Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki
He didn’t have another handkerchief, Aremu thought, uneasily. He felt he should have thought to take a second one out of his chest. He had a few more there, but they didn’t seem worth letting go of Aurelie’s hand and leaving her here alone on the bed while he went to get them. He’d still have had to let go of her hand to take another out of his pocket, even if he’d thought of it. The thought didn’t make him feel better.
“You’re welcome,” Aremu said, and he managed to hold his smile a few more moments before it slid, slowly, off his face.
They both sat and watched the stars, then; Aremu didn’t know what Aurelie thought about as she watched them, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t know, really, if she thought anything at all. He liked that about the stars, that sometimes, the watching was enough all on its own.
From here, he could see the collection of stars he’d called the lizard, once. He’d named the constellations for himself first at Thul’Amat, a long time ago, and he’d built up the set of them, slowly, over the years. He had thought, then, as a boy, that he could see all the stars there were to see; he had learned on the Eqe Aqawe, on the nights spent flying over the desert and the sea, that there were many more than he’d ever dreamed.
The ones he had seen as a boy were the brightest, though, and usually he could still find them.
They were flying east-south east, now, and would be for most of the flight; they would pass near Old Rose Harbor, Aremu knew, some time the next day, although it would likely be early enough that they wouldn’t see even the gleam of distant lights, as they might have traveling at night. Some times after they would wind over the last of the marshy planes, and from there they would be nearly at the islands, after a long night and morning spent over the Tincta Basta.
Chibugo and his pilots would have two sunrises come up towards them, brilliant through the curved glass over the front of the ship. From here, Aremu thought, Aurelie would – if she were awake – see the gleam of it, the light creeping up over the horizon and spilling into the room beyond. He wanted to tell her to look for it, if she were still awake – as he would have been, he thought, in her place. He didn’t say anything; it seemed like worsening whatever chance she had of rest.
There, Aremu though, his eyes lingering on a long trail of bright stars. The lizard, or so he’d named it as a boy, because something about the curved line of them at the end brought him in mind of them. It was, too, a constellation which moved across the sky, and when he’d realized it had cemented the name for him; he’d thought of it skittering along, sunning itself on the rock then moving once more.
Aurelie spoke, and these thoughts evaporated. Aremu turned, looking down at her; their hands were still intertwined, and she was holding on rather tightly. He hadn’t thought of letting go, and he didn’t now.
“No,” Aremu said, quietly. He thought of the frightened letter she’d sent, and his own panic at the receiving of it, in Thul Ka, knowing how many days later it must be already. The next hours had been a blur of motion, and it had not been until his own first sleepless night in this same room that he had had time to really think about it.
“I thought you would tell me, if you wanted me to know,” Aremu said. He wasn’t smiling now; his forehead was drawn together in a solemn frown. He looked at her, still, at the gleam of her damp face in the light which shone through the window, and waited, to see whether she did, in fact, want. He couldn’t bring himself to press further; he knew something of hurt which felt too fragile to be exposed to the open air, of feeling as if one would fall apart, if the truth were known, of hurt that mingled fear and shame and guilt. He didn’t ask, still; he didn't intend to.