Free Skyfall by Catherine Asaro

Here the opposite was true, a reminder that she should avoid assumptions.
    “Roca?” Eldri asked.
    Startled, she turned just as a youth set a stone cup by her plate. The young man had the violet eyes ubiquitous among the Lyshrioli and pale lavender hair. Roca had never seen that color of hair occur naturally before, but it didn’t seem uncommon here. She nodded to thank him for the drink, and he smiled shyly, blushing, which made the freckles across his nose stand out. Then he backed away, bowing.
    Eldri leaned over to her. “You enchant my kin.”
    “These are your family?”
    “Some. Others are friends.” He indicated a girl farther down the table. “Chaniece is the daughter of my aunt’s oldest cousin.” He relaxed in his chair, nodding to the man on his left, beaming at others. Several people called out to him, and a man down the table raised his mug.
    Roca smiled. “They like you.”
    His grin flashed. “They are a wise people.”
    She snorted. “And you are so terribly modest.”
    Eldri laughed freely, and gently, with no edge. “So Garlin admonishes me.” He tapped the rim of her cup. “This is water. I asked them to boil it for you.”
    “I thank you, kind sir.”
    “Perhaps, if I charm you enough, you will thaw enough to acknowledge that I am tolerable, eh?”
    Roca laughed. “You are incorrigible.”
    He smiled companionably. “That too.”
    Conversation flowed around them, drawing Eldri’s attention. Roca understood little of what anyone said. Children chattered, and the younger ones ran around the hall when they grew bored with dinner. Everyone used the tongue common to this land, a language called Trillian. No one but Eldri spoke English, though Roca knew Garlin could if he wished. The Lyshrioli language was sheer joy, caressing her ears. Her node was processing it, but she doubted she could learn enough in one day to converse.
    She obviously fascinated Eldri’s people. Their moods flowed over her, soaking through her shields. Some of the women projected a friendly regard, looking forward to having someone new in their in-grown society; others resented Roca’s favor with their Bard. Many of the men envied Eldri, including some who watched Roca with an appraising regard that disquieted her. Had she not been Eldri’s guest, she wondered if she would have made it to her room alone that night, whether she wanted company or not.
    Roca shuddered, remembering Darr, and her growing trust of Eldri faltered. As charming as he had been this evening, this was also the man who had hauled her off from the port. In his culture that might be considered a good-natured prank, but for her it evoked darker memories.
    Yet despite all that, she enjoyed the festivities. She loved learning new customs and coming to understand people. She watched carefully, trying to adapt. Being an empath helped; she could catch nuances she might have missed otherwise. At one point she started to pick up a long knife by her plate. As she touched the handle, shock came from everyone around her. She left the knife alone and the concern of the people faded. It wasn’t until after Eldri started using his own knife that anyone else picked up theirs.
    The meal took several hours, with many courses, ending with sweet yellow bubbles in syrup. Everyone had wine, a potent brew that made Roca’s eyes water. It only took one cup to relax her quite agreeably; her nanomeds weren’t designed to stop her from getting drunk.
    After dinner, Roca went with Eldri up a staircase against the far wall. Below them, young people cleared the table while the older folks gathered into groups to talk and tell stories. Mellow from the wine, Eldri took her hand in his. Had she been sober, she would have pulled away, but right now she couldn’t seem to remember why it was important she remain uninvolved. His large palm hinged around hers, enveloping her fingers, leaving her thumb free. She rubbed his hinge, wondering why his ancestors had redesigned their