Page 8 of Klaz
Cinta nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the assist.”
I handed her a drink, my fingers brushing against hers. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass between us at the contact. “Anytime,” I said softly.
We turned back to the window, sipping our drinks in companionable silence.
Curiosity got the better of me. Always did.
“Do humans have any special holiday traditions? I’ve heard tales, but never from a human directly.”
Cinta’s brow furrowed. “Honestly, I don’t know much about Earth history. I read a book once, long ago, about giving presents in the snow?”
I studied Cinta’s face, noting the slight crease between her brows as she spoke about human traditions.
Interesting.
“You don’t seem to know much about your own people’s customs,” I observed, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Cinta shrugged. “Never had much reason to learn them, I guess. Holidays weren’t exactly a priority when you’re just trying to survive day to day.”
Her casual tone didn’t quite mask the faint undercurrent of pain in her voice. A surge of protectiveness coursed through my veins, wanting to shield her from the hardships she’d faced.
“Must have been tough,” I said softly.
“It was what it was,” Cinta replied, her gaze fixed on the swirling patterns of the stellar frost outside. “You learn to adapt.”
I nodded, understanding all too well how circumstances could shape a person’s path. “So, no fond memories of family gatherings or festive celebrations?”
Cinta’s laugh was sharp, tinged with a bitterness that made my chest ache. “Hardly. The closest thing I had to a holiday tradition was picking pockets at the annual Loriestan Races. Rich tourists, easy marks - it was like my own personal gift-giving season.”
I could picture it clearly - a younger Cinta, quick fingers and quicker wit, navigating the crowded streets with the skill of a seasoned thief. It was impressive, in its way, but a pang of sadness hit me for the childhood she’d missed out on.
“What about later?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Didn’t you ever want to... I don’t know, create your own traditions?”
Cinta’s expression softened slightly, a distant look in her eyes. “There was one time... with Elios, the Mondian dowager who took me in. She tried to introduce me to some of the ancient Earth customs. Said it was important to remember where we came from, even if we’d never been there ourselves.”
“And how did that go?” I prompted gently when she fell silent.
“It was... nice, I guess,” Cinta said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We had a tree with lights, exchanged gifts. But it all felt a bit hollow, you know? Like we were play-acting at something neither of us really understood.”
Her admission stirred something in me. We were both adrift, in a way, disconnected from our roots. “What about you?” she asked. “Any Vinduthi holiday customs?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t had a family for a long time. It’s not something I’ve thought about in years.”
Cinta’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. That must be hard.”
Her compassion caught me off guard. I found myself speaking without thinking. “There was one tradition, when I wasyoung. The Festival of Blades. Each family member would craft a small knife for another, imbuing it with their hopes for the recipient’s future.”
“That sounds... intense,” Cinta said with a small laugh.
I smiled, remembering. “It was. My father once gave me a blade with engravings of stars. He said it was to remind me that my potential was limitless.”
Cinta’s hand brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my body. “That’s beautiful, Klaz.”
Suddenly, streaks of light flashed by the windows. Around us, passengers gasped and pointed, exclaiming about the spectacular display.
“Wow, they really go all out for this frost celebration,” Cinta said, her eyes wide with wonder.
But I knew better. My combat instincts, honed over decades, screamed danger. Without hesitation, I grabbed Cinta and pulled her against me.