see Kula?” he asks us.
Raiska nods. “Yes. I am his half-brother.”
The host looks up at Raiska’s horns and nods understanding. “I’ll take you to him then. Is he expecting you?”
By the host’s tone, it’s very clear that Kula is indeed not expecting Raiska.
Raiska shakes his head, and the host forces a smile. HIs one big eye scans left to right and settles on me. “Are you his Muru?”
“Muru?” I ask.
Raiska coughs loud enough to end our conversation, and he takes a step forward. “Just take me to Kula.”
The host bristles and nods to us. “Right this way.”
“Is this where Kula usually eats? Kind of fancy for a warrior, isn’t it?” I whisper to Raiska as we walk.
I expect to be taken to some other room with more tables, and to see Kula eating his meal. I imagine him looking a lot like Raiska, shirtless with a kilt.
Instead, the host takes us through a pair of double doors that slide open as we approach.
Intense smells of alien spices and other things my nose and brain can’t identify hit me all at once. The bustle and noise of the kitchen is a stark contrast to the calm quiet of the dining room. Dozens of people are rushing back and forth, gathering, chopping, and deseeding various ingredients—most of which are completely alien to me. I think I maybe see a tomato, but I realize it might just look like a tomato and taste entirely different.
The bustle dies down as we walk in, and everyone slowly looks up at us.
There’s a massive, horned man in the back stirring a pot. I only see his back, and he speaks without turning around. His voice booms across the kitchen. “Get back to work, or I will end all of you!”
He turns around to see everyone staring at us. When he sees Raiska, he drops his spoon. “Raiska.”
Kula is nearly as big as Raiska. He’s wearing a white chef’s suit and an apron. Still, his body looks like a warrior’s, and if there were any doubt, he has a big scar across his face. It shimmers the same colors as Raiska’s scythe.
“Kula,” Raiska says, his voice even less warm than Kula’s.
Kula looks over at me, and then back at Raiska. He nods slowly. “What are you doing here, brother.”
I’ve never heard the word “brother” sound so much like an insult. Raiska, his hand still on my back, nudges me forward. We approach Kula, and the kitchen staff clears like the sea cleared for Moses as we move toward Kula.
The kitchen has suddenly become quieter than the dining room. The sounds of soups and broths bubbling, and root vegetables sizzling are the loudest sounds in the kitchen.
I can hear my own footsteps as we approach Kula. I’m pretty sure I can see a big vein twitching on his blue-skinned neck.
Raiska stops several feet short of Kula. We’re not quite close enough to shake his hand, not that it seems a handshake is at all going to happen here.
“This human was in danger, Kula,” Raiska says. “I have sworn myself to protect her. The Ulkar have chosen her for the Breeding Games, and I am greatly outnumbered.”
“Step away from my brother, little human,” Kula says.
I look up at Raiska, and Raiska shakes his head. “You do not tell her what to do, Kula, I tell her what to do!”
Now doesn’t seem like the time to tell Raiska that I am not his slave.
“Step away now,” Kula says. “I don’t want to hurt you, human.”
Raiska nods to me, and I step back a few paces, putting Raiska between myself and Kula.
Even with an apron, Kula does look just as much like a warrior as Raiska. He lowers his head so that his horns point toward Raiska.
Raiska’s hands ball up into fists.
Kula growls and lunges forward. His fist connects right into Raiska’s jaw. His horns plow into his chest.
Raiska stumbles backward, but punches back. He hits Kula upside the skull.
The brothers start punching and headbutting each other with incredible speed.
The cooks do not seem especially surprised, and I even see a few smiling.
Raiska throws Kula, and he lands on top of a counter. His massive body knocks several full pots onto the ground. Their contents spill all over the tiled floor. Raiska leaps onto the counter and digs his knee into Kula’s neck. He grips Kula by the horns and snarls at him.
“You still can fight, brother?” Raiska shouts. “Can you still wield your axe, or only a small little wooden