A thousand questions raced through Atlanta, but she could feel Tubal Last’s cold eyes on her. She quieted, knowing instinctively that the man would not suffer having the dramatic impact of the moment he’d been waiting for spoiled.

Petalia said nothing, but stood there, staring across the room.

They did look female, as much as Lolola had, but it was a different, less human beauty. Their smooth skin was a pale green, and their hair a profusion of golden blossoms, a shimmering mass of them that occasionally shed a wispy petal, floating down like a discarded comma in the air. Their features were finely cast: a narrow nose, small mouth, and enormous eyes a green somehow darker and more lambent than their skin. They were graceful, slim, in body type resembling a tall human teen, one raised, perhaps, in an attenuated gravity that encouraged length of limb.

Niko had raised her head. She looked, expressionless, at the Florian.

Petalia was the first to speak. They said, “It’s been a long time, Nicolette.”

“That it has,” Niko agreed. Her voice sounded strained and gravelly.

“You said you would come back for me. Perhaps you finally have?”

“I have suffered some setbacks along the way, here and there, that have gotten in the way of that.”

“A career in the Holy Hive Mind.”

“That was the major delay, yes.”

“I see.” Petalia stepped fully from the shadows. They wore a long, white sleeveless robe, filmy cloth that clung to and showed glimpses of the pale green flesh it sheltered, with no ornament or embroidery other than a narrow band of gold at the hem and neck. Their only jewelry was a thick gold bracelet crudely studded with golden beads, its construction at odds with the rest of her look. “And then there were others. Career mishaps. Retirements. Starting a restaurant.”

“It was more complicated than that, but you have listed the essentials.”

Petalia wound their way through the room, stopping beside Tubal Last. He reached out a hand, his eyes still watching Niko, and slowly, deliberately stroked Petalia’s forearm. Where he touched, the skin darkened, and when he raised his hand, the rest in the room could see the trail his fingers had left along the Florian’s forearm.

Petalia betrayed no sign of pain or pleasure, just kept watching Niko, who watched only their face. For the two of them, there was no one else in the room. Atlanta felt abashed; this was a moment of high emotion, oddly intimate. She didn’t want to imagine Niko entangled with this beautiful person, didn’t want to imagine Niko loving someone who seemed so unworthy of her.

Because, despite Petalia’s beauty, the grace of their form, the liquid lyricism of their voice, something about the Florian felt … wrong. Atlanta tried to pin down exactly what it was, but the thought escaped her.