Dry air
hacked at Trajan's throat. The heavy coat he still...
Dry air
hacked at Trajan's throat. The heavy coat he still wore crushed down on his shoulders,
prickling at his skin. But he waited, patiently, no hint of complaint. Even
here, it was
the easiest path.
Oakes
hunched back into his dark chair, his own coat tossed over the seat of the only other
chair in the room, forcing both Trajan and the woman, Celeste, to stand in attendance.
Trajan was used to it, from before. But why a woman would endure such treatment
amazed him.
"This
isn't working." Oakes rubbed at his temples. "This Trajan creature
gets us closer, gets us
so that we can actually grab the food, but those Cascadians still seem to be
one step
ahead. I need results." He forced both hands off his face and through his
dark hair. "I need
that food."
"What
of your raider?" Celeste asked, her voice a ripple weaving carefully
through jagged
stone.
"How
am I to get him back? The Council refuses to speak to the Cascadians. That
would be
admitting that they're breaking the treaties; that they've failed
Cordova."
"The
need for food is unending."
"Only
a bit, only a bit to buy more time... " Oakes battled his scowl, sinking
further into himself.
"Why can't I get this to work?"
Then,
suddenly as if awaking, he remembered Trajan. "Get him out of here while I think."
Celeste
tipped her head forward, acknowledging the command. Her long black hair fell forward
over her bare shoulders.
She led
Trajan through windowless corridors where sleek walls blended one into the other.
He knew they meant to confuse him during this walk, so that he could never be certain
of his location, but he'd navigated a maze in his own underwater city in order
to escape.
This Cordovan city proved far easier. He knew the way from his own room, past Oakes'
rooms and to the outside door with the stairs to the barren cove. Beyond that,
he had
nowhere else to go.
The
woman, Celeste, stopped in front of the door to his room and unlocked it. She
pulled open
the door and walked into the room, no longer waiting for him to enter first, as
she first
had. Trajan followed behind, about five paces, as he had done for all women
since infancy.
He scowled, pinched his lips into a hard line and cursed himself for being
unable to
adapt as easily to his new surroundings as this woman had been able to adapt to
his own
habits.
Feeling
the heat of anger on his face, Trajan strode past Celeste when she paused, and went
straight to the large window. He glared down through the glass onto the barren
path below.
No glimpse of the sky or of the ocean. This is how they've made it a prison, he thought.
He
heard Celeste walk towards him, but he refused to turn. She should be forced to follow
him, as she did Oakes. She had no power here. She was an object, dressed to
show her
curves and warm coloured skin, obviously for the pleasure of Oakes. Trajan
tightened the
prickly coat tighter around his chest. He should treat her as Oakes did.
"I
have something for you, Trajan," she said quietly, possibly even kindly.
But he refused to
turn. Not for a woman, not ever again.
"Trajan?"
Celeste touched his shoulder. He flinched back as if struck, then cursed
himself once
again. How could he possibly fear her? She was only a servant to Oakes, weaker than
all men here.
Her
hand darted away, to rest near her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said. As
if tempted once again
to touch him, she reached forward. "I won't hurt you. You don't need to be
afraid of
me?"
Seeing
her movement as a reflection in the window, he turned to face her, but stepped
out of
reach. She dropped her hand to her side, but met his eye. Trajan fought every
instinct in
order to maintain eye contact and not defer to her.
"I'll
show you," she said. Softly as a tendril, she moved across the room toward
the bathing
room. "I know you love your bath," she went on as she walked. "I
found some salts
for you to add to the water." She disappeared into the other room and
returned with a large
container. "It's kept under the sink. It should make you more
comfortable."
Considering
the bite of chemicals in their dead, processed water, this gift was extraordinary.
Trajan felt a craving build inside him so strongly he could almost taste the salt in
his mouth. There must be a price.
"What
do you want?"
"Nothing."
Trajan
shrank under the coat, grateful for the shield. A gift this personal could not
be without
conditions. Surely she expects something from him. Something equally personal.
Yet she
walked straight for the door and let herself out. He heard the door locked from the
outside.
The
container sat on the edge of the sink. She knew he would use it. Sea salts, in
large chunky
crystals, as she promised. He grabbed a handful and dropped it into the bath
and started
up the water. As it filled, he pulled off his coat and let it fall to the floor
outside the
bathing room, shucked the rough pants he wore, closed the door and locked it.
Trajan
stirred the salts into the water with his arms before easing into the water.
His scales
lifted from his skin with a content rustling, and his fins eased out from the
back of his
calves. His bones and body ached in the hard water, but the salts made it
tolerable, even
pleasurable. He sank into the water, curling onto his side like a child until
he was fully
submerged, the fin along the back stretching to the side of the bath. Then, he
let himself
sleep.
