Chapter 4
A'Vanti
Istare at the chunk of pale orange crystal on Dr. Singh's desk while she talks.
She told me once that it's called a salt lamp, a common decorative object on Earth.
But I think it looks like sunstone, a precious mineral my people once carved into jewelry and sacred objects, and used as fuel in ages past. The lamp emits a low glow that I will admit is soothing.
"Remember," Dr. Singh says, her voice gentle, "I'm available via comm anytime. Day or night. If you need to talk, you reach out. Promise me."
I pull my gaze from the lamp. "I promise."
Dr. Singh is a small woman, petite by both human and Cerastean standards, with rich brown skin and thick black hair pulled back from her face. Her dark eyes hold mine, steady and compassionate.
"Returning to Ceraste may be more difficult than you expect," she continues. "You might find being there stirs up memories you thought you'd processed. Feelings you thought you'd moved past. That's normal. That's not a setback. But it does mean you should be prepared."
"I fully expect to have moments of struggle," I admit.
"I would be foolish to think otherwise." I pause, considering my next words.
"But I'm also excited, Dr. Singh. This expedition feels like taking something back.
A piece of what was stolen from me. From all of us.
" My hands curl in my lap. "Diamalla and her followers tried to destroy everything we were.
Our world, our people, our future. But we survived.
And now we're going to rebuild what they tore down. "
Dr. Singh's expression softens with what I believe is pride. "That's a healthy way to frame it. Just remember, you don't have to be strong every moment. It's okay to struggle and still move forward."
I nod and rise from my chair. She walks me to the door, one hand resting briefly on my arm as she opens it. The corridor outside is empty.
I stop, an unexpected pang of disappointment settling in my gut. No Cody lounging by the wall with his arms crossed, pretending he just happened to be passing by. No worried eyes tracking me as I emerge. No easy smile meant to distract me from whatever darkness I've spent the last hour excavating.
His attempts at casual loitering are almost comically transparent, and he seems entirely incapable of suppressing the scent of his emotions.
Humans know Cerasteans can smell their feelings, of course.
It's covered in basic orientation, but knowing and being able to do anything about it are two very different things.
Cody is no exception. I've known he was waiting outside my therapy sessions from almost the first day, his scent a complicated cocktail of concern and hope and other emotions I haven't allowed myself to name.
It should annoy me. Perhaps it did, at first. But somewhere along the way, I started looking forward to it.
Even though I still have trouble reconciling his 'goober' nature with his status as a warrior and decorated pilot, I've come to appreciate his presence.
He is a distraction from the pain, yes. But he's also… more than that.
More than I want to examine too closely.
I turn and walk down the corridor, my steps unhurried.
I need to clear my head before tomorrow's departure, and a walk through the ship seems as good a way as any to accomplish that.
If my route happens to take me toward the main hangar bay, where the pilots congregate between shifts… well, isn't that a lucky coincidence?
I snort at myself, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
I am many things, but I am not a liar – not to others, and not to myself. I don't want to walk aimlessly. I want to see Cody. And since he isn't waiting for me, I'll simply have to go find him.
I round the corner and nearly walk straight into D'Vorak.
He steps back, surprised, and for a moment we stare at each other. Then his expression shifts into that particular blend of determination and entitlement that sets my teeth on edge.
"A'Vanti." He straightens, squaring those broad shoulders as if preparing for battle. "I've been wanting to speak with you."
"D'Vorak." I keep my voice even. "I'm on my way somewhere."
"This won't take long." He reaches into his belt pouch, and my stomach sinks as he produces another val'ari, different from the last one.
This piece is more elaborate, set with pale blue stones instead of amber.
He has been shopping. "I wanted to apologize for the way our last conversation ended.
I was too forward. I should have been more patient. "
I study the hair ornament in his outstretched hand, then look up at him. He means it. The apology is genuine, which makes this harder, but not hard enough to change my answer.
"D'Vorak." I push the val'ari gently back toward him, closing his fingers around it. "I appreciate the apology. Truly. But I need you to hear what I'm about to say, and I need you to hear it as final."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I am not going to be your mate. Not now, and not ever.
This is not about timing or patience or a more expensive gift.
It is about the fact that I do not feel for you what a mate should feel, and no amount of courtship will change that.
" I hold his gaze, keeping my voice steady and clear.
Not cold. Not cruel. Just certain. "You deserve someone who chooses you with her whole heart. That person is not me."
The silence between us stretches. I watch the emotions move through his expression – frustration, hurt, the wounded pride of a warrior unaccustomed to rejection. His hand closes around the gift until his knuckles go pale beneath his scales.
"Is it the human?" he asks, and there is no disdain in the question this time. Only a quiet resignation.
I consider deflecting. But Dr. Singh's words from today's session echo in my mind – about honesty, about owning the life I'm building instead of hiding behind walls.
"My reasons are my own," I say. "But I will tell you this much: when I take a mate, it will be someone I have chosen freely.
Someone who knows me. Who has earned my trust and my affection through patience and kindness, not through obligation.
" I soften my voice slightly. "Go find someone who lights up when she sees you, D'Vorak. You will be happier for it."
He stands very still for a long moment. Then his posture shifts, not quite into acceptance, but the beginning of it. The rigid set of his shoulders loosens by a fraction.
"You are… certain," he says. It is not a question.
"Completely."
He nods once. Tucks the val'ari back into his pouch. When he meets my eyes again, the entitlement is gone. What remains is a male who wanted something he cannot have, and is coming to terms with it.
"Then I wish you well, A'Vanti." His voice is rough but sincere. "Whoever you choose… I hope he is worthy of you."
"Thank you, D'Vorak."
He inclines his head, a gesture of respect I did not expect from him, and turns to walk away.
His footsteps are slower than usual. Heavier.
I watch until he disappears around the corner, and I feel the tension ease inside me.
I am not filled with triumph. Or relief.
But at least the matter is settled, and I can let it go.
I resume my walk toward the hangar, lighter than before.
My hand drifts to the pocket of my robe, fingers brushing the small object nestled there. I programmed the replicator myself, feeding in specifications until the machine produced something close to what I envisioned, a tiny carving, small enough to fit in a closed fist.
The route to the hangar bay takes me through sections of the ship I don't often frequent.
The corridors here are wider, designed to accommodate the movement of equipment and large groups of personnel.
I pass maintenance crews and off-duty soldiers, nodding in greeting when appropriate but not stopping to converse.
Eventually, I walk past a wide observation window. The view makes me pause.
Earth hangs in the void before me, vast and beautiful.
Blue and green dominate its surface, the deep sapphire of oceans that seem to stretch forever, the verdant swaths of vegetation covering entire continents.
White clouds spiral across its face in delicate patterns, and even from here, I can see the glittering lights of human cities on the dark side of the planet.
It's so different from Ceraste.
My homeworld is all browns and golds. It is endless stretches of sand that shimmer like precious metal under our suns.
Our oceans are small, precious things clustered around the polar caps, nothing like the vast blue expanses that dominate this world.
Our cities rose from the desert like monuments to our resilience, all curved lines and golden stone and architecture designed to withstand the harsh beauty of our environment.
Or they did, once.
I wonder what I'll find when we arrive. What remains of the world I knew.
I pull myself away from the window and continue toward the hangar.
The main doors loom ahead, massive and utilitarian. I push through them carefully, and the hangar opens up around me – vast, loud, and buzzing with activity.
And there, emerging from a small conference room off to the side, is Cody.
He's surrounded by other pilots, a mix of Cerasteans and humans, all wearing the sleek flight suits which mold to their bodies like armor forged specifically for each wearer.
The dark fabric has a faint woven texture, with reinforced panels guarding the chest and torso while leaving the joints free for movement.
The effect is striking; even the smallest pilot looks formidable.