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  “Here you go.” Nadiah was back again, this time holding an elaborately carved stone cup. It was shaped like a trophy cup—at least to Sophie’s eyes—with high set, wide handles on both sides. The stone it was made of was smooth and black, like marble with flecks of gold and silver running through it. It was filled to the brim with pale purple liquid.

  “What is it?” she asked, taking the cup from Nadiah and nearly dropping it. “Wow—this must weigh ten pounds.”

  Nadiah frowned. “I don’t understand that unit of measurement. This is our family’s hospitality cup and it’s filled with the traditional drink.”

  “Which is?” Sophie wasn’t about to drink until she found out what was in the cup.

  Nadiah shrugged. “Just water—meltwater from the first snow of the winter. Drink it and you can’t be kicked out—no matter what Mamam and Patro catch you and Sylvan doing.” She grinned.

  “Just water, huh?” Sophie sniffed it uncertainly and then took a small sip. It tasted plain enough but the water fizzed in her mouth and tickled her nose like champagne bubbles.” “Goodness!” She swallowed with difficultly and handed the cup back. “Okay, there, I did it.”

  “Good.” Nadiah nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Now you can’t be thrown out of the domicile for any infraction or transgression—no matter how big or small. Sophia, let me be the first to welcome you to my family’s dwelling.”

  “Uh, thank you.” Sophie nodded. It seemed kind of strange but she supposed that the whole “you can’t be thrown out for any reason” clause was a big deal in a community with no hotels or motels. If your family kicked you out, where else could you go? Especially since the surface of the planet was a frozen wasteland.

  “All right—and now we have to find you the right tharp. We barely have time to get one imprinted on you as it is.” Nadiah set the heavy stone cup on the floor with a thump. “Do you see any you like?”

  “Uh…that one.” Sophie pointed to the moss green fur blanket that was farthest from her. “I like that one.”

  Nadiah frowned and picked up the blanket. She held it up under Sophie’s chin and then shook her head. “Nope, I’m afraid not.”

  “What? Why not?” Sophie asked. “You asked which one I liked—well, I like this one.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t like you,” Nadiah said earnestly. “Believe me, Sophia—it’s not the right one for you at all.”

  Sophie looked at the rest of the fur blankets and frowned. They were all different shades from brilliant scarlet to deep purple to bright blue, but none of them would look as good with her eyes and complexion as the moss green. And suddenly she did want to look perfect for the feast—especially if Feenah was going to be there. “I like this one,” she said gently but firmly, taking the moss green tharp from Nadiah’s hands. “And I’m sure it does like me—green has always been my color. Because of my eyes, you know.”

  “You do have gorgeous eyes.” Nadiah sighed. “So exotic… All right, maybe you can make it work after all. But don’t blame me if it causes mischief. A mismatched tharp can be your worst nightmare.”

  Sophie didn’t know why she was so worried. Holding the moss green fur up to herself in the viewer, she could see that it was the perfect shade for her.

  She was going to be beautiful at the feast tonight. Beautiful and poised and elegant. She was going to make a wonderful impression on everyone there—even Sylvan’s aunt and uncle, and she was going to do her best to outshine Feenah. Why should you care about looking better than her? It’s not like you’re in some kind of competition for Sylvan.

  Except it felt like she was. And try as she might, Sophie couldn’t ignore the stab of jealousy she felt when she imagined Sylvan’s ex meeting up with him again after all these years.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It had been a long time since Sylvan had worn a tharp and the traditional dress of his home planet felt strange to him. To be honest, he would have preferred to remain in his Kindred uniform. But he knew that would stir up trouble with the Purists and he didn’t want to deal with controversy at the moment. So he reluctantly decided to dress in the traditional manner—at least for the feast.

  He had been a little worried about breaking in a new tharp on such short notice, but luckily his mother’s sister had some that were new and not yet imprinted. He had chosen a shaggy brown one that looked mature for its age and let it know that he would tolerate no nonsense. The tharp had acquiesced to his will at once and draped obediently and securely around his waist as he directed.

  Sylvan only hoped that Sophia, who had been shut up in Nadiah’s room for well over an hour now, was having similar luck. It would have been better if he’d had time to explain to her about the Tranq Prime clothing and customs, but he was sure Nadiah was covering all that as she dressed Sophia for the feast.

  “Well,” he said aloud, looking at his new tharp in the viewer. “This one appears to be well behaved.”

  His mother’s sister’s mate, Grennly, nodded in approval. “A good choice. As I recall, you always were good at subduing tharps to your will. Too bad you don’t have as much luck with females, eh?” He laughed and slapped Sylvan on his bare back.

  “Yes, it’s a pity,” Sylvan said politely. And as I recall, you always were an idiot. But he didn’t say it aloud—one could not say such things to kin, no matter how true they were.

  “So why did you really forswear yourself of the exotic little Earthling?” Grennly wanted to know. He had been taking sips from a small stone flask ever since he’d managed to slip away from his mate, and his proper Purist attitude seemed to be melting away along with his sobriety. “I mean, she’s not a Prime female but she’s pretty enough in an off-worlder kind of way. A bit short for my tastes but that dark hair is very fetching. I would’ve thought you’d snatch her up.”

  Sylvan gritted his teeth and fought the irritation that rose inside him at the male’s ignorant words. “Sophia is a good deal more than fetching. And I am here to protect her—nothing more. She is being hunted by the Scourge.”

  “Is that right?” Grennly took another swig from his flask. “Feenah will be at the feast tonight, you know,” he said, changing the subject with his usual lack of tact.

  “I expected as much,” Sylvan said evenly. “She and Tyber will be sitting at the founding families table, no doubt.”

  “You don’t know?” Grennly raised his thin blond eyebrows in surprise.

  “Know what?”

  “Why that Feenah is still unmated! She and Tyber went their separate ways barely a cycle after you left Tranq Prime for good.” He snorted. “Or rather, Tyber went his own way. He ran off with a female from the Twii grotto right before he and Feenah were to be mated.”

  Sylvan frowned. “Such faithlessness in a male is shameful.”

  Grennly looked surprised. “I would have thought you’d be glad to hear that Feenah got a taste of her own medicine.”

  “I cared for her at one time—cared deeply,” Sylvan said. “How could I be happy about anything that hurt her?”

  “Well…” Grennly shrugged his narrow shoulders and settled on the sleeping platform. “Just thought you might like to know. And she’s still unmated. Might be she’ll be more amenable to your, ah, attentions now than she was last time you were here.”

  Sylvan adjusted his tharp and frowned. “I thought you and Zeelah were Purists now. Why would you encourage me to pursue a pure-blooded Prime female—especially one who has already rejected me once before?”

  Grennly cleared his throat. “Well, all that Purist sentiment is mainly for Zeelah’s benefit. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t want Nadiah bonding with a Kindred.” He took another drink. “No offence.”

  “None taken,” Sylvan said dryly, reaching for the pair of extra-large brown fur boots that his mother’s sister had somehow managed to procure for him.

  “Good.” Grennly nodded. “As to why I would encourage the match, well, Feenah’s people have always been a little too proud of