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“Do you like it?” Serihk tucked the tablet back into his robes.
Sazahk didn’t answer right away. It was a ludicrously generous gift. The kind Sazahk would have rejected in the past because of the implied debt he would owe to his brother.
But he no longer believed it came with those strings attached. He touched the fabric of a pillow with the exquisitely sensitive tip of a tentacle unwrapped from the column of the four-poster bed.
Finally, Sazahk nodded, his throat clogged. “Yes.”
“It wasn’t funded entirely by me.” Serihk’s cheeks bloomed with pink, a smile spreading across his face. “As I said, it is partially a reward for your role in bringing about our current peace.” He put a hand on Sazahk’s shoulder. “But I also thought you more than deserved something with which to put your implant to proper use. I consulted with scientists of the Qeshian Institute about what the latest cutting-edge technology for a lab of your size and interests would be, and this is what they came back with.”
“They clearly had a passable level of expertise.” Sazahk inspected his array of gadgets and tools through the cameras on his new ship, blind to the gala around him. There were some pieces missing that were absolutely vital, but he was sure that Zyk and Ha’ral could provide him with those.
“That was the best I was hoping for,” Serihk chuckled. “She’s yours now. I’ve transferred all titles, rights of ownership, and control to you.”
His.
Sazahk had never had anything that was his. He’d grown up the maligned son, then the treasured tool, and when he’d proven to be a broken tool, he’d been exiled and had moved on to be the treasured tool of a cartel.
He was grateful to Zyk and Ha’ral, cared for them, and considered them friends, but he hadn’t been free. He’d never had a place to be free. A place of his own.
Giddiness bubbled in Sazahk’s chest as he flicked his gaze from room to room to room in his new home and he realized what he wanted to do most was show Garin. He couldn’t wait to show Garin.
He wondered what he’d like the best. He wondered how he’d feel about the colors. He wondered if he’d have preferences on the thread count of the sheets.
He spun around, no longer concerned about Serihk seeing his feelings for Garin.
But Garin wasn’t where he thought he would be. Bar’in and Tar stood alone at the table. As Sazahk watched, Fal’ran and Patrick came over with frowns.
Sazahk rifled through the viewpoints of the various cameras in the room via his implant, searching for the missing human.
When he found him, he froze.
Garin stood next to a tower of human-style champagne glasses artfully arranged to form a waterfall as a fountain poured into them. Beside him stood another human, a very young, ginger-haired, pretty human.
That hated emotion from back in the disruptor rod’s cavern lodged itself in Sazahk’s stomach again.
Who was that young man? Why was his hand reaching for Garin’s forearm? Why was his hand resting on Garin’s forearm, and why was he smiling like that?
Garin had his back to Sazahk, inspecting the tower of champagne glasses, so Sazahk couldn’t see if the same infuriatingly sweet smile the redhead wore adorned Garin’s face, but he hoped it didn’t.
Sazahk mentally ripped through Tazal Station’s database, tearing through all the files on all the bureaucrats and diplomats and their entourages that he hadn’t bothered to look through before. He searched through every scrap of information he had access to on the handsome man.
But he wasn’t anyone. He was a political nobody. And he certainly wasn’t anyone Garin would know.
But he was pretty, and he was talking to Garin, and maybe Garin didn’t care much beyond that.
Sazahk knew it was his own quirk of nature to be interested only in people he was emotionally entangled with. Garin had made it very clear he didn’t share that particular proclivity. So why shouldn’t Garin talk to the pretty man, especially if the pretty man was talking to Garin?
But Sazahk knew the answer to that. Garin shouldn’t talk to the pretty man, didn’t need to talk to the pretty man, because he already had Sazahk, at least for a few hours yet.
Just as Sazahk made up his mind to insert himself into the exchange and discover exactly what sort of sparkling conversation the political child could possibly provide to a man like Garin, who had undoubtedly seen far more interesting things in his life than a man that young could have ever seen, a bell rang out.
The room hushed as the evening’s primary guest of honor, Prince Hyg, swept to a podium at the front of the ballroom. Dominic Turner, his head held high despite the pallor of his skin, trailed after him and stood beside him on the dais.
“I wish to thank all of you gathered here today for your effort in and commitment to providing a home and a future for my people.” Prince Hyg’s melodic baritone voice carried easily across the quiet crowd. “We are grateful beyond a measure you can comprehend. Please know that despite our entry into your sector and the manner in which we did so, we aspire to be peaceful and productive members of your community.” Prince Hyg glanced at Dominic Turner beside him, but his antennas twitched in the opposite direction, away from his betrothed. “I hope that my marriage to one of your own will go some way toward cementing the bond between our peoples.”
“Take his hand,” Serihk muttered under his breath, loud enough only for Sazahk to hear, though Sazahk doubted he’d been the intended audience. But Serihk’s projected will compelled neither Dominic nor Prince Hyg to bridge the yawning gap between them.
“I don’t believe they want to be married,” Sazahk murmured to Serihk. It didn’t take a body language expert to recognize that neither of them was pleased to be standing beside each other before this crowd.
