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Zakoar shakes his head at me, his mouth curving in that almost-smile again. "Since I don't know what a to-gah is, I will have to let you borrow some clothing. You know you grow progressively more bossy by the day?"
"You like it," I say easily.
"I think I do," he agrees.A short time later, we're in the elevator as it races along through the station. I hold his hand in silence, watching the others in the elevator with interest. They're doing their best not to stare in our direction, and at first I think it's because I'm human (which is a novelty) and currently dressed in oversized pants and a tunic belted at my waist to keep them up. But as people nervously get on the elevator and file off again, I realize that the worried looks they're casting aren't in my direction but Zakoar's.
It makes me angry. I glare at everyone until he squeezes my hand, drawing my attention, and I see a ghost of a smile playing on his hard mouth. He's not worried about their reactions—but mine amuses him. In a way, I get it. He can be downright intimidating-looking, but they don't know just how good of a man he is. How kind he's been when he absolutely did not have to be. How he's going to take me someplace safe so I can live out the rest of my life in peace and quiet.
I wonder if he'll ever visit me when I'm there.
For some reason, I think the answer is no. He doesn't seem like the type to leave the station or his business behind, and that fills me with an odd sadness. I'll miss him, I realize. Not only are we incredibly compatible in bed, but he's…my friend. I feel like we can talk about most anything, and it's been nice to have a friend again. When I get to Risda, I'll be all alone again, and the thought is a little intimidating.
But Zakoar squeezes my hand again, distracting me. "You're frowning," he murmurs.
"Just in a glare-y mood, I guess." And I squeeze his hand back, because he doesn't need to know that his generous offer of taking me to Risda fills me with alternate amounts of joy and terror. It'll be a good thing. I know it will.
The elevator fills up, and by the time we get to the market floor of Three Nebulas Station, it's crammed with people. I'm squeezed behind Zakoar, who uses his big body and intimidating frame to keep anyone from touching me, and when the doors open, it's like a flood—everyone pours out of the elevator and into the market. The air feels different here, slightly heavy and a bit humid, and just a little bit smelly. It's noisy, too. After being in Zakoar's apartment for the last few days, the sounds of the market hit me like a brick wall. I cling to his arm, my anxiety ratcheting up a bit the moment I hear music.
It reminds me of what I've so recently been freed from, and that it's all too easy to go back to that. My breath speeds up and I panic, just a little. Zakoar tugs me closer and lets go of my hand. In the next moment, his arm is around my shoulders, and I'm tucked against his side.
Safe.
"We'll go the long way around," he tells me, and steers me in the opposite direction of the cantina so I don't have to look at it. It's an amazingly thoughtful gesture, and it just reminds me of how much I've lucked out to be with him.
Since I was never allowed to leave the cantina, I'm unfamiliar with a lot of the market. I know what everything looked like from outside my window, but beyond that, it's a blank. I'm astonished to see that it's a lot like a cross between a rummage sale and a bazaar, the large berth of the station filled with colorful tents. People hang their wares on cords and set them up on blankets, and customers mill around to look at the goods. There's a vendor hawking skewers of something that smells incredible, and even though we just ate breakfast, my stomach growls. I want to pause there to see what smells so good, but Zakoar steers me onward. I wander as he tugs me along, just a little, because I want to see everything. It's all so fascinating that this wild, crowded bazaar of shopping was only a short distance away from where I was imprisoned and I never got to see it.
Three Nebulas is built a lot like a top floating in space, and the center of the station is hollow. That means that the actual station “floors” themselves are like a big donut, and I'm not entirely surprised to see that we're cutting through the bazaar, heading toward an area that looks more familiar. Everything eventually leads back to the same place, but instead of heading toward Zakoar's shop, he pauses at a booth and nudges my hand to draw my attention. Blinking, I draw my gaze away from a nearby music instrument vendor and try to pay attention. The tent in front of us is full of silken fabrics of all kinds. A clothesline drawn across two metal poles displays several loose-fitting tunics and dresses of varying colors, and when the ooli vendor turns to us with a bright, froggy smile, I realize why we've stopped here.
