She just glowered.
The town was more crowded here in the center, with people moving about from shop to shop. Everyone was curious about her. It had probably been centuries since an Argenti had been to Frigorria, if ever. That and they’d all witnessed her outburst.
They stopped on a gray bridge to look down at a river full of stones. Klym pointed out more hulking trees along the shore, but kept her voice down, casting sheepish glances at the people in her vicinity.
She found the only clothing shop in the village, and because she was still embarrassed about the incident, he didn’t argue when she said she wanted to go inside.
As she stroked her hands over a shawl, he couldn’t resist the smile of surprise. Silvery gray, it matched her eyes, embroidered with traditional motifs in a deep turquoise and indigo. She traced the tiny bells in the corners, making them jingle. “So soft,” she breathed.
He bought it. Maybe it would keep everyone from staring at her tits, anyway. She wrapped it around her shoulders, bells tinkling. “I’ve never felt anything like it. Thank you, Tor.”
“Come on.” He tilted his head at the door.
They reached Jasto’s street too soon, passing derelict buildings with sagging porches and crumbling roofs. It was the nicest on the block, by far. A fresh coat of paint on the trim, and a recently mended roof with a shitty patch job.
The last time he’d been here, he and Jasto had drunk too much Argenti akdov on that roof while doing the repairs. Jasto had done an impression of their latest job, a guy on the run from the authorities back on Vesta. He’d lost a foot and been blind in one eye, and the impediments had left him none the kinder. He’d been mean and dirty as sin. They’d cornered him on an ice planet and hauled him all the way to Insuractius.
Jasto’s impression had been good. Too good.
He’d hobbled around the roof, groping out, hissing and spitting and making threats in such a dead-ringer for the perp’s guttural accents, that Tor had laughed himself clear off the roof.
Right over the eaves.
He’d landed in the scrubby bushes at the bottom and sported a wide array of bruises and stiff muscles in the morning. Not to mention the headache.
No one had ever made him laugh like Jasto. Until today.
He cleared his throat, eyes on the yellow front door. “Klym, I—”
Her hand stopped him, coming to rest on his chest, right over his heart. “I know. It’s okay.”
“This is bound to be ugly.”
She nodded. “I can only imagine.”
It would be a hell of a lot harder on Syena. “Just don’t talk too much, okay? And don’t mention the birds.”
She made a long face, but after a moment, she nodded. “Okay.”
He closed his fingers around her forearm and propelled her up the steps. The tiny bells on her shawl tinkled in the air as they climbed.
He didn’t bother knocking. No one knocked at Jasto’s house. The kids were too loud, the adults too busy. No one ever answered.
He twisted the all-too-familiar knob.
If he’d been asked to choose a specific place to call home in the ten years since he’d left Vesta, it would be here.
The same old smells assaulted his nose as soon as the door slid inward. Painnea and spiced-butter hen from the kitchen.
Syena or one of her sisters must be cooking dinner. Something sweet, cake maybe, flavored the air. Someone shouted somewhere, and there was a thud overhead, followed by mad giggling.
Jasto’s family was unusual in their ability to have so many offspring. Mostly, only the Primes and the felanas could procreate, though about thirty to forty percent of humani might have one child in their lifetime. Syena and her sisters were strangely fertile for humani women.
Through the family room with its sagging couch and colorful pillows, the handmade rug in blue and green, the kitchen gleamed like it housed its own personal sun.
Syena turned, a toddler on her hip, and saw him.
Her pretty, plump face split into a massive grin, her big eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Tor!”
He swallowed thickly. This was going to be worse than he’d imagined.
Doubt flickered on her face, a little quirk of the brow, a slight dimming of the smile. She glanced beyond him. He imagined her looking for Jasto, waiting for his laugh. If he’d been here, he’d have hopped out with a shout and started throwing presents around the room. Nothing was quiet when Jasto was around.
It was quiet today.
Tor couldn’t speak.
Klym stepped through the door behind him.
“Tor?” Syena asked, more quietly now. The smile disappeared. She looked past Klym. Her chin wobbled. “No. Tor? No.”
The toddler stuck his hand in his mouth, drool rolling down his chin.
Syena shook her head. “Jasto?” Her voice broke.
Tor didn’t know what to say. He just stared back at her with a stupid look on his face.
“No.” She said it insistently. Like if she said it hard enough, it would make it not true. “Please, no.”
The toddler babbled, and another woman appeared from a hallway. “Syena? Tor! Is Jasto home?” It was Jasto’s sister, Neena, her dark hair pulled back sharply from a thin, pale face. She looked from where Syena stood in the galley, the toddler clutching at her legs, staring numbly, to where Tor and Klym stood.
Syena swayed on her feet. Neena said something about someone being pregnant, and someone started wailing upstairs.
14
I see you now, and I like what I see.
STANDING IN THE HOME OF STRANGERS, bearing witness to their grief, was terribly awkward. Especially since she’d contributed to it.
Shame burned, hot and thick in her heart for the mangling of Jasto’s body.
Tor left to take the brothers into town to retrieve the body. In his absence, she tried to make them as comfortable
