Authors: Tracy St. John
The balcony stretched a long distance across the face of the cliff. Five more large arches carved in the rock led back into the home. Michaela felt a sense of shock
“Damn, boys. How many rooms does this place have?”
Govi grinned at her. “Plenty. More than we need, actually, but we moved in with the intention of clanning a Matara and having children. In the meantime, if you get sick of us you can escape for a little while.”
“But for not too long,” Raxstad was quick to add. “I hope any irritation you feel in regards to me is short-lived. But feel free to ignore these two in my favor.”
Korkla gave him a dark look. Govi punched his shoulder. He laughed at them both.
The Nobek led the way to the next portico. They re-entered the home.
Michaela stepped into a room that was mostly a wide-open space, much like a dance studio. Instead of mirrors and a barre, however, hand weapons both blunt and sharp hung on the walls. Besides those, several large man-shaped forms were scattered about. The dummies showed signs of great abuse between dents, holes, and slashes. Michaela once again thought of Raxstad among enemies, beating on helpless bodies. She swallowed. Here was her Nobek’s dungeon.
Her tone sounded strained as she said, “I think I know a certain warrior who spends his time in here.”
Raxstad nodded, looking at his abused dummies with affection. “I practice my martial arts in here.” He nodded towards a doorway opposite the archway that led to the balcony. “The next room is full of machines to build my strength for the competitions I take part in. I also have a home office and a meditation space.”
Michaela blinked, her more unhappy thoughts dissipating with surprise. “You have all those rooms just for your own use? This place must be bigger than I thought.”
Korkla chuckled. “Half the level belongs to us. Your own apartments already possess a dance studio, fitting the same specifications as the one Israla had made for you on Plasius. The sound system is nicer though, the latest model. The rest of your rooms still need to be furnished. We thought you’d like to do that for yourself.”
Michaela’s mouth dropped open. “You did that for me? You had a dance studio installed before we even got here?”
The Dramok looked at her as if the gesture was of no real consequence. “Of course. You did want one, didn’t you?”
Tears filled Michaela’s eyes. Her clan had not wasted any time in taking care of the needs they knew about.
Every time she thought she’d adjusted to being accepted by the trio, they did something that demonstrated she still was on shaky ground. Damn it, she knew they cared. She knew her intersex body was acceptable ... even desirable to the men. Yet each kindness only underscored how undeserving Michaela still saw herself as.
They aren’t stupid. They aren’t even desperate, not with their status. I must be worth something for them to care so much.
As always, they discerned the change in her mood. The three men gathered close.
Govi’s arm went around her shoulders and he smiled at her, making that handsome face even more so. “Whatever we can anticipate, we’ll provide. What we don’t, you have only to ask for. Just say the word and it’s yours.”
His sweetness only made Michaela more emotional. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she hid her face behind her hands.
She said, “Don’t look at me blubber. I’m ugly when I cry.”
Raxstad’s lips brushed against her ear. “My Matara, you couldn’t be ugly if you tried.”
They said no more, having learned to give Michaela room to absorb smaller upheavals when they occurred. Instead of trying to calm her down or glossing over the healing that took place, they gave her a safe place to deal with the emotional storm. Hands stroked her hair, back, and arms as Michaela fought to get herself under control.
At last she settled down once more. When Michaela emerged from behind her hands, she found Korkla, Govi, and Raxstad waiting patiently. She scrubbed the wetness from her cheeks and gave them an apologetic smile.
“Okay, I’m done with yet another episode of Michaela’s Self-Pity Party. On with the tour.”
The men chuckled. Not put off at all, they instead graced her with indulgent smiles and escorted her through the rest of Raxstad’s rooms.
Michaela thought the workout machines looked like torture instruments. She was more interested in the vid stills on the walls showing her Nobek clanmate demonstrating feats of strength before panels of judges. She was awed to see one of him in a rope harness, dragging a four-person shuttle down a stretch of beach, his muscles straining fit to burst from his skin.
There were awards as well. Michaela counted nearly thirty hanging on one wall. “How many of these are for first place?” she asked.
Raxstad grinned. “All of them. Kalquorian strength competitions do not give awards to anyone but the very best.”
“Damn. You are amazing.”
Michaela would have been impressed with far less. She eyed her Nobek with greater awe than before. Her blatant admiration made the big man flush, which got Govi and Korkla snickering. He made a rude gesture he’d learned from Michaela.
Pointedly ignoring his clanmates, Raxstad led the group through his private office, a tiny room with no more than a desk and computer, and an even smaller room with one seating cushion and what Michaela took to be an altar. Metal cylinders with igniters and scented oil, the Kalquorian version of candles, lay on the low table, along with a vid still portraits of Korkla and Govi.
As they moved into the home’s corridor, Raxstad told Michaela, “Even though we refer to these as my ‘private’ rooms, you are welcome to come in whenever you wish. My doors are never closed to you.”
Korkla took the lead. “That goes for all of us, I believe?” He gave Govi a questioning glance, to which the Imdiko happily nodded. “Good. Here are my rooms.”
They stepped into Korkla’s suite of rooms, entering first the Dramok’s home office. Unlike Raxstad’s cramped workspace, Korkla’s home office was huge. He had two desks on which sat three computers, two vids that he explained were always tuned into the news vids, and three com units.
“As Clajak’s personal assistant, I’m always on call,” he told Michaela.
Raxstad snorted. “The Crown Prince is high maintenance. Korkla spends as much time smoothing over the trouble Clajak has caused as attending to official duties.”
Korkla gave the Nobek a disapproving look. “Clajak is not nearly as hard to manage as he used to be. You have to admit, he’s getting better as he matures.”
“Yes, he is,” Govi agreed. He told Michaela, “When Clajak was younger, he used to constantly try to escape his responsibilities. He was forever running off to play on Plasius or Dantovon. It took both Korkla and Egilka to keep tabs on him back then.”
“He was a young man determined to have some fun. That was before Bevau came along,” Korkla said, looking at a still vid on the wall. In the picture, he and Clajak were laughing at whoever had taken the photograph, their arms slung around each others’ shoulders in apparent camaraderie. “When Clajak and Egilka fell for Bevau, we thought he would go a long way to calming Clajak down.”
“Then Empress Irdis was killed in that accident,” Raxstad said. His expression was somber.
“And Emperor Zarl nearly died too,” Korkla added. “It looked as if Clajak would have to assume the throne. He panicked because he felt he wasn’t ready for it.”
“He’s been trying to stave off taking rulership ever since,” Raxstad said, his tone disapproving. “Zarl’s health is going to continue to decline. His clan needs to step down, but Clajak is still running away.”
“That might have changed with them clanning Jessica,” Korkla said. “I can already see her influence is settling Clajak the way we hoped Bevau might. He spent a lot of the trip back from Plasius catching up with what’s been happening in both the Royal and Galactic Councils.”
“What’s that saying you told me once, Michaela?” Raxstad asked. “Hope springs eternal.”
The next of Korkla’s rooms was another with workout equipment. Korkla’s collection wasn’t nearly as torture-chamber scary as Raxstad’s, however. This room was as small as the Nobek’s office, with smaller machines.
“Govi uses this too,” the Dramok told Michaela. “You are welcome to do so as well. This is a walker-runner exerciser—” he pointed to something that reminded Michaela of a treadmill “—here is a resistance machine that builds and tones muscle, and lying on this one lets you mimic water sports like swimming and body surfing.”
“Because the ocean is so far away,” Michaela deadpanned.
Korkla chuckled. “The winters here can be harsh, keeping us on dry land for months at a time. Plus spring riptides are nothing to mess with.”
Govi added, “Your Dramok also competes in fitness trials, specifically swimming and running. The watersport exerciser keeps him in shape for that year round.”
“Oh.” Michaela could see the sense of the machine now. “How many competitions have you won?”
Korkla made a face, but his tone was still cheerful. “None.”
“Yet,” Raxstad said in a diplomatic tone. “He’s come damned close several times though. I think this summer will be your season, my Dramok.”
Korkla shrugged with a smile. “I do it because it’s fun. I consider myself my only competition. If I keep improving over my last performance, I’m happy.”
“A healthy attitude,” Govi said.
“What’s your sport?” Michaela asked the Imdiko.
“Sex. I train as often as possible.”
That set the rest of them off laughing. Raxstad made as if to toss Govi onto the nearby bench. “I’ll give you a workout, you gorgeous bastard.”
Chuckling at his clanmates’ antics, Korkla motioned Michaela into the next room in his suite. “This is my sitting room, where I come when I want quiet,” he said.
She followed him, finding herself in a room off the long balcony. The open archway brought in the tangy scent of seashore that Michaela was already learning to love. The sound of waves washing on the shore made the relaxed room even more so. Sunlight beamed in, showing the overstuffed Plasian-style lounger that faced the archway. Like the sea beyond the balcony, the lounger was emerald-hued. Its velvety texture looked incredibly cozy to Michaela, and she imagined lying there, listening to the surf ... or rain on a stormy day.
A couple of chairs with matching upholstery made the sitting area a semi-circle. Artwork hung on the walls depicting seashores that looked real enough to walk into. A tapestry also hung on one wall, a huge piece that seemed to show many Kalquorians battling each other. Michaela knew little of sewing and art, but she could tell the tapestry was well made. Its striking hues were deep and the subject matter violent, an almost startling departure from the serenity of the rest of the room.
“An ancestress of mine made that to commemorate the War of the Breeds,” Korkla said, noting Michaela’s interest. “She was a child when our one civil war occurred, and this is from a battle she saw happen.”
“That’s a scary thing for a little girl to see,” Michaela said. She knew little about the war in which Nobeks had fought against Dramoks and Imdikos. Judging from the tapestry, it must have been horrific, she decided. There were as many dead soldiers as those fighting.
She turned her attention to the rest of the room. Small shelves with other pieces of art dotted here and there. Korkla also had small cooling and cooking units. The room was a comfortable place to get away.
He confirmed that by saying, “I love coming in here to read and listen to music. It’s perfect when I’ve had a hectic day and I require some alone time to recover.”
Michaela could appreciate that. “It’s nice that you have all this room to pursue every interest and need you have.”
“It is. When we first moved here to remain close to the Crown Prince Clan, I thought it was too much. I do appreciate having the extra space, however.”
Michaela loved the idea of each person having a private apartment within the home, somewhere to have quiet and be alone with one’s thoughts. Plus it gave her a look into what was most important to each man.
She said, “Seeing this is like having a window into your minds. So, Govi, what will I find out about you?”
The Imdiko grinned. “Why don’t I show you?”
Govi took Michaela’s hand and led her out onto the balcony, where they walked to the next open archway. Excited to discover more, Michaela stepped into Govi’s rooms.
Like Korkla, the Imdiko had an immense office. File disks, tiny storage devices the size of Michaela’s little finger, littered the surface of a long table that Govi apparently used as a desk. Three handheld computer devices sat alongside the flat disk of his unpowered computer.
“I catch up on my research at home,” he told Michaela. “There’s no time to keep up at work. I’m too busy dealing with my staff and patients. Those three handhelds contain nothing but books and studies.”
“How do you do all that and spend time with your clan?” Michaela asked. The amount of work Govi did worried her.
He chuckled. “I don’t, not really. I’m always behind where I want to be when it comes to my work.”
Raxstad gave Govi a mock-glare. “Sometimes he lets his job interfere with his clan.”