been awhile. Sometime yesterday, I think."
"Quin," he called out. "Don't we have some leftover stew in the chiller?"
"No!" Tee'ah's belly contracted at the mere thought of congealed stew, no matter how delicious it might be once heated. "But thank you," she added quickly, trying to blunt the initial sharpness of her tone with a smile. The last thing she wanted was to rebuff the Earth dweller's kindness; he might listen to that foul-tempered troll Quin and toss her off the ship. She'd lost her starspeeder and most of her credits. If she didn't soon shake off the aftereffects of the whiskey she'd boasted about drinking all the time, she'd lose this job, too. If that happened, her dreams of a new life were over. Broke and unemployed, a woman's chances of surviving in the frontier diminished to nearly zero.
No matter what, she must stay on this ship.
In that case, she'd better know who her captain was. Ian Stone's similarities to Ian Hamilton were numerous and striking. Her stomach flip-flopped with the mere thought of being on the same starship as Rom's handpicked heir. From all reports the crown prince was an unfailing devotee of Vash custom, a model heir. If he were to find out who she was, he'd certainly order her to return home. Her personal desires would mean no more to him than they had to her father. She was ungrateful, disobedient; she'd run from an arranged marriage and shamed her parents in the process.
Regret lay heavy in her chest, and perhaps it always would. Humiliating her family wasn't what she'd set out to accomplish, but sadly it was what would come of her actions.
Woozy with nausea and exhaustion, she listened carefully to Ian's conversations with his crew: discussions of mundane shipboard matters, the goods stored in the cargo hold, ordinary trader lingo. She noted that the Earth dweller needed a shave, and that his wavy dark brown hair brushed the bottom of his neck, a length longer than Vash standards. His jeans and eye-shaders completed the image of a dangerous and handsome space rogue. She couldn't fathom his being the crown prince. He was so marvelously alien; nothing about his behavior reflected the courtly manners and rigid tradition of a Vash castle.
Anxiety and the natural stimulant in tock made her pulse race. Her empty stomach worsened the effect. In fact, hunger was likely the reason the liquor had played havoc with her system in the first place. So were shock, lack of sleep, and physical exhaustion from pushing the starspeeder and her body to the limit. While drunkenness couldn't be so readily shrugged off, exhaustion and hunger could be overcome.
She set her mug on the table. "On second thought, I think I will have something to eat. Something light, if you don't mind."
Quin dropped a few slices of lar-bread onto a plate. Tee'ah bypassed the jar of sticky jam he offered and forced herself to eat the flatbread plain. When she was sure the bread would stay down, she drank what was left in her mug. This time Ian refilled it, while his acid-tongued ogre of a mechanic paced behind her, his impatient footsteps thundering in Tee'ah's aching head, his skeptical gaze boring into her back. Slowly the fog dulling her senses began to retreat like dust from Mistraal's skies after a Tjhu'nam’ s passage.
Time elapsed. A few hours, she guessed. Ian scrutinized the Earth-made chronograph on his wrist and then her. "So. When do you think you might be able to fly me off this rock?" Brows raised, he gave her a long, questioning, intensely appraising stare.
A sense of purpose swept through her, the desire to surpass Ian's expectations and those of the crew. This was her chance to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than a coddled princess, more than a woman whose identity would be defined by the accomplishments of a future mate.
"I'm ready now," she said, and stood. Light-headedness swept through her. She gulped a few breaths and gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
Quin balked.
"Quin," he called out. "Don't we have some leftover stew in the chiller?"
"No!" Tee'ah's belly contracted at the mere thought of congealed stew, no matter how delicious it might be once heated. "But thank you," she added quickly, trying to blunt the initial sharpness of her tone with a smile. The last thing she wanted was to rebuff the Earth dweller's kindness; he might listen to that foul-tempered troll Quin and toss her off the ship. She'd lost her starspeeder and most of her credits. If she didn't soon shake off the aftereffects of the whiskey she'd boasted about drinking all the time, she'd lose this job, too. If that happened, her dreams of a new life were over. Broke and unemployed, a woman's chances of surviving in the frontier diminished to nearly zero.
No matter what, she must stay on this ship.
In that case, she'd better know who her captain was. Ian Stone's similarities to Ian Hamilton were numerous and striking. Her stomach flip-flopped with the mere thought of being on the same starship as Rom's handpicked heir. From all reports the crown prince was an unfailing devotee of Vash custom, a model heir. If he were to find out who she was, he'd certainly order her to return home. Her personal desires would mean no more to him than they had to her father. She was ungrateful, disobedient; she'd run from an arranged marriage and shamed her parents in the process.
Regret lay heavy in her chest, and perhaps it always would. Humiliating her family wasn't what she'd set out to accomplish, but sadly it was what would come of her actions.
Woozy with nausea and exhaustion, she listened carefully to Ian's conversations with his crew: discussions of mundane shipboard matters, the goods stored in the cargo hold, ordinary trader lingo. She noted that the Earth dweller needed a shave, and that his wavy dark brown hair brushed the bottom of his neck, a length longer than Vash standards. His jeans and eye-shaders completed the image of a dangerous and handsome space rogue. She couldn't fathom his being the crown prince. He was so marvelously alien; nothing about his behavior reflected the courtly manners and rigid tradition of a Vash castle.
Anxiety and the natural stimulant in tock made her pulse race. Her empty stomach worsened the effect. In fact, hunger was likely the reason the liquor had played havoc with her system in the first place. So were shock, lack of sleep, and physical exhaustion from pushing the starspeeder and her body to the limit. While drunkenness couldn't be so readily shrugged off, exhaustion and hunger could be overcome.
She set her mug on the table. "On second thought, I think I will have something to eat. Something light, if you don't mind."
Quin dropped a few slices of lar-bread onto a plate. Tee'ah bypassed the jar of sticky jam he offered and forced herself to eat the flatbread plain. When she was sure the bread would stay down, she drank what was left in her mug. This time Ian refilled it, while his acid-tongued ogre of a mechanic paced behind her, his impatient footsteps thundering in Tee'ah's aching head, his skeptical gaze boring into her back. Slowly the fog dulling her senses began to retreat like dust from Mistraal's skies after a Tjhu'nam’ s passage.
Time elapsed. A few hours, she guessed. Ian scrutinized the Earth-made chronograph on his wrist and then her. "So. When do you think you might be able to fly me off this rock?" Brows raised, he gave her a long, questioning, intensely appraising stare.
A sense of purpose swept through her, the desire to surpass Ian's expectations and those of the crew. This was her chance to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than a coddled princess, more than a woman whose identity would be defined by the accomplishments of a future mate.
"I'm ready now," she said, and stood. Light-headedness swept through her. She gulped a few breaths and gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.
Quin balked.
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