Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1) (50 page)

Bad enough that he knew all her secrets. It was entirely unfair that he got to keep all his own. And she wasn’t sure she knew what to do with the knowledge that someone knew her well enough to hurt her, without her having anything to use against him as a shield.

Even thinking of it that way hurt. Why did she always have to plan for the inevitable hurt?

Reese closed her eyes. The tabard pulled her in one direction. The dagger another.

“Good morning, sleepy,” Kis’eh’t said in a gentle voice. “Or rather, good night, since that’s about the time. You’ve been sleeping for nine hours!”

Did he have a voice? He did. He used it. “I’m surprised. I expected to sleep for well over twenty.”

The Glaseah, barely visible in the low light, shook her head. “Don’t joke like that. We were all worried. How are you feeling?”

Hirianthial assessed his body. “Better than I probably look.”

Kis’eh’t winced. “That wouldn’t be hard,” she said. “We put an ice-pack on your face so you aren’t swollen, but your skin’s going to turn interesting colors.”

“I’m sure,” Hirianthial said. He tried sitting upright and surprised himself pleasantly by succeeding. Someone had delivered him to his quarters and tucked him into bed under a mound of blankets.

“I’m apologizing on behalf of the crew for taking off your boots and sponging off the worst of the dirt,” Kis’eh’t said. “Bryer’s the one who did it, since we think he’s the one who emotes the least. Did he wake you?”

“I doubt a falling meteor would have woken me,” Hirianthial said, gingerly pressing on the back of his neck. The longer he remained conscious, the more aware he was of the wrenched muscles, deepening bruises and joint aches he’d incurred fleeing the pirates. It never ceased to amaze him how nothing serious could hurt so badly. “I thank you for the attention, though.”

“It was the least we could do,” Kis’eh’t said. “Everyone says you and Bryer are the only reason the whole mission came out okay.”

“I wouldn’t go so far,” Hirianthial said. “The captain and the twins did excellent work.”

She shook her head. “You can re-assign praise however you want if it makes you feel better. The rest of us... well, we’re really grateful.”

He couldn’t help a laugh. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll have to fend off the twins.”

“No,” Kis’eh’t said, grinning. “And I think we’re all out of things we can make into jewelry. You’ll probably have to settle for a party. Not just for you, mind you. For Bryer too. We’re going to put a party cap on him.”

A Phoenix at a party. It beggared the imagination. “That sounds like quite a challenge.”

Kis’eh’t nodded. “It figures that we’re going to end up fêting the two people on the crew who like the least fuss,” she said. “But we’re going to do it anyway, once we get underway.”

“And when is that?” Hirianthial asked.

“Soon,” Kis’eh’t replied. “As soon as the twins wake up, I think.”

“And Fleet?”

“They’re still cleaning up,” Kis’eh’t said.

“Ah.”

“You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?” Kis’eh’t asked, feathered ears drooping.

“I’m in no condition to rush away,” Hirianthial said carefully.

“Good,” Kis’eh’t said. “We were worried you’d want to leave.”

He said nothing—it seemed safest. Kis’eh’t continued. “If you like, I’ll bring you food? The best cook is sleeping but I can make tea and toast.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Hirianthial said. “Perhaps after I’ve showered.”

“Okay.” She brightened: not the instant sunlit glee of the twins, but a slower, steadier glow. “We’re really glad you’re here, Hirianthial. Things wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

Once she’d left, he remained on the bunk with the blankets cocooning his lower body and a prickly cool along his back and arms. He was too tired still to worry about whether he’d stay or go. There were more pressing concerns. His body would tolerate no more neglect. Cautiously he gathered clean clothes and went to shower. The sponge bath had removed the superficial layer of dirt from his exposed skin, but he remained grimy from head to ankle and his hair still bore a faint pink shadow. He scrubbed the blood off his body, out of his clothes, from beneath his fingernails. That last inspired visceral memories of home. Surgery as a doctor was done with gloves; it was only when he used a blade that he got blood running, hot and too fluid, and then sticky on his fingers. How many times had he washed his hands of it? And all he felt over the memories was a kind of exhausted acceptance.

He was what he was—all of it, from killer to healer. And, he thought, he was also alive… and at peace with that, and the years in front of him. While washing his hair for the second time, his fingers tangled in the beaded cord and he pulled it forward to examine it.

Beneath his fingers he could still sense the laughter and glitter-glimpses of memory each charm on the dangle represented. As needles of water struck the cord and washed it clean, Hirianthial rested the edge of a shoulder against the shower wall and read the chain again.

Had he been mind-blind, he would still have known the dangle for an act of friendship. But he was not mind-blind. The ferocity of their affection transcended mere friendship. He couldn’t imagine abandoning them.

If he had the choice, it wouldn’t be a choice at all.

Hirianthial shut off the water, dried himself and returned to his quarters. He changed the sheets on the bed and put away the dirty linens. Doing so little had already made him drowsy, but showering had opened the multiple slashes traced across his body. He rolled back the sleeves of his nightdress and unpacked the necessary parts of his first aid kit.

The door’s mellow chime caught him in the middle of the final bandage. “Come in.”

The door opened not on Kis’eh’t and the expected tea and toast, but on Reese. Hirianthial slowly lowered his arms into his lap.

“Sorry,” Reese said after clearing her throat. “I have some of your things. Can I...?”

“Come in,” Hirianthial said again.

Reese stepped inside. “I have your dagger,” she said. “Should I...?”

“You can leave it on the table,” Hirianthial said. “And thank you. I didn’t expect to see it again.”

“We thought we shouldn’t leave it behind,” Reese said. Her reticence bewildered him; it muted her aura to a soft brown and left him no hint as to her emotional state. “I’ve heard about... um, daggers and things. Being special.”

“Some are,” Hirianthial said. “That one not so much. But I’m glad I don’t have to replace it.”

Reese nodded. “I’ve also brought this back.” She showed him a folded square, and the low light shone off the exposed nap of his tabard. “It’s meander, isn’t it?”

Surprised, Hirianthial said, “Yes.”

“And they broke it,” Reese said, crestfallen. “It can’t be fixed, can it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Hirianthial said. “I will see if what remains can be salvaged.”

She nodded and set it beside the dagger, petting it with a self-conscious hand. He watched her and knew not what to think.

Reese turned and rested her hands against the edge of the table. “I just want you to know that… I’m sorry. For things. Especially me, how I act sometimes. Well, a lot of the time.” She looked away. “I’d like you to stay.”

“Lady?” Hirianthial said, astonished.

She flexed her hands against the table, looking at the ground. “I haven’t had time to figure things out yet,” she said, more to herself than to him. She lifted her eyes. “I’d like you to stay. If you want to. Please.”

He couldn’t read her feelings past the blur in her aura, and lacking that he fell back on more visceral things: the swiftness of her breath. The trembling tension in her fingers. And the uncertainty in her unguarded blue eyes.

“I would be pleased to do so,” Hirianthial said.

She took in a little breath, then nodded and left in surprising silence. Hirianthial stared at the door. He stared at it so long that when it chimed again he started.

“Come in.”

This time the door slid open for Kis’eh’t holding a tray. “Ready for food?”

“More than ready,” Hirianthial said, putting aside the first aid kit.

As the Glaseah set the tray on the table, she said, “Was that Reese I saw walking down the hall?”

“Most probably,” Hirianthial said.

“Did it... was she... “

“She came to ask after my health,” Hirianthial said.

Kis’eh’t let out a long sigh. “Thank the goddess. Reese is good people, but sometimes she bites off her foot after the trap is open.”

The truth of the words surprised Hirianthial into a laugh. “So do we all. But only sometimes.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Kis’eh’t said, setting out the dish and a napkin. She peeked past her arm. “Are you really staying?”

Hirianthial closed his eyes. Between his shoulder-blades, resting over his back where his heart kept time, he felt a warm breeze through high branches and smelled the cool spice of Martian wood. He rose slowly from that memory. “Yes. I am.”