are this color. Probably all the same.”
Glyssa’s turn to shrug. “Probably.”
“You really aren’t going to open it up?” asked Maxima, nearly hopping with impatience.
“Not right now,” her mother said. “Perhaps you should return to your work with GrandMistrys Licorice. The bell announcing the first lunch seating will ring soon.”
Maxima sniffed as if she was uninterested in food. But all three of them had nibbled most of the morning.
Raz nodded to the staff. “I would prefer only the newly formed Squad One that is authorized to descend into the ship remain. We will discuss our next steps.”
Reluctantly, other people began to drift away. Del frowned at her daughter and Glyssa handed Maxima the recordsphere and began to walk to her tent. The girl followed.
“Have you watched and listened to all these yet?” Glyssa asked.
Maxima made a face. “Bo-ring.”
Glyssa’s lips twitched. “Yes. But there are some good nuggets in there.”
“I don’t know how you recall all that.”
“Training.” And Maxima Elecampane might not be pure librarian material after all. Though there
But here Glyssa was in an exciting venue, full of people who weren’t like anyone she’d ever met. Adventurers, risk takers. Like her.
She grinned again.
Maxima studied the glass sphere as they walked back to Glyssa’s pavilion. “This isn’t like regular recordspheres.”
The difference was barely noticeable. Glyssa was impressed. “No, they are archival quality, made with a lot of space for excellent quality vizes and audios.” She nodded toward the glass ball. “The public librarians were allowed by
“Huh,” Maxima said, rolling the ball in her hand, her fingers seeming to test the material, her brows drawn down as she focused. “I might . . .”
“Yes?”
“I might be able to make these spheres even better.” She slid a sideways glance to Glyssa, pinkened. “I’m good with glass . . . and, ah, other stuff. Part of my Flair.”
“What other stuff?”
The girl’s shoulders lifted nearly to her ears. “Communications, mostly.”
Glyssa narrowed her eyes, wondered exactly what that meant, but they’d reached her pavilion and Maxima darted inside.
“Show me how you figured out the words from the dictionary,” the teen said as Glyssa entered, distracting her.
Zem fluttered to the crosspole of Landolt’s large tent as Jace took the man inside and laid him on his meter- thick bedsponge. Landolt shared his tent with his two male lovers. One had accompanied Jace to fuss at him and watch Landolt. Neither a groggy Landolt nor the other guy thanked him, which rankled a little.
Stepping from the tent, Jace drew in a breath and smelled the camp—humans—a trace of the sweet scent of the plains, the forest and water in the distance. Zem cackled in warning before he stepped back onto Jace’s quilted shirt shoulder. He’d added the pad that morning before their early walk to find food for his bird . . . pretty much a futile walk since Zem couldn’t fly, Jace was too noisy, big, and clumsy to catch small mammals like mice, and he’d been found and detained before Lepid had found prey for the hawkcel.
Just before the announcement claxon had rung and broken up the little study group in Glyssa’s pavilion, Jace had forgotten the charges against him and been satisfied with himself.
He’d felt lighter in spirit and satisfied with a job well done. He
Glyssa trusted him. She was pushy, but he sensed she had no doubt of his innocence.
The kid was nice. Staunch. A good thing in a friend, and he thought he had her as a friend.
Another breath and he jolted a little as the first lunch bell sounded and he headed toward the mess tent.
His mood soured as he walked. No one approached, and the personal space around him seemed to have tripled.
Just as he passed Sanicle’s tent, the man made to step out, hesitated. Jace stopped and sent him a sardonic smile.
Sanicle grimaced, raised his hands. “No offense.”
Funa Twinevine came up behind the man, wrapped her arm around his waist, smirked at Jace.
“No offense, what?” Jace pressed.
The man angled his body in a defensive fencing position . . . as if he and Jace had ever crossed swords. One hunched shoulder. “No offense, but I don’t want to be seen with you. Your luck’s turned bad.”
“The worst,” Funa said.
“A lot of bad luck going around the camp,” Jace said tightly. “And most of it man-made bad luck aimed at me.”
“Well, we don’t want it smeared on us!” Funa sniffed.
Jace’s jaw hurt from his gritted teeth.
Sanicle lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Even though you spent time in the tent with the sexy librarian who has FirstFamily friends and the owners’ kid, that doesn’t count for much.” Sanicle’s gaze went past Jace. “And there the new pretty lady is.” He gave a hum of approval. “All that prissy manner bottled up under a redhead. Gotta be interesting.”
A quick spear of jealousy stabbed through Jace. He knew for a fact that when Glyssa dropped the prissy manner in bed, she was all fire.
“Think I might try
Funa dropped her arm from the man’s waist and bumped him off balance with her hip. “I’m right here.”
He glanced at her. “We don’t have an exclusive arrangement.”
Anger came to Funa’s eyes and she simmered in it.
“Move, Bayrum,” Sanicle said. “Leaving now.”
Funa glared at him, then slanted a glare at Jace. “He’s right about the luck thing. I don’t want your bad luck rubbing onto me.”
Jace just lifted a brow. Then he nodded and crossed into the middle of the main lane between tents. People continued to ignore him and Sanicle strode past him trying to catch up with Glyssa who walked toward the mess tent.
Face pouty, Funa took to the road, swinging her hips and gathering other male gazes. Another guy joined her and she broke into animated conversation.
Jace’s mood dimmed by the continuing stickiness of “bad luck” and the accusation of theft, he reached the dining tent.
Unlike all the days before, no one called to him. No one even met his eyes.
Talk stopped when he came in, and after he got his clucker and greens, whispers hissed through the tent.
He ate in stoic silence,
