cold, purple eyes. But now, here on this impossible world, I begin to see the possibilities. In him. In me.
In us.
“A warrior might be all you were raised to be, Kal,” I say. “But it’s not all you are.”
I slip my free hand into his and squeeze. He flinches a little at first, as if surprised. But then, ever so gently, squeezes it back. His gaze flicks to me, then skitters away, as if it doesn’t dare meet mine.
“What does the name you call me mean?” I ask.
“Be’shmai?” he replies. “There … there is no adequate human word for it.”
“What about inadequate words, then?”
His answer is very soft.
“Beloved.”
There’s two biosuits and a rain of blue pollen between us, and I’m suddenly wishing we were someplace far away from here. Someplace quiet and warm. Someplace private.
“Kal,” I say, and with a gentle squeeze of my hand, I draw him to a stop.
He looks around us carefully, then up, assuring himself we have a moment’s safety before he looks down at me through his helmet’s visor.
I keep hold of my gun in one hand—this is an important conversation, but I don’t want to die in the middle of it—and I let go of his hand, so I can reach up and rest my palm on his chest. It’s where his heart would be if he were a human, and I’m sobered for a moment by the fact that I don’t even know if that’s true for a Syldrathi.
But it’s just one more thing I want to learn.
“I appreciate what you did,” I say softly. “That you tried to spare me the obligation. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to do. It was honorable.”
He swallows, his composure lessened just for a moment. “Of course,” he whispers. “For you, I would. …”
I can feel his breathing quickening under the hand I’m resting against his ribs, but he holds himself still for me.
I could keep him in place with the weight of a fingertip, I think.
“I wonder,” I continue, still soft, “if you could do one more thing for me.”
“Anything,” he breathes.
I can’t help it. I smile, just a little.
“Would you consider letting me make up my own mind about you? I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep, but did it ever occur to you that if you let me get to know you, I might like you back?”
His eyes are locked on mine, and through his faceplate, I can see the tiniest hint of a blush creeping up his ears.
“No,” he admits quietly. “It did not.”
Very gently, very carefully, I curl the hand on his chest into the fabric of his biosuit, tugging him ever so slowly toward me. My cheeks are streaked with dried tears, and I can see every shade of violet in his eyes, the line of blood across his cheek where a shard of the exploding Trigger cut it. And as our helmets touch, we’re so close I can count his eyelashes.
And he holds still for me.
“I don’t know what comes next,” I say softly. “But why don’t we see where this path leads us? Let’s just find out together.”
“You would. …” The words fade away, laced with hope.
“I’m not a Syldrathi,” I murmur. “I can’t just fall in deep like you. But if you stopped …”
“Being a jackass?” he supplies, with a faint smile.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Maybe,” I reply. “Then we’d have a chance to see what happens. Does that sound like something you could do?”
It’s not an easy question, and I know it. I’m asking him to leave his heart unguarded, just to see if a girl of a different species could love him back. I’m asking him to let an already-lifelong bond strengthen so that it will hurt even more if he leaves, and I don’t know what I’ll be able to offer in return.
But there’s so much in us that’s the same. And there’s something about him.
I think it might be worth the risk.
His gaze slides away as he considers the question, and this time I’m the one waiting, my own breath as quick as his now. I can count my heartbeats.
I’m at ten when he looks back to me once more, still so close, the glass of his faceplate against mine.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I echo.
There’s a softness to his smile that sets off flurries of butterflies in my stomach. And then Finian’s voice crackles across Kal’s uniglass.