Chapter 7

Lise

Ireally needed that nap. I fell asleep almost the instant my head hit the pillow, with Nugget making biscuits on my thigh.

My first thought upon waking was how hungry I was. That meant a trip to the dining hall, which I wasn’t super excited about. It had been a busy day and socializing wasn’t something I was eager to do just then. But I splashed water on my face and headed over to the dining hall.

I stepped onto the short walkway from my cabin that led to the street and tugged my jacket around me. It was cooler and dark outside. Well, not as dark as it got on Earth, but night had fallen over this part of Mitra. I picked up my pace, hoping I wasn’t too late to catch a meal. As I slipped inside the huge hall, it became obvious that no, I hadn’t missed anything.

The evening meal was about more than just food. The hall was filled with Mitrans eating, laughing and drinking. Music filled the space with light, lively tunes that mingled with the sound of voices. I paused for one moment, taking in this scene and the incredible scents wafting on the air. If the food tasted anything like it smelled, it would be fantastic.

I was intrigued to see human women sitting amongst the huge Mitran males. They laughed right alongside them, eyes shining and happy. They were not sequestered off somewhere, but accepted among the males as if they belonged. They did belong. That was obvious to anyone looking on this scene. I tried to stay unnoticed as I walked to the front of the hall. Everyone appeared to have already gotten their food, and a couple of the cooks were enjoying their own meal behind the wide counter. They served me, piling my tray high with bread, soup and greens. They topped it off with a cup of ale and sent me on my way. I turned, facing the room again, and there he was.

The warlord’s table sat in the center, before the counter. To the one side, five skilled Mitran musicians played unique instruments, the types of which I’d never seen before. But it was the warlord who captured my attention.

He sat at the head of his table in a chair that was larger than the others and adorned with bone and silver inlays. He clearly commanded this room with his presence. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t join in on the conversations around him. To my eye, which was trained to observe and read people, he appeared very separate from it all. The biggest, toughest-looking males surrounded him and were clearly devoted to him, but they were not his friends. They were guards, even here. Even when he should be relaxing, himself.

I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. How lonely it must be, surrounded by mirth and lighthearted banter, yet disconnected from it all.

He looked up just then, as if sensing my eyes on him. His widened slightly, then locked on mine. There it was again—the sensation of being frozen in place. My bones and muscles refusing to move, as if caught in a binding spell by this male. My skin felt warm, as if brushed over by a gentle flame.

But I was the one standing, staring at him in the dining hall, and it didn’t take long for me to become acutely aware of that. I wrenched my gaze away and walked, despite the urge to run, to the back of the hall where it was darker and there were empty tables. I chose one and sat down, placing my heavily laden tray on the table. I closed my eyes and took a fortifying breath.

What was it about that guy? He was larger than life. He exuded a sense of invincibility, which I knew was impossible. If I had to guess, I’d put him in his late thirties, or the Mitran equivalent of that. Something had to hurt. He was mortal. Of course he had vulnerabilities, weaknesses. Needs.

I had brought my padbook with me, tucked in a shoulder bag. I’d never had a problem eating alone, but I was not so big on wasting time. I often wrote while I ate, and today seemed like a good time to do that, especially since my cheeks were still hot from staring at the Thrail’s warlord with my tray of food, like a bookish teen (which I once was) gazing at the star football player.

Now, while my thoughts were fresh, was the best time to record my impressions of Mitra. I set up my padbook on its stand beside my tray, picked up the fork, and ate with one hand while making notes with the other. I tried to not think about the warlord sitting all the way on the other end of this room, but his presence was so outsized, he could have been sitting across the table from me. That’s how aware I was of him, even here.

Unsurprisingly, my notes drifted immediately to the leader of the Thrail.

The warlord is the type of individual you cannot imagine having ever been a child. He gives off the vibe of one having been born fully formed in adulthood, with the wisdom of an ancient in the body of a young god.

No, I couldn’t send a story back describing Mitrans as gods. I’d be laughed right out of the Earth Life News and Galactic Report’s offices.

Seasoned gladiatormight read better. Or maybe too brutal. I’d think about that.

He eats alone, despite being surrounded by loyal, adoring Mitrans. Is his separateness a trait of all Thrail warlords, or is it just this one—Adrik?

Ooh, it felt strange typing his name like that. As if I knew him. I doubted anyone called him just that. To everyone in this Thrail, he was Pal-Adrik, a designation of his high status.

I continued taking notes and thankfully my observations moved away from the warlord and onto the rest of the dining hall. The music—what were those instruments?—the richness of the saucy meat in my bowl, the thick crust and tender inside of the bread. And the ale…dark and rich and almost as meaty as the stew itself. It was delicious. A perfect complement to this meal.

I was engrossed in my words when a shadow fell over me.

No longer was I alone at this table. I looked up slowly to see the inscrutable face of the Mitran warlord gazing down at me. I blinked, having to crane my neck to see up so high. He was so tall. He’d changed out of the weapon harness into a metal-studded leather vest that was threaded with silver and accentuated his shoulders and narrow waist. His long brakas flowed down his back.

“How are you finding our Thrail, Lise?” The way he said my name sent a shiver over my skin. Like he was trying out the word and still deciding if the shape of it worked on his lips.

“Very nice, Warlord.” I inclined my head slightly, out of respect. And also to ease the crick in my neck. “Several women showed me around. It appears to be a lovely place to live.” I glanced away, making sure I did not add the “but” that sat in my mind.

He didn’t miss it. One dark brow rose. “You find something lacking. What is it?”

“Nothing.” I looked up again, keeping my gaze on his. “I can’t help but notice that the babies your people so desperately desire are not to be found in this Thrail.”

Perhaps that was the absolute wrong thing to say. His nostrils flared. His lips thinned. “How observant you are. If you come across the reason for this, do share. For it is not due to a lack of fucking that this hall isn’t ringing with the sounds of young voices.”

I blinked at his bluntness, not expecting such words to come from him. I thought back to Sara and Cassi’s lighthearted talk about Cassi’s “favorite place” and cocked my head. “No, that much is clear. I’m very sorry that this is happening.” I schooled my expression to let him know I meant those words. There was no missing the worry on the faces of my new human acquaintances here. It took no effort whatsoever to hope that whatever was causing the infertility would come to an end. “I hope your people find a solution soon.”

His narrow-eyed gaze did not falter. “Are you going to print this in your story?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to put in my story yet,” I answered honestly. “I would very much like to conduct an interview with you.”

His face tightened. “I expected as much. I will certainly make time to answer your questions.”

“Thank you, Warlord.” I lowered my gaze again, taking in a whiff of his scent. He smelled like the underground baths, mixed with fresh air and ale. It was a surprisingly heady combination. Or maybe it was just the allure of the male himself. He probably could have sauntered over here fresh from a workout, smelling like sweat, and I’d still be teetering on the verge of a swoon. I straightened my shoulders, determined not to become a fawning idiot in his presence. “At your convenience, of course.” But he was still there. It was my turn to raise one eyebrow. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

His lips twitched. “Enjoy your meal.” His voice was like silk. “The meat is from the beast we brought back today.”

There was pride in those dark eyes. No one would miss the satisfaction he felt at providing for his people. I could not imagine how much it must pain him to see them struggle with infertility. His feeling of responsibility was obvious.

“Thank you for providing it,” I said. “And compliments to the chefs for preparing the delicious meal.”

That,at least, was the right thing to say. He gave me a curt nod, turned and headed for the exit with four warriors in tow.

I raised my brows and let out a long, shaky breath before realizing that every set of eyes around me had been trained on the warlord and me.

I frowned and looked back to my padbook, pretending to ignore it all. I knew there were words on the screen, but my head was too jumbled to focus on them. Instead, I ate as quickly as I could and counted the moments until I could get out of this room.

Did I think this was going to be a lightweight, fluffy assignment? What a foolish notion. There was almost too much to say about life on Mitra, specifically in this Thrail, with an enigmatic warlord at the center of it all. I hadn’t even scratched the surface. My curiosity about the fertility issues was completely lit. I wasn’t a scientist or even an investigator, but I was nosy and curious and bad at leaving well enough alone.