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“That’s what we humans call a slippery slope. You can’t control everything that happens to me. What if I tripped and fell and busted my head open?”
One silver brow lifts. “Shouldn’t the point of this metaphor be to avoid slippery hills, therefore avoiding injury? It sounds like an argument for my stance.”
“Forget it. Think it over. Unless you can get me back to theHeirwith Raffa during lockdown, letting me go home with him might be the best option.”
His dissatisfied expression is almost childish, not unlike Raffa when he knows he’s done wrong but refuses to admit it. But Kalla doesn’t put forth anymore arguments, and he told me he would consider it. Does that mean I’ve actually made progress in convincing him?
“Let’s talk again tomorrow,” I say, worried if I push any further, I could lose the ground I’ve gained.
“Of course,” he agrees.
We turn back toward his room together. Raffa’s made himself at home, lying back on the middle of the bed with his feet still on the ground as he throws a little bouncy ball of light at the ceiling. I’ve got no clue where he found the thing.
“Rest here with Kaye,” Kalla announces. “We’ll make a determination about what to do with you soon. But if you make more trouble, there will be consequences. Got it?”
“Me? Trouble?” Raffa grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry that we gave you a scare.”
Kalla shrugs, heading for the door. “I’d rather deal with little stowaway pirates than assassins coming for my mate in the dead of night.”
He slaps the button to open it. But Raffa sits straight up, pocketing his ball of light.
“Can I please have myikaniback?” Raffa asks so quietly I almost don’t catch it.
“Hm?” My mate raises his brows.
“It was a gift from my sister,” he grumbles.
“Of course. I forgot.” Kalla nods to me to approve the request. “You should know I only took it because I sense you’re quick enough to cut me… Take it as a compliment.”
“Here,” I say, offering it over.
Raffa tries to act unaffected, but I can see him preening too.
“I trust you will protect my greatest treasure,” Kalla says, serious as the grave as he stalls on the threshold.
The humor on his lips, the way I know he means to make Raffa feel important… I curse my soft heart. How dare he cool my anger with this sweet side of him? Raffa takes the blade and nods in agreement.
“Kaye is safe with me,” he declares.
With that, Kalla leaves, casting me one last hungry glance before he sweeps from the room.
I convince Raffa to clean himself up, citing the fact that he stinks to high heaven from crouching in the cargo bay. He’s swimming in Kalla’s clothes, but they work just fine for sleepwear. And while he has questions for me about the war and about Kalla, I convince him to let it go and get some rest. There’s plenty of room on the bed for us both, even with him sprawling spread eagle on his stomach. Raffa falls asleep quickly, but I toss and turn. He’s enviably dead to the world in moments. I end up watching the clock until it changes over to the next Alliance standard calendar date with only Kalla on my mind. Every glance, every word, every touch is on replay in my mind.
We’ve spent so much time on arguments and miscommunications that I’ve hardly learned a thing about him after two days on this ship. I need to fix that, because I can’t let my emotions get in the way of resolving our disagreement. I want to understand him, and being afraid of how he makes me feel is not helping matters. It’s time to open up, no matter what Kar’Kali magic I expose myself to in the process.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
KALLA
This is stupid.
I brace myself for rejection. The steaming fruit preserves and milky grain pudding might end up in my face, but if there’s one thing Lalo instilled in me, it’s that a tray of hot food is a powerful peace offering. The best-case scenario might be that she accepts it silently and shuts the door in my face. I don’t know what she likes, but this is a standard Kar’Kali breakfast, so she must’ve encountered it while staying onThe Heir. I brought three types of tea, a tin of nuts and dried meat, and a rice cake just in case she hates everything else. Even babies eat rice cakes, so even those with the most delicate palette could enjoy it.
I gently knock at the entrance to my quarters.
Every time I see her feels like the first time. She’s changed already, having thrown on a knitted set the color of fresh butter. It fits tightly to her curves in a way that strangles the words out of my throat. Her hair is in a messy braid, frizzing wildly in places. Have I interrupted her while she was getting ready for the day? She doesn’t appear quite put together yet.
