“You are not as soft as the furs,” Saana mutters over her cookpot, but there is an amused warmth to her complaint. She’s happy for me. Happy for Irra.
I am, too.
I can’t sleep, so instead I listen to my Alara’s shallow, labored breaths, soaking in her scent, my confidence growing. She will strengthen, and we will learn each other’s unfamiliar tongues. Then we’ll take the throne and rule together.
She stirs a few hours later, long after the star has set, and Saana comes to deliver another dose of her herbal concoction. This time, Rose takes it without complaint, licking the last of the herbs from her lips.
“Open, open, your eyes open,” she sings softly. It’s the same tune Saana sang for her, a greenling’s song, one meant for parents to sing to encourage their offspring to get up in the morning. Our words in her voice are the most thrilling thing I’ve heard since she said my name for the first time.
“Yes!” I almost shout, sitting up so she slides into the safety of my lap. She sings the line again, and I squeeze her gently, afraid to hurt her in my excitement.
“She remembers!” Saana says, sounding slightly awed. “She was barely conscious when I sang it.”
“Eyes open?” Rose asks, pointing to her mouth.
“No.” I cup her face, marveling at her delicate features, ones so similar to ours but distinctly different, too. Her rounded ears and flat teeth, her skin that doesn’t tell her secrets. I brush a thumb over her eyelids. “Eyes.” Then I touch her mouth, saying our word for it and demonstrating. “Open mouth. Closed mouth.”
“Mouth,” she repeats. She hinges her jaw and then says, “Open mouth.”
“Yes!”
“Open eyes,” she says, blinking her large, green-and-white ones that never quite seem to focus.
“Yes.” With every new scrap of understanding we share, my pulse races faster.
“Yes,” she repeats. She touches my face with a trembling hand, making my heart skip a beat. “Oljin yes.”
My cock stiffens automatically at the sound of my name in my Alara’s voice. When she feels it rise beneath her, she instantly drops her hand from my face. Her weak muscles tighten intoa rigid posture, and her expression shifts to something still and careful.
She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t try to escape. She just waits, expecting the worst from me. Why shouldn’t she? The universe has given her little else.
“No, Rose,” I tell her, lifting her just enough to set her to the side where she doesn’t have to feel my cock’s insistent pressure. I feel like I’m boiling to steam inside, but I will never ask this of her. Not unless she asks first.
Saana looks between us, nodding her approval. “Be a patient farmer. I will get her more food.”
It takes a little coaxing, a bowl of steamed grains and another silly song from Saana, but Rose eventually relaxes, smiling and repeating lines.
The bowl is full, thank Alioth
The bowl is full, thank your mother
The bowl is empty, thank your father
She’s as hungry for words as for lastmeal, gobbling up every one we can teach her:bowl, full, empty.It’s exhilarating how quickly she learns, so I give her more, putting object after object into her hands.Furs, cushion, knife.
It’s so fast and so slow at the same time. I want to pour my brain into hers so we can speak. I want to pour my heart into hers so she can know it, too.
Hand, basket, lantern.
Rose gamely repeats everything I say, touching each item in turn, only stumbling occasionally over the pronunciation. She’s an eager student, and I’m an eager teacher, so we quickly run out of things nearbyto name.
Like a scholar, I return to the beginning of the scroll, holding out the bowl to test her.
“Bowl,” she says immediately, lighting up when I sayyes. “Bowl full.”
“No. Empty bowl,” I correct.
“Empty bowl,” she whispers, handing it back to me. I replace it with the edge of a fur and wait. Her smile disappears as she strokes the soft texture in her lap. “Cushion?”
