Dothan had claimed her from the quarters. She felt his interest at once. A new game she'd thought, until the imposing arvir had made it clear she would not be returned, and Mattan would never be near again. Projections of longing and loneliness netted her a few blows, and starvation. Efforts to speak led to infliction of physical frustration, and Dothan's towering irritation. Music filled her days, dancing filled her hours. The garden filled her imagination. She discovered the difficult trick of sending to Mattan and, after a time, it took less effort. He shared glimpses of his far different life, and comforted her with assurances of his love. Tenuous comfort, but even the projected hands of her closest one helped to ease her isolation.

    Dothan forbade her to share his bed. Tvaren filled her own. She curled into a chair and napped lightly until thirst awakened her. Cold water, chilled in fine crystalline. Tasting as fine as wine or blood. More water. Hurting her teeth in its iciness.

    "Thirsty?" Tvaren commented groggily. She dropped the precious goblet but caught it mid-fall.

    "Kallan always needed plenty of water after feeding." He gestured for her to continue. "Drink if you wish. Bring me some also."

    She brought a fresh cup to him.

    He pointed to the other chair. "Sit with me."

    Marran perched on the edge of the seat.

    "You don't sit with Dothan?" Tvaren sighed. "Well, be comfortable."

    Marran slipped to the floor, and knelt next to the old man.

    He would have to crane his neck to see her face, he realized. Probably why she chose the position. He sipped the water and puckered his lips in disgust.

    "An acquired taste, I suppose," he opined. He held the cup before her face. "Have mine." She reached for the water, and he pulled it away. "You drink, I'll hold it."

    Tvaren held the cup, while she finished the water. He stood and poured more from the pitcher. He adjusted his chair to face her. "Here, want it?" He held the cup while she drank more. He set the cup aside. He wiped the moisture from her mouth with his thumb. Rubbing the dampness on his lips, feeling the tingle of venom.

    "Do you know what binds a virar to arvir?" He sensed her attention. "Saliva, or rather its active components." He sighed; some things were far too easy. "Were you ever warned not to mouth kiss an arvir not of your house? Before Dothan claimed you?"

    A nod.

    "Do you know why?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Viraran bound in such a way could endanger the security of our house." He leaned forward. "As I have just bound you, by feeding your hunger, your saliva to me, and when you drank the water which I tainted with mine."

    Tvaren refrained from speaking, as he watched the dainty faced Marran test his claim.
    '?' she sent.
    "Answers to questions I have now, and will have later."
    'Dothan?' she projected.
    "No, not to betray or endanger him. Although I don't believe you care about him particularly."
    '!'
    "No… Your need is to be owned, not to be owned by Dothan."
    '?'

    "What part do you not understand? How much plainer do you wish it to be stated? Viraran need owned, but anyone will do, even a t'arvir, if the claimant is adamant enough. Let the thought roll around your head awhile."

    "You said questions?" she spoke.

    He shook his head, and switched dialect. "Address me in High speech," Tvaren said.

    '?' she projected puzzlement.

    He took her chin in his hand and forced her brown eyes to his silver-gray ones. "Recall our conversation, when you offered me tainted wine. Your eidetic little mind can perform this simple task," he taunted. "Send the scene." She obeyed.

    "You tricked me," she accused in l'arvirase. "You played on my hunger." The sonorous high words sounded strange coming from the lips of a virar in her light voiced sing-song manner. Her vocal cords had trouble reproducing some of the deeper tones, but the intent and knowledge came through clearly.

    "Yes. How much do you understand? How many viraran have learned?" he asked, releasing her chin. She continued to regard him instead of averting her gaze. Her ability to resist hiding impressed him, and then worried him.

    "May I ask a question first?"

    He laughed at her boldness. "Fine… Ask. I may not answer."

    She shrugged, and finally looked away. "Why a forbidden tongue? Viraran are bound by needs to arviran blood."

    He considered her question. Answering even innocent sounding queries could be a risk, and this sounded leading. "To keep secrets, and prevent knowledge of our weaknesses falling into outside ears. Or from a rebellious species whose bindings maybe less confining than we know." Let her digest his answer. "Now answer mine."

    "The answer is another question. If it is forbidden to know High speech, how stupid would a virar have to be to admit possessing such dangerous knowledge to anyone, even one another?" She shook her head. "A problem. Bright enough to learn the tongue, but stupid enough to be tricked into speaking it. How stupid or bright am I?"

    A long speech for one of her species. One in which she revealed her limits. The level of complexity low, she babbled only a step above baby talk. Most of her vocabulary seemed far below the technical level required to divulge anything important. Her effort to translate word by word from t'arvirase to l'arvirase obviously taxed her abilities.

    "Who taught you?" he asked, reverting to t'arvirase.

    "I listened." She projected Dothan speaking.

    Tvaren considered her answers. Kept viraran often developed deeper empathic connections because of continuous exposure. Marran had been in Dothan's keeping a very long time.

    "Be more careful, Marran. I could have easily been a spy from another house, asking questions about Dothan's work," he warned.

    The sudden relaxation in her shoulders bared her relief as much as her projected gratitude. She yawned, a bizarre viraran habit.

    "Let me out. Then go to bed," he told her.

    "Dothan wished to be wakened before you leave."

    "I'm afraid my nephew will have to miss this chance to gloat." She followed him to the salon and accepted his kiss with naïve enthusiasm. Tvaren pulled away reluctantly. He shook his head. "Virar venom has become stronger or I've become more susceptible." Running his fingers through her glossy hair, he whispered, "Sleep, little one."

    Marran watched the door latch behind him, and slipped into her bed. She held back her exultation until she could cover her head with a pillow. Laughter claimed her. The whole world felt muffled and distant. She had a secret. One to keep. One that could remain undisclosed though questioned closely by arvir. How extraordinary, how precious and remarkable the ability seemed.

    Marran could lie.