Her confidence began to seep into Rahel’s pores. “You’ll have to get permission from Commander Cox. He’s my section chief.”

  Candini waved a hand. “Leave that to me.”

  14

  Private tour

  Micah tugged on the hem of his dress uniform jacket, straightening out nonexistent wrinkles and trying not to feel like he was twenty. He checked one more time to make sure all buttons were properly shined and that the ceremonial braid on his left shoulder was looped just so. With a deep breath that did nothing to quell the shivers in his stomach, he tapped the entry chime.

  After ten agonizing pipticks of silence, he wondered if Alejandra had changed her mind. Then he heard quick footsteps, followed by the sound of the lever turning, and had time for one more inhale before the door swung open.

  All air immediately left his lungs.

  “Damn.” Alejandra leaned against the door jamb with an appreciative smile. “You look like you conquered the galaxy. Fleet can only wish we had such gorgeous dress uniforms.”

  Micah stared at her, unable to find words. It wasn’t that she looked greatly different from the last time he had seen her. She wore a new dress and jacket with the same short boots, the same upswept hairstyle held in place with two sticks, and jewelry in her ears and at her throat, just as before.

  The difference was that she had dressed like this for him.

  And now that he was seeing more than the overall impact, he realized that her hair was done in a more complicated fashion, with small wisps left to dangle artfully over her forehead and ears. The jewelry was a different color, matching both her eyes and her dress, and her hair sticks were not bare wood but adorned at the ends with golden beads etched in complex patterns.

  “Magnificent,” he said, then shook his head. “I mean, you look—”

  She was laughing. “Micah, you’ve already made my night. I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that. Or lost the power of speech for nonmedical reasons.”

  “There’s a medical reason,” he muttered.

  She stepped forward and kissed his cheek, freezing him in place. “Thank you for that. Now, I’d like to dine, but you’re blocking my door.”

  He hurriedly backed up and thanked Fahla that he hadn’t fallen over his own feet, a considerable accomplishment at this point.

  Moving in a more leisurely fashion, she exited her suite and closed the door behind her. “Did you make reservations in the name of Colonel Grand Shit?” she inquired.

  The laughter vaporized his tension. “In fact, I did.” He offered a deep bow and continued, “Dr. Wells, if you would please accompany me, I’ve arranged a demonstration of how grand a shit I can be.”

  “Wonderful. I can’t wait.”

  He couldn’t help glancing at her as they strolled to the lift, marveling that this was his reality tonight. She truly was here. He had not imagined their rapport or made a tree from a blade of grass.

  In the lift, he surreptitiously blocked the control panel and enjoyed her surprise when they stepped out on the second floor.

  “I thought we were going to a restaurant,” she said.

  “I can do better than a restaurant.”

  She looked intrigued. “Do I get any clues?”

  “One, but it won’t help. I’m taking you stargazing.”

  “On the second floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right. That didn’t help.”

  He led the way down the corridor, noting how she tried to see all the art on the walls, and made a snap decision to take the scenic route. They passed through the Hall of Triumph, with its wraparound murals depicting the first Battle of Blacksun and the subsequent surrender of the invading army. The next stop was the Whispering Vault, where he pointed to the door on the opposite side and asked her to stand there. She crossed the empty space and turned, gazing up at the fresco on the high, arched ceiling.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured, sounding as if she were right next to him.

  “Yes, it is,” he said softly.

  “Oh! I’ve heard of places like this.” With a delighted smile, she spoke in a whisper. “I didn’t realize I’d get the private tour.”

  “You came down from orbit just for evenmeal,” he answered at the same volume. “I had to make it worth your while.”

  “It’s already worth it.” She watched him every step of the way as he walked across the room, her gaze intent and her lips tilted upward.

  “This is an improvement,” he said as he rejoined her.

  “Over what?”

  “I felt twenty cycles old at your door. Now I’m up to thirty.”

  The smile turned into a smirk. “I remember thirty. That was right around the time I rediscovered joining.”

  He led her into the next corridor. “Rediscovered? Had you lost it?”

  “More accurate to say I lost interest in it.” Before he could formulate the right question, she added, “It’s an apt comparison. I’ve discovered a whole new level of interest lately.”

  “So have I.”

  From there, they visited the Glass Gallery, where she made him promise to bring her back in the daytime so she could fully appreciate the thirty-six stained glass windows. Next was the Room of Remembrance, where he stopped to light an oil bowl and invited her to do the same. Soberly, she lit the bowl next to his, bent her head, and closed her eyes.

  She had claimed to worship no gods, but he recognized a prayer when he saw one. In this intimate space, lit only by eternal flames and the few bowls currently burning, she looked both more alien and more beautiful than before.

  Her expression was thoughtful when she raised her head. He silently offered his hand and watched the decision play out on her face before she accepted.

  The sorrow that flowed through their skin contact bore none of the jagged edges of new grief, but was smooth with the passage of time. Her loss was an old one.

  “Can you feel me?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He tilted his head toward the two flames. “We have something in common.”

  She stared at the bowls, then gave a single nod. “I suppose at our age, it would be a surprise not to have that in common.”

  “When you’re ready, I would like to hear your story.”

  She squeezed his hand and let go. “When we’re both ready.”

  They did not speak again until they arrived at their destination.

  Outside the doors, Micah stopped and turned. “I considered taking you to a restaurant that Tal and Salomen recommended. Tal said it serves the best fanten in marmello sauce she’s ever had. Except for Salomen’s, of course.”

  “Tal sounds like a wise woman,” she said, her humor returning.

  “She can be. I gave it serious thought, but there was one problem.”

  “Which was?”

  “This is a special night. I don’t want to share it with anyone else.” He opened the doors and watched her walk through.

  Three steps in, she stopped and turned in a slow circle. “My sainted Shippers. This is stunning.” Tilting her head back, she saw the ceiling and gave a delighted laugh. “We’re stargazing!”

  “It’s the Celestial Salon,” he said, closing the doors behind him.

  “I can see how it got the name.”

  It wasn’t the largest of salons in the State House, but it was one of the most beautiful. All four walls were covered in a mural that made it seem as if they were high up in the mountains, seeing multiple peaks and the clear, starry sky above them. The stars went up the walls and onto the vaulted ceiling, each one a glowing crystal.

  “The constellations are accurate,” he said. “If we went outside at the right time and looked up, this is what we would see.”

  “Is that a natural glow?”

  “No. The original crafters chose this crystal because of its reflective properties. It’s the best at catching candlelight. But this is on the State House tour. Candles and crowds aren’t a good combination.”

  “No, I’d imagine not.” She examined the ceiling, exposing a length of throat he had to consciously look away from.

  “They use artificial light now,” he said. “Installed behind the crystals. I like to think the original crafters would have done that if they’d had the technology. It does make the stars shine more brightly.”

  “And consistently,” she agreed. After one more turn, she lowered her head and registered their true destination.

  Taking pride of place in the center of the room was a long table made from the black wood of a molwyn. A long-ago crafter had created a starscape in its surface, carving out tiny plugs and replacing them with the silver wood of tintinatalus in recognizable constellations. It looked like a pool of water at night, reflecting the stars overhead.

  Though it seated fourteen, it was bare but for two place settings at one end. Arranged around them were a bottle of spirits, an uncut loaf of bread, a bowl of grainstem powder, and a second, smaller bowl holding a hyacot twig.

  “Who sits at the head?” Alejandra asked.

  “You’re the guest.” As they crossed the room and pulled out their chairs, he added, “I originally planned for us to sit across from each other, so there could be no question of rank or position. But then I came to inspect the room and realized how wide this table is. I didn’t want us to be that far apart.”

  She paused in the act of sitting, then leaned over and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “You are a rare man,” she said, taking her seat. “First, that you would even think about avoiding issues of perceived power. Second, that you would inspect the room.”

  “I didn’t get where I am by leaving things to chance.” He picked up the hyacot twig and snapped it in half, then dropped the pieces into the bowl. “There. We’re officially on a date.”

  “We started our date the moment you came to my door. I never expected a private tour. But now that you’ve established the precedent, I’m looking forward to the next one.” She reached for the serrated knife and pointed at the bread.

  “Yes, please.” He held out his plate and accepted the first slice. As she cut a second, he sprinkled his with the sweet grainstem powder, then handed her the bowl and reached for the spirits. After filling both glasses, he raised his and said, “To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings.” She tapped their glasses together.

  They spoke of his work and hers, then told stories of their pasts, sliding into the ease of conversation they had reached on what he now thought of as their first date. State House kitchen staff ghosted in and out with perfect precision, whisking plates away as they finished and sliding new ones in before they could register the empty space. When dessert arrived and he knew there would be no more interruptions, he said, “I had an interesting talk with Lhyn last nineday.”

  She set down her fork. “I spoke with Rahel. Very educational, I have to say. How was your lecture?”

  “It was much better than a lecture.”

  She listened raptly as he described the Rite of Knowing, her eyes alight and a smile taking over her face. “Did you find a substitute for the mushroom?”

  “Yes and no. I found a nontoxic plant that glowed, but the flavor left much to be desired.”

  “What did it taste like?”

  “Have you ever smelled something so far along in decomposition that you could taste the smell?”

  Her laughter was musical. “Yes, and that would qualify as an anti-aphrodisiac.”

  “That was what I thought. For the real aphrodisiacs, I’m not aware of any that wouldn’t also compromise our thinking. I want a clear head for this.”

  “Not to mention that I’d have to test any aphrodisiac for its effects on Gaian body chemistry.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” he said in dismay.

  “It’s all right, Micah. You didn’t choose one, so it doesn’t matter. What did you choose?”

  He withdrew a small box from his jacket pocket, took off the lid, and offered it to her.

  “Berries?” she asked, peering inside.

  “Dala berries. A traditional dessert. Try one.”

  She popped one of the dark blue berries in her mouth, stopped with a surprised look, and swallowed. “Mm. That takes me back. Reminds me of a crop we grew on my home planet. Delicious.”

  That was a better reaction than he could have hoped for. “They stain the skin, too. It won’t come off until we wash it off with soap.”

  “You experimented?” At his nod, she dropped her fork and threw her napkin on the table. “I’m done. Let’s go.”

  “But you didn’t finish your dessert,” he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself.

  “An extraordinary man just told me that he went to considerable trouble to create a ceremony for us to explore each other. Dessert is the last thing on my mind right now.” She pointed at the plate. “That dessert, anyway. This one, on the other hand . . .” She plucked another berry from the box, held it between forefinger and thumb, and slowly placed it between her lips.

  An explosion going off in the next room could not have made him look away as she closed her lips around her fingers, then pulled them out and smiled. Her eyes danced with humor and a promise that left him breathless.

  He didn’t remember getting out of the chair. But he would never forget the taste of dala berry on her mouth.

  15

  Rite of Knowing

  Alejandra stepped out on the fourteenth floor and looked back with a quizzical lift of her eyebrows. “We’re not going to your quarters?”

  Moving up beside her, Micah gestured in the direction of the suite he had reserved. “Lhyn said they used a place made for the purpose. It makes sense, doesn’t it? A place that’s not familiar to either of us. A place we go into together.”

  Her answer was to clasp his hand as they walked. Bright approval sank into his skin, richly blended with warm anticipation. She wanted this as much as he did.

  “I’m finding it difficult not to break into a run,” he said.

  She swung their hands. “Those elders knew what they were doing. It’s not just the young who need to be slowed down.”

  At the door of the suite, he laid a palm on the pad and followed her inside with a tingling stomach. Her expression as she examined the layout made all the preparations worthwhile.

  “The bedroom isn’t large enough,” he said. “I rearranged.”

  “I hope you had help.” She ran a hand along the heavy bed frame centered in the spacious living area, then rubbed the fabric covering the mattress. “This is soft. What is it?”

  “Winden wool. In the summer, they climb up to higher elevations and gather in groves of a tree with spiky bark. I’ve seen footage of them rubbing against the trees. It looks . . .”

  “Orgasmic?” That alluring spark was in her eyes again.

  “Very. When they’re done, we collect the wool and spin it into this.”

  “I’m guessing this is not a common material.”

  “Fit for a Lancer,” he agreed. “And you.”

  The spark vanished. With a serious set to her mouth, she walked up and wrapped one hand behind his neck. “And us,” she corrected, before kissing him with a passion that exceeded what they had shared in the Celestial Salon. Both were breathing hard when she pulled away and rested their foreheads together. “I’m sorry that I can’t do what an Alsean would,” she said softly. “You’ve made this so wonderful. I wish—”

  He cut her off with a gentler kiss, mourning the thread of doubt in her emotions. “A joining can be beautiful without a Sharing. Besides, you’ve already given me more than almost any Alsean could.”

  “I have?”

  He held up their hands between them. “It’s in your touch.”

  They had discussed this on their first date. She was fascinated by the differences between high, mid, and low empaths, and found his inability to sense without touch a positive trait. He had never seen anyone react that way to his handicap.

  “We’re careful about touching. So much can be read through skin contact, but for most of us, it’s not necessary if we’re physically close enough to a person we care about. It’s more of . . .” He didn’t know how to describe something no Alsean needed to learn. “A confirmation. Or a gift. Something in addition to what is already known. I’m not explaining this well.”

  “Others sense without it, so it’s an extra layer for them,” she said. “But for you, it’s the only layer there is.”

  “Yes. That’s it exactly.” He rested their clasped hands against his chest. “You touch without thought. You freely share yourself with me. And your touch is potent.”

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “Not like that. Well,” he amended, “perhaps it will be. I look forward to finding out.”

  The thread of doubt dissipated. “So do I. But you’re talking about the way I broadcast?”

  “When you touch me,” he said slowly, choosing his words, “I feel like a mid empath. Or even a high one. I sense you as I’ve never sensed anyone. It’s like projection in its power.” He gave a nod, satisfied with that word. “You make me feel more powerful than I am. All my life, I’ve lived with a handicap. You take it away. It’s a gift.”

  A fierce joy burned through her skin, reflected in eyes that seemed a darker green than before. She started forward, stopped herself, and spoke in a tight voice. “We need to begin this ritual, or I won’t be slowed down.”

  With great reluctance, he released her hands and took a step back. “Let’s light the candles.”

  He had placed them all around the living area, on the windowsills, tables, even atop a sculpture, yet still lacked the appropriate prayer.

  “I visit the temple regularly,” he said, lighting a taper. “To burn oil bowls for Fahla. But those are personal prayers. I don’t have any that will work here.”