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“Not the woman you dragged to the stationmaster for recording vid on the private level?”
“The same. Blythe Nelson.”
Selt was certain he’d kept his tone casual, but a corner of his Dramok’s mouth lifted in a knowing grin. “Ah, interesting assignment.”
He shrugged, but Hadlez snickered. “What it lacks in excitement, is made up by the view?”
Selt scowled, then laughed. “She is easy on the eyes. A lot of tough in a small package.”
“Tell us more,” Deram invited. “Any chance she’d be interested in dating a Kalquorian clan?”
* * * *
Kalquor
“My son.”
Ilid stood as his parents entered his room at the psychiatric facility. Nobek Gruthep, a hulk sporting a roadmap of scars over most of what flesh his trousers and tank top exposed, led the rest. It was he who grabbed Ilid by the upper arms, stared in his face for an instant, then yanked him close for an embrace.
“I’m so proud of you, Ilid. So very, very proud.”
The young Dramok managed to hold tears at bay, which he was certain would have erased Gruthep’s esteem. Then again, he’d done little to be proud of. Why not show his father the truth of it?
I’m afraid of everything, of falling apart. Whatever strength I had, I left on the spyship.
Nonetheless, he soaked in Gruthep’s hug and regard for as long as it lasted. It was quickly broken up by his weeping mother.
“Ilid, my heart, are you well? Are they treating you okay here? You’re so thin! Is the food terrible? I made a cake, and we brought it…oh, how stupid. After what you went through, I’m talking about cake? My poor boy!”
She hugged him too, stroking his hair, which had grown to the middle of his back. He pressed a kiss to her rounded cheek. His mother was an incredible baker, and she had the softness to prove it. She smelled of sweet and bread, of his childhood when all was safe.
“I’m fine, but cake would be amazing. Seeing you is amazing. I didn’t think I’d…I was sure I wouldn’t…”
The horror hit him, the disbelief he’d live to see his parents following the events on the spyship orbiting Bi’is. Even after being rescued, after setting foot on Kalquor, Ilid had harbored the a secret certainty they were gone from his life forever.
Now they gathered to surround him: Gruthep, Matara Diju, Dramok Codab, and Imdiko Jadel. His family, whom he’d believed in his heart of hearts to be lost to him forever.
A tremendous ache clenched his stomach, so powerful he slid from his mother’s grasp. Doubled over, he dropped. Caught by Gruthep and Codab, he sank to the floor as violent sobs wracked him from head to toe.
“Ilid!” His mother cried with him, but she didn’t tell him to stop. None of them did. Diju and Jadel kissed his tear-streaked cheeks, and Gruthep and Codab rubbed his back and shoulders as terror and grief poured from their bottomless well.
He hitched a litany of apologies for showing his true colors as trauma had its way. “Scared…not brave…forgive me…nightmares…so sorry…sorry…”
“Easy,” Codab whispered in his ear. “Breathe, my son. We’re here. Breathe.”
“Like this.” Gruthep pressed Ilid’s palm to his chest, which rose and fell, slow and steady. “Breathe with me.”
Jadel held Ilid’s other hand to his chest too, matching Gruthep’s rhythm. Ilid struggled, but bit by bit, he fell into the tempo they established. The storm eased gradually, until his stomach loosened from its knot and the flood of tears ebbed to trickles.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Codab said. “The psychiatrist in charge of your case told us you’d been tortured, that you were lucky to survive what happened out there.”
“We’re grateful you’re home and ready to help you recover, no matter how long it takes,” Jadel added.
“No matter how long,” Diju echoed, her tone firm despite the grief etched on her dear face.
He was afraid to, but he lifted his gaze to Gruthep. The Nobek, his nose crooked in two places from past battles, met his eyes.
