Page 238 of Interion

“I suggest you be true to your feelings at home, where no one can see.”

I caught a faint edge of hatred in the psychic's mental voice. I thought about everything I knew about him and imagined how difficult it must be to live alongside the person who had ordered him to kill Ravena. Serguei, despite his luxurious life, was still the monarch's slave.

The king settled into his throne, and soon everyone around me took their seats as well. I sat down beside Hiro again, my back to the king.

“Want to talk about it?” I asked Serguei.

“No, I'll be busy having dinner with the most beautiful woman at this party.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You mean Jupiter's greatest psychic found a woman who managed to break through his emotional barriers?”

He let out a resigned sigh.

“Kyller, the only woman who could do that is gone, and she wasn't beautiful—she was extraordinary. There hasn't been and never will be another in my heart after her. At least not romantically.”

I lowered my eyes to my hands and fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve.

“Then who is this other woman, and why are you having dinner with her?” I pressed on despite the traitorous sadness welling up, but the moment I finished speaking, I caught the scent of sandalwood mingled with the heavy air of storms.

“You, you fool,” Serguei replied, but now it was his real voice behind me. I shot to my feet as everyone around us fell silent and stared in astonishment. I didn't pause to take in their reactions—I just threw myself into Serguei's arms, hugging him tight. He returned the embrace a bit awkwardly, as if he didn't know where to put his hands.

“You're having dinner with me?” I asked, pulling back to meet his blue eyes flecked with green—a Drutes trait, the only thing that marked him as one of my own. Zion took my hand in his and pulled me into his arms.

“I don't see any woman here more beautiful than you,” Serguei replied, hands in his pockets—his typical stance. Zion cleared his throat beside me:

“I can't stay, but Serguei found a substitute tonight, so he'll stay with you until I get back.” Looking at the two of them side by side in their black uniforms, my heart danced in my chest. Serguei seemed to notice the silence around us, then closed his eyes in concentration, and soon the murmur of voices returned to normal.

“I need to go, Kay. The five squadrons are about to enter.” Zion glanced at his wristwatch, gave me a quick farewell, and vanished.

“What did you do to make them ignore you like that?” I asked as Serguei led us to our empty table.

“I told their minds I'm just your distant uncle and that they don't know me.” He pulled out a chair for me. My jaw dropped as I stared at him in disbelief.

“You can modify that kind of thing?”

“I can modify anything, child,” he replied, taking his seat. Soon a waiter arrived with wine and the evening's courses. I realized he must have placed the order mentally. I raised the wine glass to my lips, but Serguei plucked it from my hands before I could take a sip.

“Forgive me, I forgot you can’t drink. The alcohol will affect your vital signs during the test, and that could result in disqualification.” He raised my glass to his lips. A moment later, the waiter returned with a pitcher of juice.

“Good catch,” I huffed and drank some juice. Serguei studied me from across the table, his eyes sweeping over every inch of my face as if examining an exotic animal. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just noticing how much you resemble Lagherta. There are so many similarities. Even the way you furrow your brow is the same, and the way you hold the necklace when you’re anxious.” He pointed this out while refilling his glass.

“I wish I could remember more about her,” I murmured to myself, a little saddened by my own confession. “I can’t even recall the shape of her face or the sound of her voice. Sometimes that makes me sad. I should remember her, shouldn’t I?”

Serguei shifted in his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

“I believe you were very young when you were separated from her. It’s normal to forget things like that. Sometimes I forget what the voices of people I’ve lost sounded like. I’ll spend the night awake trying to remember, but my brain refuses to cooperate.”

“What was she like?” I leaned forward over the table. “Tell me anything you remember about her,” I asked, my eyes bright. “Pretty please.”

“I pity Zion. Worse than having a beautiful woman at home is having a beautiful woman with bright eyes. That brightness can blind even the most sensible of men.” He drank from his glass and huffed. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Tell me something about her and my father.” He thought for a long moment but seemed determined to ignore me. When I’d given up waiting, he cleared his throat.

“She liked the rain,” he began, his eyes glazed over, lost in his memories. “We grew up in a facility for secondary children. We slept, ate, and learned all together. There were ten of us, and Lagherta was always the most difficult girl to deal with. She was fierce, liked getting into pointless fights, had a very short fuse, and got stressed over even a leaf out of place. Ross, your father—he was a patient boy. Very patient. I remember he liked her from when he was little and had endless patience to win her over, because she wanted nothing to do with romance. She preferred kicking ass to kissing someone. He used to leave flowers on her bed every morning, and it drove her crazy. Once, she ate one of those flowers just to put a stop to it. So he started bringing wild blackberries and... well, at least she ate those without complaining.”

Serguei looked at me contemplatively, probably comparing us. I was absorbed in his story, trying to imagine my mother eating a flower. She must have had quite a peculiar personality.