They treated Davn next. He submitted to their care with the tolerance of understanding their necessity and intending to be done with them as quickly as possible. His arm was worse than he'd let on — a compound fracture beneath the makeshift binding, the bone visibly displaced. He made no sound while they set it. November watched his jaw tighten once and release. That was the only indication.
Her own injuries were minor by comparison. Cuts from the windowsill. Bruising across her ribs where she'd hit the floor. A shallow gash on her forearm she didn't remember getting. The medic cleaned and sealed each one.
Rhaezon was unconscious by the time they carried him onto the shuttle. The nanites had stabilized his shoulder, sealed the blaster wound, and begun the slow process of addressing the wing membrane. His body had spent everything it had on the shift, and there was nothing left to keep him awake. She sat on the floor beside his medical cot, held his hand, and watched him breathe. The shuttle lifted. Aelthar fell away beneath them.
Davn lowered himself into the seat across from her. His newly set arm was in a proper sling. His color was marginally better. He looked at Rhaezon, then at her.
"Where are they taking us?"
"Somewhere safe. The estate of someone named Lord Skarreth. He's an ally of the network." The Alliance officer who'd briefed her had said the name with careful neutrality, as if he respected Skarreth but didn't particularly want to be in a room with him. "His wife is human."
Davn absorbed this. "Good," he said, and closed his eyes.
The estate wason a temperate world two jumps from Aelthar — green and sprawling where Aelthar was stark and vertical. The estate grounds stretched in every direction, manicured gardens giving way to wild forest at the edges. The main house was enormous, built from pale stone that caught the light and held it. It was beautiful in the way that very old money was beautiful — without apology or explanation.
Lord Skarreth met them on the landing pad. He was taller than Rhaezon and darker, his obsidian skin swallowing the afternoon light. Ice-blue eyes tracked over the medical platforms, the wounded, the dust and blood. His expression revealed nothing.
Beside him stood a woman. A human woman. November registered her before she registered anything else about the estate. She was lean and strong, dark-skinned, her locs pulled up and away from a face that was watching November with sharp attention. Paint stains were on her fingers. She was already moving forward while Skarreth was still assessing the situation.
"I'm Octavia." She fell into step beside November as the medical team guided Rhaezon's platform toward the house. "I'mSkarreth's wife. We have a suite prepared for all three of you. The healing wing's through the east corridor."
November looked at her. Octavia looked back. A full three seconds of two human women taking each other's measure across the gap of extraordinary circumstances that neither of them had planned and both of them had chosen.
"November Lachlan."
"I know." Octavia's mouth lifted into a smile. "We got the briefing. Come on. Let's get your people inside."
Your people.November's throat tightened. She nodded.
They put Rhaezon in a room with wide windows and pale walls and a bed large enough for his frame. The healing nanites continued their work. His breathing was deep and regular. Color was returning to his skin. The medic assured her he would wake within hours. November pulled a chair to his bedside and did not move from it.
Octavia brought food without being asked and set it on the side table. She pulled a second chair to the opposite side of the bed, opened a sketchbook, and began drawing without comment as though she simply intended to be there and did not require conversation to justify it.
November ate because the food was there, and her body demanded it. She did not taste any of it.
After a while, Octavia said, without looking up from her sketch: "The first night is the worst. After that it gets easier. Not easy. Just easier."
November looked at her. Octavia's pencil moved across the page, the world processed through her hands.
"How long have you been here?"
"Three years." A pause that contained multitudes. "Different circumstances. Same shape, though, if you look at it from far enough away." She glanced up. Her dark eyes were warm and direct and did not flinch from what they saw. "Alien husband,impossible situation, whole life rewritten overnight. Sound familiar?"
November laughed. It came out ragged and wet and surprised her. "Something like that."
"He's going to be fine." Octavia nodded toward Rhaezon. "The big ones always look worse than they are. Trust me. My husband once came home with a hole in his chest you could put your fist through and was irritated about dinner being late."
The laugh that came out of November was real this time. Ugly and loud and close to a sob but real.
Octavia smiled. She went back to drawing.
Rhaezon woke at dusk.November was there. She had not moved.
His eyes found her before they found anything else in the room. Dark brown, nearly black. No amber. Just him, looking at her, present and alive.
She exhaled. Every muscle she'd been holding taut for eight hours released at once. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his.
"Hi."
