Page 52 of Taken to Lemora
I lift Essmira and set her feet down on top of the table. As I amble up beside her, I use Pilla’s shoulder to help stabilize me and I may squeeze it a little too hard as I climb. And I might also shove him a little too hard as I step up beside her. And I might…push him, too.
I’m trying. I’m not perfect.
He stumbles off of the bench seat and hits the ground. A Lemoran male catches his arm as he does, keeping him upright. He rolls his eyes, but still smiles at me slightly before ambling off, another horn of ale tight in his fist.
I glare at his back, but Essmira keeps me from killing anyone by shouting, “What happened to the music?”
Elmina, who owns the tavern, releases a high pitched whistle and the beings carrying instruments continue in a staggered mess. I can see the three Rekkaru who make up the troupe from here, but only because they’re flying above the heads of so many other clustered bodies.
Two of them carry walbows, large, stringed instruments that carry most of the tune, and one of them has hold of a yiyi, a blue gelatinous mass that makes a high trill through its inner vibrations. Judging by sounds alone, there are at least three horns, two drums and a handful of bells that make up the entire congregation, but I know that they’re likely to swallow up and spit out other players over the course of the lunar.
Folks start to sing and even though Essmira doesn’t know the words to this song, she hums along and the sound is piercing and hypnotic. I feel shaky with need standing so close to her as her eyes close and she starts to sway. The scent of spiced lobba clings to her skin and hair and I know it’s the reason she hasn’t started shouting at me yet.
On her other side, Charana hands her a full wyrn of the stuff. She takes the curved horn in her hand and tilts it to her lips. “Would you like some?” She asks me.
“Did…did you know that this horn is made from wyrn?” I say stupidly.
She smiles and blinks at me languidly and I force myself not to touch her, just to step close enough that I can shout over the sound of the revelry picking back up. “Nob. What is wyrn?”
“Wyrn. Oh. It’s a mineral deposit that forms naturally in the kintarr mines. Delicate, but plentiful, most drinking vessels are made of wyrn. Wyrn is also the name of the mineral its’ made from. It uh…brings out flavor in the lobba spice, too. The ale, I mean. The ale you’re drinking is made from lobba spice.”
Essmira just grins at me, her cheeks full and round beneath her pretty eyes. She stares at me and her eyes twinkle with violent delight. “Charana,” she calls, twisting away from me to grab the female on her other side by the arm. “Is there another wyrn of ale for our clan chief?”
I blush at the title and the obvious deference. Charana seems to think it’s hilarious and snorts. “Of course! There’s always lobba for clan chief Raingar. So long as he deserves it. Do you think he deserves it, Essmira?”
My throat tightens. I watch Essmira’s face as it splits into a staggering smile. “Everyone deserves lobba. But only if they get it in a wyrn. This is the fanciest cup I’ve ever used. Did you know it’s naturally forming from mineral deposits?”
“You don’t say?” Charana cackles and, moments later returns with a wyrn of lobba for me. She reaches across Essmira’s body to drop it into my fist and hugs her before pulling back. “We rather like this one, clan chief.” She winks, the stare directed at me. The challenge.
“I do, too.”
“Then why aren’t you dancing with her? Isn’t a dance what you promised our miriga?”
She’s teasing me now, but I refrain from strangling her. “You’re quite right,” I say through gritted teeth and Charana laughs it up when I stand back and start to…dance?
It doesn’t surprise me that every single bottomless soul in this inn is laughing at me. Here I am, their clan chief, stomping my big ugly feet on the table in front of the most beautiful female in the galaxy. And she doesn’t seem to mind at all.
She spins in the cage of my arms, pressing her back to my front. Her head falls against my chest and she sings loud and clearly to a new tune she recognizes. She tips her wyrn to her lips and some of it spills over the sides and down her neck. I watch the droplets curve over the soft skin of her breasts before kissing the top of her dress.
It was once a pale green color, but now is much darker, stained red in places from the lobba, and pink in others from the kintarr down in the mines. I swallow down my desire and try to match her movements. I fail abysmally, distracted every time.
“I can’t…can’t dance. You can dance but I can’t.” I tell her, trying to peel my body away.
She turns in my arms, pressing her breasts against my chest. Her hooded gaze blinks slowly and she trips and my arms come around her, trying to keep her steady. “You can dance, my Lord.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re either a mad female or you’ve had too much ale and I’m willing to bet on the latter.”
She snorts at that, but slides her hands down my chest to my hips. I swallow hard. “You’ve clearly never done this before. But just because you haven’t done this before doesn’t mean you can’t, or that I can’t enjoy you.” Is she…is she still talking about ohring dancing! I start to sweat.
Her hands push my hips slightly to the left and then to the right and then back again. She mimics the motion with her own hips before letting me go and I swing in front of her like a pendulum.
“Ow owwww!” Someone behind me shrieks.
“Raingar, look at those moves!”
“Moves? I was looking at the pants. Essmira made those, you know?”
“You don’t say? She’s working with Timor and Lyla, then?”
