Tarak appeared in his doorway halfway through the stack, expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he had something to say but wasn’t sure how it would be received, and he sighed.
“What is it?”
“Your attempts to conceal the infant have not been entirely successful,” Tarak said carefully, and he sighed again. He knew it had been a risk to let Corinne and Anya leave his quarters with Mikoz, but he hadn’t wanted them to feel as confined as they had been on the Vedeckian ship.
“There were suspicions before, but after last night, everyone on board is aware of his presence.”
“I understand, but I was more concerned about getting him medical attention than concealing him.”
“Of course. But there are questions.”
He set down his data pad and gave his second his full attention. “And what do you say when these questions are asked?”
“That you have your reasons and when you are ready to explain, you will do so.” Tarak shifted his weight, his tail twitching. “But I will not lie—there is confusion. The presence of a Cire infant on this ship should not be possible. The Council’s few successes with artificial reproduction would never have been allowed to leave Ciresia. Some wonder if he was stolen.”
“Let them speculate. The truth will be revealed when I deem it appropriate.”
“And when will that be?”
Good question. He had been avoiding formal explanations because any official documentation would eventually reach the Council, and he still wasn’t certain how they would respond to Mikoz’s existence. A Cire infant born from a female everyone believed extinct, rescued from traffickers who’d clearly had buyers lined up… The political implications were staggering.
“Soon,” he said finally. “I am taking a family leave.”
Tarak absorbed this in silence, processing the ramifications. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. And I will support whatever decision you make.” A pause. “But I will miss having you as my commanding officer.”
“You will be a good commander. Better than I was in many ways.”
“I doubt that, but thank you. In the meantime, I will do what I can to encourage discretion.”
Tarak left him to his reports, but the conversation had clarified something that had been forming in the back of his mind for days. He needed to formalize his intentions, make concrete plans instead of simply drifting forward on hope and instinct.
Two hours later, he made his way back to their quarters for the celebration dinner with his family. The word felt natural now, settling into his vocabulary without the hesitation that had marked its early uses. The family he had chosen and who’d chosen him in return.
Corinne answered the door looking harried but happy. “Perfect timing.”
“The cook is sending something special. Are you ready?”
“Give me two minutes to make myself presentable.”
She disappeared into the sanitation facility while Anya gathered Mikoz from where he’d been attempting to pull himself up using the crib. The infant had clearly been practicing more while Selik was away, because his movements looked more confident even in the short time since he’d left.
“He’s getting good at this,” Anya said, settling the baby on her hip. “We’re going to have our hands full once he figures out running.”
“A worthy challenge.”
Corinne emerged looking more put-together, hair braided back and face cleaned of the various stains that came with infant care. She’d changed into another one of his spare tunics, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame but still revealing hints of the tempting curves beneath.
When the door chimed again, Anya carried Mikoz into the back room before he answered the door. Sartan had brought the food himself, the cart covered with an actual cloth and the plates and utensils arranged with care. The scent of food from the covered dishes made his mouth water.
“This looks wonderful,” Corinne said, and Sartan actually ducked his head.
“I understand this is a special occasion.”
Sartan glanced around quickly, and he realized that the cook was looking for Mikoz. He hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked Anya to return. When she did, still carrying Mikoz, Sartan stared at him, his expression stunned.
“So it’s really true.”
“Yes. This is our son, Mikoz.”
