Carnival

Shafaqat’s eyebrow asked a question. Vincent nodded, as a shadow entered the door and a cool drink appeared at his hand, already sweating beads of condensation onto the rippled glass tabletop. The servant placed a pitcher of amber fluid flecked with herby green on the table, removed an exhausted one, and withdrew. Vincent noticed that the others already had glasses, picked his up, and sipped.

“They weren’t prepared to deal with my wardrobe’s defense systems,” he said. “Next time, they’ll be forewarned.”

“First one’s free,” Michelangelo muttered.

Down in the courtyard, one of the children shrieked laughter as Robert caught him under the arms and hoisted him overhead, before settling the child on his shoulder. Khir leapt and reared around him, chittering and yipping.

“Walter, down,” Robert said firmly, as the larger khir put its paws on his chest and pushed. For its size, the animal must be light. The big feet flexed, but Robert didn’t. The animal dropped to all fours and leaned against the man, exhaling heavily enough that Vincent heard it from where he sat.

“Is that safe?” Michelangelo asked quietly.

“Robert’s good with children,” Elena said.

Katya, who had not spoken, blinked at her. “Yes,” she said. “You’d hardly know he was a stud male.”

Vincent winced, and Lesa shot her daughter a look, but for Elena the irony must have passed unnoticed. “Exactly.”

Michelangelo nudged Vincent lightly. Vincent wondered how long it would take them to process this particular cultural divide, in all its peculiarity. Michelangelo had been asking about the animals. Not Robert, who bore a striking resemblance to the boy on his shoulder, and whom the child obviously adored, as he clung to his father, pulling Robert’s ears.

And then Walter, spurned, trotted up on the steps and sniffed Vincent curiously. Vincent forced himself not to flinch from the brush of sensitive feathers, despite a close-up look at flaring nostrils and odd, pink pits lining the scales along the animal’s upper lip. Then the creature walked around him, sniffed Michelangelo, too, and flopped down on the cushions beside him with the feathered back of its head pressed to Angelo’s thigh.

It sighed, braced its feet against the base of a nearby chair, and shoved, moving him into a more comfortable position—for it—and appropriating part of the cushion.

Michelangelo paused with both hands raised toward his face. He lowered them slowly, and glanced down at the khir. Walter turned slightly, stretching its neck out, and wheezed a small snore as Katya and Lesa shared a laugh.

“They like to sleep in confined spaces,” Katya said. “And back up against a pack mate, if they can.”

“I’m a pack mate?” Michelangelo kept his hands up, at chest level, as if afraid a sudden move would startle the animal.

“You can touch it. It likes to be scratched at the base of the skull,” Lesa said. “And you’re in its den, and the rest of the pack is feeding you and treating you as welcome, so you must belong here. They don’t differentiate between khir and humans, if they’re socialized. They just know friends and strangers.”

Gingerly, Angelo lowered his hand to the khir’s shoulder. It whuffled, but didn’t wake. His fingertips brushed scales and feathers, his face assuming a curious expression, slack and focused, and Vincent found himself watching, breath held.

Vincent reached out and picked up his drink, folding his palm around cool, wet glass. It smelled minty and astringent as he used the rim to hide his face. The beverage was cold, but helped the chills that crawled across his stinging shoulders.

Michelangelo looked up, his fingers moving in the sleeping animal’s ruff, and gave Vincent a quizzical smile. The relaxed vulnerability around his eyes was more than Vincent could bear. He had to work for that, and nobody else got to see it, ever.

It was a hint of what Angelo would look like at peace.

“Right.” Elder Pretoria leaned forward, sliding her own glass across the table with her fingertips. She lifted it and sat back. “Miss Katherinessen, have your adventures left you any appetite? Or should we see about getting you home?”

He glanced away from Angelo, who looked back down at the khir. “Oh,” he said, “I think I could eat.”