“Many more,” he answers, his voice as quiet. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal to say so; the scales are tipped in Novus’ favor, with all his hopes lined up before him. Yet he can’t help but think of Florentine, and Gabriel (it still feels too strange to think of him as father, and the others still in those dark and dreaming lands of the Rift. By choice, he reminds himself, as he has a hundred times already.
And as he has before, he lets those thoughts gently go as Samaira withdraws enough to look him in the eye. Her own look to him like moonlight on water, though his gaze strays beyond them as she continues to speak. The words are a balm to him - but he will not know how much until days from now, when he has made other reunions that are not received with such grace. “No,” he agrees, “I would not have.” The horror at realizing how long it had been is still fresh enough to make him want to flinch; to keep from doing so he looks back to her, his gaze tracing the tattoos etched lightly on her cheek and neck, the petals bright against her dark hair.
His smile at her news is more grounded, his heart and thoughts less faraway. “Congratulations. They’re lucky to have you.” It doesn’t occur to him, yet, how strange it might be to say they instead of we when he speaks of Terrastella. “I do,” he says, and thinks of Alaunus, and of a woman who’d learned to fly again. Of joy, and how simple a thing it could be.
As she continues to speak, Asterion is silent. The wind pulls at their dark hair, fragrant with salt and lilies; her cheek is satin against her own. But the bay notices nothing outside her words, first curious, wondering, and then -
you are the thing my heart has always wanted for.
His own heart stumbles. For a moment he only breathes, watching the clouds drift overhead, his thoughts surprised to blankness; and then he withdraws, gaze level with her own, his smile faded to something serious. “Samaira, I - I had no idea.” He wants to ask, How could you know? How could you be sure? He wants to warn her, Not me, do not choose me - it only ever ends in ruin.
Maybe he should have left it at that, and let her hold onto her happiness. He does not want to be responsible for her sorrow. But Asterion cares too much to lie to her, or to pretend, and each beat of his heart still sounds like Moira.
“But I…I am in love with someone already. If she will still have me, after all this time.” He doesn’t expect the way his own heart bruises to say it.
@
hold me amongst all your cards;
