Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“I said the a’ani were clones,” he quickly corrects. “It is just a marvelous coincidence that Ruth-Ann and Ruthie and Ruth are human triplets.”
“That’s definitely quite the coincidence,” I murmur. All with variations of the same name. But I’m not about to pry. Not my circus, not my zebras, as my mama used to say. “It’s nice to meet you, Ruth-Ann. Are you staying here on Risda with the other human refugees?”
“I haven’t decided.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and shrugs. “I told Zaemen and Erzah that I’d help with the cantina, and this seems as safe a place to settle as anywhere.”
“I’m told it’s safe,” I agree. “And it’s been quiet since I came here. I just…”
“Don’t entirely believe it?” Ruth-Ann gives me an understanding look. “It takes a while for the anxiety to fade away. For you to feel safe. I get it.”
“I might not feel safe until my sister’s brought here. You’re lucky that you have yours at your side.” Hot grief threatens to swamp me, and I suddenly want to run out of the room and close myself back in at my dairy. Drown myself in work and not think about anything. If I’m too tired to think, I’m too tired to fret over Rafaela’s fate.
A hand touches my shoulder and gently rubs my back. Aithar. “Can I get you a drink, Michaela? Or a snack?”
It’s a good distraction at the perfect time. I manage a small smile for him. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“You and Aithar, huh?” Ruth-Ann glances between us. “You’ll forgive us if we all seem skeptical.”
I freeze up. Are they skeptical because they know why I’m going out with him? Because I felt like I had to? I feign ignorance, though. “Oh?”
Ruth-Ann gives another one of those faint smiles, and I get the impression of someone tightly self-contained but doing their best to hide it. “It seems fast. He falls in love easily.”
“I have a lot of love waiting to be given,” Aithar says, voice cheerful, and he doesn’t seem upset by Ruth-Ann’s comment. It bothers me, though, and I’m not sure why. It’s not a slam on me, but it feels like a strange comment for a friend to be making. Then again, maybe it’s because they’re friends that she feels she can comment on the speed of his relationship.
“I see.”
Aithar touches my elbow. “Come and meet Dopekh. He is my brother-clone from the same place.”
We head over to a table, where a big, broad-shouldered alien is working with a blowtorch on some metal. He glances up as we approach and flips up the guard over his face, beaming at us. “You have brought a friend, Aithar!”
I freeze in place, because this man reminds me of my hated enemy. He’s broader than Aithar, and his gaze isn’t nearly as friendly, his features similar enough that I feel like I’m looking at Aithar’s brother…or the man I’ve been dreaming of confronting for years. His hair is a bit longer and he looks tougher overall. Tense, I glance down at his hands.
No tattoos. His ink stops at his wrists. And while it’s easy to get tattoos removed, something tells me that I don’t have to panic about this man. He’s who Aithar says he is. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Aithar squeezes my shoulder as if to say “See? All is well.”
“Hi, I’m Michaela,” I say, and hold my hand out. “Aithar’s friend.”
He holds his hand out, too, and instead of shaking my hand, clasps it in both of his and pumps it vigorously. It’s clear he has no idea how to shake a hand, which is kinda cute. “I am pleased to meet you, Michaela. My name is Dopekh. You are Aithar’s new love?”
I glance over at Aithar, and he flinches, just a little. “Boy, everyone sure likes to bring that up.”
“We are just teasing Aithar,” Dopekh replies, grinning at Aithar as if sharing a joke. “Since we have arrived on this planet, he has fallen in love six times in quick succession.”
“It’s not love because it’s not returned,” Aithar says, but his voice has lost some of its confidence. “There’s a difference. You know that.”
“I do.” For a moment, Dopekh looks miserable.
Before he can speak, another alien man approaches and slings an arm around Dopekh’s neck, heedless of the fact that the other man is holding a blowtorch. He’s got curling horns and gray skin and a thick, solid build and looks nothing like the vivid red a’ani. He grins at the two of us. “Look what we have here! Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for yet another colonist, Aithar? How many is that this month?”
“Hello, Salvotor,” Aithar says, and all the enthusiasm for this day seems to have leached from his tone.
The other guy has a goofy grin on his face and he leans in, eyeing the two of us.