It’s… very brown. Actually, it looks an awful lot like the time I flew over Arizona. A patchwork of arid landscapes, green agriculture, and winding blue rivers. And in the center of it all, a circular piece of metropolis, which must be the capital city, Loetti.
“I must have taken out the long-range comm; this is short range,” Rovos says, turning dials and pushing buttons, trying to fine-tune the frequency.
“State your class and business,” a stern voice comes in loud and clear over the speakers.
“This is an S-class shuttle with two occupants, seeking refugee status. We request permission to land,” Rovos responds.
After a long pause, the voice returns. “Permission granted. Proceed to the capital city of Leotti. Coordinates are 2-0-…”
Rovos inputs the information, and we change course, banking sharply to the left and flying over what looks like an endless expanse of dirt and sagebrush toward the capital. Leotti turns out to be a surprisingly modern city, seemingly erupting from nothing. It’s a bustling metropolis, complete with glass skyscrapers and squat brick buildings that look weathered and worn. An extensive rail system weaves between them, connecting everything.
We land inside a busy port at the edge of the city, and Rovos immediately unstraps and heads to the back of the shuttle. I stay where I’m at, staring out the view screen at the bustling port. I’m not ready for our flight to be over yet. I’m not ready to let him go, even though it feels like he’s already gone.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I look over to see Rovos holding one of the wrapped packages from the trading post.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking it from him. The package is soft, suggesting clothing.
Despite being in a hurry, he’d still had the presence of mind to get a couple changes of clothes along with the rations for our trip. This must be one of the packages he set aside.
“Open it,” he insists.
So I do.
My jaw drops when I hold up a stunning sapphire garment that reflects the light with an iridescent sheen. The silky material is lightweight and similar to the cotton and rayon blends I’m familiar with on Earth. My first thought is that it’s a dress, but it’s thin and wraps like a robe with a hood that covers my entire head.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Blato,” he says, taking the garment out of my hands. “A ceremonial robe. At least, it started out that way, long ago. Now it’s a common garment worn by many sects.”
“I see.” I try to hide the giggle that threatens to escape my throat. Leave it to Rovos to find me an alien burka.
Taking my hand, Rovos pulls me up to stand before him. As if he’s done this a hundred times, he wraps the Blato around me so it settles over my head and shoulders before falling to the floor. I expect to feel like I am wearing a sack, but instead it’s quite comfortable. The silky material drapes over my body in a flattering way, despite its full coverage. Its long sleeves flare out from my elbows to cover my hands, while the long skirt brushes the ground but doesn’t drag.
Rovos’ hands are gentle, his touch soft, as he adjusts the cowl over my head. Tucking stray hairs behind my ear, he slides his thumb down my cheek. Our eyes meet, and I watch as his green eyes flash gold when his thumb settles on my chin. He leans into me until I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he pulls a veil across my nose, hiding all but my eyes from view.
I step back, putting some space between us, and then turn in a circle. “Do I look like a proper ghost?”
He frowns at the translation. I doubt he’s ever thought of ghosts as sheet-covered figures that gowhooOOO-oooOOO.
“It will suffice,” he says.
“So, what’s the plan this time?” I ask as I follow Rovos to the back of the shuttle. He has unearthed a duffel bag and is stuffing our supplies into it, along with the rest of the wrapped packages from the trading post. Zipping it shut, he slings it over his shoulder before turning to face me.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight this time. Not until I am certain you will be safe.”
Oh? “What if—” I look up at him from under my lashes. “What if that takes a while?”
“Then I stay a while,” he assures me, stepping closer until I can feel the heat coming off of his body. “I mean what I say, and if you don’t feel safe, we leave.”
“Really?” My hopes rise like a helium balloon.
“Reely,” he mimics me.
Okay. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Before I can worry about getting my heart broken into even more pieces, the shuttle door opens, and Rovos heads down the ramp.
17
Anna
