Page 47 of Star Prince

Where is your courage, Tee’ah?

Powerful, impossibly ancient, the voice echoed in the silent, inner passages of her mind. The voice of her ancestors— the founders of theVash Nadah.Generations ago, those eight warriors saved the galaxy from annihilation. But there were many demoralizing defeats before they finally achieved that victory. Her own setbacks were minuscule in comparison.

What would her heroic ancestors think if they saw her cowering this way?

Hadn’t she escaped her home and come so far already? The quivering in her arms stilled. The roiling of her stomach eased. Eyes closed, she worked on her breathing until it slowed. Then, deliberately, she raised her head. In her moment of crisis, she had instinctively drawn strength and guidance from her noble legacy. With sudden insight she understood that no matter how far she traveled from her roots, no matter how rebelliously she shunned the beliefs she was brought up with, she would always carry the essence of those ancient heroes in her soul. It was an inborn sense of pride no one could erase. It was an odd feeling to take strength from all she had abandoned, but it brought her calm; she would survive, no matter what.

She went to work cleaning the fruits and vegetables she had purchased at the market. Then she attempted to carve them into the ornate designs created by her father’s palace chefs. Dish after dish was assembled and put aside. As she worked, her thoughts circled back to Ian.

His mother flew Earth jets.

Viciously, she shoved her knife into a crispy, bulbous vegetable, twisted until it split in two. Then she hacked it into quarters. Throwing down the blade, she grimaced and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. She had lost her starspeeder, staggered out of bars, gotten drunk, purchased birth control,admonished her almost-brother-in-law in a virtual reality arcade, and, if all that wasn’t enough, she had just now practically raped her employer, a man who could very well represent everything she had tried to escape!

Tee’ah picked up the knife again and stabbed it deep into another fibrous root—one that rather reminded her of Klark Vedla. She remained uncertain why he hadn’t upheld tradition and attempted to bring her home. Certainly the B’kah heir would have. How often had her father remarked that Ian Hamilton had to be more than perfect if he hoped to gain the trust of the Great Council?

And now she was on his ship. Or might be.

Her anxious chopping had turned the root to pulp. Unwilling to waste the vegetable, she slapped it into a pasty pancake. Who would eat that? she wondered. Quin, maybe.

“From firing range to kitchen, eh?” Gredda sauntered into the galley. She picked up one of the berries Tee’ah had glazed with a sticky sweetener before piling them into miniature conical mountains. “Fresh lalla-berries,” she murmured as she popped it into her mouth. With a smile of amused approval, she inspected the fruit and vegetables Tee’ah had arranged on whatever trays and platters she had found.

Seeing Gredda reminded Tee’ah how fast she had come to view the crew as a substitute family. But tonight she felt more like an outsider than ever.

Likely everyone knew who the captain was except for her. Obviously, despite what had happened between them, Ian didn’t trust her yet.

Gredda sniffed, as if testing the air. Then she frowned. “Where is the meat?”

Tee’ah’s concerns swung back to a more immediate problem. She spread her sticky hands on the counter. “We’re eating a vegetarian meal tonight.”

“Vegetarian? Bah. We women need our protein.”

Tee’ah stopped short of admitting that she would be happy to oblige, if only she knew how long to cook the fowl, beef, or the savory sea serpent bundled in the giant chiller in the rear of the galley.

Gredda studied her, her eyes sympathetic as if she had guessed the real reason for their meatless meal. But she didn’t embarrass Tee’ah by saying so. “I know it is your night to cook, and I do not wish to intrude upon your preparation, but I’d be most pleased if you’d let me make Tromjha beef according to the Valkarian recipe—from my homeworld. These off-world men, they prefer their stew with their suitable-for-babies, cut-up bits of beef. But I say it’s high time they learned to eat meat the way it was meant to be consumed. Are you with me, Tee?” she asked with a wink.

Tee’ah lifted her hands in surrender. “Show me what to do.”

As evening fell,the crew gathered around the dining table. Ian inhaled deeply. “Something smells good.”

“You will like it,” Gredda said, her muscles flexing as she spread a napkin over her lap.

“Tee gave you an advance tasting?” Muffin asked sulkily. “She wouldn’t let me in the galley.”

“Me, either,” Push said.

Tee emerged from the galley, a tray held proudly in her hands. As she walked to the table, her expression was pleasant, but infinitely unreadable. When Ian tried to make eye contact, she avoided looking at him. His mouth twisted in exasperation.

She hurried back to the galley for another tray, making several return visits until three heaping platters of what could only be called vegetable and fruit sculptures sat on the table. They were crooked and misshapen—one even crumbled as they watched it— but the effort that had gone into building each was obvious. No one quite knew what to say.

Finally, an awed Push tapped a hill of berries with his utensil. “Plain old stew would have been fine with us.”

“Wait,” Tee said. “There’s more.” She and Gredda shared a private glance. This time, when Tee disappeared into the galley, she returned with a heavy tray of meat.

“Valkarian steer,” she announced breathlessly and plunked the tray onto the table. Juices ran from fork holes punched in the unevenly hacked-away flesh, filling the tray with a delicious-smelling gravy.

Quin gaped at the steaming hunk of meat. “The paw…it’s still attached.”

“The hoof,” Gredda corrected, her eyes shining with a voracious glint. “The full leg always tastes best. Why you off-worlders mince up perfectly good hunks of meat, I don’t know. On Valkar we rip the flesh from the bone with our teeth. Go on, eat your fill, mechanic.” The hungry twinkle in her eyes turned suggestive. “A real man needs real meat.”

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