Chapter 10

 

“You really need to eat something,” Tariq said.

Liora looked up to see him watching her from the other cushion. Thanks to the Cherum’s strange body composition, there wasn’t a kitchen or mess hall on the ship; instead, there were rooms upon rooms with only cushions on the floors. Dispensers on the walls emitted a sticky gruel that was only one flavor and reminded Liora very much of the orange liquid from the swamp of Verdan.

“I don’t know if I would call this edible,” Liora replied. She realized Tariq had finished his gruel. “You seem to like it.”

Tariq turned the cup over in his hands. He studied the interior as if he had never seen it before.

“I don’t remember if I liked it or not.”

Liora gave him a curious look. “You just ate it.”

Tariq nodded, his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the blue mug he held.

“Yes, but it didn’t matter to me whether I liked it. It was sustenance, so I ate it.”

He seemed bothered by his words. Liora tried to make light of it.

“Your body needed nourishment. Eventually, any of us will eat whatever’s available to get that.”

Tariq shook his head. “It’s different.” He paused, then said, “It’s all different.” He waved a hand, indicating the room in which they sat. “The walls could be covered in O’Tule’s paintings, and I wouldn’t care.”

“That wouldn’t bother her,” Liora began.

“But it bothers me,” Tariq replied. “I love O’Tule’s paintings.” He hesitated, then said, “Or, I loved them. I don’t think I’d give them a second thought anymore.”

Liora rose to her knees and studied him. “Tariq, it’s okay if you don’t care about the flavor of your food or paintings on the walls. You’re still Tariq.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Liora’s heart ached at his words. “What do you mean?”

Tariq took her hand. Liora had missed the simple gesture more than she thought. She felt herself leaning closer just to be near him.

He met her gaze, his eyes intent. “Liora, what makes you who you are is the drive in your heart, the way you never stop fighting, and the passion with which you free oppressed creatures around you.” He brought his free hand to her cheek, his gaze filled with tumultuous emotions. “The way each time you smile looks like the first, as though you’re ready to burst out laughing, but don’t know if you should.” He sat back. “You are alive with light and energy, with drive, and with the kind of fervor that makes you a leader even if you don’t try to be.”

His words brought a small smile to her lips. “Tariq, you’re the same way.”

He shook his head and withdrew his hands, leaving her skin cold where he had touched her.

“I was the same way,” he corrected quietly.

He looked at his hands. She knew them so well, the scars as well as the strength. They were hands that could crush skulls and shoot a gun with such accuracy she had never seen their match; yet he could also caress her skin with a touch so gentle it felt as though the wing of a Venus wisp traced her face. He would stitch together skin that had been ravaged by a Zamarian’s blades, and in the next moment remove shrapnel close enough to a crew member’s heart that any wrong move could end a life.

His hands closed into fists so tight the skin on his knuckles turned white, highlighting the scars.

“I only want to kill. I don’t care about taste or colors.”

His gaze begged her to understand. The desperation in his eyes ate at her.

“I don’t feel the way I used to.”

Liora took one of his hands in hers. He resisted, but when she pulled gently, he gave in. She opened his fingers softly. The fact that she had as many scars on her hands wasn’t lost on her.

Without a word, she turned his hand and placed it over her heart.

“Do you feel that?” she asked quietly. “My heart beats because of you.”

Tariq closed his eyes and, for a moment, silence settled around them. He opened his eyes again and she saw love amid the frustration in his gaze. She leaned closer and pressed her lips against his. He moved his hand to her neck, pulling her gently to him as he kissed her back.

“I love you, Tariq,” she whispered.

He let out a breath that was more of a sigh and leaned his forehead against hers. His eyes closed and he stilled. She could feel the tension easing out of him, but he still couldn’t say the words back to her. She pushed comfort at him.

“I’ll do anything it takes to help you get return to where you feel like yourself again,” she promised.

He nodded without opening his eyes.