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I’m not about to tell her that Dora’s a clone. Yaahi might act like the friendly matron but that facade could be hiding a cutthroat mentality. “Maybe I am a murderous criminal.”
“And yet you seem as if you can take care of yourself. So if you are murderous, Jamef does not need to protect you.” She tilts her head, regarding me, and her whiskers twitch. “Which is why I suspect it is something to do with your tiny yellow-hair.”
“Leave Dora alone,” I say in a low, dangerous voice. “Whatever you think you know, just leave it at the door. As far as you and I are concerned, she’s a harmless pet.”
Yaahi pours herself some wine and sips it. “Kaatir is a good male. He has a soft heart when it comes to the unwanted, the useless, and the forgotten. He sees a female on a slaver’s lead at a station, and perhaps that female is unpleasant to look at, like Hazza. Or she is aging out and no longer wanted, like me. He purchases her and makes her his wife, and brings her home to his moon base and gives her freedom. We do not serve in his bed. We take turns making meals and taking care of one another. Some of us are good with weapons and ship repairs. Some of us are good with sewing. Some of us are good at nothing, but all are welcome and safe here. All are cherished.”
She takes another sip of her wine and goes quiet.
“What are you getting at?”
Yaahi gives me a placid look. “I am saying that your Dora would be safe here, if she needs a refuge. The women here would love to have a sweet young one to dote upon. Many of them have lost daughters. They would feed her and dress her in pretty clothes and take care of her every day of her life. I am saying that if you need a safe place for her, we can be that.”
It’s a good offer. A kind offer.
Dora laughs, twirling in the purple gown as the ooli female’s eyes light up and she adjusts the sleeve. Another brings a tray of sweets, pushing it towards Dora. They really are just nice older women who want someone to take care of. It’s thoughtful.
Maybe it would be best for Dora. Jamef and I are difficult to get along with even at the best of times. And we’re bounty hunters. It’s not the safest of jobs. It might be best for all of us if our triad dies a swift death.
I grab my wine and down the entire thing in a few quick gulps.
I don’t want to be a responsible sort. I want to keep her…but maybe that’s selfish. “I need to talk to Jamef,” I tell her.
Fifty-Four
JAMEF
Just when I think I’ve heard every single story that Kaatir has, he manages to pull a few new ones out. I don’t mind listening. He’s always been a decent sort and we have a connection with our shared military past and how it destroyed our bodies. With this many wives on his moon, you’d think Kaatir had plenty of people to talk to, but there’s something different about swapping stories with someone that ate the same sort of ration bars you did. You just understand it far more deeply.
We talk until it’s late, snacking on food that wife after wife brings out, and sip ooli brew as Kaatir reminisces and I mostly listen. I’m fully prepared to spend all night listening to his stories when there’s a knock at the door, and instead of another one of Kaatir’s wives appearing in the doorway with a new treat, it’s Bethiah.
“Master,” she cries dramatically and flings herself down at my feet, clutching at my boots.
I put a hand over my face as Kaatir laughs. “Please stop,” I tell her in a low voice. “You’re embarrassing me.”
She looks up and wraps her arms around my leg, pressing her cheek to my knee. The expression on her face is downright mischievous. “Can I beg a moment of your time, master?”
“You can. Where’s Dora?”
“Asleep in the guest quarters. She drank too much brew.” Her teasing look slips a little, and I know she’s stressed over something. Uh oh.
Kaatir gets to his feet, groaning. His limbs creak and he rotates one arm, the joints scraping and whining. “I think I’ll go to bed, too. I’m sure one of my wives has to be lonely. At least one.” He gives me a nod. “Look for me in the morning and we’ll discuss how to modify your ship properly.”
“My thanks,” I tell him. I move to get to my feet, but before I can, Bethiah jumps up and sits on my leg, sliding her arms around my neck. More of her games. Well, well. If she wants to play the sweet little wife, I’ll let her. I put my arm around her waist and rub her hip. As Kaatir leaves, I focus on her. “Speak, little one.”
