Free A Song for Lya by George R. R. Martin

burn like red and blue-white fires in the awesome blackness above. In Valcarenghi's office, all the walls are glass. I went to one, and looked out. I wasn't thinking. Just feeling. And I felt cold and lost and little.
    Then there was a soft voice behind me saying hello. I barely heard it.
    I turned away from the window, but other stars leaped at me from the far walls. Laurie Blackburn sat in one of the low chairs, concealed by the darkness.
    “Hello,” I said. “I didn't mean to intrude. I thought no one would be here."
    She smiled. A radiant smile in a radiant face, but there was no humor in it. Her hair fell in sweeping auburn waves past her shoulders, and she was dressed in something long and gauzy. I could see her gentle curves through its folds, and she made no effort to hide herself.
    “I come up here a lot,” she said. “At night, usually. When Dino's asleep. It's a good place to think."
    “Yes,” I said, smiling. “My thoughts, too."
    “The stars are pretty, aren't they?"
    “Yes."
    “I think so. I—” Hesitation. Then she rose and came to me. “Do you love Lya?” she said.
    A hammer of a question. Timed terribly. But I handled it well, I think. My mind was still on my talk with Lya. “Yes,” I said. “Very much. Why?"
    She was standing close to me, looking at my face, and past me, out to the stars. “I don't know. I wonder about love, sometimes. I love Dino, you know. He came here two months ago, so we haven't known each other long. But I love him already. I've never known anybody like him. He's kind, and considerate, and he does everything well. I've never seen him fail at anything he tried. Yet he doesn't seem driven, like some men. He wins so easily. He believes in himself a lot, and that's attractive. He's given me anything I could ask for, everything."
    I read her, caught her love and worry, and guessed. “Except himself,” I said.
    She looked at me, startled. Then she smiled. “I forgot. You're a Talent. Of course you know. You're right. I don't know what I worry about, but I do worry. Dino is so perfect, you know. I've told him—well, everything. All about me and my life. And he listens and understands. He's always receptive, he's there when I need him. But—"
    “It's all one way,” I said. It was a statement. I knew.
    She nodded. “It's not that he keeps secrets. He doesn't. He'll answer any question I ask. But the answers mean nothing. I ask him what he fears, and he says nothing, and makes me believe it. He's very rational, very calm. He never gets angry, he never has. I asked him. He doesn't hate people, he thinks hate is bad. He's never felt pain, either, or he says he hasn't. Emotional pain, I mean. Yet he understands me when I talk about my life. Once he said his biggest fault was laziness. But he's not lazy at all, I know that. Is he really that perfect? He tells me he's always sure of himself, because he knows he's good, but he smiles when he says it, so I can't even accuse him of being vain. He says he believes in God, but he never talks about it. If you try to talk seriously, he'll listen patiently, or joke with you, or lead the conversation away. He says he loves me, but—"
    I nodded. I knew what was coming.
    It came. She looked up at me, eyes begging. “You're a Talent,” she said. “You've read him, haven't you? You know him? Tell me. Please tell me."
    I was reading her. I could see how much she needed to know, how much she worried and feared, how much she loved. I couldn't lie to her. Yet it was hard to give her the answer I had to.
    “I've read him,” I said. Slowly. Carefully. Measuring out my words like precious fluids. “And you, you too. I saw your love, on that first night, when we ate together."
    “And Dino?"
    My words caught in my throat. “He's—funny, Lya said once. I can read his surface emotions easily enough. Below that, nothing. He's very self-contained, walled off. Almost as if his only emotions are the ones he— allows himself to feel. I've