* *
When Aren joined her in the cook room some twenty minutes
later Kel’s breath caught. If she had ever seen a more handsome man she
couldn’t name him or even where she might have encountered him.
In the candlelight, Aren’s hair gleamed blue-black, nearly
matching the color of his long robe. It fell in soft folds from his wide
shoulders to his strangely elegant bare feet. Looking down at her sarong—the
fabric he had given her the night she arrived on Ondrican—Kel felt…frumpy.
“Smells good,” he greeted as he lifted tops off dishes and
inhaled deeply.
“Drew must have snuck in here while we changed clothes.”
“More likely Laurette’s father. I’m surprised there’s any
food left. Play takes energy. You must be starving.”
“I’m a warrior,” she began then bit her tongue. Even she had
tired of reminding him that Amazonian warriors knew how to wait.
“Shall I serve?” Aren’s voice hinted at amusement but he
looked as solemn as a footman at a royal banquet. Not that she had ever
attended a royal banquet or seen any footmen. Only read about them when still a
child, along with more prevalent stories about monsters and invaders.
“Tak,” she said, watching him heap aromatic morsels on their
plates. “Do all Ondrican men cook?”
“Most do, yes. Just our way of sharing work. We shop for
foodstuffs and cook while our women tend to—”
“Your children?”
“Or attend their businesses. Storr City houses many trades.
Jewelers, weavers, cobblers and such. In the country men and women labor
together to raise livestock and crops. Others teach our future scientists and
agronomers. Still others teach other skills and trades as well.”
“How bucolic,” Kel said tactlessly. “I’m—”
“You needn’t apologize. Ondrican customs must seem strange
to you.”
“Very strange.”
“When you aren’t patrolling, how do you pass the time?”
Grateful he had forgiven her earlier outburst she said,
“Hunting. Weeding crops. Reading sometimes—when time permits.” Which isn’t
often enough.
“I keep a small library,” he told her. Somewhat reluctantly,
it seemed to her.
“Where?” She pounced on the promise of books to fill her
remaining time on Ondrican. If she couldn’t convince Aren to send her home. If
she couldn’t escape.
“A few here. Perhaps we can read together after we eat.”
“I would enjoy that.” She’d rather they mated but his
world’s ridiculous laws forbade her yielding—especially since she intended to
leave him as soon as she could.
“Come on,” he said, taking both their plates. Without so
much as a by your leave , he strode away.
“Arrogant, high-handed…” Her stomach growling, she followed.
Spying Aren ensconced on a wide divan, she scowled. “You also keep a plethora
of two-people furniture.”
“We call these courting couches.” Patting the plump
couch cushions, he winked. “I promise I’ll not try to seduce you, Flame.
Sharing a bit of body heat is all I’m offering. Nothing else.” Tempting her
closer, he held up a plate of sweetmeats he seemed to conjure from thin air.
“After you’ve eaten all your dinner.”
Their dinner plates hovered above the floating table that
had apparently followed them from the cook room. “Neat trick. How’d you do it?”
“Our geneticists believe it is a mutation of some kind. At
any rate, it appeared about the time the first brides came to Ondrican. Even as
toddlers, their children could move any object they could see. From then on
almost every Ondrican can do it.” Her stomach growled. Looking like he wanted
to laugh, he added, “Now the sooner you sit, the sooner we eat. The sooner—”
“We eat, the quicker the sweets are available. A bribe like
Basalia used when I was a child.” Just thinking about children moving things
without touching them made her shudder.
“And the books. Think of it as sweets and treats.”
Laughing, she plopped down beside him. A napkin floated into
her
When Aren joined her in the cook room some twenty minutes
later Kel’s breath caught. If she had ever seen a more handsome man she
couldn’t name him or even where she might have encountered him.
In the candlelight, Aren’s hair gleamed blue-black, nearly
matching the color of his long robe. It fell in soft folds from his wide
shoulders to his strangely elegant bare feet. Looking down at her sarong—the
fabric he had given her the night she arrived on Ondrican—Kel felt…frumpy.
“Smells good,” he greeted as he lifted tops off dishes and
inhaled deeply.
“Drew must have snuck in here while we changed clothes.”
“More likely Laurette’s father. I’m surprised there’s any
food left. Play takes energy. You must be starving.”
“I’m a warrior,” she began then bit her tongue. Even she had
tired of reminding him that Amazonian warriors knew how to wait.
“Shall I serve?” Aren’s voice hinted at amusement but he
looked as solemn as a footman at a royal banquet. Not that she had ever
attended a royal banquet or seen any footmen. Only read about them when still a
child, along with more prevalent stories about monsters and invaders.
“Tak,” she said, watching him heap aromatic morsels on their
plates. “Do all Ondrican men cook?”
“Most do, yes. Just our way of sharing work. We shop for
foodstuffs and cook while our women tend to—”
“Your children?”
“Or attend their businesses. Storr City houses many trades.
Jewelers, weavers, cobblers and such. In the country men and women labor
together to raise livestock and crops. Others teach our future scientists and
agronomers. Still others teach other skills and trades as well.”
“How bucolic,” Kel said tactlessly. “I’m—”
“You needn’t apologize. Ondrican customs must seem strange
to you.”
“Very strange.”
“When you aren’t patrolling, how do you pass the time?”
Grateful he had forgiven her earlier outburst she said,
“Hunting. Weeding crops. Reading sometimes—when time permits.” Which isn’t
often enough.
“I keep a small library,” he told her. Somewhat reluctantly,
it seemed to her.
“Where?” She pounced on the promise of books to fill her
remaining time on Ondrican. If she couldn’t convince Aren to send her home. If
she couldn’t escape.
“A few here. Perhaps we can read together after we eat.”
“I would enjoy that.” She’d rather they mated but his
world’s ridiculous laws forbade her yielding—especially since she intended to
leave him as soon as she could.
“Come on,” he said, taking both their plates. Without so
much as a by your leave , he strode away.
“Arrogant, high-handed…” Her stomach growling, she followed.
Spying Aren ensconced on a wide divan, she scowled. “You also keep a plethora
of two-people furniture.”
“We call these courting couches.” Patting the plump
couch cushions, he winked. “I promise I’ll not try to seduce you, Flame.
Sharing a bit of body heat is all I’m offering. Nothing else.” Tempting her
closer, he held up a plate of sweetmeats he seemed to conjure from thin air.
“After you’ve eaten all your dinner.”
Their dinner plates hovered above the floating table that
had apparently followed them from the cook room. “Neat trick. How’d you do it?”
“Our geneticists believe it is a mutation of some kind. At
any rate, it appeared about the time the first brides came to Ondrican. Even as
toddlers, their children could move any object they could see. From then on
almost every Ondrican can do it.” Her stomach growled. Looking like he wanted
to laugh, he added, “Now the sooner you sit, the sooner we eat. The sooner—”
“We eat, the quicker the sweets are available. A bribe like
Basalia used when I was a child.” Just thinking about children moving things
without touching them made her shudder.
“And the books. Think of it as sweets and treats.”
Laughing, she plopped down beside him. A napkin floated into
her
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