Driok’s words slowly sink into my still not quite functioning brain. He gets up and goes back to the dispenser, ordering more ale wine and drinking it like water. I stare out at the city and all the moving parts.
I wanted something more than Vorostor, but I didn’t want to leave it entirely. I didn’t want to leave my friends.
I didn’t want to start again.
And I’ve never liked cities. Give me the wide open spaces of rolling moorland any day. Driok stands with one hand splayed on the wall next to the dispenser, his head bowed and eyes closed. I have a thousand questions, but none of them seem important.
I’ve already been through this once, being plucked from my home, dropped somewhere I didn’t want to be. From what I understand, the Sarkarnii are the same. Their home planet lost, adrift in space, Driok and his fellow warlords fell through a worm hole into the galaxy where they made Vorostor their home.
Now he’s been ripped from it once again, by his own doing…again.
The silence of loss sits heavy on the both of us.
“My mate,” Driok rumbles from his still position. “I have failed you.”
Everything which has happened and he’s worried about me?
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” I respond. “That’s hardly a failure.”
“They would have kept you alive regardless,” Driok says. “It is not my doing.”
“If you have one failing”—I get to my feet and find I’m unsteady but make my way over to him regardless—“it’s self-pity.”
“I am not pitying myself,” Driok growls, staring at the floor.
“Sounds like it to me.” I take hold of the small thin island which separates the food area from the rest of the room, or I’ll probably fall down. “I mean I could also blame myself for what happened.”
Driok looks up, his brow furrowed. “How?”
“I should have shot that fucking overseer when I got the chance, but I didn’t want to hit you.” I lean hard on the counter, wishing the room wouldn’t spin.
Driok’s eyes open wide, his pupils sliding to slits as he stares at me.
“You believe you were at fault?”
“I could have done more, yes.” I hold his gaze. “So, if anyone is at fault here, it is me.”
“No!” Driok thunders.
“It’s not a competition, Driok.” I inspect my nails, which are filthy. “You don’t get to win by being the biggest failure.”
He growls under his breath. “I know what you are doing, spitfire.”
“Do you?”
“You are trying to make me feel better,” he says with bitterness. “And I cannot feel better.”
“What if I wasn’t trying to make you feel better?” I feel my elbow slipping. “Rather make myself feel worse.”
“Maggie?”
My legs go from under me, and I find myself in Driok’s grip once again.
“We have to stop meeting like this.” I release a high-pitched laugh which sounds like it’s on the edge of reason.
“I am taking you to the healer,” he growls. “The one who told me you would be fine.”
“I’ve already seen a doctor?” I say, my voice weak as fog fills my head.
