Dryly she said, “You, who married at fourteen, think I’m young?” She touched his cheek. “I’ve no interest in how your legal people count time. I neither think nor love like a child.”

Softly he said, “And can you?”

“Can I?”

“Love. Me.”

“Hai, Vyrl.” Raising his hands to her lips, she kissed his knuckles. “Always.”

His smile gentled his face. “I too, water sprite. Always.”

For a while she lay in his arms. Then she asked, “Your people take longer to grow up, yes?”

He nodded. “Apparently your bodies pass through childhood faster than ours do. Your brains establish neural connections at a quicker rate, so your minds mature faster.”

She could tell he was leaving out something. “But?”

He spoke quietly. “You lose a child’s mental flexibility and learning capacity sooner. It limits your intellectual development. Which was probably the intent. It’s why your people have so much trouble with education, why you struggle with complex concepts, and why you had trouble maintaining a more advanced civilization here.”

Disappointment flooded her. “You mean I can never learn to read?”

His voice gentled, “Kamoj, I think you could learn anything you set your mind to.”

“I hope so.” She laid her head against his and closed her eyes. Thunder rumbled again, more distant now, less threatening…

She awoke alone in the dark. Then she heard a splash in the bath chamber. Going to investigate, she found Vyrl swimming laps in the pool. Moonlight poured through the stained glass window, filling the room with ghostly gem colors. The radiance reflected off the water and made patterns on the tiled walls.

Kamoj was struck again by his athletic grace. She recalled his question: it is accepted for men to dance here? And Dazza had referred to his “artistic temperament.” Watching him, it finally made sense. Of course. Vyrl liked to dance. She had no doubt he did it well. Yet for whatever reason, it wasn’t accepted for men where he came from. Such a simple matter, but it was something she could offer in return for his leaving his home to live on Balumil. Here he could dance if he wanted.

She imagined him at the harvest festivals, swinging her around in the central square of the village, or in the Dance of The Skylions, surrounded by the rest of Argali’s people, everyone whirling beneath the aurora borealis. No more cowl and cloak, no more metal mask. Perhaps he would always have to wear a shimmer that sheathed his body, but once her people knew him, knew the good man beneath it all, they could accept his differences.

As Kamoj knelt by the pool, Vyrl swam over to her.

“We have skylions in the mountains,” she told him. With a grin, she added, “I’ve heard it said they don’t like getting wet,” and gave him a hearty splash.

He caught her hand. “Ah, but nothing is so beautiful as a rose covered with dew.” Then he yanked her into the pool.

She thrashed to the surface, spluttering. “Hai!”

He grinned. “I get clumsy sometimes.”

“Clumsy, hah!” She splashed him again, then took off like an ottermock, arrowing under his body as she blew bubbles at him.

They played in the pool for a while. Then they held each other as they drifted around the fountain, passing in and out of the moonlight. When they nudged against the stairs, they settled on a step, their bodies submerged in the water.

So they sat in each other’s arms, their healing begun.