“Kill? What? No, it was nothing like that. He’s a good man.”
Zepharos snort-laughed. “A good Dohrag? Not likely.”
“Heis. He’s the one who saved me. Who kept me safe from the crew and got me off their space station.”
“I can’t believe a Dohrag would do such a thing. They are a brutal, aggressive race, and the way they treat females? It makes my blood boil,” Adzus said with a growl. “Tell me where he is, and I will finish the job.”
“No! Weren’t you listening. He saved me. You thinkIfought off those Raxxians? That was him. He killed them all.”
Adzus shook his head in disbelief. “Then where was he? We saw no Dohrag.”
“He was hurt in the fight. I got him to the stream to clean him up. I was only back where the fight went down to gather up our supplies so I could treat his wounds.” Shalia’s Infala throbbed abruptly beneath her top, a heat flooding her veins. “He’s still out there. Hurt. I need to find him,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed and lurching up to her feet in a flash.
“Slowly, girl! You are still recovering!” Rohanna cautioned. It was too late.
Shalia wobbled, the world spinning, stars, then blackness enveloping her vision. She didn’t know who caught her as she fell—it was Zepharos—all that mattered was that she didn’t hit the hard floor.
“Put her back on the bed,” Rohanna instructed. “I will sit with her. It seems there is more to her story than we realized. Much more.”
Shalia woke up nearly an hour later, her head still aching but not nearly so much as before. She slowly propped herself up and swung her feet to the floor. She didn’t stand, however. She just sat there quietly, breathing deep, gathering her senses.
“Go slow this time,” Rohanna said from a nearby chair. She gestured to a glass of some sort of light-yellow juice on the low table beside the bed. “Drink. Your body needs not only fluid but also sustenance.”
Shalia sipped the drink. It was fruity but also with a tang of salinity to it. Her tongue all but sang with joy at the taste, her body craving whatever it was with a startling ferocity. She downed it all, forcing herself to do so slowly lest she throw up. Rohanna smiled, nodding her approval.
“There we are. Good. That ought to put your body on the right path.” She glanced out the window. “It is close to dusk. Come, let us get you some proper food in your belly. You can fill me in on the details of your unusual adventure while we dine.”
“Okay,” was all Shalia managed as she gingerly rose to her feet, thankful her head didn’t start spinning this time. She stood still a moment, gathering herself, then followed the older woman out into the fresh, warm evening air.
They walked slowly at first, Shalia’s stability returning quickly thanks to her new runes. Rohanna didn’t say anything, but she noticed the change in the human woman with a satisfied grin. Her Skrizzit had done good work, she was very pleased to note. And with her runes now firmly in place, as required by Dotharian law, Shalia could now begin the process of settling into her new life, whatever that might entail.
“That smells amazing,” Shalia marveled as they approached the dining area.
“Our cooks are quite talented, yes. But you already know that. I think, perhaps, your new runes are enhancing your sense of smell. We never know exactly how a person will react to them. In your case, it seems you have some interesting new traits to discover now that you are finally safe once more.”
Oh, I have some new traits, all right. And I need to get back out there and find— Shalia felt her Infala jerk hard in her chest, the pigment coming to life with a burst of energy just as cries shouted out from the far end of the village.
“Dohrag!” someone cried out.
A chorus of warning erupted across the village. Shalia was already running, her unsteady legs now rock-solid in their purpose, racing toward the commotion. She arrived to the sight of a familiar hulking gray-blue man being hauled away by two dozen armed Oraku fighters. Men lay scattered around, injured and unconscious, but alive. But there had simply been too many for him to overcome in his diminished state.
Zepharos raced to Shalia, wrapping her up in his arms, holding her back as the prisoner was marched off to the cells.
“Get off me!”
“Shalia, calm down!”
“No! Let him go!”
Zepharos looked at her, confused, but did not release his iron grip. “You are reacting emotionally?—”
“Did you just call me an emotional woman?” she hissed.
“You didn’t let me finish. You are acting with emotion. You need to stop and think. Do not rush into this situation without a clear head. You will only make things more difficult.”
Shalia watched her lover disappear around the corner, surrounded by so many armed men. He wouldn’t be killed, though. Not outright, at least. The Oraku were many things, but indiscriminate killers was not one of them. Valin would be held in a cell and treated humanely despite his Dohrag origins.
She eased up, relaxing her limbs, ending her struggles. Zepharos loosened his grip, locking eyes with her as he did.
