The Alien's Equal (Drixonian Warrior #7) - Ella Maven Page 0,20

our conversation last night. She’d been terrified. I had heard her harsh breaths from across my hut. But this morning, her eyes were clear and her hands steady. She didn’t shy away from me.

I took a sip of my pula. “What were your mornings like back on Earth?”

“I thought I had until sundown before the grilling?” she smirked.

“Grilling?”

She chuckled as she blew on the surface of her pula. “Never mind. So, my mornings…” She tapped her lips in thought.

“Yes.”

“Well, I was self-employed, so I worked from home. I had my own graphic design business, so I worked with clients on business logos, brochures, campaigns, things like that.”

Almost none of those words made sense to me, but I was fascinated to hear her talk about her business. “What does self-employed mean?”

“Uh, it means I worked for myself. Or rather, I was my own boss. My own … drexel, I guess. The drexel of my household which consisted of me and a beta fish.”

Pride filled my chest. “Of course, you were a drexel on your planet. I would expect nothing less from you.”

“I wasn’t…” she grimaced. “Never mind, that works. So anyway, I would wake up and immediately drink coffee, which is a bit like pula. It has a natural drug in it that boosts your energy levels. I’d eat a meal while checking my email, which was how we communicated wirelessly through our networks. They are written letters.”

I nodded, that part I understood.

“Sometimes I’d take a walk in my neighborhood. I lived in an apartment in Philadelphia, and one of my favorite things to do in my free time was to visit graveyards.”

“Graveyards?”

“Yeah, it’s where we bury our dead.” She eyed me with a defiant look, like she expected me to be disgusted.

“Why did you enjoy visiting graveyards?” I asked neutrally.

Her shoulders relaxed. “There’s something peaceful and reverent about a cemetery. We carve their names in stone plaques, as well as the years they were alive, and sometimes a little bit about them. Like, beloved brother or something like that. I often would make up stories in my head about the lives of those people in the graves. Sometimes…” she shrugged as she picked at her nails. “Sometimes the dead people were a hell of a lot nicer than anyone living.”

I wanted to give that back to her. I loved the way her eyes went soft and her expression lost some of its harshness. “On Corin, we honor our dead with devas shrines.”

Her eyes went round, and her full lips parted as she leaned toward me. “Really?” There was so much childlike hope in her voice that I nearly melted. She tucked a leg under her, attention focused on me as she propped her chin on her hand. “I haven’t heard of these. Tell me about them.”

“We burn our dead and mix their ashes with a clay. After forming it into the chosen shape of the devas—often a large spike—we let it dry and harden. Villages had their own, but our main city of Granit had a large, elaborate devas shrine honoring our most important dead.”

Her eyes were huge and full of wonder. “Wow. I’m sure that’s incredible to see, and a great way to remember your loved ones. How come you don’t have devas shrines here on Torin?”

“The clay we used was specific to Corin. During the Uprising, we weren’t able to recover all the bodies of our dead, but those we did, we have kept their ashes, intending to honor them properly…” I swallowed as the familiar guilt and anger returned. “Upon our return home.”

Her hand settled on my arm, warm and soothing, as if she could sense my inner turmoil. “You’ll get home one day, Nero. I know it.”

I didn’t know it, although I’d spend my last breath in an effort to see my brothers return home. And maybe that was why I opened my mouth and made another promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. “One day I will take you to our devas shrines on Corin, where we honor our dead.”

Her eyes misted. “I’d like that. Tell me about life Corin. What was it like?”

Usually I avoided thinking about my home planet, but I found myself wanting Justine to know what it was like. I told her about Granit, a shining, bustling metropolis where buildings rose high into the sky containing offices and the streets were lined with vendors selling homemade wares.

“I grew up in a small village with Daz and Sax called Norjic. It wasn’t