“Try this.” Cherise sliced a piece of fudge and offered a square to Flen. “You might like it.”

Flen looked highly doubtful. He accepted the chocolate and nibbled a tiny corner. Cherise watched, delighted, as his expression changed.

“I don’t understand,” Flen said. “It looks weird. But the smell is good. And the taste? Mm!” He popped the rest of the fudge into his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s a treat on Earth,” Cherise said. “Like rock candy.” That was what the Alashani called their version of sweets.

“I’m convinced.” Flen swept the rest of the imported fudge to one side of their kitchen counter. “Let’s serve this at our wedding.”

Cherise laughed agreeably. On the inside, she churned with doubts.

Flen had given her a golden hairnet studded with rubies. Those gemstones symbolized love among the Alashani. It was a marriage proposal. Obviously, Flen was eager to wed his angel from paradise.

And why not? Cherise was rich. She was popular. Some foolish albinos even revered her, as if she was in the same league as deities such as the Maiden of Candlelight and the Lady of Sorrow.

Cherise was supposed to be similarly eager to marry a dashing war hero. Flen had recently been elected to serve on the war council. He was a pillar of their community. He was everything that most albino maidens wanted.

“Have you ever tried a curscura truffle?” Flen asked.

“No,” Cherise said.

“Try this.” Flen dipped a tiny spoon into a tiny jar of chutney and offered it to Cherise.

She tasted the chutney with some apprehension. A sweet and nutty flavor filled her mouth, and her tastebuds wanted more of it.

“Mm.” Cherise licked her lips.

“It’s even better mixed with ice,” Flen said.

“Why haven’t I ever tasted this before?” Cherise asked.

“It’s extremely expensive and rare.” Flen looked glum. “Now that our cave cities are gone.”

“It only grows in caves?”

“It comes from a truffle native to our homeworld,” Flen said. “But it requires special conditions to grow, and I am not sure anyone has planted a batch.”

“We’ll have to remedy that,” Cherise said. Privately, she suspected that the truffle could be found elsewhere in the galaxy. Flen’s destroyed homeworld was also the Torth homeworld.

She could ask around at the Academy. Some students used to be slaves who had specialized in culinary arts that catered to Torth tastes.

“Have you given any more thought to wedding invitations?” Flen turned his back to their haul of unique food gifts.

The food thing had become a tradition in their relationship. They cooked together once per week. They made a habit of teaching each other dishes that were new to the other. Unlike with music and art and TV, Flen was willing to experience new foods. Perhaps that was because Freedomland was a melting pot of cuisines, to such a degree that even the most stubborn Alashani purist could not avoid tasting weird alien dishes every once in a while. Eating fusion cuisine was acceptable in his social circles.

“Uh…” Cherise leaned against the counter next to him.

Flen gave her a beseeching, exasperated look.

Cherise gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I feel like I’m too young to get married.”

She could barely meet his eyes. By now, Flen knew all of her excuses. And he seemed painfully aware that they were excuses.

Cherise could not fully explain why she didn’t want to get married, even to herself. She and Flen fit together nicely. They hit all the right checkboxes for romance, according to stories. They found each other attractive. They cared about each other. They got giddy and giggly with each other sometimes. They had great sex. At least, Cherise assumed it was great. It wasn’t like she’d ever had any other partner to compare Flen to.

But they fought so often.

Almost every night.

Flen assured Cherise that arguments were a natural part of relationships. Cherise tried to believe him. Everyone knew that romantic dramas and comedies left out the parts where the sweet couple yelled at each other for buying the wrong set of drapes. No one wanted a love story marred by frazzled bed hair and petty arguments. It was like bathroom stuff. Everyone used a toilet, but no one wanted that to be a regular part of stories.

So the stories streamlined everything. Two people met and became friends. Check. They had sex. Check. Next thing? There was a wedding with balloons and cake, and they lived happily ever after.

Wasn’t that Cherise and Flen? Wasn’t it what they both wanted?

Everyone said that relationships required work. Both people had to put in effort. That was common knowledge.

“I…” Cherise managed a weak smile. “I’ll settle on a date soon. I just need a bit more time.”

Flen sighed. He leaned one elbow on the kitchen island and stared at her with his lovely lavender eyes.

Cherise gave him a warning look. She was so, so, so tired of arguing. Would she have to endure stupid arguments every night, for decades to come? The notion made her innards wither.

“I understand why you’re reluctant,” Flen said.

His kindhearted acceptance was unexpected.

Cherise studied him, disbelieving. Did Flen truly understand how much she hated arguing? If so, then why did he keep picking at the same wounds in their relationship?

“It’s because we’ve been withholding secrets from each other,” Flen said.

“Oh?” Cherise tried to sound nonchalant. She was certain that Flen had no idea that she had delivered a letter to Thomas. No one in his social circles could even translate written words. Whenever Flen saw Cherise writing instead of drawing, he dismissed it as an alien frivolity.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Yes.” Flen pulled up a stool and straddled it. “You must have noticed that I’m gone a lot.”

“I guess.” Cherise eyed him with suspicion. She knew that he was holding angry rallies. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

It was a major point of contention, though.

Cherise never brought it up because she was sick of arguing about Flen’s opinion of Thomas. The last thing she wanted to do was start a fight.

“Haven’t you wondered where I am?” Flen seemed hopeful.

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I think you’re holding rallies.”

“I’m doing a lot more than that.” Flen seemed happy to tell her, almost relieved. “I’m part of a secret society. Have you ever heard of the undergrounders?”

The undergrounders. Oh no. If Flen was an Alashani purism extremist…

Actually, Cherise felt some relief. It gave her an excellent justification to cool down their relationship. She could not be part of a purist movement. Surely most people would understand that.

“What have you heard?” Flen asked.

“They’re Alashani purists,” Cherise said. “They want to quit the war and form a breakaway underground society.”

Flen took her hands as if she had said something romantic.

When he saw her reluctance, he said, “It’s not about species purism. We’re happy to accept people of all species, just as Alashani have always done. That is a staple of our way of life.”

Cherise gazed down at their intertwined hands, her skin extra dark against his. She believed that Flen believed that. But hadn’t he noticed the unspoken policies of Alashani-only establishments? Those places admitted aliens, but only aliens without neck scars. Liberated slaves were frowned upon with contempt.

“You’re an angel,” Flen said with reverence. “From paradise. No one would have a problem with you.”

He brushed a lock of her hair aside, gazing at her the way he sometimes did in bed, as if she truly was an angel.

“Sure. Maybe.” Cherise pulled away. “I’m not really worried about that. What I don’t like is the idea of abandoning our friends, to hide underground while they have to continue fighting the Torth alone.”

Anger flickered across Flen’s face.

“I had no right to say that,” Cherise realized. “Sorry. I’m not the one who has to fight Torth.” She hung her head.

“It’s no big deal,” Flen said in a tight voice. “You care about Vy. I get that.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “But even you admit that this war is impossible to win. Right?”

“It seems that way,” Cherise said, full of misgivings.

She did agree with Flen on certain facts. Thomas had failed to predict the insanity gas disaster. Now he was pitting inexperienced pilots against much more experienced Torth pilots in aerial combat. What was he thinking?

His decisions looked desperate. He seemed rudderless, without a cogent plan.

Like, why did Thomas and Kessa insist on integrating penitent Torth into society? Why waste so many people’s time and effort on that?

Cherise kept trying to see things from Thomas’s perspective. He wasn’t a monster. She was pretty sure of that. But she had to wonder if he cared about Alashani warriors at all.

He certainly appeared to care about Torth. The penitent program showed them a lot of mercy.

“I enjoy killing Torth,” Flen said. “It gives me great satisfaction. But there are certain facts which I cannot ignore. My people are being whittled down. We are dying in this war.”

“I know.” Cherise took Flen’s hands. He needed her. He needed her a lot more than Thomas had ever needed her. The war kept claiming fresh victims among his friends and colleagues. Without her, Flen would be completely alone, bereft of family or friends.

He clasped her, as if he was drowning and she was his lifeline.

Cherise kissed his forehead. She kissed his nub of a nose.

“Angel,” Flen whispered against her forehead. “I think you can save me.”

If only she could.

Cherise wondered if her written letter would have any influence whatsoever on Thomas. If not, she figured that Flen and Thomas were on a collision course. There was no doubt about who would win in such a showdown. Flen’s self-righteous supporters would never shield him against the galactic super-genius.

Maybe a letter wasn’t enough? Maybe Cherise ought to ask Vy to arrange a secret meeting between herself and Thomas?

If Thomas had any shred of humanity left in him.

He must like to evoke fear and awe. Otherwise he wouldn’t have set himself up in a Dragon Tower with a pet sky croc and clandestine meetings with heroes of prophecy. He probably wanted Cherise to come begging to him, like a provincial peasant going to a much-feared sorcerer.

He might just toy with her and dismiss her.

And if anyone learned that Cherise wanted to beg for mercy on behalf of her boyfriend? That would humiliate Flen while enhancing Thomas’s powerful reputation. Some Alashani would just assume that the mighty rekveh had ensorcelled poor, sweet Cherise. Flen himself might jump to that conclusion.

She rubbed her forehead. Oh, how she wanted to trust Thomas the way she used to. She wanted that so much.

“Come.” Flen tugged her towards the bedroom.

As he undressed, the wintery light from outside painted him in shades of snow. Cherise lit the brazier while he nuzzled her neck. These days, every room in the fortress needed a crackling hearth in order to stay warm.

Flen kissed her with passion. When he tried to peel Cherise’s remaining clothes away, she decided that her blood was warm enough. She undressed in a few quick movements.

Soon they were cuddling upon layers of soft blankets. In delicious moments such as these, Cherise could envision herself spending the rest of her life with Flen.

“I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.” Flen’s smile was gentle and teasing.

“Oh?” Cherise wondered if she needed to distract him. She guided his hand to her bare breasts.

Flen cupped her breast. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve heard what magic you’re capable of.”

Cherise giggled, loving the playful side of Flen. “Oh? What?”

Flen’s hand smoothed downward, caressing her abdomen. “Here.”

Oh.

Magic? Yeah, right.

Flen refused to use the primitive condoms peddled by Alashani herbalists. Not that Cherise could blame him. The skin bags looked gross and uncomfortable.

So she let Flen believe that she was fertile and okay with risking a pregnancy.

In actuality? She had asked Vy for a favor. Every once in a while, Ariock raided supply warehouses on Earth, taking medicines and sending private monetary donations as a roundabout way to pay for the missing supplies. Cherise had secretly obtained a supply of contraceptive pills.

“I haven’t missed a period yet.” Cherise maneuvered Flen’s hand back up to her breasts. He thought the concept of pregnancy was sexy. It didn’t do anything for her.

“You can have an augmented baby,” Flen whispered, kissing her. “A powerful hybrid baby.”

Cherise stopped moving.

“Orla figured out the theory.” Flen nuzzled Cherise, as if he could not restrain his love for her. “She told Haz and a bunch of people before she died.” He kissed Cherise’s cheek. “It’s a cute secret. I don’t blame you for keeping quiet. It makes men jealous. But now? I know, love.”

Cherise found herself unable to speak.

“Let’s try not to be so secretive with each other from now on,” Flen said. “All right?”

Cherise felt voiceless and trapped. She didn’t want to accidentally confirm the theory, just in case Flen merely suspected that humans could breed powerful hybrids. No one knew for certain.

Well, maybe Thomas knew.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Flen gently kissed her silent lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Just as I know mine is safe with you.”

He was right.

Cherise dared not report that Flen was an undergrounder. She didn’t want him to get exiled to some miserable outpost on Jerja.

But all the secrecy felt dangerous. It was like an unstable house of cards, a structure that would collapse at the slightest provocation. Kessa, Pung, Yuey, and Varktezo were all taking telepathy lessons. Cherise had refused to join in, unwilling to lose the mystery component of her friendships, but what if the use of telepathy gas became popular and widespread?

Had Flen even considered that?

Probably not. Flen laughed scornfully at the idea of nussians and ummins reading minds. He didn’t believe it was even possible.

Orla had died weeks ago. Her theory must have circulated widely, to have survived her death.

This is explained why so many men seemed interested in wooing Cherise and Vy, lately.

Cherise hadn’t known what to make of all the gifts that appeared outside the door of their suite. She had quit hanging out by herself at cafes in the Alashani district, because local men kept smiling at her and giving her compliments. She had even heard that a few shani were interested in taking her classes at the Academy. They would have to wait until the next semester.

Ugh.

Cherise shivered and sat up. She began to pull on her clothes.

“You’re beautiful,” Flen said, watching her.

Cherise normally enjoyed his yearning gaze. But now? She wondered what Flen saw, exactly. A magically exotic eighteen year old? Or a magical baby-bearing vessel?

Did Flen love her? Or did he just love the potential of her womb?

Distrust isn’t sexy, Cherise reminded herself. Flen kept telling her that.

She mentally pushed away a memory of the disabled boy who had saved her, and who had made her feel divine and loved for the first time in her life. That boy was history. Thomas didn’t even look the same as he used to.

For better or worse, Cherise and Flen belonged to each other.