She takes a deep breath. “Will you consider my progress with the sword rather than Gannatel’s healing when you decide whether to return my blades? If he doesn’t rest or eat well, or if he spars when he should not, he might set himself back. It’s not fair if that also sets me back.”
It’s a good argument. He is not her apprentice or her greenling. She should not be tied to someone whose actions are beyond her control. I nod to her. “You will be judged on your own merits.”
Her whole posture shifts, and she looks almost eager when she picks up her sword again. “I’ll have my blades back by tomorrow.”
“The apprentice thinks she is a warrior,” I joke, but I half-believe her. She won’t be ready by tomorrow, but I suspect it won’t be long.
As apprentices finish their matches and oil their blades, I realize I’ve delayed too long in the pits. The other duties of a Jara press on me, and I hang up the confiscated weapons on the wall before hurrying to the comm room.
Gemeri looks up from his scrolls when I enter. “The miner’s quarters are open again. I took the liberty of arranging for them to relocate. I hope I did not overstep in your absence.” His tone is cool and unforgiving, and my stomach hollows. This is the price I pay for spending time with my Alara. Attending to one duty means I neglect others.
“Good,” I say, though I feel anything but good about it. “Usuri should not function on my word alone.”
His mouth bunches in disagreement. “A warrior leads his apprentices. What kind of warriors will you produce with this behavior as their example?”
“Nowyou should be in fear of overstepping,” I warn, fingers itching to draw my blades against this old male. “There is nothing in this star system more important to me than my Alara, and if she requires my attention, then she will have it. I wouldhopethat my apprentices would follow my example, honoring their Alara and tending their mates well.”
“Yes, but must you honor and tend her in my comm chair?” he grumbles peevishly. “I had to clean it because it reeked of you both.”
I laugh aloud. “That’syour objection?”
“There’s a time and a place for these things,” he argues. “We can’t have apprentices mating in the passageways.”
I do my best to arrange my expression into something serious and kingly. “I agree, we can’t. I will ensure they understand the boundaries of appropriate behavior.”
“Good. And clean up after yourself next time.” He gives me a sly look. “How was it?”
I growl at him, and he shows me his palms in mock innocence. “What? I haven’t touched a female in a decade. I forget what it’s like.”
“I’ll loan you some scrolls,” I tell him, shaking my head.
I send a comm to the head miner and my senior warrior so we can make a preliminary plan for the hostage exchange and epylium payment. We need to decide the location and terms so I can send them to the Eye for approval as soon as possible, and I want to make sure I consider every angle. I have no doubt that Zomah will try to capture Delphie without turning over the other females, just as I plan to secure the hostages without putting my Alara in danger. Central to my strategy is keeping her as far away from the priests as possible. Maybe I should send her to Olethia until it’s over.
The comm chimes. I glance at it, expecting a return message from one of them, but it’s an emergency alert from the upper balcony. Request for healer. I approve it swiftly, then take the time to read the automated text.
Healer requested. Two injured by planetary exposure. One terrakin and one Irran. Moderate care required.
It feels like Usuri stops spinning. I don’t think I even draw breath until I reach the top of the stairs. I’m there even before the healer. Aqen is seated on the floor beneath the comm in the airlock, pain and fear on his skin. Two breathers lay discarded on the floor, and he cradles Delphie’s unconscious form in his arms. When he sees me, he turns stark white.
“What have youdone?” I snarl, striding across the small landing to pluck her from his grasp. Why does she feel heaviernow than she did earlier when I carried her to bathe? Maybe because I’m carrying my worst fear, that Delphie is endangered simply by existing here. How can I keep her safe if I can’t protect her from the planet itself? I start down the stairs, hoping to meet the healer on the way and save precious seconds.
Aqen struggles to his feet and follows. “We went... out. She wanted to... see,” he pants as we race down the steps. “Wore breathers. Dressed... warm.”
“Not warm enough,” I snap over my shoulder. “They are different than our kind. Less hardy. You stayed out too long.”
“I told her. But... wanted rocks.”
My heart stutters, and I nearly trip and fall. She wanted rocks from Usuri, which can only mean one thing. She’s making paint to remember it once she’s gone. That’s what she did on her planet when she moved from place to place. She collected rocks and leaves and flowers to make her art. This is the ritual she described.
She’sleavingme. But didn’t I just consider sending her away?
My skin throbs. I can’t afford to fall apart right now. I stuff down my despair and pause on a landing when I hear pounding footsteps coming toward us up the stairs.
“Here!” I call, laying her gingerly on the floor. Stones spill from her pockets like tears, lavender and green and pink. Aqen kneels and starts picking them up, and I roughly shove him away. “You’ve done enough.”
In my peripheral vision he crawls a few yards away and waits, hunched over with his arms around his knees, eyes on Delphie. I can’t look at him directly or I might kill him, and Fen would not forgive me for murdering his son. The right thing is not always the easy thing.
Cidro finally reaches us, out of breath and dragging a heavy healer’s bag. He glances briefly at Aqen, and after determiningthat he is not the worst-off of the two, directs his attention to Delphie. “What is troubling her?”
