“Hello,” I said, ducking my chin, my hands raised, palms facing out, and fingers splayed wide.
The Argosian’s head rose to wobble on his neck as hisdeeply set purple eyes found mine. “At last.” His voice rumbled like an avalanche. “You’re here.”
My shoulders dropped away from my ears. He was distressed, devastated even, but he wasn’t murderous. That much was clear.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. What happened, darling? What’s wrong? How can I help?”
He pointed a finger the size of a small Kuiper worm at a half-empty bottle on the floor. “I saved a bottle for you.” Squinting at the bottle, he clarified, “I saved half a bottle for you. Drink with me.”
My keen sense of self-preservation—along with my still trembling knees—told me I needed to comply with this demand. Bending down slowly, I wrapped my fingers around the neck of the rum bottle and pulled out the cork with athwomp. The rum was dark and sweet and tasted like vacation. Not that I’d really know, since I never took any.
Sliding my eyes to the side, I replied, I took another swig, then met the Argosian’s blurry stare. “It might take me a while to catch up with you.” When I toed the pile of bottles surrounding us, one slipped free, rolling across the floorboards until it clinked to a stop against one of the marble pillars. Extending a hand toward him, I asked, “Care to dance with someone less automated?”
He swallowed, then nodded.
Gingerly, I pried his arms away from the serving drone, and while the traumatized drone careened away wildly like a launched pinball, I stepped into the Argosian’s embrace, letting him take the lead. He held me close but gently, like I was precious, delicate. Wrapped inside his thick, solid arms, nestled against his warm chest, I suddenly felt safe andprotected, soothed. Whoever this Kasa person was, she was really missing out.
I commed.
Running after the drone with her arms outspread, Elanie zigged and zagged as the poor thing whirred and squealed, bobbing and weaving away from her.
“She looks like she is trying to wrangle a bokbok into its den,” the Argosian slurred, gurgling a sound that might have been a laugh.
As his big chin rested gently on the top of my head, I took another swig of the rum, catching Freddie’s stare from the corner of my eye.
he replied before I’d finished my thought.
Peeling my gaze from Freddie, from his loose tie and disheveled hair and amused half smile, I returned my attention to my dance partner. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”
I braced myself for the yelling Freddie had described, but the big male only grumbled, “Garran.”
Argosians tended to have lengthy names they earned over their lifetimes, names that spoke of their greater virtues. So I ventured, “Garran the…?”
“Once,” he rumbled, spinning me out in two full circles before reeling me back into his arms, “I was Garran the Brave. Then, Garran the Verdant. Now”—he hung his head—“they may as well call me Garran the Desolate. Better yet, Garran the Barren.”
While he snorted miserably at his own joke, I asked, “Well, Garran, would you like to talk about it?”
He pulled away to stare down at me, his violet brows tangling into the most impressive furrow I had ever seen. “You thought I was a good choice, did you not? There was noworthbetween us, but you chose me for your bedmate. You had many other options.” His throaty Argosian accent was thick with sorrow.
I took in his golden tattoos, rows of corn that originated at the bridge of his nose, growing taller as they swayed to encircle his bald head. He was magnificent, in a gargantuan sort of way. “I did.”
When he spun me around again, the rum clouded my head so much that I kept spinning well after he let me go. But suddenly, his arms dropped to his sides, and he collapsed to sit on the floor. A floorboard cracked.
Glancing at Freddie as Garran sobbed into his hands, I shrugged, unsure how best to handle this turn of events. Freddie’s answering shrug was no help at all, even if it was kind of cute.
After one more lengthy pull from the bottle, I pushed the cork back into place and sat down next to Garran on the floor. “Is this about Kasa?” I asked.
“Kasa grows in my heart, but I do not grow in hers,” he said into his hands. “I wanted to plow her fields.”
I pinned my lips between my teeth to keep myself from laughing at the innuendo, especially since I was pretty sure it was unintended. Although the winters on Argos were frigid and brutal, they were short. The remaining six hundred and fifty Standard days that made up its calendar year boasted an exceptionally moderate climate, giving Argos the longest growing season of any planet in the Known Universe. As a result, most Argosians made their livings as farmers. Garran, quite literally, wanted to help Kasa plow her fields.
“She doesn’t want the same?” I asked.
He nodded, then hiccupped, his massive shoulders jerking toward his ears.
“Do you know why?”
