CHAPTER 24 ADRIA
CHAPTER
ADRIA
I still store simple antiseptics in my quarters.
After my overcharge, when I broke every mirror that hung too close and proceeded to play with the pieces, I resented my weakness and was loath to admit it to any healer, even trusted Zalel.
So I cared for the wounds on my own, with bandages and alcohol rather than nightfolk gifts.
Zalel either assumed I was conserving his powers for my soldiers, or he was gracious enough not to ask.
I set down Kori, who subsequently sets down Aspect.
Russ immediately begins nudging at the inert robot with his central head, the first and third heads whimpering at the lack of response.
Kori scratches both heads under their chins in an attempt to offer some comfort.
Her eyes returned to their usual brown, not blue, when she keeled over into my arms in the rubble—but regardless of her irises’ shade, I can’t stop looking at them, looking at her properly outside her armor.
This battered, beautiful rule breaker of a girl, just …
sitting in my room, flesh and blood and bone, as real as anything.
But nevertheless, she doesn’t feel real. I half expected her to fall through my arms like a ghost when I went to lift and carry her safely out of the wreckage.
Across the room, nestled next to my pillow, exactly where I left it when going to visit Neo in prison, is my comms tablet.
I can hear it buzzing with frantic notifications from here—doubtless, my soldiers are panicked and thrown off guard by the sun serpents’ attack—but my brain is already a whirlwind.
I can process only so much at once. And right now, the volume of the pain in my torn wing is drowning out nearly all else.
So I launch into a long-winded explanation to distract myself from the imminent pain.
“This isn’t my first wing wound. The membrane reseals itself within a sleep cycle, even in nightfolk without a healing gift, but I need to sanitize it first, or risk an infection spreading through the whole structure when it closes.
” I rummage through my stone drawers, seeking antiseptic bottles that aren’t already mostly empty.
“I can hold the wing still well enough, but reaching that slash is another story. Can you pour a few drops of this along the wound?”
Kori visibly pales and gulps. Having her face hidden for so long truly concealed her greatest weakness; without her helmet, her visage is a canvas constantly painted outright with whatever emotions she’s feeling.
I can’t help but marvel at the openness when it feels like all my apparent feelings have to go through a mutation process first, becoming anger before eventually simmering down to their original form.
“I won’t hurt you,” I reassure her through already-gritted teeth. “And if I kneel, like this, and you stand on the bed, you should be able to reach—”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kori protests, vaguely waving her arms in the direction of my increasingly throbbing wing.
I take a deep breath, holding the antiseptic out to Kori again and shaking the bottle. Finally she takes it, white-knuckling the lid. I’m a good soldier; my last wing wound was hundreds of sleep cycles ago, but
she doesn’t need to know that, or it’ll only make her nerves worse. “If we don’t clean it now, it’ll hurt a hell of a lot worse later.”
“I’m still sorry,” Kori says as she twists the cap off, her nose wrinkling at the cloying, chemical smell.
“Let’s call it even on apologies.” I close my eyes, both to avoid knowing when the antiseptic approaches and to dodge Kori’s too-perceptive gaze. “I’m sure I owe you more than my fair share.”
“Fair enough,” Kori agrees, and then my wing is on fire. I hiss through my teeth, a sound that rapidly devolves into just swearing. Russ’s third head growls, the other two glaring, but I wordlessly wave at him to stand down. “On second thought, I take it back. Definitely sorry.”
I sigh, gritting my teeth as the antiseptic works its way through my wing, every nerve stinging. “You are the worst.”
“You don’t mean that,” Kori says, accurately, before extending her own slashed arm for antiseptic. “If you must take out your frustration, though, at least take out any infection with it.”
“With pleasure,” I retort, but I wince anyway while treating Kori’s arm.
She lets out a little curse under her breath.
Never has the physical difference between us been more obvious than in this moment.
But even so, we’re both bleeding and at each other’s mercy.
I apologize despite myself with every loop of the bandage around Kori’s arm, knowing it must hurt.
Her jaw is set, her expression stoic, but those gorgeous eyes water all the same, green flecks bright amidst the brown.
Just beside us, my comms tablet continues blinking and buzzing.
Kori nudges her head in its direction, but I shake my own head in response.
My army will still need me once Kori’s wounds, both physical and emotional, have been attended to.
After how long I’ve waited to meet her eyes behind the mask … first, her.
When the wound dressing is finally done and the antiseptic set aside, Kori turns her attention back to Aspect. “Do you have robot repair supplies somewhere in your quarters, too?”
“I actually do,” I admit, leaning down to pull another locked chest out from under my bed. “Before I first returned Aspect to you, I asked Zalel to lend me some simple tools. Then proceed to … not return them.”
“Petty theft. Perhaps there’s some monster in you after all.”
“I also know some very bad words.”
“I’m terrified.” Kori laughs as she opens the repair kit, then names each tool as she filters through the disorganized pieces. “Wire cauterizer, surge connector, memory chip widget … aha, chip probe.” She hoists the clunky tool overhead triumphantly. “This should do the trick for a manual reboot.”
Abruptly, I feel all the blood drain out of my face. “Actually, there’s something I should probably tell you about Aspect before—”
Too late. Aspect’s optical processors blink, a shrill whirr emits from every one of their joints, and steam spits in fits and starts from their neck.
Fur bristling, Russ leaps several feet back as Aspect’s vocalization box promptly announces, “ASPECT—IS HAVING—THOUUUUU-UUUUU-UUUU-UUUUUUU-UUUUUUGHTS,” the last word drawn out into at least seven syllables.
Kori turns to me, pupils as wide as her face is pale. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”
“Awakening Aspect was your idea,” I offer weakly.
“When did this happen?”
I knot my fingers together. “While you were imprisoned with Neo.”
Kori shakes her head in disbelief. “It was supposed to be a monumental moment! Just me and my robot, my creation, my friend—looking at them and feeling it in my bones when they really looked back—when they saw me, and more than that, saw themself—”
“I know what they mean to you,” I interrupt, laying one hand on Kori’s shoulder, “and I’m sorry you weren’t there to see them wake, truly. Especially knowing you were elsewhere because I snapped and locked you up. If it’s any comfort, it looked more like a mental break
than an awakening at the start. Less victory, more sheer panic. You didn’t miss much.”
I give Kori’s shoulder what I hope is a comforting squeeze and not a painful amount of pressure.
“But you’re here now. We both are. And so is Aspect, perhaps more than they ever have been.
” I stare at the floor, unable to meet what ought to be judgment in her gaze.
“Can we try, one last time, to start over? As a … damn it, I don’t know. A team?”
Kori lays a warm hand on my cheek, tilts my face to meet her eyes, which could eviscerate me. Instead all I see in those beautiful brown orbs is marvel and wonder and light. I’m never going to deserve her; I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.
“If Lail’s memory of hope was what woke them,” Kori says, “then I still have you to thank for this.” She lets out a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and jaw. “I’m glad you saw it happen. I am. Even if I wish I could’ve been there, too.”
I lean my head forward, pressing my forehead to hers. My eyes drift shut of their own accord. I wish we could stay like this forever, all our wars and worlds aside, nothing between us but reckless forgiveness for all the damage we’ve done and will do to each other.
A loud squeak interrupts our moment. Aspect’s mechanical hands perch on their hips in a frightening facsimile of Kori’s own stubbornness. “Excuse—Aspect—but Aspect—is still here.”
Russ snorts through all three noses in agreement.
“Sorry,” Kori and I both sputter as we break apart.
It’s frankly embarrassing that we’re acting like smitten youths, especially in front of our robotic and canine children respectively, but the novelty of being able to touch Kori hasn’t worn off.
Every point of contact, even our foreheads leaning together, even the idle graze of her fingers across my knuckles now to reassure me she’s all right, feels like lightning.
“Th-thoughts,” Kori stammers, adjusting her posture and her borrowed clothes and generally trying to pretend we weren’t on the verge of kissing again.
My own embarrassment burns like acid in my gut, but hers strikes me as endearing. I wonder if she sees mine that way; I wish I could see myself the way she does.
“You’re having thoughts,” Kori says. “That’s a big deal, Aspect. How do you feel about it?”
Aspect cocks their head, processing. I wonder if they learned that one in passing from mirroring Russ’s goofiest face. “Feel.” Their arms give a strange little wiggle, prompting Russ to lean one head sideways in concern. “Aspect—is having—FEELINGS?”