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He grins widely, sharp canines flashing in a row of white teeth. “Not big on translation on Logos, huh?” he asks.
I shrug. “Language is not our strong suit.”
“That’s alright; it’s ours,” he says. “We speak five languages in the Five Houses of the Divine, so we’ve needed translators to communicate for a long, long time.”
His eyes meet mine for a moment, and a multitude of colors flash in his irises. He’s so expressive. I don’t think he’s ever worried about hiding how he feels, not that he could if he tried. I want to make note of the different colors, learn each of their meanings.
I like this man, despite how offended I’ve been by him and his crew.
He tears his eyes away though, and turns back to his work. I don’t know how he’s organized, but he picks up a project right away, returning to tinkering. I get the impression that he’s trying as hard not to look at me as I am at him.
I glance behind me. The pink flowers that will guide me back to my quarters have not reappeared.
“You don’t seem like you need a translator at all,” I say. “You and your people have all picked up Lyran swiftly.”
Taraven shrugs, glancing over his shoulder with another bright smile. “I’m alright at it. But I only speak four languages—Zandro is the real genius of us. He knows all five of the Skoropi dialects, Bekah’s English, Lyran…and now he’s learning Spanish from Frankie.”
The name makes more sense now, as if the translator is spelling it out for me. Not Frayn-kee; that doesn’t seem like an ordinary human name at all, does it? I feel suddenly foolish, like I’m the one who’s primitive.
It’s a new feeling for me, in a universe where the Lyra have been humanity’s more advanced guardians for years. It wasn’t so long ago that our people fought a war over our supremacy in the galaxy.
We were so wrong.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur. “I’m impressed.”
“It isn’t a dick-measuring contest,” Taraven laughs.
I frown, my understanding slipping.
He turns.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s something Frankie says. It’s…you know what, never mind. How did you get down here anyway?”
“It was the strangest thing,” I reply. “The ship somehow decided that it would be helpful for me to come here. It grew flowers along the wall, then down the floor.”
Taraven’s eyes widen. I suppose this isn’t normal.
“They did?”
“Yes; large, pink blossoms,” I say. “They bloomed as I walked, then vanished as soon as I got here.”
The ship rumbles loudly, making both of us glance around. Taraven seems unsettled, and I don’t like that; if anything, I would prefer thatheunderstand his own ship.
It feels like she has something she wants to say…and I’m not used to that when it comes to spacefaring vessels.
“We’re putting down on a garden world,” he says. “It’s a good opportunity to stretch your legs if the weather is good. Just follow the spine up to the hatch—and tell me if Jaya leads you anywhere else, alright?”
I frown. “You didn’t do this?”
Taraven snorts. “Ourzephtandoes what she likes; we all just live here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
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FRANKIE
Living on azephtanmeans taking whatever opportunity you can to go for a jog.
