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situation.  He wasn't blind to his privileges in life.  If he could go back in time, he would still make the same decision about coming to Immanion.  For years, he'd drifted along, doing what was expected of him and reaping the benefits.  He had trained himself not to be wounded by Pell's behaviour.  Sometimes, though, Caeru still dreamed of when he and Pell had first met, when they had conceived a pearl in passion and what Caeru thought was lasting feeling.  Waking up to reality after such dreams was never pleasant.  It kept something alive in Caeru's heart he would rather let wither and die.  The truth of why he allowed Cal to visit him was because he was curious about the ghost that had haunted and blighted his relationship with Pellaz.  Fascination and envy were uneasy companions.  But  Velaxis had spoken wisely.  It was time, perhaps, to make an offering.
     
     
     
    Caeru worked himself up into such a state of tension that, by the time Cal presented himself at the doors to the apartment, at the usual time just before dinner, Caeru felt giddy with nerves.  He'd asked his kitchen staff to prepare a more sumptuous meal than usual and had changed his mind about which wines should accompany it several times.  He dressed himself with care, teased out his startlingly pale hair into a lion's mane, and darkened his eyes with heavy kohl.  He wasn't sure what he was going to say or do, and this in itself was disorienting.  He only knew a nexus point had arrived, complete with potential vortex.
     
                Cal himself appeared oblivious to any undercurrents in the atmosphere.  He came in like a stray cat, lissom and alert, as if pondering where best to make his home.  It was clear he didn't yet feel comfortable in Immanion.  His hair, like Caeru's, was the palest gold, although he kept it fairly short for convenience's sake.  Cal, in Rue's opinion, was not a har to spend much time looking after himself.  He often looked as if he'd just got out of bed.  He was a gypsy creature, disoriented because he was no longer on the move.
     
                Caeru received him on the terrace and at first maintained the somewhat steely demeanour he reserved for his dealings with the new Tigron.  “How are you managing alone?” he asked icily, referring to the fact that Pellaz was out of the city, visiting friends in Galhea, no doubt in an attempt to smooth certain feathers that had been extremely ruffled over recent developments.
     
                Cal threw himself into a chair, with the easy languorous grace that Caeru both envied and despised.  “I have kept my pining to a minimum,” he said.
     
                “I'm glad.  It would distress me so to see physical evidence of it.”
     
                “Your claws appear to be particularly sharp tonight.”
     
                Caeru shrugged, as if Cal was barely worthy of his notice, and signalled to a member of his staff to bring out the first wine.  As the serving har fussed with the bottle, the Tigrina leaned back in his chair, smiled sweetly at Cal and said,  “Will Pellaz be carrying fond messages from you to your son in Galhea?”
     
                Cal grimaced.  “Congratulations, you hit bone!  No.  Not yet.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “What's going on?”
     
                “I have no idea what you mean.”
     
                “OK.  Fine.”  Cal took the wine that was offered to him.  He sipped.  “Mmm.  As dry as your tongue, though just as fine.”
     
                Caeru smiled fiercely, but inwardly he felt himself slump.  Cal was magnificent.  He could not be anything but Tigron, or Pell's consort.  It was almost surreal to be sitting here talking with him, a har who had been a threatening idea for so long.  Caeru had hated Cal from the moment he'd first heard about him and only later discovered this hatred was, in some respects,