Chapter 8

Peter arrived in the kitchen to find he was its sole occupant. His worry that he would have to scrounge up breakfast for himself was short-lived when he heard the sounds of Bella’s humming coming from the open doorway leading to the pantry. He seated himself at a stool at the side table where the staff usually ate informally. The table had been partially cleared, but there were signs it had been used recently.

“Good morning, Milord,” Bella said cheerfully as she returned carrying a basket of potatoes.

“Good morning, Bella. I’m not too late for breakfast, am I?”

“Not at all!” Bella replied. “Hamm and the new man, Reed, just finished up and left to go tend the animals. I think they left you some coffee.”

Peter reached up to grab an empty mug from the cupboard adjacent to the table while Bella grabbed an oven mitt to fetch him the coffee percolator from where it sat simmering on the cooktop.

Peter used his robe’s sleeve to protect himself from the container’s hot metal handle and poured himself a mug of black coffee. The heavenly aroma reminded him to check the manor’s store of the ground bean, as it had been a while since he returned with any from Earth. Kreven did not have the same type of coffee as Earth, so he’d been forced to import his favorite blends to better fuel his caffeine addiction.

Peter sipped and then turned to Bella. “What’s left to eat this morning?”

“There’s fresh bread I can toast, and the boys left some hyseeth porridge in the pot. I’ve plenty of eggs left this morning, as well,” she replied.

“Eggs sound good!” Peter said. “Two over medium, please ... and a bowl of porridge with honey.”

Bella brought him a bowl of boiled hyseeth and set out butter, cream, and honey for topping. She then stoked up the top firebox in the range and set a small cast iron skillet to heating.

“How’s your daughter getting on with Bemi?” Peter asked as he added cream and honey to his porridge. Bella did not answer immediately, and Peter looked up to catch the woman wearing a terse expression.

“Hhm ... fine, Milord,” she finally replied. From the mix of expressions that crossed her face while she hesitated, Peter knew her response was coached.

He set his spoon down and looked at his cook. “I hope they aren’t fighting?”

“They are both teenage girls, Milord,” Bella replied with a snort. “Fighting is but one aspect of their complicated relationship. But they can also coexist, even friendly at times. In some ways, your new apprentice is like the older sister Jaciee never had.”

Bemi was almost through her teen years while Bella’s daughter Jaciee was only a year into them.

“ ... And,” Bella continued, “Jaciee enjoys the stories Bemilda tells of her birth world.”

Peter noted Bella accompanied that statement with a clear frown. Bemi sharing stories of a technological Earth was likely fascinating to anyone Kreven-born. Bemi sharing stories of her troubled youth or her sexual abuse at the hands of someone old enough to be her father might be another matter. Jaciee was growing up fast enough already without having her head filled with misguided notions or fixations.

“Do you wish me to speak to Bemi?” he asked his villein carefully.

Again, Bella hesitated. Peter saw that her lips were pursed as she cracked his eggs into the sizzling melted bacon grease. Finally, she turned to him. “No, Milord. The ink has been spilled in that regard. Being around Tevi and Stren broadened Jaciee’s world faster than Hamm and I would have liked. And now with your apprentice being here, including all that that entails ... like any mother, I just worry.”

Peter understood. Jaciee was impressionable, and having the older teenaged and very beautiful Bemi suddenly living in the manor and working intimately with her parents’ master, a person whom the nubile girl had long been infatuated with, might lead to Jaciee doing something rash.

“I will always do what I can to see Jaciee comes to no harm,” Peter vowed softly to Bella.

“I know that, Milord,” she replied while using her apron to wipe away a tear. “And the restraint you’ve shown when faced with Jaciee’s obvious flirtations toward you has been appreciated. No, it’s the pressure Jaciee thinks she’s now under to grow up to match Bemi!”

“And I only added to your worries by setting plans in motion to have Jaciee go work with Bemi’s mother at the inn?”

Bella turned away again, pretending to be busy cooking the eggs, but Peter saw her nod.

“I’m sorry, Bella. I can speak—”

“No, Milord,” Bella interrupted with a resolved look. “Jaciee is almost fourteen. She has finally gotten past the death of Rosie, and this is her time to grow. She needs to learn, and seeing how the world works off this isolated island will be good for her. From what I have heard of Bemilda’s mother, Henri will try to ensure my daughter comes to no harm while allowing her the space Jaciee needs right now to figure things out on her own. I’ve already asked Miranda to share with Jaciee some of the contraceptive potions you supply her as a precaution ... assuming you are agreeable, of course?”

Bella was referring to the contraceptive potions his XO drank monthly to prevent pregnancy. Bella never asked for any before, and Peter assumed she and Hamm wouldn’t mind if she became pregnant with a third child. Or, he thought, looking at Bella again, maybe his cook had passed the milestone of menopause early, as was known to happen to some Kreven-human women, and was now past her childbearing years.

“Of course, Bella,” he replied. “That’s perfectly fine. A hard decision for a mother, I’m sure, but a wise precaution indeed.”

“Not that hard, Milord,” Bella said with a small smile. “I’m not too old to remember what I was like when I was Jaciee’s age. I’d met Hamm and ... um, well, never mind.”

She’d cut off her statement after seeing his grin. The topic did remind Peter that Bemi would also have to be supplied with contraceptive potion while at the manor and away from her mother. He then realized that Miranda would have already thought of that and made arrangements, especially if Bella had reminded her by asking for the potions for Jaciee. Peter made note to trade for greater quantities of the substance from the herbalist who provided the contraceptive tonic.

His awkward conversation with Bella was interrupted when Miranda entered the kitchen with Nahuul following. Peter noticed the girl was allowing herself to be led by holding onto Miranda’s elbow sleeve as was customary for the blind. Miranda was wearing a smirk, which indicated she’d overheard at least some of Peter and Bella’s conversation.

Miranda led Nahuul to the table and guided the young woman’s hand to the empty stool opposite his. Nahuul felt the stool and the table in front and got herself situated. As she leaned forward, her short shift rode up enough to reveal she was not wearing bottom small clothing. Peter’s eyes were drawn down the shift’s front to her exposed breasts and the small scar lying between them. The scar was where the dragons had implanted an ice crystal shard to allow the human to tolerate their frozen company.

Clothing was clearly new to the woman as she had sat on her shift wrong and now had to adjust it. As she pulled the fabric up far too high, his gaze moved downward over her exposed flat abdomen to the thick tangle of dark black pubic hair at the juncture of her legs.

He noted clinically the slender young woman showed no sign of ever having had stretch marks. This was very uncommon for a slave of her age, as owners tended to begin breeding girls soon after they flowered. Nahuul sat with her legs slightly open, either unaware or uncaring of her display. As she had gone about completely nude while on the ice island without any modesty, he deduced it was the latter.

“I’m Lord Bentencourt,” Peter said gently. “This is my island.”

The woman remained silent but tilted her head slightly toward his voice. Peter found it difficult to avoid staring at her face and the remnants of the two mind frills. Up close, he was able to confirm both frill stumps had indeed been cauterized, each blackened end laced with cracks and showing a wet pinkish-gray scar tissue beneath. The stump of the left frill was longer, at about three inches. The right had been burned back to just over an inch.

And, as he recalled from the island, the woman’s cheeks were stained from the continual tear-like discharge leaking from each eye socket. At least the leakage amount was now far less than he’d observed before, which might be due to the unwieldy frills being cropped so short.

“I’ve learned you’re called Nahuul,” Peter said, beginning his inquiry.

This time, the blind girl tilted her head exaggeratedly at his question, and the gesture reminded Peter of a curious dog. He also noticed the longer left frill twitched momentarily. The movement was accompanied by a tickling sensation in his brain. He concentrated, exploring the sensation further, but felt no sense of a connection or any implied communication from the woman. It might have been a reflexive action of the dragon frill. Still, out of caution, he erected his mental shields.