She let out a long breath through her nose, but to his surprise said, “Fine.”
“Once upon a time there was a Legion brat. At least third generation.” Her exhausted head shake indicated he’d already gotten it dead wrong, but he continued anyway. “Eldest child of a pair of Legion officers. She grew up in the Core, but always dreamed of following in her parents’ footsteps, and at age eighteen she enlisted, ready to sail for the stars…” He swept his hand in an arc in front of him, showcasing the imaginary vista. He looked over at her and smiled.
“Damn,” she said. “You’re terrible at this.”
“Feel free to correct me.”
Rake pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Well, she was a single child from the Outer Core. Came from a shit planet, with shitty parents, and even shittier relatives who begrudgingly took her in after the shitty parents died.”
Cavalon frowned. Well, fuck. He really had been wrong.
“Outer Core, huh?” he said. “Whereabouts?”
“Unlikely you’ve heard of it.”
“Probably have, honestly. It was a key feature of my princely training to learn about all the places outside SC jurisdiction we might be able to exploit.”
“You’d have to fight the Saxtons for it. Seneca-IV.”
“Void, that shithole?” A wave of heat flooded his face. “I mean … no offense…”
She gave a firm shake of her head. “None taken. I stopped claiming any association with it long ago.”
“The Saxtons run a tidy little mining outfit outta there, right?”
“If you want to call forced labor a ‘tidy little outfit,’ then yeah.”
Shit. Warmth crept into his neck and ears, and he scratched at the stubble on his jawline. There he went again, with his sociopathic tendencies. “Sorry, sir,” he said quickly, “I, uh, I didn’t mean to make light of it. I really do realize how bad things are in the Outer Core.”
“It’s fine.”
He cleared his throat, considering what to make of her lack of outward emotion. “So, uh, if she was all the way out in Seneca, how’d she end up a legionnaire?”
“The Legion was the only way off-world, so when she was sixteen, she ran away and enlisted.”
Cavalon gaped, then stumbled, almost tripping over his own feet. She was sixteen when she enlisted? That meant she’d been with the Legion half her life.
“Uh, how’d she join so young?” he asked, taking a few quick steps to catch back up.
“She told them she was eighteen.” She gave a small shrug. “The recruitment officer didn’t really believe her, but … he probably felt bad for her.”
“Bad for her? Why?”
“Kid shows up looking like that?” Her brow furrowed. “Asking just to push a mop or spit-shine your boots, so long as it’s anywhere but there. Took some begging, but it wasn’t hard to convince him.”
Cavalon waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, she used her feminine wiles?”
There was that “if looks could kill” glare again. Cavalon gulped.
“Don’t be disgusting,” she chided.
“Sorry…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. And he really was. For whatever reason, she’d decided to be candid with him. He hadn’t meant to derail it with one of his asinine comments. His worry eased with a twinge of relief as she continued of her own accord.
“She didn’t want to exploit his sympathy,” she explained, eyes flickering to the floor. She almost sounded ashamed. Like the only improper thing she’d ever done in her life had been to schmooze this guy into lying on her intake paperwork.