There was plenty more bandying about, but when they left – they were happy – leaving her relieved, and eventually, almost alone. Traejan, silent during the verbal melee, spoke up after the last one left.

“You think you’ve done a fine job convincing them,” he told her, coming out from the shadows. Althea looked gave him a questioning glance.

“Don’t expect them to stay convinced,” he added.

“We have a few days yet,” she suggested. They weren’t in danger. “Their greed should keep them in check that long.”

“They will be trouble when we get to the city,” Traejan warned. She resisted the urge to snap at him.

“It’ll be over and done soon after we get there,” she told him in the most convincing voice she could. “And they don’t know where I’m keeping the trilium. In the meantime, I’ll be able to find what I need.”

“The communication systems?” He still sounded doubtful, suspicious.

It tired her further, the constant challenging. It was late and she’d put off talking with Dorian too long.

“Yes,” she decided to misinterpret his tone. “It can’t be all gone.”

Keep to the plan. Repeat and remind.

“What the Macro hasn’t stripped from the city,” she finished firmly, “should be enough to get its attention.”

He was about to continue, refute her maybe – probably – so she waved him off.

“I’m tired,” she told him, letting her accumulated exhaustion show. “We can cover this later.”

As she walked back to her tent, boots loudly crunching through the snow, wind whipping around her Althea berated herself: over the conversation, about how she should have turned his suspicions around – convince him to trust her. It was only after she’d made it to her tent, shrugged off the heavy coat, twisted the controls on the meager heater, that the debate in her mind ended. She put a stop to it, reminding herself again what she felt on the cliff face. The connection she’d felt – looking out at the stars with Kyso, hearing him sing that song.

Dorian had been worried about her being alone, acting alone, without the benefit of the company of other human eyes, human hands, human hearts. He’d be happy now. She was sure. Lying on her soft blankets, she cradled Dorian’s case, confided the strength of her feelings.

“I’ve realized,” she told him, feeling the light inside her, “who I can take with me… when we’re finished here.”

You have? Who is it?

“Kyso,” she told him. “You heard him singing, didn’t you?”

I did.

“What do you think?” she asked him breathlessly. “Would he be a good choice?”

What do you think?

“His is Consortia, real Consortia,” she told him. “The best imaginable, wouldn’t you say?”

I’m glad you have acknowledged your need.