Chapter 8
Alina
The door behind me banged when Voss ran into the kitchen at full pelt like a raging bull. He looked around wildly, his nostrils flaring, until he noticed me where I was, squeezed into a corner between a cupboard and a table.
“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his entire body vibrating with urgency.
I shook my head, pointing at the open cabinet where the monster lurked. “Th-there. I-it tried to bite me.”
Voss frowned as his nostrils flared again. I cringed in fear as he peered into the cabinet, finally pulling back with a soft snort.
“Be careful!” I gasped out when he put his hand inside like he had nothing to worry about.
“It’s just a little vorhaxa,” he said, slowly withdrawing his hand. “It won’t hurt you. Look.”
I clenched my teeth to keep back a protest when he presented the animal sitting in his open palm. To his credit, he didn’t bring it near me but let me watch from a safe distance.
In the daylight, the beast didn’t look as large and scary as it did in the depths of the cabinet, but it was still unsettling. A bit similar to a spider, with its eight-legged build and a thick, furry trunk, it was also much larger. Two small horns grew out of its head. I slowly stepped closer to look.
No, they weren’t horns. They were tiny stalks, and on the end of each, a large, violet eye glittered like a jewel.
It was kind of pretty, come to think of it. As long as it sat calmly in Voss’s big, scaly palm and didn’t try to attack me.
“They like cacao nibs. That’s why you found it in that cupboard. The vorhaxa are harmless if a bit dull. No self-preservation instinct—once they smell something tasty, they’ll crawl in regardless of danger.”
He opened the circular kitchen window and put the furry spider-thing on the leaf of a large bush outside. I breathed out and forced myself to relax, observing Voss’s gentle movements as he closed the window, smiling at the vorhaxa as it scuttled away.
Our eyes met when he turned back. I blinked and looked away, suddenly uneasy and frustrated.
Why can’t he get violent already?
I really wanted Voss to finally lose his patience. The longer he played the sad, gentle monster, the more inclined I was to trust him, and that way lay pain and bitter disappointment.
Waiting for the inevitable was excruciating.
I cleared my throat. “You said cacao? Is that like cocoa?”
“Yes.” Voss reached into the cabinet again and drew out a handful of dark brown nibs that smelled faintly of chocolate. I inhaled, closing my eyes.
I’d had chocolate exactly four times in my life, and I remembered each in painful detail. It was delicious.
“My great-grandfather had cacao and coffee seedlings imported once he learned those plants thrive in a climate like ours. They have fully adapted now, so we have cocoa and coffee, too. I don’t drink it these days, but if you’d like some, I can make it for you, though it will take a few weeks. We’d have to start with harvesting the fruit.”
I really wanted to look at him. He sounded so competent and well-informed. Frankly, I was impressed he produced coffee, which I had also tasted just a few times in my life and enjoyed enough to be jealous of wealthy people who had it daily.
“I… Maybe,” I hedged, unsure what to do now. Voss’s helpfulness frustrated me to no end. It just didn’t fit. “And the chocolate? What do you do with that?”
“I have it raw.”
I looked up in time to see Voss pop a few nibs into his mouth and chew. He offered his palm to me, and I took a few dark pieces, my fingers skimming warm scales. I was really hungry.
Yet when I chewed the nibs, I broke out into a coughing fit. They were bitter and dry, scratching my throat.
“Here.” Voss pushed a glass of water into my hand, and I drank gratefully, soothing my throat.
“It doesn’t taste like chocolate at all,” I wheezed out after rinsing my mouth.
“I suppose not,” Voss said ruefully. “Chocolate is sweeter, isn’t it? Well, I guess you can have dried meat for breakfast. I’m running low on supplies until the next package arrives. I’m sorry. Oh, but I have a guide on making chocolate out of cacao. It’s with the other books in the dining room. I can show you.”
“Maybe later? I’d like the basilisk book first.”
I took a stick of dried meat he handed me and followed him, looking curiously around. The previous day, I was too nervous to really take in the house, but the worst of the shock wore off.
And so I had a good look at the worn wooden floors with dust bunnies gathered in the corners and the ornate kerosene lamps fixed to the walls, some surrounded by thick, iridescent cobwebs. The cold practically radiated off the walls as if we weren’t in the middle of a hot, stifling jungle.
“How is it so cold downstairs?” I asked as Voss opened the door to the dining room.
“Thick walls,” he answered. “My ancestors started building homes similar to human dwellings after the Shift, but they retained some of our ways from back home, and this is the most important one. The walls downstairs are the thickest. I’d say, about the length of your forearm thick.”
I nodded and then looked around the dining room. It was clearly unused, the table and chairs covered with dark, dusty sheets. But there were paths cleared in the dust covering the floor. They led to the bookshelves lining the walls.
I’d never seen so many books in one place before.
“Let’s see,” Voss muttered, following the clearest, widest path that he likely used most often. “Here are the xenocultural titles. Most of them were written by temple scientists, of course. The temples currently have the most information about all the races inhabiting Alia Terra. Ah, this is the one.”
He plucked a thin, green tome from the shelf and showed it to me. I bit my lip and slowly read the title. “The Culture… and Mating Habits… of Basilisks.”
Voss blinked, and I caught his eye, his expression puzzled. I shrugged. “I can read, but not fast. Farm workers have no use for books. Or money to buy them.”
He recovered quickly, and if he thought less of me for my poor reading ability, he didn’t show it. “So you worked on a farm? Didn’t you have free time in slower seasons?”
I snorted. “I wish. Winters were for taking care of the animals, milking cows and making cheeses, cleaning and treating wool, mucking out barns… But sometimes, in the evenings, one of the women working on the farm read us stories. That was nice.”
Voss scratched his forehead, his spikes ruffling. “Well, I can read to you, but since you don’t trust me…”
I snatched the book out of his hand, my cheeks coloring. “I can manage. It’s not that thick. Do you read often? You have so many books.”
Voss didn’t comment on my awkward reaction. He nodded, running his scaly finger over the book spines. “That’s how I coped after the last of my kind passed away. Reading helped. For some time, at least.”
His voice grew sad and I didn’t say anything, focusing on keeping my eyes averted. Truth was, I wanted to look at him. But Voss was right. I didn’t trust him.
“The temple monographs are my favorites,” he said, pulling out book after book. “The Brief Study of Ice Giant Politics, My Year with the Orc Horde, On the Elusive Mores of the Lich, The Magical Talents of the Frost Clan… I’ve read each at least twice. It’s fascinating to learn about the various peoples of Alia Terra.”
I nodded, my own interest piqued by the species names. I knew of the orcs and ice giants but never heard anything about liches or the Frost clan.
“Maybe I’ll read them after I’m done with this one,” I said, glancing at him. “But now, show me where you keep cleaning supplies. All this dust needs to be banished.”
Voss didn’t protest. He led me to a closet smelling of mothballs and soap where he kept buckets, mops, and other supplies. The closet was surprisingly well-stocked for such a neglected house.
When I filled a bucket with warm water and set about cleaning windows on the first floor, he surprised me by sticking around. I thought he’d grow bored and maybe go read a book, but he stayed by my side, keeping a respectful distance, and dusted furniture while I washed the windows. When I had trouble with a stuck lock, he wrenched the window open for me without a word. When the water in my bucket grew filthy, he replaced it.
Soon, we both fell into a rhythm, working in companionable silence. It was pleasant enough when I kept moving, the cold downstairs stimulating, and soon, I sang under my breath to pass the time more quickly.
When I turned to rinse my cloth, I found Voss staring at me with a strange expression, his eyes more gold than black, his hands clasped together in front of his body. When he caught my eye, he turned at once, his tail slashing against a bucket so hard, he almost turned it over.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” His spikes ruffled up and down in agitation, his tail flicking wildly. He kept his back to me. “It’s just… You have a nice voice. And the song is… Nice.”
I puzzled over his reaction, finally realizing he might be embarrassed by the bawdy lyrics. I loved the song for its whimsical yet fast melody, but in hindsight, it wasn’t the best choice to perform in front of my… whoever he was to me. Husband didn’t sit quite right, and the word made me queasy.
It was an old folk song about Luella, a shepherdess who fell asleep in the meadow and was visited by a besotted satyr who whispered seductively in her ear. I thought the song was tame, especially compared to some of the other ones the workers liked to sing in the fields, but maybe Voss thought differently.
Yes. It definitely affected him somehow.
“I’ll be back,” he said, his voice strangled, and quickly marched away. I stared after him, replaying the song’s lyrics in my mind.
Stay fast asleep, my maiden fair,
While I admire your bosom bare.
I cringed. No wonder he ran away. He probably thought I was crude and dirty-minded, and honestly, good for him. Maybe he’d decide to let me go sooner.
But then I heard a low thumping noise from outside and realized Voss didn’t run from me. He went out to deal with whatever it was.