by Autumn Dawn
“It is winter where we are going.”
She sighed. She hated winter. “Are they long, the winters?”
“They last three months.”
“I guess that’s not bad, then.” She could handle a little snow. “Do the summers get hot?”
“At times.”
“Are women allowed to own property? Do they live alone sometimes?”
He looked at her curiously. “Of course. It is more common for a single woman to live with her parents, though. It is more economical.”
“Is it very expensive to own a home or property?”
He considered. “Why would a single woman wish to? It would be very lonely without family.”
“For the same reason a single man would live alone,” she said somewhat tersely. “Sometimes family drives you crazy.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Many single men live with their parents. A house hold might contain three generations. Often the houses are just built onto as the family grows.”
She frowned. “Is land scarce, then?”
“That’s simply how it’s done.”
She saved her breath for a couple of miles, then finally slowed the treadmill to a slow walk as her foot twinged. She was getting sweaty, so she reached for the top button of her uniform jacket, preparing to remove it.
“Don’t do that here,” Brirax snapped, with a quick look around.
She frowned at him. “I’m hot.”
“It’s not seemly,” he said sternly. “Women do not remove clothing in public.”
“I have other layers underneath.”
“You will not do it.”
She frowned, knowing she’d have to figure this culture out quick. It was good that she’d encountered this now, though this prudish attitude rankled. On the bright side, Brirax was treating her like a woman of his culture, and that might be a sign of acceptance.
“Let me see if I understand. If I had left my room in my short-sleeved shirt, would that have been okay?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s the undressing, not the showing of skin that’s the problem.”
“You should not show too much skin. It’s…not good.” He looked uncomfortable with the subject.
She sighed, prepared to sweat. “Can I roll up my sleeves, then?”
He hesitated. “That might be permitted.” He still looked away as she did it, though. That didn’t bode too well for bikini season. “I’m guessing men and women don’t swim together, then? What with skin being an issue and all.” She studied the workout area and headed for an empty space at the side of the room.
“Swimming is different.”
“I see.” She dropped and counted out thirty push-ups in her head, then rolled over and did v-splits. She alternated push-ups with other exercises until she’d done one hundred of them. Her foot was throbbing by the time she was done, just enough to make her quit. No sense pushing it.
Brirax looked faintly impressed. “I watched when you attacked your captain. You trained for war, then? Our women do not.”
“Don’t you allow them to defend themselves?” She didn’t want to answer any questions about her own martial training—she never knew when his ignorance might be to her advantage, because while she liked him, he was still her keeper.
“Most have men to protect them.”
“There is not always a man around to do that. Sometimes, a man may not think it’s necessary to protect a woman from another man.” Ryven, for instance. She had a feeling he could do quite a lot and get away with it.
Brirax was silent, and she suddenly felt tired. “I’m done. Let’s go back.”
Lord Ryven himself came to fetch her in the morning. She was told they had landed at their destination.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Harris-d,” he said in her language.
“Lord Ryven,” she greeted him, noting the use of her rank, and the way his eyes warmed when she used his own title. It seemed they had both been studying, for she had never taught him a morning salutation. The Scorpio never used time references in their greetings.
“We have landed on Rsik. It is cold out this morning. You will want to put this on.” He handed her a coat.
She studied the dull gray material. It was at least two sizes too big, and she wondered from whom he’d borrowed it. Was it his? She noticed he wasn’t wearing one. “Am I supposed to go to my room to put this on, or is putting on clothes different from taking them off?”
He actually grinned. “You may do whichever you like in my presence, but no one objects when a woman protects herself from the cold.”
Was he flirting? Confused, she shot him a suspicious look, but she couldn’t tell. Alien humor was hard to fathom. She put on the jacket and wrapped it closed over her middle to accommodate some of the extra fabric. The sleeves swamped her hands, but she didn’t push them back, knowing it would protect them from the chill.
He sized her up, amusement still lurking in his manner. “Come. Let us have you out and done with the cold before the coat swallows you. We have transportation waiting to take us to my father.”
She wondered at his good mood. Was he just happy to be home, back with his people and safe?
Captain Shiza and Toosun appeared, as well as a handful of others. She kept her eyes open as they walked, never knowing when observations might serve her later. There wasn’t much to see along the route other than long hallways and a lift. In no time they were at the ramp. A blast of cold air from outside made her shiver.
Xera walked down the ramp and then froze in surprise. It was snowing, with banks surrounding the landing area and gently mounded on rooftops. That wasn’t the surprise, though. The snow was pale lavender.
Ryven had stopped by her side. “What is it?”
“The snow is purple!” she blurted, unfamiliar with the word for the precipitation’s exact hue.
He exhaled in amusement and gave her a slight nudge in her back. “Take a closer look.” There were ranks of soldiers on each side, but it was hard for Xera to care about that when she was busy looking at snow swirling around her feet. She held out a hand and caught a few flakes on her coat, but they quickly melted into nothing. “Weird,” she said under her breath. Weird but wonderful. She wondered if the snow stained things when it melted. Maybe that’s why these people wore so much gray.
Then again, she was on a military base—or assumed she was. There were no civilians to be seen on the tarmac, only buildings like fat silos with decks and mushroom roofs. A transport was waiting for her party at the tarmac edge, and she stooped to grab a handful of snow before she climbed in. As it melted in her hand, a lavender cloud of gas was released.
“I give you a coat to ward off the chill and you choose to bring the chill with you,” Ryven remarked, but he sounded amused.
A glance at him confirmed it. “It melts clear! What is this cloud that comes from it? It’s not contaminated, is it?” She dropped the snow to the floor in sudden consternation.
He laughed. “It won’t hurt you. The gas is a natural part of our planet and often colors our snow.”
“No, it won’t hurt you—unless you get lost in it,” Toosun added, after he finished chuckling. “Or it gets under your collar when thrown at you.” He and Shiza grinned at each other, probably recalling childhood exploits. It was odd to think of these soldiers as carefree youths.
“Is it always this color?” Xera asked. A glance out the window of the transport showed loads of freshly fallen snow, with more continuing to fall, making the world a lavender blur.
“Sometimes it’s pale blue or even white,” Ryven said. “I have seen it pink once or twice.”
Pink snow. Xera shook her head and stared out the window.
It was only another moment before they pulled to a stop. They got out at the entrance to a steel and glass building. She didn’t get a good look at the busy city around them before she was ushered inside.
A delegation was waiting for them in the lobby. A man of middle years and middle h
eight bowed to their group.
“Kenji,” Ryven acknowledged him. “How is my father?”
“My lords. Lord Governor Atarus is eager to see you. He bids you to come to him directly. He has refreshments waiting.”
Ryven nodded. They all walked to the side of the room and rode an elevator to the top floor. As they stepped out, he told Kenji, “Toosun and Shiza will go with you. I will be there shortly.”
“Of course, my lord.”
While the rest of them headed for the set of golden doors directly in front of the elevator, Ryven took Xera two doors down. Three women waited for them inside. He nodded to them, then looked at Xera. “This is your aide and two of her assistants. They will help you to make a favorable impression on my father. Listen well and do whatever they tell you. You have one hour.”
Xera watched the door close behind him, then turned and looked at the females. Awkward. Guessing she was supposed to be the senior member of the group, she said warily, “Hello.”
A graceful young woman in a burnt orange robe stepped forward. “My name is Namae. We have little time. If you would come with me?”
Since she had no desire to upset the lord governor and blow her chances to be something other than “spoils of war,” Xera nodded and followed along. Though she had recently showered, she took a bath to “get the smell of space off her.” Namae had a toiletries kit and gave Xera a crash course, then dressed Xera’s hair, murmuring about its lack of length as Xera sat wrapped in a sheet of fabric. “Still, it is thick and wavy. It will grow,” she said consolingly. The aides were dismayed by the condition of her hands and nails, and murmured over her poor feet as they gave her the world’s quickest pedicure. Xera wasn’t sure what they’d been told about her, but the women exuded sympathy. Maybe they thought she’d had a rough life.
What ever the case, Namae was full of helpful tips about how to handle the governor. “Allow him to speak first, of course. He appreciates feminine grace and beauty like any man, so that will help you. You are handsome in an exotic way. Lord Ryven also said you were to look to him if you were unsure. He intends to guide you.” A current of excitement went through the ladies as she said that.
Xera wondered what was afoot. She decided to play the sympathy card. “I know little about your culture, and I admit to being nervous about Lord Ryven. He won’t…hurt me, will he?”
Namae looked horrified. “Of course not! Lord Ryven is known as a champion of women. He is adored! You will be safe with him.” She blushed. “Well, as safe as you wish to be.”
“He’s a womanizer, then?” Xera made sure to sound tentative, unsure. She didn’t want to offend these ladies.
“It is more often the women that pursue him,” Namae offered. “He is very handsome, and rich, of course. He is known for his bravery in war. Not only is he a lord, but a commander of a starship as well. Who wouldn’t want him?”
Xera added “spoiled” to the list of things she knew about Ryven. Clever, ruthless, a killer, a womanizer. The adjectives concerned her.
“We have clothes waiting for you,” Namae said as she completed applying Xera’s makeup. “The ship’s medics sent your measurements here after they completed their scans. I have never chosen colors for such fair skin and unusual eyes, but it was an enjoyable exercise. Everything should be the right size and the colors flattering, but we will know better when you try things on. Let’s attempt this one first.”
She moved to a rolling clothes rack filled with garments in dark pumpkin, russet, emerald, white with sky blue, indigo and pink. Xera seriously doubted she’d look good in anything on that rack. She hadn’t worn pink since she was an infant, surely, and had unilaterally rejected it since adulthood.
Namae held several garments up to Xera’s face and murmured to herself. She finally chose a sapphire blue tunic with slit sides and sleeves. It had a silky, sky blue pajamas-type garment that went underneath and gently swirled around Xera’s legs and torso. After months of wearing a serviceable uniform, the clothes felt indecently silky and light. There was a wide gold sash for the waist and a wide collar made of brilliant blue, gold, green and red beads, bracelets and rings. Even Xera’s slippers glittered with beads.
“Where did all this jewelry come from?” she asked, bewildered. “This seems extravagant.”
“We want the lord governor to see you as we wish you to be,” Namae said as she fixed a headdress with long trailing beads in Xera’s hair. “Never underestimate the power of dazzling beauty.”
Xera was allowed her first look in the full-length mirror. She gasped, hardly recognizing the image. She looked exotic, frighteningly feminine with her waist cinched with the sash and her irritatingly large breasts tamed by the wrapped top. Why hadn’t she tried harder to find clothes that made her look this good before? Maybe she’d told herself that she was too busy, or maybe she didn’t have Namae’s talent. “You’re good,” she said frankly.
Namae smiled. “Our hour is up. There will be an escort to Lord Ryven now.”
Xera wasn’t surprised to see Brirax outside the door, but she didn’t recognize the other three men. Brirax didn’t say anything, but his eyes made a quick scan of her as he bowed slightly. “Come this way, Lieutenant Harris-daughter.”
She didn’t feel like a lieutenant as she moved along in her slippers, trying to relax. The silky underclothes were terribly distracting on her bare skin. She prayed that didn’t show.
The golden door opened. Xera walked as gracefully as she could through a foyer and into an inviting living room. Three of the four men inside rose to their feet as she entered. She couldn’t tell from Ryven’s eyes what he thought of her transformation, but he moved forward and took her hand in a proprietary manner. “Dangerous woman,” he murmured. “Come, meet my father.”
Chapter Seven
The rough timbre of his voice made Xera shiver. His slow, deliberate movements, as if he were savoring the moment, didn’t help. Ryven led her before the older man sitting on the throne. Frankly, the man looked old enough to be his grandfather and must have sired him at a late age. He had a surprising amount of white hair neatly tamed on his head, and a thin, delicately groomed Fu Manchu that trailed down past his chin. He looked somewhat like a tanned catfish with fiery eyes.
His robes were simple brown, with a black-belted waist and a cream-colored undertunic. The room was decorated with similar, Zen-like simplicity. The floors were tiled in tan stone with a black mosaic, and pillows for sitting lined the room. The chamber featured light filtering through the rough-hewn beams, giving it a tranquil look.
Those keen old eyes, so like Ryven’s, studied Xera. “If this is a sample of the women that serve on human battleships, I think we will be more careful about taking our prizes. You are a beautiful woman, Lieutenant Xera Harris-daughter.”
She lowered her face as heat fired her cheeks, unable to help herself. She wasn’t used to compliments or such frank appreciation. “Thank you, Lord Governor.”
“Hm. Sit. Refresh yourself.” The Lord Governor Atarus looked at Ryven. “I think you have not told me the half of your adventures, my son. You mentioned her spirit, but not those magnificent blue eyes.” He looked back at Xera. “I am told that your captain attacked you, that you broke his knee. Why did you allow him to live?”
Caught off guard, she had to think about that. “Our laws…if we had been rescued by a ship of our own and I had killed him, I might have been found guilty of murder. It would have been my word against the rest of the crew’s.”
Those eyes bored into her. “But you were not found by a ship of yours.”
“No…Lord Governor.” She was beginning to see this man for the canny old warrior he was. She’d have to be careful and guard her tongue or he’d trip her.
“You hesitate when using my title.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “I have to remind myself to not simply call you ‘sir.’ We do not have lord governors where I am from. Also, I feel I am pronouncing the words badly and am trying to do a bett
er job.” There were some awkward syllables in there.
“Is that how you would address the ruler of your country? As ‘sir’?”
“Yes…Lord Governor.”
He relaxed into his chair. “You may call me ‘sir.’ ”
She also relaxed, relieved to have gotten so far without mortally offending him.
“Drink,” Ryven said, and handed her a chilled glass. “He has not eaten you yet, and I suspect he will not.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said rather gratefully. She couldn’t detect any spirits in the drink, but decided to go slowly, just in case. She didn’t need to make a drunken fool of herself, especially now.
The talk turned to lighter things. She let the men speak and merely observed, trying to learn more about them. That worked for perhaps five minutes.
“I have never known a woman to be silent unless she is frightened or angry,” Lord Atarus observed. “Which are you, Lieutenant?”
She blinked. “I am observing, sir. There is more to being a translator than speaking the language.”
“Is this your passion, then, or your job?”
She hadn’t thought about it in a long time. How did she feel about it? “Flying was my first love. I joined the Galactic Explorers to be a pilot, but was assigned to language ser vices instead. I hated it at first, but now…I like knowing what those around me are saying. It has been a useful tool.” And yeah, she did feel a little smug now and then knowing that she heard things her captain didn’t understand. She’d had an essential role to play, and it had felt good.
“I didn’t know you were a pilot,” Ryven murmured. “What can you fly?”
She shrugged. “Small craft, officially, though I’ve spent many hours in a simulator.” Flying fighters and large craft, but she wouldn’t add that unless he asked.
He didn’t have a chance, for his father had more questions. “Why did you learn our language? Surely you had many to choose from.”
True. At the time there had been many more practical choices. “It was exotic, I suppose. I liked the way it sounded, the…” She couldn’t think of the word. “It is beautiful to hear.” Although she’d heard it shouted, growled and clipped in the last week, she still thought it was one of the most lyrical languages she’d heard. It was almost impossible to make ugly.
