Page 21 of Pulled By the Tail
Georgia sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. It had to be a pet, right? Wild animals just didn’t wander into houses and make themselves at home in beds. “Hey, pretty. What are you doing here?”
The animal lifted its head, blinked sleepy hazel eyes at her, and stretched out a paw. Casually, it flexed claws and yawned, revealing a mouth full of needle-like teeth.
“Okay, whatever you are, you can defend yourself. Understood.”
Then it went back to sleep.
Georgia slid under the blankets, careful not to disturb the creature that claimed half the bed.
Shamefully, her mind kept replaying the look Talen gave as he left the room. She wanted to convince herself that the look was a look of longing and not concern, but she found she couldn’t lie to herself. That look was all about pity, and maybe a little shame at his brother’s behavior. Whatever she had seen, she imagined the heat in his honey-colored eyes. It was probably indigestion.
Yup, a bit of bad beef or whatever they ate on this planet. The faster she got off this backwater rock, the better.
Talen
The Seven Virtues are humility,patience, kindness, justice, fortitude, and prudence.
But Grandfather, that is only six.
Above all, the most cherished virtue is practice. The virtues only hold meaning if they are practiced.
-Traditional Tal proverb
Talen closedthe door to his bedroom and found the air stifling. He threw open the window, but the cold air gave him little relief. His skin felt too tight and his tail would not stay still. It brushed against his legs, twitching in agitation.
He counted the seven virtues, willing them to instill a sense of peace in his restless soul. He counted again, nose twitching with the damp notes of snow on the air.
A mate. His brother gifted him a mate.
His stomach rolled at the notion because people were not possessions to be given asgifts. Quil’s thoughtlessness horrified him. The look of utter humiliation on the female’s face haunted him. His brother did that, stole the female’s joy and replaced it with empty promises, and it shamed Talen. How would he make this right?
Resting on top of the bed, the cold air washed over Talen, but he knew he’d never fall asleep, despite his bone-deep exhaustion. He was forever cleaning up Quil’s messes. He spent so much time and energy reacting to his brother’s schemes, trying to mitigate damage, and draining himself, that he had no idea what he wanted for himself.
Damn Quil.
He should let his irresponsible, impulsive asshole of a brother deal with this disaster of his own making, but he dreaded discovering how Quil would rectify the situation.
No doubt he’d do something stupid and impulsive, thereby making everything worse. Talen fought his instinct to jump in and fix it. If he did that, Quil would never learn and Talen would spend the rest of his days trailing after his brother, sweeping away trouble.
But the female had been hurt. She did not cry but her eyes, a curious green, told that she would do so in private. He politely ignored her swiping at the damp corners of her eyes, understanding she had suffered enough humiliation for one day. He could not ignore her situation. He had to make it right because he knew Quil would not.
This was pointless. He needed his sleep. Tomorrow promised to be a very long, very annoying day.
Talen rolled out of bed, intent on a soothing cup of herbal tea. The rest of the household was asleep or in their rooms as he prowled through the darkness.
With a warm mug of tea, he entered the library. Moonlight shone through the window, casting light and shadow on the floor.
He enjoyed the library and looked forward to the day when he could fill the bookshelves with actual books. His father had been a historian and Talen remembered the grand library of the family’s estate on Talmar. The space seemed massive to him as a kit, with the floor-to-ceiling shelving of neatly arranged books. He loved spending sun-filled days in the room, sprawled on the carpet reading or drawing on loose paper, while his father worked. He had only been a young kit and did not comprehend everything he read, but he enjoyed the feel of books, holding knowledge in his hands. He studied illustrations, finding atlases and star charts interesting but not nearly as fascinating as the photos and illustrations in a history book.
Perhaps, if his parents had not been assassinated, if the Talmar civil war had not come, he would have followed in his father’s scholarly footsteps. Quil had always been the heir and studied how to manage the estate from their uncle, Forthright. Agriculture and maintaining a relationship with tenants may not have been Quil’s passion, but he had a keen interest in the gardens and grounds, even then. But all of that was another life and it was pointless to speculate on what-ifs.
He took a jeweled flower blossom out of the display case. Carefully winding the clockwork mechanism on the underside, he set it on a table. The first notes of a Tal lullaby rang out and the blossom slowly opened. The device glowed with an internal light, casting a prism of rainbows through the cut crystal of the flower’s petals. Once the blossom opened fully, a figurine of two entwined dancers emerged. They spun with mechanical precision as the music played.
Talen cradled the warm tea and watched the colorful lights from the music box play across the ceiling. Normally a source of comfort, the music did nothing against the tension coiling inside him.
He spent so much time reacting to Quil that he forgot himself. It wasn’t healthy. When his mother instructed him to take care of his brother, this couldn’t be what she meant. He wished he had a lifetime of memories to trawl, searching for some scrap of wisdom. He had only been a kit—eight years old—when that life of privilege ended. The gaps in his memories continued to grow while the memories themselves faded with the passing years. All he had was hurried goodbyes and an ornate music box.
The music box had been a courting gift from his father to his mother. Crafted by a renowned jeweler and encrusted with gems, the costly device received more admiration for its expense rather than its artistry. That fact did not paint his parents in a flattering light and Talen sometimes wondered if he would have been as concerned with appearance and conspicuous spending as they, had they lived.
