Page 16 of Prior Claim
Rei knelt in the middle of the workroom, knees spread, hands resting on his thighs, palms down. He was dressed in stained, heavy-canvas cargo pants and a dull red long-sleeve shirt, a rip near the neck. Ink tinged the edges of the sleeves. Work clothes.
He met Sevastyan’s gaze, the long fringe of his hair half falling into his eyes. His ears were fully visible in the clean sides of the fashionable cut. Except for the scars showing on his cheek, a slim line on his neck and the outside of his finger, he still looked like the Korean idol he was trained to be, dressed for a drama. “Master, you returned.”
Sevastyan’s lips tugged up in a smile. “Rei.”
Rei smiled back.
Sevastyan gestured with his fingers, and Rei flowed to his feet with all the grace that had been trained into him. He approached. Sevastyan lifted his hand, cupping the right side of Rei’s face, the parts marked by flames. He rubbed his thumb across Rei’s nose and under his eye. Rei’s lashes fluttered, falling closed. He leaned into Sevastyan’s touch. His average stature was more than ten centimeters beneath Sevastyan’s height.
“?????” Sevastyan whispered in Mandarin. Ni hao bù hao . . .Are you well or not? It was neither of their native tongues, but it was the first one they had ever spoken to each other.
“?.” Hao . . . Good. Rei’s body swayed toward Sevastyan. “You were gone longer than expected.”
Sevastyan stroked Rei’s cheeks, his fingers passing over the burns. Expensive surgeries by doctors in Turkey who asked no questions had smoothed out the original angry marks and lines, giving Rei’s cheek a fair appearance. Here and there the skin was darkened. Maps of survival. Sevastyan traced over them with the surety of ritual, caressing the edges of Rei’s ear, the bottom lobe rounded off where the tissue had been seared away. What the fire had not marked was Rei’s wide brown eyes and thin, delicate lips. There had been a period when he had struggled to move his face, but time and practice had earned Sevastyan Rei’s smiles once more.
With makeup, Rei could have gone back to the stage.
“Something unexpected came up. I had to go to the USA.”
Rei nodded, his hands stroking over the front of Sevastyan’s shirt. “I’ll cook.”
Sevastyan nodded in return. He followed Rei to the galley kitchen and leaned against the wall, watching his slave begin to prep. Rei started with washing fresh vegetables.
“The deliveries have been on time?” Sevastyan asked.
Rei inclined his head in assent. His hands moved deftly under the running water, spreading the leaves of the fresh green and white qing bái cài to clean them. “Every three days. They leave it in the bin. I open my side after dark.”
Sevastyan leaned against the wall behind Rei. If the Merchari suspected he allowed his slave free rein, the price would be high. Career crushing for him, terminal for Rei.
Rei set the qing bái cài to the side to drain. “Where did you go in the USA.?”
“Chicago, a city in the northern center, on the Great Lakes between the USA and Canada. One of their larger centers between the coasts. They held a world fair there, a hundred years ago. Think skyscrapers and parks overlooking a lake so large it should be called an inland sea.”
Rei smiled as he peeled garlic. He would be imagining the images Sevastyan painted with his words. “You’ve mentioned Chicago before, but not in a long time.”
“Things change. I’m going back.”
Rei’s hands paused, fingers tightening. Am I going with you? He didn’t have to say the words, Sevastyan could read them in his body. It was hard on Rei to be alone for days or even weeks at a time when Sevastyan traveled.
“Your papers from your last trip with me to Hawaii are still good.”
Rei’s hands loosened, picking up their work again. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. We have to close this place down.”
“We’re not coming back?”
“Not us. Not for a while.”
Rei pared the ends off the garlic cloves and set them aside. He said nothing because there was nothing to say. He would do as Sevastyan directed.
Sevastyan’s chest ached. Rei deserved more. He deserved the world.
An impulse that had plagued Sevastyan on the flight across the Pacific returned. It had been years since he’d lied to Rei. The words were stuck behind his teeth, but if they were going to Chicago, Rei would have to know. He would need time to prepare. And leaving Rei behind so long when he’d already spent weeks alone would be torture. His training would falter and so would his mind with the isolation.
Sevastyan rubbed his collarbone and folded his arms. “Put down the knife,” he said softly.
Rei obeyed. He stayed at the counter, back to Sevastyan, hands palms down against the battered metal surface on either side of the wooden chopping board.
