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If anyone else asked about the ancient vases that dotted the Irizi homestead, Ziara wouldn’t have answered.
But Thrawn was not anyone, and the senior cadet enjoyed filling his appetite for knowledge.
“They were crafted by Irizi’opas’ethe, wife of the 13th Patriarch.”
Thrawn hummed approvingly in response as the pad of his thumb brushed against the ancient vessel’s thin glass-cut body.
It was an odd sensation to perceive art besides him, almost as if Ziara genuinely saw the piece for the first time despite passing it regularly.
The junior cadet’s features lit up with thoughtfulness as he turned to face Ziara. “A homage to her wife,” he motioned for her to look closer. “The hand painted sun blossoms and Inisa’s symbolize longevity, adoration.”
A soft smile touched Ziara’s lips. “Not only do you study art but flowers to? Tell me, when do you have time to pursue such interests outside of Academy life?”
Thrawn lightly shrugged. “Flowers are a form of art. Their symbiotic relationship to both soil and pollinators united with their physical appearance epitomizes beauty, perhaps in its purest form.”
She wanted to tease him, and yet Ziara found herself almost at a loss for words. How could a nineteen-year-old possess such a mature understanding of the world?
“It is beautiful,” she nodded towards the vase. “
“Yes.”
Allowing Thrawn another moment to admire the glass vessel, Ziara brought her hand to the hem of his sleeve, lightly tugging him along.
After her unofficial tour ended, the two crashed in the library, with Ziara’s head in Thrawn’s lap as he read mythology aloud.
Her love for the fictitious accounts was something only one other knew. Not that she was ashamed of her hobby; rather, it served little function in the realm of her career – or so she once believed.
“Myths are sacred tales, depicting both knowledge and resolutions to timeless inquires. Without legends, we would be lost, directionless among the stars.” Thrawn murmured as he ran a hand through her hair.
“Only if all Chiss held such a perspective.”
A warm vibration emulated from Thrawn’s chest as he softly laughed.
Closing her eyes, Ziara snuggled deeper into his thighs. “Keep reading.”
Wordlessly, Thrawn abided. “Take courage, my heart: you have been through worse than this. Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”
Thrawn’s voice was easy to get lost in; the natural yet knowing cadence his words held had become an unknown comfort, a bastion amongst the choppy seas of Taharim.
“So, you let anybody read the Ch’od’yssey to you.” Zirika’s tone held a note of humor as she took in Ziara’s lazy form before shifting her gaze towards Thrawn. “Who is this, your boyfriend?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ziara playfully flashed her teeth in the young women’s direction as Thrawn went rigid beneath her.
“So, you are into junior cadets now?” Zirika retorted back as she dropped into a seated position next to her. “What’s your name?” She motioned towards Thrawn.
“Mitth’raw’nuru,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically reserved.
Pushing herself upwards, Ziara re-oriented herself into a cross-legged position. She knew Thrawn didn’t enjoy being in large social situations, but he was always fine around her friends.
“Aren’t the Mitth our rivals?” Zirika’s nose wrinkled playfully as she craned her neck in Ziara’s direction.
“I have met flashflies who care more about family feuds than you.”
Zirika rolled her eyes as she turned back towards Thrawn.
Ziara watched as Zirika’s eyes narrowed as she studied the Junior Cadet as if trying to make meaning out of the stranger’s face.
“So, you want to join the fleet?” Something almost inaudibly bitter lingered on Zirika’s tongue.
Over the past eight years since Zirika joined the Irizi, Ziara had never pressed the women about her previous life. Was she curious? Absolutely. Yet, some boundaries always deserved to be respected.
“I want to help the Ascendancy,” Thrawn replied, his voice clipped as his eyes narrowed.
Zirika raised a dark eyebrow. “Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t.
Rolling her eyes, Ziara reached for the abandoned copy of the Ch’od’yssey before lightly bringing it down against Zirika’s shoulder. “Jealousy makes you cruel.”
Lackadaisically bringing her fingertips to her chest, Zirika fiend a hurt expression before she rose to her feet. “You guys are boring.” She muttered under her breath before slipping out of the library, not bothering to close the door behind her.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Ziara turned back to face Thrawn, whose features were contorted in an unreadable mask. “Just ignore her; she’s never liked anything related to the fleet.” She paused, measuring for an ounce of acknowledgment in Thrawn’s features. “I think she’s a pacifist.”
He remained silent.
With a soft sigh, Ziara gently touched the inside of Thrawn’s wrist. “What is it?”
The junior cadet shook his head absently. “Zirika…” He trailed off before reaching for the Ch’od’yssey.
Putting her hands on top of the book, Ziara stopped him from opening it. “You can talk to me.” Ziara met his gaze while she spoke.
Thrawn’s eyes narrowed for a moment before his shoulders slumped. “It is of little importance now, but I had a sister on Rentor, she died before I came of age. Zirika merely reminded me of her.”
Ziara felt her eyes widen. “I had no idea.”
Thrawn’s eyes fell to the floor. “It is considered wrong to speak of the dead on Rentor, many believe it causes their spirits to linger.”
The Senior cadet silently nodded. She knew little of Thrawn’s life before the Mitth asides from Rentor and his father, who had cultivated his appreciation for the arts.
Practices regarding the deceased were as vast as they were common within the Ascendancy. Ziara supposed she shouldn’t be surprised regarding Thrawn’s own beliefs, especially considering how close to home they truly hit.
“We don’t have to talk of her anymore.”
Thrawn nodded appreciatively as he returned to the page, silently beckoning Ziara to return to her original position.
Snuggling back into his lap, Ziara nodded for Thrawn to continue.
“Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.”
As she returned to the peaceful lull of the younger Chiss’s words, Ziara couldn’t wholly shake the notion that there was more to both Zirika’s empty glances and Thrawn’s paling skin that met the eye.
Perhaps one day she would understand, perhaps she would forget the encounter entirely.