Page 44 of Shadows of Stardust

I’ve barely made it three steps when all conversation dies.

I doubt anyone is even stillchewingwith how heavy the silence is, the only sound the whir of cams that reposition themselves on their new victim.

But I’m not their only target.

Across the pavilion, a trio of cams find Rhevar, a flash of surprise breaking across the Vas-Greshiran’s face as he realizes he’s been thrust into the spotlight. He recovers quickly, smiling as he leans in to say something to the female he’s dining with before standing and striding toward me.

Instinctively, I assemble a plan of attack. Cataloging his height, his breadth, the cut of his muscles and the cadence of his gait, anything that might give me an advantage if it comes to physical combat.

It takes me an embarrassing few seconds to tamp down that instinct—precious time I might have used to prepare something to say, something to do, made some strategy for how I’m going to handle this.

I should have seen this coming. Of course production would want to play this moment up.

Roslyn’s jilted suitor, coming to confront the male who stole her away.

Her new paramour, ready to defend her honor.

Fates, this trite garbage writes itself.

Rhevar, though, doesn’t appear as if he’s about to commit murder or assault as he approaches. Smile still firmly in place, posture relaxed, he stops just before he reaches me and holds out a hand.

Warily, I take it, clasping his forearm as he clasps mine. A common greeting. A warrior’s acknowledgment.

Nevermind that we’re both wearing asinine beach attire instead of tactical gear that may hide a weapon.

“So, the rumors are true,” Rhevar says wryly.

“Rumors?”

Who knows what’s been going around? Who knows how many of the contestants already suspect Roslyn and I aren’t what we seem, given how poorly things are already—

“That you’d joined the cast,” he explains. “A few of the contestants saw the two of you leaving Marva’s office last night.”

“Ah,” I say, unintelligently.

I don’t usually do a lot of speaking on missions. I don’t do a lot of speaking in general. And here, now, with the number of unknowns to face and no partner to back me up, dredgingthrough the tangled mess of my thoughts for more than a couple of syllables is a losing battle.

“I also wanted to come over and clear the air.”

“Clear what from the air?” I ask.

“Everything that happened with me and Roslyn.”

“If any air needs clearing, it’s between you and her.”

Rhevar nods, looking contrite. I catch sight of the camera just behind and to the right of him, hear a similar drone over my own left shoulder, and try to school my features into neutrality.

How do I play this conversation?

Rage at the male who dared touch ‘my’ human and score a few points for bluster and drama’s sake? Be the bigger male and accept whatever amends he’s trying to make?

Fates above, I’d take a battlefield over trying to sort through how to properly emote.

But Rhevar’s still unflustered, and he claps me on the shoulder. I try not to immediately throw off his hand.

“Believe me, I made a point to speak with her the day after it happened. There’s no excusing the way I behaved, and I hope you’ll both accept my apologies.”

There’s no guile on the Vas-Greshiran’s face. No lying edge or bitterness. Nothing but an open friendliness I find as unnerving as his hostility would have been, if not more so.

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