Page 23 of Romancing Rem'eb

Bel’eb shakes his head. “I am old.”

“You are barely sixty turns.” I hold a bowl of soup out to him. “In your prime.”

He glances up at me again. “I am old in spirit. I am tired. It is why it is so important that you have a child with this strange female. Our bloodline must continue, and you have not resonated to any of our women that are left.”

Biting back a sigh, I take his hand and forcibly place it around his bowl. Father gets like this sometimes. He grows deeply melancholy and cannot be swayed from his dismal thoughts. He will remain like this for an entire turn before somehow shaking free of its grasp. Now is not the time for him to let the sadness take him, but when is it ever a good time? “Eat. We must talk.”

“Have you resonated?”

“Not yet.”

Bel’eb shakes his head, disappointed.

“I need time with her,” I tell him, even as I hate myself for saying such a thing. She needs to be set free, and yet I have no plans to do so. Not yet, because I cannot bear the thought of parting with her. “But I am being watched.”

“Nosy fools,” my father mutters, then takes a sip of soup. “They have too much time to sit upon their hands and fish. When I was your age, the metlaks were constantly sneaking into our tunnels, trying to steal our food and ravaging our gardens. We were alert at all times.”

I pull up a seat next to him and join him by the fire, picking up my bowl. “I will not apologize for the tunnels being safe. Metlaks have not been a problem in many turns.”

“They will be again, wait and see.”

Biting back my annoyance—we have bigger concerns at the moment than a few thieving metlaks—I drink my soup as quickly as I can. “You must tell everyone that I am working on a special project for you.”

“What sort of project?”

“I do not know. Something. They wonder why I am spending so much time here. Tell them that we have our heads together on a project that we cannot speak of. Tell Cas’zor to spread the word. That way if I spend time with Tia, they will simply think I am with you.”

“Bah. Let them wonder.”

“Father,” I say in a warning tone.

Bel’eb rolls his eyes. He takes another small sip of soup and then sets the nearly full bowl aside. “Fine. We will tell them I am an old, dying male and I wish to impart all the chiefly secrets before I pass on to join the ancestors. Then once your female is fat with your child, I can have a miraculous recovery.”

“I am not going to tell everyone you are dying.”

“Cas’zor will tell them.” He waves a hand at me. “Have you tried giving the female the mushrooms I told you? The ones that encourage the khui?”

I sigh. “No, Father.”

“You should. You must make this happen, my son.”

I set my empty bowl down and get up. “I have to go tend to the female. I will return in the morning. Finish your meal.”

He waves an irritated hand at me, and again looks so shrunken and weak that concern flares within me. I think about So’ran the Bitter’s words, that they are waiting for my father to die. Is he truly this weak or is it more posturing? With my father, it is impossible to tell. I leave his side, making a mental note to speak to Cas’zor.

Later, though. For now, my thoughts fill with Tia. Cas’zor is no longer in the kitchens when I return, and I quickly fill a tray with food and a fresh pitcher of cold fruited water for her. Is she still angry, I wonder? I add another piece of fruit to the tray, just in case the sight of it brings a smile to her face. I have no loom for her, and it is the one thing she has asked for.

Well, other than her freedom.

Tomorrow I will bring her a loom, I decide. I can tell Pa’zan the Weaver that it is for my father’s secret project.

The guard in front of the storage hut is Jon’jud the Resilient, an older male with two sons. He is loyal to my father, but his sons are not. What does he think of my father’s decision to hide me a female? Or does he even know that the hut he guards contains a stranger from above? He does not look at the tray I carry with suspicion, just opens the door as I approach.

The light-moss tube is by the doorway, the rest of the room filled with shadows. I enter, noting that she is not in sight, likely hidden behind the privacy screen hiding her chamber pot. I need to change it and bring her extra water. She will want to bathe, I think. Her mane still carries flecks of mushroom powder, the one that was used to drug her. And I want her to smile. Maybe a block of sweet-smelling soap and a pitcher of water will bring delight to her lovely face.

The door closes behind me and I step forward. “Tia? I have brought food.”

Something moves in the shadows behind me. A hard item pricks at the small of my back—the knife.

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