“We’re going to run out of passages at this rate,” she jokes.
“Then I will build more,” I tell her. After sharing my own day, I work up the courage to ask, “Are you happy on Usuri?”
She puts down her half-eaten tili wafer and dusts her hands before giving me her full attention. “I’m happy with you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s only been a couple weeks since our joining, and a lot has happened. We’ve been busy.” She shrugs and smiles. “It’ll settle down. I’m not worried.”
“Finish your lastmeal,” I tell her abruptly, picking up my own food. “I want to show you something.”
Her lips curve up. “Is it your dick? I bet it’s your dick.”
I have to hold my pigment in check and bite my tongue so I don’t choke on the traxilla stew I just shoveled into my mouth. “It’s not that.”
“Too bad.” She drops her eyes, pretending disappointment. But she eats faster, finishing off her portions of stew and fruit and draining her cup.
“Ready?” I ask.
She bounces up from the furs, pulling on her outer sveli, already halfway out the door. “Where are we going?”
“Up.” I lead her to the spiraling stairs that pierce through the center of the mountain. It’s been easy to hide this little side project amid all the other construction going on right now. I count the stairs, stopping on the correct one, only a few dozen below the airlock. “Here.”
She looks at me blankly. “Here what?”
I run my hand along the textured wall until I feel a depression and push. A door swings inward, revealing one of my greatest secrets: my library. Or what has more of a scroll-storage room until now. I’ve made some improvements. They’re not quite finished, but I can’t keep the secret any longer. “You asked me, once, what I do with my scrolls after I read them. This is where I keep them.”
Delphie’s intake of breath is audible as she steps inside and sees the racks of rolled parchment that surround the door and line two walls. A third wall boasts one of the very few windows on the planet, a round one that’s thick enough to be impervious to Usuri’s temperamental storms.
Two comfortable lounging pillows rest in front of it—the second one added very recently. And on the fourth wall, opposite the door, I’ve installed a long workbench and an easel. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her reaction as she explores the stacks of parchment, the brushes and quills, and the bowls of different-colored stones I gathered for her.
She turns back toward me, her eyes soft and shiny, clutching a handful of rocks to her chest. “Are these for me?”
“Of course. Every R’Hiza-damned pebble on this planet belongs to you.”
“You did this for me. You made me an art studio?” There’s a tremble in her voice.
I jerk a nod, suddenly self-conscious. “I know it’s not like Fen’s floating palace. It’s not luxurious, and you will have to share with me. I still need a place to hide my scrolls.”
“I want to share with you,” she says, sniffling as she crosses back to me and leans against my chest. I hold her there, my only duty to her. “I want to watch the beautiful, volcanic snowflakes fall outside the window. I want you to read me stories while I sketch. I want to make love on your sex pillows.”
“They are lounge cushions for reading, not sex pillows.”
She arches her brows, challenging me with a look. “Oh really? I look forward to proving you wrong.”
That’s fine with me. There’s no way I’d rather spend my time than being proven wrong by my queen.
