by Zara Zenia
"I'm surprised you have time to greet me personally. Being the purveyor of this establishment must keep you busy."
The Primen straighten his spine, rising to his full height. "Indeed, business has been good and my wife has her sly ways of demanding my attention. The human women have more . . . mysteries to them than ours. Though not so much that local gossip escapes my ear. “
One of the human attendants came near, offering us a silver tray with two bowls of honey wine. The other approached Farran and Harran, a similar tray in her trembling fingers. I reached for one and brought the edge of the vessel to my lips. But as the first drops of the fiery sweet liquid hit my tongue, I pressed my lips shut.
“As you said, business has been good,” I said, only half embellishing. My family’s academy has trained generations of Xicret warriors. Police, soldiers, special forces. No level of combat was beyond our facilities or our skill.
None of that mattered anymore. As my father's heir, the family's status depended on my status. The future of my bloodline for generations depended on my finding not just a wife, but a worthy one. And Carzon damn well knew it.
Before his rise to Primen, when he was a simple warrior, Carzon had stumbled upon a backwater planet with hardly any technology to speak of. Some said that the gods favored him and his discovery of the human women was proof of it. His detractors claimed that the human women tamed his cock. They believed that the trail of blood Carzon left behind in his ascension led directly to his human wife's heat.
“Mystery does not interest me. If she can learn our ways, she will make a suitable mate.” The rest of it almost spilled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I took a sip of wine from the bowl to cover the hesitation.
The Primen caught it anyway. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes crinkling at the corners in something that almost looked like sympathy. Or it might have to someone who was unaware of his reputation. "I can assure you that I never present humans to customers unless they've proven themselves intelligent and capable of following directions. I take my establishment's reputation quite seriously."
"Then there should be no issue." I hoped that might end the conversation, but deep down, I knew the Primen had his return volley already prepared.
"Surely, there must be something more you require in a mate." He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes for a moment with one of his human servants. She nodded and whispered to the other servant. I couldn't hear her words from my place across the room, but both shifted positions, putting their delicious half-naked bodies between the others and us.
Carzon continued speaking as if none of it had happened. "Perhaps a desire you preferred not to mention on your application?"
My spine stiffened. I tried to reason with myself. There was no way Purveyor Carzon could know what I was after, but Primen Carzon? There was no scrap of information on the planet beyond his reach.
For a moment, I wondered how many other men of a status similar to mine had dealt with the same test. How many of them had failed? My eyes wandered to Farran and Harran, both with their eyes fixed on the human slaves' breasts.
I drained the bowl of wine in my hands and set it on Carzon's desk. A warrior would never set his drinking vessel on the desk of the Primen, not if he valued his position. Merchants had no right to demand deference of warriors.
"If there were, I would expect a merchant as skilled as yourself to anticipate my desires. Particularly, a merchant who cares so much about his reputation."
Carzon's eyes darted down to the bowl on his desk then back up to mine. His lips twitched at the corners, then spread into a wide smile. "Gentlemen, there has been a slight change to tonight's proceedings. Zarbonov, son of Xarran, will have the first choice of tonight's stock."
Farran's eyes flashed with rage. He grabbed the slave's shoulder and pushed her aside. "What? I paid good money to be at a sitting where all bids were equal. You can't just change the rules of a deal midstream!"
The look of utter disgust on Carzon's face silenced the young soldier. His face flushed a deeper navy as he realized his mistake. Farran may have been born into high status, but the years hadn't been kind to his family. By all rights, Carzon could have ejected him from the auction house right there.
I almost felt sorry for him. The complexity of social regulations could take a lifetime to master. Special cases such as Farran's came with additional rules that often rendered smooth navigation impossible. Perhaps, in the end, it was kinder for him to find a human wife who wouldn't know how much face she’d lose to stand at his side.
Harran objected to the sudden change in plan just as much as Farran, but he was more seasoned in the ways of society. At least, enough to know his proper place within it. He lowered his head, hiding the disappointment in his eyes beneath a greedy gulp of wine. However, as much as he disagreed with Carzon's decision, he wouldn't dare question it out loud.
Honor and tradition demanded that I protest something so brazenly done for my benefit. Our people held deep pride in earning everything they received. What Carzon had done wasn't merely unusual. It was highly improper.
It was also exactly what I needed. Farran's anger can only mean that he and Harran had already arranged to join forces when the bidding began.
"Your offer is generous, Carzon, but I must decline. It would be unfair to men who so bravely defend our people." The words left my mouth like ash drifting from a fire. I couldn't have cared less what was fair to Farran or Harran. Let the pair of them die alone, with no sons or daughters to carry their blood forward.
"I insist, Zarbonov. Consider it a gift to honor our newfound friendship," Carzon said. He snapped his fingers and waved the servants away. They bowed their heads to him, each taking one of the warriors by the arm and guiding them out of the office.
He knew he had trapped me. To refuse a gift given in friendship was the same as refusing the friendship entirely. No member of the warrior caste, however rich their accounts or renowned their blood, could afford to refuse an offer of friendship from the Primen.
"You have a better understanding of my needs than I gave you credit for, Carzon." It was as close to an admission of defeat as I could afford to give him.
"As I said, my reputation is important to me. The reputation of my High Warriors, doubly so." He crossed to the bar and poured two fresh bowls of wine. "Now that we're alone, I can speak plainly."
"I would welcome it," I said. And for the first time all night, I meant it.
"Good. I have no use for rumors, Zarbonov." He passed the bowl to me without missing a beat. "Particularly, not ones with solutions as simple as yours. A rumor unchecked is a weakness for your enemy to exploit."
"I wasn't aware my house had many enemies."
"You had better brace yourself, then. A declaration of friendship from me is a better lure than the sweetest nectar you've ever tasted." Carzon lifted his wine in a toast. "And I truly want us to be friends."
I lifted my bowl, mimicking his toast. His actions raised too many questions, but I wasn't fool enough to try getting any of them answered. Carzon didn't reach his position by giving away information. Whatever his plans, he would let me know them when he chose or leave me in the dark. Nothing I said in that moment could affect his decision. It could only cost me an advantage I badly needed.
"Then to our friendship," I said, taking a deep drink from the bowl.
When I finished, the Primen clapped me on the back. "Like a true Xiban Warrior. Now come, my friend. Your bride awaits."
I followed him out of the room, ignoring the still full bowl he’d left behind.
Chapter Five
Ella
New Blue muttered something to herself as she smeared another layer of rose gold lipstick across my lips. She tilted my head back and balanced her palm on my cheek, coming at me with something that looked like a black eyeliner pencil. I told myself not to panic as she rimmed my lid with the creamy cosmetic stick. It’s not like I could have convinced her to let me do it myself.
She leaned back, sweeping her hand toward the mirror to make sure I admired her handiwork. The makeup made me look even less like myself than the dress, but the two went together in a strange way to create a story. The woman in the mirror was a treasure, a curvy goddess. I was a girl from the Midwest who’d bombed her last anthropology test.
New Blue didn’t seem to take note of my minor existential crisis. Her eyes darted over my shoulder toward Blue 3 who, much to my chagrin, had spent the last few minutes taming my frizz into submission. I didn't need to know their language to feel the tension in the air.
I didn't realize what the two of them were so nervous about until Blue 3 pulled me to my feet and guided me to the exit. The other girls from the Room were already in the hallway. Their glamazons, Blues 1 and 2, exchanged nasty glances with Blue 3 as she moved me into line.
The blonde girl wore a dress dyed a vibrant red that almost distracted from the fact that the material was transparent. Her lips had been stained to match her dress. She pressed them together and looked away when our eyes met, but the tears from the Room were nowhere to be found. I knew that act. I invented that act.
She was tall and slender, the perfect figure to pull off such a daring dress. In fact, both of the other girls were smaller than me. But you only had to look at her to tell that she hated it. I couldn't see the young red-haired woman from the back of the line, but I could hear her quiet sobs. Her hunched shoulders shook every few seconds.
"You look nice," I said to Blondie as if something like that mattered in a place like this. Why would any of us want to look pretty for some hairy alien?
But the blonde didn't look at me like I was stupid this time. She glanced over her shoulder at me, a tiny smile on her lips. Blue Prime clapped her hands and started walking before either of us could say anything else.
I looked at Blue 3 and found her staring at the red-haired girl with something like pity in her eyes. Somehow, I knew in my gut what she was thinking. If that poor girl had gone with her, she wouldn't be so afraid. She wouldn't be hugging herself and crying in fear. She would already know that the only way for her to make it through the night was to be brave.
But the only reason I knew those things was because Blue 3 had pulled me out of line. The realization that everything I'd felt that night depended on something so small struck a chord in me like nothing else had.
Every moment from the time I left the Room to when I stepped into the hallway flashed in my head. Was either of the other girls allowed to wash themselves? Blue Prime didn't seem like the sort to let a little thing like personal space muck up her schedule. Blue 2 wouldn't do anything that might make her look bad to Blue Prime, including wasting a few seconds on a traumatized human.
It was such a simple detail, a completely random chance. But I knew in my gut that it had made all the difference. Or it might have, if I hadn't put two and two together. How much of my life in this place would be determined by little details? Until then, I hadn't realized I was one of the lucky ones. Now, I couldn't think of anything but when my luck would run out.
Would I be one of the girls who went back to the Room or one of the ones who never returned? Which answer was the lesser of two evils?
My shoulders started to tremble as the line moved out of the hallway into a dark room. I did the only thing I could think of to feel in control again. The same thing I had been doing since the night I got there.
My name is Ella Browne. I’m from Western Springs, Illinois. I don’t belong here.
The blues marched us onto a black stage that had three gold squares painted on its surface. A gauze curtain separated the stage from the rest of the room, but I couldn't see any details about it from the room. Blue Prime pulled Blondie toward the far end of the stage. She pressed her lips together until the skin around them went white, but I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Blue 2 grabbed Red by the arm and tried to tug her toward the center square. But Red braced her bare feet against the stage and leaned back, whimpering loudly. The two women engaged in a brief tug of war, Blue 2 dragging the human into position and Red determined to move anywhere but there. She fought hard, but the glamazons were taller and stronger and hadn't been getting by on a diet of gray water.
Spotlights in the ceiling clicked on, raining a cascade of light down on Blondie and Red. Blue 3 took me by the hand and led me to my square. She whispered something, and in that moment, I wished like never before that I could understand her.
I couldn't let go of the idea that she was trying to be nice to me. For some reason, she gave enough of a damn to try to make a shitty situation a little bit less so, and I couldn't even thank her for it.
And I knew in my gut that the second I let go of her hand, the entire situation would get a lot scarier.
My spotlight clicked on just as Blue 3's hand slipped from mine. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, tasting the slick oily salve and fine bits of precious metal on my tongue. Everything beyond the bright light was a field of inky blackness with no shape. I couldn't see the blues. I couldn't see the aliens in the theater. But I knew both were there.
A disembodied voice echoed across the stage, rattling something in the clipped alien language. The tone was different from the glamazons’ voices. More guttural. Male. The men who’d grabbed me from the party sounded almost the same. Did they still have me? Were the glamazons, with their sweet baths and personal fittings, just a way of lulling us into a false sense of security?
My name is Ella Browne.
The voice kept talking. I looked around the room for something else to focus on. Anything else. My eyes landed on Red. She was just as slender as Blondie but had a small stature like mine. Her dresser chose a loose skirt for her, with bells strung from woven threads. Each time she sobbed, the bells jingled softly.
Ella Browne.
I closed my eyes and listened to the mingled sounds, the deep grunting alien language, Red's sobs, and the gentle tinkle of bells. Even with my eyes closed, I could still see the black makeup dripping over Red's cheeks. The angry blotches on her skin were almost as red as her hair.
She didn't have Blue 3 or New Blue looking over her, worrying over whether she looked good and felt comfortable. Nobody remembered to tell her to be brave. And now it was too late. It wouldn't mean anything. Now, she was miles away from everyone and everything she ever knew, standing under a spotlight while alien men she couldn't see decided her fate.
Now, she was just like me.
But that wasn't who she really was. This wasn't who any of us really were. I reached out to touch Red because the least I could do was let her know she wasn't by herself. As long as we were all on that stage, we were all still together. But at the edge of the golden box, my hand collided with something invisible. I only had a split second to wonder what had happened before an electric shock ran down my arm.
I screamed and stumbled backward, barely catching my balance before I fell into the other invisible edge. My stomach burned. Hot blood flooded across my chest and cheeks. This wasn't the first time I'd felt anger this intense. It wasn't the first time I couldn't do anything about it either.
Who I was stopped mattering back on Earth. Nobody on whatever planet that was about to become my home cared what I wanted. If my time so far was any indication, precious few people would care how I felt.
The only thing I could do, the only thing any of us could do, was stand in the box and wait to see what came next.
Chapter Six
Zarbonov
Primen Carzon folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the trembling women on the stage. Waves of tension radiated from him, but his rigid posture suggested that he tried not to let it show. Farran let out a sigh behind me and grumbled under his breath. His chances of finding a suitable mate had been low enough thanks to Carzon's last-minute tip of the odds in my favor. With two of the three girls in tears, he didn't have a prayer.
All three humans had hollow cheeks and weak postures
, both signs that they had missed too many meals of late. Even the Primen seemed shocked by the state of his stock, judging by the moment his eyes widened as the spotlights switched on.
The redhead wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to still her shaking shoulders. Her splotched face and full cheeks made her look younger than her years. Carzon's attendants had dressed her in a cheesy dance costume. Its ill fit only highlighted the fact that she was too small and too skinny to bear healthy Xiban children.
The blonde was older and of a sturdier build. Her tears were more difficult to spot from our seats, thanks to her sunkissed skin. But what cover her complexion gave was lost to the streaks of kohl that ran from her eyes. I tried to picture either of them beneath me in my bed. Impossible.
It wasn't their fear that was the problem. In their position, fear proved they had intelligence. But to show it so openly could only mean that the emotion had overtaken their better judgment. However clever the humans might have been, no creature could learn when fear had poisoned their brains.
Farran snapped his fingers and waved to Carzon's wine servant. The moment she came near, he snatched a bowl from the tray with such force the entire thing nearly toppled. Harran took one for himself but opted to show his frustration by drinking down as much of the stuff as he could. I understood their frustrations. I shared them. Each of us needed a mate who could not only satisfy our urges but learn our ways.
“Apologies, my friends," Carzon said as he forced a smile to his lips. "I assure you, this is highly unusual for my establishment."
The words had a suitable air of humility, but I could hear the rage lurking just beneath the surface. His favor passing without incident relied on Farran at least having something to show for their time. If word got out that he’d held a showing with such poor odds of success, his reputation might never recover. Someone in his staff had failed him badly.