I nodded, understanding the tactical reasoning as I glanced toward the viewport. The sun had risen enough to give me a glimpse into the alien landscape. An explosion of lush foliage painted in impossible shades of blue, purple, and green that seemed to shimmer in the faint morning light.
“The treehouse is a few clicks away,” Diarvet explained. “We will need to wait until the sun has risen fully. Most predators on this planet are nocturnal hunters—night stalkers that retreat to their dens when daylight comes.”
Most predators?The qualifier sent a chill down my spine, and I gave him a skeptical glare.
In response, Diarvet reached out and placed his large hand over my fingers, which began drumming nervously against the tabletop. The contact sent little sparks of electricity racing up my arm. His scaled skin was surprisingly soft and warm, and the gesture was both comforting and intimate. “You will be safe here, Jolie,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, rumbling tone that seemed to vibrate through my veins. “I give you my word.”
Maybe it was the unwavering sincerity in his voice. Maybe it was the protectiveness I saw blazing in his blue eyes. Maybe it was the way my skin tingled and came alive at his touch, asif every nerve ending had suddenly awakened. Maybe it was all those things woven together into something I didn’t dare name, but I believed him completely.
“Would you like some breakfast while we wait?” he offered, his voice carrying a tone that seemed to wrap around me like warm butter.
“We had pancakes,” Lilibet gushed, scrambling into the seat beside me, her emerald eyes sparkling. “Diarvet makes them almost as good as Binwee.”
“I had an excellent teacher,” Diarvet said, reaching out to deliver another gentle boop to the tip of her nose that sent her into a fit of giggles. The gesture made my ovaries practically dissolve into mush.
“Sure,” I agreed with a laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest—real and true.
Lilibet perched beside me at the table, her words tumbling over each other as she regaled me with how Diarvet had guided her through the landing sequence. Her face glowed with pride as she recounted his promise to teach her to be a pilot, her small hands gesturing wildly to emphasize each thrilling detail. She seemed utterly besotted with him, and unless I completely missed my guess, the besottedness flowed both ways—I caught the soft, indulgent smiles he cast her way when he thought I wasn’t looking.
It was a domestic scene lifted straight from the pages of a storybook. Lilibet and I settled at the table while Diarvet moved around the compact galley, his powerful hands surprisingly agile as he mixed batter. I found myself stealing glances at his profile. The firm line of his jaw, the way his scales caught the light, the unconscious smile that played at the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t help but wonder, what it might be like if this warm, golden moment could stretch into forever—like a real family.
I chided myself for the thought. My only goal, my singular focus, was ensuring Lilibet reached safety far beyond Qurbaga’s grasp. I didn’t have room for anything else cluttering up my mind, or my heart, for that matter.
The pancakes, while lacking the excessive sweetness Binwee favored—the Framaddi possessed a notorious sweet tooth that bordered on the absurd—were surprisingly delicious. The texture was fluffy, with a subtle nutty flavor. I demolished a stack of four, sharing bites with Lilibet, who kept up a steady stream of chatter between mouthfuls, while Diarvet moved about the galley, packing supplies. He explained that minimizing our visits to the shuttle would be best. The fewer traces of our presence, the better our chances of remaining undetected.
Once I finished the last bite, I gathered my plate and the scattered utensils, feeding everything into the recycler—a marvel of alien engineering that consumed plates, leftover food, utensils, and whatever else remained from the meal, somehow transforming it all into raw materials for whatever was needed next. Alien efficiency never ceased to amaze me.
Diarvet handed me a sturdy pack crafted from some supple alien material, and I filled it with toiletries from the cleansing unit, several changes of clothing, and the compact first aid kit I’d discovered tucked away in the bedroom’s storage compartments. Even though I knew that most injuries could be healed with a simple swipe of a medi-wand, I’d been a nurse for far too long—old habits died hard.
The sun blazed high overhead when we finally stepped from the shuttle into the jungle, golden rays filtering through the canopy in dappled patterns that looked like mosaics decorating the ground. The foliage spread before us in impossible abundance. Thick layers of vegetation painted in otherworldly shades of amethyst, sapphire, and emerald that seemed to pulse with their own inner light. Scattered throughout, vibrant bloomsburst forth like jewels. Crimson flowers the size of dinner plates, delicate silver blossoms that chimed softly in the breeze, and cascading vines heavy with luminescent purple fruit that glowed like tiny lanterns.
Towering trees stretched toward the sky, the pale-yellow bark smooth as silk and marked with intricate, spiraling patterns that seemed almost deliberate in their artistry. The deep blue leaves rustled overhead, each one broad as my hand and edged with veins of silver that caught the sunlight.
The air was warm, but without the oppressive humidity known to Earth’s jungles. Exotic fragrances filled the air—the sweet perfume of blossoms mingled with the crisp scent of ripening fruit, while underneath it all the clean, green smell of growing things and the faint mineral tang of distant water.
Lilibet practically vibrated with excitement, her eyes wide as saucers as she bounced from foot to foot, her eager hands reaching toward every colorful bloom and shimmering leaf within her grasp. Before I could voice the warning that rose to my lips—don’t touch anything, we don’t know what’s safe—Diarvet smoothly intercepted her wandering curiosity, sweeping her up and settling her atop his broad shoulder like a tiny queen claiming her throne.
“Princesses should never have to hike through an unknown jungle,” he announced with such mock solemnity that any protest Lilibet might have mustered dissolved into delighted giggles.
The trek through the alien paradise proved surprisingly enjoyable. Lilibet reigned from her perch on Diarvet’s shoulder, pointing at everything, her voice filling the air with an endless stream of questions.“What’s that purple thing? Can we eat those sparkly fruits? Why do the leaves make that tinkling sound?”Her joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the uncertainty of our situation.
When a faint chittering drifted through the air—soft at first, like distant birdsong—I dismissed it. But as the sound grew closer and the rustling of nearby branches became impossible to ignore, unease prickled along my spine.
“Diarvet,” I whispered, my voice tight with worry as he came to an abrupt halt. But the glance he cast over his shoulder was calm, almost amused, as if he’d been expecting this very interruption.
When a dozen or more creatures emerged from the foliage, I couldn’t suppress the small yelp of fright that escaped my throat. Instinctively, I pressed against Diarvet’s side, my hands flying up to clutch protectively at Lilibet’s small hands where they rested on his shoulder.
“It’s alright,” Diarvet murmured, his voice a low rumble of reassurance as his warm breath brushed against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “They’re just the Peecha.”
“Peecha,” I repeated, though the word held no meaning for me. The creatures before us resembled capuchin monkeys—if capuchin monkeys grew to the size of gorillas. Their fur ranged from deep chocolate brown to silvery gray, and the gazes that settled upon us held keen intelligence that was both startling and oddly comforting.
The largest of the group stepped forward with dignified grace. Age marked his features, silver threading through his dark fur, deep lines around his intelligent eyes. He wore what appeared to be a ceremonial kilt fashioned from a broad purple leaf. Around his thick neck hung an intricate necklace of woven vines adorned with small, polished bones that clicked softly with each movement.
“Tark,” Diarvet greeted him with a respectful bow. “It is good to see you again, old friend.”
The Peecha nodded in return, responding with a complex series of chittering sounds, rising and falling in patterns that suggested sophisticated communication. To my frustration, the translator implanted in my skull by the Trogvyk remained stubbornly silent.
“Thank you,” Diarvet replied, his tone warm. “King Vraxxan sends his greetings and asks that you give us leave to stay for a while.”
