“Hmm.” She makes a noncommittal sound. Does she not believe me?
Fek. “Chloe is as bad as John Smith, pitting us against each other.” Abruptly, I stand on the bed, my head hitting the ceiling so that I cannot straighten. Taking hold of the hook, I try unscrewing it, wanting it gone. It has been set into the stone more securely than I anticipated, and I struggle to get a firm hold of it, my hand large and the hook small. “You should not trust her. She has proven herself unworthy of such an honor. She helped John Smith try to murder Briar.”
“I guess…” Lydia releases a long sigh. “I can’t help thinking that she knows something important. Something I could use to get home.”
“You miss…akh—” I have forgotten the name of her homeworld.
“Earth.” Lydia fills the silence for me. “Of course. Don’t you miss Ril I?” She names my birth planet and the planet after which this one was named.
“No.” Memories of my sister threaten to surface, and I push them deeper. She died a long time ago. I cannot still be mourning her. It would achieve nothing but more heartache, and I do not have time for that, not with the harvest tomorrow.
“Here.” Lydia stands, reaching toward the ceiling as if to help, but she slips across the bed toward me, my greater weight creating a divot in the mattress. She catches herself, a hand on my chest, struggling to stand on the uneven surface.
My scales are not sensitive, but I am surprised by how much of her touch I can feel. Her skin is a few degrees colder than me, and it is as if she is freezing the outline of her palm onto my chest.
Steadying herself, she snatches her hand back, but I can still feel where she touched me. I do not dare look, afraid of seeing the imprint of her hand on my scales. Or maybe I am afraid that I willnotsee the imprint.
The force of my anger dissipates. “What is it that you miss so much aboutEer-th?”
“Lots of things.” If she is surprised by my question, I cannot tell. She reaches up, stretching, and grabs the hook with her delicate fingers. She works on twisting it free, her brow creased, and her other arm outstretched to steady herself.
I catch her extended arm, holding her still, but making sure to only touch the parts of her covered by her clothes.
“It’s not nearly so windy on Earth,” she confesses. “And there are lots of people and shopping malls and takeaway food and hairdressers.”
“Clothes for your hairs?”
“What? No.” She laughs.
I flinch, startled. Her laughter is…new.
“A hairdresser is someone who cuts your hair.”
“I could cut your hairs. I have a knife.” With my third arm, I gesture at the drawer of my bedside table.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m planning on getting home long before I get desperate enough for you to cut my hair.”
“I could do it.”
“You don’t have hair.” She gives me a quick look up and down, indicating my scales. With the bathroom light directly behind her, it is hard for me to see the finer details of her face, but I think the corners of her lips turn upward, just for a moment.
Or mayhaps I imagined it.
I rub my closed eyes, as a fresh wave of exhaustion washes over me.
“Almost there.” She gives the hook a final twist, and it comes free. She presents it to me, the hook lying on the palm of her hand.
“My thanks.” I take it, careful to keep from touching her skin as I do so.
“Bloody fuck.” Evidently having noticed and misinterpreted my intention, she stumbles back a step and almost loses her balance.
“I did not—” I begin, reaching to catch her, but she cuts me off.
“I’m going to sleep.” Dropping onto the mattress, she presents her back to my side of the bed, curling her legs up toward her chest, looking suddenly smaller than usual. A reminder that she is not Ril’os. That she is not for me.
We are not a good match.That is why John Smith chose her—because he knew we would fight. Because he knew we would give him the drama he craved. Even with him long gone from Ril II, he is a stain on our lives.
I close my fist around the hook, crushing the metal beyond recognition.
