He waved her comment away, sliding down the trunk until he sat with knees bent. “You can ask me anything you like.”
Hesitating, she wrapped her arms around her knees and asked, “What were they like?”
“I guess my father was a lot like me.” He tilted his head. “Or I’m a lot like him. His father had been a warrior and his father before him. It was something expected of me, but if it hadn’t been, it would have been my choice. It’s what I’m good at.”
Throughout his description, her eyes lighted with interest.
He continued. “My mother was a lot gentler.”
Nia’s eyebrows jumped. “Gentle? A warrior?”
Her surprise amused him, though he tried not to show it. “She wasn’t raised to be a warrior like most of us are. She became one as an adult. She’d had a life of science before that.”
“Why did she become one then?”
Memories of his mother assaulted him, of the sometimes-sadness in her eyes. How he’d asked her once why she would get tattoos on her wrists like her old captive’s bonds.It reminds me of where I came from.
But he didn’t want to tell Nia this, draw the similarities of how she’d come toOrioncompared to his mother. “Circumstances changed for her, and it seemed her best option.”
A frown gathered along Nia’s brow, her eyes distant.
“What of your parents? What are they like?”
He regretted his question when her spine snapped straight. She glanced around, her expression wary, before resettling on him.
“Um.” She licked her lips. “My mother is stern, very driven. She wanted different things for me, but I rebelled.” Turning her head, she focused on something in the distance.
“You were far from home.” He’d never heard of anyone from the ruling class working so close to the front lines.
“Yes,” she agreed, meeting his gaze once more. “Our different viewpoints created obstacles in our relationship.”
“And your father?”
“He just wanted me to be happy.” Her expression softened. “Growing up, I received the most affection from him. He’s boisterous where my mother is reserved.”
“You’re an only child, aren’t you?”
For hundreds of years, the CORE had placed a ban on having more than one child. Except for the ruling class. As a result, most of the influential CORE families had as many children as possible to secure their future bloodlines.
A red hue climbed her throat, eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. “My father believes rules should apply to everyone.”
“Sounds like a revolutionary.”
“Hardly,” she replied, gaze snapping to his, and there was a note of unease in her tone. “An accusation like that could have him arrested for questioning.”
He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t make a habit of reporting people to CORE officials.”
Her shoulders slumped. “No. Of course, not.” She rested her chin on her knees, fingers fiddling with her bonds.
The urge to remove them overwhelmed him, but they’d be a permanent fixture for a long time to come.
She reached for the grass in front of her and pulled, tearing out some blades. “What’s the significance of your tattoo?”
The question startled him, but he answered. “It’s a family design. My father had his whole back covered in the same pattern, my mother her wrists.”
“Why do some of you get tattoos on your faces?” She mangled the grass between her fingers.
“It’s a declaration.”
