Page 70 of Tempting Fate

“She’s the one being chased. Pretty sure it would be to save both of you.”

“Regardless, paying the ransom isn’t an option.” All I was good for was trading, so at the very least, I could help boost her coffers.

Shohari had said I should pray, but I couldn’t even do that any more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Strayberries

Airida

ORBIT PLODDED OVER my hand.

I pushed my datapad away with a sigh and picked her up. She often trilled her soft coo when I stroked her carapace, and I needed the soothing.

I had not sung my rites, nor had I read anything to do with Orith for a couple of days. Yet today, I’d spent all morning cross-referencing with Orkri’ian sources. The daily rites were not corrupted, thank Kri, and they remained same amongst all kri’ith across the galaxy. Now, I was too tired to sing them, but I could resume—if I wanted to.

When Orbit grew restless and fluttered back to her shrine, I returned to my datapad, fiddling with the settings. Though it was an older model, it had a number of features I’d not seen before, including scanning capabilities. As a distraction, I ran some of the scans. Unsecured comm devices—plenty in the village. Listening devices. Hidden cameras. None of those, of course.

I switched back to the article I’d been reading. At the end, a headline glared at me in flashing orange neon. “Orith In Turmoil.” I swiped into it. Demonstrations in the streets. Orkri demanding the release of all shaa’ith from the colonies. A government under scrutiny, being accused of lies and cover-ups. A senior cabinet minister sent to Orkri as an envoy.

Guilt nagged at me—for my role in the turmoil, for not being able to find anything useful, for wasting time on unimportant things.

Paint. I needed to paint.

I set up a canvas, one of the flexible ones I’d bought in town. The paintbrush was steady in my hand for the first time since I’d left Orith, and as I stroked pigment over the smooth surface, all I could think about was Imani.

She’d gone out for the morning—now my kalidi was more predictable—with her friend Fenn. I wanted her here. What I’d give to hear the music of her voice, see the joy in her face, hold her soft body against mine as we watched Lovers of Lietan.

I welcomed all my moments with her. No, I craved them, not only Imani’s hand on my cock, but those stretches of time where I was hers and she was mine and nothing else intruded.

The motion of paint on canvas was meditative and soothing, but no forms emerged, only curves and swirls and streaks of colour that blended and curled, satisfying to create but saying little.

I rinsed my brush and dried it on a cloth. It was enough that I’d been able to paint something at last, but I would not be making meaningful art today.

With Imani still consuming my thoughts, I stepped out to late morning sun and a cooling breeze. The fire was deserted for once, and I took the opportunity to sit. Embers glowed in the circular pit, and I threw a couple of logs in. Slowly, new flames licked and flickered, consuming them, burning bright, sparks spitting and flying.

I retrieved the cauldron, half full of stew, from the cool of the kitchen and hung it on the iron tripod built into the fire pit. It felt good to be useful, to be practical. Learning how to live in community was not simple, but things like this, I could do.

A handful of leaves on a nearby tree had turned yellow, perhaps an early sign of autumn, but if the season was waning, it only served as a contrast to my growth. My muscles felt strong for the first time in my life, a distinct solid robustness that grew every day, and though I still had fatigue, it too would pass.

I helped myself to a bowl of stew. The strange vegetables were becoming familiar, and I appreciated the tender meat so generously included.

My cock sat at half mast—as it did much of the time now—and I tipped my eyes to the gods. At least it didn’t bring the accursed muscle weakness of kalidi with it.

I’d have to ask about helping with the cooking. I wanted to give back to the village, but mostly, I wanted to do something for Imani. She gave so much to me in ways she couldn’t even know, and the more time went on, the more I wanted to redress that balance, to care for her in the way she deserved.

Yes, the thought her being nourished by my efforts was pleasing. It would be something more I could do for her other than make cups of tea.

My stomach sated, I made sure to take my bowl back to the kitchen, rinse it, and put it in the washing unit.

Stew and determination fuelled my muscles. The walk to the gardens was easily three times the distance of the grounds of my cottage; the whole family estate could have fitted in the gardens themselves with plenty of flower beds to spare. And though it was only a walk to the gardens, to me it was freedom, more freedom than I’d ever been afforded.

If I wanted to, once I had the energy, I could keep walking. Down the hill to the small lake. Or out of the village, through the forest, all the way to Vadias Town. It would take hours, and walking through the forest was likely foolish, but it was possible. No guards to stop me. No parents to shout at me. No high enclave gates topped with sharp loops of plasmawire—not that I’d ever have been allowed that far.

But for today, a walk to the gardens was more than enough.

The meandering paths were so numerous, I could often take my time with the plants and trees in solitude. But around the next corner, someone knelt in the dirt, tending a newly-dug bed.