Now that he’d had a night and a day to cool off, Need was beginning to think he had been too hasty in selling her. But of course, it was too late now. She was doubtless living in opulent splendor in the fancy harem he’d caught a glimpse of in Senator Pouncenblast’s palace.
He tried to tell himself the girl would be happy there—it was, after all, the life she had been raised and trained for. But he couldn’t forget the way she’d thrown herself at his feet and begged him not to let her go…couldn’t forget her anguished cry of, “Need, I love you!”
The tears in her eyes when she clung to him and cried…the sight of her sweet face twisted in misery, just wouldn’t leave his mind.
“…did you sell her?”
Psoas’ voice dragged Need out of the bitter memory and he looked up with a start.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked, why did you sell her?” Psoas held up a hand when Need glowered at him. “Hang on, old friend—I’m not accusing you. I’m just honestly curious. It seemed to me the two of you were getting on really well and Lan’ara seemed really happy here. So why did you send her away? Was it the credit? I know forty thousand is a lot…”
“It wasn’t the credit, Gods damn you,” Need growled, shaking his head. “It was…some things I found out about her. Things I didn’t know because I hadn’t read her file.”
“Oh, so you finally got it away from Drung and read it, then?” Psoas lifted an eyebrow.
“No,” Need said unwillingly. “Lan’ara snuck out and read it herself. She found it in Drung’s room when he was out visiting that Trollox whorehouse while we picked up the shipment of yarrow root.”
“Oh, so she told you what was in the file, then,” Psoas said.
“Well…no,” Need admitted. “It was Drung himself, actually. He smelled her scent in his room and she’d dropped the file and broken it, so he knew that she’d trespassed.”
“What in the universe did he say, then?” Psoas seemed honestly confused. “And how could you even have a coherent conversation with him? Talking to that big idiot is like speaking to a plasti-steel wall. It’s kind of sad how he’s got three heads and the smartest one is still so damn stupid.”
“You mean the middle head, right?” Need growled and Psoas nodded.
“Of course. The left head is a drooling idiot and the right just giggles at everything. Of course, you know what they say about Trollox—‘beware the venom of the silent head.’”
“Who says that?” Need demanded, frowning. “What does it even mean?”
Psoas shrugged, his whole long body rippling with the motion.
“It’s just a saying my people have—our planet isn’t too far from the Trollox home world, you know. It means that sometimes the silent head—or heads—of a Trollox is the one you have to watch out for. You think they’re these big, dumb brutes but every once in a while the head that doesn’t say much turns out to be a master manipulator. It’s said they can twist the truth to suit their own ends in a way that fools anyone.”
“It…was actually the left head that spoke to me,” Need said, speaking through numb lips. He was beginning to feel ill—had Drung’s left head manipulated him? Surely not. “It told me what was in Lan’ara’s file and when I asked her about it, she corroborated what it said,” he told Psoas.
“Did she, though?” Psoas raised an eyebrow. “I mean, what exactly did he accuse her of that she admitted to?”
“He said that she’d been injected with a kind of Lust Bacterium that made her, uh, juices addictive.” Need coughed in embarrassment. “And she admitted she had been.”
“I see.” Psoas nodded. “And did she also say that she had asked to be injected with this stuff?”
“Well…no,” Need admitted. “But Drung’s left head also pointed out that she’d been manipulating me emotionally—you know the way she always called me ‘My Lord’? She was stroking my ego—that kind of thing.”
“And what did Lan’ara say to that?” Psoas asked quietly.
“She said she was following her training,” Need snapped. “Training in how to manipulate.”
“You said she came from some fancy big academy where they specialized in training brides for high roller males, right?” Psoas said.
“Right.” Need nodded.
“Well then, don’t you think that kind of male would expect to have his ego stroked and his every wish catered to?” Psoas asked reasonably. “I mean, if they’re paying top dollar for a bride, they expect to get one that’s both beautiful and submissive. Most of those guys are assholes—they expect everybody to bow down and kiss their feet. Why would they expect any less from a bride they paid thousands of credits for?”
“Your point being?” Need growled.
“My point being that of course she was trained to make a male feel important and special and keep him happy. It’s the only way the poor girl can survive, right? Because what happens if she doesn’t please the guy who buys her? He sells her or tosses her aside and then what happens to her?”