by Zara Zenia
"My father and mothers raised me," Atropos replied. "They loved me dearly, and I them, until the day came for them to leave. Your parents had no idea what might happen to you the day you moved out of their home. You might have been hit by a car and died the next day. Should they have kept you from growing and contributing to the future on the off chance? We must all accept these risks in order to live in the world."
Amber sat back, troubled, but realizing he was probably right.
"I was looking forward to raising my own children," Atropos said quietly, looking away. "I will . . . regret not having that opportunity."
Amber felt an unexpected flash of guilt squirm through her gut, but before she could say anything, Atropos was getting to his feet, offering her a hand.
"There is still much to see," he said with a smile. "Will you join me?"
Despite the unsettling conversation, she couldn't help returning that infectious smile as she accepted his hand and followed him back out into the market.
They wandered for hours among the artisans. There seemed to be no end of stores to explore and wonders to see. Amber was still struggling to accept the fact that she could have any of it, or all of it, if she wanted. She didn't even need to ask. It was considered polite to talk to the artist about the work and to not take original pieces without asking and usually trading for it.
And it was unspeakably rude to not know the name of the artist so that you could refer people who complimented you on the object in question. But if you saw something you loved, having it was as easy as asking the computer. It made Amber's head spin.
Atropos was patient with her, letting her overcome her first instincts to worry about money and obligation. And he seemed to take joy in showing her everything and seeing her delighted reactions. They talked as they explored, working their way down through the market until they reached the bottom of the sphere and the gardens there. Then they wandered among the flowers, caught up in their conversation.
"As soon as I got that telescope, I was obsessed," Amber told him, reminiscing about her childhood as they strolled past a fountain. "I spent every night that summer out in the yard with it. We were too close to the city for very good views, so once or twice, my dad took me out camping in the mountains. I would bring the telescope and he would help me set it up. I could see planets and distant galaxies, and I knew I never wanted to do anything else."
"I envy you that," Atropos replied. "I envy anyone who grew up already knowing what they wanted to do with their lives. I still am not sure what to do with mine."
"You never had a passion like that?" Amber asked, and he shook his head.
"I suppose my ambition was to see my brother accomplish his ambitions," Atropos said thoughtfully. "I've dedicated my life to helping him."
"Does it make you happy?" Amber asked. Atropos looked mildly startled by the question and stopped briefly in place. He seemed to consider it for a long moment before moving again.
"I have never considered it," he said. "Actian is my brother. It is my duty to help him however I can."
"But then isn't it his duty to help you too?" Amber asked.
"His dreams are more important than mine," Atropos said dismissively.
"I don't think anyone's dreams are more important than someone else’s," Amber said, but Atropos only shrugged.
"That is one more thing different between human and Lepidopterix. Ah, look!"
He turned her attention toward the flowers they were passing, surprised when she recognized them.
"Stargazers!" she said, reaching out to touch the silky petals of the lily. "What are they doing here? I know we didn't get them from you."
"Someone must have brought some from Earth to plant here," Atropos said with a smile. "I'm glad. I am quite fond of them."
"Me too," Amber said with a smile, remembering that last day in the flower shop before everything had gone so haywire. The man standing beside her, the alien, was very different from the one she'd gone on a date with that night. But there was still a lot there to admire.
She looked up at him, at the light iridescent on his wings. He was still kind. Still funny. He was quieter, more intimidating when he wanted to be, but more serious too. He didn't look much like had before, but her heart still sped up when he smiled at her. Maybe the rest wasn't so important.
He plucked a lily from the greenery before them and tucked it into her hair, smiling at her.
"I still think they suit you perfectly," he said softly. Amber had to look away, too flustered to meet his eye.
They were passing near the stairs down to the observatory, and Atropos paused.
"You didn't really get a chance to look around before," he said.
"Yeah, I fainted pretty fast," she admitted, a little embarrassed. "It was a lot to take in."
"Would you like to try again?" he offered. Amber considered it, her stomach flipping at the thought, then with only a little hesitation, she nodded.
He held her hand as they descended the spiral stairs into the bottom of the sphere. Amber's grip tightened, her breath catching as the stars came into view. No kid’s telescope, not even the one at the university, could compare to seeing the stars from outside the atmosphere.
They sparkled like diamonds on all sides. Below her, the Earth spun, blue-green and impossible. Her knees shook and for a moment, she was afraid she would faint again. She hung on to Atropos's arm for stability. They stood in the center of the room, surrounded by space.
Amber felt lightheaded. She'd spent so long dreaming of coming to space. This was not how she'd expected it to happen, but still. She was standing among the stars, looking out at the universe. What more could anyone ever ask for?
She looked up at Atropos, the stars reflected in his dark eyes. She thought, surprising herself a little, that he really was even more beautiful like this than he had been in his human disguise. How strange was her luck, good or bad, to be standing here next to this incredible ethereal creature, gorgeous and powerful, kind and terrifying?
"On Earth," he said, his voice nearly a whisper, soft with emotion, "I thought you were never more lovely than when you were talking about space. But you have never been lovelier to me than this moment, surrounded by stars. Whatever else happens, I am glad I could share this with you."
Amber felt her skin flush pink with embarrassment, but she smiled.
"I'm glad too."
He leaned closer, and for a moment, she thought he would kiss her. For a moment, there was nothing she wanted more. But he hesitated, his wings stirring with agitation, and then moved away.
"It is almost time for the party," he said. "We should return to Madame Melpomene for your dress."
Amber almost wanted to object, but she said nothing, letting Atropos sweep her away back to Melpomene’s boutique.
Chapter 9
Oh, good! You’re just in time!” Melpomene rushed them inside, her small wings fluttering with excitement and causing her to hover more than walk. “Hurry, hurry! We don’t have much time!”
“Take off those rags at once,” the designer said. “I need you to put this on.”
She pushed an enormous bundle of cerulean fabric into Amber’s arms, then turned away again to fuss with something on her work bench.
“Um.” Amber looked around her at the empty store and at the fabric in her arms. “Is there a changing room?”
“Don’t be silly,” Melpomene scoffed. “Just get changed. Hurry now! We have less than an hour before the party!”
Amber glanced at Atropos who, with an apologetic smile, turned his back to her. Amber, embarrassed but not seeing another option, began taking off the plain clothing she’d gotten from the computer and then tried to figure out how to put on the blue dress.
When she eventually found the neck hole and pulled it on over her head, she gasped in awe at the sight of it.
“Oh, Melpomene, it’s beautiful!” she said, awed.
The long gown was a sculptural masterpiece composed of overlapping bu
tterfly wings. Bright blue green edged in deep black, sparkling with beadwork done in crystal and sapphire, so fine and subtle as to be almost invisible, mimicking the scales of true wings. The skirt fell in elegant petals, wingtips that brushed the floor and fluttered like she might take off at any moment, then swept up over the bodice in an asymmetrical neckline that curved gracefully around Amber’s throat.
“Ah, fantastic,” Melpomene said, turning back to look. “I guessed well. I’m very rarely wrong, you know. Still, some tweaking is needed.”
Atropos started to turn around to look and Melpomene brandished a fabric swatch at him to stop him.
“Shoo, shoo! You can see it when it’s done!” she declared. “I don’t care how ferocious you are!”
Atropos let himself be herded away, going to meander around the front of the store as Melpomene got to work adjusting the hemline and the fit, adding more beading in places, taking it away in others, and adding finishing touches, like the long, dark blue chiffon scarf that attached at the shoulder and wrists and trailed behind her like the suggestion of wings.
Finally, Amber showed her the things they’d gotten from the market, and Melpomene chose the shoes and jewelry that would best match the gown, then did her hair and makeup as well.
“What sort of designer would I be if I couldn’t do my own styling?” she declared loftily when Amber expressed surprise at this. For more than an hour, Amber let Melpomene work on her, feeling a bit silly about the whole thing. Amber knew how plain she was. No amount of makeup or fancy dresses would fix that. She still vividly remembered the time when she was eight or nine and her mother had dressed her up for Christmas in an avalanche of ruffles and bows and lip gloss and her uncle had laughed and called her a painted pig. She’d never really regained an interest in makeup.
Finally, the designer stepped back, put down her tools, and nodded in satisfaction.
“There,” she said. “Perfect. And quite impressive, I think, considering the time restraints. Now if I’d had a few days warning—”
“She looks incredible,” Atropos said, appearing from the front of the store with a smile. “Stunning.”
“Thank you,” Amber said, pink with embarrassment. “But you don’t need to flatter me. It’s just the dress. Melpomene is amazing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melpomene replied, summoning a full-length mirror with a wave of her hand. “I am amazing, but the purpose of clothing is to enhance what is already there. The dress is beautiful because you are in it.”
Amber stared, wide-eyed, at the girl in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. She’d dressed up before, but she always tended to choose clothes that were loose and boxy and simple. She didn’t think she had anything to show off, so she’d tried to hide it instead.
Wearing something so form-fitting, hugging and accentuating the curves of her breasts and hips before it flared into the beautiful full skirt, felt both embarrassing and exhilarating all at once. Melpomene had pinned her hair up in elaborate whorls that echoed the graceful sweep of the wings on the dress.
The makeup made her eyes look startlingly large and captivating. Though she’d always thought of them as boring brown, here they were illuminated in shades of mahogany and gold. She felt, for the first time in her life, genuinely beautiful, and she didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
“You will be the most lovely being in the ship tonight,” Atropos said, taking her hand. “I am honored to accompany you.”
“Not just yet, you aren’t,” Melpomene replied, grabbing him by the wing and tugging him away. “Did you think I would not have something prepared for you as well? We must get you dressed!”
She dragged him off toward her workbench, and Amber stepped away to give him privacy. A little while later, he emerged, dressed in almost the same shade of blue she was wearing, which set off the orange in his wings. In shape, it clearly referenced the coat and cravat of seventeenth-century France, but with long, robe-like draping made to trail dramatically while he was in the air.
“You look like something out of a fairy tale,” Amber said earnestly, too stunned to be self-conscious.
“Then we suit each other more than usual,” Atropos replied, taking her arm. “Although, to be frank, I feel a bit foolish. I do not usually dress this vibrantly.”
“You should!” Amber smiled at him, her predicament momentarily forgotten.
“She is right,” Melpomene chimed in. “A little color suits you. You cannot be so grim all the time.”
A strange chime sounded, like struck crystal, and Atropos looked back toward the entrance.
“We should go,” he said. “The party is beginning.”
The party took place on one of the largest balconies near the bottom of the sphere with compelling views of the garden. The balcony itself overflowed with hanging plants and flowers. Fountains and crystal sculptures stood among heaps and mountains of flowers in more colors than Amber could easily name.
She was dazzled by the lush delicate beauty of it all, and most of all, by the Lepidopterix that moved among that regal décor, each one luminous in color, wings shimmering with every graceful movement.
They could not approach any way but ostentatiously, descending a glass staircase down to the edge of the balcony. Atropos supported her by the hand and flew beside her, the tails of his suit trailing dramatically while hers flowed down the glass like a waterfall of silk. Amber squeezed his hand tighter as she saw the people below freezing to look up at them, murmuring behind their hands.
“Just stay close to me,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”
They alighted on the balcony and the crowd parted to give them space, staring openly. For a moment, there was silence except for the whispers. A couple of Sara Longwings, iridescent blue-black, were the first to break the silence, edging closer to look Amber over.
“Is that really a human?” One of them asked, ostensibly to Atropos, though they didn’t look at him or seem to expect an answer.
“It’s so drab compared to the ones in the films,” the other said with a pout.
“All the pretty blue silk in the world can’t make up for that unfortunate hair,” said the first with a scoff.
A susurrus of laughter from the watching crowd followed this, and Amber felt her brief excitement drain out of her like a popped balloon.
“There must be something special about it for Flight Leader to have picked it for his brother,” another Lepidopterix said, moving closer, followed by others.
“Maybe it is more brightly colored on the inside?”
“Maybe it can do tricks?”
“Yes, do a trick, human!”
Amber, uneasy, pressed closer to Atropos. A sudden angry buzz disrupted the reaching crowd as a wind stirred Amber’s hair. Atropos’s wings stood out from his back, vibrating with a sudden violent tension. The look on his face was one of such cold rage that even Amber was frightened for a moment.
The crowd dispersed quickly, eyeing him as though he were a tiger that walked unleashed among them. Amber, despite her worry, was relieved. She hadn’t expected that reaction from the other Lepidopterix. She’d expected them to be interested, but not like that, so grabby and thoughtless, like she was an object or a pet. They’d spent their whole lives imitating her culture, watching her media. Could they still not recognize that she was a person?
Closer to the center of the balcony, a quintet with human string instruments and a few other instruments that Amber didn’t recognize were playing music. It was high and strange and delicate, seeming to wind through the air like a flowering vine or a butterfly caught in a breeze. Around and above them, the party guests were dancing.
They took to the air, circling one another in an elaborate, fluttering waltz, one supporting the other in the air entirely from time to time. It had only a faint resemblance to the dancing Amber was familiar with. If the human art had evolved to take place along an extra vertical plane, she thought it might look something like this. It was be
autiful to watch, at any rate.
“Would you like to dance?” Atropos asked her, smiling at her as she watched the dancers.
“I’m not sure I can,” Amber admitted. “I can’t fly. I’m not even that good at human dancing.”
“I can carry you,” Atropos promised, pulling her closer. “Trust me.”
Amber wasn’t so sure, but she abandoned her shoes on the dance floor anyway, stepping carefully onto the tops of his feet, worried she was hurting him. But he hardly seemed to notice, taking her hand and her waist and opening his wings.
They were much larger and much more powerful fully open than Amber had expected. A flurry of wind caught her hair and her skirts as he lifted them into the air, seeming not in the least bit troubled by the extra weight. They could not perform the darting, complex dance of the others around them, only revolving through the air close to one another.
But Amber, held close to his warm chest, dizzy as they turned and fell through the sky, thought this was probably preferable. She smiled as he lifted her higher, her happiness beginning to return after that unsettling moment in the crowd. The other dancers and the people below still eyed them strangely, but it was easier to bear when Atropos was holding her this close.
There was a pause in the music, and Amber became aware of a sudden spike in the murmurs of the crowd. Atropos looked away, and she followed his gaze to the front of the balcony, where Flight Leader Actian was landing, his vast green wings fluttering to a stop and folding behind him. He was dressed even more beautifully than Atropos in an almost military style, green edged in gold.
Behind him, descending a glass stair that unfolded before them and dissolved behind them, came three aliens that were most definitely not Lepidopterix.
The first was tall and thin and bipedal, with an arrow-shaped head and large compound eyes surrounded by a ruff of yellow and black fuzz. It had three pairs of arms which moved hypnotically about its shiny black thorax, which tapered into a frighteningly thin waist. If Atropos and his people were related to the butterflies and moths of Earth, this being seemed like what happened if you added wasps and bees to the mix. Translucent wings fluttered against its back, but they seemed too small to actually be effective for flight.