Posted 2023-11-12; beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Though the shock of the prior day's events had largely passed, Bella remained uneasy. She wanted to think that the Cullens had been open and honest with her, but the altercation at the market had uncomfortably underscored her ignorance of current affairs, something she needed to remedy quickly.

As she entered the parlor that morning, she was surprised to find Edward waiting for her, sitting at their habitual table. He had been notably absent at breakfast.

He stood. "Miss Swan."

Miss Swan? Her stomach sank slightly. They were in private, and he was returning to this formality? She must have offended him.

"Mr. Cullen," she said softly.

"I owe you an apology."

She glanced up, confused.

"I shouldn't have left you alone yesterday, and my poor judgment resulted in treatment you should never have experienced."

"Thank you," she said, "though I'm not sure the responsibility falls to you. You defended me . . . and you certainly didn't spit at me."

He winced. "I'm not sure you understand the magnitude of his insult."

No, she was pretty sure she didn't, but she knew the head was considered sacred, and Edward had been furious. It had all been pretty awful.

"Did I hear him right when he called me a broodmare and . . . a derr?"

Edward hesitated before giving a solemn nod.

Bella gave a bitter snort. "It isn't the first time someone called me a cow, and I doubt it will be the last."

She expected Edward to relax a little, even laugh, but he didn't. Instead, he looked down. "Please accept my apology, Miss Swan." His tone held an unusual note of urgency.

Did he really think she wouldn't forgive him?

"Of course I accept your apology, Mr. Cullen." Not that she thought it was his to offer.

Yes, there was the relief she'd been looking for. He gestured to indicate that she should sit.

She did so while carefully eyeing the room. They were indeed alone. "I'd really appreciate it if you would use my first name, though, if that's still okay."

"Of course."

It was her turn to exhale and let her shoulders soften. Edward, however, still appeared troubled as he took his usual seat beside her.

"Before we begin our lesson, I do need to explain something to you."

She tensed again. What now?

"The insult to you was two-fold, Bella. I've explained that we—the Aristean race—took human slaves, but I haven't told you all the reasons they were brought here."

"Not just laborers, then," she murmured.

Edward shook his head. "Regrettably, no, though many were. But some were taken for breeding purposes, and just as many for more . . . carnal ones."

Oh. "And . . ." Edward's reaction in the market made so much more sense now. "I see." The insult had been directed at him as well.

"I should have been clearer before. I . . . well, I'd hoped it wouldn't be necessary."

She nodded, slightly stunned. "Is that what you were all arguing about last night?"

"No. And I wasn't the one arguing."

She took note of his clipped tone. "I'm sorry. I'm prying."

"You're not. You overheard and there's no point in pretending otherwise." He switched to English. "It should be my mother who explains this, but I don't think she'll mind my telling you. She's making plans to adopt you into our family, to make sure you're fully protected until you return to Earth."

Adopt?

"We don't really have the word for it in our language," he said. "We call it making someone a son or daughter of a house, but it means the same thing. You'll be my mother's daughter—and my sister."

Well, she'd always wanted a sister or brother. Now she'd have . . . five? She couldn't help the bemused laugh that bubbled up at the thought.

Edward eyed her with some concern.

"Sorry. I'm—I wasn't sure what I was expecting. I—as a child I always wished I had siblings." She was about to put her hand on his arm but stopped herself. "I'm honored, truly. Thank you. But . . . it sounded as if I'm creating more hardship for you all."

"Everything will work out," he said gently. "Truthfully, I think we're fortunate to have you. You help us see things from a different perspective. That's not something easily quantified—or valued."

With the way he looked at her, she felt a squirm in her gut, hoping she'd be able to live up to the family's and—more importantly—his confidence in her.

"Shall we?" he asked, opening the small book on the table.

— o — 0 — o —

Bella passed along the kerota to Edward, who politely didn't comment on her not taking any. There was a wide variety of vegetables at the Cullen dinner table, and Bella usually sampled all of them. The kerota, however, she'd given up on. Even thinking of the pink root vegetables made her gag slightly.

The crunchy green spanaki, on the other hand, was delicious, and she gladly took a portion, earning a smile from Rose, who'd prepared it.

" . . . well, no doubt the boy will be told the Therisitis might have snatched him away to their secret lair if he'd wandered further. Poor thing. But the intolerance—the insult shown to our guest . . ." Esme shook her head. "Still, I'm appreciative of Miss Swan's intervention yesterday, reactions aside."

Bella glanced at Edward, who caught her look.

"Does the placia translate what I see?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, forehead wrinkled with concern. "No. Why?"

"The family in the market was signing, and I understood most of it. At least, I think I did."

Surprisingly, it was Alice who spoke up. "You probably did. Sabellian sign language is based on one that came from Earth. We didn't have one until very recently in our history."

Bella glanced at the normally quiet young woman, who gave an apologetic smile and quickly turned back to her conversation with Rose. Something about a dance the following week. Bella wondered what Sabellian dancing entailed. She envisioned highly-patterned movements.

"How much did you understand of their signing?" Edward asked Bella.

"Maybe half? A little more? It's hard to say."

Edward was about to speak again when Jasper interrupted. "If you can be spared from all your good deeds, brother, it would be a good night for shooting."

"Oh, I'd forgotten the rostering," Esme said. "I'll need to find your harness, Edward."

"I'm amazed you didn't burn it as soon as I left," Edward said.

Emmett and Jasper exchanged grim looks.

"I wish I could have." Esme sighed.

"We're glad to have you back, Edward. There were three raids last month," Emmett said. "One just east of Pilkonis. We're patrolling more often—and have been for the last two years."

"Pilkonis," Edward said, putting down his glass. "Were your parents—?"

"They're fine. They weren't troubled this time, but our neighbors—there were losses."

"I'm sorry." Edward dropped his gaze, frowning.

Emmett glanced at Bella. "I'm sorry for bringing it up at dinner, Miss Swan. Sometimes I forget that you're new to all of this."

"It's alright. I've heard a little bit about the raids." She glanced at Edward, the source of her information. "I'm sorry your family is having to deal with this."

Edward had mentioned something called the Kaethe raids in passing, but she hadn't asked about it further since she'd thought the difficulties were historical ones. Apparently not. Edward seemed a bit surprised about that as well, judging by his expression. She wondered how many more things had changed for him in his absence—and how many had stayed the same.

Well, at least she wasn't completely out of the loop this time, but she still wished she was less of a burden. The constant explanations for her had to be draining.

"How often?" Edward asked Jasper.

"Would you pass the spanaki, Bella?" Alice asked.

Bella handed it to Alice, missing Jasper's reply.

"What's your targeting like these days?" Emmett asked Edward .

"Fine. I practiced a little, but obviously with different weaponry. I could use the ride tonight."

"Ride?" Bella asked.

"Mounted patrol," Emmett said, taking a drink. "With dragons, of course—not alogo. Humans ride . . . horses?"

"Yes, but mostly we ride in cars." She pictured the long, sleek dragons out in the barn.

"Mechanized vehicles," Edward said to Emmett. "They're still using carbon-based fuels."

Emmett humphed, shaking his head but giving Bella a small smile. Emmett was always kind to her.

Sitting opposite Jasper, Bella noted his slight frown, wondering what she'd done—again—to give offense. No doubt Rose or Esme would kindly explain it to her later. Try as she might to be patient with herself, she struggled with the constant if gracious corrections. At least Edward seemed occasionally amused by her faux pas.

She felt a pang for the familiar. A pang for generally being competent and independent. Shooting actually sounded like fun, but dragons . . . maybe not. She thought of her father and their times together at the shooting range. Fishing had never appealed, but target practice—she'd liked the concrete sense of accomplishment that came with hitting the bullseye or, in her case, getting closer. Most of her practice had been with a pistol, but her dad had finally convinced her to try a rifle, this with vain and ultimately fruitless hopes of taking her hunting.

No luck there. She'd seen Bambi at a young age.

Emmett, Edward, and Jasper talked more amongst themselves about tack, harness, maneuvers, dragon feed, and patrol schedules. Not able to follow much of it, Bella instead listened to Esme and Rose debate the finishing patterns for the fabric they were dying in the kitchen shed. Over the last few days, their forearms had grown more intensely freckled with blue spots, both of them looking like they were auditioning to play Violet Beauregarde.

Bella snorted out a laugh at this thought, earning her a curious look from the Cullens. Yeah, it was unlikely they were familiar with Willie Wonka.

"Sorry," she muttered, at least remembering to not wave her fork, as she would have done at home. It was rude. Likely, so was snorting at the dinner table. "Just ignore me."

As always, Esme smiled graciously, and then everyone did just as Bella had instructed, politely returning to their conversations.

Deep breaths. Keep trying.

She listened to Rose as she described her idea for a pattern on the fabric, the blonde woman sketching it with her finger over the tablecloth, discussing the best wood on hand to use for carving the pattern block.

After dinner was cleaned up, the other women retreated to the porch off the kitchen and the vats of dyes—all except Esme who excused herself to go up to the attic and look for Edward's harness. Bella's offer of help was politely declined.

Again.

Bella wandered back to the parlor. The men had already disappeared down to the cellar, from where she could hear the clank of metal and low, murmuring voices. Bored, she plopped herself onto the sofa, picking up her book. After her attention drifted for the third time, she gave up, standing and walking down the hall towards the kitchen. She could watch and learn, at least, even if she couldn't yet touch the caustic dyes.

Esme was wiping down a piece of leather. "That looks lovely, Rose. Alice, do you think the wood cuts will pick up the details?"

"They should," Alice murmured, peering at the pattern on Rose's small scrip. "We can use the yellow to highlight the difference here and here. I think we can even have new smocks ready for the dancing next week."

Esme held up the complicated harness, examining it. "That should do for tonight. I'll be right back after I get this to Edward."

"I can take it," Bella said.

Esme only paused for a beat. "Oh, thank you. That would save me another trip."

Finally! Something useful!

With emotions approaching glee, Bella carefully took the harness in hand, turning and walking purposefully to the stairs. Her soft slippers were quiet on the stone steps, and her approach to the dim room at the bottom was nearly silent.

Edward, Jasper, and Emmett sat around a long table, cleaning what appeared to be rifles. They hadn't noticed her as they conversed with each other, and she inspected the pieces they were handling, identifying a few, guessing at others. Behind them, unlocked cabinets revealed stacks of small wooden boxes. Ammunition, no doubt. She wondered at the caliber, finally recalling herself and clearing her throat. "This is for you, Mr. Cullen," she said, holding up the harness.

All three men stood, their chairs scraping against the floor. "Miss Swan," they murmured.

"Thank you," Edward said, taking the harness. He smiled ruefully at the leather pieces. "The last time I wore this, I needed to see the Sherooz."

"Oh?"

"Perhaps another time," Jasper said, jerking his chin towards the table.

"We should at least start in the light," Edward said to her apologetically.

Bella nodded, making a note to ask Edward about this story tomorrow.

"We should go with the Hatzis, too," Emmett said.

Jasper gave him a dark look.

Emmett shrugged. "Unless you want to explain how we used the common lien on his property without including him . . ."

"Not today," Jasper said firmly. "We'll be busy enough refreshing Edward's skills. Stolos will understand."

"I'm sure we'll have cause to visit the Hatzis soon enough." Edward slipped the harness over his chest and back, buckling it in place before fastening the loops around his legs.

"Guess it's just boys' time, then," Bella mused, wondering who the Hatzis were and exactly why Jasper was so eager to exclude them.

The men stopped moving, all of them turning as one to stare at Bella.

Oh God. What now?

Edward cleared his throat. "A non-sexual activity that facilitates bonding between men, yes?"

"Uh, yes," Bella said.

Emmett's mouth twitched and he chuckled. "Well, that's good, then." He picked up what looked like the stock of his rifle, eyeing it. "I doubt my wife would otherwise approve."

Edward stepped slightly closer to Bella as he picked up three small round metal rings, lowering his voice. "Here, boys' time means . . . do you remember when I told you about the leisure time the Matriarch allowed?"

"Oh—oh! I—that's not what—"

"I know," Edward said, smiling. "All is well. But we should go, if we want to use the remaining daylight."

With a speed and dexterity Bella admired, the men assembled their rifles, tucking ammunition boxes into the square pockets of their leather vests.

Bella stood aside to let them go by, surprised and a little nervous when Jasper hung back, watching the other men mount the stairs. His mouth made a grim line. "Miss Swan, I appreciate your efforts to integrate yourself into our way of life, but your attempts at levity are . . . misplaced and often create impacts contrary to your goals. Please consider this moving forward." He didn't wait for a reply, nodding at her curtly before striding away, the heels of his boots tapping out an impatient beat as he mounted the stairs.

Bella leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and sighing. She hadn't even intended to make a joke, and here she'd offended them again—to the point of prompting Jasper to openly criticize her.

"Not the kind of first I'm looking for," she muttered.

"Bella? Are you alright?" Esme called from the top of the stairs.

"Yes. I'm just coming up." She was about to make a comment about how she was slow, but shut her mouth, not sure if that too wouldn't give offense.

"We're just about to start carving the blocks and testing the patterns. I wondered if you might like to join us?"

Bless Esme, she was trying to include her. Bella gave what felt like a wan smile. "That would be lovely."

The pattern making was interesting to watch, and after promising Esme she'd be careful, Bella was allowed to whittle her own design into one of the spare pieces. When she tried it out with the faint test dye, she chuckled. Her attempt at a floral design looked like a misshapen duck. "Quack, quack," she muttered.

Rose's and Alice's designs were elegant and perfectly executed.

"Good," Rose said, hands on her hips, eyeing the swaths of pale blue fabric hanging from racks, "we can start stamping, then."

There was a thundering sound outside.

"That'll be them," Rose said. She lifted her chin towards the window. "Miss Swan, this will be for you. Look!"

Bella did, gasping slightly as the trio sped by, three staccato timpani hurtling past, wings outstretched. The dragons' movements were sinuous, their formation tight and elegant. The sight was formidable—beautiful and terrifying.

The men rode hunched over in tight bunches, bodies flexed against the power beneath them.

As they took the corner, they slowed, and one rider leaned over to deliver a playful slap to the back of the one next to him.

"Oh, Emmett." Rose giggled.

"Was that him?—You can tell from here?" The seeming limitlessness of Sabellian sight never ceased to amaze her.

"Oh, no," Rose said. "That's Edward who scored the hit. Emmett just encouraged him to play—an old game." She shook her head, but her broad smile remained.

Bella allowed herself a smile too, watching the men move out of sight until they were nothing but specks against the horizon.

— o — 0 — o —

With one hand flat against the fabric, Bella used her other to dip the wood block into the tray of dark blue ink, lifting the stamp and letting it drip into the bowl and then pressing it onto the fabric, making sure to nudge it up against her guiding hand. The pattern still didn't line up square. She huffed out a breath.

"It takes years to get it right most of the time," Alice said, not looking up from her own work. "And our errors do imbue the fabric with our personality." There was a small grin.

"Personality." Bella chuckled, eyeing her uneven work. "I have that in spades."

"Spades." Alice made another perfect stamp.

"It means a lot of something."

"Ah. I see, like their ability to move a great deal of soil"—she blinked—"not that I'm comparing your personality—"

Bella laughed. "Trust me, right now, it doesn't feel like a poor comparison." She sighed, looking at her work. "About as good as dirt."

Alice's smile was gentle. "You can't learn without making mistakes."

"No, I suppose I can't."

"And soil is rather integral for growing food."

It was, Bella supposed.

They continued stamping, Bella considering the last time she'd had to learn something from scratch—and had to make so many mistakes. Not in her graduate studies, and not really in her undergraduate ones. Driving, she supposed, had been new on several fronts. Confidence on the road had been elusive, and eyeing her uneven fabric work, it was here too—in many ways.

Practice, she told herself, and patience. She kept stamping slowly, noting that she at least wasn't leaving unintended ink spots. Her pattern made a wobbly march across the fabric, the effect magnified by uneven ink distribution.

"When was the last time you had to learn something new?" Bella asked, since it was just the two of them at the work table. She was learning that Alice was more forthcoming when not surrounded by the other strong personalities in the house.

Alice gave a thoughtful hum, casually continuing her perfect pattern. She chuckled. "I suppose it was to learn what it was to be listened to."

"Really?" Ink from Bella's block dribbled onto the table. She wiped it up quickly.

Alice nodded. "Not everyone here is so accepting of the new thinking—the women's movement."

"People think of it as new?" Hadn't it been over a hundred years?

"Some do, at least where I grew up." She named a town to the west. "Even my husband found it unsettling when he went to tribute there."

"I thought boys were tributes in their own town."

"Most are. He asked to serve somewhere where he would be known for himself. Their father was quite renowned here. Jasper was quite adamant—stubborn, you might say."

Bella could easily imagine. She gave a noncommittal hum.

"Do you know much about their training, as tributes?" Alice asked.

She thought of what Edward had told her. "Not much, really."

Alice smiled. "They begin their service with three days of silence."

Unsuccessfully, she tried to imagine Jasper silent. Brooding, yes, but silent?

"I know." Alice giggled. "He had to restart twice."

Bella smiled.

"They're encouraged to write during that time."

"To keep from going insane?"

Alice shook her head. "I'm sure it helps with the more gregarious ones, but no, it's to learn to listen to themselves."

"I know a lot of men who like the sound of their own voices just fine."

Alice's chuckle sounded more throaty. "Not untrue for some, but I understand the initiation is powerful. They only see the Matriarch and the older boys—the ones near the end of their tribute, both of whom say little."

Recalling what she'd been like at twelve, it sounded like torture. When she wasn't talking, usually with her parents or few friends, she'd been drawing or reading.

"Jasper was the first man who listened to me."

A man, not a boy. Interesting.

"He was sixteen when I met him at service."

At service. Uh . . .

"He was so handsome, I was a little dumbfounded. They're not allowed to talk until the woman who's sought their service speaks." The giggle came back. "So we stared at each other for quite a while."

Bella stared too, wondering just how much Alice was going to recount.

"The adage they're given is that a man's mouth serves the world best when it's closed—that they should listen twice as much as they speak." Alice shook her head. "He was so stubbornly committed to the rules that even after we'd met a few times, and I wanted him to talk more and tell me about himself, he wouldn't." Another chuckle. "The first time he did more than answer my direct questions was after his disposition."

More than slightly relieved to have been spared the gory details, Bella relaxed, muttering a quiet "shit" as she saw the line of dribbled ink on the cloth.

Alice's gaze followed hers. "It tells a story. It's alright."

Some story, Bella thought.

"Though not so long ago, a mistress would've whipped y—a slave for it." She paused. "We were cruel then."

A chill ran down Bella's back.

The Cullens had been nothing but welcoming and kind, a handful of confusing events aside, but even so, Bella was an outsider. They'd politely avoided discussion of what she would have been before.

Still, Bella was grateful for Alice's near slip. She'd been aware of the minor parallels between her situation and the lives of the slave women she'd studied—studied so blithely.

"What else would I have been punished for?"

She liked Alice. She was kind and gave direct answers. And she gave one now, listing several minor, moderate, and major infractions slaves were punished for. Most punishments were physical. A few psychological. All had corollaries to the ones she'd read about on Earth.

Her past studies suddenly felt much less scholarly and much more . . . she wasn't sure of the right word—distasteful? Detached? Cold?

It wasn't that she hadn't had sympathy for the people she'd studied—for their descendents, for the suffering caused by the continued inequity. But she'd never felt vulnerable herself—she'd never worried that her safety rested on the good will of others.

A little part of her future crystallized then. The idea had been brewing, but it was clear when she went home that she couldn't return to her previous work and studies. The past was important, yes, but the future was more so.

"I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry," Alice said.

"It's alright. Discomfort can be . . . productive."

Alice gave a graceful nod. "It can be. And so can mistakes." Another smile.

Indeed, Bella thought. They could.

— o — 0 — o —

Several hours later, not too long after the dye and fabric had been cleared away, the front door thumped open and closed, followed by the clatter of hard boot heels on the marble floor. Bella watched Alice and Rose smile at hearing their husband's voices, each removing their aprons. All the women were walking towards the hallway door when there was a scuffling sound from the front hall, and then a violent crunch.

Esme held out her hand, indicating the women should stay, then strode from the room. Her "Stop!" boomed back down the hallway.

Hisses and snarling followed, then silence.

Alice and Rose bolted after Esme, Bella following.

"Stay behind me, please," Esme said to the three of them.

Jasper stood by the door, his nose bloodied, lip curled up in a trembling snarl. Edward faced him from a few feet away. Between them was Esme, who turned from one to the other, speaking calmly. "Is whatever this is finished?"

Jasper snarled again in reply, and Bella shivered, hearing Edward's answering growl. The arm of his shirt was shredded, the evenly spaced slices spanning the width of a hand.

"I doubt this will be well-resolved here in the house." Esme spoke less forcefully than before, her tone tinged with worry.

Both men edged towards the door, Jasper reaching it first and yanking it open.

"Leave the rifles, please," Esme said.

They did, Esme closing the door behind them.

Rose rushed forward to her husband. "Emmett?"

Bella hadn't seen him, cast in the shadow of the stairs, but once he came into the light, she understood why he'd moved aside. There was a large and fresh bruise forming on his cheek, and he moved in a stilted fashion. There was blood splattered over his shirt.

"What happened?" Esme asked him.

He shook his head. "I think I stood between old grievances."

Esme sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought we were beyond this."

Emmett shrugged.

"Come upstairs." Rose took her husband's hand, and they disappeared up the main staircase, leaving Esme, Alice, and Bella staring after them.

"You'd think we'd pushed into a mating house," Esme muttered.

Bella tucked away the phrase to ask about later, deciding it was time for her to retire. She fell asleep, waking with a strange dream, and she had to look around the room to reassure herself that she really was awake.

She heard Edward's deep voice give a quiet, "Good night." There was a muttered reply from someone she presumed was Jasper.

Had they settled their differences? And were they physically well? She slipped into the hall, where she grabbed cloths from the linen closet and a spare ewer.

Downstairs, she crept to the kitchen. Edward stood facing away from her at the work table, a cup of water in front of him, his gaze down. "Do you need something, Miss Swan?" he asked.

How did he—?

"Um, no. I wondered if you might, though." She held up the cloths and the pitcher when he turned to face her.

"That's kind of you." He swallowed as he said it, turning away, shoulders tightening.

Not in the mood for company then.

"I'll just . . . leave them for you."

He gave a curt nod, again staring at the table, his body curled as if in defense.

Bella felt a swell of disappointment and chagrin. It had been stupid of her to impose. She gave him a wide berth, carefully placing the jug and cloths within arm's reach.

She made the mistake of glancing up at him, catching the darkness of his gaze and his curled lip, the full length of his canines sharp and visible. With a soft gasp, she turned and walked away, fear quickening her steps. When she reached the stairs, she heard a crash from behind her but didn't turn back, racing to her room. With the door safely closed behind her, she let the hot tears of anger and frustration fall, feeling more alone than when she'd first arrived here.

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.