Chapter 10
SEREYA
Sereya had almost finished dressing when her comm chimed.
She caught it off the bed before it could sound again. A message, not a call.
Dhomhes.
Will you be at the reception?
Yes.
She read it twice, then looked down at the blue dress pooled around her knees. Until a moment ago, it had been something she would have to wear while Roemary introduced herself to important people. Now she wanted to know what it looked like from the back.
Ridiculous.
She turned toward the mirror anyway.
A knock came at the door. She put the comm down too quickly, and it bounced once against the blanket.
“Come in.”
Roemary opened the door, already dressed. Silver caught the light at her throat and wrists. She looked at Sereya's reflection, then at the bed.
“Who was that?”
“A message about the reception.”
“Another schedule change?”
“No.”
Sereya waited for the next question. Roemary's attention had moved to the dress.
“The gray would be better.”
“I thought I'd wear this.”
Roemary paused with one hand on the door.
It was a small disagreement. Women disagreed about dresses every day without being frightened of what would follow. Sereya made herself hold still.
“It's a reception for the survivors, Sereya. Some restraint would be appropriate.”
The blue was dark enough to look almost black in the folds. It covered her from her collarbones to her calves. There was nothing unrestrained about it except that she had chosen it.
“I like it.”
Roemary's expression softened. Sereya would have preferred a frown.
“Of course you do. I only meant that you might be more comfortable attracting less attention. After everything you've told me.”
There it was. Her past, brought out and laid beside a dress.
Sereya glanced toward the open door. No one stood in the sitting room beyond it, but Roemary followed the look. She knew exactly what she had done.
“I'll meet you for breakfast,” Sereya said.
For a moment, neither moved.
“Don't be long. There are people I need you to recognize.”
Roemary left the door open.
Sereya closed it, gently, and rested her palm against the wood until the tremor in her fingers settled. Then she picked up the comm.
She told Dhomhes she would be there.
His answer came while she was still holding it. Would she save him a few minutes?
She sat on the edge of the bed to reply.
Yes. I'd like that.
The blue dress wrinkled beneath her. She smoothed it with her free hand and left it on.
The reception was being held in a gallery inside the volunteers' residence. Khalzin and Janae had gone to Terra North with Stron and Adryel, an outing for just the four of them.
By the time Sereya and Roemary reached the gallery, Roemary had forgiven her.
That was how she behaved, at least. She drew Sereya into conversations, touched her arm, and introduced her as her dearest friend. Sereya fetched her a drink and watched her explain to a program official how much the volunteers needed something pleasant after their ordeal.
The official agreed. She looked tired enough to sit down on the floor.
Sereya understood the impulse. The gallery was beautiful, all pale stone and tall windows shaded against the steady light, but it was too warm.
Someone had put flowering branches in shallow bowls along the walls.
Their thick, sweet smell made her think of the medicinal cream she was still rubbing into her injured knuckles.
At the far end of the room, a woman stood with an untouched plate in her hands. She had been on the ship. Sereya recognized her without being able to summon her name.
“You can put that down,” Sereya said as she passed.
The woman looked at her plate as though someone else had given it to her hands.
“I know. I just don't want them to bring me another one.”
Sereya took an empty plate from the serving table and stood beside her.
“There. Now we're both eating.”
The woman gave a short, surprised laugh.
They stayed together until a friend came looking for her. Sereya watched the two women find chairs near the window. One rested her forehead against the other's shoulder.
Behind her, Roemary laughed at something a Coalition official had said.
Sereya set both plates down.
She did not want to be introduced to anyone else. She wanted a cup of something that wasn't sweet and a place to sit where she didn't have to recognize the importance of whoever walked past.
And she wanted Dhomhes.
To talk to, she amended, then felt foolish for explaining herself to an empty plate.
She found him near the entrance, listening to an older Kantenan male with heavy horns and a voice that carried. Dhomhes wore dark formal clothing fitted close across his shoulders. His hair had been smoothed back, though one piece had already escaped beside his temple.
She liked that piece of hair.
He looked up.
His expression changed before he could disguise it. Only a little, but enough that the older male followed his gaze and Sereya found herself looking directly at both of them.
She ought to have looked away politely.
Instead, she smiled.
Dhomhes smiled back.
The older male kept talking. Dhomhes returned his attention to him, but his hand moved briefly toward the window bay, a question small enough that she could have ignored it.
She nodded.
It took him several minutes to get free. She used them to acquire two cups of tea and carry them to the window. Then she worried that bringing him a drink made her look like she had been waiting for him.
She had been waiting for him.
She took a large, annoyed sip of her tea.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked.
She lowered the cup. “About what?”
“Whatever that tea has done to offend you.”
“Nothing. Yet.”
“May I?” He indicated the other cup.
“It's for you.”
He took it, his fingers brushing hers. The healing cut across his palm was less angry than it had been. She looked at it a moment too long.
“It's much better,” he said.
“I was checking.”
“You could ask to see it.”
“Wouldn't that be a peculiar thing to ask at a reception?”
“You haven't heard what I've been asked already.”
She laughed, and some of the tightness in her chest eased.
He came to stand beside her. From here she could see the gallery reflected faintly in the window, people moving behind the paired peaks of his horns. He was close enough that she didn't have to raise her voice to be heard.
“Did you get home safely?” she asked.
“To the residence? Yes.”
“No wrong turns?”
“The pilot was distressingly competent. I had nothing to contribute.”
“You must have found that difficult.”
“I endured it.”
She sipped her tea. He watched her over the rim of his cup.
“What?” she asked.
“I was hoping you'd wear blue.”
The words pleased her so much that she didn't quite know what to do with them.
“Were you?”
“I had no particular color in mind until now.”
“Oh. That's very accomplished.”
“I meant it.”
She looked down at herself. “I almost changed.”
“I'm glad you didn't.”
The reply was warm and simple. He didn't ask why. She was grateful until she realized she wanted to tell him.
“Someone thought gray would be more suitable.”
His gaze moved once across the room, then came back to her.
“And what did you think?”
“That I liked this one.”
“Then you received excellent advice.”
“From myself?”
“Clearly the best informed person available.”
She tried to take another sip and smiled against the cup instead.
Beyond the glass, wind lifted the leaves of a broad green tree. One branch tapped the stone sill at irregular intervals. Dhomhes shifted to let her see past his shoulder.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
“What?”
“Talking here. With everyone watching.”
She hadn't thought everyone was watching until he said it. Now she could feel the room behind her.
“I'd rather you spoke to me than pretended you hadn't seen me.”
“So would I.”
“They might misunderstand.”
“What would they misunderstand?”
She looked at him. He wasn't smiling now, though nothing in his face pressed her to answer quickly.
“That we're in Courtship,” she said at last.
“We are.”
“I know. I'm still getting used to other people knowing.”
“Then they'll have it exactly right.”
Warmth rose into her cheeks. She looked toward the tree again, but he leaned a little closer, enough to catch her eye.
“For the record, I like that you're looking at me.”
“I wasn't—”
He waited.
She let out a breath. “I was.”
“I noticed.”
“You were looking too.”
“I'm still looking.”
She laughed, helplessly this time, and his answering smile made her stomach dip.
He set his cup on the deep sill. His hand remained beside it, relaxed, the reddish skin a shade warmer than the dark stone. Sereya looked at the hand, then at his face.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
She could have said nothing. She had said nothing so often that her mouth was already shaping it.
“It's easier when we're alone.”
“I know.”
She put her cup beside his and touched two fingers to the back of his hand.
His fingers turned beneath hers. He gave her time to withdraw, then folded his hand around hers.
The room did not fall silent. No one cried out. The older male by the door went on talking to someone else, and a server passed with a tray of small cakes.
Dhomhes's thumb rested against the side of her finger.
“Is this easier?” he asked.
“No.”
He began to loosen his hold.
She tightened hers. “I didn't ask you to stop.”
His thumb moved, one slow stroke.
“All right.”
For a moment, she could think of absolutely nothing to say. She knew enough about herself to understand how unusual that was.
“Your hand is very large,” she said.
His mouth twitched.
“Yes.”
“That wasn't what I meant to say.”
“What did you mean?”
“I like it.”
The amusement softened out of his face.
“I like yours.”
It was such a foolish conversation. Hands were hands. And yet hers was in his, and she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this pleased about something she hadn't needed to earn.
“Sereya.”
Roemary's voice came from directly behind her.
Dhomhes's hand stayed still. Sereya took hers back, making herself move without hurrying.