By Honor Betray'd by Debra Doyle & James D. Macdonald

Author:Debra Doyle & James D. Macdonald [Doyle, Debra & Macdonald, James D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Publisher: Blanvalet Taschenbuch Verlag
Published: 1993-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

Emergencies can take many forms, so Space Force emergency supplies ranged from very high tech to very low. Now, in a small room at Space Force HQ Telabryk, a candle burned. Ari had pilfered the candle from emergency stores—an act of wild abandon for someone usually so matter-of-fact and painfully scrupulous—and had set it up in a saucer from the galley. Now the room was full of yellow-orange light and soft brown shadows.

Llannat was taking the pins out of her hair. When the heavy mass of it was freed, it would hang down below her shoulder blades almost to the small of her back. Keeping it up off her shoulders, as required by Space Force regulations and plain good sense, was a major undertaking.

“I keep thinking I ought to cut it,” she said, breaking without preamble into the candlelit silence. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to a stranger. “But I never do.”

“Don’t ever. Please.” Ari was still standing beside the plast-block windowsill where he had placed the candle. She didn’t think he’d moved since he’d put it there. He was halfway across the room, but she felt as if he were standing close enough to touch her.

“I won’t if I can help it.” She took out the last pin and laid it beside the others on the table, then shook out her hair and ran her fingers through it. “I usually braid it at night, because of the tangles. Shall I—?”

“Not tonight. No.”

Ari’s reply came quickly enough to embarrass him, it seemed; his usually pale skin had darkened in the golden light.

Llannat didn’t say anything, but went on as though she hadn’t noticed. She unfastened the black broadcloth tunic of her formal Adept’s gear, and hung it carefully on the back of the chair. Shirt and undergarments followed, until she was bare to the waist, with her loose hair brushing against her skin.

She sat down on the edge of the narrow bed and bent over to unfasten the uniform boots. As she worked, she heard sounds of movement from over by the window; Ari had apparently broken free of his immobility enough to begin taking off his dress uniform. She took her time over the boots, carefully rolling up the black socks and placing them inside, then pushing the boots back side by side under the bed.

When she looked up again, Ari had taken off the uniform tunic and the shirt underneath. The candle threw highlights and shadows on the muscles of his torso, and the pale white lines of old scars stood out against his skin: deep punctures from massive teeth in the flesh of his forearm, and long, slashing claw marks along his back and ribs. Those would be the scars of his Long Hunt, back among the Selvaurs on Maraghai—proud marks, not to be erased.

He still held the white shirt in one hand; when she stood and came up next to him, his fingers twitched and loosened, and the shirt fell onto the tile floor. She put out a finger and touched the raised white scar that cut across one of Ari’s ribs.

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