EMVOR

As days pass, it becomes harder and harder to ignore her presence. Nicola’s like a burst of sunshine that’s come into my life, and her smile warms me every time I see it. Turns out the cute little dent in her cheek is called a dimple, and I live for its appearance. There’s nothing that makes my day better than seeing Nicola grin so wide that she dimples up. She’s been smiling a lot more lately, too, and most of them are directed at me.

Makes my heart ache fiercely.

Truth be told, I love her company. She’s smart, funny, and she’s always keeping busy. She doesn’t like being bored, she tells me, and one day when it’s raining so heavily that there’s nothing to be done in the fields but wait for the storm to pass, she makes little hard cakes and calls them “dominos” and then teaches me how to play a human game with them. We play all afternoon until I eat too many pieces for the game to be fair, and then we spend the evening by the fire, talking sticks strategies, about my ornery bull, or even about my time in the wars. She’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and I find myself telling her more than I probably should.

Nicola tells me about her life as a “pet,” too. That’s what she calls it. She wasn’t really a slave, because she was treated well enough by Lady Leandra, her old mistress. But she wasn’t considered smart, either. Leandra would teach her something like sticks…and then swat her if she felt her human was misbehaving. Kind of makes me hate that old rich bitch, even if she cared for Nicola enough to worry about her future and plan the deception of being my bride.

Even that doesn’t make me angry anymore. I’m just…frustrated. Frustrated that Nicola’s almost perfect, except she’s fragile and I worry life out here will be too tough for her.

She loves the farm, though. Loves the animals and I’ve caught her naming my meat-stock, even though that’s a bad idea. Can’t have her getting attached if they’re going to be slaughtered. She sticks to naming the mousers in the barn after that, though, telling me they remind her of something called a “cat” back on Earth. On days that the weather’s good, she does her mending outside in the sun, even when it turns her face bright red. She likes it, though, she tells me. Lady Leandra wouldn’t let her outside because she was afraid Nicola would run off. Nicola jokes about being an “indoor cat,” but I don’t find it very funny. All I can think of is her face, turned up to the sun and enjoying the warmth until it makes her skin pink…and cold Lady Leandra who wouldn’t let her outside to do just that.

Can’t say I’ve got fond feelings for that old bitch at all.

Days with Nicola are beyond pleasant, though. She cooks and cleans and hums as she works. I keep telling her to relax and be my guest, but she gets bored and then bakes me something new. I’m getting fat off of her good food, and I love our games of sticks. Days are wonderful…but nights are my favorite. Each night, to share warmth and the blankets, we get into bed together. I keep my trou on and Nicola wears her tunic, but she tucks herself into my arms and I hold her close and we sleep, wrapped in each other’s scents. At least, she sleeps. I mostly stay awake, fascinated by the feel of her and the delicate smell of her skin.

And I imagine what it’d be like to have her naked under me.

The day of the big gathering dawns clear and the skies are a perfect blue.

Pisses me off. I hate the thought of going to the gathering, even more than I normally would. Hate the thought of taking Nicola out there and having them all stare at her, and then trying to find her a good husband that won’t treat her like Lady Leandra did. She needs someone kind but intelligent. Someone who’ll love her the way she deserves to be loved. Not Sanjurel, because he loved his wife, and Nicola deserves to be first in someone’s heart.

Plus, I want to break Sanjurel’s fingers at the thought of him touching her.

NICOLA

The day of the big gathering arrives, and I feel like crying when I wake up that morning. After years of being a human “pet,” I’ve learned not to want things, because it just hurts more when they’re taken away from you.

But oh, I want to stay. I want to stay so badly that I feel like screaming and crying all at once. I want to wake up every morning like this morning, safe in Emvor’s arms, sharing his body heat. I want to stay in this cozy house. I want to stay on this lovely farm where the sky is wide open and I can walk wherever I want on this land without being stared at or swatted like a misbehaving dog. More than anything, I want to stay with Emvor. In the short time we’ve been together, I’ve learned to crave his slow, reluctant smiles. The way he brightens at the first taste of my food and then sneaks seconds or thirds when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The gleam in his eye when we play sticks. His hand on my waist as we sleep, as if even then, he’s protecting me from the outside world.

I want to be his wife so badly in all ways…but I know it won’t happen. He hasn’t changed his mind. So today, we’re going to go to the gathering, and he’s going to try and help me find someone willing to take on a human as a wife, knowing that I’ll be that freakish oddity amongst the others. Knowing that any children I have will be half-human and equally odd. Knowing that I’m too “weak” to help out around the farm and that someone like me will be considered “illegal goods” for as long as I live. Emvor seems to think no one here is going to have a problem with that. Maybe he’s right, but I’m going to worry anyhow. It’s my life that changes this day, and it’s never felt particularly steady. I’m always dependent on someone else’s goodwill. 

So I get out of bed, gaze around me at the cozy little room, and bite back my sigh of sadness. Emvor gets up, as silent as me, and heads out to start the morning chores. I guess that makes sense. He told me most gatherings are a day-long sort of event, and we’d be leaving after breakfast. It’ll be a journey of an hour or so by air-sled, and then it’s a day of socializing and eating. Kind of like an old-fashioned human potluck, I think. Emvor says he normally avoids them, but this time I guess he doesn’t have a choice, not if he wants to get rid of me. I’ve never been a very social creature myself. Maybe I would have been once upon a time, but after over a decade of being a freakshow, there’s nothing I like more than a quiet evening at home. In that, Emvor and I are perfectly matched. I watch him go, moving past the pile of baked goods that I made yesterday in preparation for today. Normally he’ll sneak a taste here and there. Today he ignores them, and it hurts my heart.

I guess I’d better get ready.

After a quick wash, I fix my hair with care, since I know it’s one of my best features. I tease it into big, bouncy waves that cascade down my shoulders and clip it back at my temples. No sense in hiding behind my hair—everyone’s going to see my very human face soon enough. I have an ornate tunic with intricate sleeves that Leandra insisted I have as bridal wear, but I haven’t taken it out until this moment. I put it on over my everyday trou and then spend the next half hour lacing and knotting and folding the delicate sleeves with shaking hands. When I’m ready, I put a bit of lip-shine on my mouth, the only cosmetic that mesakkah women use, and gaze at myself in the mirror. I look like Leandra’s little pet, and the thought is depressing. I thought after coming here that I’d be a new person, get a fresh start. Be a real person, not just a plaything. 

It feels like I’m moving backward, though. Whatever progress I’ve made, whatever new person I’ve become since getting off the spaceship, I’ll be back to Leandra’s lost little pet in a flash.

I should be grateful, I remind myself. Most slaves aren’t given a choice. Most are simply rounded up and disposed of and end up in seedy spaceports, working on their backs. I’m lucky.

“Lucky,” I remind myself as I put on my shoes and move into the living area to pack up the food we’re bringing. I realize I should probably pack my things, as well, and tears threaten.