Page 12 of Summer

Who cares. She should know she’s not wanted.

“No,” Aaoric grinds out.

“Your home is lovely,” Summer says, setting down her silverware. “Lady Gennelle told me it’s been in the family for quite some time. You must be very industrious.”

Father’s ire at being interrupted cools at her words, and he settles in his chair, his attention off Aaoric at last. “Yes – many centuries,” Father agrees.

“What goods do you produce?” she asks.

“How do you know we are not farmers?” Father asks, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t think a farmer would amass such wealth and titles,” Summer says simply. “If I am wrong, please do correct me. I have much to learn.”

Father watches her a moment longer before shaking his head slightly. “We dabble in many businesses. There is farming about the estate, but it’s mostly to feed ourselves. Best not to rely on others for what we can do ourselves.”

“Well said,” Summer agrees, folding her hands in her lap. My gaze catches the suddenly exposed skin of her wrist – chafed and raw with scars, as though she’d been manacled. Surely not – probably an injury. Why should I care?

“Our family is known for creating farming equipment which is shipped through the entire universe. Our business on Sasann mines the hardiest metals out there, ensuring our forges won’t break, no matter the climate or environment of the planet. They don’t rust, are undisturbed by acid rain, and can withstand even the hard clay of Laagin.” Father rattles off these accomplishments, ones I’ve heard our family wax poetic about my entire life. He forgets to mention that Sasann is mined by slaves who die often and are replaced constantly.

“Many planets must be in your debt,” she tells Father.

His chest puffs – this has been a talking point of his for years. The king, the emperor, the planets – they all owe our family their lives and livelihood. If our family didn’t have a long history of stomping out competition before it became profitable, I might have agreed.

“They are,” Father says, his gaze flicking to the attendants as the next round of food is delivered. Summer eats slowly, but never leaves a plate empty. It is a striking contrast to her thin body, which lacks any semblance of muscle or fitness. She seems more the type to waste away inside than perform any activity.

The new silence is less terse, and I allow myself a moment to breathe. Trying to rid Aaoric of his new bride – and any future brides – will be easier if Father and Mother don’t expect us to move against them. Aaoric’s stubborn silence is already too much, but I know nothing I say will encourage him to speak. Aaoric has spent his life getting allowances for his behavior, unlike the rest of us.

“May I pose a …silly request?” Summer asks once the desert is brought forth.

“A request?” Mother asks, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

Summer’s pale cheeks color, and she looks down at her plate. At least she has the good sense to be embarrassed for overstepping her bounds on day one.

“At Protegre,” her voice catches at the mention of the school before she plows forward with her stumbled request. “There was a game I rather liked to play – a word game. It is called Starbus…”

“You play Starbus?” Mother interrupts.

Summer’s blush deepens. “I know it is a strange game for a young woman to play, but I rather enjoy it. I was wondering if, perhaps – there was a way I could still?”

Even Aaoric breaks his determination to ignore Summer to stare, his eyebrow quirked in surprise. Starbus is a game often played by the elderly, a complex series of words and letters that rearrange and must be put into the right order. If you don’t reorder them into the appropriate sequence before the timer goes off, you must start over. If you are unable to do it after 4 chances, you lose.

“Is there a …human version?” Father asks.

Summer nods, her gaze flickering up to him. “There is, though it is not quite as advanced as yours. I think our words are simpler,” she adds.

I’d heard the opposite – that Earth was home to hundreds of languages, some so complex that only few people spoke them. She must not be from Earth, to regard it as a monolith. What did they teach at Protegre about her own history? Clearly the school needed an angry letter about their education…from someone else. Who was I to question their methods?

“Gennelle,” Father says, his attention snapping to me. “See to it that Summer has a communication device.” He switches to Tatinnish to continue. “Make it limited, put some locks on it. She doesn’t need access to the entire world, just a few games.”

“Do you think she really even knows how to use a device?” I ask.

Summer’s gaze shoots between the two of us as we speak, her eyes wide and hopeful. Her blush fades back into her pale skin, and this close, I’m struck by the dark circles under her eyes, by the sadness that lurks just beyond the hope. But I blink and I see her for what she is – a simple human who wants to play a simple game.

“Give her one of the extra devices then, we can fit her with her own tomorrow,” Father says with a wave of his hand.

Summer turns her gaze to me, waiting for the translation. I don’t give it to her, and instead turn to my dessert.

Later that night, I knock on the door to her room. I hear shuffling from the other side before it opens a fraction, her eyes peering into the dimly lit hall. When she sees it’s me, she stiffens, but opens the door a bit more.