Chapter Fourteen: Sisterly Ties
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The next day—after Sanar, Veras and Krista (who joined in because it "looked fun") had vandalized the officer's home to their satisfaction—the group set out.
They travelled for a week through the lonely valley region. After six days, they came across a small town. Braun and Veras had managed to buy a kaxi, though the people's suspicious looks had discouraged it. With the pack animal carrying most of their supplies, the group made steady progress.
Not everyone was getting along, however. Veras was still angry with Tiran; Krista was overprotective about Miko, especially when Sanar was nearby; and Kyp and Sanar were being…themselves. Despite this, the real drama only began when they crossed into what Sanar called "summer country."
The landscape was beautiful—right by the ocean—even if the windy weather was not. Someone had built their massive stone home overlooking the water, their land spread out around them. Some of it had been farmed, while more penned livestock. Kept slightly distant from the estate was a small town.
"Great," Veras grunted. "Rich people."
"Bribed people," Sanar groused in agreement.
"Do you think they would miss some food?"
"It's rather unlikely."
"Well, then, let's take a short cut."
The two women retreated to the rest of their crew, and explained their route through the farm. If a few balked at theft, Sanar and Veras were sufficiently vengeful as to quiet the others' protests.
It was late afternoon when they reached the first field of in-season fruit. Miko watched somewhat uncertainly as Veras, Sanar, Tiran, Braun and Krista picked berries. When two food bags bulged with "the most delicious—and expensive—berries they'd ever eat," they pushed onward. Into the chilly evening they continued, picking some food, careful not to take so much that anyone would go hungry because the rich people did.
"My brothers would just die if they knew I had to steal to eat on this planet," Krista confided. She grinned at Miko. They had passed the others, who were being either love- or vengeance-struck, and thus annoying to those unaffected.
"Well, you shouldn't have to," Miko replied, a little absently.
"Oh, psh. My brothers still think I'm thirteen—what's teendom without a couple illegal acts?"
"It's one you spend alive," a voice snapped in rough Basic.
Instinctively Krista jumped in front of Miko, as if to protect him from the doom Sanar had foretold. She cursed herself for not noticing that they had been discovered.
The stranger was of dark colouring, though that may have been because of the encroaching night. His face looked as if it had been hacked into something resembling features with a hatchet. Remembering Veras and Sanar's orders to behave submissively when there were witnesses, she checked to see if the man was alone. She saw no one, and her hand went to the blaster at her hip.
"Kris, don't," Miko whispered against her cheek. "Let me handle—"
She ignored him. "Who are you?" she demanded of the stranger.
The stranger scrutinized her briefly before telling Miko, "Keep your woman silent, thief."
Krista's eyes blazed, but she—barely—kept her temper in check. Time to play the blonde air-head, she ordered herself.
"I will give you no names," Miko said, in cold tones. Despite being caught in the act of thievery, he remained calm; only the smouldering of his eyes hinted at the Darkness he still wrestled with.
Before the stranger could reply, two things happened. First, the rest of Miko and Krista's group caught up with them. Sanar and Kyp pushed to the forefront immediately. Secondly, a pale, fair young woman ran to the field's owner. Not looking at the others, she quickly asked him something in a foreign tongue.
Sanar stumbled and nearly fell; she did not even look at Kyp when the Sanar-struck Kavishka caught her. Half-formed sounds escaped her mouth. "C—Cl—"
The fair-haired woman stopped, then turned slowly. Her skin became even whiter than normal.
It was a long moment before the fair woman said, "Sanar?"
Krista and Miko remained tense for a fight; they had known Sanar too long to think that people she knew were trustworthy even half the time. Miko pulled the blonde back to his side. She allowed it, though probably only because she wasn't paying attention to him.
"Clayra?" Sanar almost whimpered.
The fair woman, Clayra, gave a nod and a half-sob. Before anyone could make a connection, the two women were embracing and crying.
"Clayra," Kyp said in sudden recognition. When the others looked at him, the Jedi Master smiled. "Sanar's sister. By blood," he clarified. His eyes had lit up at witnessing his beloved's joy.
"Well," Braun said, "I think we'll be staying here for the night. Gantik, I'd get back to your home for a bit."
The dark-haired stranger had not taken his eyes off Sanar since Clayra had recognized her. Now, he nodded. "Uh—of—of course—I—" He turned away abruptly and left.
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"So Nichyn's safe?" Clayra asked for perhaps the thousandth time. "You're sure?"
Again, Sanar nodded and said, "I'm positive. He's being fostered by friends of Jaina's friend."
"Y—you trust this Jana? And her friend?" Clayra pressed. She couldn't seem to stop moving, even though she was sitting down in her own, safe home, far away from any real priest, and with Gantik nearby to protect her. She should have been able to relax, but she couldn't. Her fingers drummed on the ciinz table, or sometimes came up to comb her gossamer hair. She shifted constantly, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. Part of her wanted to run into Sanar's arms again; another part wanted to hit and scream at her sister.
"I trust Jaina with my life," Sanar reassured her sister. She looked almost as surprised to say it as Clayra was to hear it.
"With your life?" Clayra asked sceptically.
"Even with yours," the older woman replied firmly. "In every way except blood, Jaina…she's my sister."
She laughed suddenly. "Larifx, it's still so bizarre to say that…. I hated Jaina when I first met her. A big part at the beginning was the situation, but she was such a—a hero. We drove each other nuts."
"No room for two heroes?" Clayra said with a bit of fondness. The desire to scream receded a little.
"I'm not a hero," Sanar replied. The old guards closed her eyes, and Clayra nearly hit her right there and then.
Getting back to her younger sister's concerns, the dark-haired woman said, "I promise Nichyn will be safe. The mom is a Jedi Knight—she knows a friend of Jaina's."
"If I lose him…" Clayra moved to sit on her legs, and brought her fist to her mouth. She loved Nichyn more than anything, even Gantik; Clayra wouldn't survive her son's death.
"You won't. Not if anything can be done."
"This Jana is your sister?" Clayra asked, quickly changing the subject. She didn't want to talk about her inability to protect her own son.
"Jaina. And I said she was."
Do you want me to trust you or hate you? Clayra wondered. Sanar had always insisted that she would look out for Clayra. In the same breath, however, she had usually lambasted herself. And then she had left, and the only hypocrisy Clayra saw was in those who did not have her best interests at heart.
"And you trust her."
"I'm afraid so."
Is your Jaina so much better than I? Do you tell her everything? "Do you look out for her?" Clayra would understand that—Sanar looked out for a lot of people she didn't really confide in. Clayra wouldn't mind Miss Solo, if that was the situation.
"I try." The dark-haired woman snorted. "Jaina doesn't really need me. When she gets in trouble—which happens a lot—she's got plenty of people who'll get her out. She isn't like me." The last part was added under her breath.
"Oh." Clayra's legs were cramping, so she rolled off them to sit normally.
Sanar watched her carefully, and Clayra bit her lip. There was something so…different about her older sister. Many things had changed, in fact. She couldn't pin them all, though; Clayra decided to ask Gantik later. He would know—he always knew everything. And when it came to Sanar, her husband usually knew too much.
"Veras told me you joined the Resistance," Sanar said after an uncomfortable silence.
"Yes, I did." Clayra had a feeling she knew where this was going. But at least this part hasn't changed, whispered the part of her that wanted Sanar to make everything better and safe.
"Clayra, it's really dangerous." Sanar reached out to take her pale sister's hands.
"I know it is," she replied calmly. "I've been a part of it for several years now."
Sanar's expression became pained. "How long?"
"Not long after you—" abandoned me "—left, they gave me what aid they could. I have not stopped helping them since."
"Oh, gods, Clayra—"
"You were a part of it," the younger one retorted. "Far earlier than I, and much more actively, as well. I—I pass along information, and help make plans—that's all."
"I know people—Larifx, a gender that would not see it as a small thing, Clayra Klis."
"Not all men are like that. You travel with some; I do not know them, but don't tell me you don't trust them."
"I don't. I barely know Braun, Tiran and Miko. I trust their devotion to their loved ones, but that's it."
"And the dark-haired man? The one who stayed so close to you?" Sanar had, curiously, declined introducing that one. Clayra wondered about him, and hoped he was Sanar's lover. Maybe then Sanar would stay away from Gantik.
So close to…? Sanar frowned. Did Clayra mean Durron? "He does not stay 'close to me.' So don't get all mooney-eyed on me. He's Durron for stars' sake."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Clayra shrugged it off. "So you don't trust him?"
"I trust him to do what he's supposed to, and then leave so I can be free of him."
Sanar paused, then warily considered her sister. "Who are you defending?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're saying all this stuff because of one specific guy, aren't you?" Sanar's lips tightened. "Who did the priests arrange for you to marry?"
Clayra hesitated. Gantik and Sanar had been relatively close, once—even now Gantik cared greatly for Clayra's passionate sister. She had seen the reminiscing looks on his face, had noticed when he thought, What if I could have saved Sanar instead? Clayra loved her husband, but she knew he did not return the depth of her feelings.
Yet Gantik had not made a point of reuniting with Sanar… Out of respect for Clayra, he had to wait—but not this long. He could have intercepted the little maid who brought the sweet lachi drink Sanar loved but had never had under Horaire's roof. Then Gantik could have sat next to Sanar, and told her how much he had missed her. And Sanar would say something dismissive, but her eyes would say, I missed you, too. These past years have been so hard without you.
And Clayra would never have Gantik.
"Who do you speak for?"
"Gantik Whilem," Clayra finally said. She should have watched Sanar's expression for some hint of jealousy or betrayal, but she couldn't.
"Gantik."
There was something dangerous about the way Sanar said the name. Clayra wondered if Sanar was angry because Gantik had cheated on her (had Clayra's sister and husband been lovers?) or because Clayra had married him.
"You married Gantik?"
"Yes." Bravely, Clayra raised her eyes.
To her credit, the only signs of Sanar's fury were in her eyes and the unbearable tension in her body. But Sanar had never been angry with Clayra before, that the younger woman knew of, and it was…painful.
I need to talk to Gan— Panic-stricken, she realized that this wasn't one of the many things her husband would help her with. In fact, he'd probably drop Clayra and their marriage in favour of regaining Sanar.
"I'm afraid you're soon going to be a widow again, little sister."
"I realize you and Gantik have a…past…" Clayra swallowed hard. "But Gantik cares about me, and—and I do, too."
Sanar swore under her breath as she stood. "I am going to…" The dark-haired woman turned away, anger radiating from her in waves.
"Want to tell me," she said through clenched teeth, "how you ended up with him?"
He said you would die if anything happened to me. Clayra didn't tell Sanar that, though. "After you left, the priests didn't know what to do with me. They thought maybe I was a threat."
Sanar froze. She didn't even breathe.
"Gantik had been visiting more often, but I didn't think much of it. I thought he was…I don't know…there on his father's business, maybe. You…know about his father, right?" Say you don't. Say Gantik didn't love you, didn't trust you, enough.
But Sanar turned around and nodded. "Of course," she said. As if everyone knew that Gantik's father was the unacknowledged half-brother of Rafintair and Gaffil Jir. As if he did not tell anyone everything before he told them that his family was closely connected to that of NLY's emperor. As if she had known from the beginning, though Clayra had found out only by mistake and through marriage. As if Gantik had wanted to share his darkest secret with Clayra's sister, his lover. For a very real moment, Clayra hated Sanar.
"As Chief Executioner, Gru'loq didn't have a lot of time for dealing with the priests. Gantik, as Gru'loq's eldest son, has become increasingly important in the priests' eyes. Some even wanted Gantik to take Horaire's position as High Priest, after you killed the monster. The priests were…courting Gantik, almost. Gantik dropped some hints, and they soon sent me to his home. I don't think they expected him to marry me or adopt my son, but he did. These past years, he has kept me safe."
"Does he use you as his lover, in exchange for your safety?" Sanar asked tightly.
"He does not use me." Clayra glared at her sister. "I love him, and I wish to be a good wife." Even more than I wish to be a good sister, she added silently.
Sanar's hands curled into angry fists. "He's no good for you."
"That is only your opinion, and not an objective one, by any means!"
"Oh, is that what he said? That I'm blinded to the whole picture? I know Gantik, sweet sister. He is nowhere near good enough for you. He's—"
Clayra stood, her face stormy. "It is wonderful to see you again, Sanar, but I will not stand for your slander of Gantik's character and value. I don't care if you're jealous—"
"Jealous?" Sanar sputtered incredulously. "You have no idea how not jealous I am!"
"You are in my home, and you will respect my husband. If you cannot silence your insults, then I will show you to your room for the night. You may curse the wall, for all I care."
Sanar's body remained rigid with rage. "If you could be so kind, then, Whilem's girl?"
Clayra flinched at the polite version of her title. Her marriage to Gantik must have really angered Sanar for her older sister to speak this way to her. Privately, Clayra hoped Sanar's anger would keep her from reconciling with Gantik. "Of course," she said quietly. The argument had been batted aside for the time; Clayra took no comfort in the fact that, had she been anyone else—perhaps Jaina Solo—Sanar would not have let her win. Instead, she would have clawed and snarled until she claimed victory.
But not with Clayra, who was too precious and fragile to be exposed to her own sister.
Clayra showed Sanar to the guest room furthest from Gantik's room, and then left for her own.
She did not expect Gantik to visit or call for her this night.
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Sanar waited for several minutes after Clayra locked the door behind her. When she was certain her sister had left, the dark-haired woman picked the lock. Her mind on the proof of Gantik's hatred for her, she nonetheless wondered why Clayra had locked Sanar's room from the outside. What, did she think Sanar would murder Gantik in his sleep?
Death would be too good for that warftha. Anyway, Sanar would deal with him tomorrow when he was awake for it. Perhaps she'd get Durron to try out the Sildar on the son-of-a-Sith. After Sanar did some serious damage, of course.
Until then, she had to find the others. Clayra had set up a dinner for them; not long after, everyone but Sanar had retired to their guest rooms. At the time, Sanar had appreciated the others' understanding departure, as it gave her privacy to catch up with her sister. Now, she wished that at least one of them had been less polite.
Her socked feet made no sound on the expensively rug-covered floor, and the dim lighting in the hallways made her squint. Although it was decorated tastefully and Sanar had yet to see any Pucijir paraphernalia, the dark-haired woman couldn't understand how Clayra could call the mansion home.
No doubt, Clayra's memories of home, where warmth and love permeated every nook and cranny, were vague. She had been only six when their father had been taken away. Clayra's childhood recollections would not do justice to her family's good times.
But that such a lack could drive her to love Gantik of all people… And the idea that Sanar was jealous of Clayra's marriage to that warftha! What kind of lies had Gantik been feeding her sister? After dealing with him, Sanar would need to have a long talk with Clayra.
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Niftyax. The insult was on the tip of his tongue, and he only just held it back.
He knew he should have stayed in his room. He should have called Clayra to his room to talk to her, both to discover Sanar's reaction to his marriage, and to reassure the girl. Sanar would not want to see him, despite his careful protection of her precious younger sister.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed. When he tried to reach out and comfort her, she shoved him away. There wasn't enough force in her movement to hurt him, but he stepped back as if there had been. "Don't even come near me again!"
"Sanar, please, gods—" His heart clenched, and he couldn't breathe. "Sanar, I'm so—"
"I hate you," she spat. The tears tumbled from her eyes, furious and betrayed. "I hate you! You are just—like—him. But worse, even worse—you weren't supposed to be, Gantik. You—" Her chest heaved as she tried to say something. "I will never forgive you." She clutched her tattered robe to her tightly. With one last, tumultuous look, she spun away and out of his life.
Those were her last freely given words to him. Her own way of killing him. He'd give Sanar this: she knew how to torture a man.
"Niftyax," he whispered. In its own way, the word was praise—worship, even; she was everything Pucijir's Order despised and had tried to defile.
He almost hadn't believed it when his father informed him that Sanar had (finally) killed High Priest Horaire. Gantik had done what he could to help her afterwards—he had suggested that making a big deal out of the murder would give her too much glory. Because of his words, her death was supposed to be quick. When Lord Onyx had intervened and halted her stoning, Gantik had lent support and reminded the others of the Empire's strength.
When Sanar had been cornered into leaving, Gantik had cast his eye to her younger sister. He had not interacted with her much beforehand. Sanar guarded Clayra far more closely than she did herself. He had not seen the girl as particularly impressing. Sanar adored her, but that was as much as for being her last family member as anything. He had fallen in love and lust with Sanar for her pride, mystery and scalding passion. Clayra had none of these things. Everything in her contrasted with Sanar, even looks. Tall, thin and ethereal, Clayra was barely there; dark, curvaceous and tiny, Sanar pulled everything—pain, love, hatred—right to her.
Yet Gantik had married the barely-there sister, because marriage to him would protect her. He had once asked Sanar to let him do that for her, but she had flared at him about impertinence. He had simply arranged his marriage to Clayra; she had been almost unbearably grateful. And, apparently, the poor girl had fallen in love with him.
Which, no doubt, would end in "poor Gantik" when Sanar found out and killed him. Especially if (when) she found out that Gantik had never even entertained the idea of feeling the same way.
"Kriff it, Whilem, your monstrosity is a maze. Where the Larifx are my friends?"
He jumped. From his spot in the shadows, he had hoped she wouldn't see him. "Sanar." His voice might have shaken just a little.
"Tonight's your lucky night, Whilem." Sanar stomped over to his hiding place. The expression on her face was predatory. "I'm going to put off killing you until tomorrow."
"Comforting," he said dryly.
"For you? It's twelve extra hours of life." Her eyes narrowed. "Now where are my friends?"
"This way," he instructed her after a moment. His lips were pulled tight. "They're in the east wing." As he led her through the house's maze, he asked, "Why are you down this way, anyway? These are the servants' quarters."
Her gaze, irritated, flicked over him for a minute as she strode next to him. "If it's so out of the way, what are you doing here? Late night 'orders' for the maids?"
He gave her a hard look. "Don't be crude, Sanar."
"Sorry," she lied caustically. "You live in the gutters; I assumed you liked it with the filth."
"I see your tongue has lost none of its edge. You still brandish it as if going into battle."
"Into battle? No, nothing so grand—just, eventually, your humiliation, which won't take much. A mirror ought to do."
"So hard to an old friend? Really, Sanar."
"You married and bedded my sister, Gantik." Sanar's face was dark, even considering the candle-lit hallway. "That's sick, even for you. Using Clayra for revenge?"
"Get over yourself, Sanar." He didn't mean to love her name. "You barely factored into the decision. Clayra needed to marry before the priests killed her in your place. She lives a good life with me."
"To the son of the Chief Executioner—and, when your father dies, to the Jirs' favourite murderer. To a man who knows nothing of love."
"By Pucijir!" he spat. "Be silent, or I will—" His voice cut off as he realized what he had said, and what it had meant to her.
Sanar gave him an icy, disdainful look. "Oh, you have changed, indeed," she derided sarcastically. "Now that you are exposed, what will you do? Beat me?" She laughed mockingly. I'd like to see you try, little boy."
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've spent so much time pretending to be one of them, I've picked up some of their curses."
"Just a few swear words? I don't think that's all you picked up, warftha."
"You provoked me! I never would have said that to Clayra in private!"
"Just like a boy—blame a woman when you do something wrong. Bet it grates on you," she sneered, "seeing me walk around unbroken. Given half a chance, what would you do to me?"
Break you. Of course he would want to. She had teased and played, and then slapped him away when he fell for her. The power could fill him up as he knew that he had succeeded where the others had failed, and he could make her love him for it….
"Part of me might crave it," he said slowly, taking his life into his own hands. "But I would never do it."
"Of course not. I wouldn't let you."
He smiled grimly. "I knew you once, Sanar Klis. I could do it."
"Not before I killed you."
He shrugged, and let her think what she would.
He slowed to a halt. "Your…friends…are down this corridor," he said after a few minutes. "The first two doors on both sides, and the third on the left."
"Great. Any reason my room is completely on the other side of your monstrosity?"
"Perhaps Clayra thought she had roomed you next to your companions; we do not usually live here." He scowled a little; Clayra's real reason was abominably clear to him. When would the girl learn not to love him?
"Maybe," Sanar muttered, as if she thought Gantik was just shuffling the blame on her "innocent" sister.
"Well, I wish you nightmares," she told him sweetly as she followed his directions. "Or at least a sleepless night. It'll be your last."
"Wait—" Had he said that out loud?"
"What, Gantik?" She turned around with her hands on her hips.
Apparently, he had. "I—" love you. "That is, I…" hate you. "I do care about Clayra and Nichyn, Sanar." He met her eyes squarely. "Not for her the way she wants me to, but… I will not let her come to harm."
He waited for a reaction, but received none. "I just want you to know that."
Sanar's lips tightened, and she walked away. Without faltering, she took the second door on the left—the room Gantik had prepared for the unmarried raven-haired man.
She left Gantik alone.
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Kyp looked up in surprise (and carefully hidden pleasure) when Sanar entered his room. It was late, but he had expected her to talk with Clayra far longer than this. "Sanar. Hey."
"I was thinking…" she started off right away. "Well, apparently we're a year or so early, so we don't need to move as quickly. To meet Prophecy, I mean."
"You want to stay here longer."
"Just an extra day or two," she hurried to assure him. "There'll be lots of time to be with Clayra, after. I just…" She trailed off.
"Of course," he said. "That goes without saying.
"Clayra doesn't want to come?" he asked casually.
Sanar glared at him. "What we're doing is dangerous. Clayra will never have to look at Rafintair or Gaffil—both of whom we'll have to deal with if they don't kill us first—not if I have anything to say about it."
"What's so awful about seeing them?" At her aghast expression, he explained. "It is what they do that makes them monsters, and Clayra must know about some of it."
Sanar shivered and sat down on the bed. "I've seen them. They visited Horaire sometimes. I'd glimpse one or the other or both walking through the halls. Sometimes, when he thought I needed to be reminded of 'what I was', he…" The woman shuddered.
She straightened a little. "There's a myth about the Jir men: that they bargained with Pucijir. As long as they uphold His dominion, they are under His protection."
"Do you believe that?"
"Mujir's Resistance sent out assassins a few times. Rafintair and Gaffil's invincibility was well established, and the Resistance fighters screamed for death. They're probably still alive, but…their souls are dead. The Jirs just won't let them go."
"So we're killing the unkillable?"
"Well, you and the Sildar are. The rest of us are just kind of…along for the ride. Make sure you don't do it all wrong."
"You haven't given up on being an important player in this, have you?" Kyp asked. He doubted Prophecy would let her surrender her part, whatever it may be, but he hoped he was wrong. The whole business seemed…shady.
"No, I just… I'll figure it out eventually. Until then, I'm going to avoid Krista and Miko."
She looked down. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. We're staying, and I'll deal with Gantik."
"Clayra's husband Gantik?" Kyp frowned. "What did he do?"
"He stabbed me in the back, then married my sister."
Kyp's expression turned grave. "What did he do exactly?"
"What do you care?"
"Just deal with the fact that I care. What did he do to you?"
"Nothing I shouldn't have seen coming."
"Sanar…"
She huffed impatiently. "He kept saying he was my friend, and got me to start half-trust him, and then he…proved he's just like them."
"Meaning?" With Sanar, that could translate into something as genuine as a too-flowery declaration of love, or as unspeakable as…anything.
Sanar gave him a look.
Kyp didn't quite manage to keep the fury off his face. "I am going to—"
"Oh, please."
"Damnit, Sanar, I will. He'll be begging for death on the Sildar when I'm done with him. And he better sithing well hope he never meets Jaina, or I'll look like his kindly old grandmother."
"Did I ask for your help?" she demanded. "No…I didn't. I will deal with him. I happen to know a great deal more about inflicting pain without going Dark than you do. The last thing we need is some hero-wannabe frying the chief executioner's son with Force lightning.
"I'll handle this," she repeated.
"Were you in love with him?" Kyp asked in a surly tone. "Is that why you're protecting him?"
"Why do people keep assuming I want Gantik?" the dark-haired woman demanded angrily. "You, Clayra, Gantik, Horaire… I barely even wanted a friend, let alone a lover!"
"So you two were never even close to…"
"Mujir, no! I can't even—"
"You said you never even wanted a lover; does that mean you've never been in love?" Despite himself, Kyp's mood brightened a little. His love for Sanar was hopeless enough without adding competition.
"I never said that. I've been in love—I am in love."
Kyp stumbled back a step as if he had been punched in the gut. "What? Wh—who? When?" His mind raced—had Sanar ever seemed particularly happy in someone's presence? Why hadn't Jaina warned him?"
"I've known him for a long time." Although confused and a little insulted by his horrified reaction, Sanar found herself enjoying it. The victory, of his inability to think straight and be unaffected, was marred only by a small, perplexing flicker of concern on her part.
"What—what's his…his name?"
"It doesn't matter. He loves me as much as I love him."
"Of course he does," Kyp muttered distantly. He looked ready to collapse.
Sanar bristled at the perceived sarcasm. "Is it so unbelievable that someone loves me? Am I that monstrous? That unlovable?"
The Kavishka finally regained some of his wits in the face of her anger. "No, of course not. Of course not."
"I've done a lot of bad stuff in my life, but I never acted out of needless aggression. I'm not a monster."
"I never thought you were. Sanar—"
"What, just because I get mad at you a lot, you think it's unbelievable that I can love someone?"
"That is not what I said, kriff it!"
"Well, I do. I can. I am. I love him, and I don't care what you think!"
Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the room with her head held high.
Three minutes later, she ran back in. "I still don't care. At all. But I don't know how to get back to my room, so where is Krista sleeping?"
He considered both pissing her off and pursuing their argument, but he thought better of it. For once. "First door on the left."
"Great. Thanks." She stomped back out.
Three seconds later, she was back again. Kyp raised an eyebrow.
"Not thank you. Jerk."
As soon as the door shut for the third time, Kyp laughed.