persona’s emotions ever so slightly. “When you are ordered to feel courage or confidence, you display a slave's fear and indecision.”

Lahs’ shame at being disobedient smoothly blended in with the base subject’s shame at being called a coward.

“You remember what happened to Wen,” she said softly, but sternly, “and in your heart, you remain a slave.”

He did not answer, but she could feel the rush of Lahs’ emotions mixing into the trickle of reactions from the base persona.

“What was done to Wen was done from selfish, impure motivations,” she said, letting her thoughts directly stimulate the base subject’s feelings about injustice and loyalty. “What the Telanate asks us to do now is from motivations that could not be more pure or more patriotic.”

She could see new strength and determination in the former slave’s eyes as the feelings within him became integrated and self-supportive. “Yes, ma'am.”

“You are not simply my servant now, Lahs.” MacEntyre let go the non-gift’s hands. “You are servant to the Telanate. You are servant to the Empire.”

Tears pooled in Lahs’ eyes as his mind allowed the base subject’s fierce patriotism fill him. For the first time in his life, the slave accepted that it was right for him to feel such pride. “Yes, ma'am.”

Pelori couldn’t help smiling at him. “You understand your task now, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Bolstered by the base subject’s confidence, Lahs put a hand over hers – although his touch was still respectful and deferential. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I am glad to do so.” She squeezed his hand. “We must all help each other in the very challenging task before us.”

Lahs nodded happily. After a moment, his eyes rested on the careless bun on top of his former mistress’ head. “When you put your hair up, ma'am,” the ex-slave ventured, “you should try braiding the back...”

“Braiding?” Ve’el snapped, pushing to the forefront. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“It's very simple, ma'am.” He assured her. “It's a pattern. You divide the hair into three strands.” The ex-slave mimed handling a long ponytail. “Hold it like this. Each strand overlaps the others in turn, like this - one, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. It's very simple.”

“And how do I get the infernal tangles out?” Ve’el demanded.

“Small strokes, ma'am.” Lahs replied soothingly. “Hold the strand above the knot – like so.” Again he demonstrated on an imaginary lock. “Small strokes. Don't try to pull it. Brush it frequently and patiently. Don't let small difficulties stop you.”

“No.” MacEntyre nodded, pleased. “We must not let the small difficulties stop us.”

The technique of implanting a false life-flame was similar to an hypnotic suggestion buried deeply in the subconscious. It involved almost the deepest of probes, past even the barrier usually reserved for the forming of the Bond between mother and child or between Warriors. Only the final layer of telepathic shielding, that which preserved the core self, one's most basic personality traits, flaws and strengths, was left unbreached, for to do so would destroy the mind of the subject. It took all of the isti’li-enhanced ability of the Romulan personas to hide their true bodily identities behind these most private of shields during the intensive sessions needed to ensure the new projections would permeate up to that level.

Joron had it the hardest: his only saving factor was that, as Dei’lrn, his body already carried the signature markers for an Indiian essence. Pelori had been trained for this eventuality, and Ve’el’s Romulan essence was not, after all, that different from Vulcan, seeing as how the races carried relatively recent common ancestry. Lahs, with the strengthening help from MacEntyre, had only to guard against actually believing himself to be Vulcan, though it was pointed out that this wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing once on a mission. Though Tarvak would, as the others, fix the suggestion within his being, he had only to step back and allow Spock the forefront.

Passion muted. The non-verbal instruction whispered wordlessly in Ve’el’s thoughts. She was in a deep trance-state, allowing the normally unheard-of intrusion into the layers of her being.

Logic guides all, honor, duty, emotion are subject to its dictates.

How lifeless, Ve’el thought, and received a sharp stab of pain. She inhaled sharply.

Concentrate, Candidate! came the stern reprimand from the Telanate. The subvocals began again.

The Way of Peace is all, only the most acute level of self-protection can violate it. Curiosity is a virtue. Knowledge is the ultimate goal. Intelligence, order, reason. Arrogance controlled. Superiority kept at bay. Secret shame for the biological imperative. True courage with no false modesty. This is Vulcan. I am Vulcan.

This is Vulcan, Ve’el repeated, feeling the essence permeating her thoughts. I am Vulcan.

Passion muted. Logic guides all, the soundless mantra began again.

Passion, passion, passion! sang on wings of bright silver in Joron’s mind. It called to his empathy, making his heart beat faster. Emotion is the life’s blood, its very essence shines within. Pride and joy, surety and tolerance, love of family, of Indi, devotion to Aema.

That resonated strongly with the Romulan reverence for the female and Joron fell more deeply into the wordless indoctrination.

Emotion, emotion, emotion! Feel them all, revel in them all, categorize and understand them all. To be Indiian is to be a creature of fire and feeling, as fierce in battle as in bed. Mercurial, moody, as changeable as dancing flames. Innocence and deliberate ignorance of other cultures and other norms, the Indiian way is best – but only for Indiians. To be Indiian is to feel without judgment – save Aema’s when it comes. Passion, passion, passion! Emotion is the life’s blood…

The Telanate were very impressed with Tarvak’s ability to project a completely believable Vulcan life-flame.

“Not my ears!” Joron exclaimed in true dismay

“Indiian ears are not pointed, nor elongated, Candidate Joron,” The Telanate medical officer reprimanded.

“But…but…!”

“They will retain their sensitivity, but the removal of the flesh is necessary.”

“Tarvak…!” Joron begged helplessly.

“Endure it, my Bonded, as a true Warrior in service to the Empire,” Tarvak responded from another bed.

All four candidates were in the medical facility. Ve’el, Tarvak, and Lahs had received the injections that would remove the bronzed tint from their skin, leaving it Vulcan olive. Joron’s injection, of course, was taking nearly all the color from his, leaving it the pale monochrome natural to Indiians. Ve’el’s hair was slowly coloring to a rich caramel, her eyes, also, becoming the normal brown of Vulcan heritage. The same kind of follicle injection was changing Joron’s hair to Indiian burgundy. With the corneal infusions similar to Ve’el’s, his eyes were losing their rich, deep tone and turning to, as Ve’el’s had once been, pale silver. It had been deemed appropriate that Joron also be given a treatment to rapidly grow his hair, as his normal style was far too short for a typical Indiian male of his age. Lahs’ hair was simply combed forward, to approximate the standard Vulcan cut. Tarvak already wore his hair in that fashion.

“With the local anesthetic, you will feel no pain during the procedure,” the physician further informed Joron. “There will be some discomfort until your recovery from the surgery is complete, perhaps some swelling to your forehead…”

“My forehead?”

“We must also reshape your brow ridge, Candidate. Indiian eyebrows are not upswept.”

“Ohh…” Joron groaned with true anguish. “I will be so ugly…”

Oh you will, huh? DelMonde commented sarcastically. Wit’out them ears an’ eyebrows, you gonna look jus’ like me – in silver, he added with a toothy grin. An that not half bad, son.

So you say, Joron returned miserably. How will Tarvak stand to look at me, much less touch…

There not be too much o’ that goin’ on anyway.

There are male couples in the Federation! the Romulan retorted indignantly.

Yeah, but not Vulcans – or Indiians.

TARVAK!!!

Not so loud, beloved, came Tarvak’s steadying voice. It is of no consequence. Whatever befalls these bodies will not necessarily…

But if we can convince them of what we discussed…

Then all things will change. For now, we must accept what is.

“Not entirely unattractive,” Ve’el commented as she stood looking at herself in the full-length mirror of the Telanate medical ward.. She was clothed in an austere bodysuit, covered from neck to toe, and while not as formfitting as the usual Romulan wear, it couldn’t hide her ample curves. She stared at her newly brown eyes and dark hair, turning her head to view herself from every possible angle.

I look strange, Pelori commented.

Got used to yourself with Romulan features? Ve’el smirked.

After a fashion, the lieutenant admitted blithely. But the strangeness comes from the hair and eye color.

The new hues are quite satisfactory, the Romulan returned, and Pelori realized that this was much closer to that race's natural appearance, though Ve'el's own hair and eye color had been similar to the half-Indiian's own. Ve’el turned to her companion. “And you, Lahs, you look respectable. Almost intelligent,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lahs responded crisply. He, too, was staring in the mirror, straight-backed and still but for the occasional twitch of his eyebrows beneath his new bangs. His bruises had healed, party from time and partly from the medical intervention of the Telanate.

“You don’t look different at all, Tarvak,” Ve’el continued, turning her attention to her Senior Husband.

“Except for a slight paleness of the skin, that is true,” Tarvak agreed.

At the sound of soft footfalls, the three glanced toward the door to the ward. A Telanate officer was escorting a young, handsome Indiian male into the room. Inside Ve’el, Pelori gasped. It escaped Ve’el as a soft, “oh, my!”

Joron’s hair was thick and wavy, parted on one side, and a rich wine in color. His bright eyes seemed almost to be dancing with their own light, his silvery skin shimmering softly. The sensual, dark gray mouth, however, was nearly pouting.

“I look hideous,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“On the contrary, beloved,” Tarvak murmured. “You are stunning.”

Joron’s head came up, his eyes meeting Tarvak’s pleadingly. “Do you really think so? Not just ‘for an Indiian’?”

“Well, of course, ‘for an Indiian,’” Ve’el said, and Pelori gave her a sharp mental smack.

Tarvak moved forward, taking his Bonded’s hands, examining them. He parted the fingers of Joron’s left hand, placing his own extended finger to them. You see, Dei’lrn? he said tenderly. No difference.

The younger Romulan-now-Indiian tried to smile. “I think I look like a ghost. A jhen-haired, mutilated ghost.” ‘Jhen’ was the Romulan word for the color red.

An’ I t’ink I a sight fit fo’ a king, Del remarked. – or a queen, he added with a grin at Pelori.

You are – astounding, the Indiian agreed, even her mental voice breathless.

Tarvak was gently lifting Joron’s hair from the sides of his head. Joron immediately pushed the older man’s hands away.

“Don’t!” he cried. “It’s nauseating.”

“Nonsense. You could never sicken me.”

Joron’s face started glowing and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as Tarvak’s careful fingers explored the new, rounded shape of his ears. When his Bonded shivered, Tarvak smiled.

“No difference in what matters, my beloved,” he said wickedly.

The glow became more pronounced, and Ve’el snickered. “There’s no way for you to continue to have your little private flirtations, is there?” she remarked. Or you either, my dear, she added to Pelori.

You t’ink not? Del said, and as Ve’el/Pelori watched, Joron’s skin faded to its new, normal color. I got lots better control than you t’ink I do, he drawled to Ve’el.

Go To Part Twenty-One
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