to build a castle out of stone but forgets the importance of covering her roof. One slab of fired clay upon another looks like ‘nothing’ to you? You will have exactly one monsoon before you learn this wisdom: there is nothing of insignificance when you’re assembling your rookery—least of all your roof’s tiles. And each one of your rookeries,” he directs his gaze to all of us now, because everyone’s watching him, eyes glued on him like he’s a moody sabertooth tiger looking down on a herd of itty bitty edible antelope, “will require thousands of tiles.” His eyes lock back on Mandi. “And today you will learn to make them.”
Mandi wisely has no argument for this and instead looks to her man-cat—(Gracie is totally right: wow, is he fun to watch!) who has been staring at her. Strangely, his gaze drops to her hands. Pointedly.
Grimacing, Mandi darts a nervous glance Bash’s way. Then she’s back to connecting eyes with her cat.
Moving to stand beside Bash, I set my polishing rag down on the smithing table, fascinated by this silent interplay.
“What are you doing,” Bash murmurs beside me. “Lazy humans get beaten. At least pretend to keep moving.”
“Guess I’ll take the beating. I have to watch this,” I whisper to him. “Shhh.”
“I did not just receive a shushing,” Bash marvels. “Not when you’re within my tail’s striking distance.”
“Tell your tail to shut up and wait—I want to see what happens with Mandi’s cat!”
“I’ll demonstrate what happens to employees who try to boss their master by lashing you until you can’t walk, human,” Bash warns.
“Your kinky fantasies can wait two seconds,” I tell him, still gawking at Mandi and her alien. Because her alien’s eyes are unimpressed slits, and he’s pinned his ears flat, and his whiskers are all bunched because his lips have curled up over his pronounced incisors. And he’s focusing a serious glare on Mandi’s hands.
Mandi is looking at her hands too. Then she darts another glance at Bash, this time all dread and reluctance.
“I think Mandi’s hands are hurt,” I whisper in a not-entirely-appropriate amount of extreme (worried—totally) excitement. It’s just that this is getting interesting.
Bash makes a derisive sound that thumps in the hollow chamber located in his nose. I don’t comment; it’s a weird Rakhii thing. “Do I seem as if I didn’t notice this? Overseeing operations is my job, you insufferable mite. Why do you think she’s making tiles today and not tearing up her wounded hands with more rough rock?”
All of my attention, every last scrap, shoots to Bash.
Hands on hips, Bash is ignoring me now, surveying the minions he has but doesn’t want.
“You’re going to freak them out,” I warn him, distracted.
Bash slices me a side-glare. “You think I care.”
I’m opening my mouth to toss something back at him… but I can’t. Because I realize that he does. My eyes find the two other women that Bash called out for tile-making duty, and I see that they’re both favoring their hands, frequently cradling their own palms.
Oh my gosh.
Oh my gosh—Bash watches out for us. I’ve heard the bitching from the girls about him doling out stupid jobs. There’s sit-down jobs and odd jobs and all sorts of tasks that have nothing to do with village-building… except that every part of what we do here goes into making a village. Like Bash said, we’re going to need all the pieces to make up the whole.
Mandi is still carrying on a silent conversation with her cat, and she’s wavering, but she’s not quite able to make herself walk up to Bash and ask him to spit-heal her hands. She’s glancing around, I think looking for other Rakhii—any other Rakhii, but it’s early, meaning it’s just hobs and humans here so far. A lot of the Rakhii have families or pregnant mates, and they tend to filter in later in the morning.
Like they’re conjured by my conclusion, Zadeon and Callie appear with baby Baskian.
And Mandi’s shoulders hunch, and her glance Bash’s way is stricken.
I’ve heard that Mandi did not play nice with Callie, not when they all first got here. Things have changed a lot since then I guess, because I’ve never seen or heard Mandi say anything rude in Callie’s direction—but while Callie seems to hold no ill-will for whatever went down, Zadeon glares at Mandi like he’d like to set her on fire just about every other second she so much as breathes Callie’s air.
Clearly, Mandi knows this and is reluctant to seek