Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Polly’s heart beat too fast in her chest as the sleigh runners hissed against the packed snow.
She sat in the middle of the bench with Tess on her left and Njkall’s solid warmth at her right.
The wind bit at her exposed cheeks above her fur-lined hood, carrying with it the first distant sounds of Port Eyeja.
Each sound tightened the knot in her stomach a little more.
I wanted this, she reminded herself. I chose this.
The kiss still burned on her lips. She could feel the ghost of Njkall’s hands at her waist, the crack in his voice when he’d pulled away, and the promise in the air between them.
When we come home. She held onto those words like a talisman, a bright point of light to focus on when the darkness crept too close.
“There are a lot of ships,” Tess said, her voice flat and controlled in the way that meant she was barely holding herself together.
She followed the other woman’s gaze. The landing field sprawled at the town’s edge, a broad expanse of packed earth and stone kept clear of snow by heating elements buried beneath the surface.
Five ships sat there now—an official Fleet vessel, a small trader, two boxy cargo haulers with scarred hulls and peeling paint, and something sleek and predatory, all sharp angles and dark metal.
As she watched, a ramp lowered from the nearest hauler and figures began to emerge.
Her stomach lurched.
Not that ship. Not those people. Different planet. You’re not there anymore.
“Polly?”
Njkall’s voice was low and steady in her ear, and she realized her hands had clenched into fists in her lap.
“I’m all right.” The words came out thin and unconvincing, and she tried again. “I’m all right. Just—give me a moment.”
He didn’t touch her, just sat there beside her with his presence warm and solid and available, exactly as he’d promised.
She breathed. Slow counts in through her nose, out through her mouth, the way Cera had taught her in the early months when the panic had been a constant companion instead of an occasional visitor.
Tess made a small choked sound, and Polly turned to look at her.
The other woman’s face had gone the color of old ash, her eyes fixed on something in the crowd near the landing field—a cluster of males from a species Polly didn’t recognize, their voices loud and overlapping as they haggled over cargo prices.
One of them laughed, a harsh barking sound, and Tess flinched like she’d been struck.
Focus on her, she thought. She needs me. That’s something I can do. That’s something outside my own head.
“Tess,” she said softly. “Tess, look at me.”
Tess’s eyes dragged towards her, white-rimmed with fear.
“They’re not looking at us,” she said. “They don’t know we’re here.
They wouldn’t care even if they did. They’re arguing about shipping rates, that’s all.
Shipping rates and cargo manifests and whether someone owes someone else money.
” She reached out, slowly, and laid her hand over Tess’s where it gripped her own thigh.
“We’re going to Baralt’s house. It’s quiet there.
His mate is human, like us. Her name is Izzie.
She makes terrible tea but she’ll offer it anyway because she’s kind. ”
A muscle jumped in Tess’s jaw. “How do you know that? That they’re not looking at us?”
“Because I’ve been here before.” Polly squeezed her hand.
“I was terrified, and I spent most of that visit pressed against Njkall’s side trying not to cry.
But I watched everything, because I needed to know what was dangerous and what wasn’t.
And I learned that most of them—” She gestured at the crowded streets ahead.
“Most of them don’t care. We’re just two small females with a very large Hothian escort, and that makes us someone else’s problem. ”
Tess stared at her, and something shifted behind her eyes—not belief, not yet, but the possibility of belief. A crack in the wall.
“You were scared?”
“Terrified,” she repeated. “I’m scared right now. Can’t you tell?”
Tess looked at her and she let her look without trying to hide the tremor in her hands or the tightness around her mouth. She let her see the fear that she’d stopped trying to hide because hiding it took energy she couldn’t spare.
“You don’t look scared,” Tess said. “You look calm.”
“It’s not real.” She managed a small crooked smile. “Inside I’m screaming. But I’ve learned that screaming doesn’t help, and moving does. So I move. And I focus on something else when I can. Right now I’m focusing on you.”
The sleigh turned off the main approach road onto a narrower side street.
The buildings here were larger and spaced further apart, solid and weathered, with snow piled thick on their sloped roofs and smoke curling from their chimneys, and the street was quiet.
Some of the tension drained from her shoulders.
“Baralt’s house is just ahead,” Njkall said, and she recognized the high stone wall surrounding the house. “Izzie should be watching for us.”
As if summoned by the words, the gates swung open and a short, curvy woman with golden skin and dark curls came rushing out.
“About time,” she said. “I’ve been staring out the window like a dog waiting for its owner. Baralt is already inside—come in before you freeze.”
The sleigh slid to a stop. Njkall climbed down first, then turned and offered her his hand.
She took it, and let him steady her as she stepped onto the packed snow, and then moved aside so he could help Tess.
He reached up to help the other woman, but she ignored his hand and climbed down herself, her eyes darting to the street’s shadows.
Izzie ushered them inside.
The house hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d been here, still warm and welcoming with a fire crackling in a broad hearth and colorful woven hangings on the stone walls. A massive Hothian male rose from a chair near the fire and seemed to take up half the available space just by existing.
The first time she’d seen him, he’d been with Njkall when they came to the ship to escort them into town.
The sight of the two huge males should have terrified her, but then Njkall had crouched down in front of her, talking to her in that deep, calm voice, and somehow made her feel safe.
She’d taken his hand back then and she’d been taking it ever since.
She’d learned since then that Baralt was one of Njkall’s closest friends, that he worshiped his human mate, and that his dry humor hid a fierce protective streak for anyone under his care.
He still looked terrifying, but she’d take a Hothian male over any other alien male. And most human males, for that matter.
“Two visits in one day, Njkall. I’m honored,” he said dryly. “It’s nice to see you again, Polly.” His gaze moved to Tess and stayed there. “You’re the one who escaped the ship?”
Tess’s chin came up. “What gave it away? The obvious trauma or the way I’m eyeing your claws?”
Baralt blinked, then laughed—a low rumbling sound that shook his chest. “Fair enough. I’m Baralt. I run law enforcement in this town, such as it is. Do you want to sit down, or do you prefer standing?”
“Standing,” Tess said immediately.
“Fine by me.”
“I’ll get you all something hot to drink.” Izzie was already moving towards the kitchen. “Sit, all of you. Or stand. Whatever makes you comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
She found a chair near the fire, angling it so she could see both the door and the window.
Njkall stood next to the wall behind her, close enough to reach, and she could feel his attention on her like a warm hand at the small of her back.
She’d asked for that, and he’d given it, and gods, she hadn’t known how much she needed it until right now.
Baralt settled back into his chair and pulled out a tablet. “Can you tell me about the ship?”
Tess’s jaw tightened. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“Good. Start from the outside. What did the hull look like? Shape, size, color, any markings you remember.”
“It was—” Tess stopped and swallowed, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“It was big. Not as enormous as the cargo haulers out there, but big enough. Dark hull. Grey, maybe, or a very dark blue—it was hard to tell in the lighting. The shape was…” She made a frustrated gesture.
“Blocky. Not sleek. Like someone had taken a box and added engines to it.”
“Modified freighter, probably. That fits with the fake registration.” Baralt made a note. “Markings?”
“There was something on the side near the airlock. Numbers, I think, and a symbol—like a circle with lines through it. I only saw it once, next to the outer door of the cargo hold.”
“Can you draw it?”
Tess hesitated, then nodded.
Baralt handed her the tablet with a stylus. Polly watched as Tess bent over it, her face tight with concentration, and sketched with quick jerky strokes. When she was done, she thrust it back at him as if it had burned her.
“That’s the best I can do.”
Baralt studied the image. His expression didn’t change, but something that might have been recognition shifted behind his eyes. “What about inside? Layout, crew, anything distinctive?”
“The hold was cold. Always cold. There were—cages. Eight of them, I think, though only four were occupied when I was there.” Tess’s voice had gone flat again, that terrible controlled blankness.
“But the cabins were… luxurious. Soft carpets, and silk coverings on the bed. Fancy food that was too good for us. Unless we earned it.”
Baralt’s expression had gone grim. “Not a standard slaving operation, then. Those don’t waste credits on silks and real food. What about the crew?”
“Most of them were about my size, with blue scales and yellow eyes. But there were three… enforcers. They were big, almost as big as you.”