“Yes, Vaishi?” Vaishi grinned sheepishly.

“I was just trying to get your attention!”

Spike grinned. “It worked. Any particular reason for screaming at me, though?”

Vaishi straightened. “Fain and I want you to join us this evening. You’ve been busy at the guild all the time lately, and we haven’t seen you.”

“Ah, so it has nothing to do with your curiosity over what Yahjain and Paven had to say to me in the great hall yesterday?” Spike watched as Vaishi ducked his head, a sure sign he’d been dead on the mark.

“That too, but it’s your business, of course,” Vaishi replied, suitably chastised.

Spike took pity on him. “I’ll be there, and I’ll tell you all about it. It’s not a big secret anyway.”

Before Vaishi could ask him to explain, Spike flew off toward the guild. If he was going to dine with Fain and Vaishi this evening, he needed to get some things done in the dyeshop. He was going to be very busy with guild business starting next week, so he wanted to get ahead on his other assignments.

Yahjain and Paven had come to Spike in the great hall, just after a public meeting of the house’s elders. Every few years, all the guilds came together to meet and discuss business between them. It was a grand, complicated affair at which family associations were reaffirmed or changed, longstanding contracts were renewed, and new ones formed. The last time this meeting had occurred, Spike had just apprenticed at the guild and hadn’t been involved at all. This time, however, Yahjain and Paven wanted Spike to be one of their representatives. In addition to the guild members that sat in on discussions of interguild relations, each guild sent several senior and junior representatives to the negotiations themselves.

Spike had been pleasantly surprised that the elder guild members would choose him for such a position. As usual, they had simply told him he was underestimating himself and that he was more than qualified for the job. After all, he had made master status more quickly than anyone in recent history, not to mention all of his accomplishments outside the guild.

When Spike got back to the guild, Paven was waiting for him. She diverted him from his dyemaking duties so that he could review the contracts he’d be expected to negotiate.

“Why me on this one? I don’t have any experience with negotiating shepherding contracts,” Spike said, looking over the papers.

“No, but you handled the Va contract issue rather well, and showed that you wouldn’t accept contract violations. Your reputation in that area precedes you, Laio,” Paven said, shaking her head at his lack of confidence. She dropped a large stack of papers next to the ones he was reading and left him to his work.

Spike was still getting used to answering to his dalhari name. Once he’d recovered fully and had learned the basics of being dalhari, Gaha had asked him if he wished to assume a dalhari name with his new identity. Apparently, while not all changed-dalhari chose to alter their names, many did. He asked her more about the issue, before telling her that he’d let her decide.

She had balked at first, until Spike explained that he had already named himself once in his life—Spike wasn’t his given name, but rather a nickname he had richly earned. This time, he’d rather someone else pick something. She had reluctantly agreed, promising to consult with others.

A few weeks later he was called for a naming ceremony. Gaha had presented him as Laio-kael. The name meant, roughly, carved from the moon. She had derived it from several aspects of his person, including his nocturnal vampiric heritage and his pale, luminescent dalhari coloring. Like most dalhari names, it was often shortened to its base, although since it was in its complete form shorter than many dalhari names he heard the whole thing quite a bit.

Some dalhari still called him Spike, however. In all likelihood, he would always be known by both names. In all honesty, he didn’t mind what anyone called him. It was nice to have received that last part of his dalhari identity, however.

•••

When Spike got to Fain and Vaishi’s quarters, he found a sumptuous spread lay out in front of the fire. It included all of his favorite fruits, as well as the traditional vegetables he had quickly come to love. As it turned out, he had been right in one of his suspicions about dalhari—they could tolerate much spicier food than humans. All those incendiary foods he’d barely been able to eat were quite good now. Moreover, for some reason, he didn’t miss meat now that he didn’t eat it. It wasn’t an issue he pondered very often.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Spike asked, looking around the room. Vaishi must have stepped out, for he wasn’t there.

“Well…we have some news we want to share with you, and if Vaishi is right, you have something to share with us. It sounded like the right time to celebrate,” Fain said, offering Spike a mug of poel.

Drinking a little of the beverage, Spike shook his head at his friends. He wondered what kind of news they had. Vaishi returned a few minutes later and the trio settled in for supper. There was much laughing and joking, although they avoided the topics of note that had brought them together.

Later on, they sat by the fire, sipping more poel. “So, Laio, what sort of news do you have to share?” Vaishi asked, his voice mellowed by the poel.

“I’m going to be representing the guild at the gathering,” Spike replied, resting further back in the pillows.

Fain and Vaishi let out shrieks of joy. “Laio! What an honor. You must have really impressed someone. There are dalhari who have waited decades to be asked to represent their guilds,” Fain said, raising his mug to Spike.

Spike nodded. “I know. I wish they’d chosen someone else do it, though.”

Vaishi frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s going to cause resentment among the other masters, and I don’t like working where people dislike me because of something petty like that,” Spike answered.

Fain shook his head. “They won’t treat you badly, Laio. You’ve done too much for the guild.”

“Done too much to the guild is more like it. Not all publicity is good, you know. I’ve only been attacked twice, only caused a great deal of conflict between the guild and its customers twice,” Spike retorted.

Fain just smiled. “Stop beating yourself up, Laio. It’s not very becoming.”

Spike didn’t know what to say. “What about your news?” He asked, changing the subject.

Vaishi and Fain looked at each other. Fain shrugged, so Vaishi started. “Fain’s been asked to teach languages in Shaen.”

“Shaen?” Spike asked, not recognizing the name.

“It’s a siv region rather far to the southeast. The position would be in the freehold proper,” Vaishi explained.

“Oh. You’re leaving, then?” Spike asked, dismayed. He’d just gotten settled back in to La’iv. It had been only a year since his return from Brahgcka.

They shook their heads. “Not right away. There are still some negotiations to do, so we wouldn’t be leaving until next year at the earliest. However, it is a very good offer—a chance to travel to a friendly region and live among a different species. I’ve always wanted to learn a different perspective,” Fain said.

“Vaishi would go with you, of course,” Spike added absently. “I can certainly understand wanderlust, Fain. I’ve had it myself.”

“Somehow, we knew you’d understand, Laio,” Vaishi said, smiling at his friend. “We’ll miss you, though. You could always come with us, you know.”

Spike shook his head. “I’ve done enough traveling, thank you. Getting all the way here from that gupwur’s shop was enough for me, and going to Brahgcka and back definitely fulfilled any desires I’ll ever have for going places.”

Fain and Vaishi laughed at Spike’s disdain for traveling. His complaint was similar to that of any guild master who had to travel for business. That was why such tasks rotated among the members, unless there was someone who really liked to do it. Spike fully intended to use whatever means necessary to never get assigned to traveling duties.

•••

The guild gathering was a surprisingly raucous affair. Spike watched as weavers, smithies of all types, warriors, farmers, masons, and glassworkers talked and drank to excess. He himself was taken with exploring the booths and displays set up by the various guilds. La’iv had noted forges and looms, and of course, every hold and freehold had a good representation of warriors. However, for all its architectural beauty the freehold had surprisingly few masons and other building guilds in any number. Only a few of the bricklayers and stonemasons lived in La’iv; when a new building was desired, these masters came from elsewhere to do the work.

The gathering gave Spike an opportunity to study their crafts. He was fascinated by how the many different colors of glass were made, and he stood for hours watching a master glass blower create sculptured vessels. While he enjoyed looking at the other guilds’ works, he still preferred the weavers' guild. Dyemaking still held the same fascination for him now that it did more than six years ago.

Looking up at the sun, Spike realized that he had only about half an hour before his first negotiation session. The guild had a contract with the farmers for some land for their flocks. The contract specified how much land would be used for grazing as well as where the land was. The farmers were allowed to dictate the rotation of the flocks, but the amount of land had to stay the same. This negotiation involved changing that amount of land. The farmers wanted to decrease it, as well as change which fields were open to such rotations.

The negotiations were moots—a third, uninvolved guild would act as an advisor and guide for the negotiations. Spike knew from what Paven had told him that the advising guild for this negotiation would be the forges. Spike was looking forward to this negotiation far more than the next one. It was with the leatherworkers. That contract covered the sale of the weavers’ flocks as raw materials.

The negotiation was taking place in the great room of the forge’s hall, a neutral location for both the farmers and the weavers. When Spike arrived, several officials from various guilds were there, standing around and gossiping.

“Ah, Laio! Now we can begin,” Huibka said. He was a junior representative from the farmers. Spike knew him in passing, and had nothing against him.

“Where’s the advisor?” Spike asked, looking around. He didn’t see any smithies hanging around.

“Oh, they’ll be here shortly. One of the gathering officials will come and announce them. We can go inside and get settled, though. We just can’t talk about anything!” Spike laughed with Huibka and entered the hall.

The two representatives settled in at a table near the cold fireplace, enjoying the afternoon sun filtering through the multicolored windows. Spike wondered how long the negotiation would take. Yahjain had regaled him with stories of negotiations that took days and days, while Paven reassured him that the vast majority of them went for just a few hours. Still, Spike had visions of protracted, vicious arguments that spanned weeks.

Spike and Huibka’s attention was drawn to the doorway as a group of officials and smithies entered. One of the gathering officials stepped up to the table, a sheaf of papers in her hands.

“Ah, it is good to see that you take these negotiations seriously. Some junior representatives are slack in their responsibilities.” Spike and Huibka nodded a bit nervously at the official. She seemed to want to intimidate them before this even got started.

“The advisor for your negotiations is from the forges, a weapons maker. She is in charge from now until you sign the new contract.” The official left the stack of papers on the table and left, taking most of the others with her. One official remained to formally introduce the participants.

“Greetings. I would welcome Huibka-ischalidha of the Ursu clan of the Gapielen house, representing the farmers' guild, and Laio-kael of the Saydhe clan of the Disiaron house, representing the weavers' guild. Your advisor is Del-syralia of the Saydhe clan…” the official’s voice faded as he scowled at his paper. “Wait a moment; this may be a conflict of interest. How did this happen? Advisors can’t be from the same clan as the representatives.” The official rushed out after his boss, leaving a shocked Huibka and Spike.

Huibka was surprised that the snafu had occurred, but chalked it up to Spike’s unusual position as a Saydhe in a Mirh-dominated guild. Spike, however, was shocked for a completely different reason. Del.

She was here? Spike looked frantically around the room, but no one was there. Perhaps she was waiting in the hall…Huibka muttered something about finding a drink and stomped off, leaving Spike alone. He decided to wait around for a while. Maybe they’d get this straightened out. Maybe Del would show up.

A few minutes later, a vivid purple head peeked through the doorway. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” Del craned her neck, looking around the room. “Apparently there’s something wrong here. The official was muttering something about a clan conflict…” Del’s voice faded when she saw, and subsequently recognized, Spike.

Del stepped through the door, letting it close behind her. They stared at each other for several minutes, not saying a word. Spike catalogued the changes he saw in Del. There weren’t many; she didn’t look a day older, but then she was a dalhari. She looked more angular, as if she’d lost a bit of weight, though. Del still favored dark greens and blues, and still wore her swords everywhere.

Del had considerably more changes to process. Ironically, the first thing she noticed was not that Spike was a dalhari. No, it was his mark. The guild gathering was considered a formal enough event to require its application, and the rich red design was very obvious on his pale skin. It was a devastating shock to see that the mark on his face now wasn’t hers. She had held out a vague hope that he would still be bearing hers after all these years.

The fact that Spike was no longer human finally sunk in, and Del’s mouth fell open. She realized that the pale skin had lost its pinkish glow, and that his hair was that color not from a dye he’d managed to create but from the changeover. She absently noted the tips of his ivory wings, and the attendant tail wrapped around one ankle. But his eyes are still blue, she noted randomly.

After several more minutes of silent contemplation, Spike stood up and took several steps towards Del. She remained motionless, watching him as he inched closer, looking as if she was trying to determine if he was really Spike.

“Del,” Spike said in a low voice. The single word seemed to break her out of her reverie. She looked at him in shocked wonder. Spike thought he saw a glint of hope flash before being suppressed.

“You…” She began, and then stopped. An aqua hand reached out, stopping just inches from his face. Spike brought his hand up, capturing hers. She tugged briefly, and then stopped, letting him keep his grip on her hand.

“You’ve changed,” She finally managed to get out. Spike smiled softly.

“Yeah.”

Del wanted to grab Spike, pull him close, and make sure he was real. When she’d left him in La’iv, this possible outcome had never entered her mind. How had this happened? She wondered who had changed him. The question infuriated her. She suppressed her anger. After all, she’d relinquished any claim she could have ever had on Spike when she left in La’iv. The removal of her mark only reaffirmed that.

Spike caught the subvocal growl from Del and jerked back. A look of sorrow darkened her face, and she pulled her hand back. “Who…”

He realized then that her distress came from his being dalhari. Did it upset her that he’d been changed? “It’s a long story, Del,” he said softly. She nodded slowly.

“It usually is.” She looked at him again, studying his eyes. “But it looks good on you. Very unusual.”

Spike couldn’t help but grin. “You’re not the first to say that, you know.” Del’s answering smile nearly broke his heart.

“Well, at least now I know what that official was muttering about,” Del said. “It just isn’t done to have clan brothers arbitrate each others’ negotiations.” Spike grinned even more broadly. “And there is no doubt you’re Saydhe.”

Spike laughed at that, glad some of the tension between them had dissipated. “Oh, there’s absolutely no doubt about that, not with what’s gone on around here.”

Del quirked an eyebrow. “You are, of course, going to explain that.”

Spike nodded. “Of course—eventually, that is. Actually, we have quite a bit to talk about, don’t we, Del?” Del’s head dropped briefly, her eyes shuttered.

“Yes, we do.”

Spike decided that maybe the guild wasn’t the best place for such conversations, and it didn’t look like the negotiations were going to begin any time soon. “Come on.” Before Del could protest, he opened the door and, grabbing her hand, dragged her through it. After a few minutes of twisting and turning, they found themselves outside, blinking at a glaring sunset.

Spike didn’t stop, though. He directed Del towards the house. There were plenty of quiet places there. He had six years of questions to ask and six years of adventures to talk about. Del followed meekly, dodging the heavy foot traffic caused by the gathering. They were nearly to the house when one of Spike’s coworkers stopped them.

“Laio-kael! I thought you were in negotiations,” the weaver said concernedly.

Spike shook his head. “They assigned a Saydhe weapons maker to advise the contract."

“So?” The weaver said. Then recognition dawned. “Oh, that means…”

“Yeah. It’ll get worked out,” Spike said, hurrying along. He didn’t want to talk to anyone but Del right now.

When they got back to the house proper, Spike rushed them through the halls. He marveled that he knew where they were going; the last time he’d been here with Del he hadn’t known left from right. At one point, Del pulled in the opposite direction, but Spike didn’t want to go to her quarters. He preferred his for this conversation.

Spike drew to a halt at his door. Unlocking it, he ushered Del in. She stood just in the entrance, taking in the main room. Spike was much more of a ‘stuff’ person than Del had been, so his rooms were filled with things he’d collected or been given. Finely woven tapestries made with yarn dyed with his unique dyes hung on the walls, gifts from weavers and artists appreciative of his talents.

“Your rooms?” She asked softly. Spike nodded.

“So…” Spike began. Del tensed and took a step back, pressing herself against the door.

Sighing, Spike shook his head at her. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting, Del, but from the look on your face, I’d say it was bad.” Her eyes widened further. Spike stepped forward, holding out a hand. “I’m not mad at you, Del.” She relaxed a little, but was still guarded.

Spike retreated, hoping that the action would let Del relax. He made himself comfortable on some cushions and returned his attention to her. She was still against the door. “How long have you been changed?” she asked.

“About a year or so. It was an accident,” Spike replied. Exactly what kind of accident, Spike didn’t say.

“Oh. So you’re a weaver, then?” Del asked, grasping for conversation.

“Yeah. I apprenticed right after you left, in dyemaking specifically. Made master two years ago,” Spike replied, enjoying her surprise at how adept he’d become. Del remained silent for several minutes, so Spike took the lead in the conversation. There were some things that they needed to have out in the open. “So, how’s Na’alha?”

The question threw Del off. “Fine,” she answered automatically. “And La’iv?”

Spike laughed harshly. “Better than Brahgcka.”

Del’s eyes widened. “Brahgcka?”

“Yeah. I spent a few months up there a year or so ago. Not a pleasant place at all,” Spike commented.

Spike could see the exact moment when things started adding up in Del’s mind. “Who?” She asked harshly.

“I think you know, Del,” he replied, his voice amazingly even.

“But…it’s been…”

Spike swore softly. “Do you remember Aver? If you weren’t over it then, why would he be over it now? It wasn’t the mark, per se, so stop feeling guilty about it—and I know you are.”

“It wasn’t?” She asked, confused.

“I’d picked my own mark by then. Apparently the Aiskian like to gossip. He knew about me right off,” Spike said in irritation. The whole situation rankled him still.

“But why change you?” she asked, confused.

Spike grinned. “I don’t think he meant to, luv. Actually, I think he tried his best to kill me. Got a bite in, though, and here I am, wings and all.” Spike spread his arms wide, as if showing off his new body.

Del just stared at him. She couldn’t believe he was taking it so well. “Where is he?”

Spike shrugged. “He took off. The Aiskian are looking for him, but I don’t think he’ll show up. You know, I kind of figured you’d hear about this, but you’ve not heard about much of anything from La’iv since you left, have you?”

Del nodded. “I needed…alone time.”

“So did I. I didn’t know it at first, but I did. It took a while, but I finally understood why you left. I didn’t like it, and I still don’t, but I understand,” Spike said softly, watching as Del’s face expressed sadness, surprise and hope by turns. “But I still love you, Del. Never stopped, actually.”

Del took several steps forward and kneeled next to him. “I never wanted to hurt you. I had to go, though.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “It was torture. I wanted you. I wanted you with me all the time. I’d never felt that way before.”

Spike reached up and pulled her down to him, hugging her gently. It felt like coming home, for both of them. Del relaxed against him, breathing in his scent for the first time in years. He still smelled like Spike, just with something new underneath—dalhari. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d sense.

“It does look good on you, you know, Laio-kael. Beautiful name, by the way,” Del murmured.

“Thank you, and thank Gaha. She thought up the name for me. As for the coloring, it always could have been bright green,” he said, thinking of Icki. The weaver had settled in La’iv, unwilling to return to Brahgcka. He’d have to introduce Del to him. They’d get along like cats and dogs.

Spike continued to hold Del as they talked all through the night, ignoring whoever had come to knock on his door. Nothing outside his quarters could possibly be more important than what he had in his arms. Nothing. He just hoped Del felt the same way. Six years had passed, and Spike had thought that those feelings had faded. Apparently, he was wrong, because he felt just as strongly about Del now as he did when she’d left him. As he fell asleep, Spike sent up a silent supplication that Del wouldn’t be taken away from him again.