“Miss?” came the voice.
Whoever it was sounded hesitant, Sophia realized. Her fear settled into a healthier range as she realized she wasn’t under any immediate threat.
“I’m…okay,” she responded. “Where am I?”
“You are safe. We found you in the marshes. You were clearly in need of aid.”
Knowing that was true, Sophia said, “Thank you.” She glanced down and realized that, although she was clean—and she really didn’t want to know who had bathed her—she was still naked. She debated whether or not to try to find clothes, since she really wanted to get back in the air in search of Tate and Ariana. Should she shift, or just use her wings?
“I am Melanthe,” said the female on the other side of the door.
“Oh. Hi. I’m Sophia.”
“Is there anything that you need, Sophia?”
Finding the whole talking-through-the-door thing very odd and wondering where on the plane she was, Sophia tilted her head and replied, “Well, I’d like to thank you face-to-face. You don’t have to be shy, Melanthe. You’ve already seen me at my worst and I’ve got the sheet to cover me now.”
In response came the sound of exchanged whispers that Sophia strained to hear. She was pretty sure she detected a minimum of three voices, which just increased her curiosity. Just when she was about to use her shifting ability to give herself the hearing of an owl, the voices silenced on Melanthe’s abrupt, “Just try and stop me.” Sophia’s eyebrows rose over the firm tone in the other female’s voice…quite different from the uncertainty of a moment ago.
“Very well, Sophia. I will enter. But please try not to panic.”
Why would she say that? Sophia wondered. Her anxiety rose as she—naturally—panicked. The door opened enough to admit the female, who closed it quietly behind her. Sophia had only to take a quick look to understand why she had been warned.
Her hands raised in peace, Melanthe stood against the door as though afraid to move any further into the room. Her golden-brown hair fell in soft, shimmering curls to just below her shoulders. It had been captured with ruby-encrusted combs behind each ear, giving her a very youthful appearance. The olive tone of her skin was complemented by the flowing red gown she wore. There was nothing at all threatening about her.
Except the fact that she was a Mercesti.
And that meant, Sophia realized as her fear once again surged, that the multiple beings standing outside of the room were also probably Mercesti.
“I will not hurt you,” Melanthe said in her quiet voice.
It was hard not to believe her. She appeared ready to fling the door open and throw herself back out of the room if Sophia showed even the slightest discomfort over her presence. Although her heart continued to hammer in her chest, Sophia found herself more puzzled than frightened.
“Okay,” she replied slowly, her mind processing this turn of events. A Mercesti who had not only rescued her, but didn’t wish to harm her?
That thought made her think of Zachariah, the only Mercesti she knew. He fell into a similar category as Melanthe. He had saved Tate and, although he frequently threatened to throttle her cousin, Sophia knew he would never harm her. Maybe these Mercesti were dedicated to Kanika’s ideals and the concept of transforming the class into something other than the evil plague it had become under Grolkinei’s leadership.
“Are you not afraid of me?” Melanthe asked.
“Not particularly,” Sophia admitted, surprising herself. She had no good reason to believe this female with so little evidence to support her claim, yet she couldn’t deny that she felt at ease here.
“Even though I am a Mercesti?” Melanthe pressed.
“Even though.” There was a long pause. Finally, for lack of anything else to say, she asked, “Is this your home?”
“Yes.”
Sophia offered the other female a small smile to try and ease some of the tension between them. “Well, from what I can see of it, it’s quite lovely.”
The words more than the smile seemed to have the right effect. Melanthe’s pretty face eased from strained concern into an expression of pride and contentment. “Do you think so?” she asked, sounding very much like any other hostess might when a stranger entered her home. “I would be happy to show you around if you would like.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” Sophia responded, though in truth she was more eager to leave and go after her cousin and friend than walk around the dwelling. Still, this female had played a part in saving her life. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. She glanced again around the room, but she unfortunately hadn’t missed spotting a clothes-bearing armoire. “I don’t suppose you have a spare set of clothing around here, do you?”
Now, Melanthe’s entire demeanor changed. She lost any sense of uncertainty and actually appeared pleased by the question. “I do not, but I can generate some clothing for you if you would allow me to scan your form for the proper size.”
“Oh! You were once—er,” Sophia stopped herself, not sure whether discussing the female’s former class was taboo. She felt a flush building as she thought of how to recover from her blunder.
“That is correct,” Melanthe said matter-of-factly. “I was once a Lekwuesti.”
“Sorry,” Sophia responded, not sure what else to say.
To try and move things along, she climbed out of the bed and stood naked beside it. Being without clothing was second-nature to her, so she didn’t feel much embarrassment as Melanthe’s eyes began to glow so she could do a visual scan of her form. Sophia knew, having questioned
archigos
Sebastian at length over the years, that Melanthe’s Lekwuesti abilities were allowing her to take Sophia’s measurements by sight. Not all Lekwuesti could do this. It depended upon the individual strengths of the Lekwuesti.
“Excellent,” Melanthe said a moment later.
Although the glow subsided, her eyes continued to absorb every detail, from Sophia’s hair and eye color to her height and build. Then she nodded. Walking over to the bed, she concentrated and soon brought forth a number of clothing items.
Intrigued despite the surreal feel of the moment, Sophia moved closer to the bed. The gown was a shade of deep blue-green just a bit darker than her eyes. The fitted, square-necked bodice had golden laces up the front and looked rather low-cut. It had long sleeves and a full, floor-length skirt with gold stitching woven through it.
“Is this velvet?” Sophia asked, reaching out to caress the bodice.
“Yes. And the skirt is made of a satin blend I developed. It helps maintain warmth as well as wool, but has this lovely shimmer and breathability.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Sophia said, her eyes wide. Then she took in the undergarments beside it. “Is that a corset?”
“Of course it is,” Melanthe replied with a wrinkle forming on her brow. “Do you not wish to wear any undergarments?”
“I do want to wear undergarments, but I’m not used to this, uh, particular style.”
The Mercesti considered this. “Well, I did adjust the corset to be less painful but just as flattering to the female figure as the styles from centuries ago,” she said. “If you will allow me to assist you in donning it, we can determine whether you want to keep it on.”
If it meant the difference between having undergarments or not, Sophia was positive she would want to wear the corset, but she didn’t share that comment. Instead, she obediently allowed the Lekwuesti to assist her, once again wondering why she felt so at ease when everything she’d been taught should have had her running out the door, shifting into a cheetah and never looking back.
“Mel, what is taking so long?”
The voice that rumbled through the closed door had Sophia jumping. There was such a thick, rolling burr to the words that she could barely understand them. She thought back to her past education on the history of dialects and registered that the accent sounded like what humans called Scottish.
“I am getting her dressed,” Melanthe called out. “Be patient.”
Sophia thought she heard a resigned sigh from behind the door and her lips curved into an unexpected smile.
“I did not hear any screeching when Melanthe made her appearance,” came another male voice. “We can take that as a good sign, no?”
That had definitely been a French accent. It was getting harder and harder to be alarmed when the conversation around her was so very normal. Before she could think more about it, she realized that Melanthe had gotten her fully secured in the unusual undergarments. Looking down at herself, Sophia felt the astonishment on her face.
“Wow—I have cleavage!”
“Of course you do. You have breasts, do you not?”
“Well, technically, I guess.”
Sophia had never felt more feminine. And when Melanthe helped dress her in the beautiful gown and Sophia saw the results of the corset on her clothed frame, she made the immediate decision to forever change her regular wardrobe to include the unusual undergarment.
“Thank you, Melanthe,” she said. “This is the most amazing thing I have ever worn.”
A smile flashed across the Mercesti’s face. The show of emotion made Sophia blink. Although many Estilorians had re-learned human emotions in the nearly two decades since the daughters of Saraqael had transitioned to this plane, most Mercesti had been so removed from the rest of society—and the three half-human sisters—that they hadn’t. What did that smile signify?
“You are welcome, Sophia. May I style your hair for you?”
As Sophia opened her mouth to reply, the Scottish-sounding male said through the door, “Hairstyling, too? That does it.”
When the door swung open, Sophia instinctively stiffened over the introduction of strangers into her environment. The room quickly filled up with a mix of males and females…all of them Mercesti.
“You could have waited a few more minutes, Derian,” Melanthe chided, her gaze moving uncertainly from Sophia to the group.
Sophia couldn’t take her eyes off the large, red-eyed male who stood at the front of the group. His nearly black, wavy hair was pulled back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, revealing a face that was arresting both for its compelling masculine beauty and its fierceness. A colorful woven tattoo began in the center of his forehead and curved along the left side of his face, winding almost delicately beneath his eye and across his cheekbone, continuing down along the side of his neck. Since he wore nothing more than a knee-length kilt and boots, she saw that the tattoo pattern continued down along his left arm and across the left side of his muscular chest, ending in a pattern that she couldn’t quite make out directly over his heart.
When she managed to quit gawking long enough to lift her gaze to his, she could read nothing in his red eyes. That only made his next words stop the blood in her veins.
“I think she is ready enough, Melanthe. Time to turn her over to us.”
Eirik had just decided to kill Deimos when Metis approached. The crazed male that Metis pampered so much was making enough noise to bring every Waresti within a mile right to their location. Being kept from Metis had prompted the behavior, something Eirik hadn’t anticipated and was unwilling to endure. It was one thing to put up with the savage’s lack of hygiene and limited communication skills, but this was unacceptable.
Just as he reached for one of his krises, Metis hurried up to them. She gave Eirik a sharp glance that told him she knew what he intended as she rushed to Deimos’ side.
“My dear Deimos,” she murmured, putting her arms around him and petting his dirty hair as though he was a precious gift. “I know you hunger. I have not had another opportunity to find a female to offer you, but that will soon be remedied.”
“What is it that drives him to such madness?” Eirik asked with disgust, debating whether or not to follow through with his plan to kill the other male and be done with it.
He didn’t expect a reply and was surprised when Metis answered, “It was my mistake that made him like this. I did not fully understand the limitations of my own abilities when I attempted to create him.”
Eirik was intrigued despite himself. She was a being unlike any he had ever met. “Are you a Scultresti?”
“I was at the time,” she replied.
Apparently, that was as much information as he would get. Dismissing it as unimportant, he began to pace as she issued her revolting cooing noises. Fortunately, her strange connection to the beast-like male served a purpose. The noise had stopped.
“I want to know your plan, Metis. I have waited long enough. As it is, I have had to lead your deranged companion from one location to the next around Kanika’s property to avoid detection. You may have told the Waresti that you did not want them patrolling the grounds because you thought it would keep members of your class from seeking you out, but that has not stopped them. They are still searching for the female you led to Deimos.”
“I understand,” she said, not looking away from Deimos. “You will have the two females you seek within the next day. Likely in a matter of hours.”
Eirik considered this. A few days ago, he overheard a couple of the Waresti patrols discussing the arrival of the Wymzesti and Orculesti elders. Reasoning out Metis’ plan to somehow use the elders to draw out the two females he sought, he had flown back to Bertram and Tycho and brought them to Kanika’s. When the Wymzesti elder left, Eirik sent the pair after him with the order that they report back as soon as they learned what he was up to. He hoped to secure the females without Metis knowing. Unfortunately, the two males who had assured him of their loyalty had yet to make an appearance.
They would be dealt with accordingly whenever he next saw them.
“How do you intend to get the females within range of this place without being seen by Waresti scouts?” he asked.
“I have arranged a location to meet them. Their impending arrival will be conveyed to me in advance and I will come and get you so that you can be with me to greet them.”
He highly doubted that. “Where will the meeting take place?”
“I will determine the specific location once we are notified.”
“That is not what you—”