The Only One

you," she'd said instead.
    She'd almost walked away then, unable to look at the man who held the power to bring her so much sorrow, should his visit here inspire Romjha to head off after vengeance. But when Romjha threw her one of those penetrating, perceptive looks that she was beginning to loathe, she'd softened her words. "Today you were lucky. I... am glad for it."
    Despite Cheya's somewhat improved condition, Sienna's healers agreed that if better medical technology was available elsewhere, he should be brought to it as soon as possible. It was the best news Taj could hope for. Within hours, he and his guardians would be gone and out of her hair.
    She returned her attention to the meal.
    "Refugees pour into our homeland, seeking protection," Jal explained. "They tell us that warlords and self-appointed kings still rule their respective domains." Holding a stalk of fried karna in one hand like a wand, the man paused to tear off a strip of its tender flesh.
    Jal might be an aide to a king's descendant, but his manners were crude, Taj thought. Food was precious to the Siennans. Over time, its preparation had become an art. Along with the women who had prepared the meal, Taj watched with vaguely appalled fascination as Jal and his kind consumed it.
    "On those worlds, barbarism and cruelty take many forms," the foreign warrior continued, munching soberly. "Sexual slavery and reproductive control are widespread. And in some places ..."
    As Jal described in sickening detail the outcome of massive antimatter weaponry detonations, Taj watched the emotions that played across Romjha's face. The raider commander had cleaned himself up, shaved, and exchanged his commando gear for typical, simple indoor attire in dark smoky gray. His hair was combed back from his face and gathered neatly at his neck in a snug band. Golden highlights in his hair glinted in the flickering light.
    All of Taj's other senses had grown more acute since she'd damaged her hearing, smell most of all. She could pick out the scent of Romjha's warm skin from the others: clean male sweat mixed with a hint of something tartly sweet, reminding her of the small, hard red fruit her people produced in their cavern groweries, the extract of which she often used in her cleansers. One of the other women must have begun adding the ingredient to the community soaps.
    Bachelors relied on the generosity of other men's wives for toiletries and food—and on widows and unattached women for more private needs. Secretly, Taj hoped that whoever had given him soap hadn't donated more. Romjha certainly fielded his share of female attention, but Taj had never actually seen him with anyone. Yet who knew what company he sought out deep in the night when no one wanted to be alone?
    Her mood darkened, and she gathered her foul temper around her like a familiar, well-worn protective cloak. Seated between Aleq and Patra—a community elder—she ate quickly, refilled her bowl, kept her head low, and ate some more. She'd lost her appetite since returning from topside, had lost it for most of the day, but now had found it again. She was glad. The cooks had taken special care with tonight's preparation, and the karna was excellent.
    Taj wondered what the outsiders thought of it. Karna was her people's staple food, a meat substitute made from a bland protein-rich bean that adopted any flavor added to it. Tonight the slices in her stew tasted of the aromatic, spiced broth.
    Jal mopped up the last of his gravy with a piece of flatbread and pushed the soggy morsel into his mouth with three fingers. "Our battle to save our world was long and it cost us much. I believe it was the knowledge that we preserved the last of the monarchy that gave us the heart to rise up against the warlord when he invaded, and the stamina to persevere when we expelled the beast from our homeland."
    Grumbles of admiration and hushed applause met Jal's statement. Romjha pushed away his empty bowl and rested his back against his chair, his fingers laced together over his stomach, one thumb stroking the other.
    They were the scarred, sinewy hands of a veteran fighter. But those same long, blunt-tipped fingers had loved a woman once—trailed over naked skin, sifted through long hair, caressed the most private places. . .
    .
    Taj forced her gaze to her stew.
    "I am a soldier from a small, out-of-the-way world," Romjha said at last. "I have seen nothing of the lands beyond Sienna. I have no technological skills, nor