Page 56 of Jarran

“You’re basing this on a sample size of one.” Jarran raised one eyebrow. “Your son was born with a tail, but ours may—wait. What makes you think my child is female?”

“First, I’m basing my tail theory on the fact that Virilian genes are dominant.” Taron lowered his voice. “Do not tell Amelia I said that, but it’s true. Most human-Virilian hybrid children are born with tails. Yours will be too. As for the female part...” He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

“A hunch?” Jarran raised one brow.

“I’ll have you know I correctly predicted the gender of my child.”

“A fifty-fifty guess.”

“No.” Taron raised his chin and tapped his chest. “I knew.”

Jarran shook his head, but he was smiling. The sunset deepened, spreading warm light across the field. He breathed in the smell of turned earth and growing things and the faint metallic tang of the dome’s filtered air. It was quiet out here. Peaceful.

“Drex sent word about the new wing at the palace,” Taron said. “He and Madison are adding a library. Madison’s idea.”

“That sounds right.”

“Trak is advising on the design, apparently. Which means it will either be brilliant or completely impractical.”

“Knowing Trak, both.”

Taron smiled. “He would have been a more entertaining king. But I’m glad Drex was born first and inherited the title. Not that the affairs of Exir City affect us here under King Virak’s rule.”

Jarran turned his face to the sky. “We are more connected than we know.”

They sat together as the sky shifted colors. The silence between them was easy now. It hadn’t always been. Those first visits, after Jarran had settled on Virilia, had been awkward with tiring conversations full of things neither of them knew how to say. But they’d kept showing up. Taron came to the farm every few weeks, and each time the distance between them shrank a little more.

“The Virilian people have been kind to me,” Jarran said. “More than I expected.”

Taron nodded. “They understand what happened. The evidence was clear. Xill Rin’s conditioning, the implant, the tericycles of suppressed identity.” He looked at his brother. “You were a victim, Jarran. The people see that.”

“Not everyone.”

“Most. And the rest will come around.” Taron’s jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Jarran looked at him. His younger brother, fierce and loyal and stubborn as bedrock. “Thank you, Taron. For all of it.”

Taron held his gaze for a long moment. Then he bumped his shoulder against Jarran’s, a brief, solid contact. “You’re my big brother.”

For both of them, that was enough.

Jarran’s handheld device chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. A message from Trak. He opened it.

It was a poem. Four stanzas about soil, roots, and second chances. It rhymed, more or less. Jarran read it twice and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

A second message appeared, from Anna. Ignore the poem. I tried to stop him. He’s been reading Earth poetry and it’s making him insufferable.

Jarran tilted the screen so Taron could see. Taron read both messages, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose.

“Stars,” Taron muttered.

Jarran laughed. “I suppose I should invite the prince here to visit.”

“That did sound like he was fishing for an invitation,” his brother agreed. He rose and stretched. “Well, I am off to pay father a visit. Farewell for now, Jarran.”

They embraced, and Jarran closed his eyes as he held Taron in a short, strong hold. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, brother.”

Both held on a beat longer before letting go. “As do I.”