“You have duties,” she sighed, and was only half teasing when she suggested, “but I don’t. I could go off somewhere and you could visit when you’re not working.”
He aimed a scowl down at her that didn’t reach his eyes, but she knew he meant it when he said, “That is not happening. If I must endure this constant upheaval, so do you.”
She sighed in grudging acceptance. “Then I’ll have to find something to do to pass the time because I plan to go out as little as possible.”
“I can help with that.”
She patted his chest and laughed. “Thanks for the offer, General, but I meant when you aren’t here. I do plenty when you are, believe me.”
His arms tightened in an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll have Adria visit, and if you’d like, arrange for you to see some of your friends, or they can come here.”
“Would you? It might help to talk to others going through this. Sometimes I feel guilty for being happy.”
“Are you, mate? That’s what I’d hoped for.”
She nodded. “I am, except when I must attend those dinners. Or see how unhappy the others are. Do you think I could visit Mailynn or Thora? Things seem to be going well for them.”
“Which ones are they?”
“The two with the black hair.”
“Yes, Krager and Vardak’s mates. That can be arranged.”
“But I’d especially like to see Eva.”
He hesitated over this request. “I don’t know if that’s wise, Lana. She’s struggling with this too, not as much as Ram’s mate, but...”
“Then she’s probably in need of someone to talk to just like me. She is my dearest friend, Trask. Please.”
His eyes roamed her face a moment as he made his decision. “I’ll talk to Kerr and see what he thinks.” He dropped one arm and guided her to the stairs. “What does it say that I can deny you nothing?”
“That you like me? You really like me?” She giggled at her private joke, one he couldn't possibly understand. He didn't ask, only smiled indulgently, seeming genuinely happy as well.
Chapter Six
SITTING BACK ON HER heels, Lana rubbed her aching back. She was tired, but the good kind brought on by physical activity. Her visit to Eva in the Princep’s rooftop garden—where she’d been much more at ease than the last time she’d seen her, thank goodness—gave her the idea to start one of her own. She’d never had much of a green thumb, but it gave her an excuse to do something she excelled at, digging in the dirt. It also filled the hours when Trask was off doing whatever a supreme general did.
The soil was rocky, which didn’t make it any easier, and mineral rich with what she figured was a high concentration of iron, making it reddish orange. Her fingers were stained, as were her clothes. Tilling with a traditional shovel had been the worst of it, being outside in the fresh air and sunshine the best.
“Lana?”
She twisted, surprised to hear a woman’s voice. When she saw no one in the patio doorway or anywhere in the small back courtyard, she wiped the back of her hand across her damp brow. “I’m hearing things,” she muttered aloud. “The two suns must be getting to me.”
A loud screech made her jump. Her head swiveled to the rear gate which creaked loudly again when it swung shut behind a tall willowy brunette. Lana heard her mutter, “No need for an alarm with that noise,” as she walked right on in.
When Adria spotted her in the far corner, she jerked slightly, surprise registering on her pretty face, then started her way. “I knocked, but there was no answer,” she said as she walked up. Then she stood for a moment, both hands propped on her hips, staring down at where she knelt in the dirt. “What are you doing? You’re a mess.”
At this for hours, Lana knew she must be. She’d sweated, broken several nails, and had scratches on her hands and forearms from wrestling with the three pricker bushes Eva had given her. “I’m starting a garden,” she replied, not that it wasn’t obvious.
“Why?”
“Why not?” In the middle of putting a root ball into a water-filled hole when she was interrupted, Lana got back to it, carefully packing dirt around into the gaps in the hole.
“That looks dead,” Adria observed.
“Not dead, dormant. In three months’ time, I’ve been promised a profusion of fragrant blooms in crimson, purple, and white.”
“They sell cut flowers at the market. Trask won’t mind if you buy a profusion of fragrant blooms rather than risk a skin infection. You’ve got scratches on your arms, and they’re covered in dirt.”
“You’re missing the point of this.”
“Which is?”
“Satisfaction.”
“You find fulfillment in red, irritated skin and ripped cuticles?”
Lana sat back on her heels and glowered at her unenthusiastic visitor. “No, I find satisfaction in making something out of nothing, especially something beautiful.”
“You mean those dried-up red things?” Adria wrinkled her nose, eyeing the pile of tubers Lana planned to put in next. “They have a long way to go before they’d ever be called beautiful.”
Shaking her head over the younger woman’s lack of imagination, she picked up her hand trowel and started digging another hole. “Eva gave me those dried-up red things. They’re from the Princep’s garden, and very similar to a root vegetable we have on Earth, called sunchokes. The man tending things before she arrived was pulling them up, stems and all, thinking they were nuisance weeds.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she muttered, making a face.
“They might not look very appetizing now, but you'll love them roasted, or in soup, but especially sliced thin and fried like chips with cinnamon and sugar. Eva says your Princep loves them.”
“He’s your Princep now, too, Lana,” Adria corrected her. “I’ll pass. They look unsanitary all caked with dirt.”
“Where do you think fruits and vegetables come from?”
She gave her a pointed look before she drawled, “The market. We have booths where you can buy all of this and save yourself the trouble.”
Lana sat back again, wiped the sweat from her brow, and stared up at her. “What do you do to keep busy?”
“I study. I will be one of the few female physics in Primarian history.”
“That is quite an accomplishment.”
“Yes, I take pride in it. I only hope I can pass all my practical examinations. And now, with human females among us, I’ll be tested on specifics for your kind as well.”
“Sorry for the added work.”
“That’s okay. I enjoy it.”
“I used to study volcanoes.”
Adria blinked. “Truly?”
“Yep. Got any of those around here?”
“No. And if we did, Trask would never let you get near them.”
“Exactly. So”—she extended her arms to the small patch of dirt—“I’m sublimating.”
“Right. I don’t know what that is.”
“Redirecting my energies into something I can do so I don’t miss what I can’t. And when I’m done and have something to show for it, I’ll feel a sense of accomplishment like you do with your studies. Get it?”
She grinned. “I do. But dare I mention your nose is red? With your fair skin, if you’re going to become a small-scale farmer, you should really wear a hat.”
Great. She hadn’t considered the sun and risked twice the burn with two of them blazing overhead. On a planet of people whose skin tone ranged from golden to bronze and looked like they lived on the beach, she didn’t stand much of a chance of finding sunscreen, either. “So noted.”
“I’ll leave you to your digging.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I need to get back, but promise to invite me for supper to celebrate your first harvest. I’ll even eat your disgusting sunchokes to increase your sense of fulfillment.”
She looked up and replied without inflection, “Whoever said I could cook?”
Adria b
linked, looked at the dirty pile of knobby roots, and the dozen vegetable seed pouches beside it, and declared in the most confounded voice ever, “I’ll never understand humans.”
Lana let slip her giggle and soon was laughing at the stunned expression on the younger woman’s face.
“You’re joking,” Adria stated when she realized she’d been had.
This made Lana double over, and, before long, Adria was laughing with her. Or perhaps, it was at her. Considering her sunburned face, dirt-smudged clothes, and the fact she was bent over on the ground having a laughing fit, the latter was most likely correct. But she didn’t care in either case. After the insane two weeks she’d had, being silly felt incredible.
“A SEA OF BLACK AND red, does the man own nothing else?” Lana muttered as she watched another section of the modular closet slide into the recessed compartment in the wall. This one, like the two before it, contained neatly folded black uniform pants, a rack of crisply pressed red tunics, and, below them, vertical cubbies for storing his boots upright. There had to be a dozen of each. He was in the military and wore a uniform every day, she got that, but he wasn’t on duty 24/7. What about a pair of bum-around pants or jeans?
The mental image of Trask in snug-fitting Levi’s and a tight white T-shirt rooted in her brain so firmly, she had to shake her head to get it to reset.
Resuming her search, she squatted in front of the shelves, looking behind and between everything, including inside the cubbies with the boots, she knew what she wouldn’t find—a hat. He had twelve times the number of uniforms he needed, considering he had an automated laundry system. When one got dirty, it could be washed, dried, and spit out, pristine like it was brand-new, in under sixty seconds. Heck, the machine even put everything back in the closet. All Trask had to do was get his dirty clothes within the vicinity of the receptacle in the corner of his room, and the system did the rest.
Since her search was fruitless, she pressed another button on the control panel and closed the unit, the door sliding in place and becoming such a seamless part of the wall, no one would ever guess a wardrobe lie on the other side. They really had some amazing gadgets.
Lana surveyed the rest of the enormous closet. Behind the far wall was a second large wardrobe filled with the clothing he’d provided for her. Four sections with row upon row of beautiful dresses and shoes, but nothing else. No pants, nightgowns, or underwear—heaven forbid. And, since the outside temperature in Ariad ranged from seventy to ninety degrees year-round, there was no need for outerwear, either. For Lana, born and raised in Northern California where, on occasion, they measured snowfall in feet not inches, coats, boots, mittens, and scarves were a thing of the past. Another mark in the plus column for Trask’s homeworld.
“But would it be too much to ask for one lousy hat?” she grumbled as she walked out of the ginormous walk-in closet. “I mean, seriously, not even a beat-up baseball cap? Don’t these people play sports?”
After Adria left, Lana couldn’t stop thinking about her red nose, and the burning tightness in her cheeks, and decided to follow her advice and wear a hat. But she’d come up empty in her search of the house, so far. After searching the closet, she looked through his bedroom, which with his minimalist decorating style hadn’t taken long. She even checked the bathing room and the mirrored anteroom beyond it. In a much smaller closet, she found toiletries, like the fresh-smelling foaming soap he used, which she did now too, and his shaving gel—not unlike what men used on Earth. There were Primarian versions of toothpaste, shampoo, and a variety of other tubes and bottles which she wasn’t sure about, but nothing resembling lotion of any kind for her burning skin, and no sunscreen.
Empty-handed, she went back downstairs thinking it might be best to tidy up and limit her gardening to mornings and evenings when the suns weren't so strong. This time couldn’t be helped, however. As warm as her face was, she'd most likely peel after the burn faded, or worse, freckle.
As she crossed the kitchen, her eyes were drawn to the western facing windows and the brilliant sky, in shades of pink, purple and yellow, as the large of the twin suns set. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the beauty of this world.
Moving to the doors leading to the patio and courtyard, her steps slowed, seeing they stood ajar, almost certain she had closed them. A flash of red and black through the glass caught her eye. The little burst of panic she felt tailed off when she saw it was Trask pacing across the flagstones.
She smiled, eager to show him what she’d accomplished. At the door, she raised a hand, ready to push it wide, when he snapped in a voice rife with angry impatience, “I don’t care. I have a mate and have already waived reassignment.”
Startled, she stepped back, out of sight.
“It isn’t too late. Master Warrior Ramikin is considering petitioning the council for dissolution since his mate is intolerable and they haven’t bonded in all this time.”
“Ram’s situation is not mine. Lana and I have bonded. I’ve already said no to this several times, Aylan, and urge you to drop it.”
Though not directed at her, she shivered at the cold fury edging his voice. Curious to know who was on the receiving end of his wrath, she angled her head, trying to view the seating area to the left. She could only see two of the four chairs; both were empty.
“A few flecks in her eyes rather than a full conversion to your color shows a weak bond. It’s not unexpected since she’s only borderline compatible with you.”
Borderline! Her thoughts filtered back to her research classes in college. They used the term interchangeably with marginal, below average, and questionable. Not glowing recommendations for anything, let alone two very different individuals expected to spend a lifetime together.
“What made you think to keep her when the recommendations were that you shouldn’t, I’ll never know. Two warriors have found fated mates among these humans. I fear when they and the others successfully breed, and your borderline female does not, you’ll regret your hastiness.”
Coming to a halt, Trask crossed his arms over his chest and aimed a hard look toward the chairs. “The results didn’t state breeding was impossible, Uncle.”
“Unlikely is much the same thing, Trask.”
“Damn, but you’re persistent,” he growled as he walked away, his hands raking his hair back in agitation. “Coming from Mordrun, this wouldn’t surprise me. He’s always been calculating, but I thought more of you. And to bring this up now, here in my home, with my mate upstairs—” He twisted back. “Did he put you up to this?”
“My brother does not lead me. I was concerned and didn’t think this should wait.”
Two uncles aligned to convince him didn’t sound good for her. Although Trask seemed firm in his defense of their match—that wasn’t much of one, evidently—family could exert considerable influence. With his back to her, she moved to the other side of the door for a better angle, eager to see the man who so adamantly wanted their match dissolved.
On tiptoe, she strained to get a glimpse of him from the window, but with him seated, the four-foot wall separating the patio from the lawn still blocked her view. She could see the top of a gray head, nothing more.
“Your female is small and sickly, both good reasons to seek dissolution.”
“They are all small,” he grated out irritably, “and Lana is not sickly. She had an adverse reaction to teleportation which won’t be an issue in the future since she is home for good. As for dissolution, that is not happening, and you waste your breath and my time discussing it.” He stared at the man a moment as if waiting to see if he’d be foolish enough to say anything further. “We are done here,” he announced and jerked his head toward the far end of the yard. “You can see yourself out the back gate.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes, I’m angry. Tell Mordrun what I have told you and do not bring this up again. Am I understood?” He didn’t wait for an answer, striding quickly toward the house.
Lana scrambled
off her precarious perch to keep from being caught eavesdropping, but her skirt got caught on something. Thrown off-balance, she slammed into the chest, sending it skidding across the tile floor with a scraping noise. When she righted herself, he was at the door, sliding it open.
She tried to move away from the window and at least attempt to look like she wasn’t listening in, but she came up short, still hung. She tugged on her skirt, but aside from ripping it, she was stuck. With no choice other than face him, she plastered on an innocent smile and greeted him.
“Trask, your home. How was your day?”
When his eyes tracked from her to the window and back, she figured she didn’t pull off innocent too convincingly.
“How much did you hear?”
“I, uh...”
“Don’t invite more trouble by denying it. How much?”
“All of it,” she admitted. “You said we had a biocellular match high enough for mate-bonding.”
“We do,” he replied while moving forward. At her side, he dropped into a crouch and deftly freed her snagged skirt. When he stood, now close enough to touch, the residual anger had left his voice when he assured her, “This is nothing for you to worry about.”
“Your uncle didn’t think it was nothing. Being labeled as borderline doesn’t inspire confidence it will ever be something, neither does unlikely.”
“Matches vary by degree; we fall within the allowable range. And, whether borderline or fated, it is up to the Maker to decide if we're blessed with children.” He stopped abruptly, and took a step back, taking her in with a sweep from head to toe. “Why are you covered in dirt?”
Lana looked at her hands, stained bright orange despite having washed them repeatedly using a considerable amount of soap. She’d have to soak in the tub to get it off. Flipping them over and taking in her discolored nails, she added work gloves below sunscreen and a hat to her growing list of must-haves.
Defying the General (Primarian Mates Book 4) Page 11