Page 88 of Stars in Umbra
She moved to the small dining nook in her kitchen and he sat beside her, bare to the waist, his torso bathed in sunlight, the glow of his glyphs kissing the ridges of his muscles.
He picked a croissant and held it to her lips.
‘Eat,’ he said.
She obeyed, biting down.
The pastry was flaky, buttery, and light. ‘Fokk,’ she moaned. ‘I’ve never had one this good.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he murmured, brushing a crumb from her mouth with his thumb, then licking it off.
They bantered between bites, sharing soft cheese and syrup-drenched fruit, discussing the morning’s news holo headlines, and sippingkahawaas if they’d done it a hundred instances before.
Then, as he handed her another tart, she paused, her smile fading.
‘I have a question.’
His brow furrowed as he drawled. ‘Naam?’
‘Last night, during, ' She hesitated. ‘You said a phrase a few times. In another language.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What did I say?’
‘Za ki zama tawa kuma uwar ‘ya’yana. I think I’ve got it right.’
She repeated it, testing the syllables.
Mo froze.
‘I said that?’ His timbre roughened.
‘Several times.’
‘What dialect is it?’ she asked.
He blinked, a tad confused. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You have no idea what you were saying, honey?’
‘Nada,’ he rasped. ‘Not consciously. It’s probably an old Iccythrian phrase. A dream fragment, something a lover says in the throes of passion.’
Rina tilted her head. ‘I want to know. Shall we try SableNet’s universal translator?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
She turned, cupping her mug. ‘SableNet,’ she called out. ‘What does the phrase ‘Za ki zama tawa kuma uwar ‘ya’yana’ mean, and what language is it?’
After a beat came a soft melodic ping, followed by a smooth, dulcet voice:
‘The vernacular is in High Sacran. It translates to: ‘You are mine, and you will be the mother of my children.’
Silence fell like a blade.
Rina’s fingers tightened around her cup, and her throat closed.
Mo sat back, his face darkening as the words settled between them.
‘I see,’ Rina murmured, her eyes locking onto his.
