Captive - Cheryl Brooks Page 0,46

crude drawing of a woman with long curly hair and pointed ears. Surrounded by so many images of herself gave Klara the creeps, but she managed to suppress a shudder while taking a seat at the table.

The others joined her—Nexbit and Temfilk looking anxious but pleased, the Racks chattering with anticipation, and Moe, who was still glowering at her. Velkma closed the door behind them. They’d barely had time to settle in their places when a knock at the door caused her to open it again.

She smiled and took a tray from a woman who was flanked by several others. “The offerings are already arriving,” she said. “At this rate, I won’t even have to cook.”

The donor, a younger and only slightly less ragged version of their hostess, waved from the doorway. “We know it isn’t much, but we brought whatever we had.” She let out a long sigh and clasped her hands to her bosom. “We’ve been waiting so long for this happy, happy day.”

“Might be too soon to be calling it that,” Klara muttered.

“Killjoy,” said Temfilk, who had leaped to his feet at the sight of the laden tray. He bowed low before the women. “Thank you, kind ladies. We graciously accept this gift.”

Surprisingly, Temfilk’s formal delivery had the women simpering and tittering. If they’d been Norludian, he might’ve gotten lucky. However, given that they were all Haedusian, she couldn’t imagine even the youngest of them would’ve tempted him in any way.

Unlike the way Klara felt about Moe. After a lifetime of avoiding men, she found it hard to believe Moe could’ve changed her attitude overnight. And he hadn’t, really. Sure, she could admire him and appreciate the normalcy of a blossoming relationship between them, but she wasn’t lusting after him. At least, not at the moment. The whole revolution thing had been quite successful in diverting her mind from any thoughts of romance.

Especially since he still seemed a bit put out with her.

Conversation ceased the moment Velkma set the food on the table. It was no better or worse fare than they’d managed to steal in the past, but the plentiful nature of it was staggering. They truly were beggars sitting down at a feast. Four of the other ladies lingered, offering to fetch whatever any of them might need or want. Klara hated to break it to them, but she still didn’t get how any of this might result in Pelarus’s downfall. A favorable outcome for any form of revolt was highly unlikely. Case in point, the clash that had created the Barrens.

Plus, if what she’d observed thus far was any indication, a revolution now would likely result in a battle between the sexes. The women seemed more resourceful than the males, possibly because they were actually trying to make their lives better. The men appeared to have given up, taking a rather fatalistic view of Pelarus’s rule. And with the battle in the Barrens as proof that resistance was futile, who could blame them?

Still, if the sort of harassment she and her gang had perpetrated were implemented on a much larger scale, Pelarus might realize that controlling the masses was impossible. A handful of henchmen, especially paid mercenaries, couldn’t rule a populace that simply refused to cooperate.

That strategy might work.

But where to start?

She glanced up to find that, during her ruminations, any food that wasn’t on her plate had disappeared.

“You gonna eat that, boss?” Nexbit asked, nodding hopefully toward the few limp vegetables and dried fruits on her plate.

She shook her head and pushed the plate toward him. “You can have it. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“You should be,” Temfilk scolded. “You didn’t eat a thing.”

“Yes, I did,” she protested. “Just not a lot.” And yet, despite the meager amount, her appetite had vanished.

“Come on now, Klara,” Temfilk said firmly. “You don’t have to give up food to keep us from going hungry.” He patted his full belly. “At least, not today.”

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “I’ll eat it. Just don’t come crying to me if you’re hungry later.”

Nexbit placed a gentle hand on hers. “Klara, dear, we will be hungry later whether you clean your plate or not.”

He had a point.

She picked up a dried judakle fruit and popped it in her mouth. As experience had taught her, she allowed her saliva to soften it for a moment before even attempting to chew. “There,” she said around the sticky mass. “Happy now?”

“Positively thrilled,” Nexbit assured her.

Velkma rose from the table. “I believe this event calls