13
STRON
“And why am I doing this?” Stron asked as the wind swirled around them on the platform.
“Because you were asked to,” Khalzin said.
Still, Ston didn’t want to be here, entertaining the off-worlders with Khalzin. He hadn’t expected this show to be part of his obligation.
Though he should have known better.
If anything, he wanted to stay far away from them.
Especially Adryel.
She remained in the back of his mind no matter what he did.
With everything going on with the investigations, a lot seemed to fall to him to stay on top of—Khalzin had made a match, and as such, he was considered sheltered.
Dhomhes had returned to his home on the far side of the planet near the refineries, as far as Stron knew. And Fiviel.
No one knew yet what had become of him.
The smell of smoke in the air felt ominous to Stron. Like there was more going on than he realized. Or that Khalzin had anticipated.
He glanced at his friend. “I don't think that you have a higher rank than me.”
Khalzin shrugged. “All the more reason to remember you were asked, not ordered, to come.”
“I suppose.” Khalzin yawned.
He watched his friend. “Not enough sleep?” Stron asked.
“No more than usual.”
Interesting, Stron thought. What had Khalzin been doing with his nights? Rather, who? “Then who has kept your bed warm before she got here?”
Khalzin raised his eyebrow. “I meant that I sleep no better with her now in residence than before.” He waved his hand. “You know I do not have frivolous relations.”
Stron shrugged. “There is nothing that says one cannot. Even during Courtship.”
“That is a broad interpretation of the tradition.”
“Broad interpretations are what I survive on.” He grinned, holding back his amusement. He could see the slight shift in Khalzin’s armor, that twitch in his demeanor.
Making his friend a little irritated at his comment.
Khalzin, however, wasn’t a little irritated. He glared at him, downright hostile. “If you do not plan to fully commit to this proposition, tell me now and I will find someone else.”
“I doubt you could all things considered. One gone. Two bombings? Even the friends of a Gol-Vett cannot expect them to sacrifice themselves for a science experiment.”
“If you are not interested in participating,” Khalzin said again, “Then please walk away. I do not need more failures in this project. My father is watching in earnest.”
Stron groaned. While he’d had his issues with his own parents and proper dictates and protocols, Khalzin always had it worse. His parents were relentless—seeing him like competition rather than an offspring. “How bad?”
“He reached out yesterday to inform me that there was no shame in admitting failure in the project to the Coalition.”
“Oh. That is bad.”
