Page 22 of Taken to Lemora
I’ve heard tales of what he does in other pleasure houses where the creatures within can be made expendable — for the right price — though I’ve never seen it myself. I didn’t want to believe the stories I heard from the guards and cooks and helpers that ran Igmora and Tyto’s estate, let alone see it. I don’t know if it makes me a wretched thing, but I’m selfishly glad that wasn’t my end.
I smile up at the male assigned to give me a tour of his village. He doesn’t seem particularly agreeable or excited about his task, but I plan to change his impression of me, which has beenoddfrom the start.
“It fits,” I joke, in an attempt to charm.
He just crosses his twitching arms tighter over his broad, bare chest and looks down at me with a frown. “What fits?”
“Oh. I just meant the moniker. The great hall. The name fits.”
“Pagh. I don’t see anything great about having all of these creatures toiling in my halls. These halls aremine. And ordinarily, they’re free of all this rabble.”
He waves his enormous mitt at a passing Rekkaru, almost hitting the poor creature, which is only half my size and a quarter of Raingar’s. I don’t like that and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but I shame myself by worrying what sort of punishment I’ll receive by defying him. So I bite the inside of my cheek and whisper only to myself, “Not now, Essmira. Shh.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say, cursing myself and old habits. “I was just saying that you’re probably right.”
“I am?”
Nob. “Yeffa. Of course.”The male is always right.I wince, hating that I can hear Igmora now when she’s Quadrants away. Momentary panic grips me as a new thought arrives, a dangerous one.What if I still haven’t escaped?
“Humph,” Raingar grunts. He’s still staring at me as we finally reach the vaulted doorway. The doors are wide open and sunshine streams in through them, and also filters down from the skylight overhead. It’s beautiful. A whole new world full of mist and light.
Inside the hall, huge bales, crates, tuns, cartons, shells, yeeyar pods, and sacks are arranged in what looks to be an increasingly methodical order. Rekkaru carry items back and forth. The male who introduced himself as Gorman carries a notebook that he records things in — I’m assuming, some kind of ledger.
I had sort of hoped he’d join us on this tour since he was more…articulate and helpful about the workings of this keep than Raingar, but Raingar and I are alone and everyone is staring.
I had expected them to stare at me given that I have never seen any creature that looks like me before, but what I didn’t expect in a million years? They’re staring at Raingar equally. It’s like…they’ve never seen him before either.Isn’t he clan chief of this territory?
“What? What are you thinking? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it my pants?”
I glance down, suddenly flustered as I’m pulled from my thoughts by this strange pronouncement. “Your…pants?”The female is always articulate…
“Don’t look at them!” He jumps — jumps! — an entire foot into the air! It’s…absurd and I start to snort-giggle and I struggle to control it. I use a different tactic taught to me by Igmora and try to mask the snorts as coughs.
“I don’t — ” cough, cough “ — understand, my lord.”
“Your…your…WHAT!” He shouts so loudly, it’s my turn to jump.
We stand facing one another in the vaulted doorway while Rekkaru and Lemoran and the occasional Asgid — creatures about my size with charcoal skin that’s just as dark but a little grayer than mine, and effervescent eyes that sparkle like stars in their square faces — trickle past.
I try not to let my confusion show and smooth my expression into something amenable. “I’m sorry. I believe we may be crossing yeeyar frequencies, here.” I laugh.Laughter makes the male feel calm. It makes you seem more accessible. You must always be easy to access for the male.
“You asked me originally what I was thinking. If I am interpreting your second question correctly, I was not thinking about your pants. I was thinking of the rich diversity of Lemora and how proud you must be of your keep, even if it is unfortunately full on busy solars such as these,” I fudge. It’s the best I can come up with and the most subtle way of hinting that I don’t agree with his assessment of his hall. Because it is great.
I wonder fleetingly if he doesn’t see it, or if he’s simply pretending not to. There’s something about him that screamsgoodness, to me. Or maybe I’m just tainted by our first meeting when I gave him every opportunity to push me away and he did the opposite by protecting me and keeping me close. Safe. Warm.
“Pagh,” he says noncommittally.
He shifts his weight between his feet, scratches his leg, scratches his cheek. He looks in and out of the hall and anywhere but at me. It gives me time to look at him — really look — at his face.
His lips are full and a paler brown than the rest of his skin. His nostrils are wide. His skin is rough all over, truly like the surface of a rock, choppily carved, but the contrast against his eyes…it throws me for a loop every time.
His eyes are rings of striated color. They’re stunning and beautiful and so expressive. He doesn’t have eyebrow hairs but his brows protrude and cast shadows onto his rough cheeks. I fight the urge to lift onto my tip toes and brush my fingers over his face and instead concentrate on the horns protruding from above his ears.
Huge, magnificent things, they circle down, low enough to breach his eyeline before tipping back up a foot above his head where they stand as sharp as spears, ready to stab into low-hanging clouds. They make his giganticness seem even more giant.
Each horn is as thick as my upper arm. They’re dark grey, almost black, except for a small patch on the right one that appears lighter than the rest. I wonder if his horns pain him — he sure acts like they do. Maybe the color flaking is a sign that they molt or shed?
