Chapter 1
Mariska
“Start working!” I snarled at the stupid machine inside my small shed. For good measure, I banged my wrench against the side of the rusted metal panel, but it was no good. No amount of elbow grease, swearing, or praying was going to make the damn thing resume working.
The timing couldn’t have been worse, and I stared with dismay at my modest harvest piled high inside the bins. If I didn’t process them soon, the strange Aderian version of grapes would start rotting… That meant bye-bye to any chance of making a life out here on my own. Too much debt, too much lost time, and not enough profit. There was only so much charity I could depend on from the alien government that had so kindly offered me sanctuary.
I stared at the machine that was supposed to press my not-grapes and pour it into the waiting vats to create wine. My first batch had turned woefully acidic for some reason, and I needed this late harvest to be better, or it was a lost cause. It was a lost cause anyway if the machine didn’t start working soon.
Pacing around, I could come up with only one solution: I had to go into town and ask for help, hire a mechanic to fix the machine with funds I could ill-afford to spend. What other choice was there, though? No machine meant no grape juice and no wine; no wine meant my tiny little homestead was never going to be a success.
With a frustrated huff that bordered on exhausted desperation, I wiped at thankfully still-dry eyes before stalking from the shed. Okay, enough of this self-pity party, time to fix things. Or rather, find a person to fix things for me.
The small homestead still took my breath away, no matter from what angle I looked at it. A small, stone, cottage-style building, it had flowering vines growing all over. The flowers were an ivory white, with bursts of orange and red at their centers, as if they glowed with an inner flame. Then there were the cute, round windows and the sinuous curve to the green door—gorgeous, cute, and very whimsical. The river-stone chimney was shaped like an S, tall, with flowers and moss growing all over.
I never wanted to leave this place, which meant I was all the more determined to find a mechanic to fix that damn pressing machine. Thishadto work. Ithadto. I wasn’t going to accept any other outcome. I just hated going into town so much that it took me a minute to gather the guts to do so. It was the empaths—Aderians apparently all had that gift to some degree—and it made me extremely uncomfortable when they seemed to know exactly what I was thinking and feeling.
When I’d applied for sanctuary here so I could leave the fairly grim one on the Kertinal homeworld, that empathy had seemed like a blessing. Aderians were kind, warm, and definitely not violent, pretty much the total opposite of the warlike Kertinal. A person could only handle so many pitying looks and sideways glances, though. I didn’t know what I’d do if the shopkeeper in town offered me the help of his nephew, cousin, or uncle yet again—which was as much to help me as it was some misguided attempt at matchmaking. I was certain of it.
Picking up my basket for supplies from just inside the door, I straightened my shirt, wiped some of the dust off my work pants, and… then I just went. I didn’t lock the door, because there was no lock. The region was so peaceful, so without crime, that the home hadn’t been built with a freaking lock. How weird was that? When I’d first gotten here, I’d tried to get one installed, and the shopkeeper had smiled kindly at me and told me I didn’t need one. Grrr, so condescending, even if he meant well. This is why I stayed away from town: I didn’t need all those empaths to sense what an angry grump I’d become.
By the time I’d gone down the grassy hill along the dusty path, I’d worked up a sweat in the late autumn sun. This planet felt like you were constantly living on a musical set—green rolling hills, snow-capped mountains, and bright blue skies. The days were always pleasantly warm, but the nights turned shockingly cold. Llykhe, what’s not to like? It should be their slogan. Except, of course, for the massive meteor storms that struck once in a while. I hadn’t seen one yet, but I was pretty terrified the shield generator wouldn’t work when it did. Perhaps I should ask the mechanic to check that too while they were at it, if my budget allowed it.
Maybe the extra credits were worth it for a bit of peace of mind. There was a massive rock lying on the edge of my fields, which I’d been told was one of those meteors. I did not fancy a boulder that size dropping from the sky onto my pretty cottage while I slept—it would flatten me like a bug.
The town was in a valley, stretching like a ribbon toward the river in the distance. Most of the houses lined the road, which headed up toward a mountain pass and down to the river and its docks. It was as picturesque as my cottage, with all the housespainted in different colors, each bolder than the last. Plants and trees lined the street to offer shade, and benches sat at polite intervals, offering views of little fountains or gardens.
It wasn’t busy, from the looks of things, and I breathed a sigh of relief at that. I tended to lose track of the days out on my farm all by myself, and I was relieved it wasn’t a market day. As I walked into town, it started almost right away: the waves, smiles, and offered greetings. I didn’t know anyone, but they all knew me. It felt like they were going out of their way to be welcoming, and it was hard to believe that was genuine.
A beautiful Aderian lady in an apron, her silky black hair braided back, was hanging white sheets to dry on the lines in her front yard. She waved and smiled, calling to me to offer refreshments after my hike to town. I thanked her, politely declined, and was promptly offered the same by an Aderian male sitting in the sun by his front door, while prepping a dish with the leaves from the not-grape and something similar to rice.
The next offer came from someone working on a piece of technology at a workbench, parts spread across the scarred wooden surface beneath a pretty trellis draped with flowers. I gave him a second look only because I wondered if he’d know how to repair my stupid pressing machine. “Ask,” he said, his handsome anthracite face breaking into an even wider, welcoming smile. “If you need help, ask, human.” I quickly shook my head and hurried on.
The general store was right next to the saloon, and beyond that were a few more shops and public places: a bathhouse, a square for town feasts and the weekly market, and a hall for town meetings and official business. That was where I’d signed thedeed to my little homestead, with the caveat of turning a profit within two years. I’d been here a year now, and I had yet to make any money at all, let alone a profit. I turned my gaze away fromthatbuilding in a hurry.
What was the best place to start? Should I have taken that male from before up on his offer? He had looked capable, but also… just too insightful, and I didn’t need him hanging around and prying into my inner thoughts and feelings. So then what? The general store or the saloon? I settled on the saloon simply because I liked the barkeep better than the shopkeeper. He didn’t pry, like a good barkeep shouldn’t, and I appreciated that.
Since it was still early morning, I was not surprised to discover the place was deserted, and that suited my needs even more. It was just Avertom behind the massive wooden bar, cleaning pristine glasses with a snow-white cloth. He lifted his head when I came through the door, his eerie, all-black eyes appearing to look at me, though I wasn’t quite sure. Since Aderians had neither iris, sclera, nor discernible pupil, it was quite hard to tell.
“Ah, Mariska, welcome to the Laughing Nia,” he said, and he waved with a long-fingered hand. His elf-like pointed ears stabbed up through his long black hair, the waves of silky black strands hanging around his wide shoulders all the way down to his ankles. It was absolutely bonkers, that hair, but he was not a rarity when it came to such an abundance. It seemed very impractical to me, but they took great pride in their long strands.
“Hi, Avertom,” I said politely. I’d learned the hard way, when I first came here, that Aderians were as proud of their names as they were of their hair. It denoted their family line or something, and names ran in similar patterns within families. Avertom’sbrother was called Ellertom, and their father was Favertom, for example.
I went up to the bar and, with an awkward hop, climbed onto one of the tall bar stools in the saloon. On average, the Aderians were fairly tall, even their women, but I had the impractical handicap of being pretty short for a human. Short and curvy, I always felt stubby and frumpy around the elegant, elfish women. Climbing onto the bar stool only served to remind me of my shortcomings. Hah—short.
Avertom placed a cool glass of water in front of me, unprompted, and I knew not to ask what I owed him for it. Water was always free, and always offered to a dusty traveler. It didn’t matter that my travel wasn’t much more than a fifteen-minute hike to them, apparently. I folded my hands around the glass and contemplated how to broach the subject of hiring a mechanic. Avertom said nothing more, just continued polishing his already clean glasses with a look of concentration.
When the silence stretched, I had a moment to appreciate the difference between the barkeep and the guy I’d passed on the way into town. He’d practically begged me to ask him to work for me, but Avertom said nothing. He waited patiently and worked casually, as if I weren’t here for a reason at all.
“Do you know if there’s anyone around who could help me fix my pressing machine? And preferably teach me how to do it myself?” I was tempted to add that I didn’t have much to pay this mechanic with, but my pride kept those words firmly behind my lips. They might sense my quiet desperation, but they didn’t need to know the extent of my worries, specifically, my money worries.
Avertom made a humming sound in the back of his throat, raised one long-fingered hand from the glass he was polishing, and pointed. He said little else, he rarely did, but that single pointing finger still packed a punch. When I turned in my seat to look at what he was indicating, I discovered that the saloon was not as empty as I’d assumed when I arrived.
In one of the booths, all the way at the back of the saloon, a figure sat. Their back was turned to me, and all I could really see was the top of their head. Black hair, braided back, and little else. Okay then… they had to be hunched against the table or low in the seat, or they were very short like myself. Otherwise, I’d be seeing much more of them over the edge of the booth. Then I would have noticed that the saloon was not empty, after all.
With trepidation coiling through my gut, I slipped from the bar stool and nodded a half-hearted thanks at Avertom. My boots sounded loud to my ears as I crossed the hardwood floor to the booth. It was very tempting to turn on my heel and bolt out the door. Very tempting. But if I did that, I’d never get my pressing machine fixed, never create a batch of wine worth selling, and I’d lose my pretty homestead.
I firmed my spine, pulled back my shoulders, and raised my chin. I could do this, I had to. The booth was occupied by a single person: an Aderian male who had sprawled forward, his head on his arms. He was… different. Not only because his long hair was tightly braided, but also because the sides of his head were shaved. A pattern curled over one temple, silvery, not quite a tattoo, not quite a shape in the faint brush of short hairs growing back in. Silvery-gray streaked one lock of hair, but it did not march down the long braid that lay in curls across the table. Itwas marked at intervals with a golden band and was as thick as my wrist.
