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An open copy of The Laethian Account was tucked in Cassia’s lap as she sat in one of the plush red armchairs of the officer’s lounge. Her purple dress was neatly folded around her, a mantle for the dusty and age-worn book. She took pleasure in how the pages felt between her long, clawed fingers, and the way the flickering amber light from the nearby fireplace played on the parchment.
The fire was warm, too, the light just enough to read by. But if she could admit it, at least to herself, Cassia had not been reading for the last while. Instead, she had been watching her companions, her fellow readers: Amberlyn von Valancius and Master van Calox. They were seated together on the same spacious couch, across from Cassia, where a green shaded lamp overlooked them from behind.
The navigator had noticed the change between them a few months ago, during their regular readings. Master van Calox enjoyed his particular (and highly specific) spot on one end where he could lean on the armrest as he read, hand on his mouth, and still watch the rest of the room. Conversely, Amberlyn — no, Amber (as she preferred to be known, and Cassia wished to fulfil the Lord Captain’s own wishes), had initially taken the opposite corner. She had sat quite awkwardly, as though unsure with what to do with her legs. But slowly, she had come to tuck them under herself and now sat rather comfortably, her dark trousers curled up beneath her, white shirt hanging loose, her blue jacket an improvised blanket.
Day by day, piece by piece, reading by reading, Amber had slowly moved closer to Master van Calox on the couch. To the point that they now sat very close together — almost to public indecency. If Master van Calox wanted, he could easily draw the rogue trader into his lap. Not that he should, or at least Cassia thought he shouldn’t, because that wouldn’t be courteous, especially where all the other officers of the voidship could see. (Or maybe he should, because that would be rather sweet, and Amber would blush just so.)
The very idea sent Cassia’s heart fluttering. She almost wished he would, if only to see their orange flush of embarrassment, melting into a joyous pink sky once more. She had first seen it a few weeks ago, when she had arrived a moment too early to a meeting in the Lord Captain’s office and discovered Amber and Master van Calox entangled together.
Cassia knew she could never be anyone’s — would never be anyone’s one and only — but she could still take happiness in watching the beautiful colours of other couples blossom around her instead.
She had enjoyed watching Amber and Master van Calox’s colours shift, but feared to mention it, let she spoil the blush of pinks and ardent reds that flitted about whenever they were near each other now. (Particularly when they did not think they were being too obvious — though their affections were obvious to anyone.) Even after her accidental discovery that day in Amber’s office, Cassia had sworn herself to secrecy. (Though she had overheard that their courtship was the talk of the crew, since their miraculous return from the Dark City — not that any of them had talked to Cassia about it).
The navigator could take joy, too, from assisting a beleaguered couple take another stumbling step forward — to see a romance she had only read about play out before her, even if it could not be her own.
Tonight, the three of them had taken to quietly reading their own material. Amber had a novel from the late Lady Theodora’s library — A Myriad Sea, and Master van Calox was reading a treatise on feudal worlds — The Maker of Kings.
The two of them were quite pointedly not taking note of each other tonight, at least on the surface. But Cassia could see the swirl of their hues in the air: vermilion, cerise and amaranth — understated on the surface, but running deep beneath. Their emotions blended into the amber firelight, smoothing into warm and gentle tones.
Cassia knew just the thing to bring those deeper colours to the surface.
She reached into her pile of books resting on a small table by her armchair, savouring the feeling of her fingers against their spines, and pulled out her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespire. He was one of the dramaturges of Terra from the 2nd Millennium; this volume held all three of his plays, and all fifteen of his sonnets (that Cassia so dearly loved and had pored over in her precious moments of spare time on Eurac V).
“It has been rather quiet for some time now. Shall we do a reading?” she asked.
Master van Calox jolted as though he had been shocked, his emotions flashing with crimson alarm, shifting into an amaranthine warmth when he became keenly aware of how close Amber was to him. Then the air turned cold, and his colours muffled into a glacial blue clutched at his heart.
But Amber, as always, God-Emperor bless her, took a moment to realise someone had spoken. She looked up, her head a cloud of green confusion. The rogue trader spared only a sideward glance at Master van Calox, but even that was enough for bright embers of affection to catch in the air.
Once he had recovered — obviously remembering his noble upbringing — Master van Calox closed his book and dipped his head forward in agreement.
“Do you have a passage in mind, Lady Cassia?” he asked.
The navigator flicked through Shakespire’s sonnets, admiring again how the fire made the paper glow, and paused when she found a suitable verse. It was a sonnet on love; the perfect choice.
“If you will, please,” she said, offering Master van Calox the open book and motioning for him to begin.
Once he had settled back into his spot on the couch, Master van Calox’s colours once again flushed with an exceptionally aware crimson, centred now on his hands where he cradled Shakespire’s works. As he began to read, Cassia saw that rose-pink flush she loved, then a glowing warmth beneath as the earlier blue melted away, along with the chill in the air.
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments…”
As he continued, their colours changed once more: a cerulean-shy horizon in Amber, softening to a gentler dusk, where little embers danced. The rogue trader shifted closer, her eyes flicking to the fire, then to Master van Calox, watching as he swallowed mid-reading. Her hand found its way into the space between them, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“…Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man—”
His voice cut short.
There was a glacial stab in Master van Calox’s heart again, but he reached across to where Amber’s hand rested. With their briefest touch, Cassia watched their colours glow an ardent red once more.
“—nor no man ever loved,” he finished.
Cassia dearly adored watching their colours bloom, and would never tire of the sight. But to watch them too in reality, their fingers just touching, the slightest show of affection sparking such vivid hues? That was more precious than anything.