He is patient. Thorough. He reads my body the way I have watched him read instruments in the cockpit, all quiet focus and precise adjustments, responding to every shift and shudder. His mouth is warm and his hands are steady on my hips, and when he finds the place that unravels me, he stays there until my thighs are trembling and my fingers are twisted in his hair and I cannot think.
Now I am the one gasping for him to wait. Tugging on his hair until he looks up at me, I plead. "Wait, Cody. Together.Together."
I'm not making sense, but Cody must understand what I'm begging for. He slides up my body and settles between my spread thighs.
When he enters me, it is slow enough that I feel every part of it. I hold his gaze and let him see what he does to me. He breathes my name against my mouth, and I feel it travel throughme. The sound of my name in his voice, spoken with that much tenderness, rewrites something inside me.
We move together beneath the stars. Just the slow, steady rhythm of two people choosing each other in the dark. His hands on my hips. My fingers threaded through his hair. The press of his forehead against mine, our breath mingling, our eyes open.
When the wave breaks, it is quiet. No cry, no sharp release. Just a deep, shuddering exhale from both of us, as though we have been holding our breath for a very long time and have finally, finally remembered how to let go.
Afterward, we lie tangled together beneath the enormous Cerastean sky, and I feel something settle inside me that has been restless for a very long time. Not peace, exactly. But close. A sensation that might grow into peace, given time and tending.
This is my life now, I think, as I curve into the warmth of him and feel his heartbeat slow against my chest. This is who I am. Cody's fa'ren. I press closer, and a smile forms against his skin. This is not a life I could have imagined. It is better than anything I would have known to wish for.
I turn my head and let my gaze drift upward. The sky above us is vast and dark and heavy with stars. They burn with the cold, patient light of things that have existed long before us and will continue long after.
"I think this is the first time I have truly stopped to look upon the stars since I was taken," I say into the quiet.
Cody’s arms tighten around me.
"They’re beautiful," he says.
We lie in comfortable silence for a while longer, watching the stars trace their ancient paths. I am nearly asleep, drowsy and heavy-limbed and more content than I have any right to be after the day we have had, when Cody’s comm chirps.
He reaches for it with a groan. "Johnson here."
D'Rett's voice crackles, sounding tinny through the small speaker. "Cody, sorry to wake you. I figured A'Vanti was with you and wanted her to hear this before everyone else. We've received a priority transmission from Osti." A pause. "Queen Ameela's ship has departed. She is coming to Ceraste to address the mining situation personally."
I sit up so fast that I nearly knock Cody off the bedroll.
"She's bringing a full diplomatic delegation," D'Rett continues. "And her chief scientific advisor." His voice drops. "A'Vanti, the advisor is Premier Sator."
The stars blur above me.
The new queen and Sator are coming here. To Ceraste.
"How long?" I hear myself ask, and my voice sounds very far away.
"Eight days. We'll go over the details in the morning."
The comm clicks off, and the silence of the rooftop rushes back in around us. I press my hand against my chest, where my heart is hammering so hard I am certain Cody can hear it.
CHAPTER 19
Cody
I’ve never seen A’Vanti nervous before.
Correction: I’ve never seen A’Vanti admit to being nervous before. The woman has nerves of titanium alloy. She’s faced down her ruined homeworld, confronted the ghosts of her past, handled a charging keth’ra with more composure than most people handle a parking ticket. But right now, standing in the main hangar bay as we wait for the Ostium diplomatic ship to arrive, she is fidgeting.
A’Vanti does not fidget. It’s one of those immutable laws of the universe, like gravity and the speed of light and my inability to eat Cerastean food without suffering. And yet here she is, adjusting the drape of her formal wrap for the fourth time, smoothing a crease that does not exist, reaching up to touch the gho'ba val’ari in her hair and then lowering her hand as if caught doing something she shouldn’t.
"You look incredible," I tell her. Because she does. She’s dressed in full traditional Cerastean formalwear. A robe made of many layers of deep blue and gold fabric that catch the light with every movement. Her scales shimmer beneath the hangar lights, and she stands with the regal bearing of someone who was born to command rooms. "Seriously. Stop fussing."
"I am not fussing."
"You’ve adjusted your collar six times."
