The vendor measures the silk out and cuts it, folds it into paper, and ties the package with cord. When she passes it to me, she looks into my eyes. Hers are dark and glossy, without pupils, and I make myself look back at her.
“Green is your color,” she says.
My face warms up again.
“Thank you.”
We walk on through the terraces, and I begin to watch the Scorpii who watch us. Plenty of them stare at Darina and me.Two human women in a hidden city. We’re the strangest sight at the market.
But the ones who look at Osric aren’t staring for the same reasons. Some soften with pity and turn away. Others track him with narrow suspicion until we’ve passed. A few step out of his path entirely, and they aren’t stepping aside out of respect, I can feel it. A handful of men nod to him from their stalls, and he returns each nod, but not one person speaks to him if it’s not necessary.
He warned us that the Scorpii would be wary of us, and he was right. He never said they’d be weird to him. Born in Vaara, trained young, a career as a city guard, then retirement because he needed a change. There’s a piece missing, and everyone here knows what it is, except Darina and me.
Osric drives us home, and Darina talks the whole drive about the dress. I answer in the right places, but I spend the ride watching the back of Osric’s head.
At the house, Darina gathers our packages and carries them to our rooms, already listing what she’ll need. Osric crosses the main room toward the back.
“Osric.”
He stops and turns.
“Do you need something?”
“An answer,” I say as I cross the room to him. “Why do your people look at you like that?”
“Like what?”
“You know… I watched them the whole time. The ones who stared at Darina and me, those I expected. We’re human, and we’re strange to them. But the ones who looked at you… There was pity? Fear? Both? Some of them wouldn’t look at you at all.”
“Scorpii stare at everyone,” he says. “We’re terrible gossips. Worse than humans, whatever you’ve been told.”
“Humans gossip plenty,” I say. “I grew up in Concord. I’ve been stared at and whispered about my entire life. I know what gossip looks like. That wasn’t gossip. That was different, and it was pointed at you.”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
He turns to go.
I step around him and into his path.
“Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t manage me. My parents managed me. Every time I asked a question, they changed the subject or left the room. I let them because I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of them. But you’re different.”
He looks down at me. We’re close enough that I can see the blue marks on his forehead and the dark shine of his eyes. Close enough that I have to tip my head back to hold his stare.
That’s when I hear it: a sound starting low in his throat, quick and even, click after click, after click, vibrating out of him even with his mouth closed.
A gasp escapes me. I find that I’m frozen in place.
Heat spreads under my skin, and my knees go weak. There’s a pull in my core to run and hide, but my soles are glued to the floor. My face goes hot, and between my legs, there’s a sudden, slick warmth. The shock of it takes me by surprise. A thrill rushes up my spine.
I want to run. I don’t. I’m not sure why. Maybe because running from him would make me look weak? The sound he’s making is dangerous. But underneath the danger, there’s an invitation.
His whole body tenses, and the sound cuts off. He steps back from me. He looks at my face, and whatever fear is showing in my eyes, he notices it, because he turns his head, and his mouth twists in a grimace. I’d swear the disgust is for himself and not for me.
“You don’t want to know,” he says. His voice is low and not quite even.
“I do.”
“You wouldn’t be able to take it.”
