"It is much the same in the Fae village," Toff agreed. "At times, they have to wait until the baby is born and see what color his hair is."
"The Fae don't reproduce very often, so they are anxious to get children any way they can," Queen Lissa agreed. "Kifirin says it is because they are an immortal race. If they reproduced as often as the mortal races, they would quickly overpopulate, unintentionally."
"Cheedas says that my race lives to be around six hundred or so," Toff sighed.
"That is a very long life. I hope yours is as happy as you could wish it," Lissa said softly.
"It has been miserable until recently," Toff replied.
"Do you miss your foster parents?"
"I miss Corent. And Father Willow. I don't think I miss the others much at all. I certainly don't miss Gren. He tried to kill me, even though he took the vow of nonviolence. And then he tried to kill Nissa." Toff found that unforgiveable.
"Yes. I can't tell you how thankful I am that she flaunted her great-grandfather's instructions and made protection jewels."
"I still have mine, though it isn't good anymore." Toff lifted the blackened jewel from under his shirt.
"Shadow says it was fine work and performed flawlessly," Lissa fingered the jewel before giving it back to Toff. "And she did it without any instruction." Toff knew that Queen Lissa was proud of her daughter.
"We'll see her in three days," Toff sighed.
"We will. Cheedas has something special planned in the kitchen. We'll eat well for sure," Lissa said.
* * *
"Wear these," Roff handed leather gloves to Toff. Toff had been quite shocked when they arrived at the farms on Kifirin. They went on forever in his estimation, and comesuli were everywhere, some with young ones. Even a few of the very young, barely old enough to walk, followed a parent around. All had been transported to Kifirin to work on the oxberry vines.
"Roff, where are the women and girls?" Toff asked softly.
"Child, they are all as you are—born without genitalia. See that one over there with the sling over his shoulder?" Toff looked where Roff indicated.
"What is inside the sling?" Toff saw that there was something carried inside the sling on the comesula's left side. The strap holding it up was slung across the comesula's right shoulder.
"That is a baby pouch—it is how the comesuli reproduce. Generally, they have one or two children during their long life. When it is time, the pouch drops off and the child makes his way out, much like a turtle hatching from an egg."
Toff had stopped still, staring now at the pregnant comesula. This was completely foreign to Toff, although it was his race. "But what about mating and such?"
"That is a question best left for later, young one. Come, we will take care of the vines today, and we will tend to your education later. Comesuli will not reproduce until the age of sixty or so, with most occurring around the age of one to two hundred years. The second one, if it comes, will happen sometime after that. Do not fear, you are not about to drop a child next week." Roff patted Toff's shoulder. Toff had to tear his eyes away from the pregnant comesula. If they had no genitalia, how did they get pregnant to start with? Toff was beginning to get worried.
He did get extremely dusty, cutting back oxberry vines right alongside Roff. He kept up with him, too, leaving many of the others behind. Toff had experience with this—he'd been doing it for as long as he could remember. The thick, leather gloves protected his hands as he cut the thorny vines back, tossing what he'd cut to the side as Roff instructed, allowing others to gather the cuttings and haul them away for burning. The cutting kept the vines from growing too tall and thick; thick and tangled vines always made it more difficult to harvest the berries the following spring.
They stopped for lunch at midday, and Toff enjoyed eating with the comesuli, including the little ones. One or two climbed into his lap, and he was shocked that they ate mostly meat, with only a few vegetables.
"They eat protein straight from the birthing sac—they're born with a full set of teeth," Roff explained as Toff helped a tiny one eat. He could barely get himself around by walking, though his parent said he was nearly two. Toff recalled Cheedas' words—that comesuli matured slowly and wouldn't reach their full growth until age twenty-nine. This brought it home to him—he hadn't thought it over before.
"Your life with the Fae has caused you to grow up faster emotionally," Roff told him later when they were back to cutting vines. "Your body hasn't caught up yet, but it will. You should not worry over this, child. All things will come in time."
Toff wanted to ask if Nissa would come to him in time, although he wasn't destined to have genitalia. What could he offer her, indeed?
"Go have a bath, young one," Roff placed a hand on Toff's head affectionately after they'd arrived at the palace on Le-Ath Veronis. "Then come straight to dinner. We ran late finishing up, but we got it all done today. You are good with your hands, child. You did well."
Toff grinned at Roff before trotting down the hall toward the suite he shared with Ry and Tory.
* * *
"Why should I help you? Fifteen years you've been at this, and all you have to show for it is a destitute world, empty pockets and less sense." Zellar stared at the old warlock. He'd been so sure that Vardon would help him. Vardon had no love for the King of Karathia or his granddaughter, the Queen of Le-Ath Veronis. "I know what you're thinking, Zellar. Vengeance is a fine dream, but after a while, the smart warlock learns to channel his efforts in other directions. There is no satisfaction in killing them—you'll be left empty afterward, make no mistake. Find something else to occupy your time. Feed those starving children on Cloudsong—that is a task worthy of your ability."
Vardon didn't point out that Zellar was likely responsible for much of the hunger upon Cloudsong. He'd probably tapped into the core of the planet, removing much of the energy the planet needed to sustain itself. Tapping was forbidden sorcery and would warrant a death sentence if Wylend Arden, King of Karathia, learned of it. Any being with power knew what tapping into the core meant. Famine and death would come quickly if it were done over an extended period of time. Zellar had been on Cloudsong nearly fifteen years. Long enough to destroy that world, and nothing short of a vast replacement of power could save it now.
"Then I will have to look elsewhere," Zellar sniffed and turned to go. He might have considered killing Vardon—thought about it, even, but Vardon wasn't a fool. He would be ready and held more natural talent than Zellar. Zellar relied on Vardon's outlaw status to keep him from going to Wylend or to the Alliance—both of whom had a price on Zellar's head. There was one other that Zellar could approach, though it might prove extremely dangerous. Zellar hoped he could offer something to this one before he allowed his appetite to overcome his sense, making a meal of Zellar instead of an alliance.