Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

Cheeks flushed when she drew back, Zaira crooked her finger so he’d bend closer. “I heard that Cristabel and Amin have been seen walking together alone at night.”

“They’re senior Arrows,” he pointed out. “They’re probably discussing ops.”

“Do you think they discuss them all night?” Zaira asked with a glint in her eye. “Because that’s how long Amin was with her yesterday. In her cabin.”

Aden blinked, felt his smile begin to deepen. “Confirmed?”

“By three different sources.”

Aden wouldn’t have predicted the pairing. Both were long-serving Arrows, and though Cris was older by eight years, Amin was equally Silent. “It’s happening.” His Arrows were starting to see a better future for themselves, a future that didn’t have to be devoid of pleasure.

“Yes.” Rising on tiptoe, Zaira said, “We promised each other a night to ourselves. How about tomorrow?”

“Yes. What would you like to do?”

Zaira ran her hands down his chest. “I’ll organize it. Dress in civilian clothes.”

•   •   •

ONE night later, Zaira sat with Aden at a table in a tiny rooftop restaurant in Rajasthan, India. It was atop the second floor of what looked like a large family dwelling, the tables wood with embroidered cotton tablecloths. There was no roof, the desert sky drowning in stars above.

There was only one server, who bustled every which way, somehow managing to bring in meals without anyone having to wait too long—though if you had to wait, this location was . . . beautiful. Zaira wouldn’t have understood that before her time with Aden in RainFire, but tonight, she saw the stunning clarity of the starlight, appreciated the warmth of the air against her skin.

She’d worn a dress, not because she had any particular desire to wear an item of clothing so much less efficient than her uniform, but because anything else would’ve made her stand out in this place. After settling on this location, she’d done her research, picked this white dress with its full skirt, modest neckline embroidered with colorful flowers, and cap sleeves as being appropriate to the local environment and customs.

Aden had followed her instructions and was wearing a simple white shirt untucked over old blue jeans, with the sleeves folded up to the elbows. His hair was long enough now that it fell across his forehead at times, and touched the collar of his white shirt. He was beautiful, too.

“Will you trust me to order for you?” Aden asked from where he sat beside her and used his free hand to pick up the yellow piece of paper on which were printed a number of dishes. His other arm was around her shoulders, fingers desultorily caressing her skin.

Each brush made her stomach tighten, the possessive need in her conditioned to know that his touch meant searing pleasure.

“I chose this place for you,” she said, knowing he was trying to push himself far beyond Silence and happy to walk beside him while he explored. “I’m not certain I can eat anything here. The spices will be too difficult to digest.” She’d started to eat foods other than nutritional supplements, too, but there was a limit.

“Trust me,” he said, fingers brushing her shoulder, and when the server came over, he made the order in the local language, the syllables flowing off his tongue as if he’d spoken it since birth.

“When did you learn?” she asked after the server had moved away.

“My mother taught me,” he told her. “She learned it as a child from another Arrow, and the particular dialect is obscure enough that it acted as a ‘secret’ language at times.” Never totally, only in situations where we could be certain we weren’t being recorded.

Hearing his voice, and then his telepathic voice all in one smooth transition, it was so familiar now, so necessary. “Does Vasic speak it?”

Aden nodded. “I taught it to him, for the same reason. We made some adaptations so that it truly became a secret language—we don’t use it any longer, but it’s still there in the memory banks.” Would you like to learn?

Yes. “Teach me.”

“I will. At night.” A long look, his thigh pressing against hers. When we’re alone.

Electricity sparked through her, but she didn’t want to rush, not tonight. This was their night and it was an important one . . . and perhaps she was scared, too. Putting her hand on Aden’s thigh in an effort to calm her thudding heart, she looked out to the desert vista. This area wasn’t heavily populated, so there wasn’t a sprawl of glittering brightness.

Instead, the lights were yellow hued and scattered here and there, pouring through the windows of homes lower down on the slight hillside and coming from the campfires of the roaming desert dwellers who preferred a nomadic lifestyle. “Do you think there are changelings in this area?”

“There are rumors of desert eagles, but no confirmation.”

They went silent as the food appeared. Aden had ordered something with lentils, as well as a flatbread and several vegetable dishes. He tore off a piece of the flatbread, held it out. “Try it.”

She took a small bite, chewed, allowing the flavors to settle on her tongue. “I can eat this.” Following his lead, she tried the other dishes, decided some weren’t for her, while the lentil soup tasted good.

They ate slowly, with no rush, nowhere to go. Every so often, the server would come by to top up their water or ask if they needed anything else, but other than that, they were left alone. The conversation flowed as it always did between them; she’d never had to worry about not knowing what to say when it came to Aden.