Page 9 of Sanctuary and Spices
“For some.” I kept my tone neutral, though the lights played across her face in a way I found distracting.
A Jeth child darted past with a glowing ball, and I shifted slightly, placing myself between her and the crowd. Professional reflex, I told myself.
“You don’t have to protect me,” she said, her tone teasing but knowing.
“Not protecting. Directing,” I replied, though the lie felt thin. “Crowds move differently here. Easy to get lost.”
Her soft hum suggested she wasn’t convinced, and I caught myself fighting a smile.
The crystalline formations grew denser as we descended, their glow casting intricate patterns across her features. I watched her take it all in with a mix of wonder and quiet awe. She turned to me suddenly, gesturing to my markings where they showed past my sleeves.
“Your markings,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
The casual compliment threw me. My markings weren’t something I thought about often—not since I’d left behind the life they’d once symbolized. But the way she said it, without pretense or hesitation, unsettled me in a way I couldn’t name. I focused on navigating the next turn instead of responding,though her words lingered in my mind far longer than they should have.
“This way.” I led us down a narrower corridor, away from the main thoroughfare. The boarding house’s entrance appeared, marked by potted herbs and softly chiming wind bells. I pressed the call panel, and Barou’s face filled the screen.
“Bit late for visitors,” she rumbled.
“New tenant,” I said. “Soryn sent us.”
Her scales shifted from bronze to welcoming gold. “Ah, the new chef. Come up.”
The lift deposited us on the second floor. Barou waited, her prosthetic leg gleaming in the low light. “Welcome to my humble home,” she said warmly. “We’ll sort the paperwork tomorrow. For now, let’s get you settled.”
The room was small but clean, with a window overlooking the garden. A single potted Velthryn ivy sat on the desk, its leaves trembling as Jani approached.
“The plants,” she said softly, brushing a leaf with her fingertips. “They all react like this. Why?”
I should have left. Should have nodded politely and retreated. Instead, I watched the way she touched the plant—gentle, natural, as if she belonged here.
“They respond to energy,” I said. “Apparently yours calls to them.”
Her gaze met mine, curiosity sparking in her dark eyes. “Is that... normal?”
“No.” I kept my voice steady, though the low light made her features almost too easy to admire. “It’s not.”
Something passed between us in that moment—unspoken but undeniable. I stepped back, breaking the connection.
“Barou will help you settle in.” I headed for the door. “The café opens early.”
“Ronhar—”
I nodded, already retreating. “Goodnight.”
The corridor felt quieter on the walk back, the familiar paths holding an unfamiliar weight. Just once, I glanced back. The door had closed, but her presence lingered, like a melody unresolved.
The garden’s Jhyra glowed faintly as I returned. They had bloomed twice today. Something was changing, and I had a feeling nothing would ever be quite the same again.
JANI
The room felt stark, its simplicity almost unsettling. A narrow bed, a weathered desk, and a built-in storage unit replaced the sleek quarters I’d once called home aboard the Crown. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
Through the window, soft crystal light illuminated the garden below. It reminded me of the way Ronhar’s markings had glowed—subtle and steady, like he carried the station’s pulse within him. The memory of his golden eyes lingered, their intensity cutting through my carefully constructed facade. Somehow, instead of discomfort, they’d brought a sense of safety, something I hadn’t felt in too long.
A crash from next door jolted me out of my thoughts.
“Kriffing wires! Get back here, you little—ow!” A string of curses followed, seamlessly switching between at least three languages I didn’t recognize.
