Honor Among Thieves (The Honors #1)(40)



“Sure,” I finally said. “But you know the old Russian proverb, right?”

“I do not.”

“When the storm comes, pray to God, but row for shore.” A nicer way to say don’t be a mark.

He thought that one over. I put Billie Holiday on my H2. She was singing a different song this time, and I had to explain what it meant to him. Explain the shit my people had gone through and still did sometimes. He didn’t comment, but his mood shifted, soaking up the buried outrage, sadness, and horror hidden in the notes of the music.

Nadim and I listened to her voice, and sometime in there, I stretched out on my bed and drifted off, and I forgot to tell him to get out of my room.

I slept the best I ever had on the soft, warm mattress, with the whisper of Nadim’s presence like a mist near me. I’d learned how to sense him, whether he was paying attention to me or not. It felt a little like a memory I had of my parents watching over me. Of sleeping with my crew in the Zone, knowing they were there if anything kicked off.

Safe.

I dreamed of stars.

Like Nadim, I drank the light and felt their radiance on my skin. Unchained from my flesh, I flew like a Leviathan—stars and galaxies spun around me in a kaleidoscope of colors—and the pleasure that roared through me nearly cracked my skull.

And then I felt alone. So alone. It was a void that sucked all the life and love out of me, a dark longing so profound it hurt.

Trembling, I woke with morning light streaming in my window. Damn, there was no morning. No window. Nadim must have turned the lights up in my room. At least he hadn’t banged the alarm gong this time.

I felt breathless and strangely sad. On the verge of tears. And, oddly, I didn’t think it was Nadim, or at least, not completely. Following my first instinct, I fumbled for the intercom. “Bea?” The short form of her name slid out, and she didn’t object. “You okay?”

“I’m . . . here. Just got up.”

“You sound . . .” I didn’t know if I should say it, but her voice came across tremulous. “Have you been crying?”

“A little. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What’s wrong?”

“There’s a word in Portuguese, saudade, it doesn’t translate well.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like nostalgia, only . . . more. Longing for something.”

“Something that’s gone away?” I guessed. I knew that feeling, saudade. During that dream, it permeated me from head to toe, which was batshit. I’d felt it. And so had Beatriz.

“Yes,” she said. “How could you know that? Are you saying you felt it too?”

“I think it’s coming from Nadim. Sometimes I can feel what he’s feeling.” Crap. I should have said that before now; I hadn’t been keeping it from her deliberately, but in a sense, I’d relished it being a tiny secret, too.

“You—you what?” She sounded less offended than baffled, which was good. “We’re not supposed to do that, Zara. They said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that. I look like some tight-ass rule follower to you?”

She just shook her head. “Why is Nadim sad?”

“No idea. Nadim!” No answer. I put my hand to the wall by the bed. “Nadim!”

“Good morning, Zara.” He sounded all right. Probably too much so, as if he was working at it. “It’s time to get up.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. I felt his answer coming through the wall, into my skin, a wave of emotion, of sadness, of loss. It made me shiver. “Nadim?”

“I’m well,” he said. “Thank you.” He was pretending to be fine so hard that I could feel the strain of it vibrating through his skin.

“You don’t have to put on an act,” I told him quietly. “Not with me. Not with us. What is it?”

He was silent a long time, so long I thought he’d gone away except that I could still feel his emotional presence. He finally said, “I’m fine, Zara. Beatriz, please don’t be alarmed. I had—what you would call a bad dream, I think. So we will put that behind us now.” His tone sharpened into briskness again. “Now. Zara, you’ve completed your tasks for today, which is why—”

“Hey, if I didn’t have work you could’ve let me sleep in.” Right now, acting like I didn’t know something was up with him was the best gift I could offer to keep him on track. I was an old pro at pretending to be okay.

“—why I have reconfigured your schedule,” he finished. “You’ll be learning navigation today. In the event it falls to either of you to pilot, you must be able to back Beatriz up.”

“Don’t you pilot yourself? I mean . . . it’s who you are, right?”

“In case of emergency. Please get ready. You are due on duty in one hour.”

The H2 on the table next to me chimed and scrolled with instructions. With a scowl, I picked it up. “Really? A full day on navigational drills? You’re a jerk,” I said, and he laughed, a bright silver burst. I felt the pulse of his amusement run from the crown of my head down through my toes, in a singular shiver. “You understood that? Who taught you slang, anyway?”

“You all do,” he said. “I learn from each one of you. Some more than others.”

Rachel Caine & Ann A's Books