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Calran nods, then meets my gaze, holds it.
“My Grace, I wish for you to know that you have nothing to fear from me, but I understand that it may take time for trust to build between us. You do not need to fear my impatience or lack of understanding. I have lived many seasons knowing I would never know my linasha. Knowing you at all is the greatest gift. It is not one I would squander. I only ask that you would help me to understand your fears so that I might not trigger them.”
I hear his words. Vaguely. Part of me registers that they are sweet and swoons. But the bigger part of me is frozen in response to the first thing he said.
My Grace.
I know this is how the raskarrans refer to their mates when they don’t call them linasha. How many times have I heard Shemza use the phrase ‘nhi Lorna’ since their mating? I always thought it was sweet, but hearing that possessive ‘my’ next to my own name just sends me back ten years.
My breeder is defective.
Calran shifts and I flinch, my body reacting instinctually, the movement happening before I have a chance to think about it, to hold the instinct in. Calran holds himself very still for a long moment, before sitting back in the chair, putting himself further away from me.
“I can see I have triggered some already.”
There’s no judgement, no sneer in his voice, but the drive to placate him, to beg his forgiveness, is difficult to ignore.
“Please explain to me what I have done wrong, so that I do not do it again, my Grace. I wish for you to be comfortable with me above all else.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” I say. “Not really. I don’t want you to feel bad for doing what comes naturally to you.”
“I will feel bad only if I repeat the actions that you do not like. Until then, we are just two people from different worlds coming to an understanding.”
He gives an easy smile, and it’s impossible not to smile back.
“So you’d tell me if I did something to make you uncomfortable?”
“Of course,” he says. “Though I think it very unlikely you could do anything to make me uncomfortable.”
He grins, clearly trying to put me at ease with humour, but his words make me tense again.
“And I have said another wrong thing.” Calran ducks his head, giving me a sheepish smile. “I will say nothing further until you have explained to me.”
I wonder where to begin. True to his word, Calran says nothing as I search for a way to explain which will make sense to a guy who can’t begin to comprehend the world I come from.
“You called me ‘my Grace’,” I say in the end. “I know that’s how raskarrans refer to their mates, and I know you don’t mean anything bad by it, but I belonged to someone once and being reminded of it is very difficult for me.”
“You had a mate before, one from your own world?” His voice is gentle, but I can see how he is holding himself back, guarding his emotions every bit as much as I’m trying to.
“No. When I say ‘belonged’, I mean he owned me. Like you own a knife or a spear. He bought me. I’m not sure you’ll know what that means. You don’t have currency here.”
“It is like a trade?” Calran says. “If another has a well-made knife that I desire, I might give him a pelt I have worked on in exchange.”
“Yes, like that.”
I watch the horror he feels play out on his face.
“You can trade for people in your world?”
“If you’re wealthy enough, you can trade for just about anything.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“Why would someone seek to own another person?”
It almost hurts how unimaginable it is to him.
“Sometimes for labour,” I say. “Having someone else around to do jobs they don’t like. Cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing.” I take a steadying breath. “The man who bought me - he came from a tier, a tribe, that didn’t have many of their own women. Male children were more desired, so they would have… treatments, to ensure any child conceived was a boy. Which meant after a while, the men outnumbered the women. So the men without wives who wanted a child - someone to continue the family line - they would sometimes buy a woman from another tribe. As a breeder.”
