Page 83 of Blightfall

Alanik studied me, and suddenly I felt like maybe she was gathering a whole lot more from this conversation than I’d initially thought.

“I’m curious,” Alanik said, in a tone that indicated her interest was purely objective, “about human romantic arrangements. You had a girlfriend, but now you don’t. Is it a complicated process to dissolve a relationship with a girlfriend?”

Stars, any minute now Suki was going to finish her report and interrupt us in the middle of…this. At least Nedd and Gilaf seemed happy to recline in their own cockpit, oblivious to our conversation, and Dayan and Sadie were still off in the woods, hopefully not running into any scions, if Dayan was correct about their habits.

“No,” I said. “A girlfriend or boyfriend is like…a temporary relationship. It means you have romantic inclinations toward each other, so you’re trying out the relationship to see if it can eventually become a marriage. Or not.”

“Ah,” Alanik said. “So if you had another romantic relationship, it would be temporary.”

She seemed oddly disappointed by this, and I wondered suddenly if not one word of this conversation had ever been hypothetical for her.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “I guess it’s temporary with the hope it works out to be more.”

Alanik smiled, and I suddenly felt like I’d said too much. “How is it for your people?” I asked. “You talked about mate-pairs, but are those similar to marriages? Or having a girlfriend?”

“Somewhere in between,” Alanik said. “Sometimes pairs will split and match with other people. And having children with multiple partners isn’t really a complication. Often our children will be raised by different principal caregivers anyway, if they have more than one grandparent who is able.”

That’s right. The UrDail didn’t raise their own children, but relied on their parents to take on that responsibility.

“So do you choose a partner based on genetics?” I asked. “Or…”

“Affection, mostly,” Alanik said. “You want to match with someone you like, someone you’re fond of and want to spend time with.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s similar to us.”

Alanik nodded, like we’d agreed on something, but I wasn’t entirely certain what it was.

I tried to sound casual, though the veneer was quickly peeling. “What about you?” I asked. “What are you looking for in a…relationship?”

Alanik considered me, and I thought she understood exactly what I was asking. “I’m open to a relationship for pleasure and companionship, if an attractive option presents itself. Social expectation doesn’t concern me in the least. What about you?”

She looked at me with those bright violet eyes.

What about me?

I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her.

“My last relationship was all about social expectation,” I said, “and I’m not interested in starting another like that. I cared about her, but she was right to call it off. We wouldn’t have been happy. The feelings weren’t strong enough.” I missed the comfort of knowing that part of my life was already figured out for me, but not her as a person. That alone said enough. “But yeah, enjoyment, companionship, and hopefully love. That sounds nice.”

Alanik nodded. “So, for those purposes, a relationship between species would be ethical.”

“Right,” I said.

“All done!” Suki called from my ship. “I daresay this is a masterpiece in bureaucratic forgery.”

“Go, Suki!” Sadie said, emerging from the woods and heading for her ship. Dayan had also reappeared, leaning against a tree and studying our ships again.

Alanik turned to me, a smile ghosting across her lips, and I thought for a moment she might be laughing at me.

Had we just agreed that we wanted to date each other? Stars, I thought we had, but I couldn’t be sure, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her now.

“Do you have any other questions?” Alanik asked me.

Do you want to give this a try? I thought. And also: What are the chances this will end well?

It felt a little morbid, asking about the end of a relationship that hadn’t yet begun. The appropriate thing was probably to run headlong into it, damn the consequences. I didn’t know how to do that anymore. I didn’t know if I ever did.

“Later,” I said.