by Amanda Milo
“It’s plenty comfortable here.” After a beat, he adds, “I hope you’ll find it to be anyway—I hadn’t considered you wouldn’t. The keeping of gift brides is too new to me.”
“Maybe you should be taking notes.”
There’s a soft puff of air. “Did you just josh me?”
“How’s it feel?” I say with a grin.
His laughter sounds like thunder.
I try to hold back a smirk. “On second thought, maybe this is a thing you don’t want to get too used to, you know?”
“Have to agree. Especially if these brides come equipped with dogs. My skin may be nicely ventilated now, but how many tooth punctures are too many?”
I snicker.
A moment of quiet stretches between us in which I hear Kota’s soft panting, my shoes and her paws ever so lightly crunching over shavings, and Breslin’s heavier but still soft-sounding steps as he leads the way. He breaks the silence first. “Can I say that you seem to be handling this all very well?”
My smile feels a little bit brittle. “It’s funny: just the other day, my sister was complaining that nothing interesting ever happens. But I wasn’t complaining: I’m happy with my life exactly the way it is. Yet here I am.”
“Was your sibling taken too?”
“I hope not,” I nearly whisper. “I didn’t hear her in the pen. If she’d seen me, she would have called out.”
“How were you captured?”
“I don’t remember. Like I said, I woke up crammed in a pen of strangers who told me we’d been abducted by aliens. I kept hoping it was some bad joke.”
“I’m sorry it wasn’t.”
He sounds like he means it. “Thank you. And thank you for buying me. From the sounds of it, there were some not-so-good potential buyers.”
“You heard right,” he agrees. “If you hold out your hand, we’ve reached the corner. To give you an idea of the size of the bay, do you want to walk all the sides of it?”
“Sure. What else is there to do?”
“Sleep, but if you’re not tired, we can walk.”
“I think I’m too wound up to sleep.” I nibble my lip. “Are you tired?”
“I slept plenty before we ever landed. I’m fine and will be fine. Kind of you to ask though.”
“Sure thing,” I murmur as he guides us along the wall.
“Beware walking around in here; the stalls jut out from the—” he cuts himself off. “Hmm, farmers like myself use directions based on the sun’s horizon position over Vfayr—that’s our planet... which is neither helpful in a spaceship nor with you, I’d imagine.”
“Not too much,” I smile in case he’s looking at me so he knows that I get how hard it is to adapt directions and translate them to be blind-friendly. “Kota will make sure I don’t run into anything. She’s brilliant at it.” I relax even more with him because he’s essentially just told me that I’m allowed to walk freely in here. I’m not a prisoner. This is a huge, huge relief.
But if I’m not his prisoner, and if he doesn’t intend to keep me as his gift—as his bride—what am I to him? “Breslin?”
His steps pause. “Hmm?”
“Will you take me home?”
Even Kota stops breathing, and I wonder if she’s watching something on his face. His voice certainly holds regret. “I have no ship of my own—I can’t take you back myself. But I will ask Ekan.”
“Does Ekan know where Earth is?”
“I have every reason to believe he desperately wants to find out.”
This news does not sit as comfortingly as it should. “And… why is that?”
There’s a pause. “I… I don’t wish to upset you. I have reason to believe they’ll agree to return you. Let’s leave it at that.”
I stumble to a halt. Kota’s nose taps my leg and I know she’s checking me over to make sure I didn’t hit anything. On autopilot, I scritch her shoulder to let her know I’m fine… but it’s a lie. They’d return me? I’ve just been walloped with the most ridiculous sense of rejection. I feel like I’ve tripped over an electric fence. “Because I’m blind?”
Breslin’s hand suddenly swallows both of mine. “Sanna! No.” He sounds so appalled that I relax, and I quickly blink away the stupid sting in my eyes. He sighs, and it’s a reluctant one. “That rather prized race that I mentioned? The one you resemble? You and your fellow humans sold for an unimaginable amount of money today because buyers were under a mistaken impression, believing you to belong to a rare species. If the Na’riths can find Earth, they’ll have access to more of your kind, an abundance perhaps, and with what they’ll make selling them, the loss of your buying price will not give them pause then. They’ll be making the trip to your homeworld anyway and that will be your chance, when the collection of others makes their trip worthwhile.”
He’s absolutely right: this is upsetting news. I’m gaping at him—they’d let me go home when they go to abduct other innocent women? Wait—and they’re great plan is to do what? “You’re telling me they’re going to sell humans as knock-offs?”
The voice that echoes off the walls is from the other male I met earlier, the one Breslin calls Ekan. “Knock-offs—I like it! So many lovely new words from lovely new aliens. We’re going to make so many credits.” There’s unbridled excitement in his voice, the same way someone would say coffee refills are UNLIMITED.
Breslin makes polite introductions and asks Ekan about the possibility of me being dropped off at home when the Na’riths make their stop to pillage Earth. Ekan isn’t as excited about this plan as you’d hope a space pirate would be, and not at all for the reason I’d expect. “You want to return my gift,” he says flatly, and it’s not like I can feel him looking back and forth between us—I hear that expression a lot, and as a person who has no visual cues, I don’t pick up on glances. But I sure can feel the expectation hanging in the air as Ekan waits for us to explain.
Breslin remains reasonable, as if he feels I’m a person deserving of basic rights and freedom and maybe not just a wedding gift/slave/bride. Yes, I’m really hung up on this part. Where I’m from, it’s just not done. My best friend asked for the full set of Briggs’ Alpha and Omega books in hardcover when she got married. Books. Not a groom. “She was taken from her home, Ekan. We can return her—”
Ekan’s voice is pointed towards me. “Is this because you’re blind?”
“Ekan!” For the first time, there’s an edge to Breslin’s voice. It’s aggressive and angry and more than a little protective. I’m touched and relieved—and stupidly, my backbone stiffens.
Ekan sighs. “Don’t glare at me like I’m being insensitive, Bres. It’s a reasonable question and I meant no offense, mock-princess Sanna.”
Mock princess Sanna?
He goes on. “I understand that your handicap would make it impossible for you to assimilate into Breslin’s extremely boring life and truth be told I didn’t think of that when I bought you for him. If he’s fine with his gift being set free, I’m fine with it too. But if your home planet is in the galaxy I think it is, it’s going to take us a bit to get there. I’ll do it, but I have a couple of runs to make first. Would you like to ride with pirates as we appropriate merchandise from individuals who aren’t aware they’re parting with it, or would you rather sit on a farm bored straight out of your skull until we hunt for your Earth?”
“You have a farm?” I blurt even as my brain tries to imagine scenarios where individuals learn they’ve just had merchandise get appropriated by pirates. I could be wrong but I’m having trouble visualizing that it ends well. My return ride home is going to get blown all to hell before I ever have a chance to get there. In the event it doesn’t though, is Ekan’s woman going to be offered the chance to go home too? Or just me?
I hate being singled out and judged and found lacking. For anything—evidently even my suitableness as an alien farmer’s bride.
“My homestead has been in the care of renowned Garthmaw’s—”
My brain�
��s brand new translation software peeps, Trainer. Like… an alien animal tamer?
“—For generations. I’m very lucky to live on such a fine farm,” Breslin answers, and his pride in his family’s legacy is obvious. “But… if you’d rather stay with Ekan, the Na’riths will welcome you with open arms.”
“Sanna,” Ekan says not unkindly, “I want you to know that we really will.” The physical origin of his voice shifts slightly as he makes his address to Breslin. “Bres my friend, honestly, she’s blind. No matter how nice your farm is, she can’t do a damn thing there and she’ll be teveking bored as hells. Sorry. As gifts go, this wasn’t my best.”
“Ekan,” Breslin’s voice is tight. “Friend, I don’t want to come to blows with you, but if you continue to talk about Sanna like—”
“Like what?” Ekan doesn’t sound offended, or angry or worried—just matter-of-fact. “Are we supposed to pretend she’s… now there’s a nice glare. Look at you, puffing all protective. Creator, you’re turning as savage as your animals—this is why I wanted to get you a nice woman. Maybe we’ll find the perfect one for you when we round up new ones. Tell you what: you can have first pick. Any one of the lot you want, my treat.”
Maybe we’ll find the perfect one. Not me, because being blind and all, I’ll never be anyone’s idea of perfect, will I?
I shake out my fists. I don’t have many buttons. But people—or aliens, as it happens, who knew I’d ever have the opportunity to find this out—discussing what I’ll feel and predicting how I won’t manage, and judicially deciding that I’m incapable of doing something, that I’m handicapped… it rubs steel right into my spine. This Ekan couldn’t possibly know that, and from the way he’s talking to his friend, either he likes to get punched in the face or he’s oblivious—but I’m absolutely internally shouting that I can do anything I put my mind to.
Even stay on an alien’s farm, or so claims my pride. The knee-jerk, lifetime-honed reaction to adapt, adjust, and overcome is strong. “I choose Breslin.”
My declaration comes out just as Breslin starts to snarl something at Ekan. Instantly, both males fall silent.
Kota shifts, her breaths short as if she’s very focused. I’m right with her. “Is that okay with you?”
“If you’re sure…” Ekan says so dubiously, my spurred decision forms into an ironclad affirmative. I’m DOING this.
“Enough with you,” Breslin hisses, “Enough!”
“It was nice meeting you, Sanna,” Ekan says so cheerily, I wonder if he’s a little crazy. Breslin sounds two seconds from flattening him.
“Uh, thanks,” is the best response I can muster.
It’s a few moments before the sounds of Ekan’s footsteps fade away. Breslin speaks, and his voice only holds a little strain. “I’m sorry. He can be too—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, not wanting the, ‘he speaks his mind, he doesn’t mean anything by it,’ or, the old, tired standard ‘I’m sure you’re used to everyone looking out for you.’
Oh boy am I ever.
But I choose to focus on the here and now, where I stand on a spaceship headed for an alien’s farm. Where I stubbornly declared I wanted to go, even though his friend intended for me to be this alien’s blind bed warmer when I get there.
Huh, my hands are shaking a little. I am on my way to getting upset. I bury them in Kota’s fur and she makes a groan that starts off like Someone hurt you: let me kick their ass! and ends with, Right after you’re done massaging me.
Breslin clears his throat, but it’s a beat before he speaks. “I wouldn’t want to offend you by comparing you to an animal, but I have a fair bit of experience with animals. Notsomuch humans,” he adds, his voice light and to my ears, desperately reaching for playful.
“Imagine that,” I quip. It’s not his fault I have triggers when it comes to the perception that blindness equates to helplessness. It’s not his fault they were triggered. I release the dregs of my irritation in a rattling sigh.
“Are you regretting your decision?” Breslin sounds like he’s wincing.
Shavings crunch as he moves closer, but he doesn’t crowd me. He’s been incredibly conscientious so far. If I had to pick between him and his friend—and essentially, I just did—I’d still pick him. “Not yet.”
Scuffing, like the sound the heel of a man’s hand makes as he scuds it over his beard stubble, reaches my ears. Which is kind of peculiar since Breslin has no beard. Concentrating on this quandary almost makes me miss what he says next. “You can’t get home at this moment, but that doesn’t mean never, right?”
My throat tightens. “I really hope not.” I squeeze the handle of Kota’s harness. “Let me guess: you're advising I don’t panic?” But just saying the word panic kind of makes me panic.
“That is precisely my advice. Why are you breathing so—I’m reaching for you,” he informs me, and Kota doesn’t growl as he takes careful hold of my wrist and tugs me close enough to pat my back until I calm down a little. “Shhh. It’ll turn out well. Just settle in with me for now, and don’t panic. I don’t want you to be upset.”
Despite myself, I choke on a watery laugh. “I’m glad my temporary owner is nice. Thank you.”
“Don’t…” he starts softly. “Please don’t think of me as your owner. Just… consider me a friend.”
CHAPTER 8
SANNA
Breslin leans close. “I’d like to introduce you to my motley crew.”
I pull back a little. “The pirates?”
“No, my four-legged friend.”
He laughs at whatever he sees in my expression. “You’re afraid there are ‘aliens’ on four legs?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “She’s more like your friend Kota, somewhat.”
“So eight eyes, huh?”
Breslin’s chuckle makes me smile even as I fake a haughty sniff. But seriously, I very strongly doubt that there’s much similarity between his four-footed friend and Kota, but it seems rude to say that out loud. Instead, Kota and I follow him to be introduced to his mount, and the scent I’ve quickly come to associate as Breslin gets stronger. Dark, earthy, and somewhat ‘wild’-scented for lack of a better word, I have an ‘aha!’ moment—this scent is actually Breslin’s alien horse.
“This is Meesahrah.”
Somehow, in these three words Breslin manages to infuse both affection as well as a frightfully large dose of warning.
Why he feels he has to add warning, and who exactly he’s warning is the mystery, because I could be wrong, but I get the sense it’s not intended for Kota and me.
“If you reach out with your right hand, she’ll bump your fingers with her nose. Yes, like that.”
Her nose is soft—so soft. Velvety-fine and it moves under my touch. I accidentally poke a finger into her nostril and she disappears. “Oops, I’m so sorry!” I tell her. “I don’t usually go around stuffing my fingers up anyone’s nose. That was an accident.”
“She’s alright,” Breslin chuckles. “It only surprised her. She’s not shy; she’ll rub them on you when she’s got a booger.”
“That’s lovely of her!” I’m smiling and my lips stretch even further when her nose presses into me, shifting back and forth over my fingers like it’s twitching with curiosity as she explores me.
“Her lips are directly under her nose, and they’re very sensitive. She’s like a youngling; she mouths everything she’s curious about so don’t be alarmed if she—”
Her lips close over my hand.
Despite myself, my first instinct is to jerk back. My hands are my eyes; for some blind individuals, our digits become highly attuned to the lightest pressure and texture. They develop or even overdevelop a super tactile sense.
“That’s enough, Meesahrah. Let her go.”
I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief—but instead of obeying the command, Meesahrah keeps on playing. Strong, thick lips inch up my wrist and my knuckles are sucked onto a bed of soft, spongy tongue as more of my hand disappears
inside her mouth.
Edges of teeth rim next to my thumb and on the opposite side along my smallest finger. Sharp teeth. This just got serious.
“Meesahrah,” Breslin warns. “Don’t test me.”
Hot breath fans on either side of my elbow as Meesahrah exhales—to my ears—quite petulantly.
Kota makes a warning noise—but she’s drowned out by Breslin’s strange popping snarl. He made the same odd sound when he was carrying me through the crowd of aliens. Boots thud and he forms a wall at my back and with my arm being a quarter of the way inside this animal, I can sense that he grabs ahold of perhaps her ear and it seems like he’s speaking directly into it when he growls, “I won’t tolerate you giving her attitude. You act like a lady with her or you’ll be this fall’s throw rug at the hearth, do you follow me you egg-headed slapperfish?”
She spits out my hand.
Biggest. Breath. Of relief. “Whew! Thanks…”
Breslin’s still chastising his pet. “The only thing thicker than your hide is your skull. If you don’t straighten up, I’ll be using strips from your back for the next shock absorbers on the winter sleigh do you follow me?”
Meesahrah makes a weird mooing sound. Maybe it’s apologetic. But it sounds put-out, like he’s overreacting about the way she tastes his guest’s hands.
Breslin shifts, the heat from his body impossible to ignore as he towers over me, and my guess is he’s checking me over closely. “I sincerely apologize for her deplorable behavior. She’s normally not so…”
“Hungry?” I tease.
Hearty laughter bursts against my forehead. “She doesn’t normally go that far touching people. A bump with her snout to acknowledge them but no more. Here, let me have your hand.”
“My hands must be super cute. You’re not the first alien to want them today.”
“Aren’t you funny,” he murmurs as he gently takes hold of my wrist and drags it across his very, very tightly muscled thigh.
