Croe’s smile twitched at his comment, ironic in a way he probably hadn’t surmised. It’s as if they hardly know you. And they didn’t, of course…no one did. Not Henry. Not Mallos. Not even herself, though she’d been busily working on that in the hours since her revelation. She figured she’d have a few days to puzzle out the question of her selfhood, before a noose cut her off.
His touch distracted her from dwelling on that thought. It was frustrating to be touched this way, by him, with such clinical motive. Her pregnancy had only intensified her wildness, her hungers, even while making her too weak to satisfy them. The careful application of his fingers made her wince with wanting. But she said nothing, only watched him and withheld her thoughts, willed him to continue his innocent ministrations so she could fixate on that, so she could forget what was coming.
Mallos was speaking, his voice more level now that he’d recovered from the shock, his words measured, confident. But he’d misinterpreted her question, painfully. Did he think they would let her live? Her glistening eyes searched his face as he lifted her, their expression guarded and sad. Did he think he could protect her? Or was he trying to protect her now, by not acknowledging the certainty of that future, the absolute certainty, like the arrival of the dawn? As her cell melted away, she turned her face against his shoulder, hiding her eyes and their threatening tears. She breathed in the scent of him.
In the absence of dripping and clanking and muffled guard speech, the total silence of Mallos’ rooms felt loud. The lock bolt was a gunshot. She flinched. Then her feet touched the carpet – distant memories washed over her, of lavish rooms and ornately woven rugs – and she steadied herself, in body and mind. Mallos was holding her close, but she could see some elements of the room in her peripheral vision; immaculate decorating, tasteful and expensive but understated, practically devoid of any personal affects. The sight of a dismantled gadget on the desk made her smile with memory. “Your rooms are…clean,” she said carefully, and laughed, knowing she sullied this place merely by breathing. The absurdity of her situation gave her laughter a frantic edge. She was grateful when he silenced her with his lips.
“Whatever happens now, you were worth it.” Croe was glad he kissed her again, so he wouldn’t see the smattering of tears that did fall in that moment…the first time she’d cried since arriving on Shaman. Shame knifed through her, and she wiped them hastily away as he withdrew. She was grateful he seemed preoccupied with the roundness between them. Their daughter pressed against his hands with her own hands and feet, warming like the sun. “So are you. So is she.” Croe’s fingers laced with his, and for a moment she let herself savor the peacefulness, the normalcy of two parents in wonder at their creation. Then she took a breath.
“Do your very clean rooms have a bath hidden somewhere? This mud is three days old. The brine is older.” Her expression had closed off again, her smile was careful.
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