by S. A. Ravel
“Are you mine?” he asked again, and this time his voice was just a voice, and not accompanied by the ennui of a thousand years.
She thought back to the ship that took her to the island. At night, she’d opened her windows to let in the scent of brine and the music of waves crashing against the shore. Had she thought the sea wild, tempestuous? In her foolishness, she’d imagined it to be a god, an elemental Poseidon singing in her dreams.
Oh, how wrong she’d been.
“Abella,” she said, clearing her throat. “My name is Abella.” A swell of danger in her mind, and she scrambled for the words he seemed to need. “I serve.” Some instinct propelled her; she lowered herself to one knee.
He tilted his head to the side, his lips moving as if to consider the weight of her name. “What does your name mean?”
The question threw her. “I—I don’t know.”
“No?”
He looked away, eyes surveying the beach and collapsing waves. Seeing the waters receding, people crept onto the sands, coming closer as they saw the Archan speaking to Abella. He glanced at them then stepped forward, scooping her into his powerful arms, launching into the air again before she had a chance to protest. Her heart plummeted into her stomach as the ground fell away. Flight came as easily as breathing for the Aikalaan, but for Abella, it was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
He flew over the town, revealing more of the minor devastation as they glided on the wind toward the massive tower. His wings pumped and gathered air as they moved parallel up the height of the tower to the open-air balcony at the top.
The Archan set Abella’s feet on the surface and flapped his wings in the gentle breeze. She backed away, needing to put space between herself and this… creature. Had she thought Luqmun nearly overwhelming, feared he would be difficult to work with? This man took potential difficulty to an entirely new level. He continued to watch her, head titled, as if she was an interesting bird. She couldn’t look away from his eyes—he held her attention, a viselike grip even if it was invisible.
“How do you serve?” he asked. A subtle pressure on her mind, as if he searched inside for something. “Your mind tastes different.”
Was he… sane? How did he not know who she was, if he’d hired her? Something here was wrong, but she didn’t quite understand what was happening.
“I’m Abella Michaels, Archan. Your housekeeper.” And her head ached. What was the proper way to ask him to get the hell out of her mind? She could barely think… the presence faded suddenly, and she was alone in her head again. Abella’s knees trembled with relief and she had to stiffen her spine until she felt normal again.
Ishaiq continued to stare at Abella as her voice trailed off. “You are here to keep my house?” he asked, brow raised. The faint disbelief in his voice brought a frown to her face.
Her back stiffened. “My qualifications—”
“Irrelevant.”
For a blinding second, she wanted to slap him. Irrelevant? Her life, her talents, her love of nurturing hearts and home were irrelevant?
She might have retorted, but a knowing look in his eyes stopped her. So maybe she shouldn’t blame Luqmun for his arrogance—he’d obviously aped it from his master. “All right, maybe now would be a good time to go over your expectations—”
He turned back to her, his brow furrowed. “Luqmun will instruct you.”
“Well, yes, that’s… fine.” Not really, but it wasn’t as if she could argue about it. “But if you had anything you wanted to—”
“Who are you?” he asked.
She blinked, taken aback by his question. “I- I just told you—”
“You told me your name, and you think you told me how you serve.” A small smile on his lips, though it didn’t reach the still glowing eyes or soften the focus of his stare. “That is not who you are.”
“Who I am is none of your business.”
Stillness, the quiet before the crashing of a tsunami on shore. She gritted her teeth against fear, but he turned away.
“We will see,” he said, looking up into the sky.
She followed his gaze, thankful for the reprieve of his attention on someone else. The thanks evaporated as she recognized the wings in the sky, rapidly approaching. Luqmun landed. The Vicelord had taken the brunt of his lord’s wrath. Somehow, she knew he’d been amid the storm, working to control the worst of it while Ishaiq emerged. The braided leather of his sandals frayed at the seams along with several feathers on his gray wings bent from the force of the wind yet still, he moved to his knees in one graceful motion and lowered his head toward the floor.
“Selash angupe, my Archan,” Luqmun said.
Ishaiq took a step forward and placed a hand on the Vicelord’s shoulder. “Selash ndegan. Rise, old friend. Speak to me. I am not fully Awake.”
Luqmun glanced at her, as if the information was such that it shouldn’t be spoken in front of a lowly off-worlder, but Ishaiq didn’t move, unconcerned.
If there was anything strange about the Archan’s behavior, Luqmun didn’t let on. He rose to his feet and clasped his hands in front of him. “The market district is damaged, my Archan. The villagers are restless, uneasy. They know you’ve woken and wish to see you.”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Not… yet.” Ishaiq glanced at Abella, Luqmun following his gaze.
She stiffened, uneasy from the attention.
“The woman may attend them,” the Archan said finally. Luqmun bowed his head, though his eyes remained narrowed on Abella’s face.
“Archan,” she said, uneasy, “what can I do? I’m a stranger, and not even from this world.”
“You are mine.” The words were stark, shorn of any possessiveness, merely an emotionless statement of fact, as if the fact that she was ‘his’ would be—should be—enough to place her in authority over people who didn’t know her.
But his answer didn’t surprise Abella. The villagers were mostly off-worlders and lower status Aikalaan. None of them could see the Archan while he still struggled in the wake of his Grounding. She had read about groundings in the primer, but the words of the HR department hadn’t come close to the stark reality she felt in the Archan’s mind. She instinctively understood that they were all so far beneath him that there was no difference to him between Abella and his villagers. Except that somehow, because of her employment, she could speak, if not on his behalf, then on behalf of his… household. Such as it was.
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
Of course, she would. It was what she did, taking care of people. And in that moment, a little piece of uncertainty settled and when she met the Archan’s gaze again, it was with a bit more confidence. He watched her for another moment then nodded. As if he’d already known her internal dialogue and simply waited for her to know it, too.
But the fading mental connection gave Abella other insights into the Archan’s state of mind. He couldn’t address the issue aloud. Among the Aikalah, appearances mattered more than any other currency. He couldn’t afford to seem weak in front of his Vicelord or off-worlder housekeeper.
Luqmun frowned, hesitating. “My Archan, perhaps it’s best—”
“I can do it,” Abella said, voice edged. She really didn’t like that man.
“What can you do,” her adversary snapped, “besides—”
Ishaiq looked at him, and Luqmun stopped mid-sentence. “She is mine, and she is human. They will take comfort from that. We have other things to discuss.”
Luqmun nodded. He wouldn’t challenge his Archan. Not in front of her. She imagined he’d have plenty to say in private, though.
“Yes, Lord,” he said before turning to Abella. He led her across the balcony to a lift and they rode down to the bottom of the tower in tense silence. Abella tried not to notice Luqmun’s stares.
He didn’t speak until they were outside. “You will find them at the village center. Do not speak of his condition. I will know of it.” And, his eyes said, she would p
ay. How, when the Archan had clearly put her under his protection, she didn’t know.
Abella stiffened. “I wouldn’t betray him.” And realized, as soon as the words left her mouth, they were true. She stood there, stunned. How had this alien inspired so much loyalty, so soon? Simply by believing in her strength and capabilities, by placing almost unfettered trust in her? Even if he was a little crazy, not quite Awake, he was still aware enough. But she’d worked for him officially for what—twenty minutes? And the depth of her internal sense of loyalty didn’t make sense.
But then, having an Archan rooting around in her brain and settling down in a corner like a cat taking a nap, didn’t make sense either. Abella frowned, glancing up. She needed to talk to him about this. About the… connection between them. She wasn’t crazy, it was there. She needed answers.
Abella opened her mouth to tell Luqmun she was returning to the Archan when Ishaiq’s voice whispered in her mind.
You will have your answers. First, we care for the people. Then we figure out this strange thing between us.
She stilled. A subtle threat in his voice. What would he do if the ‘strange thing’ wasn’t to his liking? What would happen to her? Abella shuddered. Mostly from fear, but also because his voice did something to her. Stroked her in places she didn’t want to acknowledge. And hated that he must know the effect he had on her.
Foolish, human. I cannot harm you. Go. We will speak later. Of… everything.
Luqmun glanced at her, an unreadable expression on his face and with a single flap of his massive wings, he took off for the Archan’s penthouse.
His people were in the air when he took to the skies; they would have sensed his Awakening. Ishaiq flew over the island village and across the waters to the city. Looking down, the site… unsettled him. How long had he been asleep to the world? He didn’t remember so many of the buildings… and the off-worlders. They scurried everywhere, tiny wingless creatures bleating like sheep. The scents that wafted in the air both tempted and revolted. His body needed fuel, the physical kind.
Luqmun flew at his side, slightly behind. A silent honor guard, keeping away other Aikalaan who might have come close to greet him, judge the stability of his mind.
Ishaiq winged back to his domain, landing on his penthouse patio. There were no railings; the human woman would have to be careful of strong winds this high up, if her lungs could take the altitude.
“The Conclave allowed in more humans,” Ishaiq said, struggling with the idea. “Why?”
“They make adequate servants,” his Vicelord said. “And they offered trade some of us found useful. And… other things.”
Ishaiq glanced at the male. The tone of Luqmun’s voice altered, just slightly, on the ‘other things.’ Only Ishaiq would have noticed—they’d been together for decades now. Ishaiq knew him well. Though he supposed Luqmun also knew him well.
“The women, you mean,” he said.
Luqmun said nothing; it was a tacit agreement. The woman’s face came to mind, the slopes of it softer than an Aikalaan. Her mouth sweet, a berry-colored pillow, except the few times it pressed with withheld temper. Hair curled around her face and shoulders in a wild mass, charming for the lack of artifice.
Sweet. Wild. Open. Did a woman like that exist?
Her body was also soft. Holding her in his arms for that moment had startled him. His power had sought an anchor for his mind on his rising and this small female had somehow managed to hold him to the ground. Holding her… he wasn’t ready to examine the instincts it produced other than to acknowledge that until he decided, no one would touch her. Or look at her. And she wouldn’t leave from under his authority.
Strange. Human women were so unlike the females of his own kind. Attraction was possible, he knew. They held their own unique beauty, especially in the myriad of shapes and sizes and colors they all came in. His mind returned to the feel of Abella in his arms. Heavy breasts pressed against his, a lushness to her thighs that invited a male to imagine what sinking between them would feel like.
Angels, as the humans called them, burned far too much energy for extra flesh to settle on their bodies. Even the women tended to be slim of hips and chest. The appeal of something lusher, as when their females were big with child… Ishaiq could understand the novelty. But...
“To allow so many of them simply to amuse ourselves with their women? It’s untenable.”
“That is not the only reason, sire. It is one.”
He walked to the edge of his patio, and looked down. There were too many people even here, in his place that was supposed to be quiet. Ishaiq turned toward Luqmun.
“What does the Conclave demand?”
“They have suggested a mate for you. A female of a good family.”
“Who?”
“Seri, the sister of—”
Ishaiq laughed. “Ushop. I didn’t know the Conclave had such humor in their souls. Ahhh… to Wake to such a joke.”
“Sire—”
“Tell them no.”
“She is in the air now.” Luqmun hesitated in Ishaiq’s silence. “She is… a quiet female. Not like Ushop at all. It would be inhospitable not to receive her.”
“And her brother? He escorts her?”
“Of course,”
“Of course,” Ishaiq echoed, gathered his strength and pumped his wings in a powerful, vertical takeoff, hovering twenty feet above Luqmun. “It appears my Vicelord has already extended an invitation on my behalf. Very well. The female has done nothing to offend me, I will see her. And then she will go. And her brother with her. And, Luqmun?”
“Sire?”
“Be kind. She is not the one who betrayed you.”
5
The village center below the Skyhall wasn’t exactly in the center of town. In her experience, village center wasn’t a literal term. Nonetheless, Abella had no trouble finding it even though nobody remembered to give her directions. As it turned out, she had somehow been drawn in the right direction all the same.
A crowd of people gathered around a fountain a few blocks from the cafe, in various stages of wet, from damp to drenched. The entire area buzzed with electric energy and the humming of one hundred voices whispering at once. She could only hear bits and pieces of the conversations, but one word she heard over and over. Archan.
Thalia stood amidst the throng, eyes continuously moving toward the floating tower. She saw Abella and broke away from the people hurrying toward her.
“Tell me what happened—how is he?”
More people in the crowd turned in Abella’s direction, humans and several winged folks as well. Awe and fear in mortal eyes, fear and knowledge in immortal eyes. Ishaiq and Luqmun had called the humans off-worlders, but studying them, she knew they considered themselves to be home, as surely as whatever cities they had called home on Earth. And she now stood between them and their… Lord. Not stood—he’d pushed her out in front.
“He’s awake,” Abella said.
A middle-aged man stepped forward out of the crowd, glancing at Thalia as he approached. “But is he Awake?”
The subtle emphasis on the word told Abella the old man understood the question he asked.
“He’s Awake,” she replied. “But he was concerned about the safety of being near the people so soon. He instructed me to determine the needs of the village while he confers with Luqmun.”
“Ah.” The old man visibly relaxed. “His concern is a good sign. Sometimes when they wake so violently…” He trailed off, and Abella could only imagine the kind of chaos a powerful, god-like being not in full possession of his faculties could inflict on mere humans.
She glanced at the Aikalah in the crowd, but none of them made a move to speak, or question Abella. She thought it odd—the humans acted as if they had more of a right to their concern than Ishaiq’s own people. Or maybe it was just that they had more patience, more understanding of the proper time to intervene, if at all. She could sure use some winged allies, though. Someone to ask questi
ons of beside a damn primer.
“Well, the resources of his household are at your disposal,” Abella said. “And when he asks me, I want to be able to tell him his people are well cared for, so let’s get to work.”
Her words seemed to comfort the villagers. Their questions turned toward the state of the village. Would more settlers be allowed soon? Would the Archan arrange for repairs? Abella learned the island had maxed out its allowed quota of human residents, driving up the price of real estate and even groceries. There were vacant properties on the island and if allowed to utilize these lands, it would be a relief for everyone. Luqmun had refused to make any decisions while Ishaiq was absent.
All questions for which Abella had no answer. Many questions which she was sure Ishaiq was in no frame of mind to consider. If she concentrated, she could feel his frame of mind. The best she could do was tell them to start the cleanup and ask the merchants to move stalls into the village center. People would need things before the dock district could be rebuilt.
It took the better part of the afternoon for the crowd to exhaust themselves of discussion. Afterward, when most of the people had made for home, Abella sat beside the fountain staring up at the Skyhall. The people needed her there, at the village center, that was clear enough. Relations with the villagers may have been Luqmun’s purview, but she understood them better than he did. As she looked at the people getting back to life as usual, she thought that the island might have a place for her. Being there in the half-wrecked village with the off-worlders was more comfortable than being in the Skyhall, with its ethereal Aikalah architecture.
She wandered toward the docks again, thinking to survey the damage for herself. The dock was intact as were all but a handful of the boats. Some of the village women boarded the ferry, clutching empty bags. The buildings didn’t look so bad from the outside, but the wide windows and open balconies had let sea water in. Almost all the interiors were covered in sand and debris. It would take days, and the help of everyone in the village, to dig everything out.
