As she fought with the alien animal, her tharp somehow got twisted around her legs and Sophie nearly fell right off the elaborate pedestal where the toilet was perched. She pushed the purple mat away long enough to hop awkwardly down and ran out of the bathroom—or necessary room as Nadiah called it—barely getting the door shut in time.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, breathless from her narrow escape. She leaned against the door, her heart beating crazily as she tried to rearrange her tharp. But she could still hear it—the purple mat thing was scratching frantically on the other side of the door, trying to get to her…
“Oh, you mean the cleaner?” Nadiah said, breaking into her too-vivid recollection of the bathroom break from hell.
Sophie frowned. “The what? Is that what you call that little purple mat thing?”
Nadiah nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes, that’s it. What was the problem?”
Sophie could feel her cheeks getting even hotter. “Well it came up and wanted to sit on my lap. It scared me at first but then I realized it must be a family pet so I petted it some but then it…” She dropped her voice, not wanting Sylvan’s aunt to hear. “It tried to get between my legs.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what they do—cleaners, I mean.” Nadiah didn’t sound surprised at all. “They clean.”
“They do?” Sophie demanded. “And you don’t try to stop them?”
Nadiah shrugged. “Why would you? Besides, how else would you get clean if you don’t let the cleaner take care of you?”
“With…with something that’s not alive, that’s how,” Sophie sputtered. “You mean you just let it…let it get between your legs and…and…”
“And clean you.” Nadiah nodded. “Sure. Why—how do you manage on your planet?”
“Well on my part of Earth we use tissue.” When Nadiah frowned, Sophie tried to think of a way to explain. “Thin sheets of disposable material.”
“Like fur?”
“No. It’s actually made from wood pulp—from trees,” Sophie said.
Nadiah frowned. “You mean on Earth you clean your bottom with trees? Doesn’t that hurt?”
“It’s not like that,” Sophie assured her. “It’s—”.
“I mean, if your trees are like ours—don’t you ever get splinters?” Nadiah interrupted. “Or do Earth people have really tough skin down there?”
“No, of course not. You don’t understand—”
“Well girls, here we are.” Zeelah turned to face them and Sophie realized that they had passed through the main grotto and were standing in front of a narrow opening in the pink rock wall. There was a muted glow coming from within that made Sophie think of candle-light and for the first time she wondered how the vast underground caverns were illuminated. Were the rock walls themselves photo-luminescent? Or was there some kind of plant or animal that gave off light way up on the ceiling, out of sight? She opened her mouth to ask but before she could, Sylvan’s aunt had her by the arm and was leading her into the narrow stone archway.
“Come my dear, we need to get you seated.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks,” Sophie said uncertainly.
“See you later,” Nadiah chirped, letting go of her other arm. “We can talk after the feast.”
“Oh.” Sophie felt suddenly bereft. She’d assumed that Nadiah would be staying with her through the entire feast. “Uh, all right,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned. Of course Nadiah had friends of her own she wanted to sit with and besides, Sophie told herself, she would still be with Sylvan—right?
But when they entered the smaller grotto Zeelah steered her purposefully to a large oval table with only one free seat.
“Wait,” Sophie objected, looking around the cavern for Sylvan. There were many, many high, oval tables scattered around and most of them were already filled with people but she didn’t see him anywhere.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” Zeelah’s voice was kind but the grip she had on Sophie’s arm felt like a pair of iron pincers.
“I just thought I’d be sitting with Sylvan. Oh look—there he is!” He was standing against the wall talking to his uncle and few other males. Sophie tried to go to him but there was no escaping Zeelah.
“Oh, you can’t sit with Sylvan, my dear,” she purred sweetly in Sophie’s ear. “Considering your rank and status that would never do.”
“What rank?” Sophie asked, frowning. “Honestly, I’m not an important person where I come from. I just teach elementary art.”
“Of course you’re important,” Zeelah said firmly. “Why, you’re a visitor from another planet! An emissary from Earth. I’m going to place you between Lady Whitethorn and Magistrate Licklow.”
“I’m sorry? Magistrate who?” Sophie was sure she must have misunderstood the last name Zeelah had mentioned—were her translation bacteria acting up?
“Lady Whitethorn and Magistrate Licklow. He’s only the most important male in the grotto.” Zeelah lowered her voice. “Now remember, as our guest you’re representing our family so I expect you to make a good impression, my dear.”
“But I don’t know your customs,” Sophie said desperately. “What if I make a mistake? Please, I really think I’d be better off with Sylvan.”
“Nonsense.” By this time Zeelah had dragged her all the way to the table and was motioning to a high, padded chair which reminded Sophie of a bar stool. “Now climb up like a good girl and do your best,” she hissed under her breath.
Sophie opened her mouth to protest one more time but the look on Sylvan’s aunt’s face was so scary that she closed it abruptly. Zeelah was smiling but her eyes were hard and there were two little white dents on either side of her aristocratic nose. Clearly she was as sweet as could be—as long as she got her way. But if you crossed her… I better not cross her, Sophie thought. Reluctantly she mounted the chair and settled herself on its bright yellow cushion. As she did Zeelah introduced her.
“Lady Whitethorn, Magistrate Licklow, I’d like to present our guest Sophia,” she said importantly.
“Uh, how do you do?” Sophie said weakly, greeting the man and woman on either side of her. Lady Whitethorn was a stick-thin older woman with a regal bearing and hair as white as the tharp she was wearing. Her eyes were a very pale shade of crystal blue that almost looked clear.
Magistrate Licklow was her exact opposite. Though most of the people Sophie had seen on Tranq Prime were tall and thin, he was extremely corpulent with a round belly and red cheeks that made her think of Santa Claus. All he needed was a long white beard and a red suit. Not that I’d want to sit on his lap and tell him what I want for Christmas, Sophie thought. Not with a name like “Licklow.” She stifled a nervous giggle and then realized that Sylvan’s aunt was still talking.
“Sophia is an ambassador from Earth, fifty light years away,” she was saying. “She’s a leading artist on her world and she’s here on a mission of peace and goodwill to our planet. I hope you’ll enjoy her company.”
Sophie opened her mouth to protest—Zeelah had made her sound about a thousand times more important than she was—but the look on the other woman’s face was more than enough to shut her up.
“Have fun my dear,” she murmured, patting Sophie on the arm and then she left.
“Well, well, it’s been a long time since we’ve had such an important visitor.” Magistrate Licklow beamed at her, looking positively jolly. “And you’ve come such a long way too.”
“Anyone can come vast distances if they fold space,” Lady Whitethorn sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “Tell me, my dear, isn’t that a Kindred technology?”
“Yes it is.” Sophie shifted in her seat uncomfortably. While she had been up and walking around the tharp she was wearing had felt fine. But now that she was sitting it was itching in the most distracting way. “Uh, I’m here with Sylvan,” she said, looking around for him and trying not to fidget.
“Sylvan Vii?” Lady Whitethorn raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly.
To her mortification,
Sophie realized she didn’t know Sylvan’s last name. In fact, she hadn’t even known that he had a last name—it seemed that all the Kindred she knew just went by their first names. “Uh, I suppose so,” she said uncertainly. “He’s related to, uh, Lady Zeelah who introduced us?”
“Oh, I know him well enough.” Lady Whitethorn sniffed again. “He was once betrothed to my daughter. Of course her father and I put a stop to that nonsense.”
“He was?” Sophie looked at her uncertainly. “So your daughter must be Feenah then.”
“She is indeed. She was supposed to be sitting beside me but now I see her over there for some reason.” Lady Whitethorn sounded most displeased.
Sophie followed her gaze and couldn’t help feeling upset as well. Sitting at a table diagonally across from them was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. She was tall and slender with hair such a pale blond it was almost white. Her eyes, when she looked up, were the same crystal blue as her mother’s and she was wearing a lovely indigo tharp that set them off perfectly. Worst of all, she was sitting right beside Sylvan.
“Well if I’m in your daughter’s seat, maybe I should just trade places with her,” Sophie said, having a sudden inspiration.
“What?” Magistrate Licklow sounded shocked. “Get up and leave for another table once you’ve been seated? Impossible.”
“And very insulting as well.” Lady Whitethorn gave her a stern look. “Although I’m sure an important ambassador like yourself must have much better things to do than share a meal with Magistrate Licklow and myself.”
“No, no! Of course not.” Sophie was horrified. She’d been seated less than five minutes and already she’d made a horrible social blunder. “I would never think anything like that,” she protested. “Please forgive me—I didn’t know it was rude to change seats at a feast here on Tranq Prime. It’s perfectly fine on my planet so I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Indeed.” Lady Whitethorn looked down her thin, boney nose. “So on Earth it’s considered normal to go hopping from seat to seat completely disregarding your dinner companions’ finer feelings? It sounds like a rather primitive world, I’m afraid.”
“No it’s not,” Sophie protested. “We’re really quite civilized.”
“I’m sure you are,” Magistrate Licklow said heartily. “Why, I’m certain your grottos on Earth are almost as lovely as our own here on Tranq Prime.”
“Well, no,” Sophie admitted, thinking again of her family vacation to the natural caverns. “Most of our, uh, grottos are dark and dirty. But that’s only because nobody lives there,” she added hastily.
“Oh?” Magistrate Licklow raised his bushy eyebrows. “Then where do you live?”
“On the surface of our world.”
Lady Whitethorn looked aghast. “Crawling on the surface like bugs! How awful!”
“No it’s not—honestly.” Sophie was miserably aware that she was giving her dining companions a very dismal view of Earth but she couldn’t seem to help it—everything she said just came out wrong somehow.
“But how do you keep warm?” Magistrate Licklow wanted to know. “You must cultivate some very heavy tharps indeed.”
“We don’t need them,” Sophie said. “Earth isn’t nearly as cold as Tranq Prime. Well, parts of it are, but most of it isn’t. And some parts are so hot you could practically go naked. Not that you would,” she added quickly but the damage was already done.
“So you wander around on top of your world, half naked, with no proper tharps to wear and no grottoes to live in.” Lady Whitethorn shook her head. “Dear me, I don’t believe I will be visiting any time soon.”
“Come now, Lady Whitethorn, we must forgive the lovely Sophia a few oddities—she is, after all, an alien.” The Magistrate smiled at Sophie and raised a glass of clear blue liquid. “Although it’s easy to forget. You speak our language so well we could almost believe you’re one of us.”
“Thank you.” Sophie smiled at him gratefully and took a sip from her own glass. The blue liquid burned a trail down her throat and exploded in her stomach, making her eyes water. She set it down hastily and tried not to cough. “But I really know hardly anything about your customs,” she admitted. “I’m only fluent in your language because I was given an injection of translation bacteria.”
“Yet another Kindred invention, no doubt,” Lady Whitethorn said witheringly.
Sophie began to get irritated. “And what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with the Kindred?”
“Nothing at all…provided you don’t mind your family tree bearing some rather odd fruit.” Lady Whitethorn tittered unkindly.
Sophie’s tharp was itching her abominably and the discomfort made her irritable. Or else maybe the pale blue drink had gone to her head—either way she couldn’t just sit there without saying something.
“My sister is mated to a Kindred warrior,” she said, lifting her chin “She just found out she’s pregnant and we couldn’t be happier. In fact—” But just at that moment the long, trailing sleeve of her tharp seemed to jerk on its own and somehow snagged Lady Whitethorn’s glass. Before Sophia could stop it, it dumped the pale blue liquid directly into the older woman’s lap.
“Oh!” Lady Whitethorn jumped off her chair with surprising agility. “My favorite tharp! You’ve drenched it in woo! Oh my poor darling.” She caressed the tharp tenderly. “I’ve had it since it was a neophyte.”
Sophie’s anger evaporated immediately to be replaced by mortification. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, looking around for a napkin. “I didn’t mean to spill, uh, woo all over your dress…er tharp.”
Lady Whitethorn narrowed her eyes. “That’s quite all right, my dear. Of course one can’t expect good table manners from someone of your underprivileged background. Especially since you came here with a Kindred.”
“That Kindred saved my life,” Sophie said, her voice trembling. “His name is Sylvan and he’s brave and kind and considerate and—”
“I’m sure all that is perfectly true, dear.” Lady Whitethorn finished blotting at her tharp, which now had a light blue stain, and reseated herself in her tall chair. “So it’s a great pity that he’s foresworn himself of you, isn’t it?”
Sophie didn’t know what to say. Hot words came to her lips and she swallowed them down with difficulty. After all, Lady Whitethorn had her there—Sylvan had foresworn himself when it came to her—a fact that was making her more and more unhappy every time she thought of it. Even worse, when she looked up she saw that he and Feenah were talking. In fact, he appeared to be laughing heartily at something the lovely blonde girl had just said.
Just my luck, Sophie thought glumly. His ex is the Tranq Prime version of a supermodel and she’s apparently got a sense of humor too. Of course she also had a barracuda for a mother. Sophie was sure that one conversation with Lady Whitethorn would be enough to drive anyone away, no matter how beautiful and perfect Feenah was. She hoped so, anyway.
“Now, now,” Magistrate Licklow ventured, breaking into Sophie’s dismal thoughts. “I’m sure there’s no need for such distress over a simple accident. Let us move on with the feast—surely the fleeta pudding will be here soon.” As he spoke, a server appeared behind them and began placing thin stone plates filled with brownish-red mush in front of each guest.
Sophie looked down at the steaming pile on her plate with a sinking heart. Back on Earth one of her neighbors had a Great Dane and wasn’t very good about cleaning up the little “presents” it left behind. The food in front of her bore an uncanny resemblance to what she saw on the sidewalk every morning when she went out of her townhouse to jog.
“Mmm, delicious.” Magistrate Licklow had picked up a long, thin utensil shaped rather like a chopstick with a tiny spoon on the end and was digging into his own pile enthusiastically. “Try it, my dear,” he said, nodding at Sophie. “It’s a delicacy here on Tranq Prime—you might even call it our national dish.”
“Really?” Sophie picked up her own chopsti
ck-spoon and began poking carefully at the steaming brownish mass. “Uh what did you call it? Some kind of pudding?”
“It’s fleeta pudding.” Lady Whitethorn took a dainty bite. Now that she’d had the last word, she appeared to be willing to speak to Sophie again. “Eat some,” she added. “Unless, of course, your civilized palate is too refined to appreciate such local fare.”
“I never said that,” Sophie said defensively. “In fact…” She swallowed hard. “It, uh… it looks like something I’ve seen very often on my own home planet.”
“Oh, you have a delicacy similar to ours?” Magistrate Licklow smiled. “See Lady Whitethorn? Earth must not be such a savage place after all.” He smiled at Sophie. “Go on, my dear. Have some and let us know how it compares to your own local dish.”
Both of her dining companions were watching her closely and Sophie felt trapped. Oh my God, I’m actually going to have to eat some! Taking a tiny spoonful, she brought it to her lips. She had been hoping it would smell better than it looked but unfortunately, it really didn’t. A thick, rotten aroma rose up to greet her, making her feel like she was going to gag.
“Go on,” the Magistrate urged again.
Just get it over with! Taking a deep breath (which she immediately regretted) Sophie popped the spoonful of fleeta pudding in her mouth and swallowed as fast as she could.
“Well?” Lady Whitethorn arched an eyebrow at her imperiously.
“D-delicious,” Sophie managed to say. Reaching for her glass, she took a huge gulp of the burning blue woo and prayed not to puke. Fire erupted in her stomach and her eyes watered so much she could hardly see, but at least the nauseating pudding stayed down.
“And was it very like what you have on your own home planet?” Magistrate Licklow asked, smiling.
“Exactly like it,” Sophie assured him, wiping her eyes. Then, remembering the protein paste Sylvan had offered her back at the cabin she asked, “Uh, it’s not made of ground up bug larva, is it?”
“Most certainly not.” Lady Whitethorn took another dainty bite and a sip from her glass, which the server had refilled.
Brides of the Kindred Volume One: Books 1-4 Page 74