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“You sure that’s the only reason you don’t want it?” she asked.
“It makes any other reasoning irrelevant,” he said. “Mission is mission. And mine is the whelp.”
“Very noble,” Abbra said, nodding. “It’s quite the sacrifice.”
She didn’t know the half of it. He felt like he was dying.
“She’s not Invicta though,” she said thoughtfully.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Just that you making sacrifices in the name of duty to the Invicta makes sense, I guess,” Abbra said. “But why should she suffer?”
“She doesn’t seem to be suffering,” Jhon said wryly, looking over his shoulder at where Ella stood beside a sculpture of a heart, Rikkers standing so close they could have heard each other breathing.
“She’s probably just feeling eager for attention, since you’re denying her,” Abbra said.
That thought sent his desperate dragon into white fury.
Jhon stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and willing it to stay inside.
“Or maybe she’s trying to make you jealous,” Abbra went on thoughtfully. “At any rate, what’s happening over there is your fault. She obviously prefers you, and you’ve pushed her away. I saw the way she was looking at you this morning.”
He glanced over at the Bergalian woman.
She gave him a wry smile. She was telling him the truth, or at least thought she was.
“Come on, soldier,” she told him. “Let’s find a hot brew. You can only patrol a floating island in the middle of nowhere so many times without looking paranoid.”
He chuckled in spite of himself and let her lead him into the party.
If he was honest with himself, he had been thinking it looked like fun the whole time. Who wouldn’t want a mug of mulled wine on a cold afternoon, and a chance to wander the gardens?
“Did your husband serve as well?” he asked Abbra.
“Charl?” she laughed. “That’s a funny idea. No, he’s got the soul of an artist. When we fell in love, I knew it was time to hang up my stripes.”
“The sculptures are incredible,” Jhon said, taking a real look.
“Not great when you’re the one running patrols though, right?” Abbra confided quietly. “Everything looks like a target.”
He laughed a belly laugh.
“We’re going to be great friends,” Abbra predicted.
“What are you two laughing about?” Ree-lah asked from her perch on a stone bench.
“This fellow hasn’t had a bite to eat,” Manx said, in a tone that was half-scandalized. “And look at the size of him. I’ll bring you a plate, man.”
A few minutes later, Jhon found himself seated among the neighbors. Even Ella and Rikkers had drifted over to join the chat as everyone feasted on meat off the spit and canned pit-fruit, with steaming mugs of wine.
“Now, you want to be careful with Westixx,” Manx was saying. “It’s not that he’s a crook, exactly, at least not every time—”
“Oh, Manx,” Ree-lah said. “You’ll scare them off.”
“We want to hear,” Ella said immediately. “Are his scales inaccurate?”
“Ninety percent of the time, no,” Manx said. “But if he senses you’re not paying attention, he’ll make a weighing error. Don’t let him get the best of you.”
