“One wonders what you could do with them.”
Roca flushed, remembering her fantasies about his hand. She disengaged her grip, feigning a coolness far different from what she felt. “Does one, now?”
“One does indeed.” He led her over to a more private niche in the wall. “Surely we could learn—what is the word? Brad told me once.” He paused. “Ah. I know. Anatomy. You must teach me your anatomy.”
“Diplomacy.”
“You have diplomatic anatomy?”
She barely managed to hold back her laugh. “I come here for diplomacy. Not anatomy.”
“You break my heart, beautiful lady.”
She slanted him a dry look. “Your heart is as strong as big, sturdy lyrine.”
Eldri grinned, his grief seeming to ease, at least for this moment. He set her against one wall, in a carved archway that went nowhere. “Will you not give me a single kiss?”
“No.”
He wasn’t the least deterred. “You are an ice queen beyond compare, Roca. A matchless woman.” He put his hand against the wall behind her, his palm near her head. “Can no man melt your heart?”
Roca couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, Eldri, stop.” She ducked under his arm.
“Come back,” he protested. By the time he turned around, she had moved several paces away.
“We agreed,” she said. “We do business here. No personal.”
“I remember you saying this.” His lips quirked. “I don’t remember agreeing to it.”
“You must behave.”
Eldri sighed. “Very well.” He approached her with more decorum. “Shall we have a conversation?”
Roca could tell he was hiding his sorrow behind bantering. She gentled her voice. “I wondered what call you this world.”
He said a beautiful word, his voice chiming. Roca thought he must have incredible vocal cords, to create such melodic sounds. It happened when he spoke English, too, but much less so, perhaps because the phonetics didn’t lend themselves as well to the music.
“Is a lovely word,” Roca said. “Can you say again?”
“Lyshriol.”
“Lyshriol.” It sounded so dull and pedestrian on her lips.
Eldri smiled. “Something like that.”
“So you not call this place Skyfall?”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Brad’s friends at Starlane Resorts call it that.”
“Is wrong?”
“Not exactly.” He paused. “It is hard to translate Lyshriol. It means something like ‘the clouds have come to the ground.’ ”
Roca had to admit it was a clever interpretation by the resort planners. Skyfall resembled Eldri’s translation, but at the same time it would have meaning to people from Earth, where the sky was the color of the clouds here. “Does it bother you that they say Skyfall?”
“What they say matters little.”
“But when the others come, will not this bother you?”
“Others?”
“The people who want to build here.”
“You talk in puzzles.” When she started to answer, he shook his head. “Let us enjoy this night. Tomorrow is so soon.”
Roca let it go. His sorrow had come closer to the surface of his mind, clear now despite her barriers. She wondered if she and Eldri could ever fully shield their thoughts from each other. The compatibility that linked them went further than desire or fascination. If only she had more time to know him. If only she wasn’t supposed to wed Dayj Majda. If only.
Roca realized then that she felt more than Eldri’s grief. Another anguish went deeper in him, the suppressed pain he had revealed in the plains when he had spoken with such vehemence: No! I am not different! He wanted to enjoy tonight, not because tomorrow would come too soon—but because he feared it would never come at all. It startled her that someone so alive and vibrant could feel such despair. He guarded that part of himself so tightly, she doubted she could pick up the reason for his dread even if she dropped her barriers all the way.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
The dining hall made Roca’s breath catch. Hundreds of white and green
Roca flushed, remembering her fantasies about his hand. She disengaged her grip, feigning a coolness far different from what she felt. “Does one, now?”
“One does indeed.” He led her over to a more private niche in the wall. “Surely we could learn—what is the word? Brad told me once.” He paused. “Ah. I know. Anatomy. You must teach me your anatomy.”
“Diplomacy.”
“You have diplomatic anatomy?”
She barely managed to hold back her laugh. “I come here for diplomacy. Not anatomy.”
“You break my heart, beautiful lady.”
She slanted him a dry look. “Your heart is as strong as big, sturdy lyrine.”
Eldri grinned, his grief seeming to ease, at least for this moment. He set her against one wall, in a carved archway that went nowhere. “Will you not give me a single kiss?”
“No.”
He wasn’t the least deterred. “You are an ice queen beyond compare, Roca. A matchless woman.” He put his hand against the wall behind her, his palm near her head. “Can no man melt your heart?”
Roca couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, Eldri, stop.” She ducked under his arm.
“Come back,” he protested. By the time he turned around, she had moved several paces away.
“We agreed,” she said. “We do business here. No personal.”
“I remember you saying this.” His lips quirked. “I don’t remember agreeing to it.”
“You must behave.”
Eldri sighed. “Very well.” He approached her with more decorum. “Shall we have a conversation?”
Roca could tell he was hiding his sorrow behind bantering. She gentled her voice. “I wondered what call you this world.”
He said a beautiful word, his voice chiming. Roca thought he must have incredible vocal cords, to create such melodic sounds. It happened when he spoke English, too, but much less so, perhaps because the phonetics didn’t lend themselves as well to the music.
“Is a lovely word,” Roca said. “Can you say again?”
“Lyshriol.”
“Lyshriol.” It sounded so dull and pedestrian on her lips.
Eldri smiled. “Something like that.”
“So you not call this place Skyfall?”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Brad’s friends at Starlane Resorts call it that.”
“Is wrong?”
“Not exactly.” He paused. “It is hard to translate Lyshriol. It means something like ‘the clouds have come to the ground.’ ”
Roca had to admit it was a clever interpretation by the resort planners. Skyfall resembled Eldri’s translation, but at the same time it would have meaning to people from Earth, where the sky was the color of the clouds here. “Does it bother you that they say Skyfall?”
“What they say matters little.”
“But when the others come, will not this bother you?”
“Others?”
“The people who want to build here.”
“You talk in puzzles.” When she started to answer, he shook his head. “Let us enjoy this night. Tomorrow is so soon.”
Roca let it go. His sorrow had come closer to the surface of his mind, clear now despite her barriers. She wondered if she and Eldri could ever fully shield their thoughts from each other. The compatibility that linked them went further than desire or fascination. If only she had more time to know him. If only she wasn’t supposed to wed Dayj Majda. If only.
Roca realized then that she felt more than Eldri’s grief. Another anguish went deeper in him, the suppressed pain he had revealed in the plains when he had spoken with such vehemence: No! I am not different! He wanted to enjoy tonight, not because tomorrow would come too soon—but because he feared it would never come at all. It startled her that someone so alive and vibrant could feel such despair. He guarded that part of himself so tightly, she doubted she could pick up the reason for his dread even if she dropped her barriers all the way.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
The dining hall made Roca’s breath catch. Hundreds of white and green
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