Page 43 of Unfinished

“So, what’s the verdict?” Sienna asked.

“The what?”

“Your assessment. Humans, yes or no?” She grinned when Faseeth’s feathers rose and fell. She thought she was getting the hang of reading their reactions better. This feather lift seemed to say, “really, Sienna?”

“I’m Xithilene. I think we’re genetically predisposed to like humans. You fascinate us, you know.” He grinned, a bit of fang peeking out over his lower lip. “I’m not planning on signing up for the Mate Portal any time soon, but I’m glad to have met you. Still, I’m still surprised High Priest R’kash chose to participate in the program.”

Sienna glanced over at Veesha again, making sure the little girl was still close enough to where she and Faseeth were standing. “Why? What’s surprising about it?” she asked.

“He just doesn’t seem the type. He’s always so serious, even around Veesha, although occasionally I’ve seen him smile. I just never pictured him composing daily love messages after the morning blessings, but apparently I was wrong. He certainly seems enraptured with you.”

The last of the poor blue flower’s petals fluttered to the ground, falling from Faseeth’s fingers.

“What are those flowers called?”

“V’tushli.”

Mother’s tears, her translator supplied, seemingly directly into her mind. Sienna didn’t think she’d ever get used to that.

“You never answered me before. Is it okay to pick some?” Sienna leaned over to grab one of the coarse stems.

“Don’t pull it out of the ground! You’ll kill it.”

She glanced up, sighing at Faseeth’s shocked expression. “I wasn’t planning on it. Do you have something we can use to cut the stem? I don’t think I can break it without scissors or a knife.”

Faseeth gave her a narrow-eyed stare before he reached back behind his hip and spun a small knife with his fingers. He brought the dancing blade to a halt. “Show me which ones you want.”

Sienna released the stem in her hand and pointed to it. Rustling grasses signaled Veesha’s return, along with her high-pitched humming. The little girl liked to sing, she’d learned throughout the morning. Sienna smiled at her as Veesha’s wing nudged her leg.

“Faseeth told mev’tushliare your favorite. Is that true?”

She received another rustle of soft feathers against her thigh and a big-eyed gaze in return.

“Yes,” said Veesha cautiously.

“They’re very pretty. I like them, too. They remind me of a plant from back home called chicory, except yours have a lot more petals and much bigger flowers. Can I have one of the blossoms with just a little bit of stem?” she asked Faseeth.

He sliced off a small spray with about two inches of stem attached and handed it to her.

“Thanks. Here, Veesha,” she said, getting down on one knee so she was at the right height. “Sometimes back home women and girls wear flowers behind their ears. Would you like to? Like this,” she added, holding it up against her ear.

“Pretty,” Veesha whispered, reaching out to brush a small finger over one of the flowers.

“Yes, they are. Do you want to wear it?”

Veesha looked down and then up again. “Yes,” she said, before a sudden smile transformed her face.

Sienna grinned back and carefully slid the stem behind her slightly pointed ear. Veesha didn’t have a single piercing, unlike all the Xithilene men she’d seen so far who seemed to be in competition to see who could simultaneously fit the most gold on one earlobe. She lifted her hand and felt her earring, wondering whether women here didn’t pierce their ears, they simply waited until they were older, or whether it’d been an oversight. R’kash had told her, written to her, at least, that Veesha’s mother had neglected to give her a birth chain when she should’ve.

She smiled brighter and adjusted the spray slightly. “Perfect. You look as pretty as the flowers.”

“Yes, she does.”

Sienna froze for an instant before she tilted her head back. R’kash stood right behind them looking deliciously dignified in his long robes and a pair of loose, red trousers, his gold belt settled low over his hips.

“Hello,k’vasha.” He stepped forward, and then he knelt down beside her, opening his arms to Veesha. Then he turned his head and lowered it slightly, bowing to her as he spoke again in the low, rumbly voice she was beginning to crave. “K’lallsa.”

Fluttery tingles seemed to dance up her throat, making it hard to reply. He’d said that word earlier in bed when he’d still been half asleep, and she hadn’t put too much importance on it, even though she’d loved hearing it. Now, though, he’d chosen to use the endearment—beloved, mate.

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