by Dixon, Ruby
“Oh, okay—”
“No talking,” he bites at me, glaring.
I shut up, startled at how nasty he is. Jeez. Come to think of it, my master’s the only one that’s been halfway kind to me and he hasn’t even told me his name. Distressed, I let the servant drag me along with him. We cross through several halls in the massive manor house before we get to an area that’s a little more rundown, a little less decorated, and the doors are smaller and tighter. Behind them, I can hear the hum of voices. Clearly these are the servants’ quarters.
The butler escorts me in, past groups in different colored tunics, until he spots a man in the dark blue of my owner’s uniforms. With a sound of relief, the butler pulls me after him. “This is your master’s problem,” he declares to the man in dark livery. “Take her off my hands, will you? Lady dra’Niiron will have a fit if she sees her in the halls.”
“Of course.” The new servant—the one in blue—takes my arm as if I can’t hold myself up and frowns down at me. He’s one of the blue guys with horns, but his features are rougher than my master’s and he doesn’t look friendly at all. In fact, he looks at me like a very nasty bug crawling across the carpet. “I see you’re my problem now.”
“Hi,” I say brightly, determined to try and make the best of things. I stick out my hand for him to shake. “I’m Milly, and I’m new—”
“You can’t wear that,” he says immediately. “I can’t believe they put such an expensive dress on a such a creature.” His nostrils flare with distaste and he leaves the room as the other servants in blue snicker behind their hands. “Come on. Let’s get you changed. If you’re my problem now, I guess I’ll put you to work until I get official instructions as to what to do with you.” He glances over at me. “Unless you know what he’s planning on doing with you?”
“What do your fancy lords normally do with humans?” I ask innocently. I can guess, but I’m also hoping I’m just a little bit wrong. Maybe they just want buddies. Maybe they want someone to walk their pet poodles. Something nice and benign.
His lip curls in my direction and he stares at my cleavage.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” I mutter, hiking my dress higher.
“Do you need to bathe?” he asks. “I can’t smell anything over the stink of you.”
I stink? I resist the urge to sniff my own armpit. “I just washed last night—”
“That’s fine, then.” He leads me down a hall. “If he calls for adult company tonight we’ll make sure you’re freshly washed, but for cleaning boots, I suppose you’ll do.” He heads into a small room with stacked cots and a bunch of high-tech-looking computer stuff along one wall. Before I can peer too closely at the technology, though, he thrusts a folded set of laundry into my hands. “Change into this. It’s the smallest size we have. I’ll wait out here for you.”
He closes the door before I can ask anything else.
I eye the beds in the room but don’t prod the computers. This feels a bit like someone’s private chambers—or a hotel room—and I wouldn’t want to intrude on anyone’s privacy. I quickly shimmy out of my pretty—if scratchy—dress and put on the soft tunic. To my delight, it has fasteners that move with a touch, and a belt that fits itself to my waist, making the fit perfect. Once I’m in the blousy, loose pantaloons and the tunic top, I fold my expensive dress as best I can and then open the door again.
The other servant is there, with a pair of fabric slippers in his hand that look twice as big as my feet. He frowns at the sight. “This won’t do.”
“I’ll take them,” I say, before he can snatch them up. “It beats bare feet. I’m Milly, by the way.” I’ve already introduced myself, but maybe he wasn’t listening? “What’s your name?”
“Aldar,” he says, and produces a metallic-looking ring. “You’re also probably going to need one of these.”
The ring looks too big to be a bracelet but too small to be a belt. “Um, what is it?”
“A tracking collar for slaves.”
I swallow hard. “Oh.” I glance up. Aldar isn’t wearing one.
“Before you ask, yes, it has a built-in alert to the premises. If you try to leave, it’ll shock you.”
For the first time since I arrived, I feel like crying. A slave collar. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” I say dully. “Nowhere at all. My home is light years away.”
If I’m expecting sympathy, Aldar has none. He makes an impatient face at me. “I don’t know what a light year is and I’m not even going to ask. Just get the collar on and let’s get you to work. Can you operate a cooking droid?”
I try not to flinch as he takes the collar from my hands, impatiently turns me around with rough hands, and snaps it on my neck. It slithers tight to fit, and I swallow hard, touching it. I’m a slave. Property. A leashed dog. “A cooking droid? I…um, know how to work a stove. Kinda.”
Aldar makes another impatient noise. “We’ll find you something to do. Just sit here and wait like a good girl.”
Well, now I feel even more like a dog.
* * *
I’m in the middle of shining a huge, oversized boot with some gunky concoction when a horned, blue woman rushes into the servants’ quarters. She makes a high-pitched sound of panic in her throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. Her gaze is frantic as she looks around the room, wringing her hands. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Aldar asks, frowning as he steps forward. I’ve learned in the few hours that I’ve been here that Aldar is in charge of the blue-garbed servants—of which I am one—and he doesn’t like for anyone to sit around and look bored. “What’s the problem, Nima?”
“Lord va’Rin,” she pants, her hand trembling as she presses it to her chest. “He—he wants his human. He found out she wasn’t in his bed and he’s furious. I’ve never seen him so upset.”
I didn’t think it was possible for a blue-skinned guy to turn pale, but Aldar looks rather sickly. He immediately turns to me, his gaze steely.
“What?” I ask, holding up the boot in my hands. “I’m just doing what you told me to do.”
“There she is,” Nima yelps, rushing forward. “Oh, keffing hells, she’s covered in boot black. He’s going to lose his mind—”
“Nima!” Aldar barks. “Such language is unbecoming of a servant of Lord va’Rin, the first in his house! Mind your tongue!”
Nima licks her fingers and wipes at a smudge on my cheek I didn’t realize was there.
“Get up,” Aldar says to me, snatching the boot from my hands. “Come. If he wants you, we need to get you up there.”
I want to be smug that he noticed I was gone, except there’s a real possibility he wants to yell at me for sleeping in his bed, just like he yelled at Nima for me being gone. Who knows what a spoiled lord wants, after all? I let Aldar take the boots from me, wipe my hands on the cloth he gives me to get the worst of the bootblack off, and then follow behind him, my overlarge shoes slapping against the pretty marble tile of the floor with every step I take.
It’s the longest journey back to the lord’s quarters, and I try to remember what they called him. Varrin? Varon? Something like that. I hope they say it again so I can memorize it. I need some bit of information to anchor myself to, some hint of knowledge that won’t leave me feeling so very lost, isolated and utterly alone.
Aldar knocks at the double door, and then enters a moment later, a firm hand on my shoulder. He goes inside and I catch a glimpse of my master—the tall, elegant one with the sweeping arch of horns—by the window. He turns, but before I can meet his eyes, Aldar is bowing at the waist and remains bent, his expression averted.
Oh, protocol. Shit. I mimic him, bowing deeply and staring at the floor. I figure someone will let me know when it’s okay to get up. When in doubt, go for boot-licking obedience, right?
A hand touches my shoulder, and then fingers curl around my chin. “Look at me, pretty human.”
That soothing, deep voice feels like a strange balm on my nerves.
Suddenly I know he’s not going to yell at me for being in his bed. There’s too much patient affection in his voice. I straighten and give Lord Varrin/Varon/whoever a bright smile. “Good morning.”
His gaze—just as intense as I remembered—moves over my face and then stops. The expression in his eyes goes cold in an instant, and he touches the collar at my neck. “Who put this here?”
Oh shit. That is definitely the tone of someone about to get in trouble. It feels like the temperature in the room drops by several degrees. “They thought you would want it on me, since I’m your property.”
“‘They’?” he asks. “Who is ‘they’? Because ‘they’ are wrong.”
“I don’t know,” I say brightly, pretending ignorance, and decide to lie through my teeth. “Some guy in a yellow uniform. I’m sure he meant well. So we can take it off? I promise not to run. Like I said, I’ve got nowhere to go.”
He nods and flicks a hand at Aldar. “Remove it. It offends me.”
“Me too,” I say happily, and practically bounce to Aldar’s side.
The servant nods at his master. “Of course, Lord va’Rin.” He gives me another intense look, but there’s no hate or impatience in it. I think he’s trying to thank me. I’m going to take it as such anyhow. I just beam at him. We peons have to stick together, after all.
The collar’s off a moment later, and I rub my throat.
“Come here,” Lord va’Rin says, sitting down at a small, elegant table. “Aldar, is there enough breakfast for two? Milly will be hungry.”
My heart skips a stupid, stupid beat. I approach the table, careful not to sit down. “You remembered my name?”
The lord’s firm lips quirk. “You are the only human I have, after all.”
“Probably pretty glad about that one,” I can’t resist teasing. “I hear we’re a handful.”
Aldar clears his throat. “I will ask for more dishes to be sent up, my lord.”
“And tailors.”
“I beg pardon, my lord?” Aldar hesitates.
Lord va’Rin reaches for a sleeve of my tunic, clearly displeased. “She’s dressed like a servant, not my companion. I want new clothes for her, some appropriate for her size.”
“And shoes,” I whisper.
He glances down at my feet, and his hard mouth twitches again, as if he’s fighting so hard not to smile. “And shoes,” he says louder. “Tell them to bring an extensive catalog.”
“Of course, my lord.” Aldar bows again, and a moment later, I hear the doors close quietly. I’m alone with my owner.
Lord va’Rin. There’s a strange stop in the middle of his name I’m not entirely sure I can pronounce, but it’s a start. “I’m sorry if I made you upset,” I begin. “I woke up and didn’t know what to do, so I went to find other servants. They assumed I was…” What? A slave? A dog? “They put me to work,” I decide on tactfully. “I thought that’s what you would want.”
“I have dozens of servants with me. Why would I need one more?” He tilts his head, studying me, and his horns gleam in the sunlight. “You are my companion, Milly. I thought that was obvious from last night’s party.”
His companion? I lick my lips. “So, I’m gonna have to go for the obvious question and ask what it is you want from me.”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending I don’t have an ulterior motive. Don’t insult mine by pretending you don’t know what it is.”
Fair enough. “Just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page is all.”
He inclines his head, still managing to look regal and yet masculine despite it. “Also know that I will not touch you until you ask.”
Well now, that’s a big assumption. “What makes you think I’m gonna ask?”
He smiles, showing a pair of pearly white, elegant fangs. “I don’t. And call me Varrik.”
“Varrik,” I murmur, tasting the name on my tongue. I like it.
18
MILLY
It has been a really weird three weeks since I first met Varrik. I wonder if it’s possible to love a guy and yet be completely utterly miserable at the same time.
“Miserable” is probably a strong word. I’m more like a square peg in a really round hole. I don’t fit in, and there’s not an hour in a day that passes that doesn’t make me painfully aware of the fact that I’m human, surrounded by a bunch of noble aliens called mesakkah, and to the vast majority of them, I’m one step above a drooling idiot.
It seems that Earth is well known to these aliens, but they call it a “Class D” planet, which means…idiots. They think we’re all idiots and not ready to join the Allied Federation of Worlds, which is kind of insulting. I haven’t seen anyone on Kes—this planet—that makes me think I’m incredibly stupid compared to them. The mesakkah I’ve met are hugely arrogant. Even Varrik, who I really like, is a spoiled rich man. I doubt he could tie his own shoelaces if left to his own devices.
In a way, it’s kind of cute.
Varrik is wonderful, though. I ponder his amazingness—despite his inability to tie a shoelace—over breakfast as I poke my food. The people here love a breakfast noodle that’s a bit like a pancake without syrup, and he makes a face when I add a heaping spoonful of jitai jam to my food.
“What?” I ask, pretending to be belligerent. And just because I know I can crack that stony expression of his, I deliberately add a second spoonful of jam to my noodles.
Varrik shakes his head. “It’s incredible that humans have lasted as long as they have with such poor eating habits,” he teases, pretending to study his datapad.
“Humans are awesome. You’re just jealous that we have such intense metabolisms that we can appreciate sweets, unlike you mesakkah guys.” I take my utensils—which I still haven’t mastered—and spin the flat end of the stick in the noodles, swirling them into a ball before lifting it to my mouth.
He snorts, sounding like the arrogant lord he is. “Is that not my jam?” he asks in a lofty tone. “That particular concoction is made on one of my farms.”
I pick up the elegant jar and study it, and sure enough, it has his house symbol on it. “Neat. You must be proud.”
“Farming brings in a lot of money,” he says coolly. “There are no farms left on Homeworld.”
“Probably for the best. I don’t think Lady Ahiri would be very good at farming.”
“Lady dra’Niiron,” he corrects me. “Proper names are saved for only the closest of companions amongst the nobility, my Milly.”
“Then why do you let me use your proper name?” I ask, fluttering my lashes.
He pretends to study his datapad. “I grew tired of your incessant butchering of my house name.”
I snort-giggle at that, and a laugh rumbles up in his throat.
Gosh, I love his laugh. It’s rare, because the poor man is so jaded and world-weary that I don’t think he finds much to laugh at anymore. Hearing it is like a treat, and it makes me want to babble for hours and say all kinds of inane things just to get him to laugh again.
Varrik is wonderful.
I can’t believe I have a crush on an alien, but I do.
I swirl my jam-coated noodles around in my bowl, thinking. I know that he likes me as a friend. I’m the only person he talks to for hours on end, and he confesses things to me that I doubt others have ever heard from him. He tells me of Lady Ahiri’s plans to try and trap him into a mating, of Lord As’bro’s angling to get a lucrative mining contract that will save his family from financial ruin, and a million other bits of gossip I have no use for but digest anyhow, because I want to be able to share his world with him.
He never touches me, though.
We talk for long hours every night, and sometimes I fall asleep on the bed with him instead of in my cot at the foot of his palatial mattress. Sometimes I dream I’ll wake up to find him kissing me feverishly, but he never touches me. We’re friends and roomies, but I can’t help but remember that he bought me for more.
He’s never mention
ed it again, though, and I worry he’s changed his mind.
“Do you have a walking robe?” Varrik asks, putting his datapad down and gazing at me thoughtfully as I finish the last of my noodles.
“I can walk in all my robes,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know, I’m just busting your balls.” I’ve learned that he likes my bold tongue, so I try to throw in human slang whenever possible. “A walking robe…that’s the one with the long train, right?” When he nods, I get up from the table. “Yeah, I have one. Boots, too.” After three weeks of being at Lady Ahiri’s house party, the tailors have been here every day and I have outfits and outfits and outfits. It’s a little intimidating, especially considering Varrik seems to wear the same thing over and over again, but I’m told that just like in human culture, females wear far more ornate clothing than males do.
“There is a garden party we must attend this morning,” Varrik says, getting to his feet. “Do you need help dressing?”
I bite back a groan. The parties were fascinating at first, but over time, I’ve started to hate them. Every time we go, I feel like a freak. All of the other nobles stare at me like I’m a dog wearing a clown costume. It doesn’t matter that my clothes are elegant, subdued dresses emblazoned with nothing but the va’Rin house symbol. It doesn’t matter that I’m in head to toe deep blue, the va’Rin colors. All that matters is that a weird-ass human is at Lord va’Rin’s side. They all look at me like I’m a horror they have to endure, and I know it’s affecting Varrik’s standing with them. I see people whispering when he leaves, or having secret tête-a-têtes that quiet down when he walks past, and it makes me feel terrible.
Having a human friend shouldn’t make him a social pariah, but I know it does. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but he won’t listen to me. He just gets that icy look on his face and shuts the conversation down.
Even so, I’m not dumb. I do as little as I can to shame him. I keep my head down, don’t talk to anyone but him, and I never, never use his name in front of the others. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.