Sabine's hand rested on my arm as we walked. Steadying me, she claimed, though the toxin had metabolized hours ago. The crowd pressed close, beings of every species jostling for space. I tucked her against my side, arm around her waist. Protection, I told myself. Nothing to do with how perfectly she fit there, how right it felt to have her close.
A group of Ewani scattered as we passed, their rat-like faces twisting with fear. Word traveled fast in places like this. The Vinduthi who'd survived Nexian toxin and the human woman who'd kept him alive. We were already becoming legend.
The first food stall we found was run by a Trelvan, his amphibious skin glistening with moisture from the spray-misters around his booth. His three eyes tracked us with interest as Sabine examined his display of fruits from a dozen worlds.
“What's safe?” she asked me, picking up something purple and spiky that pulsed slightly in her hand.
“Not that. Unless you want to hallucinate for three days and possibly develop a third eye.”
She set it down very carefully. “And this?” A round, golden fruit that smelled like honey and cinnamon had caught her attention.
“Veridian honey-fruit. Safe. Delicious. Expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“Don't worry about it.” I handed the merchant credits before she could protest. “Try it.”
She bit into it, juice running down her chin. Her eyes closed, and a sound escaped that went straight to my cock. A moan ofpure pleasure that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with it.
“Oh. Oh, that's...” She took another bite, slower this time, savoring. “It tastes like sunshine. Like what happiness should taste like.”
The Trelvan made a burbling sound. His species' version of laughter. “The Vinduthi wants to watch you eat, yes? I have more. Many more. Foods for pleasure, foods for energy, foods for...” his three eyes rotated meaningfully “...stamina.”
Sabine flushed, red creeping up her neck. I bought three bags of the golden fruit and steered her away before the merchant could make more suggestions.
“He wasn't subtle,” she said, already reaching for another fruit.
“Trelvan never are. They consider subtlety a form of lying.”
We wandered deeper into the market. She stopped at every other stall, touching fabrics, smelling spices, asking questions. Five years of the same walls, the same routes, the same stifling existence had left her hungry for everything. I watched her experience freedom. Real freedom. For the first time.
A Mondian butcher was selling meat I actually recognized, from herd animals raised on Thodos III. I bought enough for several meals while Sabine watched him work with fascination.
“You cook?” she asked.
“When necessary. You?”
“Protein paste doesn't require cooking.” But she was studying the cuts of meat with the same intensity she'd once studied cards. Learning patterns even here.
“You need clothes,” I said, nodding toward a section where bright fabrics hung like flags.
“These work.”
“They're destroyed. And they mark you as casino property.” The possessive anger that sparked at those words surprised me. My hand tightened on her waist. “You're not property.”
“No,” she agreed quietly. “Not anymore.”
The clothing district was Lyrikan territory. All flowing fabrics and impossible colors. Their species had turned fashion into art and commerce into performance. Every stall was a small theater of beauty and excess.
Sabine touched everything, her dealer's fingers learning new textures. Silk from off-world insects. Leather from creatures I couldn't name. Synthetic materials that shifted color with temperature. Her face was like a child's at a festival. Wonder and want and the careful calculation of someone who'd learned not to hope for too much.
When she found something soft and deep blue, her whole face changed.
“Try it on,” I said.
“It's not practical.”
“Try it anyway.”
