The Choosing (The Pruxnae Book 1) (3 page)

A throat cleared
behind him. Ryn glanced over his shoulder. The woman was standing in the
doorway between his sleeping quarters and the head, holding a wet cloth in her
hand. She lifted it and shrugged. He jerked his chin toward the laundry chute
set into the wall, hidden by a panel. She studied it carefully, then tapped the
upper right-hand corner. The panel popped open. She peered inside, dropped the cloth
into the dark trough, and pushed the panel shut.

Something close
to pride rose in him. She
was
intelligent, as he’d suspected, and
unafraid of the newness of her situation. Not accepting, no. He’d recognized
the gleam in her eye when he’d finally let her go. She’d try to escape the
first chance she got, and for that, he couldn’t blame her. Hopefully by the
time that opportunity arrived, she’d no longer want to leave him.

He touched his
chest. “Ryn.”

She glanced away
and her fingers tangled together at her waist. A shuddering sigh escaped her.
“Ziri,” she said softly. She touched her chest above the bodice of her thin
gown. “Ziri Mokuru.”

“Ziri.” A
beautiful name, like her. Lyrical and sweet. “Ryn abid Alna.”

Her lips formed the
words soundlessly. He held his hand out and waited patiently while she decided
whether or not to accept it. The choice was hers. She could fight him during
their journey or she could make peace with it and accept him. His reaction
would be the same either way, and in the end, she’d still be his.

She placed her
hand in his, and he did smile then. Her answering smile wavered and disappeared.
It was a start, though, a promising one. He closed his hand around hers and led
her out of their sleeping quarters.

The bedroom door
opened into a narrow hallway, its walls the same gray metal as Ryn’s bedchamber
and bathing area. Ziri stepped over the doorjamb behind Ryn, her hand held
firmly in his larger, rougher one. Up close, his size was intimidating. The top
of her head barely reached his chin, and she was tall for a Tersii. He’d taken
off all of his armor while she’d been cleaning her teeth and face, and now wore
a skin tight black shirt and matching breeches, both covering him from neck to
wrist and ankle, outlining every firm line of his body. His muscles bunched and
flexed under the thin material and left no doubt in her mind as to his
strength.

His clothing also
revealed the thick length of his manhood. She’d hoped she’d imagined that when
he’d been on top of her, hoped he wouldn’t undress and force her to accept his
maleness inside her, but why else was she here? What other reason could a man
so obviously in his prime have to kidnap a woman from her home and chain her to
his bed?

And now he was
giving her a tour of
his
home, its stark confines gloomy, the metal floor
icy beneath her bare feet. Her own thin clothing was no match for the cooler
air of the corridor, though she refused to ask for better covering. If she
tried, what would he do to her? Strip off her clothes, put his hands on her,
and maybe take what he’d denied himself earlier, when she’d been helpless underneath
him?

She eyed the
relaxed set of his broad shoulders. Why hadn’t he claimed her already?

He paused at an
open doorway and tugged her closer, tucking a warm arm around her shoulders.
This room had what looked like cooking appliances of some sort on the far end
and a table down the middle, long enough for maybe six to eight people to sit
comfortably.

“Dyakul,” he
said.

“Kitchen?” she
guessed, and he shrugged.

What she wouldn’t
give for a good translation program. Maybe then she could get him to understand
that he needed to let her go now before her parents discovered she was missing.

He led her farther
down the corridor and pulled her into a small room at the end. A wide panel
dotted with knobs and buttons was set into the far part of the room under a large,
blacked-out screen. Two swiveling chairs were bolted into the floor directly in
front of the panel. More instrumentation filled the walls, while a third chair and
a smaller panel were set against the wall to her right.

Ryn let go of
her hand and squeezed between the two chairs, taking a seat in the left one. He
touched several mechanisms, stared intently at a rectangular screen set into the
panel, and grunted.

She eased her
way into the room behind him, soaking in every detail. It reminded her of the
control room in the Wyanata’s dam, one of the few places in Arden Hollow where
technology bloomed freely. The Tersii didn’t eschew the sort of technology Ryn
used in his home, but they didn’t exactly embrace it, either. It was a tool,
her father often said, and most Tersii treated it exactly that way, as a method
for improving their lives without losing sight of the traditional values of
hard work, self-improvement, and wise stewardship of the land.

The first thrum
of interest hummed through Ziri. She perched tentatively on the edge of the
chair to Ryn’s right and watched him carefully, memorizing his actions so she
could repeat them later if she needed to. He glanced at her and smiled,
flashing a dimple. She jerked her gaze to the panel. If she softened every time
a handsome man smiled at her, one of her two handfastings would’ve taken and
she’d have children by now.

Of course, if
she were handfasted, she likely wouldn’t have been stolen from her home,
either.

Ryn’s fingers
tapped the panel. She lifted her gaze to his, and he slid his fingers along a
depression set into the middle front of the panel. The large screen above the
panel flickered and a star field burst into view. Ryn flicked his fingers and
it disappeared.

Ziri bit her
lip. He was watching her, like he was waiting for her to do something. She
reached hesitantly out and slid her fingers along the depression the way he
had. Stars winked into view ahead of them, their number far richer than the
ones she observed from her garden at night.

“Where are we?”
she asked, then pressed her lips firmly together. He couldn’t understand her.
She had to remember that, had to remember that she couldn’t trust him. He
wasn’t worthy of her friendship or consideration, hadn’t been since the moment
he’d chained her to his bed.

She swiveled
away from him and slumped into the seat as he fiddled with the panel’s
controls. A planet appeared on the screen, small and distant. The screen
wavered and the planet jumped closer, then closer still, and Ziri stared
blankly at the yellow-orange planet and the wisps of white clouds painting its
atmosphere.

Tersi.

She’d never been
off planet, not once, and her parents only rarely. The Tersii weren’t a
spacefaring people. Traders came to them, not the other way around, and her people
were quite content with that arrangement.

But she
recognized the surface on the screen, recognized the large, near-dessert
continents and the jagged spine of the Brula Mountains. Tersi’s one large water
body spun slowly into view. Her parents had taken her to its western shores on
vacation several times as a child. She’d always loved the water and would’ve
dived right in if her mother hadn’t cautioned her against it. The undertow was
too strong for a youngling, the creatures living in the water’s depths untamed
and dangerous. Ziri had stood at the edge of the ocean, her toes just inside
the watermark. The waves had washed over her feet again and again, until her
mother had called her away from the shore.

Would she ever
see it again?

“Tuh, tuh, tuh,”
Ryn crooned, and she jerked her gaze to his. The sympathy in his expression
raked over her nerves, stirring white-hot anger.

“We’re not on
Tersi, are we,” she said, but she didn’t need to hear his answer. She should’ve
realized where they were as soon as she’d awakened in chains surrounded by
cold, functional walls. He hadn’t taken her to his home. He’d taken her to his
spaceship
,
and now, they were flying away to parts unknown while her home, her
life
,
slowly receded behind them.

She stood slowly
and stared down at him, her hands knotted into fists, anger cold and hard in
her gut. There was no escaping him now, nowhere to run, likely nowhere to hide
where he couldn’t easily find her. He could do whatever he wanted to her, and
she couldn’t do a thing about it.

Ziri pivoted on
her heel and retraced her steps back to his sleeping quarters. If that was her
fate, better to get it over with now and deal with the consequences later. And
there would be consequences. She’d see to it, even if she died bringing him to
justice for what he was about to do to her.

* * *

Ziri’s quiet
footsteps faded down the corridor. Ryn scrubbed his hands over his face. That
look she’d pinned on him. She’d understood what the magnified planet on the
viewscreen meant. Something like betrayal had flashed across her expression,
followed swiftly by resignation and a fierce, bitter fury.

If he could’ve
had her another way…

No,
this
was his people’s way and he was honor bound to follow it. Now, he had to help
her understand why. “Patience,” Gared had counseled, and Alna had pulled him
aside later, adding, “Give her something of her own, Ryn. Give her a part of
yourself no other could ever hold.”

There was time
for that, after he’d returned her possessions to her and maybe earned some of
her trust, time for her to learn what kind of man he was.

Ryn input
coordinates for the next jump, checked their surroundings one last time, and
set up a series of alarms, then left the bridge. He detoured by the cargo bay
and sorted through the boxes containing the items he’d taken from her home,
selecting a clean dress as a peace offering. His hand brushed over the slender
book he’d found in her sleep chamber, and on impulse, he tucked it under his
arm.

She was lying on
the bed facing the wall when he entered their quarters. Her knees were curled
up and her arms hugged her middle. Goosebumps covered her exposed skin, and he
frowned. He was used to the
Yarinska
’s cooler air and seldom gave it a
second thought, but she was from a warm region in the middle of its growing
season. Why hadn’t she said anything or tried to find warmer clothing?

He retrieved a
blanket out of a wall storage unit, one Alna had woven for him when he’d
reached manhood. It was the same color as Ziri’s eyes, an odd blue-gray that
reminded him of the shallow edges of the oceans on Abyw. He draped the blanket
over her still form, tucking it gently around her. She stiffened and buried her
face in the pillow under her head, and his gaze was drawn to the chains still
secured to the wall above the bed.

Those would have
to go, but not yet. Not until he was sure she wouldn’t try to escape.

“Ziri,” he said,
and hesitated. She wouldn’t understand him, not a single word. Maybe she
wouldn’t even try to at this point. He crawled across the bed and laid the book
and dress in front of her. They’d give her something to think about, at least,
and maybe soften her to his suit.

He took his time
in the head, stripping down to his mid-thigh length skivvies, preparing for bed,
and ignored the slight rustle of fabric in the other room. When he finished, she
was resting on her back, her fingertips skimming over the image on the front of
the book he’d brought her. She glanced at him and paled, then rolled onto her
side away from him, the book snug against her middle. Her shoulders hunched
inward and her knees nearly touched her chest.

Ryn raked his
fingers through his hair. She was afraid of him, probably thought he’d hurt
her. He didn’t blame her, not after the way he’d taken her, but he hated seeing
her like that. How could he put her fears to rest?

He
double-checked the volume of the room’s alarms, then dimmed the lights and
slipped under the covers behind her, creeping his way to her across the bed
little by little, trying not to startle her. He cupped her shoulder and rubbed
gently, warming her even as she stiffened under his touch. Stubborn. Not a bad
trait for a woman to have. He smiled and curled himself around her, and buried
his face in the long lengths of her hair. It smelled of sunshine and flowers
and old paper. Gradually, she relaxed into him and fell asleep, and he slid his
arm around her waist under the book she clutched. She was so soft, so perfect,
and soon, she’d be his.

When Ziri woke
up, Ryn was gone, as was her dress and the book he’d returned to her. She
scrambled across the mattress searching for them and bit back a relieved sigh.
The book rested on the floor beside the sleeping pallet. The dress was folded
neatly on top of it.

She sagged into
the mattress and stared up at the depressingly gray ceiling of Ryn’s bedroom.
He’d slept beside her for who knew how long without doing more than holding
her. In an odd way, she was grateful. Without him, she would’ve been too cold
to sleep, even under the heavy blanket he’d draped over her. She tugged it up
to her chin now, listening carefully for his footsteps or any noise that would
tell her where he was, and heard nothing over the quiet throb of the engines.

Her wits were
coming back.

She scrubbed a
hand over her eyes. The day before, she’d missed so many details, things she
never would’ve missed under normal circumstances, like the engines’ hum or the
composition of the walls and floor or the minimalistic efficiency of Ryn’s
living quarters.

Things like two
strange men in her home speaking a foreign language. Why hadn’t she fled the
moment she’d discovered Ryn in the outer room of her home? A bitter laugh
bubbled up and over, bursting out of her in a harsh bark of air. The Trusting
Tersii. The nickname should’ve been a compliment. She’d always considered it
so, right until Ryn had kidnapped her.

And since he had
and she had no idea why, she shouldn’t linger in his sleeping pallet. She forced
herself upright in spite of the slight ache in her head and the fatigue dogging
her limbs, and stumbled into the bathing room.

Why had he
kidnapped her if he didn’t want sex?

It was becoming
clear that intimacy of that nature wasn’t his primary motivation. He could’ve
forced her by now. When he’d laid down behind her the evening before, she’d
waited for him to, expected him to chain her hands and strip down her underwear
and push himself into her unwilling body. Instead, he’d held her as his
erection brushed across her bottom, an unstated threat he’d never made good on.
He’d warmed her through and through, murmuring strange words to her in his low
voice, and she, like the lanoo she was beginning to suspect herself of being,
had fallen straight into sleep.

As if he were a
trusted lover and not the man who’d stolen her from her home.

She relieved
herself, washed her hands in the shallow sink, and frowned at her wan face in
the tiny mirror affixed to the wall. He hadn’t exactly stolen her. No, he’d
knelt beside her, pressed his fingers into her shoulder, and she’d
poofed
into darkness while the world spun ‘round and ‘round. She touched her upper
arm, searching for the method he’d used to bring her onto his spaceship, and
spotted a tiny hole in her robe, so small she never would’ve noticed it if she hadn’t
been looking for it.

The outer door
of Ryn’s bedroom whooshed open. He stepped inside dressed in a dark gray
coverall and peered solemnly at her through the bathing room’s open doorway.
“Myengen dun arig, Ziri.”

“Myen…” She
huffed out a small laugh. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Myehn-gehn doon
ah-rihg,” he said, spacing each syllable out. He repeated the phrase once slowly,
then again at a conversational speed. “Myengen dun arig, Ziri.”

A greeting of some
kind, maybe. Hello? Good morning? Glad to see you’re still on the ship? Just to
see how he’d react, she tried it. “Myengen dun arig, Ryn.”

The corners of
his mouth twitched into an almost smile.

Well. Looked
like she’d done exactly what he’d wanted her to. She scowled. That couldn’t
happen again, not unless she could turn the tables on him and get him to do
what she wanted, like take her home or maybe feed her. She rubbed a hand over
the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. Food first, then home.

She nearly
laughed. Good to see she had her priorities straight.

He gestured her into
his bedroom and pressed the heel of his palm against the upper right-hand
corner of a rectangular panel set into the wall at the foot of the sleeping
pallet. It popped open, as the one he’d shown her previously had. He swung the
metal panel down, revealing inset shelving containing stacks of neatly folded
clothing.

Her gaze was
drawn to her dress where it rested on
Onu’s Tears
, folded in the same
precise manner. Apparently, he hadn’t brought her here to tend his spaceship,
either.

He turned,
holding out a thick, black shirt, measuring it against her shoulders. She ran a
hand down the fabric, surprised by its roughness. It wasn’t woven, as the
blanket he’d draped over her the night before was. The individual strands of
thread were easily discernible as they twisted together, forming a sturdy
fabric.

He pulled out a
thinner shirt, also long-sleeved, and a pair of finely-woven black breeches
with pockets running down the sides of the legs, and faced her with a
determined glint in his black eyes. He tucked his fingers around the edge of
her robe and tugged gently, and she had no trouble catching his meaning. It
wasn’t giving in to him if she wanted the same thing he did, was it? And she
desperately wanted warmer clothing. Her nightgown and robe were too thin for
the spaceship’s cool air. Even her dress was no match for the temperature. It had
been crafted for wear during the warm growing season, not for the milder
weather of Arden Hollow’s short winter.

He made the
decision easy for her by settling himself near the doorway, back to her, legs
widespread, arms crossed over his broad chest, like he’d stand there all day if
he needed to.

She stripped out
of her nightclothes as quickly as she could, wished briefly for clean underwear,
and dressed in the too-large clothing he’d given her, thinner shirt first, then
breeches, then the thick, black shirt. She glanced down at herself and stifled
a laugh. The shirts’ sleeves hung well past her fingertips, the breeches’ legs
pooled onto the floor over her bare, dirty feet, but the fabric was doing its
job protecting her from the spaceship’s chill.

Large, masculine
hands snagged one of her arms and rolled the sleeves of the shirts up, bundling
them together around her wrist. Ryn shifted in front of her and tackled the
other set of sleeves, his dark gaze focused on the task.

“Thank you,” she
said, and he glanced up, dark eyebrows arched. She shook her head. How could
she explain her automatic gratitude? Politeness, courtesy, respect. Those were
so ingrained, she never thought about them.

He knelt in
front of her and lifted the hem of her shirts, checking the waistband of the
pants as casually as Arden Hollow’s seamstress might. Ziri hissed in a breath
and held herself still, refusing to retreat or show fear. Ryn ignored her and
rummaged through another storage unit, finally handing her a long length of a
sturdy, flexible material she thought might be leather of some kind. He mimed
putting it around his waist, and she sneered. Even a youngling knew what to do
with a belt.

While she
threaded it through the loops of the breeches, he rummaged some more, then
closed the storage units and knelt in front of her again, adjusting the hems of
the breeches’ legs. He handed her a pair of thick red and orange striped socks,
watched avidly while she sat on the side of his bed and slipped her icy feet
into them, and held out his hand.

Time for more
explorations or maybe a meal. She slipped her hand into his and allowed him to
lead her through his ship. His skin was warmer, she reasoned, and she was
curious and hungry. The quickest way to appease her hunger was cooperation.
That wasn’t giving in, either. It was shoring up her strength until the right
opportunity presented itself.

Thankfully,
their destination was the kitchen area he’d shown her last evening. He urged
her into one of the chairs around the table, sat down beside her at its head,
and nudged a wooden bowl containing thin, colorful strips toward her.

She stared at
it, uncertain. Was this food? And if so, what kind?

He picked up one
of the strips and bit into it. She followed suit much more cautiously,
selecting one carefully, sniffing it, touching it to her lips for a brief taste.
When she was satisfied it was food, she gnawed off a tiny bite. The strip she’d
picked, a dull, dark red, was tart on her tongue and chewy. Dried fruit, maybe.
She finished that strip and selected another with equal care, this one a bright
yellow and far sweeter than the red had been.

Ryn rose and
puttered around the counter holding appliances. A short while later, he set two
steaming bowls down on the table, walked away again, and came back carrying a
small crockery canister and a vacuum-sealed bag. He dropped into his seat and
took her through each one. The crockery held a viscous liquid sweetener, the
bag strips of salty, dried meat, and the bowl a bland, cooked cereal. He doused
his cereal with the sweetener and stuck some of the meat and fruit into the
edges. She followed suit, hoping his food wouldn’t make her sick.

She was too
hungry to care.

They ate in
silence, her as quickly as politeness allowed, him watching her carefully
around methodical bites. She forced herself to slow down, more out of an
attempt to avoid an upset stomach than because she cared what he thought of
her. She didn’t, though her father, the former diplomat and now-advisor to the premier,
would caution her to be a good example of the best Tersi had to offer.

She shook her
head and scraped the last of the cereal from the bowl using the wide spoon Ryn
had given her. If Luden Moko were to be kidnapped, no doubt he’d negotiate
himself out of bondage and strike a trade deal at the same time, equally
favorable to both sides, naturally. If her mother, the fearless Nalan Urum,
were there, she would probably have already trussed her captor up and escaped.

But Ziri wasn’t
her parents. She didn’t have her father’s tact or her mother’s resourcefulness.
She didn’t have their determination or certainty. All she had was a full stomach,
a children’s book of myths, and what few wits she’d managed to scrape together
since waking.

They would have
to do.

* * *

After their
breakfast, Ryn gave Ziri a more thorough tour of the ship. He showed her the
supply room with its hodgepodge of spare parts, bulk food containers that were
too big for the galley, and assorted tools. The engine room was next, and here,
Ziri exhibited the same interest she’d shown last night on the bridge. She
stood inside the door, arms crossed, hands holding her elbows, her mouth
opening and closing as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Her
mouth snapped shut. She leveled a disgruntled glare at him and stalked out of
the room.

He caught up
with her halfway down the main corridor and guided her gently to the cargo bay
and the storage containers holding her possessions. She froze in the doorway,
her eyes fixed on the pots of flowers he’d retrieved from her home.

Here, he was
less sure. Pruxnæ custom dictated that a prospective bridegroom encourage his stolen
bride to break all ties with her past, but he hadn’t been able to. The memory
of waking up in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers lingered in his
mind, and with it the bitter loneliness. He’d give anything to have a memento
of his parents, anything to have something other than the memory of their
deaths filling his heart. How could he deny Ziri what he’d always yearned for?

She knelt in
front of the pots scattered across the bay, stroking spiky leaves, sniffing
brightly colored blossoms. He flipped open the storage containers, then retrieved
a cart. Maybe she’d see her things and draw some measure of comfort from them.
When he returned, she was holding a slim, square object to her chest and
swiping a sleeve across her eyes.

He knelt beside
her and cupped her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Ziri?”

She held out the
object, an image of an older man and woman, her expression so bleak, it hurt to
see it. She pointed to the image and patted her chest, and a torrent of angry words
poured out of her mouth. The language barrier didn’t do a thing to hinder his
understanding. She wanted to go home to her family, to the man whose hair was
the same red-gold as hers and the woman wearing the same fiercely determined
expression as Ziri. Not yet, though. She could contact her family after the
Choosing. Any sooner and she’d find a way to leave him. Any sooner and he’d
never persuade her to stay and claim him.

He’d had her in
his care for less than a full standard day and already he was convinced no
other woman would do. If her intelligence and fearless acceptance of her
situation hadn’t done so, then the attraction he felt for her would’ve. Holding
her had been sweet torture. They fit well together, warming one another in
sleep, and he’d been content to curl around her, comforting her, reassuring her
of his good intentions, even as his body clamored for more.

That would come
soon enough, once she learned to trust him. For now, it was enough to have her
near.

Her words wound
down into a silence broken by the harsh pants of her breath. Tears glittered on
her cheeks. Separation from her family was necessary, but it was temporary.
Kraden AI. With it, he could’ve explained the situation and spared her this
grief. First chance he got, he’d pick up an autolearner. Until then, he’d
simply have to teach her what he could.