Memento Youri - no one chooses who they love

[deuceoftears]

Dhanneth yielded too quickly. “I know what it is to disobey,” he said, which was peculiar. You had never known Dhanneth to be anything but perfectly obedient.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I quarreled with the hexarch once.”

That you hadn’t expected. “About what?”

“We had a disagreement. I am Kel, sir. He is not, but he is a hexarch. I was in error.”

Well, that shed approximately zero light on the subject. He rephrased.

“Do you remember the specifics?”

“A little,” Dhanneth said slowly.

Shit. What if you weren’t the only one running around with amnesia? You’d never stopped to consider that. “Did you have an encounter with Cheris the memory vampire?”

Dhanneth shook his head. “No. The hexarch decided that I would perform my duties more adequately if I didn’t remember.”

Your heart dropped. Dhanneth was wrong, of course. Presumably even Kujen had come to the same conclusion. If there was any time- or cost-effective way to churn out amnesiac, obedient, self-effacing, useful soldiers, Kujen would be manufacturing them by the millions. Except, it seemed, the process broke the victims.

On the other hand, Kujen would keep trying until he got it right. A 900-year-old ghost would have great stores of patience.

How many times had you yourself been wiped clean for Kujen’s benefit? Had you undergone this cycle of discovery and rebellion before? It didn’t matter. You were still obliged to assassinate Kujen.




“Sir?” Dhanneth said, worried.

You had an idea. Not a good one. But you were out of those anyway. “Give me your hand, Commander.”

Your heart contracted painfully at the way Dhanneth complied without hesitation. I should not be doing this.

Talaw hated you, and the staffers weren’t much better. Dhanneth, at least, showed no disgust around you—quite the opposite. As two people much disliked by the other Kel, you had something in common. You didn’t know whether Dhanneth would prioritize obedience to a Nirai hexarch or a Shuos general. It wasn’t much of a chance, but you'd take it.

You leaned in, heart beating rapidly at the sudden proximity to another man. If only—but no. Dhanneth was a Kel, and your subordinate. Even if Dhanneth were interested in you, it was forbidden. And you were painfully aware that no one would ever want you, not that way. Even Ruo hadn’t wanted you, not that you remembered.

I just need to convey my message. That’s all. You wasn’t doing a good job of convincing your traitor heart. For the first time, you were aware of being lonely.

You drew a deep breath and pressed a kiss to Dhanneth’s palm, using the motion to cover what you were really (really?) doing: tapping a message in the Kel drum code against Dhanneth’s hand.

I need your help.

Dhanneth’s next move took you off-guard. Dhanneth rose and came around so he stood next to your seat. He went to his knees and kissed your bare fingers. “Tell me how I may serve you,” he said.

The shock of contact dizzied you. You sat, trapped, desperate to respond and more desperate to restrain yourself. I’m imagining this.

When you didn’t move, Dhanneth grew bolder. He ungloved slowly, almost teasingly. His face was very grave. He held out both gloves to you, that old Kel gesture: My honor is yours.

You accepted the gloves, as much as it pained you. Doing otherwise would have insulted Dhanneth, and you needed Dhanneth’s help.

“You can’t hurt me, sir,” Dhanneth said.

You left the chair and knelt so you faced Dhanneth. Rested your hands atop Dhanneth’s broad shoulders, taking reluctant pleasure in the solidity of bunched muscle. A horrible thought occurred to you, although perhaps no more horrible than what was going on right now: “Have we done this before?”

Dhanneth was tranquil. “No, sir.”

You kissed him at the corner of his mouth so your noses wouldn’t collide. The salt of skin aroused you. Kissing wasn’t anything like you’d imagined. (Ruo. Had you ever—? But you didn’t remember Ruo showing any interest.) You wished so much for this to be real intimacy, the one thing it could never be. “What about this?”

In the drum code, you asked, What did the hexarch do to you? Who were you?

Dhanneth stirred, then rose, drawing you with him. He lifted one hand and cupped your cheek. I defied him and he broke me. Drum code.

You embraced him, inhaled the scent of Dhanneth’s skin. Hated yourself for seeking comfort in this, of all things. Asked the question you should have asked at the beginning, although who knew if you'd get an honest answer. If I ordered you to kill the hexarch, what would happen?

If Dhanneth reported you straightaway to Kujen, it would be no more than what you deserved.

Dhanneth clasped your fingers with his other hand. “I am yours,” he said. “I have been yours since you came to us.” In drum code: I can give you what you really want.

Dhanneth’s vehemence unnerved you. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” You didn’t know which part you were responding to.

“I was present when the hexarch created you,” Dhanneth said.

You stared at him.


(He tells you a secret. One that you don't want to hear. The memory is fuzzy, slides, jumps.)


“Who were you,” you said, “that he picked you to keep this secret, and not someone else?”

Dhanneth shivered, although you hadn’t intended it as a criticism. “I was the lieutenant general in charge of this swarm.”

“What?” you whispered, stumbling backward. You would have fallen on your ass if Dhanneth hadn’t caught you.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Am I all ri—” you checked yourself. Just because you were rattled didn’t give you the right to tear into Dhanneth. “He broke you to major?”

Dhanneth lowered his eyes. “I was more useful to him this way.”

Suddenly it made sense. Dhanneth still had the expertise of a general. It was what enabled him to give such excellent commentary on strategy and battle planning. It also made him an ideal aide for an amnesiac general. On the other hand, he no longer possessed the personality to lead or inspire.

No wonder the Kel soldiers were so uncomfortable in Dhanneth’s presence. He was a living reminder of the hexarch’s power. For if Kujen could do this to their general, he could do it to any of them.

You felt wretched for using Dhanneth against Kujen. How did that make you any better than Kujen yourself? At the same time, Dhanneth might have observed something that might help you. Drum code again: Is there any way to kill the hexarch?

No, Dhanneth replied. His eyes were questioning.

You reached out toward Dhanneth, then dropped your hand. “Leave me,” you said abruptly, ashamed of yourself for wanting to touch Dhanneth again. He’s already been harmed enough. The least I can do is leave him alone.

“Sir—” Dhanneth scooped up your hand, pressed a kiss to your palm, then retrieved his gloves, put them on, and left. You were left watching the closing door, heart pounding, troubled in more ways than you cared to name.







ON THE NEXT day, Dhanneth requested a meeting. The excuse, which you recognized as such, concerned a matter of discipline. The incident itself was genuine. The report called it an altercation over—you wasn’t sure you was interpreting this correctly—a piece of fruit. Or possibly a sex toy in the shape of a piece of fruit. (A euphemism?) But this was something a sergeant should have been able to handle.

Dhanneth wanted to meet in his own office. Irregular, but you didn’t have to explain yourself to anyone if you wanted to indulge your aide. You cleared your schedule and set out.

The double doors with the outrageously oversized Deuce of Gears emblem receded behind you. Dhanneth’s quarters were near your own, yet it felt like an infinity road separated them. Ashhawks flew and flared and died on the wall tapestries, and were reborn in outlines of shimmering thread and fire-polished beads. You touched one of the threads in passing, on the grounds that no one was likely to upbraid you for doing so. It didn’t unravel.

Since he was currently a major, Dhanneth’s door had no emblem. It was marked simply with his name and rank. You announced yourself to the grid while you wondered what Dhanneth’s emblem had once been.

The door opened. “Sir,” Dhanneth said. He was standing.

You crossed the threshold. The door swished shut. “You were closemouthed about the disciplinary issue you wished to discuss,” you said.

Dhanneth didn’t salute—overly formal, although it wouldn’t have been out of character—or invite you to sit. Instead, he grasped your arms and crushed you close. Dhanneth’s head bent and his mouth met your, hot and yearning. Like all Kel men, Dhanneth went clean-shaven, yet a faint hint of stubble brushed against your skin like fine sand.

You froze, tempted. Then you gripped Dhanneth’s shoulders and shoved him back, just enough to get some distance. It wasn’t intended to begin a fight. A flash of knowledge: if you’d meant to cause injury, you would have stepped in closer.

Dhanneth didn’t resist you, but his eyes burned with a mixture of longing and desperation and unkindled nights.

I won’t do this to you, you said in the drum code.

Dhanneth swallowed dryly. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Isn’t this what you want?”

Their paths had crossed in the dueling hall. Dhanneth hadn’t spoken then. But why would he, in front of all those people?

You closed your eyes. “You know what they do to hawkfuckers.” The obscenity came easily to your mouth. “What would happen to you if anyone found out?” Hell, you could have Dhanneth up on charges for touching you, unjust as it was.

“You’re not a Kel,” Dhanneth said. “What do you care?”

“You’re out of line.”

Dhanneth closed his eyes. The sweep of his lashes was shockingly dark, defining a crescent curve. He breathed in and out, then, face twisting, yanked himself out of your grip. “Let me be something to you,” he said. “Anything.” As though the black fabric scalded him, he stripped his gloves off and cast them to the floor.

You knelt to pick them up. “Don’t,” you said. The similarity of the gesture to the obeisance to a hexarch did not escape you. It didn’t escape Dhanneth either. His breath huffed out in response.

The gloves scarcely felt like they could encompass someone’s honor. Yet here they were, resting in your palms. You folded them neatly and set them on the edge of Dhanneth’s desk, right next to an inkstone that had been carved in the shape of cavorting lions, and was gilded besides. You couldn’t imagine grinding something so beautiful down for ink.

Dhanneth embraced you from behind this time. His arms were thick with muscle, and he had large, square hands, scars revealed by their nakedness. He blocked your attempt to twist away, grip tightening painfully on your waist. He kissed your neck, his mouth more insistent.

“Why?” you whispered when the kiss ended.

“You want it,” Dhanneth murmured.

You couldn’t deny it. That didn’t mean you had to give in. I want you to help me destroy the hexarch.

Then I will, Dhanneth said. I will find out what I can. But we will need a way to communicate. The heat of his bare hand stung as he slid it into the waistband of your pants, fingers curling into the hairs of his belly, then angling lower.

Dhanneth’s hand moved again. He used the other one to brace you against the wall. You gasped, head thrown back. His hips canted, unavoidable angles.

“This isn’t real,” you said, half a groan, not sure when this had stopped being a cover story. “You don’t really, it’s not, it’s, it’s, it’s formation instinct. You wouldn’t want this if—”

Shit. Was that what was going on? Except how could that be the case when only Dhanneth reacted to you like this, while all the other Kel hated you?

Dhanneth closed his fingers around your cock. Words fled. “Jedao,” Dhanneth said, amused, “no one chooses who they love. It’s no different.”

Your counterargument dissolved in the rush of sensation as Dhanneth began to stroke you with his thumb. You struggled to still yourself. Failed. “Dhanneth, no—” You grabbed Dhanneth’s wrist and tried to wrench his hand away.

Dhanneth’s mouth brushed the lobe of your ear, and your grip loosened. “Let me please you,” Dhanneth said. “If you cry out too loud, they’ll hear you. No one will do anything about it. Who are they going to complain to, after all? Their commander? Their general? The hexarch they never see?”

For once someone wanted you. Your control dissolved. You bit down and bloodied the inside of his mouth. “Cut me,” you said, hardly hearing yourself. “Burn me up.”

Dhanneth turned you around and forced you to face the wall. He reached around and undid your buttons, one-handed, with remarkable dexterity. Helped you undress. You shivered as the cool air hit his skin. Dhanneth traced your scars. “You’ve been hurt.”

“Then you know what I like,” you said. A dangerous thing to suggest. When had you stopped caring what people did to you? You might once have propositioned Kujen-Inhyeng, but that didn’t mean you had a good idea of what people did when they coupled. You should have spent more of the intervening time researching pornography of the sort that every soldier had access to.

Dhanneth left you standing pressed to the wall. You wondered if you had misapprehended the situation. Then you heard Dhanneth’s footsteps and craned his head. Dhanneth had returned with a stoppered vial and a length of yellow cord. “Yes,” you said before Dhanneth could tell you what either was for. The specifics did not interest you, although this was a hazardous frame of mind. “Do whatever you want to me.”

Dhanneth made no attempt to hide his arousal. “You are very young,” he said, not coldly, not warmly either, but with a hint of wildness. Kujen had not tamed him as completely as he thought.

You submitted to having your wrists bound. You tried to figure out what knots were being used, an impossible task when you couldn’t see what was going on behind you. The cord held you like spider-steel and silk-promise. You did not ask Dhanneth why he kept it ready to hand. Maybe all Kel did and you’d never thought to ask. As Dhanneth adjusted the knots, you fantasized about being forgotten here, the Kel swarm going into battle without you as the years advanced, until even the threadbare legend of your crimes was nothing more than a breath in the halls.