Her mouth curls slightly. "Do I look like I'm alone?"
"I don't have time for games, Mother." I lean over my desk, frustrated with all of this. "Lord Varrik won't accept my calls. Is there a reason why?"
My mother tenses slightly. "Why are you calling Varrik?"
"I've found something." I don't dare say what it is—not on a comm line that can be intercepted by anyone. Not when she has someone in her rooms with her. "Something that could have ramifications for our family name. I'm curious if that's why Lord Varrik won't accept my calls."
Lady Naasi looks uneasy. She glances around and then leans in. "Whatever you think you've found, my son, stay out of it. All of it."
Stay out? Impossible. I'm already knee-deep. "Mother—"
"I'm not going to speak about this right now, Straik. Nor am I going to speak about it in the future." She gives me a practiced smile, one that I've seen her give to others a million times. It's the smile that says she is done with the situation. "Stay out of all of it, and leave Varrik alone. The less we communicate with the polluted end of the family, the better." Her smile grows tight. "Now, did you have anything else? No?" She doesn't give me a chance to answer and just keeps smiling sweetly. "It was lovely of you to call, my son. I'll talk to you soon."
And she terminates the connection.
I sigh in frustration. I am irritated, but unsurprised. It's not as if I can casually ask, Mother, are we heading a slave ring? over a vid call. Even so, I got the impression she knew exactly what I was referring to. The thought makes my stomach churn.
Has everyone known about this except me?
I straighten. Stare at my reflection in the vid-screen. For a moment, I think I look just like my mother—long, perfectly groomed hair. An ear crusted with jewelry. Horns exquisitely etched with house symbols and capped with the finest metal. Expensive, heavily embroidered robes.
I look like just another spoiled lordling. Just another sa'Rin brat-lord who cares about nothing and calls his mother for credits. I scowl at my reflection…and reach into my desk, pulling out a small knife I keep there. It's razor-sharp, which means it's perfect for my needs. I grab one handful of hair and just…slice. I cut away large hanks of hair that goes all the way to my waist, watching as it drops to the surface of my desk. When I'm done carving away at my appearance, I look like a keffing mess. My hair sticks up everywhere in ugly spikes of all different lengths, but…I don't look like the old me.
Which is something, at least.
"Computer," I snarl. "I'm heading to my quarters. Draw me a bath."
"Shall I drain the water in the tub right now, Lord Straik?"
I pause, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Your bathtub is currently occupied. Shall I drain it for you?"
Is it, now?
"No, leave it alone." I suspect I'm about to find out just what's been bothering me on this ship.
6
RUTH
It's taken all of a day before I break down and decide to use the tub.
I've been watching Straik for days now, since I figure that it's my duty to continue spying. Just because I can't escape the ship doesn't mean that I should give up. I came here to watch Straik and figure out what he was up to. That hasn't changed. Now, though, I've added a little something to the list—Make Straik Miserable.
And really, this works perfectly into my plan. I figure I'll show up in his room, maybe cut a few holes into his clothes, mess up his bed, grime up his tub, spread food crumbs all over the floor and then disappear again. He's clearly a man that values neatness and order, and I intend to be the scourge that brings dust and grime and human cooties to his quarters. Best part of all? He'll have no idea what the fuck is happening.
I love it.
Because I've been watching Straik for the last several days, I know his patterns pretty well. I know when he mopes in his quarters, and I know when he disappears for hours. When the scents from the mess hall drift through the ship, I know it's dinner time and therefore Straik will be gone for a while. He likes to eat with his men, even if they don't return the sentiment. After dinner, he retreats to his office and works for a while, and then he eventually swings back to his rooms for a bath and then bedtime.
Plenty of time for me to cause some chaos.
When I'm sure the coast is clear, I pry up the edge of the grate that I'm currently hiding in. My fingernails are torn up, but no one will notice unless they go looking for paint chipping on the grate next to the laundry chute outside of Straik's quarters. I peer down the hall as I get to my feet, but no one's around. Either they're very confident their shit is handled, or no one checks the security cameras—if they have any—because they should have found me ages ago. Too bad for them.
I put my hand on the pad that allows entrance to Straik's quarters, and I feel a surge of pure satisfaction when the doors slide open. I step inside, breathe deep, and then grin.
I am gonna fuck his shit up.
At first, I play it cool. I open his wardrobe and take out a piece of clothing. I lift my arm and rub my pits with it as I study the rest of his closet. Black, black and more black. I shouldn't be surprised. He's damn dramatic. I hang the robe in my hands back up and pull down another, using my small, blunt knife to pull stitches out from the sleeve as I do. His bed looks incredibly inviting, but I find myself lured toward the tub, instead.
My skin itches with dirt. It's the ducts, I tell myself. The air is constantly filtered through them and that's why every inch of me feels filthy. It's certainly not because his tub is enormous and the soaps smell inviting and I've dreamed about doing this ever since I saw him take a soak.
His clothes can wait another day. I can mess up the bed some other time. For now, though…bathing. With an almost unholy glee, I prance toward the tub. The control pad is easy enough to figure out—I've watched him hit the buttons for the last several days, and when the tub fills up with hot water, I practically moan with excitement. I sniff the bottles and cakes of soap, trying to figure out the best ones to use. I add a bit of a flower-scented oil to the tub and when it foams, turning a pale, pretty lavender, I can resist no longer. I strip my clothes off and sink in up to my neck.
Heaven. Sheer heaven.
I luxuriate, letting the heat of the water soak into my muscles. I want to stay here forever. I close my eyes, enjoying the bath, and I try not to think of the fact that I'm going to have to put my dirty, worn jumper back on. It's not soft, the fabric made of something sturdy and alien, and I think of Straik's soft, flowing black robes. I wonder if he'd notice if I stole one? It'd be lovely to cuddle in while I'm hiding in the cold vents.
Definitely gonna steal his clothes, I decide as I sink under the water and wet my hair. When I resurface, I brush the water out of my eyes and study his soaps, looking for something that resembles shampoo. I pick one and wash up, then scrub at my skin. God, I smell so good now. Have I ever smelled this nice? This clean? Has my hair ever felt this soft? My mood is getting better by the moment, and I sink down into the water again to rinse my hair, shaking it out under the surface.