Wishes Come True

Hisoka opened his eyes and found Argent hovering at the side of the bed. Nothing in the fox’s expression gave away how much he’d overheard, but … probably everything. Argent would want to know about Hisoka’s past, probably needed to know, but he wasn’t ready to face the kinds of questions that would drag splinters of truth out of the wound in his heart.

Argent’s brows lifted, but all he said was, “I will bring food.”

And so the fox retreated, leaving Hisoka alone to face Nemi’s legacy.

Rhomiko stirred and opened eyes unlike … anything. Their irises might have been carved from dull gray stone, without a hint of shine. The only thing that spared them from lifelessness was the glitter of black pupils that widened, then tightened down as they focused on him.

Recognition livened Rhomiko’s whole expression. The hand Hisoka had been holding pulled free, and Rhomiko sat up. Blankets fell away, baring pale skin freckled by innumerable tiny facets. Hisoka couldn’t say for certain if these were reflecting the ambient light or if Nemi’s child had inherited some of her shine.

Hisoka was already reaching for a bare shoulder to check, but maybe he shouldn’t?

Rhomiko didn’t shy away from his claws. Indeed, Nemi’s child pivoted toward him. Permission.

Warm skin felt ordinary enough. But visually, it was wholly unique. Pretty.

Rhomiko bent nearer, and the hacked ends of long hair slipped forward, framing a face with pronounced cheekbones. She … he … they looked undernourished. Propping up on an elbow, Hisoka ran a cautious hand over the jut of a shoulder, then gaunt ribs. Concerned, he mumbled, “You must be starving.”

“Do you think so?”

“Argent is bringing food.”

Rhomiko traced one of Hisoka’s eyebrows with a fingertip. “Are you hungry?”

“I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

“Will you teach me?”

“You don’t know how to eat?”

“I have never had the pleasure,” Rhomiko said, sounding as if he were quoting someone. Nemi. Yes, the inflection was pure Nemi. “You will teach me.”

Hisoka should have realized. Rhomiko had never been outside the chrysalis that had also protected Nemi. A whole life spent in captivity, safely kept in their mother’s arms, awaiting rescue. Awaiting him.

He asked, “Do you even need food?”

“I wonder. My father consumed sigils, and my mother took strength from songs.”

Neither sounded particularly filling. “I know a moonbeam who likes custard.”

“Teach me that, then.”

“I don’t know what Argent might bring.” There couldn’t be much to eat aboard a windship.

“Neither do I,” said Rhomiko, sounding delighted that they had something in common.

Hisoka was finding this half-star, half-stone person increasingly confusing. Hannick Alpenglow had explained that Nemi’s child was without gender, that Impressions could choose either. Or choose to do without. The imps Hisoka had met before had either presented as male or female, but Rhomiko’s scent and what he could see of their physiognomy … nothing was definitive.

Felines embodied curiosity, and new things were inherently interesting. But Hisoka’s instincts had him second-guessing every response. He hadn’t realized how much of his clan’s culture and how many feline courtesies relied on gender. Averting his gaze, he mumbled, “Do you have any idea what you might need?”

“Only that I need you.” So serene, so pleased. “And you are here.”

Hisoka eased back onto his pillow, wanting to put more distance between them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do not mind.” Rhomiko scooted closer, pushing up onto hands and knees, looming over Hisoka, trapping him. Their hair curtained the rest of the world from view.

Hisoka wondered if there was impish allure at play. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, even though some part of him was anxious for escape. What was Rhomiko after? But then he caught the briefest sparkle of green within the liquid black, like fireflies dancing in the distance. He watched intently, hoping it would happen again, noticing too late that the space between them had diminished considerably.

With a smile that set off another spiral of green sparks, Rhomiko kissed the tip of his nose.

An old memory flowed back. Of Nemi drawing Hoshiko into her arms and bestowing kisses, some light, some lingering, and one bright enough for any to see. His sister may have had Hiroki for a twin, but it was Nemi’s mark that shone upon her brow.

Rhomiko next pressed a soft kiss to Hisoka’s forehead, as if trying to bestow the mark shining in his memories.

And still, Hisoka didn’t know what to do. Should he rebuff as he would any advance? Should he reciprocate as a form of greeting? Rhomiko was not a child, but they may as well be newborn. And so he took up the same refrain, even though it made him sound petulant. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You have never kissed someone before?”

“I … have.”

“Am I mistaken?”

Hisoka finally managed to lower his gaze. “I would hardly criticize a courtesy.”

“The first was from Mother. She asked me to give it, and I have kept my promise.”

A kiss from Nemi? But why? Affection? Gratitude? Forgiveness?

“The second was from me. I thought it would shine. In Mother’s stories, a kiss to claim would shine.”

Hisoka’s gaze was pulled back, then drawn deep, for that fizz of green sparkles kindled his curiosity, held him rapt. Rhomiko’s eyes held something like the fire in a gemstone, dancing just out of reach. Akin to the whisper-light touch of Michael’s soul whenever he coaxed for a tending session. Teasing. Alluring. Perfect.

“Why would you …?” Hisoka began. But he was already shying away from the answer his question might bring. He’d lived too long with starry portents not to be wary of truths. Especially those he didn’t want to hear. So instead, he asked, “Why Rhomiko?”

“My name?”

“Yes. It’s not a star’s name. Rhomi, perhaps. But miko?”

“For you.”

Hisoka hesitated. “I don’t understand.”

“You have watched over others called miko.”

“That’s true. But how did you know?”

Rhomiko went on. “You oversaw their happiness, and you envied their happiness. You wished for a miko of your own. Or a … a Michael of your own?”

“I … I never …!” At least, not in so many words.

“Mother must have known what you wished for.” With all the confidence of stars, who know the truth simply because it is true, Rhomiko declared, “I am the answer.”