But if he were the portraits on my walls, he would be the one going away. He left me twice, and I never tried to stop him from doing what he thought was right. A tiny hope I didn’t realize I’d been nurturing shrivels up and puffs away in my next breath. I’m not going to convince him to come with me. I recall what he said before, and nothing’s changed; Sasha needs to attend school. He’s not an average kid who can be raised in the haphazard way I was. When I was thirteen, my parents took to traveling, mostly because the gallery wasn’t doing well, and I suspect my mother was getting involved in shady matters, even then, maybe even for the reason she claimed—that my father had no head for business, and they were drowning in debt.

From that point on, my attendance at school was sporadic at best. I didn’t mind; I loved ships, and I loved the freedom. Even dealing with an AI for lessons didn’t deter my determination to join the academy, as soon as I realized I met the criteria to be a jumper. But what worked for me wouldn’t suffice for Sasha.

Time to forget that idea and resign yourself to what’s possible.

“Out here.” March leads the way to a table out on the balcony.

The servo-bot is already setting the food out; this rectangular model with food-prep capacity inside reminds me of the ones on Ithiss-Tor. I wonder if they’re already in wide commercial production off world. Well. Maybe “already” isn’t the right word. I keep forgetting how long it seems like it’s been, and how long it’s actually been. Different time streams, different ’verses.

We sit down to eat, and Sasha has to be coaxed to speak. He’s shy with me, still, worried that I’ll prove more important to his uncle, whom he calls Dad. I don’t blame the kid for feeling insecure. He’s never had anybody who belonged to him before; he went straight into crèche-rearing because of his unusual gift, and he was five turns old before March found him. So he’s pretty scared right now. What if March stops loving him because of me?

“Tell her your good news,” March prompts him.

“I took top marks in the control competition.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

Without meeting my eyes, he explains, “It’s a program at school that tests how well we can manage our abilities.”

“Good job.” With TK like his, it’s imperative he can handle the pressure of the gift, and for his sake, I’m glad he doesn’t have to deal with the constant influx of people’s thoughts, like March.

“My teacher says kids in the state homes don’t have as much support as me, so that’s why I won.”

“She’s probably right.”

“How long will you be here?” Sasha asks, after the food is gone. Then, with a nervous glance at March, he adds, desperate for approval, “You can stay as long as you want.”

Anything, as long as you don’t ask Dad to go away with you again.

“That’s kind of you,” I reply.

My heart breaks a little more.

As we leave the table, the bot clears the dishes, and March takes Sasha off for their bedtime ritual. On the balcony, I stand and stare at the stars, trying to imagine what it would be like, living here, seeing the same constellations in the night sky. But I can only think of what waits beyond the atmosphere, all the wonders I’ve yet to see.

As I’d known when he asked me to join him, I can’t imagine this life, the one he’s chosen, as mine. And it’s time to tell him so.

CHAPTER 42

“He’s a beautiful kid,” I say. “You’ve done a great job with him.”

Sasha has been asleep for about an hour, after three stories and two drinks of water, and now March and I stand on his balcony overlooking the lights of Tyre, the jewel in the newly crowned emperor’s throne. Maybe this one will last longer than six months in the cutthroat Nicuan political climate. I never dreamed he would settle here when this world drove him crazy—nearly cost him everything—but Sasha’s school is here, and he’d do anything for the boy.

“Thanks. I love him more than anything.”

That’s not news. I can see it in their interactions. All kids should have that, and it’s wrong that they don’t. I wouldn’t alter the situation for a billion creds. Would things be different now if I’d gone to Nicuan as soon as I was acquitted? Impossible to say or know.

Five fragging turns. I still can’t get over that. I’m standing with March, seeing the echoes, and he’s lived a lot in that time—resigned his military commission, given up flying, and become responsible for another human being.

Thing is, we always knew I wasn’t meant to settle down, and that’s exactly what he’s done. Granted, I wasn’t around to give him an alternative, so he had to do what was best for Sasha. Special Psi school, a nice penthouse overlooking the river. I watch the flat-bottom boats cruise along; white lights rim the edges, giving them a jolly air. They’re celebrating something down there, some local festival. The music and laughter make me feel even more melancholy.

There’s no point in dragging this out. I came here, hoping I could salvage something, but he’s settled. Sasha calls him Dad, and I can’t compete. Nor do I want to. It’s crystal clear to me that March needs this even though it breaks my heart.

“I’m going to La’heng,” I tell him. “The cure worked on Loras, so we’re ready to try and get the necessary permissions to start trials on a larger scale.”

“I knew you were. It’ll take time, but I have no doubt you can do it.”

I don’t deserve his faith—not after everything I’ve put him through—but it still lights me up. “Thanks.” I pause, hating the awkwardness. “Do you want me to head out? I don’t know your policy on overnight guests.”

Knowing March, he errs on the side of caution and doesn’t indulge in behavior that could hurt his nephew. I don’t expect he’s been faithful to me all this time, half suspecting I was dead. I’m sure there have been women. I just don’t want to hear about them. Not when I still love him, and I am walking away from him, even if it’s not forever. Mary grant it’s not.

“I don’t ever want you to leave,” he says softly. “But you will. The morning is soon enough.” My comm beeps, and I check it.

When we were stranded on the other side of the Maker’s gate, the thought of him kept me going. Day after day, I pushed on, even where I was tired and half-starved, when the cold felt like it would kill me, then the heat. But I can’t be bitter when I see how happy March is and how much Sasha loves him.

He touches my cheek, catching a tear that got away. Mary knows, that’s how I feel about March. Then I feel him inside my head, as I haven’t in so long. I’d gotten used to the silence. This time, since it isn’t so fleeting as it was on Gehenna, I notice that he’s pure warmth, different now that he’s known a child’s unconditional devotion. The old March had rough edges and dark places; this one streams light. I catch my breath at the difference, and he flinches at my secret pain.

“Do you really think I haven’t been true to you?” he asks.

More tears fall . . . and I hate them. I’m not this person. I’m not.

“I don’t expect it.”

“Jax . . . you know how I said . . . before your trial—that I’d be there waiting? I always will be. Five turns. Ten. Twenty. There’s no one else for me. I live in hope that there will come a time when you’ll need no more wandering, and you’ll come home to me.”

I wish I could. I wish I were wired that way. But I’m not. As March said once before, I’d wither on the ground and come to hate the person who tied me down. I was born to jump, to tag new beacons and keep moving. There’s so much out there, and after I keep my promise to Loras, I intend to see it all.

“And I live in hope that you’ll still want me when Sasha’s grown. I hope someday you’ll be ready to captain a ship again and join me out there.”

I tip my head back and gaze at the stars, crystal and diamond on black s-silk. It’s a lovely view, but it can’t compare with grimspace—or even the beauty of the constellations in straight space. Even if he asked, I can’t stay. The promise to Loras gives me a compelling reason to leave, but even without it, I don’t want to remain here. Though I want March—and I always will—I can’t do it if it comes with this life.

“Someday,” he says softly. “What’re you doing in eight turns?”

“Dunno, but I’ll keep my calendar clear.”

He braces his hands on the balustrade, not looking at me anymore. “I can’t make love to you again. Not when you’re leaving. That last time, before you jumped, before the beacons changed . . .” He trails off and shakes his. His hair is long now, past his shoulders. Once more, he has the piratical look that I always loved. “For the longest time, that was all I had of you. First the trial . . . and then you were just gone. Before that, I had that memory. Of making love to you . . . and then waking up alone. Finding your message. That felt like death. But I kept moving. And then the Morgut—I just can’t, that’s all.”

“It’s fine.” I’m not in the mood for sex. Too much sadness, paired with the knowledge that I have countless turns ahead of me, and he won’t be there to share them, even if we manage to get our timing right. Someday.

I intend to try. He’s worth fighting for, but I won’t change who I am for any man. No more than he should alter himself to suit me.

“A kiss?” He’s asking me.

“Please.”

I have had passionate kisses and fierce ones, kisses so sweet they tasted like pure honey and kisses that cut like knives, but until this moment, I’ve never had one that said both hello and good-bye. Much as I love him, I can’t take more than the butterfly brush of his mouth, before I draw back, a tremor rocking through me. How I wish I could throw myself into his arms and stay there forever, but I must keep my word to Loras, and for me, life isn’t about where you come to rest; it’s the journey.

A deep, shuddering breath helps to restore my equilibrium. “How can love be so magnificent and still hurt this much?”

“I don’t know. Over the turns, I’ve asked myself the same thing.”

No doubt. I’m not the same woman he fell in love with, turns ago, but love is delightfully tensile—and the best kind pulls and stretches to accommodate new growth. He’s not the same man, either, but I adore him for his steadfast care and his fidelity to family. Which makes what I’m about to do even more absurd. It’s also the only course for a woman like me.

“I don’t think I can stay the night. The parting won’t be easier by daylight.”

Vel and the rest are waiting on the ship, anyway; they signaled me that they’re back from sightseeing and won’t mind taking off tonight. The sooner we leave Nicuan, the sooner we can begin on La’heng—the sooner we can liberate Loras’s people. That’s not a trivial task.