The door comm chirruped again. Irritated, I looked up from my notes. I'd ignored the first two alerts, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away. "Yes, who is it?"

"Nari, it's me."

Oh. Setting down my datapadd, I exhaled and briefly closed my eyes. "Come in, mother."

Her entrance brought into my flat a delicate cloud of the citrusy floral scent that always surrounded her. "Nari, Nari," she shook her head, holding me at arms' length for inspection. "You're much too thin. And what in the world are you wearing?"

Resigned, I contemplated my ratty dressing gown and ancient fuzzy slippers, wiggling the big toe that stuck out of the left one. "I'm glad to see you too, mother."

"You're so pretty; the least you could do is to make yourself presentable. How else are you going to find a nice boy or girl to settle down with?"

"I'm preparing to defend my doctoral thesis. I wasn't exactly expecting company, much less setting out to ensnare the love of my life."

"Don't be difficult, Lenara. And anyway, I'm not company, I'm your mother. Here, this is for you."

She handed me a small package and gestured for me to open it. I pressed the release tab on the bottom; the little box unfolded, revealing a gorgeous crystal brooch carved into the abstract shape of an aratiga bird. I held it up to the window, marveling at the way the outstretched wings caught the light. "It's beautiful. What's it for?"

"It's a present, from your father and brother and me."

"Yes, but why?"

"For your zhian'tara, of course. Don't tell me you've forgotten!"

Actually, I had. I'd put it off until long past my joining anniversary, the customary time for the ceremony, and even tried to circumvent it altogether. The senior Guardian I'd petitioned had been unmoved by my argument that surely it was superfluous and far too tedious by this point; he'd listened with no sign of impatience or reproach, only an unchanging hangdog countenance that said he would not budge until I complied. Obviously he'd recruited my mother to make sure I followed through.

Despite my misgivings, the ceremony -– or rather, progression of ceremonies -– turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Bejal even came home from university to take part. In the months since I'd last seen him, my little brother had grown suddenly taller than I, gangling and awkward and not yet accustomed to the new length of his limbs. The sight of him gamely embodying the first ten of Kahn's hosts in rapid succession was highly entertaining, and we found ourselves laughing together and chatting late into the night. After a few days, though, he had to leave; midterm exams loomed, and it seemed he was missing the attentions of a certain comely classmate, any mention of whom made him stammer and blush.

My parents took turns standing in for the remaining hosts until my exhausted mother said enough was enough. "Darling, you'll have to ask Ismena." Noting my expression, she sighed. "I know you and she have never really gotten along together, but the Guardian recommends that we keep it within the family. Unless you have any friends that would suit."

I started to protest, but then realized she was right. I had some casual friends, mostly fellow students and a few former lovers, but none whom I knew well enough for this. There were my coworkers at the lab; I suppressed a laugh, picturing the panicked look that Hanor Pren would try to hide if I asked him. It truly was not fair to press my mother to serve yet again: each of the six hosts she had embodied had left her indisposed for an entire day afterward. Though in a way the experience had brought us closer than we had ever been; before she departed for her home, she spontaneously hugged me, something she had not done since I was a child.

Which left me the disagreeable task of contacting my cousin, who assented to my request with a coolly considered pause and then said she hoped it wouldn't take long, as she was due that afternoon for an appointment at Vasson's to have her spots tinted. Ismena eyed me critically over the vidcomm. "You could do with a touch more color yourself, Lenara. But then you always did favor the pale, washed-out look."

As agreed, we met at her house, which like her was all angles and planes; it had won numerous awards for modern architectural design, though evidently none of the criteria had included concern for the comfort of its inhabitants. Three immaculately turned out and no doubt award winning children greeted me politely and then were bustled away by an efficient looking caretaker.

We stood in the atrium of the greatroom, the Guardian cupping a hand behind each of our heads as he intoned the ritual. I could feel the now familiar surge of the telepathic transfer like a tickle in my gut, a magnetic tugging at my blood. At last he dropped his hand, and slowly I opened my eyes.

Again the subtle transformation. Before, it had been difficult to perceive one voice silenced among so many. This time, though, the difference was palpable: the voice that was now missing belonged to my immediate predecessor, next to the current host the strongest "I."

The Guardian bowed to us both, then silently left the room. I barely noticed, so intent was I on observing Nilani. Not the fragile, decrepit husk I had encountered almost three years ago, but Nilani as she must have been in the prime of her youth. I watched in astonishment as the body of my cousin pirouetted gracefully around the art installations in the open space, then tumbled down the carpeted central aisle, spinning the momentum from a roundoff into a back handspring and bouncing to a halt before me with a deep curtsey and a flourish.

I must have looked as surprised as I felt. "I'm sorry, would you have preferred that I bring flowers?" she said coquettishly.

"Why were you so rude at convergence?" I blurted, taken aback by her playfulness; I'd half-expected the same reception she'd shown me before.

My cousin's eyes danced, and a slow curving grin animated her severe features. Contrary to Bejal's long-held opinion, her face did not crack. "Among the privileges of greatly advanced age is that when one no longer feels the need to censor oneself for politeness' sake, people generally attribute the lack of niceties to encroaching senility. You can get away with saying the most awful things."

I had to laugh. "You were so bitter and cynical. I was totally convinced that you were going to refuse to pass Kahn to me."

"Were you?" Nilani frowned. "I suppose I might have come across that way. You've had my memories for some time now; you should know that I bore you no ill will."

"Well, yes. What I still don't know is why you said what you did."

"Why? Why. Hmm." She bit her lower lip, a charming gesture that unintentionally smeared my cousin's perfectly applied makeup. Ismena, I thought with amusement, was probably royally peeved. "Do you mind if we find someplace to sit down? Not in here, this room is about as cozy as a mausoleum."

We wound up in the kitchen, perched on a pair of unexpectedly comfortable high bar stools and clutching steaming cups, habizha tea for me, mobareth with a staggering amount of honey for her. Well, at least I knew now who was responsible for my penchant for sweets.

"I guess," she said finally, "I was rude partly because, however many times you go through with it, you're never quite prepared for the end. Oh, I knew that my body was breaking down, that the selection committee had made their choice and that you had accepted. But it's one thing to concede all that intellectually and quite another thing to be confronted with the tangible, living, breathing face of your death." She took a sip of her drink. "Isn't that silly? After a lifetime, after multiple lifetimes of being inculcated in the belief that each host is merely a link in the chain for the symbiont, I still fought to hold on."

"No, I don't think it's silly. Not when you've done so much in that lifetime. If I can accomplish even a quarter of what you achieved, I'll be satisfied."

Nilani tilted her head, examining me. "I've no doubt you're my equal or better when it comes to intelligence or ambition or talent -– that's a given, for any initiate chosen to host one of the Firsts." One corner of her mouth curled wryly. "Your luck that we happened to meet just as I was wallowing in my regrets. What I would have done differently if I could have. How much I had lost, how much I was missing."

"Regrets, like Torias? You still dream of him sometimes." I smiled when she blushed. "I can tell when I wake up disoriented, aroused, so sure I can feel him, the heat of his body, the strength of his arms."

"Torias did have that effect." A little snort of laughter. "Noren used to say on those nights that I had been hijacked again by my young brigand."

"He didn't seem to mind?"

"No. He understood. I did love him dearly, but that came with time. Noren was a steadily burning flame, like a lamp; Torias was a forest fire, consuming everything in its path. I don't regret having loved him, but it could never have lasted."

"What do you regret, then?"

"Not having had children, for one. Though if Torias and I had had a child, the Commission probably would have taken him or her away from us shortly after birth."

"Special treatment for the offspring of two joineds."

Nilani nodded ruefully. "Yes. Quite the prize, isn't it? Or possibly they might have ruled -– with some justification -– that Torias was unfit to be a parent. I think he still holds the record for standards infractions and formal reprimands for a host."

The hours flew by until we realized that the Guardian was standing in the doorway, trying to catch my attention. Nilani and I exchanged faintly guilty glances and finished the last of our drinks.

"I'm very glad to have met you."

Her eyebrow quirked. "The real me, you mean?"

I laughed, and she joined in. Hand in hand, we returned to the greatroom where the Guardian waited uncomplainingly beside the Panharan brazier. For the last time, he performed the rite of restoration; for the last time, as Nilani's memories and knowledge and personality were returned to me, I felt the irrational sadness of losing a newfound friend inextricably bound with the contentment in my psyche at being once again whole.

My cousin was uncharacteristically subdued as I prepared to leave. "Thank you, Ismena," I said, meaning it sincerely.

"You know, Lenara," she said, hesitating, "I was always so envious of you, growing up. But now that Gerrin is nearly old enough to apply for candidate prep, I find myself almost hoping that he doesn't get admitted. The thought that I might not be able to see him more than once or twice a year after he turns eight... it's unbearable." Quickly she swiped a manicured hand across her face, heedless of her makeup. "I'm sorry, you're probably thinking I'm being selfish and stupid."

Tears stung my own eyes. "No, not at all." Impulsively I hugged her and kissed her cheek. She stiffened at first, like a startled bird in my arms, then returned my embrace. "I do have one other favor to ask of you."

"Yes?" she said, a little warily.

"Do you suppose you could convince Vasson's to fit me in this afternoon? I think I actually could do with a bit of color. And don't get me started on the state of my nails."

Bejal, I knew, would never believe me if I told him that Ismena really was quite lovely when she smiled.