The Marann by Sky Warrior Book Publishing Read Free Book Online Page A

deactivated it.
    “It is my honor,” he murmured,
accompanying her back to the high table. When he had settled her in
the chair at the left hand of his own, he went back to the tables
of food to select his own meal. In a low voice, he ordered a
servant to remove the new tutor’s device during the night and have
it repaired to no longer emit its irritating noise. Then, returning
to the table, he took his place in the heavy chair to find she had
waited for him to begin her own meal.
    “A human custom, to wait?” he
asked.
    Marianne nodded, taking in the amount
of food in front of him with disbelief. His eyes glinted as he
started on his meal, and she turned to her own. Mimicking the
eating habits she saw around her, she tore the grain roll in two
and took an experimental bite from one half.
    The glaze was sweet, and the bready
interior delicious and herby, but moments later a fierce afterburn lit a fire in her mouth and throat. Gasping, she grabbed
her mug and took a long drink. The fire went out, much to her
amazement. She panted, catching her breath, glancing at the Sural
to find him regarding her with concern written across his
face.
    “Are you in distress?” he
asked.
    She nodded, then shook her head, then
coughed a little and started to laugh. “I will be all right,” she
said. She panted and fanned her mouth. “I don’t know the Tolari
word.”
    “What is your word for it?”
    “Spicy hot,” Marianne answered in
English. “Like a fire in the mouth,” she added in
Tolari.
    “We do not have this
concept.”
    She shrugged. “I can become accustomed
to it.” She drew her brows together as she examined the piece of
fruit she had brought back from the tables near the kitchen. It was
purple and about the size of a man’s clenched fist. “How do I eat
this?”
    The Sural offered a hand, and she
passed it to him. He demonstrated where to start peeling and
started it for her before handing it back. “Peel half, then eat,”
he advised.
    She followed his directions and,
taking caution from her experience with the grain roll, took a
small first bite. Her eyes popped at the sweet and unusual flavor.
“Sweet,” she said. “Like a banana .” She took another bite,
nodding and smiling as she chewed.
    The Sural gave a satisfied nod and
picked up his soup, drinking from the bowl. He alternated the soup
with substantial bites of grain roll, which he often dipped in the
soup first.
    “Do you have—” She paused, searching
for words. “Small tools to eat food? Or small flat trays to hold
it?”
    He lifted an eyebrow at her, smiling
and shaking his head. She returned to her grain roll, eating small
bites with liberal amounts of tea. Despite the heat-reducing
properties of the tea, the spiciness added up. She leaned back with
her tea after finishing half the roll, her stomach’s complaints
reduced to something she could ignore.
    The Sural stared at her, sipping his
own tea, his eyes studying hers. She tried and failed to hold back
a grin. Even aliens, it seemed, couldn’t help noticing her
eyes.
    “Do you think you will be content here
among my people, proctor?” he asked.
    She leaned back to think. As tiring
and overwhelming as the last two days had been, she wanted to
bounce out of her chair and dance. She had gained the Sural’s
acceptance where others had failed. “Yes, I believe I will.” The
answer surprised her. “I’m glad I came.”
    He gave her a sharp look. “Did you not
want to come to Tolar?”
    “Well,” she began, shifting in the
chair. Had she given it away somehow that she hadn’t wanted to
leave Earth? Anxiety jabbed her in the stomach. “Well.”
    The Sural seemed to focus on her. She
fidgeted with her unfinished roll.
    “Do not fear me,” he said, his
expression becoming serious. “I will never harm you. I have pledged
my life on it to your government.”
    “You can send me away,
though.”
    “I have said you may stay. I neither
give nor change my word at whim.”
    She paused.