Their faces were indeed catlike, as much as an ancient Terran monkey’s was like a human’s; the shaauri’s whiskers grew like parentheses on either side of the face and formed two bristle-like clumps on the jaw. Ears, set slightly to the side of the head, were large and pointed and extremely mobile, never quite still.
But it was the creatures’ eyes that were most extraordinary, large and tilted and red-gold, with vertical oval pupils. Those eyes were staring at Ronan in open challenge, waiting for a single false move.
One of the shaauri spoke. Its voice—Cynara couldn’t tell if it was male or female—was utterly unexpected. There was nothing feline about it. Recordings could never do it justice, for human hearing was not meant to absorb its incredible complexity. Cynara sensed pitches too high or low for her to detect, rumbles she felt in her chest, hissing sibilants and minuscule alterations in tone that must have held great meaning for other shaauri.
Ronan listened intently. How he understood with his human senses was beyond her, unless he—like “true” Kinsmen—relied on telepathy and had done so in the past without realizing it. After the shaaurin finished speaking, Ronan waited several minutes in silence and then began his reply.
Human voices were no more designed to make those sounds than human hearing was to perceive them, yet Ronan came so close that Cynara couldn’t tell the difference. His throat and tongue and chest manipulated tones up and down the scale and well beyond it. She concentrated, seeking explanation in his mind.
The shaaurin warrior had challenged, and Ronan answered simply, with Line, House, and name. “Ronan” had never sounded so peculiar. There were honorifics, including the prefix “Ve,” which Ronan had applied to Kord on the Pegasus, and much that she interpreted as additional courtesies due those who were, at least for the time being, in a position of greater rank and power.
The one thing Ronan did not do was back down. He kept his gaze averted, but never lowered; his stance was straight, unapologetic, and his body and hands moved almost imperceptibly to accent his words. Cynara guessed that his small and immobile ears were his greatest disadvantage. It must have been difficult to grow up among shaauri lacking those marvelous appendages.
It must have been difficult not to be afraid of these beings every minute of every day. But Ronan was not afraid—not for himself. His only fear was for her. Even that he did not let the warriors see.
When he had finished, there was another silence, not so long, and one of the warriors turned to the three shaauri standing behind. More whistling, growling, and hissing, and then one of the three stepped forward.
The difference in its fur was immediately apparent. Where the dark bars on the warriors’ shoulders were heavy and numerous, those on this individual turned its upper body nearly black from neck to waist. It also wore minimal clothing, consisting primarily of a long robe open at the sides and lightly held in place with a sash. It, like the others, wore little personal ornamentation, as if the striking fur were enough.
Ronan stood still, if possible even more alert than he had been facing the warriors. The new shaaurin moved up between the ve’laik’i and made a gesture with one graceful, long-nailed hand. Ronan answered an unspoken question. Cynara heard some semblance of her own name, honorifics attached.
The robed shaaurin answered, Ronan responded at some length, and the shaaurin made a single perfunctory sound that could only be a command. Ronan hesitated and then slowly moved aside.
She is Third of this ship, Ronan spoke in Cynara’s mind. Let her see you. Do not be afraid.
He had, she thought with some irony, decided to be funny at the worst possible moment. Cautiously she moved forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ronan and hoping the shaaurin would interpret her stance as one of perfect unity with him.
Silence. Cynara’s own breathing seemed deafening. Ronan was with her, all around her, though he didn’t so much as twitch a finger. She felt the shaaurin’s stare, undeniably rude by human or shaauri standards.
Then she lost her temper, and stared back.