Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
REM’EB
W e stare at each other and I memorize the features of her face. Her eyes are large and luminous, with thick lashes under strange thin brows. Her nose is rounded and her face wide, but it is her mouth that draws my attention. A deep pink in color, with full lips and an inviting lift at the edges. Those fascinating lips move and she says something.
“Nycetewmeetyewtoo.”
I blink at her, frozen. Now my khui will resonate, I think. Now that I have heard the husky, glorious sounds of her strange voice. I do not understand her words, but that seems a small problem. She is mine, no matter what she says.
“I am Rem’eb the Fist,” I tell her by way of introduction. “And I will protect you. You may trust me.”
Even as I say the words aloud, I realize I am a liar. I said to myself before that I would take her back to the surface and do my best to hide the monstrous problem my father has created. Looking at this gorgeous, strange creature before me, I realize I am weak because I am going to do no such thing. This stranger is mine . My khui might be silent now, but it feels heavy in my breast. Burgeoning. It is simply a matter of time.
And I cannot let her go. Not yet.
She speaks again, taking a cautious step forward, and her gaze meets mine again. Her words are nothing but mumbled, slick-sounding nonsense, but she reaches for the glow-moss lamp I hold in my hands.
She likes the light.
Of course she does. She is a creature of above. The darkness likely frightens her. It takes a moment, but I realize that she has been left alone in the dark. The storage huts are some of the few buildings in our village that have a roof to keep out intruders or the stray lizard, and that means she has been blocked from all of the light that emits faintly through the main cavern.
I hand the lamp to her and she cradles it in her arms, saying more nonsense words. I eye her surroundings, and as I do, a growing anger builds in my belly.
There are no blankets here, no soft pallet for her to rest upon. There is no food, no drink, no necessity pot. She has sat in the darkness, abandoned.
It is an awful way to treat my mate, and I have to bite back a growl so I do not frighten her.
“I will take care of you,” I tell her again, my voice low and fervent.
“Wrntgettin anywareharwee.” She purses her lips and juggles the lamp in her arms, freeing one hand. Then she taps it against her breast, drawing my gaze to the bouncy teats covered with a strip of strange thick material. “Tia. Haahm Tia.”
“Haam’tia? Is that your name?”
She shakes her head and taps again. “Tia. Juuss Tia. Tia .”
“Tia,” I try, since she seems focused on that word.
A smile breaks across her face, showing strange square white teeth. I did not realize it was possible for her to look more radiantly beautiful, but I am wrong. Her name is interesting, if short, as delicate and perfect as she herself is. One of my hands goes to my chest, pressing there. Now, I think. Now.
Still silent. Grr.
I gesture at myself. “I am Rem’eb the Fist, the son of the chief.”
She recoils slightly at my name, as if she does not approve. Does she not like that I am the chief’s son? Or is it something else? Tia spouts another round of nonsense words, her expression troubled.
I shake my head, frustrated. “I do not understand your words.”
She purses her lips, nodding, and thinks.
Somehow…she understands me? Or am I simply reading too much into it?
“Will you hold your hand out?” I ask, testing my theory.
Tia hesitates, and then puts her hand out, palm up. She has a strange number of fingers, but they are long and perfectly shaped, and her palm looks soft and inviting. Everything she does dazzles me, and I find it difficult to concentrate. With a free hand, I reach out and close her outstretched hand into a fist, nudging it back toward her.
She’s warm. Soft, as I knew she would be. She smells incredible, too. The fur on my lower arms prickles in response. “So you can understand everything I say.”
She nods again, blurting another wave of her strange words.
“How is it I cannot understand you?”
“Haim ooman,” she says, and then points at her extra finger. “Ooman.”
“Ooman,” I agree. Is she teaching me her language? Does she want me to repeat after her in my language so she can learn it? “That is a finger.”
She snorts, the sound full of amusement. “Hoboy.”
“Hoboy,” I agree, just pleased to hear the sound of her voice.
A little giggle escapes her when I echo her words, and I am enchanted. “You…how are you so perfect?” The moment the blurted words escape me, I feel foolish. My ears grow hot. Here I am, showering her with compliments and I know nothing about her. I do not know her honorifics. I do not know who her people are or where she comes from, and these are all things I must find out. Instead, I am going on and on about how gorgeous she is. It is just…I have never seen something as lovely as her, and my thoughts are addled. I clear my throat and try to hide my awe. “Are all your people made like you?”
Tia makes another string of sounds and gives her mane a playful little toss. Then, her expression sobers and she holds her hands out, reaching for mine. “Remmeb,” she tries, her expression earnest. “Yes?”
“Rem’eb,” I agree, noting that she has dropped my honorific, as if we are close companions. It feels so very right. “Tia.”
When I extend my hand she clasps it into her waiting ones. “Tia go,” she says, emphasizing each syllable, and then frees one hand to point at the door. She points at herself again, her gaze matching mine. “Tia go.”
Already she wants to leave. I understand, even though I cannot help but feel crushing disappointment, and an odd sense of covetousness. “Not yet. It is not safe. My father the chief has you guarded. I will help you leave, but now is not the time.”
Tia looks disappointed, dropping my hand. “Oh.”
Her dismay crushes me. “I swear I will fix this for you. Trust in me, Tia.”
“Sif ihav achoyce?” She manages a little smile. “S’ R’jaal hokay?”
“I will make this stay for you as comfortable as I can, and then I will help you leave.” I lower my voice so my father’s men outside do not hear me. “But for now, you must stay here until I formulate a plan.”
“Wabout R’jaal?” she asks again, a question in her voice. She gestures above her head, and flicks her hand behind her hips. “R’jaal?”
I glance behind her to see what she is gesturing at.
Tia sighs.
Another little sound of disappointment. I strain my thoughts, desperate to understand, desperate to figure out what she is so upset about. It must be the severe state of her quarters. That she has been given nothing for her comfort. If she is not a prisoner, why do we treat her like one? I get angrier the longer I gaze at her surroundings. “I am going to fix this,” I tell her. “I cannot help you leave just yet, but I will ensure you are comfortable. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She nods, her expression guarded.
“I will bring you things. Wait here.” At her chirp of a laugh, I realize what I’ve said. “My apologies. You know what I meant. I just…cannot think straight around you. I will return soon.”
Maybe showering her with comforts will ease some of the shame I feel at her captivity.
All I know is that I am not ready to let her go just yet.