Page 90 of Blue Embers
Despite only knowing her for a short time, Lyrah was a comforting presence. She stepped in, placing her hand on my forearm.
“The two of you are very compatible,” she smiled. Leaning around me, Lyrah’s eyes glanced past the entrance. “Your friend isn’t with you?”
“Who? Malice? This isn’t really his thing.”
“Yeah,” Lyrah sighed, let down. “He wouldn’t look good in a suit anyways.”
The poor girl was lying. I could see it in her rosy cheeks. She was imagining him in a suit. Out of a suit. It really didn’t matter how she was picturing him. It all made her bashful. The rugged Draak had ruined her with all his flirting.
“Ms. Grant,” another voice said, this time in a more demanding tone.
I whipped my head around to see a man with a scalp of thinning, grey hair walking toward me with a practiced smile on his middle-aged face. He had a small, silver recorder in his hand, which he held at the ready in front of his chest.
“The evening wouldn’t be complete without Mr. Valentyne’s assistant here to welcome patrons to the new exhibit,” he said. “I suppose since he can’t be here, it’s only fitting you take his place.”
Assistant? I cocked my head, curious where this stranger was planning to take the conversation he’d started.
“Yes,” I smiled. “It’s exciting to be here. Mr…”
“Alfred Larson,” he introduced, offering his hand for a shake. I obliged, though reluctantly. “I’m a journalist with Staar News.”
“Of course. I’ve read many of your articles. Well, not yours in particular. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“No,” Larson chuckled. “My articles don’t always make it onto the front page of the site. I tend to be a bit aggressive. People don’t like my style.”
“How so, Mr. Larson?” I said, raising my chin.
Lyrah, as if interested in what was about to happen, stood beside me, hands gently folded in front of her.
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind me asking a few questions, perhaps you can judge on your own,” Larson said.
I nodded, smiling again like it was programmed into my face for awkward situations.
“I suppose my first question before we get to the juicy stuff is this. How are you liking the turnout for your event?”
“I like it very much. I haven’t had time to mingle, but by the looks of things, people seem to be engaging with the exhibit.”
“Yes, it would appear so. I heard from an anonymous source that the exhibit was primarily focused on Draak history when this project began. Why the change? Why add so much human history to the mix? Doesn’t it seem cluttered?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Mr. Valentyne wanted this exhibit to promote understanding. It was geared toward humans who questioned the Draak and their reasoning for things. It was also meant for younger Draak generations to understand their history. Adding humanity to the mix only explains the point further. We’re sharing this world. We should know each other as best we can. Perhaps act as if we’re here together and not living apart in the same world.”
“The Draak have abused the human race in the past. Do you think it’s wise to revisit that past by bringing relics and stories of those violent times into such a public display?”
“We might as well learn from a long history of mistakes.” I stared Larson right in his dull, brown eyes. “If we ignore them, we’re doomed to repeat them. And humans have never been innocent. Kings, warlords, and noblemen kept slaves and prizes throughout history. We’ve built entire civilizations on the backs of people we felt were lesser, but we celebrate that progress now. Why not accept the journey we’ve made with Draak?”
“So the Draak admit that they were wrong.”
“The Draak admit to nothing,” I said sternly. “They know the importance of resolving issues, though. I hope that we, as humans, can do the same. We’re not all blessed with immortality. As humans, we must learn faster. We have to fix things faster or we’ll die broken. This exhibit shows the beautiful side and the ugly side of both species because it all exists and we shouldn’t deny it. Honesty and trust is how problems are solved.”
“Well,” Larson smiled again, this time in a way that irritated me. “You’ll be getting much more time than most of us I expect.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re an Ashling now. Or did I get my facts wrong?”
I hesitated, quickly understanding Larson’s style now.
“My personal--”
