Page 70 of Heimlock

Kyrielle laughs. “Innuendo disregarded.” Her expression softens. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

She shrugs, collecting our plates. “For caring.” We walk toward a trashcan. “It was crazy to me that when I was begging for money or food, so many didn’t ask why a teenager was on the streets. None of them, actually. Not until Talia.”

She might as well be holding up a mirror. Collecting our empty cups, I say, “I understand that. People tend to ignore what they don’t care about, even if someone is literally dying in front of them.”

That came out deeper than intended, considering what I said to her in our last conversation. I still regret mentioning that I’ve thought about killing myself. Even though it’s true, it’s something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Fynn.

Kyrielle’s inner eyebrows raise, her sympathy bleeding through. “I like people, but I hate them at the same time, you know?”

Letting out a wry chuckle, I toss ‌the cups into the trash. “I absolutely know.”

Slapping her hands together, she gives me the same grin from the night at the battle arena. “Speaking of hating people — are you ready to go kick some ass?”

“Just point me in the direction.”

***

Kyrielle sits on my head, and not in the preferred way. I’m shifted, and she’s perched right behind my ear, lounging against one of my spikes. I use my magyck to keep the wind off her face so her pretty hair doesn’t turn into a mess.

We don’t speak at first, too lost in our own thoughts. It feels peaceful; right, even. There's a discernable glow to her body. She’s a bright light in the night sky, like a firefly.

I don’t know what to think of this scheme she clearly has. The more time I spend with her, the more bitter I become about the choice we made all those months ago. While I wouldn’t give up the memory of her creamy thighs between my teeth or the way she clung to me like I was the lone anchor to gravity … It’s also a painful dichotomy. Just how it’s impossible to experience true gratitude without experiencing true loss. Was the chemistry actually there, or am I so pathetically lonely that the thought of chemistry brought me to my knees?

There’s one way to find out — and the only thing I won’t do.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice is quiet; contemplative.

Is that your question?

“No,” she says defensively.

What is your question?

“You want me to ask it right now?”

Yes. Then I add, Please.

One of her hands softly rubs my scales as she thinks. Does she realize she’s petting me? My Fyre, normally ignored, sparks.

“If there was one experience in your life you could change, what would it be and why?”

Fortuna save me; she went right for the jugular. These questions are going to fucking suck, aren’t they?

She laughs softly. “I want to know you, Trinte.”

This body can’t cry or frown. All it can do is ache between my ribs. No one in my entire life has ever said that. Kyrielle could’ve asked anything — I would’ve honored my word and been honest to a fault. She could ask for my bank account information, and I’d give it. I pride myself on being honest when it matters most.

This is the question she chose?

I could refuse to answer, but … don't I want to be known? Haven't I always craved someone to ask me something about my life? My hurts?

Kyrielle truly wants to know me. It's why these questions are difficult. But I can't beg the goddesses for someone to give me a chance, and then reject her the first time it falls too out of my comfort zone. The least I can do is ‌be brutally honest.

It takes a moment to assimilate the words in my head, then push away the instinct to never share my pain. How would it feel to share? To tell someone what that woman did to me?

When I was twenty, I went on my first date. A woman in a local Weyr social club. Fynn said she was a nice woman.