I had seen humans in Elder recollections and surveillance logs, but I had never met one in person. She was different than I had expected. From what I knew of humans, they were self-destructive creatures with a paralyzing fear of the unknown and self-serving morals. They invented reasons for the things they couldn’t explain and dismissed the things they could. Abuse of their land, their race, and their existence was instinctual for them, and self-preservation took precedence over the greater good.

Tabitha Bartel skewered those notions.

It was possible, of course, she’d wanted to save her fellow humans to ensure herself allies. It was also possible she’d desired to be lauded for her heroism. I had heard her words in the wind, though, and they had whispered of the honest desire to rescue the others for the sake of nothing more than the sheer value of life; that was something I’d thought impossible of a human.

Had she never requested their rescue, I would have instructed my warriors to save them anyway. The decision of their fate did not lie on my shoulders alone; it was to be the responsibility of the entire Elder Council. Her genuine plea, however, ensured safety for her crewmates that they would otherwise not have had. My warriors would be commanded to spill no blood and cause no harm to any human alive from the destruction. As for Tabitha Bartel, I would question her myself.

I was taking her back to my parents’ house. It was much closer than my own, and my house was also guarded and staffed. I didn’t want anyone knowing I’d brought back a human yet.

When we arrived, I said, “Stop.”

She froze immediately. I stepped in front of her and looked at her. I could tell she wanted to look around, but she kept her eyes firmly on mine. It was a good choice on her part.

“I will enter first. You will not run. If you do, you will die. There are creatures in the Plains that will kill you in an instant, and, if they don’t get you, I will. Follow me closely,” I instructed.

She nodded shakily, looking like her voice was stuck in her throat. I turned and opened the door, and I felt her presence within inches behind me.

The moment we stepped inside, my mother and father both looked up. They were near the cooking pot and appeared to be in a deep discussion. Upon seeing the human, however, they both responded at once. Mother sprung back and raced over to my siblings, placing her body firmly between them and Tabitha Bartel. My father had the opposite reaction; he jerked toward me in an attack stance. I coolly held up a hand to stop him.

“There was a crash. I assume it was the ship closest to Albaterra,” I told them, looking at father as I spoke. “This human was the only one I found, but she thinks there are survivors inside the ruins.”

“You didn’t kill her?” My father hissed. He was staring aggressively at the girl, and I involuntarily stepped in front of her to shield her from him. I didn’t know why I did it, but it was my natural response to the expression on his face.

“To kill her would undermine the authority of the Elder Council,” I said. “That is a Forum decision.”

“Why did you bring her here?” Mother whimpered. She was visibly trembling.

I glanced over my shoulder at Tabitha Bartel and saw she was looking between my parents and me with a mixture of fright and confusion on her face. I realized I had reverted back to A’li-uud dialect speaking to them, but I continued in the language, not feeling she should understand the conversation quite yet.

“I have staff and guards, mother. I don’t want more people knowing I have her until necessary.”

“Isn’t that undermining the authority of the Elder Council?” Father asked pointedly.

I turned my gaze back to him, and I felt myself standing a little straighter with the power of my Elderhood. He seemed to shrink slightly beneath the weight of my expression.

“You may be my father,” I said quietly, “but I am still your king.”

He looked furious, but he kept silent.

“I need you to dispatch the warriors to the crash site. All survivors are to be extracted and brought to confinement. Any warrior who harms a human in the slightest will be executed; be sure they understand this. Tell nobody of this human.”

Father looked as though he wanted to argue, but he turned to my mother with a small nod and exited the house, sidling past Tabitha Bartel cautiously. When the door closed behind him, I said to mother, “I will be taking her upstairs to my bedroom to interrogate her. Stay down here with Igno and Risa.”

“Yes, son,” she murmured, clutching my siblings to her.

I motioned for the human to follow me and led her up the staircase to what used to be my bedroom. Once inside, I closed the door behind us and pointed to the bed.

“Sit.”

She obeyed. As she sat, she looked surprised by something, and I realized she was probably unfamiliar with virtually everything she saw, touched, and heard.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asked in a small voice.

For the first time since finding her, I was able to properly take in what I saw. Her hair was dark brown, much like the spots on hicorn, which fell past her shoulders in loose but bouncy curls. It looked as soft as the prairie grass, and I actually found myself wanting to touch it. Her eyes were fixated on me in wide, fearful rounds, but I noticed they were almost the same color blue of the mid-morning sky. She had a figure similar to Pugna’ta, but her human curves were slightly curvier. She didn’t sport Pugna’ta’s muscular ripples. She was beautiful in a way I’d never considered before, beautiful in a way I had never been exposed to.

“No,” I said finally. “Not yet, at least.”

I saw her eyes fill with liquid, and then a droplet leaked from the corner of one and spilled down her cheek. It was an intoxicating sight to behold, almost majestic in a way.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She looked at me in confusion as a second droplet dribbled along her nose-line. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes,” I said, motioning toward them with one hand. “What is happening?”

“Oh,” she said quickly, brushing her palm over both eyes and sniffling. “I’m crying. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you doing that?”

She looked at me as if I was crazy. “Because I-I’m scared.”

I leaned against the wall opposite her and watched as she wiped away more of the droplets. I found her more fascinating by the second, but I didn’t know why. Even stranger than that was my lack of fear. Nothing about her made me feel threatened. In fact, I felt an urge to reassure her, to let her know there was no reason to be scared, even though I couldn’t be sure that that was true.

“What is the name of your ship?” I asked, diving into questions to avoid any more of the strange emotions I was having.

“The Paragon,” she said with a sniffle.

“What was the Paragon doing in Andromeda?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” she said, looking up at me. No more droplets were skimming her cheeks, but her eyes looked red-rimmed and a little swollen. “I was just the chef.”

“Why were you onboard?”

At this question, her eyes dropped to her lap, and she looked torn between answers. When she responded, her voice was low and monotonous. “I didn’t want to be on Earth anymore.”

“Why?”

“Personal reasons,” she said defensively, looking back up at me with a defiant glint in her gaze.

I took a step forward and grabbed her chin harshly in my hand, jerking it upward. “There is no room for personal reasons here.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she stared at me with an expression of awe rather than fear or anger. I released her chin.

“Why do you look at me like that?” I asked, my tone slathered in suspicion.

“Your skin,” she said in a voice of breathy amazement. “It’s so…strange.”

I furrowed my brow at her and crossed my arms. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “It’s just so smooth and warm and hard.” She flicked her gaze back up to mine. “What are you?”

“I told you. I am A’li-uud,” I answered stiffly.

“Can—may I touch you?” She asked, extending her fingertips toward me.

I considered her request for a moment. To my knowledge, humans were innately unmagical, and there wasn’t much she could do to me without weapons. Nevertheless, it seemed foolhardy to allow a prisoner, for all intents and purposes, to have direct contact with me. Despite my misgivings, though, I stepped even closer and held out an arm.

She pressed the pads of her fingers to my skin and slowly dragged them up and down the length of my forearm. She looked fascinated and almost excited. Something about her touch made me want to close my eyes and just revel in the sensation, but I kept my eyes fixed firmly on her as she explored. Her fingers drifted down to my hand, and she stroked down to the tips of my own fingers before caressing my palm with hers.

Everything she touched seemed to tingle. Her skin against mine felt cool and slick, and it relaxed me. I stared at her as she traveled up to the bend of my elbow and drank in the sight of her sun-white skin and sky-blue eyes.

“What’s your name?” She whispered, still stroking my arm.

Something in her voice sent a jolt through my gut, and my response sounded huskier than I intended as I said, “Rex.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rex,” she said softly, looking up to me. She looked at my face more intently than she had thus far and asked, “May I see your eyes, please?”

I leaned down until we were level, and we stared at one another.

“Wow,” she murmured, pressing her fingertips to my cheekbone just below my eye as she spoke.

“You have never seen A’li-uud?” I asked, equally as quiet. It was a question I had intended to ask in the interrogation, but it came out now as a personal inquiry.

“No. I didn’t know you even existed.”

Her hand moved up my cheekbone and came to rest at my temple. I raised my own hand slowly until I was close enough to touch her, and I stroked her jaw with just as much intrigue as she had for me. Our eyes locked again, and I leaned forward until I felt her breath on my lips. She looked eager, intent, and slightly frightened, and I wanted to close the tiny gap between us.

But I didn’t.

I pulled back and straightened up, her hand falling limply from my face onto her thigh. She instantly seemed confused and hurt, and the slight fright on her features was now significant fear.

“I have to go,” I said. “You will stay in this room.”

“Where are you going?” She asked timidly.

I eyed her warily. “I am the Tribe Elder of this kingdom. I must confer with my warriors about what they have found at your ship’s crash site. I must speak with the other Elders regarding what action we will take.”

“Shouldn’t—Shouldn’t I go with you?”

In any other circumstance, I would have brought her. I couldn’t understand why, but I couldn’t reconcile bringing her with me for fear she would be harmed—or killed—on sight by one or several of the other Elders.

“You are still needed,” I said in a clipped tone. “There are those who would kill you as soon as they saw you. I cannot take that chance.”

Something in her face softened, and she nodded.

“You will stay in this room.”

She looked rather disappointed as she asked, “Can’t I just stay at the house? Do I have to stay in the room?”

I thought about the request. My mother was going to be terrified whether the girl remained in the room or not. My father would likely feel more comfortable with her out of the room so that he could keep an eye on her. She was no threat I could measure.

I nodded. “Fine. You may leave the room, but you must stay here.”

“I will. I promise,” she replied eagerly.

I moved for the door. Before I left, I looked over my shoulder at her and said, “I will be back soon, Tabitha Bartel.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, and she replied, “Just call me Tabitha.”