Starfall (Starflight #2)(22)

“If you change your mind, you can reach me here most days.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Kane said.





The morning dew transformed into a glittering mist beneath the sun’s warmth, clouding the docking field and curling its tendrils around the Banshee where it slumbered. Cassia approached the landing gear and tilted her ear toward the ship’s belly to listen for clunking footsteps or tinny voices. She heard nothing. The crew was probably asleep. She reached for the boarding ramp keypad and then pulled back her hand. She knew the code, but it didn’t seem right boarding the ship without permission.

She didn’t live there anymore.

Standing on the outside looking in, she couldn’t deny feeling a little wistful. The ship had been more than a home; it’d been her lens to the galaxy. Within its walls, she’d traveled from bustling tourist planets to systems so remote they didn’t have names. She’d witnessed the birth and collapse of stars—miracles most people would never see.

“What’s the problem?” Jordan asked. He pounded the side of his fist against the hull and shouted, “Lower your gear for the queen!”

Cassia cringed. “This is why I wanted to come alone. These people aren’t my subjects. They’re my friends.”

“Then why didn’t they spend the night in the palace?”

“Because they didn’t want to impose.”

The lie slid smoothly off her tongue. Kane had called last night from the ship, claiming that he didn’t want to take a bed away from a refugee when he could sleep in his bunk. But she sensed there was more to it than that.

Jordan didn’t look convinced. “How considerate of them.”

The speaker box above their heads crackled to life, and Kane greeted them in a gravelly voice that oozed annoyance. He was always cranky when startled awake. “If the queen wants to use my gear, she’ll have to buy me a drink first. Preferably hellberry wine, but Crystalline will do. I’m not picky.”

Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced as if he’d sucked a lemon. He made an obvious effort to keep his opinion to himself, though it didn’t escape Cassia’s notice that he settled one hand on his pistol.

She lifted her face toward the speaker. “Kane, let me in. I want to talk to you.”

“Let yourself in. You know the code.”

“But I didn’t think…” She trailed off with a groan and punched in the code. “Never mind. I’ll meet you in the galley.”

The boarding ramp descended with a mechanical whine.

“Stay here,” she told Jordan. He and Kane were in rare form this morning, and she didn’t have the patience to deal with both of them.

“Gladly,” he answered.

Once the ramp touched down, she jogged into the cargo hold and then climbed the stairs leading to the galley. Her feet automatically knew to skip the middlemost step, the creaky one, and she caught herself smiling at the mingled scents of engine grease, rust, and day-old chili. She never thought she’d miss that smell. The aroma of ground coffee beans soon followed, and she crossed the threshold into the galley to find Kane standing with his back to her, setting an enormous pot of water on the stove for the morning’s porridge. He must have grabbed yesterday’s clothes off the floor, because he wore a wrinkled pair of canvas pants.

And nothing else.

She slowed to a halt and watched the play of his back muscles bunching and flexing beneath his skin as he tended to breakfast. She’d always enjoyed the sight of him shirtless, but until now she hadn’t realized how strong his work as a ship hand had made him. The work had made her strong, too, but his body showed more evidence of it in the form of hard contours that made it difficult not to stare. When he turned around and leaned a hip against the counter, crossing both arms over his bare chest, it took all her strength to level her gaze on his eyes instead of someplace lower.

“Would the queen like some porridge?” he asked with a grin, but then his expression shifted. He studied her face while inching closer. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

And that was when she saw it—pity. The same pity that had tainted his gaze yesterday when she’d met him in the security station. She hadn’t appreciated it then, and she sure as hell didn’t like it now. “Stop it. Don’t do that.”

He stopped in the literal sense, frozen in place.

“Not that, you idiot,” she said, and pointed at his face. “I mean that thing you’re doing with your eyes. Stop feeling sorry for me.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off with a threatening glare. “Don’t you dare deny it. I can see it all over your face, and it’s insulting. There’s no reason to pity me. I did more than just survive. I went from the dungeon to the throne, and I did it all by myself.”

His posture sank. “I know you did.”

“You should be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you, Cassy,” he said, splaying both hands. “The happiest moment of my life was when you called me an idiot son of a two-assed mule and I knew you were all right. But you shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

“So that’s the problem? You blame yourself?”

“I wasn’t there for you.”

“That’s a good thing,” she stressed. “Do you think it was an accident that I bumped into the Daeva? Because it wasn’t. They knew we were coming. It was a trap—half the town was in on it. If you had been there, they would’ve taken us both.”