Human Bait

Chapter 40: Such Joy

My brain worked on overdrive while I gave climbing lessons to eager children. When Serigg said I was not safe at the Refuge, was she talking about the growing hostilities between Northerners and Southies? Or did she know something about the Head Chef?

Uzmed had thumped on my door at a quarter past nine, reeking of alcohol, and led me to a vacant room. When he brandished a plastic knife, I feared he would bury it in my gut. Instead, he launched into a  surprisingly well-structured lesson. Still, I couldn't help wondering if self-defense lessons with Uzmed would actually help me defend myself or just provide a convenient way for Uzmed to kill me if and when he saw fit.

An hour later, I staggered back to my room with aching muscles, a dozen welts, and meager gains in combat skills. I planned to parse through my mother's book again to hunt for connections to Serigg's allegations. Instead, I flopped down on my bed and didn't think about Serigg or the Refuge or even the Head Chef.

I only thought about Rekkan.

Serigg's concerns about him did not worry me. His mind worked differently? All minds worked differently, and I liked his mind just the way it was. But I could not make sense of his recent harsh words and evasion. A part of me wanted to apologize for my unknown misstep, but I bucked the inclination. He was the one who needed to apologize. The biggest change for us moving to the Refuge was the addition of people, and we came here because he wanted me to save them. How could I save anyone without even talking to them?

The next morning, I hobbled toward the cafeteria like my legs were stilts. As I pushed through the crowd of Southies to the tune of "Freedom, freedom at last," I drew a steadying breath and clamped down on a rush of nerves and excitement. I made my way to my seat during "Isn't there such joy." But as the singer closed with "Forget all of your troubles and be free," I involuntarily sought out Rekkan.

He stood still among the surging Northerners like a boulder breaching a stream, and his eyes latched on me. I was reminded of the Overcooked swarming around him toward the minefield. But that day, his relaxed posture oozed calm confidence. Now, his jaw clenched, and his hands formed fists below the thumbs hitched in his pockets.

In several jerky movements, I locked down into my usual chair and stared at my strumming fingers. Mekkar, Ivogg, Zhina, and the rest of the usual group filed into their usual seats and started up a conversation, but my attention fastened to the footsteps coming toward us. I listened to the heel-to-toe of each boot, the steady rhythm, the slight pitch difference between the landing of his muscular leg and his lighter bionic one.

Behind the chair beside me, he stopped. Though I felt his eyes on me, I kept my gaze on my hands, squeezing my fingers one at a time. Breathe steady. I'm not nervous.

How do I look when I'm not nervous?

"Can I sit here?"

At the sound of his soft bass, my head jerked up of its own accord. His eyes met mine, brow furrowed and gaze tentative.

"Of course," I croaked.

He lowered into the chair, movements carefully controlled, and folded his hands in front of him as if at a job interview.

With a clunk and whir, breakfast arrived. A rainbow of fresh fruits heaped high, steam wafted from nut breads, and sausages glistened. While everyone else helped themselves to food, Rekkan and I remained motionless.

Rekkan side-glanced me and tapped a finger over his empty plate. "You were walking a bit... well, you look sore." His soft voice held an invitation, not a demand.

Ether, I wanted to tell him the truth. But as much as I trusted Rekkan not to hurt me, I wasn't sure what he would do if he knew Southies had attacked me... and that I was trusting a drunken deserter from the Seven Sentries to train me.