“The last recorded lifeform-created vector tears were accomplished by the Aruxa, and their inventions are often sold in dark sectors. And what pirates did we recently encounter that like to frequent said sectors?”
Ved paused in his movements. “Are you saying someone, not Xaal, was on that ship?”
“I still only have access to my local database, but that is the most logical scenario. Xaal capabilities do not extend to vector tears, after all, and I can see no reason why they would want to make one.”
“For what purpose?”
“Escape from the Authority? For the love of adventure? One can only imagine, Qon. Let us hope that whatever it is keeps the Authority’s hounds busy until we can launch.”
Ved grunted his agreement as he grabbed the last basket Isobel had given to him. It didn’t really matter how the tear had happened. What mattered was his enemy was still out there, most likely thinking him dead. Far more critical was that his clan also thought him dead. Without him or Kravis, Ved wasn’t sure what state Cleave would be in. They were weakened.
Even when he got his ship functioning, it would take weeks to get back. He was racing against time.
But first…
Ved took off his gloves and helmet, setting them on the far end of the table. Then he carefully laid out the contents of the basket. Three wrapped bundles, tied off with a smooth material, sat before him. Untying the ribbons, he unfolded the cloth and revealed the food that Isobel Nott calledcookies. He could smell the lavender. Smellher.
There were twelve in total, and he lifted one up for closer inspection. Xaal mostly needed meat for survival. Some fibrous vegetables and fruits also made up their diet. These discs—cookies—were not necessarily desirable to his appetite, nor nourishing to his body. He’d have eventually thrown them out.
But she’d made them with her own hands. She had meticulously curated them, formed them with her delicate fingers. They were of her.
He placed the cookie whole in his mouth. It was soft and sweet and unlike anything he’d tasted before. He rolled it across his tongue, capturing its essence, before swallowing it down.
And then he picked up another.
Chapter 12
Isobel
Isobel yawned and only remembered to cover her mouth when the Viscountess Langley gave her a stern look from where she sat at a table with other mamas. Henry had dragged her and Clara out of Nott Manor for the occasion. “I need you to be there for Clara,” he’d said. And if there was one thing to make her set aside her troubles, it was her love for her niece.
Though, Isobel couldn’t for the life of her remember what the occasionwas.
The young gentlemen were having an intensely polite game of lawn bowls. That was to say, Isobel could tell their sporting nature was being tested, but since they were there for the sole reason of impressing the eligible young ladies and their mamas, they mostly stood around and stole glances at the shaded tables.
The daughter of the viscountess, Miss Victoria Browning, was currently regaling their table with how the Prince of Merce had been impressed with her recitation of some poem.
Which she launched into immediately.
Clara listened patiently, a small smile affixed to her face. Tucked beneath the shade of a canopy, their table was full of eligible debutante women in bright day dresses. Isobel was one of the few exceptions.
Letting what should be lyrical prose but which sounded rhythmless in Victoria’s nasally tone fade away, Isobel’s mind wandered.
Last night, after Ved escorted her back home, she’d been restless. Unable to sleep, she’d traced the path Ved’s thumb had taken over her lips more times than she could count. Even now, her fingers itched to do the same.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Their late night promenade together, it had been reckless. Improper. Completely irresponsible.
And lovely.
Something had come alive within her. Rising from a depthless slumber. It was something she’d only read about.
Desire.
She had to search for the word like it was a trinket long forgotten. It had never existed within her. Or perhaps it had always been there and was just waiting for the star sailor to call its name.
Even more curious, she’d felt itfromhim—that same heated craving. It’d been in the way his leather-covered fingertips danced up her arm, how his touch burned across her lips. He’d been talking about how Xaal earned their armor, but his hands were saying something else entirely.
She’d never experienced anything quite so exhilarating.
