Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
REM’EB
J ealousy stews in my gut.
I am almost certain that I will resonate to Tia the Stranger. That it is just a matter of time before my chest sings to hers and our khuis are in harmony. She looks at me with interested eyes and touches my hand easily. She is not afraid of me, and when I left, she seemed disappointed that I had to go.
And yet…
I am jealous of this male she asks about. This R’jaal. I hate the sound of his name, and the worry on her face as she inquired about him. He must be her suitor.
R’jaal.
This must be the other male that is with the female. The one that resonated and is being kept hidden by Kin’far the Exile and Set’nef the Wanderer somewhere in the deeper tunnels. Will she be upset that he resonated to another? I do not like the thought of her being in pain, but I hate the savage satisfaction that burns in my belly when I think that she did not resonate to him. That this feeling of anticipation I feel is almost certainly going to be us.
I head quickly through the city, back to my father’s dwelling. I keep my head down and hurry past the wall, not wanting to tempt it with slow steps. I know that I will resonate to Tia the Stranger and yet…just in case. I quickly make it back to my father’s home and nod at his guards. “Where is he?”
“He is speaking in private with So’ran the Bitter.”
Again. Always the same thing with that one. He has yet to realize my father will never change his mind. “I will wait.”
I suspect it won’t take long. I seat myself in the mushroom gardens, amongst the colorful rocks spread between the stems, and think about Tia the Stranger. Tia with her cloud of hair and her soft touches. Already I want to go back to her side and just listen to her talk in that strange language of hers. Is it possible to crave someone you have just met? Because that is what this feels like—a craving. A hunger.
I am mentally lost, dreaming of the way Tia said my name as she held my hand to her chest, when So’ran the Bitter storms out of my father’s dwelling. He slams the doors behind him, glares at me in silent betrayal, and then stomps his way back toward the rest of the village. The sight of his anger makes me sad. It has been a long time since he and I were friends, but I must side with my father. He does what he thinks is best for our people.
Then I think of Tia, and how she has not been placed with the other females, behind the high wall that keeps them separated and safe. Is she going to get sick from being amongst us? Is it dangerous for her to keep her near me and the other males? And if not…
It goes against everything my father has decreed for our people. It makes me uneasy. Secrets on top of secrets are not the way to rule a people. When I am chief, it will be different. I have always said this to myself, and yet…I am weak. I did not free Tia, even though it is the right thing to do.
I am selfish enough to wait, to see if I resonate to her or if this feeling is nothing.
And I am doubly selfish, because I am not going to demand that my father wall her away with the other females.
After So’ran leaves, I get to my feet and enter my father’s chambers. He is no longer sitting in his chieftain’s chair, but rests at a table in his personal chambers, a goblet of fruited water at his hand. His face is strained and tired, and for a moment he looks far too old for the turns he has lived. I clear my throat to let him know I have arrived.
He glances over at me.“Is it done?”
A strange question. “I have visited Tia the Stranger. She was given no amenities, Father?—”
He waves an irritated hand at my words. “Is it done? Did you resonate?”
I draw up short, irritated that he does not care about Tia’s comfort, only that I might breed a child upon her. “We have not resonated, no.”
Bel’eb the Mighty sighs heavily, as if the weight of the entire mountain is upon his shoulders. “I should have known. You have always been a disappointment to me. Why should it be any different now?”
I ignore his bitter words. “I feel different around her. I think perhaps, given time, we might resonate.”
“Mm.” Father’s hummed response does not indicate confidence.
“I will visit her again tonight,” I say. “Bring her more food.” Talk to her again. Gaze into her eyes. Hope that she smiles.
“Mm.”
His lack of enthusiasm is bothering me. This is his plan. “Would you prefer I journey to consult the oracle? Seek her advice?”
“Pah. The oracle speaks nonsense.” He shakes his head and drains his goblet, and then pours himself more drink. The strong smell of sweet fruit and fermented mushrooms drifts through the air and I frown. My father has been drinking too much lately. He does it when he feels troubled by the issues in the village. I suppose tonight it is because of Tia the Stranger, but knowing that does not ease my concern. My father must keep his wits sharp if he is to rule us.
“The oracle has good advice,” I say, even though I do not like the idea of leaving Tia alone. But going to the oracle could also give me the opportunity to steal Tia away, to get her back to the surface.
I am not ready for it, but I must consider it.
“Do not bother with the oracle.” He takes a hefty swig from his cup. “If you cannot resonate to a female when you are the only one visiting her, it will never happen. Just keep going to her. Touch her. Woo her. Encourage her khui.” Bel’eb the Mighty sets his goblet down. “But not tonight. You must continue your duties as normal even though she is here.”
My duties? Does he truly expect me to go fishing and help with the food harvesting while Tia sits in the dark and waits for me? It feels an impossible thing to ask. Even now I want to go back to her side. “How can I possibly focus on anything? You have stolen a stranger from above. A different kind of stranger! A beautiful, intelligent, female one. And now I am supposed to pretend nothing is happening?”
“That is correct,” my father tells me in a tight voice. “You must act as if nothing is amiss. You must pretend nothing in your world has changed, simply because the rebels watch everything I do closely. They watch everyone I speak with, everyone I encounter. That extends to you, my son. Or do you want the rebels to know she is here? Do you want them to rise up and free her? Take her away from you before you have even had the chance to resonate to her?”
I grit my teeth. The thought of another approaching Tia makes my tail twitch furiously. “No.”
“Then you do as I say.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And be grateful.”
Grateful. I have many emotions in me right now, but I’m not certain if any of them are gratitude. I am angry at him, worried that he breaks the rules he established, the ones that the rebels despise so. I am angry at how Tia is being treated. I am angry that she is even here…and elated at the same time.
And because I am already growing obsessed with her, I know I will do as he says and somehow go about my day as if normal…because I do not want So’ran the Bitter to discover her and steal her away. “Then I am late to go fishing.”
“You are. You should go. And hope that you have better luck tomorrow. Give her the pink-capped mushrooms. Those have been known to encourage a reluctant khui.”
Drug her? Again? I think not. Appalled at my father’s suggestion, I hide my reaction and give him a stiff nod instead. There’s no point in arguing with him. I exit his quarters, passing by his guards without meeting their curious gazes. For all that I hate his instructions, Bel’eb the Mighty is right about one thing. The Village of Those Who Remain is smaller than it has ever been, and everyone knows everyone. No one can spit without the entire cavern hearing about it.
I must be twice as careful if I am to conceal Tia’s presence.
To keep her as mine and only mine.
Even though I want nothing more than to return to Tia’s side, I force myself to go down to the lake with my fishing equipment. My thoughts are full of Tia, and the stranger R’jaal who even now resonates to another female. Are they together? Will she be crushed to hear he has mated to another? I want to protect her from that even as jealousy eats at my thoughts.
I make my way down to the calm surface of the underground lake, hopping easily down the rocky shelving that leads to the water’s edge. The other fishers are there, casting their lures, and all glance up as I approach, the ripples of their coloring acting as silent acknowledgment.
“Where have you been?” Wen’dit the Fisher calls out, eyeing me from his spot on the shore.
I have to be careful what I say. Wen’dit is friendly with So’ran the Bitter. He might even be one of the rebels. So I grimace and rub my abdomen, feigning illness. “Gut sickness. I am better now.”
His brows go up but he nods. Gut sickness is just about the only sickness one can claim without making others panicked. Everyone has had a bad mushroom from time to time, or a bad bite of lizard meat. It happens. It is other sicknesses that will stir unrest and make word travel from home to home.
Fishing, at least, allows me to settle in and relax. There is a favorite spot I have down near the water’s edge, and I move there, letting my camouflage change the shade of my skin to match the rocks I stand upon. I bait my line with remnants of fish from several meals ago, weight the cord, then cast it into the water. I allow it to trail along the bottom of the lake itself, looking for the fish that use scent rather than sight, the ones with the tiny, useless legs tucked under their bodies, and the white, milky eyes. I cast my line, running it slowly along the bottom, then cast it again.
As I do, I think about Tia. I play over our interaction repeatedly, devouring every morsel I can think of. Her clothes were crude. Furs, I think, from creatures above. She dresses in their skins, and apparently does not dress very warmly. Does the cold not affect her like it does our people? Or was she taken before she had a chance to properly dress? She was excited over the prospect of a loom, so she must know how to make fabric. But if that is the case, why not make better clothes for herself?
I ponder the small things about her. The strange riot of her mane, the tiny holes in her earlobes, the fact that she only has two arms and no tail. It helps pass the time, and when I’ve caught two large bottom-skimmers, I head back to the center of the village and hand them over to the cooks.
“Hungry?” one asks, offering me a bowl of soup.
Shaking my head, I gesture at my stomach. “Gut sickness.”
The cook—Mhen’dar the Scraper—gives me a sympathetic look and then flings one of the fish atop his cutting table, pulling out his prized metal knife and getting to work scaling the fish. He does not ask for more details, and it makes me uncomfortable. Did he believe my lie? Or should I tell him more to make it seem legitimate?
“My father has a potion,” I blurt out. “For my stomach.”
Mhen’dar looks up from his task—the one he takes his name from—and stops his descaling. “What?”
“I am going to dine with my father, and then I will retire early.”
“Very well.”
“So I can make up for the time I lost today. With the fishing. I am not on patrol until the waters recede again.”
Now he and his son are both staring at me. Perhaps I am offering too much information. I groan, clutching at my stomach dramatically, and then head off to my father’s dwelling once more. Instead of greeting my father, however, I turn and head straight for the kitchens, where the chief’s attendant prepares his meals so he can concentrate on ruling. I make a tray of food for Tia, and Cas’zor says nothing over the fact that I take roasted slices of juicy meat, the most tasty mushrooms, and another piece of fruit. He must know why I am here, stealing from my father’s pantry.
How many others know, I wonder. Tia is less safe by the moment.
I return to the storage building, stepping inside quickly as the guard waits outside. Tia is inside, curled up on the sleeping mat, the tube of moss set near her sleep pallet. She sits up when I enter, her eyes wide.
“ Ykam bakk ,” she says.
“I told you I would return,” I say, guessing at her words. Her tone is surprised, and for some reason, that bothers me. “I do not lie to you, Tia the Stranger.” I make my tone stiff even though I want nothing more than to fall to my knees in front of her and place my head in her lap. I want to hold her close until she resonates. I want to caress her all over and drink in her scent.
A small smile curves her mouth and she gestures that I should sit down.
I do, even though I am conflicted. I should take her back to her people. I should tell the others of my father’s plotting. I should stay here at her side all night, so resonance can happen.
If it will happen.
How have things gotten so complicated in such a short time?
“I cannot stay long,” I tell her, even as I fold my legs and move to sit across from her. “But I wanted to make sure you had food and were comfortable. And I want to learn more of your words.”
She smiles at me and gestures at something in the corner of the room, talking her nonsense singsong words. I obediently look over, and as I turn back toward her, I catch a quick glimpse of her hand moving. The small fruit-cutting knife I put on the tray is gone, no doubt snatched up by my stranger. I suspected she might try something like that, and I am not upset. If she needs a weapon to feel safer, it is understandable. I would do the same in her situation.
So I say nothing and instead offer her a piece of fruit, hoping for the chance to suck on her fingertips again.
She picks through the meat and nibbles on one slice, her gaze locked on me. “R’jaal?”
My spine stiffens. I hate that he is the first thing she asks for. “I do not know where your suitor is. My concern has been solely for your safety.”
Tia reaches out to touch my knee, her fingers light. “ Pls, Rem’eb? Frmee ?”
“I have brought you food. I wanted to see you settled tonight,” I say. “I wish I could stay, but I cannot. I have so many questions to ask you. Instead, I am being commanded to keep my regular duties so nothing seems amiss. If the rebels hear that one of the above strangers resides here…I fear what will happen.”
They could think she is cursed and try to kill her. Unlikely. Far more likely that they think she should be returned to her people above and I am not ready for that.
“We must keep your existence secret,” I say firmly. The tense connection I had with her earlier feels as if it has vanished entirely. Did I imagine the sensation between us? Am I just so desperate to have a mate that I am pushing myself upon her?
Tia finishes chewing and pushes the tray aside. When I offer her a slice of fruit, she shakes her head. “R’jaal?” she asks, her voice sweet and full of longing as she watches me. “ Pls ?”
I flatten my mouth with displeasure. If I hunt down Kin’far the Exile and find out where he’s hidden the stranger and his new female, I will have to abandon the rest of my time with Tia tonight. If I return too late to the village and slip into my home, one of the guards that walk the streets will notice. They will ask questions. They will follow me to see where I’m going. For now, they think I am spending time with my father, but Bel’eb the Mighty does not entertain visitors late. Not even his son.
But one look over at Tia and I know I cannot refuse her anything. The look on her face is full of concern. “Very well. Eat your food. I will return for your tray in the morning with new food and news of your suitor.”
She makes a sound that might be relief and impulsively leans forward and presses her lips to my cheek.
I jerk back in surprise, and she does, too.
We stare at each other, and I touch my cheek where I can still feel the graze of her lips. That was a happy gesture, I think, but my people do not show our gratitude in the same manner. And yet…I hunger for her to do so again. “Will you do that once more? When I return and have earned it?”
Tia nods, her eyes wide.
“You have found the one incentive that will send me out to hunt for your suitor,” I tell her with a rueful last touch to my cheek. Then I get to my feet. “I must go. I will return at low tide. My father’s guards will ensure you are safe. You need not be afraid, I promise you. They will not enter.”
You are for me alone . I do not say it aloud, but I suspect she will be able to read it in my gaze.
“ Lotide?” she asks, repeating my words and garbling them.
“Low tide,” I agree. “The beginning of the new day. The waters in the underground lake recede. They swell again at the end of the day. It is how we mark time down here.”
“ Downeer?” she echoes, tilting her head.
“Below the mountain.”
She nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. If she is surprised that she is below the mountain instead of above land, she does not show it. Perhaps she suspected as much. Tia taps her chin in the “thankful” gesture.
“R’jaal,” she says again, and I am starting to hate that word very much.