But when she arrived down in the ward, Di was sitting on the gurney. He looked up as she entered and hopped to his feet in surprise. “Ana.”
“Sorry, I’ll leave you—”
“I think this is yours.” He offered out something he had been turning around in his fingers. The Valerio crest—the one she once wore around her neck and had given to him so long ago. Hesitantly, she took it, running her finger along the melted circle like she used to. He started to leave, and the room began to feel cold and lonely and too immaculate and quiet—
“Wait.”
He paused, a hand on the doorway. A finger tapped on the frame, as if deciding whether to stay, but then he turned around. She hopped up onto the gurney and patted the indent from where he had been sitting before. He returned and scooted up beside her. The gurney was high enough so their feet dangled off the ground, and she swung hers, because she couldn’t sit still. It was strange—she could still feel heat coming off him as if he was alive, and it made goose bumps shiver over her skin. She rubbed her forearms to get the chill out. It was all she could do not to lean against him, probably closer than he would like. He seemed to keep her at a strange distance, afraid to touch her, to look at her too long, and she was suddenly reminded how different he was from the D09 she knew.
She wanted to ask what parts were Dmitri and what parts were Di. She wanted to know if he was split in two, or in threes, or if, with his memories returned, he was just a jumble of forgotten moments stitched together.
Had he ever loved her—had those kisses in the palace been Dmitri, or Di, or D09?
And how did he feel now?
She didn’t know why it felt so monumental. There was the looming threat of the Great Dark, encompassing every corner of the future, and yet here she was, fixated on the inches between her hand and his, trying to figure out what rested in the distance between.
“You know,” she began, “I realize that I never apologized.”
He bristled. “Ana, please do not blame yourself. It was not your fault. It was mine and—”
“For running you over with a skysailer,” she interjected.
His words caught in his throat, and he put a hand over his face to mask the embarrassment. But there was a grin spreading across his lips, and Goddess, a smile looked so much better on him than the dour frown he wore. “No,” he chuckled, “you never did.”
“Then let me make this my formal apology,” she said with great bravado, and crossed herself for the Moon Goddess. “You were, of course, right. I can’t drive. I humbly apologize for running you over.”
“No, no—you ran over and then backed over me, if I recall correctly.”
She found herself smiling, too. “Yeah, I just apologize for the running, not the backing.”
He pressed a hand over his heart, feigning shock. “You wound me!”
“Now that’s a leap. I only dented you.”
They laughed, and for a moment the space between them wasn’t so far. She had never laughed with him before. It was only ever her laughing, and telling him it was funny. And then when she had met him in this body, with emotions, it was in a time when neither of them could afford to laugh. And that felt strange, because for the first time she realized that however much of a stranger he now was, Goddess, did she love this new Di’s laugh.
But then their laughter died, and that strange silence sank between them again, taking up space for being neither friends nor—nor anything more.
She shifted, spinning the crest between her fingers. “I’m kind of afraid of this plan.”
“Me too. There are too many variables. There is at least a ninety-three-point-four-eight percent chance this will end badly for at least one of us.”
Perhaps it will be me, she thought, because she had escaped death too many times.
“What’s the percentage we’ll all make it out alive?” she asked, and he pursed his lips.
“I would rather not—”
“Di.”
“Two-point-three-seven.”
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise. “That is much higher than I thought it’d be!”
“Really? It is much lower than I would like.”
She knocked her shoulder against his playfully. “It always was.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and in their closeness she could hear the hum of his parts, and they sounded as soft as a sigh.
“Is it weird?” she finally asked.
“Is what weird?”
“Being able to compute things in your head knowing—and I guess remembering now, right?—that you used to not be able to?”
He gave a shrug. “I cannot say one way or the other. What is strange to me, though, is not being able to use contractions. That is weird.”
“Really? Can’t you overload a code or something?”
“Overload a co— Ana, please never try to program. Literally anything.”
“Ha! Fine, fine. Fixing you didn’t really work out the first time, anyway. We were shot at, lied to, left on a derelict ship with puppet Metals. . . .”
Di folded his arms over his chest. He had taken off his coat, and it hung on a hook beside the door. His silken shirt was dirty, still smelling of the ancient tomb, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His arms were muscular and well defined, rather like Robb’s, and he’d undone the top button of his shirt, his tattered ascot lying under his collar, to reveal a sliver of pale chest. He caught her staring and glanced down at himself. “Is something the matter?”
“This might sound weird,” she started, and poked him in the arm, and it felt solid, “but do you have muscles?”
He pursed his lips together hard, as if trying not to—
“Don’t laugh! It was a genuine question!” she cried.
“I am sure it was.” He hopped down from the gurney. “I believe I am going to take a shower and find some clothes.”
“How about a belly button?” she called after him. “Or—I don’t know—nipples? Do you have—”
“I am leaving, Ana,” he called over his shoulder.
“Wait!”
He paused in the doorway again, his arms folded over his chest, and turned back around to her. The edges of his lips twitched up, as if he was fighting off a smile. “Yes?”
She let out a long breath, trying to memorize the way he looked in the doorway, his hair catching the fluorescent light in oranges and reds, and said, “I’ve missed you.”
She didn’t care if he felt the same, because in the end it didn’t matter. He had his entire life ahead of him, and she had hers, and for the moment they were in the same room together.
“I have missed you, too,” he replied, and left the medical ward.
And her heart leaped and thrummed in something akin to happiness.
Robb
As he made his way down the hallway of the Dossier to the waystation again, and then back to the Caterina, he rubbed at his mechancial arm. It twitched sporadically. It hadn’t been still since the meeting, and he knew it was his nerves, and he hated that. He thought he had left a can of oil in the crew’s quarters, but either Xu must have used it or someone else had; really, though, he was looking for Jax, and he was nowhere on the Dossier. He needed to get back to his brother, because Goddess knows what he was cooking up while unsupervised. Perhaps a coup to overthrow Ana once this was all over. Perhaps a way to murder him in his sleep—there was no telling.
Ducking out of the crew’s quarters, he started for the hull again. Maybe there was a can of oil at the weapons module, or in one of the junk boxes in the engine room—
“Robb?”
He turned at the call of his name. Coming out of the bathroom was Di, his hair freshly washed, in dark trousers and a towel hung around his neck. And here he’d thought he would have the priviledge of never seeing Di half naked ever again. The first time on the Tsarina was enough, honestly.
“Di,” he greeted him, clearing his throat. A sore, uncomfortable feeling crept into his mechanical arm, bu
t he rubbed at the ropy tissue where his skin met metal. His fourth finger began to twitch, and he couldn’t stop it.
Di motioned to Robb’s arm. “May I see it?”
He hesitated. You did this to me, he wanted to say, and just looking at Di made his phantom wrist burn in pain—he remembered how unbearable it had been, the sharp white-lightning agony that whispered up his arm until—
“I do not want you going to Nevaeh with it malfunctioning,” Di added. “Besides, I know a thing or two about mechanical arms.” For emphasis, he held up his hands and wiggled his fingers, showing that he had metal fingers and metal arms and . . . well, metal everything.
“. . . Okay,” he conceded.
Di took ahold of Robb’s arm gently with both hands, one at the wrist and the other his elbow. He rotated his wrist and moved his elbow up and down slowly to assess the arm. “For what it is worth,” Di said slowly, “I am sorry. For what I did to you.”
Somehow, that felt like the wrong thing for Di to say. Robb thought it was what he wanted to hear, but when Di said it . . .
“It wasn’t your— Fuuuuck!” As Di’s fingers lit up with electrical sparks, his knees almost gave out from the pain. He felt Di sink into the circuits of his arm, command his hand, telling his fingers to flex and clench. The pressure building in his arm died with a pop of relief, and Di extracted himself again.
“It should not act up anymore. There was a malalignment in the central nerve connecting to your . . . Oh, never mind. Is it better?”
Hesitantly, Robb flexed his fingers and rotated his wrist. His eyebrows furrowed.
Di read his expression. “Is it . . . not better?”
“It feels like my hand,” he replied, surprising himself. Like, just like his hand. No more glitching, no more weird twitches, no more half-second lag.
“You will still have to check your strength, but—”
Robb reared back and slammed his fist into Di’s face. The Metal stumbled back a few paces and hit the ground. “There. Now I feel better.”
The android lay still on the ground. “I am . . . glad,” he replied, not sounding all that convinced.
Robb rotated his shoulder back, flexed his fingers again, and then offered his metal hand. Di hesitated for a moment, but then he took it and let himself be pulled up into a hug. “It wasn’t your fault, Di. I’m glad you have my back.”
“And you mine,” Di replied, and grabbed his towel from the floor. Then he said, “I believe Jax is staying on the waystation tonight. He wanted a room apart.”
“Oh—oh, thank you.”
The Metal gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I just thought you would want to know, if you need him.” Then he squeezed around Robb and into the crew’s quarters.
Jax
The waystation was very much deserted, and thank the Goddess for that. Siege’s fleetships were already en route to Nevaeh to begin the plan, and his mother’s ship was readying to leave as well. While the Solani could not infiltrate Nevaeh without raising suspicions, they were to wait a few klicks away with as many aid ships as possible in case things went south. In case Mellifare appeared. In case she got to her heart.
His mother’s ships were the contingency plan—if there ever was one.
One of the waystation’s robotic attendants led him to a hostel room that had been vacant for Goddess knows how long, but it was quiet and clean, and honestly that was all he cared about. He shrugged out of his evening coat, tossing it onto the modest single bed, and he sat on the edge, closed his eyes, and could finally hear himself think.
The light whispered underneath his skin, giving him glimpses of moments just past, and he couldn’t tune it out.
And Robb had returned.
He pulled his fingers through his braid to unravel it when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called, not thinking.
The door slid open, but he didn’t hear any footsteps come inside. A cold chill crept down his spine. He was unprotected in a waystation. Open, vulnerable. The reality of it came crashing down. He glanced over his shoulder—
The light whispered, Ma’alor.
Robb.
Jax quickly stood. “Um—aah—Robb. Hi.”
Hi? He had been a kiss away from professing his love on the dreadnought, and all he could say now was Hi?
Goddess, I used to be suave.
“Do you need something?” Jax asked, and mentally kicked himself again. Robb wouldn’t be here if he didn’t need something—
“I don’t care that you are the C’zar,” blurted Robb.
He blinked. “Um . . . all right . . .”
Robb added hurriedly, “I mean I do, but not in a bad way. I think it’s amazing that you are the C’zar, and I understand why you didn’t tell me. It’s hard to let someone see who you really are, because you’re afraid they won’t still love you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, standing in the doorway with his shirt buttoned low and the silver rings on his fingers glinting softly in the waystation halogens, and his hair wild from travel, and a red blush coming across his cheeks. And Jax wanted to take that memory and paint it in the stars. “But that . . . that’s not who I am. And if tomorrow’s our last day, I just want you to know—I want to be with you because you are you, not in spite of it. Um—A-A’ve nan amar,” he added quietly.
Jax’s eyes widened.
I love you.
In the Old Language.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened. His mind was as blank as this room was quiet, and he couldn’t for the life of him think up an answer in any language.
“Did—did I say it wrong? A’ve nan amar—”
In two steps, Jax reached out and took Robb by the face and crushed their lips together just to taste the Old Language on this insufferable boy’s tongue. And Goddess, did it taste sweet, like starshine and midnight winds and breathless climbs. The light whispered beneath his skin, bright and bouyant and—
And he didn’t see Robb’s stars.
The pull was there, just out of his reach, just far enough that if he wanted, he could take the tether and follow it up to his constellations, and watch Robb’s fate unravel in the stars, but he didn’t have to.
The light under his skin sighed and swayed, and he wanted to sob.
This was the gift Koren Vey had given him: the ability to control his curse.
Robb made a surprised noise, but then he melted into Jax, threading his fingers through his long silken hair.
Jax broke with Robb’s lips long enough to say, “Is that a good enough answer?”
“But—my stars—you can’t—how can you—”
“Stop thinking, ma’alor.”
In reply, the Ironblood grinned—no, he smiled, which was very disconcerting because an Ironblood smiling never used to be a good omen—kissed him again, and pushed him back into the room. They stumbled all the way back to the bed, where Jax fell flat on his back, and the Ironblood bent over on top of him, pressing their lips together again.
Robb smelled like mechanical oil from his new arm and fresh linens because he always smelled fresh. There was never a moment when he didn’t. He was like a blouse fresh out of the wash, the rosemary scent lingering on his stubble, and Goddess, he wanted nothing else than to sink into Robb’s embrace and live there.
His fingers moved toward the buckle on Robb’s waist and began to undo it, when Robb grunted and stilled his hand.
“Wait, wait.” He paused, detached himself from Jax, took off a shoe, and threw it at the key lock. The door closed with a clink. “Now, where were we?”
“You were kissing me with both shoes on,” Jax reminded him.
“Ah, will one do?”
“One shoe? Ma’alor, you rogue.”
Robb grinned and kissed his neck, lips so light and feathery it made gooseflesh ripple across his skin. “I think I know what that means now.”
“Rogue?”
“No, ma’alor. It means ‘my heart,’ doesn’t it?”
Jax laug
hed. “Almost.” And then he smiled, so wide he couldn’t help himself. “It is closer to ‘my soul’—my other half. As though the stardust inside me, and the stardust inside you, were once one and the same.”
“Ma’alor,” Robb said, and Jax loved the way it sounded on his lips, slow and languid like a song.
“Can you say it again?”
“Ma’alor,” Robb purred into his neck, planting a kiss every time he said the words. Ma’alor, on the pulse on his throat. Ma’alor, the point of his jaw. Ma’alor, the crest of his cheekbone. The bridge of his nose. The center of his forehead—
Then his lips.
Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. “I never thought I’d have this,” he whispered.
“Have what?”
“You and me. I thought I’d . . . I always thought I’d . . .” And he couldn’t help that he was crying now. “I thought you’d never come back.”
Robb pushed a lock of his silver hair out of his face and kissed the tears off his cheeks. “A’ve nan amar, ma’alor.”
V
Stardust
Ana
Nevaeh stood against the darkness of space like a rosebud about to open. It hadn’t changed since she last saw it, a prison of folded metal, streets teeming with malcontents beside estates as large and grand as they were empty. It still smelled like a beggar who had put on too much rose cologne—heady and sweet at first, with an undeniable scent of rot underneath. From a distance, the city inside looked as though it was chiseled from silver itself, gleaming in the sunlight reflected down from the harbor above them. The last time she had visited Nevaeh, the Dossier had docked there, but now it orbited on the other side of Eros—empty and hidden.
“We’re not going to draw attention to ourselves—the longer Mellifare’s kept in the dark, the better,” Robb had said earlier as they sat around the galley’s table. Talle had cooked everyone a breakfast of sausage and eggs and ham—she said she was nervous, but Ana got the feeling that she was cooking everything perishable. “Wynn will arrive with Viera—do you know where you’re meeting?”
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