3. Yva

3

YVA

A fter being checked by a healer, a woman the humans call a doctor, we are then shown to the area where everyone lives. There is a communal kitchen, but no communal bathing area. Instead, each room has a sleeping area and a bathing area. And while the beds are big enough for two, Hrad and I aren’t sharing a room. So after being shown how the bathroom works, I am left alone.

While I have not been locked in, it was made clear that I am not to wander around the colony on my own. The humans do not trust us, and I do not blame them. I remove my sword and lay it on the bed, then I return to the bathroom. I do not care about the waste device, or the indoor waterfall—though the plumbing is far better than anything I have ever seen before—but the mirror. It is the clearest reflection I have ever seen of myself. Less blurry than polished silver or a puddle. I reach out and touch the surface. It’s cool and doesn’t ripple the way water does.

In the seven years since I was banished, my eyes have hardened. My beard has become unkempt. I am aware of the shabbiness of my clothes. The only reminder that I am the son of a chief are the beads and metals in my hair. Pretty, but useless unless there is someone who cares about such matters in the colony. For a heartbeat, I am tempted to rip them out.

The only reason I wore them all this time is because among my brothers, they meant something. That if I ever made it home with a woman, they mattered.

Now we are living in the human colony, nothing matters.

I slap the mirror.

I have no place here, and I doubt the human leaders will care about my status in my tribe. It’s already clear to me that compared to the human colony, the Honey tribes are unsophisticated. Our ships are made of wood to sail the seas, not metal to sail the skies. Our healers cannot look inside our bodies to search for broken bones and damaged organs. We cannot create indoor waterfalls to bathe in. Nor do we have individual rooms for bathing.

The humans have technology that even the smartest people in my wealthy tribe wouldn’t be able to imagine, that I could not have imagined and that I do not understand. If we are sharing our knowledge of what food to eat, the humans should share their technology.

But they outnumber us greatly, so if we make demands, I doubt it will bother them to kill us. Our deaths will not hurt my brothers’ mates if they are killed.

We are not guests. We are captured beasts, here to serve a purpose and nothing more.

I exhale and swallow the bitterness that boils in my stomach. Though I understand why the others wanted to come here.

Our tiny tribe of banished warriors, and the four human mates, would have found survival very hard, as we age, with no younger people to share the burden. The life of a banished warrior isn’t meant to be easy. We are banished and expected to die. The only reason we have survived for so long is because we banded together. We stopped fighting for long enough to understand our chances of survival were better together. Not because of me, even though I am the chief’s son, but because of Edilk and Sunif.

The only service I have ever offered my brothers has been my sword. I have never lost a fight, and I am an expert hunter.

Until now, that has been enough.

I stare at my face in the mirror. I am no longer a young warrior. I am well past the age a man should be mated. And at twenty-five I have lived far longer than most banished do.

But I am no longer banished.

I have a tribe.

My job is no longer survival. It is proving to this new tribe that I can be of use. That I have something to offer a mate.

I strip and use the waterfall, scrubbing away the dirt that has become ingrained in my skin and under my nails on the journey to the colony. I wash my hair with their sweet-smelling soaps and dry off on their soft cloths. I use my knife to trim my beard, then I redo my braids, and adjust their ornaments, leaving the rest of my hair loose. As well as a brush for hair, there is also a small one for teeth, which I make use of even though it takes me some time to get used to the tiny size and the taste of the paste they use.

Naked, I pad out of the bathroom and open the cupboard to examine the clothing that was placed in there for me. There is a pair of pants, a short-sleeved shirt and a long-sleeved shirt in the same blue that all the humans wear—aside from the guards who wear black.

I pull on the pants and adjust the drawstring. There are pockets built into the clothes, one on each hip, and one on each thigh. They do not appear to be suitable for carrying weapons.

A knock on the door interrupts my assessment of the clothing.

“Enter.” I assume it will be one of my brothers.

And I assumed wrong.

A human guard stands in the doorway. His pants have pockets made for weapons. He carries a small projectile weapon and a knife. Does he carry weapons I cannot see?

If I do not push, I will not need to find out. I force a smile.

He doesn’t do the same, so I let my face relax.

He speaks but I do not catch most of his words, only that someone wishes to speak to me. His gaze skims over me, no doubt noting my lack of weapons.

I lack weapons, but I can make a charge. He’ll be dead before he reaches me if he tries anything. Then it will be my word against the dead body, and I cannot imagine that ending well for me.

I pick up the whisperer and put it back in my ear to make conversation easier, plus I do not want the humans to realize how much of their language I understand. Ruby has been teaching Aldit and me while we taught her about hunting and preparing the animal for eating. We learned enough for a rudimentary conversation.

The guard sighs and repeats what he said. “The counselor is ready to speak with you.”

“I will finish dressing.” I pull on the short-sleeved shirt. It is tighter and shorter than the tunic I am used to wearing, but I like the way the tattoos up my arm are displayed.

I put on the clean pair of socks that was also supplied, and then my boots. My boots have seen much better days. It is only Aldit’s patching that has kept them in wearable condition. Perhaps now there will be time to make us all new boots.

We brought the hides we’d been preparing with us—we had put in too much work to leave them. And if we do not need to prepare for winter, he can practice his father’s trade.

Once again, it reminds me that I never learned a trade.

I was raised to be a banished warrior; to survive…no one ever prepared me for what happened if I survived and needed to live.