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I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of the thought.
But maybe it is true,I think distractedly. I stand with my hands clasped behind my back and my head bowed as the naga speak.
I don’t dare look any of them in the eye. They’re all above me in rank and species, and I do not want to be disrespectful.
Not when I’ve just found something that I like doing.
Lasta lingers after Irian leaves, and my eyes flick up to his, a reflex and nothing more.
I look down again quickly after catching his eyes, which are hard and distrustful.
He is one of those naga who believes that humans should be hunted for sport probably,I think to myself as Irian finally dismisses me.
I keep my head down as I walk back to the palace, and when I finally reach my room, I look down to find my hands are bloodied.
I must have been pressing my nails into my palms, like I used to do back when I was living in the village.
The pain is sharp and bitter, and I inhale as the burn of it goes straight to the center of my chest, where it curls up and settles.
And along with it, an image of Lasta flashes in my mind’s eye, lighting something in me that I don’t know how to name.
4
LASTA
“What do you think of the new weapons, Selliss?” I ask my underling, not particularly looking for an answer.
He shrugs after looking over at the forge. “I don’t really have an opinion about it, Captain. As long as they’re useful.”
“You liked the spears they forged, did you not? They know what they’re doing.”
“True, but it just takes one little mistake to make the whole thing crumble. You know, just as you always say, Captain.”
I look over at him. “Why aren’t you at the training grounds? Who gave you permission to be this close to me during your work hours?”
He tilts his head, as if the moron’s confused. “Is it so wrong for a soldier to want to be close to his superior?”
I growl. “Not unless he wishes to be used as a target for the next archer practice.”
He laughs it off and salutes me before walking away to where he’s supposed to be. I didn’t even realize he tailed behind me before getting to the forge. I had to pretend I was just looking over the weaponry progress.
I look through the steam and smoke of the forge until I finally lay eyes onher. The human slave that already has a clutch on me. Krista. Yet she doesn’t even know of my existence while I find myself yielding to her presence.
How dare she not even look my way?
Her green eyes that resemble the lush forest surrounding us never leave the table she works on. She doesn’t even blink unless smoke flies by. Just like her hands, she has smudges of dirt on her face, showing how hard at work she is.
Suddenly, she flinches and pulls away from the sword, holding her hand against her chest. I look closely and notice that she foolishly cut herself with the sword. It trickles from the tip of her finger down to her wrist.
Her pale coloring makes the blood more striking, more alluring to the eye. But she doesn’t instantly wipe it off. She stares at it for a moment, admiring the drop of blood streaming to the length of her forearm.
My mouth salivates at the sight. She even squeezes her finger to get more blood out of it. I’m not sure why it entices me, but I want to see more of it. How it makes her eyebrows furrow and makes her bite her lower lip.
She wipes the blood off and returns to the same mechanic position of molding the weapons. As if she just didn’t injure herself.
So much blood for a little cut,I think to myself.She’s much more fragile than I thought.
My speculations are proven right the longer I stare as she works. She burns her other arm with coal, right next to her elbow. By the look on her face, she hisses in pain, showing that this is a harsher wound.
