Page 17 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“You are far from home,” he said, sympathy in his voice. “No one has taken your concern seriously, have they?”
Emry shook her head. Pashaal wouldn’t help. She couldn’t afford the scrutiny because, in all fairness, she was dodgy and a little corrupt. A smuggling vegetable seedlings level of corruption, not selling weapons or trafficking drugs level of corruption. Emry had standards.
Could she trust this guy? Her gut said no. She’d be better off bringing the problem to Caldar, even if that put her more in his debt. At least she knew what to expect from him.
Better the devil you know.
Emry shook her head. “I have nothing to show you. There are no prohibited plants here. Everything came off the ship.”
The sympathetic expression melted. “I should have known. Your kind like to stick together,” he said.
Byyour kind, he meant a Mahdfel widow. Pashaal had never asked Emry about her absent mate, and Emry never clarified the situation beyond an obliquehe’s not here.And really, the arrangement between herself and Ren was no one’s business.
Still, the smug look on Dovak’s face just irritated her, like he was going to trick her into spilling the beans on Pashaal. Appealing to her sense of justice failed, bargaining failed, now he’d insult her again.
Her cage remained unrattled. If anything, she wanted to knock that look off his face, customer experience be damned.
“Wow, punching down. Big power move, being rude to the staff,” she said. Working efficiently, she gathered up the cups and saucers for coffee. If guests were wandering about the house, Pashaal would serve the brew soon.
“I was not rude.”
“Oh, you were unbelievably rude. I mean, I know I’m just a quaint, rustic human, but your message was obvious enough that even I noticed. Can you imagine if I was a pretty, useless thing?” The dishes clattered as Emry added them to a serving tray. “And now you’re wondering about the scars. Did I get this before this?” Emry pointed to her shoulder, then gestured at her face.
His eyes went wide. “I did not ask—”
“But you know aboutmy kind, so you must wonder. Well, we have a saying on Earth. All cats are gray in the dark.” The words tasted particularly bitter on her tongue as her Mahdfel had cared enough about a flawed appearance to send her home.
“And what kind is that?” Pashaal glided into the room, her ornate robes whispering as they brushed the floor.
“Mahdfel mates,” Emry said, pinning Dovak with a glare.
“Oh, it is sad that one so young lost her mate. I miss my Kullar every day.” She placed a hand over her heart and sighed.
“The mortality rate is too high,” Dovak agreed. “Were you matched to a Sangrin Mahdfel?”
“Rolusdreus,” she answered. A warning itched in the back of her mind that this guy would dig up dirt about Ren and use that against her. In fact, him poking around about hydroponic gardens was questionable.
Ugh. Emry rolled her eyes. Spies and espionage and Council politics. She hated it. In fact—
“Do you have an interest in horticulture or botany? Is that why you were asking about the hydroponic garden?” Emry kept her voice sweet as she asked, all the while throwing daggers with her eyes because fuck this guy.
“I’ve never known you to be interested in horticulture,” Pashaal said, maintaining a friendly tone, but her words had an edge.
Emry recognized that tone. It was the exact tone Pashaal used just as she was about to screw someone on a business deal. It was the sound of sharks circling in the water. Well, if sound traveled through water, which it did, only distorted. Okay, bad analogy, but the point remained. It was Pashaal’s danger tone, and it was directed at Dovak.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Emry filled the coffee carafes and finished prepping the trays. Whatever Dovak had been planning—sneaking around to get blackmail material or bringing down trouble with customs—Pashaal was on top of it.
“No, I—” Dovak sputtered.
“I am extremely interested in the farm-to-table movement myself. I will give you a tour after coffee. Yes? Yes. Locally sourced and all that. I’ve always said food tastes better when it’s grown in your own dirt. All my hydroponics use soil from the estate, even the ones on my ship.”
Dovak nodded, unable to resist the pull of Pashaal’s chatter.
“We only raise Sangrin crops on the estate. If you want an authentic Earth meal, it will have to be on the ship.” Pashaal took a carafe from Emry and handed it to a stunned-looking Dovak. “Be a dear and bring that to the table. Emry worked hard this evening.” She gave a nod to Emry. “Dovak will help me serve, and we’ll handle the cleanup.”
Emry knew from experience that she’d find a stack of dirty coffee cups on the counter and the cream left out all night. Still, she accepted an early dismissal. “Thank you. I used the new roast. Tell me what you think.”
“It smells wonderful,” Pashaal said, and then she waved Emry out of the kitchen.
