between them in their dedication to their crafts, wasn’t there?
He turned the knob, opened the door, and stood aside. “After you, Nykasha.”
She smiled and walked through the doorway.
Tabitha stepped down onto the garage floor, moved forward another pace, and stopped, her eyes wide as she surveyed her surroundings. “Oh, wow.”
Zevris paused on the step, easing the door closed behind him. He wondered what this room looked like through her eyes. It had become familiar to him, comforting both in appearance and smell. His tools were arranged so they’d be in the places he was most likely to need them, the floor was swept clean, and many of his projects, both completed and in progress, were on open display. Of course, things were rarely so tidy while he was working, but something about the contrast between the resting order and the working chaos was cathartic for him.
She moved farther into the room, lifting her hand to touch the varnished surface of the dining table sitting in the center. She traced the wood grain with her fingertips, then moved her fingers toward the middle of the table, where Zevris had used small stones and resin to create a swath of blue running through the wood like a river.
“You made this?” she asked, awe in her voice.
“I did.”
“This is gorgeous.”
That quickly, the Zevris’s doubt was crushed by a swelling of pride.
She stepped away from the table and walked to the tall oak bookcase against the wall that held his smaller works—little chests, keepsake boxes, jewelry boxes, and bird houses. Many were unfinished, waiting for his skill to catch up with his ambition, but a few were already varnished and painted, and some were even adorned with simple carvings, engravings, and embedded stones.
Zevris moved closer to her, flattening a hand on the dining table as he watched her.
Tabitha reached for one of the keepsake boxes, but she stopped her hand midway and looked back at Zevris. “Can I?”
“Feel free. If any of it breaks from being touched, I must not have done a particularly good job.”
She smiled and picked up the box, carefully opening the lid. “My Nan had a keepsake box like this when I was little. It was filled with raw and polished gemstones and rocks she’d collected over the years. I used to take them out and spread them on the floor thinking she was the richest woman in all the world. They were like diamonds to me, all sparkling and beautiful. I thought the white quartz crystals were diamonds. On my seventh birthday, she bought me a keepsake box of my own so I could keep special little souvenirs from our vacations in it. Every year, I’d add something new.
“This box is going to collect wonderful memories for someone someday.”
Zevris’s chest ached as he walked over to Tabitha. She’d not said anything to him about her Nan’s passing, and he might not have understood the wistfulness of her smile and tone had he not found out on his own. “Do you still have your box?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s just still packed away.” She closed the lid gently, running her finger over the design carved into it. “This reminds me of the tattoos on your arms.”
“My people use such adornments often. On buildings and clothing, on furniture and household items. On ourselves. They’re considered an artform unto themselves, and the true artists make my attempts look pathetic in comparison.”
“Do they have any meaning?” she asked, turning her face up toward him.
“They do, though the most intricate of them can be quite difficult to decipher at times. Each has at least one word at its core, woven into the design.”
“So, what do your tattoos mean?”
He raised his arms to draw up the sleeve of his t-shirt and glanced down at the design on his flesh. “They say that I have been banished. They’re the markings of an exiled faloran.”
Tabitha reared back. “What?”
“The nature of my assignments as an althicar are often such that they must not be linked back to the Azmus Protectorate. I haven’t truly been banished, but were I ever captured or killed, these markings would have given our leaders grounds to deny any involvement in my actions. Upon honorable completion of my service, these markings will be changed to reflect the risks I undertook in service to my people.”
She stepped closer and touched her fingers to one of the markings on his bicep. His skin tingled beneath her fingertips, thrumming with faint, electric energy. The marking glowed a little