Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(90)

I nod. “I said something mean. And I didn’t get a chance to say I was sorry before we left.”

“Ah.” He carefully closes the book, sets it on the floor beside the bed. “Well, that’s difficult. If you can, it’s always good to go back and apologize. But when that’s not possible, I think it’s very important to remember that no relationship, or friendship, is defined by one moment. It’s an accumulation of all the moments we spend together. All the little ways in which we say I love you or I respect you or You are important to me add up. And that cannot be erased with a few careless words.”

“How do you know?” I whisper.

“When your grandmother died, I regretted very much that I hadn’t called her that week. I had meant to, but I was busy. Over time, though, I realized that one missed call didn’t define our relationship. That tens of thousands of I love yous did that instead. She knew exactly how I cared for her, and how I respected her. And that was what was important.” He gives me a squeeze. “Does that help, Jie-Lin?”

“You’re sure last words don’t matter?” I close my eyes tightly, soaking up the warmth of his arms. “You’re sure she’d forgive you?”

“In an instant. Those who truly know us see the whole, never just a part.”

I settle in against his side. Close my eyes and whisper.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Jie-Lin.”

He kisses the top of my head, and my lips curl in a smile.

“Always.”

· · · · ·

That evening, Kal and I walk to the meadow and lie back together in the field of pink flowers, their petals all closed against the night. We stare up at the stars that once carpeted the sky above the home planet of the Eshvaren, adrift in each other’s arms.

I know I’m making it harder for myself. I’m spending all day pushing things away, and then I come home each night to fall more and more deeply into Kal. And he seems to know it, too. I can feel it growing in him, along with the love he feels for me. A shadow in him. It’s heavy tonight, weighing him down even as he looks at the beauty of the stars wheeling overhead.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

I can feel his mind, the tapestry of golden threads, the faint empathy he inherited from his mother entwined with my own growing strength.

“I am torn, be’shmai,” he finally replies.

“About what?”

“I have been thinking.” He sighs, looking up at the night sky. “About the gift Adams gave me. The cigarillo box that saved my life aboard the Totentanz.”

I blink. “Why have you been thinking about it?”

“The case … had a note inside it. A note in Finian’s handwriting that he does not remember writing. It was he who discovered it. But I wonder if it was for me.”

“… What did it say?” I ask, unsure if I really want to know.

He looks at me, eyes shining. “ ‘Tell her the truth.’ ”

I remain silent, watching him in the dark. He’s beautiful, ethereal, almost magical, and for a moment I can’t believe he’s mine. But I can see the struggle in him. Feel the torment in his mind.

“There are things about me, be’shmai,” he says, and I’m amazed to see tears in his eyes. “About my past. My blood …”

“Kal, it’s okay,” I tell him, touching his face.

He shakes his head. “This thing in me. I fear I will never be rid of him.”

I remember the story he told me about Saedii. The pain of his childhood, his father’s cruelty to him and his mother, the shadow of his past that always hangs over him. I know he struggles every day. The violence he was raised to, the violence inside him. I can feel it, even now, prowling behind those beautiful eyes.

“You’re not your past, Kal.” I curl my fingers through his, my eyes on the constellations above. “You’re not the things you were raised to be. If being here has taught me anything, it’s that. Our regrets, our fears, they hold us back. We have to let them go so we can become what we’re supposed to be. We have to burn them all away.”

“Our past makes us what we are.”

“No,” I tell him, remembering the weight lifting from my shoulders as I let go of my mom and dad. “No, it doesn’t. We choose who we are. Every day. Every minute. The past is gone. Tomorrow is worth a million yesterdays, don’t you see?”

Kal looks up at the stars above us, frowning.

“I … question this road they make you walk, be’shmai,” he says quietly.

“… What do you mean?” I ask.

“If you cut yourself off from who you were, burn away everything that means something to you as the Ancients bid you to …” He shakes his head. “What will give you purpose? What will drive you to fight?”

“Saving the entire galaxy is purpose enough,” I say, my voice firm.

“Your fight is honorable,” he agrees.

“I can sense a very large but approaching.”

“But love is purpose, be’shmai,” he says. “Love is what drives us to great deeds, and greater sacrifices. Without love, what is left?”

I pull my hand away from his. “Kal, I have to do this. If the Ra’haam’s nursery planets are left alone, everyone in the galaxy, including the ones I love, will be taken over. I already lost my father to this thing.”