Chapter 14 #2
She looked at the faint mark on his palm, where the cut had been.
“You were there.”
“I was.”
“I remember.”
He turned his hand slightly, letting her see the place her eyes had found.
She touched beside the healing line.
“There were people who stood still,” she said. “I don't blame them for it. It was horrible, and none of us knew where to go. But you moved. When I remember that day, I remember you moving.”
His expression changed in a way she couldn't quite read.
“I didn't reach everyone.”
“No.” Her throat hurt. “But you reached me.”
He looked down at their hands.
She let him. It was easier to say true things when she didn't have to watch every one land.
“I would rather you came and sat with me on a bad day,” she added, “than waited until you had only good things to say.”
His thumb moved over her fingers.
“That may be an inconvenient offer.”
“I've had inconvenient days myself.”
“I had gathered that.”
He was smiling a little now. She felt an absurd rush of relief at having helped put it there.
“Tivek asked me something before you arrived,” she said. “About home.”
The movement of his thumb stopped.
“You don't have to explain an answer to me.”
“I know.” She drew a breath. “I was thinking I might give you one.”
He settled back against the bench, his attention on her face.
Nothing in his expression hurried her.
“There was a roof I liked,” she said. “When I was young. You could get onto it through a narrow door, if you didn't mind scraping your arm.”
“Did you?”
“Mind? No. Complain? Constantly.”
He smiled.
“The stone stayed warm after dark. Sometimes I'd lie on it until I could hear people going home from the rooms below.”
She could smell it for a moment. Rain striking hot stone. The sweetness of spilled wine. Hear her mother's laugh rising through the open vents.
Sereya's fingers tightened before she could stop them.
Dhomhes didn't ask which house. Which city. Who had been in those rooms.
“What could you see?” he asked.
“Stars. In the right season, meteors.”
“Worth the scraped arm, then.”
“Yes.”
The answer came out unsteady. She waited for the memory to turn on her, to drag the rest behind it.
For once, it stayed a roof.
Warm stone beneath her shoulders. Sky above.
“I miss that,” she said.
“I can give you a sky worth looking at. When we can get you safely to the dark side.”
She looked at him.
“Will there be a difficult door?”
“I can arrange one if it's essential.”
“And somewhere to sit?”
“I was thinking somewhere more comfortable than a roof.”
“Very extravagant.”
“I want to make a good impression.”
She laughed softly.
“Dhomhes.”
“Yes?”
“You're doing rather well.”
The pleasure in his face was so open that her next breath caught.
She'd seen his charm from across rooms. Had watched him make people laugh, coax answers out of officials, turn an objection aside without appearing to touch it.
This small, unguarded happiness was something else.
She wanted to be brave enough to meet it.
“There's something I'd like to do,” she said.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.
“All right.”
“Would you come a little closer?”
He leaned toward her. The tall, paired peaks of his horns tilted with the movement, their shadows slipping across the pale stone beside her.
She placed her free hand against his shoulder. The fabric was smooth, the muscle beneath it warm and solid. She rose just enough to press her lips to his cheek.
For a heartbeat, he went completely still.
Then his breath left him against her hair, rough enough that she felt it. His fingers tightened around hers and eased again. She had expected a smile. For a moment he looked as though smiling required more attention than he could spare.
She drew back only far enough to see him, sliding her hand from his shoulder to his cheek.
“That,” she said, because she needed the words to be part of it, “was because I wanted to.”
Dhomhes looked at her as if she had made it difficult for him to remember a perfectly ordinary language.
At last he said, “I'm very glad you told me.”
“I thought you might be.”
“Your judgment is excellent.”
The laugh escaped her before she could make it quiet. He was smiling too, his hand still holding hers, the reddish bronze of his cheek warmer beneath her fingertips than she had expected.
She let her fingers fall away slowly.
His gaze followed them.
“I would like to kiss you too,” he said.
Her stomach dipped.
“I thought you might.”
“Though that guard is trying quite so hard to study the hedge.”
She looked past his shoulder.
The guard was, indeed, showing remarkable interest in the leaves.
Heat rushed up her neck. Dhomhes's laugh was low and helpless, and she elbowed him gently for having noticed.
“Don't.”
“He deserves recognition for his discipline.”
“Dhomhes.”
“All right.”
He brought her hand up instead and kissed her knuckles, carefully clear of the healing cut.
The humor left her all at once.
His mouth was warm. The touch lasted only a moment. She felt it long after he lowered their hands.
He met her gaze.
She wanted that warm mouth against hers. He was close enough now that she could feel his breath, and she leaned closer.
He paused just short of her lips. “You are tempting me.”
“Good,” she whispered, and closed the distance.
His mouth settled against hers, warm and careful. She moved closer, her fingers curling in his coat. He made a low sound against her lips and kissed her again, firmly enough to make her grip tighten.
She had meant to give him one kiss. Now she tipped her face up for another, and his hand came to her cheek as he met her.
Then his comm sounded.
They drew apart slowly. Dhomhes looked down at the comm and sighed.
“You have to go,” she said.
“Yes.”
She pulled away. “I could, if you wanted, throw it in the leaves.”
He chuckled. “Maybe next time.”
He stood, then waited while she collected the little bag she had brought out with her comm and room key.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
“With you?”
“That was my hope.”
She smiled.
“If work changes it, I'll let you know,” he said. “But I would like to try.”
“So would I.”
They walked back together, close enough for their hands to find each other again before they reached the main path.
Her room was still quiet when she returned.
Sereya set down the bag. Closed the door. Turned the lock herself.
The bed stood beneath a window with adjustable shutters. A glass of water waited beside it. In the cupboard hung only her things, few as they were.
She crossed to the washstand and looked at her reflection.
There was nothing on her face to announce what she had done. No mark on her mouth. No visible warning that she had sat in a garden and handed over a memory she had kept for herself, then kissed a male because she liked the way he looked at her.
She touched her lips anyway.
Her comm sounded.
For one foolish moment she expected him.
Roemary's name appeared.
I trust the new arrangements are satisfactory. We need to talk before you become too comfortable with them.
Sereya read it twice.
Her skin cooled. There it was again: the reminder that comfort was temporary, permitted only until Roemary decided otherwise.
For a moment she could hear herself answering. Of course. When would you like me to come? Shall I bring anything?
She sat on the bed instead.
She sent a copy to Dhomhes, with a short message saying she was in her room and hadn't replied. Then she set the comm beside the glass of water.
His response came a few minutes later.
You don't need to see her alone. If she comes to your door, call the guard.
A second message followed.
I enjoyed the garden. All of it.
Sereya's eyes stung.
She answered the second message first.
So did I.
Then she told him she would call if Roemary came.
She drew the shutters, leaving the room in a soft dimness, and lay down without undressing. Her hands rested on the coverlet. Her feet were sore. Beyond the door, someone walked past and kept going.
Roemary had not ceased to frighten her.
But she could remember the message and the garden at the same time now.
She turned her hand over and pressed her kissed knuckles to her mouth.