A small wistful sigh escaped her. For once, she didn’t have her familiar notebook with her. A pencil wasn’t tucked into her hair. It was just her, her books, and her tea.
Finally I made myself known, stepping into the library. Her head slowly rose, her warm brown eyes appearing even darker. She was so expressive. I saw surprise and excitement first. Then I watched her try to hide it as tentative wariness replaced both.
She likes me,I couldn’t help but think. I couldn’t imagine why when I’d treated her so coldly.
“Kyzaire,” she said. My chest twisted with the word as I approached. “Good evening.”
“It’s well past midnight,” I informed her, my voice sounding as tired as I felt. “And please, there is no need for formality. Not anymore. You’ve called me by my true name before. I would prefer that you do when we are alone.”
If she was surprised that I sat down on the floor across from her, leaning my back against the chaise lounge, for once, it didn’t show.
“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned. “You look…”
She searched for the word, her voice quiet and serene. I had the urge to close my eyes, to listen to her speak, to fall asleep withthe sound of her voice in my ears. That would be a restful sleep indeed.
“Tired?” I supplied.
She shook her head.
“Unguarded,” she decided on, watching me carefully to see if I would be offended by it.
My own brow quirked, not having expected that. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” she said, tucking a strand behind her ear shyly, her gaze fluttering down her books.
“No, tell me.”
“It’s like what we spoke about earlier,” she finally said, her tone soft and careful. “About hiding your emotions. Twisting words to make them something else than what you really mean. Only I’ve noticed you do itallthe time. It’s a mask for you. It’s necessary. But right now, I don’t see it.”
I was struck briefly into silence. She dragged one of her knees up, hugging it with her arms, the silky material of her dress rippling like water.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
I shook my head, the edge of my lip quirking, looking down at the books she had out. “I’m just looking.”
I dragged one of them to me and flipped it around. I made a sound in the back of my throat. A book of fables.
“Thedalliaand the boy aren’t in there,” she informed me. “I checked.”
Nodding, I skimmed over the rest. Some were about art and drawing. One was on the history of the Kaalium, my own House, though it was written in the Kylorr language.
“Can you read this?” I asked curiously.
“Some,” she said. “Not all. I learned to read in the universal language but have picked up some Kylorrian over the years.”
That impressed me. Kylorrian was not easy to read in the slightest if you were not tutored in it from a young age.
Another book was on infrastructure design for an off-planet colony. But the one she was looking at currently was a book of paintings of alien places. Paintings of the Golden City of Luxiria. Of the waterfall world of Bvaro, which was mostly shrouded in mist. Of the bustling marketplaces of the Nikk colony, the brightly colored tents of the hundreds of vendor stalls.
There was even one done of the dense, lush jungles of Pe’ji…though I’d always skipped over it. Too many memories were there.
“My sister, Kalia, gave me that book as a gift,” I told Erina, watching her fingertip as it rested on the thick page. “It’s a very special book.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, jerking her hand back. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to?—”
“I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you looking at it. Here. Push over the Halo orb,” I told her. “I’ll show you.”
With curiosity, she did as I asked, the orb whirring quietly as it spun toward me. I snagged it, swiping my thumb against the sensor panel at the side, making it vibrate in my palm. Then I held it over the page of the book she’d turned to. It scanned it, reading the codes imbedded into the ink of the paintings.
