Chapter 9: Confessions — The Key of Oslov

Volume 6: The Trip to Thurskein

Chapter 9 Confessions

Chapter Notes

And again with the very fluffy fluff. :) I’ll try to post the last chapter soon, since it’s short. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Notes

And again with the very fluffy fluff. :) I’ll try to post the last chapter soon, since it’s short. Thanks for reading!

The rest of the tea party was only marginally less embarrassing. Angelika and Dal dominated the conversation, grilling Gersha about his family, his personal history, how he and Tilrey had met, the things Tilrey did for him in the Sector, and even what they did for fun.Several times, Tilrey was tempted to shut down the interrogation, but Gersha didn’t seem to mind it, and he found graceful answers to questions that could have been embarrassing. (How had they met? “A mutual acquaintance brought us together.” What did they do for fun? “We really enjoy hiking. Oh, and he reads ancient English aloud to me.”)The two women’s attentiveness was intense but not unfriendly, and soon the Councillor actually appeared to be enjoying himself. He smiled and blushed charmingly as Dal teased him about the “geeky obsession with the Tangle” that he and Tilrey shared, which she declared a sign that the two of them were destined for each other.After an hour or so, Gersha left the room to attend to their travel arrangements. While Angelika washed up, Tilrey took the occasion to lecture Dal on her manners: “You know, no Laborer in Redda would talk to a Councillor the way you just did. Well, maybe my friend Bror. But he’s not scared of anybody.”“Neither am I. And you’re the one who said you’d never forgive him!”“That’s different.”“Oh, I bet Gersha’s used to getting an earful from you. From the little I’ve seen, you’re less shy with him than you were with me when we were together.”“Really?” He felt a blush steal across his face. “Maybe I have grown up.”“I’ll say you have.” Her cocky look faded as she sank down beside him, her eyes intent. “Before he comes back, Tilrey—the coordinates?”It was Tilrey’s dream in the cell all over again. “Is Lourisa okay?” he asked, stalling.“The constables never even took her in. She knew a way out—plus, it was just a ‘misunderstanding,’ remember?”Tilrey shot a meaningful glance toward his mother in the kitchen. “We shouldn’t . . .”“Actually, we can. Lisha knows.”“What?” The whole day was starting to feel like a fever dream. “But she can’t—”Angelika turned off the tap and began drying, her expression just a touch smug again. “Can’t what? Can’t care about the welfare of my sector?”“Look, the Supervisors always know.” Dal moved in so close he felt her breath on his face. “Fernei wasn’t stupid. He knew what Lourisa was doing in Records. He knew why we were meeting in that hangar.”“He knew? And didn’t stop it?” Ideology aside, he couldn’t imagine Fernei not controlling everything that happened in his sector, or trying to.“Tilrey, you can’t stop shirking. Fernei just looked the other way and kept his hands clean. If we wanted to ship a few troublemakers out of his sector, he didn’t object. It’s only when someone starts thieving or sabotaging that a Supervisor calls in the army, and we’re not stupid enough to do that. Not anymore.”“But . . .” Tilrey didn’t dare look at his mother. Would she knowingly let shirkers operate in her sector, plotting to smuggle people to Harbour? It seemed impossible. “Fernei was corrupt,” he pointed out. “He didn’t care about the big picture, about consequences.”When he did look up, they were both staring at him. Dal said, “Lisha knows things need to change, Tilrey. She changed because of you, don’t you see? Because of what they did to you.”She said it casually, as if being a shirker weren’t a potential death sentence. But when Tilrey met his mother’s eyes, he saw she was all too aware.“I intend to clean up the corruption of Sector Six,” she said briskly. “Sex trafficking, smuggling, gangs, sap abuse . . . everything that harms our people. Nothing that could help them.”“Mom.” He couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to say it out loud—You’re with them. You’re helping them. How had she, so upright and uptight, reached the point of committing herself to Dissidence before he had? Maybe living with Upstarts really had made him like them.“Tilrey,” Dal said. “He’ll be back any minute.”Angelika hung up the dish towel. “Don’t badger him, Dal. It’s his choice.” And she slipped out of the room, giving them privacy—and herself plausible deniability, Tilrey realized.He almost wished he’d forgotten those damned coordinates, but they were burned into his brain. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, but who could ever be sure?He bent until his lips nearly touched Dal’s ear, remembering how it felt to kiss her in the days when he was madly in love with her—the vertigo, the feverishness. “Better write this down,” he said. “44.0506 N, 74.0510 W.”*As they reached the threshold of the vacation house, Tilrey joked, “Shouldn’t you carry me over? Isn’t that Tangle custom?”Gersha gave him a sharp look. “I thought you were never going to forgive me for talking that way.”On the helicopter ride over, they hadn’t been able to converse, and maybe they were both a little grateful for that. Walking through the purple twilight, though, under the pines, with snow crunching under their feet, Tilrey had felt their old comfort with each other creep back.“I may forgive you eventually,” he said playfully, “if you treat me as befits someone you plighted your troth to.”Gersha sized him up with a sly smile. “I’m not sure I could lift your muscle-bound frame.”“Fine, I’ll do the work.” And Tilrey scooped up Gersha, ignoring his protests, and made a valiant effort to carry him inside, which ended with them collapsed in a tangle of limbs in the coldroom, laughing.Gersha, who’d landed on top, peeled off his gloves and interlaced their fingers. “So, seriously, you will forgive me? Maybe? Eventually?”“You numbskull, I already have. Let’s just never mention it again.” And I won’t mention that I committed high treason today.Gersha’s familiar weight felt good on top of Tilrey. He told himself he wasn’t any less of a Skeinsha or a Laborer for feeling this way about an Upstart—even though the way Gersha had marched into the city in his luminous white tunic and solved everything had been way too easy.Gersha gave Tilrey a shy peck on the lips, then tweaked a lock of greasy hair off his forehead. “I can’t believe you were in that miserable hole all night. You deserve a nice long, hot bath, and then . . .” He tried to wink suavely, but ended up just blushing.“And then you deserve a treat, Fir.” Tilrey’s hand snuck up to cup the curve of Gersha’s ass. “All that hassle and paperwork you did . . .”

It shouldn’t have been that easy.

Gersha buried his face against Tilrey’s collarbone. “No, after last night and what that damned Supervisor tried to do to you, you’re the one who deserves to be treated.”“We’ll just have to fight over who gets to treat whom, love. Better close the door before we both freeze.”*In the end, there was no fighting. After the bath, they were both too tired from the day’s travails to do much besides hold each other.Tilrey drew Gersha inside his robe, against the humid warmth of his chest, and rested his chin on the crown of his Councillor’s head. Gersha’s arms eased around his waist, pulling him so close they could feel the rise and fall of each other’s breathing.“You were magnificent,” Tilrey said into the soft black hair. “When you swept into that detention block, it was like something from a novel or a stream. Did you choose that tunic on purpose?”Gersha shook his head. “Didn’t stop to change my clothes. The whole thing was embarrassing. I felt a bit of a fool.”“Well, you didn’t look like one, sweetheart.” He kissed Gersha’s curls, then gazed up at the dark skylight, where flakes were whirling and slapping the glass.He wanted to apologize for making a mess of things and leading Pers straight to the Dissidents, which had necessitated Gersha’s intervention. But he couldn’t do that without admitting that Dal and the rest were Dissidents, which would mean telling Gersha that Angelika was tolerating—even fostering—a cell in her sector.“The way they all looked at me.” Gersha’s voice was sleepy, thoughtful. “It was like I was an idea come to life, not a man, and I didn’t feel quite right about any of it. The way I fixed things—I mean, that Fernei was a piece of work, and I have the utmost respect for Lisha, but shouldn’t the sector citizens have some say in who governs them?”Yes, they should. Tilrey was sorely tempted to say it aloud, but he let Gersha’s words hang in the air instead. Let the idea take root in the Councillor’s mind.Telling all was too much to risk, and Egil was right. Gersha wasn’t ready to come on board—not yet. But that might change.If Tilrey couldn’t confess everything he’d done in Thurskein, he could at least confess a piece. He threaded his fingers through Gersha’s hair. “I need to tell you something, love. While I was there, I went to bed with an old friend of mine. I want you to know that, but I also want you to know it didn’t mean anything. It was just fun and—well, it felt right at the time. It’s hard to explain.”Gersha’s shoulders had stiffened when Tilrey made the admission, but now they began to loosen again. Tilrey could feel his lover doing his best to take the information in stride.“It’s okay,” he murmured into Tilrey’s chest. “I mean, we’ve talked about this, right? You don’t belong to me. You can sleep with anyone you like, any time you like.”This time had been different, though, and Tilrey had a feeling Gersha could tell. Fucking an old friend wasn’t like obliging Councillor Ekorin in exchange for a vote, or enjoying Besha together.“And so can you, love,” he pointed out. “I mean, obviously you can do what you like—you’re a Councillor—but if you want to go to someone else’s bed, for whatever reason, I won’t be offended.”Gersha sighed. He rolled sideways, into the welcoming curve of Tilrey’s arm, and traced spirals on Tilrey’s abdomen with his fingertips.“When I met you,” he said after a moment, “I’d already given up on the idea of ever having another person’s companionship. I was attracted to people sometimes, but it never felt . . . right. It was different with you; you opened me up. You made me feel safe. And so, for me, I think that’s it. Just you.”The simplicity of the declaration made Tilrey’s breath catch. “What about Besha?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent. “You seem to like fucking him.”Gersha raised his head to meet Tilrey’s eyes, his own wide and soft with trust. “I like him, but only with you. I don’t mind seeing the two of you together anymore, because he adores you the way you deserve to be adored. If it weren’t for you, though, I wouldn’t want Besha, ever. When I see him in the Council chamber, I barely notice him. It’s you, Rishka.”Hearing this, Tilrey wanted to kiss Gersha breathless, to nuzzle his neck, to whisper sweet reassurances in his ear. I love you, too. I do. Truly. But . . .But he wasn’t sure he could love anyone in the pure and total way Gersha had just described. He was too accustomed to separating his body and mind and using the first as a tool to attain the second’s ends. Then there were the times when his body asserted its own needs and demanded to be pleasured without emotional attachment, or to be hurt.“I love you.” Tilrey cleared his throat as his voice failed. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I doubt I ever will again. But . . .”

But I have secrets.

Gersha kissed the soft border of Tilrey’s armpit. “I understand,” he said. “I think. We’ve lived very different lives, you and I. I had the power to shield myself from anything that might hurt me, to live in a safe, dull bubble. And I did, until you came along and coaxed me out of it. You—well, you didn’t have that power over your circumstances.”Pride bristled in Tilrey, then settled again. Gersha knew him too well to pity him. “I suppose I had to make my own power,” he said, smiling as if it weren’t the bitter truth. “And part of that is the power to say that wherever I go, love, I’ll always come back to you. Only you. Promise.”Then he rolled over, deposited Gersha tenderly on the bed, and gave his full attention to kissing and adoring and tantalizing his lover until there was no room for doubt about anyone’s feelings.

Several times, Tilrey was tempted to shut down the interrogation, but Gersha didn’t seem to mind it, and he found graceful answers to questions that could have been embarrassing. (How had they met? “A mutual acquaintance brought us together.” What did they do for fun? “We really enjoy hiking. Oh, and he reads ancient English aloud to me.”)

The two women’s attentiveness was intense but not unfriendly, and soon the Councillor actually appeared to be enjoying himself. He smiled and blushed charmingly as Dal teased him about the “geeky obsession with the Tangle” that he and Tilrey shared, which she declared a sign that the two of them were destined for each other.

After an hour or so, Gersha left the room to attend to their travel arrangements. While Angelika washed up, Tilrey took the occasion to lecture Dal on her manners: “You know, no Laborer in Redda would talk to a Councillor the way you just did. Well, maybe my friend Bror. But he’s not scared of anybody.”

“Neither am I. And you’re the one who said you’d never forgive him!”

“That’s different.”

“Oh, I bet Gersha’s used to getting an earful from you. From the little I’ve seen, you’re less shy with him than you were with me when we were together.”

“Really?” He felt a blush steal across his face. “Maybe I have grown up.”

“I’ll say you have.” Her cocky look faded as she sank down beside him, her eyes intent. “Before he comes back, Tilrey—the coordinates?”

It was Tilrey’s dream in the cell all over again. “Is Lourisa okay?” he asked, stalling.

“The constables never even took her in. She knew a way out—plus, it was just a ‘misunderstanding,’ remember?”

Tilrey shot a meaningful glance toward his mother in the kitchen. “We shouldn’t . . .”

“Actually, we can. Lisha knows.”

“What?” The whole day was starting to feel like a fever dream. “But she can’t—”

Angelika turned off the tap and began drying, her expression just a touch smug again. “Can’t what? Can’t care about the welfare of my sector?”

“Look, the Supervisors always know.” Dal moved in so close he felt her breath on his face. “Fernei wasn’t stupid. He knew what Lourisa was doing in Records. He knew why we were meeting in that hangar.”

“He knew? And didn’t stop it?” Ideology aside, he couldn’t imagine Fernei not controlling everything that happened in his sector, or trying to.

“Tilrey, you can’t stop shirking. Fernei just looked the other way and kept his hands clean. If we wanted to ship a few troublemakers out of his sector, he didn’t object. It’s only when someone starts thieving or sabotaging that a Supervisor calls in the army, and we’re not stupid enough to do that. Not anymore.”

“But . . .” Tilrey didn’t dare look at his mother. Would she knowingly let shirkers operate in her sector, plotting to smuggle people to Harbour? It seemed impossible. “Fernei was corrupt,” he pointed out. “He didn’t care about the big picture, about consequences.”

When he did look up, they were both staring at him. Dal said, “Lisha knows things need to change, Tilrey. She changed because of you, don’t you see? Because of what they did to you.”

She said it casually, as if being a shirker weren’t a potential death sentence. But when Tilrey met his mother’s eyes, he saw she was all too aware.

“I intend to clean up the corruption of Sector Six,” she said briskly. “Sex trafficking, smuggling, gangs, sap abuse . . . everything that harms our people. Nothing that could help them.”

“Mom.” He couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to say it out loud—You’re with them. You’re helping them. How had she, so upright and uptight, reached the point of committing herself to Dissidence before he had? Maybe living with Upstarts really had made him like them.

“Tilrey,” Dal said. “He’ll be back any minute.”

Angelika hung up the dish towel. “Don’t badger him, Dal. It’s his choice.” And she slipped out of the room, giving them privacy—and herself plausible deniability, Tilrey realized.

He almost wished he’d forgotten those damned coordinates, but they were burned into his brain. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, but who could ever be sure?

He bent until his lips nearly touched Dal’s ear, remembering how it felt to kiss her in the days when he was madly in love with her—the vertigo, the feverishness. “Better write this down,” he said. “44.0506 N, 74.0510 W.”

As they reached the threshold of the vacation house, Tilrey joked, “Shouldn’t you carry me over? Isn’t that Tangle custom?”

Gersha gave him a sharp look. “I thought you were never going to forgive me for talking that way.”

On the helicopter ride over, they hadn’t been able to converse, and maybe they were both a little grateful for that. Walking through the purple twilight, though, under the pines, with snow crunching under their feet, Tilrey had felt their old comfort with each other creep back.

“I may forgive you eventually,” he said playfully, “if you treat me as befits someone you plighted your troth to.”

Gersha sized him up with a sly smile. “I’m not sure I could lift your muscle-bound frame.”

“Fine, I’ll do the work.” And Tilrey scooped up Gersha, ignoring his protests, and made a valiant effort to carry him inside, which ended with them collapsed in a tangle of limbs in the coldroom, laughing.

Gersha, who’d landed on top, peeled off his gloves and interlaced their fingers. “So, seriously, you will forgive me? Maybe? Eventually?”

“You numbskull, I already have. Let’s just never mention it again.” And I won’t mention that I committed high treason today.

Gersha’s familiar weight felt good on top of Tilrey. He told himself he wasn’t any less of a Skeinsha or a Laborer for feeling this way about an Upstart—even though the way Gersha had marched into the city in his luminous white tunic and solved everything had been way too easy.

Gersha gave Tilrey a shy peck on the lips, then tweaked a lock of greasy hair off his forehead. “I can’t believe you were in that miserable hole all night. You deserve a nice long, hot bath, and then . . .” He tried to wink suavely, but ended up just blushing.

“And then you deserve a treat, Fir.” Tilrey’s hand snuck up to cup the curve of Gersha’s ass. “All that hassle and paperwork you did . . .”

It shouldn’t have been that easy.

Gersha buried his face against Tilrey’s collarbone. “No, after last night and what that damned Supervisor tried to do to you, you’re the one who deserves to be treated.”

“We’ll just have to fight over who gets to treat whom, love. Better close the door before we both freeze.”

In the end, there was no fighting. After the bath, they were both too tired from the day’s travails to do much besides hold each other.

Tilrey drew Gersha inside his robe, against the humid warmth of his chest, and rested his chin on the crown of his Councillor’s head. Gersha’s arms eased around his waist, pulling him so close they could feel the rise and fall of each other’s breathing.

“You were magnificent,” Tilrey said into the soft black hair. “When you swept into that detention block, it was like something from a novel or a stream. Did you choose that tunic on purpose?”

Gersha shook his head. “Didn’t stop to change my clothes. The whole thing was embarrassing. I felt a bit of a fool.”

“Well, you didn’t look like one, sweetheart.” He kissed Gersha’s curls, then gazed up at the dark skylight, where flakes were whirling and slapping the glass.

He wanted to apologize for making a mess of things and leading Pers straight to the Dissidents, which had necessitated Gersha’s intervention. But he couldn’t do that without admitting that Dal and the rest were Dissidents, which would mean telling Gersha that Angelika was tolerating—even fostering—a cell in her sector.

“The way they all looked at me.” Gersha’s voice was sleepy, thoughtful. “It was like I was an idea come to life, not a man, and I didn’t feel quite right about any of it. The way I fixed things—I mean, that Fernei was a piece of work, and I have the utmost respect for Lisha, but shouldn’t the sector citizens have some say in who governs them?”

Yes, they should. Tilrey was sorely tempted to say it aloud, but he let Gersha’s words hang in the air instead. Let the idea take root in the Councillor’s mind.

Telling all was too much to risk, and Egil was right. Gersha wasn’t ready to come on board—not yet. But that might change.

If Tilrey couldn’t confess everything he’d done in Thurskein, he could at least confess a piece. He threaded his fingers through Gersha’s hair. “I need to tell you something, love. While I was there, I went to bed with an old friend of mine. I want you to know that, but I also want you to know it didn’t mean anything. It was just fun and—well, it felt right at the time. It’s hard to explain.”

Gersha’s shoulders had stiffened when Tilrey made the admission, but now they began to loosen again. Tilrey could feel his lover doing his best to take the information in stride.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into Tilrey’s chest. “I mean, we’ve talked about this, right? You don’t belong to me. You can sleep with anyone you like, any time you like.”

This time had been different, though, and Tilrey had a feeling Gersha could tell. Fucking an old friend wasn’t like obliging Councillor Ekorin in exchange for a vote, or enjoying Besha together.

“And so can you, love,” he pointed out. “I mean, obviously you can do what you like—you’re a Councillor—but if you want to go to someone else’s bed, for whatever reason, I won’t be offended.”

Gersha sighed. He rolled sideways, into the welcoming curve of Tilrey’s arm, and traced spirals on Tilrey’s abdomen with his fingertips.

“When I met you,” he said after a moment, “I’d already given up on the idea of ever having another person’s companionship. I was attracted to people sometimes, but it never felt . . . right. It was different with you; you opened me up. You made me feel safe. And so, for me, I think that’s it. Just you.”

The simplicity of the declaration made Tilrey’s breath catch. “What about Besha?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent. “You seem to like fucking him.”

Gersha raised his head to meet Tilrey’s eyes, his own wide and soft with trust. “I like him, but only with you. I don’t mind seeing the two of you together anymore, because he adores you the way you deserve to be adored. If it weren’t for you, though, I wouldn’t want Besha, ever. When I see him in the Council chamber, I barely notice him. It’s you, Rishka.”

Hearing this, Tilrey wanted to kiss Gersha breathless, to nuzzle his neck, to whisper sweet reassurances in his ear. I love you, too. I do. Truly. But . . .

But he wasn’t sure he could love anyone in the pure and total way Gersha had just described. He was too accustomed to separating his body and mind and using the first as a tool to attain the second’s ends. Then there were the times when his body asserted its own needs and demanded to be pleasured without emotional attachment, or to be hurt.

“I love you.” Tilrey cleared his throat as his voice failed. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I doubt I ever will again. But . . .”

But I have secrets.

Pride bristled in Tilrey, then settled again. Gersha knew him too well to pity him. “I suppose I had to make my own power,” he said, smiling as if it weren’t the bitter truth. “And part of that is the power to say that wherever I go, love, I’ll always come back to you. Only you. Promise.”

Then he rolled over, deposited Gersha tenderly on the bed, and gave his full attention to kissing and adoring and tantalizing his lover until there was no room for doubt about anyone’s feelings.