Chapter 5 #3
The aroma of roasted fish soon had him salivating.
She pummeled the roots into flat cakes and laid them on the rocks forming the fire pit.
Mashing the fruit was done inside a sealed cylinder with water from a trough at the ship’s entrance, then shaken again.
She poured the yellow pulp into a cup and offered it to him.
The wooden cup was warm to the touch despite its rough surface. A sniff of its contents registered as sweet and tart.
“It’s not poison,” she muttered, then sipped from the cylinder. “Padya calls it yummyberry.” She smiled, her gaze distant. “He tried to make wine once and was sick for two days.”
Rising, she removed a stick from the flames with which she’d skewered a fish and held it out to Illan.
Behind her, on the flat rock, sat the bits she must have thought were unappetizing.
She showed no intention of cooking those.
With another stick in hand, she sat opposite him and nibbled on her fish.
He tried not to focus on her tearing into the red flesh with her tiny teeth.
His senses were heightened. A deep throb settled in his groin, similar to what Quin felt for Xan. When Illan returned to the Celeeri, he’d have Medic Coll assess him. Perhaps this planet made him unwell?
The fish, root cakes, and yummyberry juice were good; far better than rehydrator fare. He ate out of curiosity and not from hunger. This was what she’d lived on for so long, and here, he couldn’t imagine going without his recent addiction—chocolate.
As nature’s sounds altered to nighttime, he wondered what Iddan was up to. Having ended their mindfusion, Illan hadn’t expected he’d miss his brother’s thoughts in his head.
He tried not to watch Ziamee, but he found her fascinating. She’d said she’d been there at least a decade. She spoke of her father, but no sadness laced her voice. The yearning gaze at the horizon showed confusion or being lost in thought, not sorrow. Although, her father could’ve died years ago.
The pile of raw fish attracting insects didn’t reflect well on a hygienic home. The rock she’d gutted the fish on had appeared clean, though. Not that he was concerned when he’d survived weeks on a Yithian M-class slave ship.
And yet, despite the stunning scenery, her home was as much a prison as the cold confines of his cell had been. He smothered a smile. Her food was far better than Yithian protein packets.
She didn’t fill the space between them with inane chatter. He was half-tempted to fuse their minds… Doing so would answer all his questions, but when he made no move to do so, he realized he liked the mystery surrounding her.
Washing her hands in a separate container, she dried her fingers by running them up and down her thighs, wincing when she brushed her right leg. She made no sound until she stood in the center of the camp, leaned back, and yodeled. He jerked back, almost toppling over.
An animalistic roar responded, its cry distant.
“Well, seems he’s busy,” she said, sweeping her gaze west. “Come, let us find you a spot to sleep.”
He rose, stretched, then rubbed his belly as lassitude settled upon him.
What he’d seen of the interior hadn’t revealed many doors.
Yet, he trailed her inside. The pallet in the corner was messier, more used.
He glanced at the bigger bed closest to the ‘entrance’ that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while.
“The waste disposal is outside,” she said. “Mine, Padya’s, and you’re here.” She stepped aside when a solid door whined open.
The dead console stated the space’s purpose. A chunk of rock pierced the forevids, splitting them and letting in a sliver of moonlight.
“Oz, lock the head.”
He swiveled, then grinned at finding himself trapped. She was ingenious and consistent. At least she’d fed him and hadn’t left him to be devoured by nighttime predators. Did they even exist? Her fear and traps said they did. He studied the hard floor and grimaced.
With a tap of his O.D.I., he said, “Ulta, one to port.”
“Port? What happened to the kuta?” The male’s voice came through clearer than Illan had expected.
“Gone.” Illan appeared in the Celeeri’s comm with the pilot, Ulta, gaping at him.
“King Xeus loans you his state-of-the-art scimitar and kuta, and it is gone?”
“Sank.” Illan shrugged. “We should have scanned the terrain before assuming it was safe to land.”
“What?” Ulta squeaked. “We?”
“On a happier note, I found the source of the beacon.”
“That was fast.” Ulta released a slow breath. “We can leave? Sans kuta, of course.”
“You can retrieve it if you can get it out of the sinking sand.”
Ulta jerked back. “You submerged it?” He glared. ‘If you were not a Durn…”
Illan chuckled. “You would do what?”
When Ulta didn’t answer, Illan laughed and headed to the common. What he needed was a hot cocoa.
With the sweet beverage in hand, he sank onto the nearby bench to mull over the day.
Ziamee, no doubt, thought him trapped, a quiet prisoner.
He grinned, strangely liking this female.
She tried so hard to be tough—she was in many ways like Quin.
Strong and capable on the outside, kind, attentive, caring on the inside.
Would Ziamee have that same streak of courage and honor?
A truly merciless female would have left him to die.
He planned to cleanse and sleep in comfort, then he’d have Ulta port him back to the ‘cell.’ Hopefully, Ziamee would stay none the wiser although he was curious how she’d react if she did find him gone.