Well isn’t someone overconfident.
“You’re disposable,” Veridiana argued. “We all are. If you think they won’t just ink up the next Voyager the same way theydid to you, for some trumped up heroics, and reassign their Arc to replace you–”
“Quiet,” Zevrial said, noticing my presence. “I’ll keep my head low but I’m not backing down. Get back to your station.”
“Just–”
“Get back to your fucking station.”
Veridiana pivoted, heading for the stairs to the lower deck. She cast an askance glance my way when she passed me.
Zevrial took his time stalking over to me on light feet. With only the night sky above him, shadows molded themselves into the shape of a man. The dark outline of his profile contrasted with his face, casting planes in sharp moonlit relief. I leaned against the railing, acting perfectly casual. “How much did you overhear?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Enough.”
He leaned up against the railing, so close the heat of his skin warmed me. A minute crawled by.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“Not here,” Zevrial tipped his chin toward the lower deck. “We’ll talk in my cabin.”
“Okay,” His arm slid around my shoulder and I fell into step beside him as we went toward the stairs. The warmth of his hand seeped into me, shielding me against the night’s chill.
With the fall of evening, his cabin had taken on an anomalistic, alluring life. Whereas in daylight, it had been friendly, cozy even, at night secrets crowded every corner. Moon and star light cut a pale swatch through the darkness, but the feeling of being surrounded in a confined space full of mystery overruled any other ambiance the cabin might’ve once had.
Or maybe I was just reading too much into what I’d overheard.
He closed the door behind us, resting back against it before moving to light an oil lamp.
Moving about the room, I picked up a book on the constellations from his desk and leafed through it. Rushing an explanation on something that sounded personal would make it harder to tell. Patience was a virtue I didn’t possess, but I could at least afford him a few minutes to gather his thoughts.
“You already know the miasma’s rising,” he stepped away from the door and took a seat on his bed. It had to be an intentional position, sitting as far away from me in the room as he could. His body made the bed seem to shrink in size. “The Ascendancy thinks I know too much. I’ve been documenting all the runes and Skinscript on the island, trying to gather information, to make a plan. I got caught trespassing in a Prelate’s office, looking for a book on one of the rarer glyphs. The Ascendancy suspended me from all outer isle operations until this year’s graduation.”
“I could’ve earned enough brawling to survive, or doing perimeter patrol work. But working as an instructor was the only place with more information on Skinscript, so I took the position at the outpost. You saw me at Docksiders the day after I got suspended,” he gave me a fierce grin. “I needed to vent some frustration.”
When women shared their feelings, they did it with heartfelt words and a tender touch. Men pretended they were above weaknesses like petty emotion, trying to appear invulnerable for as long as possible. When no longer possible, they shared their feelings with harsh words and even harder violence. Lots of violence.
“Becoming an Instructor has been rewarding in more ways than I anticipated. The suspension pricked my pride, but I slipped up. Getting caught was my fault. Ultimately, I’m glad I got suspended.” His gaze raked over me.
I set the book down on his desk, suddenly flushed. “Why are you documenting runes and Skinscript?”
His gaze shifted far away. “The runes have a similar style and structure as Skinscript, but none of them work as glyphs. They were all over that cliff when our shared Skinscript appeared. Yet they’re all over the island, carved into rock, and no one knows or remembers why. Or who created them. At least, no one is sharing what they know about them. The runes and Skinscript have to be related, somehow. I’m searching for one specific Skinscript, and right now all of the glyphs aren’t documented in any unified place. There’re books on Skinscript, but most of them are restricted access so only those in the Ascendancy can read them. And none of them have information about every glyph, only a few per book. And they’re full of gaps.”
“So the Skinscript you were caught trespassing to find information about…”
“It was a Skinscript forbidden by the Ascendancy. Unfortunately it wasn’t the one I was looking for. But it was a glyph they don’t want anyone to know exists.”
I was already in too deep, and curiosity won against better judgement. “What was it?”
His smile was all savage triumph. “Truth. It prevents others from lying.”
Bet he’s already inked it onto himself.
I didn’t want to ask my next question, it felt too personal.
We both know what this is.
If there was going to be any chance for something between us, I needed to know what information he wasn’t volunteering. Not just the fragments he decided to share.
