Their relationship to females appeared to be protective, but with a much stronger caretaking role than on Earth. “So what do Ythirian females do with their days?”
“They take up arts; some improve the homestead.” He slathered his hands in a cooking oil, rubbing it on the roast, switching over to add herbs and seasoning that gave it a savory aroma even before it had cooked.
“So housework?” She was unimpressed.
“What is ‘housework’?”
“Chores. Cleaning and whatnot.”
He gestured around. “Do your homes not clean themselves? That seems… untidy.”
The tree house must have been self-maintaining. The few chores she’d seen—laundry, cooking—were taken up by either Garr or Sylla. Nice as that may have been, it set off panic in Rae. A life without tasks sounded excruciatingly dull.
“What do you mean ‘improving the homestead’? Because I’m not the most artsy girl.”
He cleaned his hands of the oil at a sink, and then put the roast into the oven—which had heated on its own, without his ever pushing a button or turning a dial.
The tree house must have had an artificial intelligence that allowed it to respond to his needs. “Changing the rooms to suit someone’s desires. One of my beta’s females organized this kitchen. A taliyar also commands the homestead in her prime’s absence—giving orders to the betas and omegas, particularly the other females.”
“So an architect, interior designer, and HR manager all rolled into one,” she murmured.
“Others design new plant-life with help from the Skorvag.”
“Wait, they make new species?” she asked.
“New types of food, aesthetically pleasing flora, and sometimes they create new household items. This stove was invented eight cycles ago and now they’re in every Ythirian home, even beyond Kaython.” He patted the island.
Inventors and—dare she say it—even genetic engineers. That didn’t sound so bad. “Men can’t do any of that?”
He scoffed. “Of course not.” He started unpacking new ingredients, including flour, honey, and other baking goods.
The idea of eating a baked good was more exciting than it should have been for Rae.
“Males do not create. We destroy. That is why the Skorvag will only work with females to invent new species or tools.”
That struck her as unfair. The rigid roles seemed confining for both genders. “You’ve never wanted to create something?”
“It’s not our way,” he said flatly. “It’s blasphemy. A male is made for his purpose. His hands are large to care for his mate.” He showed his hands.
“His body is lean and strong to hunt, to make war. A woman is small with clever fingers because she paints and engineers.” She could tell this had been drilled into him from a young age by the way he talked about it more eloquently than he spoke on anything.
It was nearly a scripture for him. “Even our minds—a male’s desire is to protect and maintain order; but a female strives to improve her homestead.”
Oof. Unless Ythirian brain morphology seriously differed from human, it sounded wrong. Any statement that began with “all men think this” or “all women want that” tended to be quackery.
She grinned at him, deciding to poke at his bubble some. “You’re cooking. Is your banana bread some kind of special, war-like banana bread?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not. My Aunt Margaret’s banana bread could be used to bludgeon a man. Maybe you have her recipe.”
He glared—warning her to stop poking.
Kicking her feet happily at having him cornered, she leaned in. “Cooking is creative. How do you know what you’re cooking won’t blow up and kill us all?
You could be baking missiles, the product of your masculine brain’s evil, destructive impulses.” She winked.
His glare intensified.
The nervous flutter in her belly should have stopped her; after last night’s agreement, though, she felt bolder. Besides, she reasoned: how would she figure out his boundaries unless she pushed them?
“Uh oh. This blasphemous human female is reaching for your mixing bowl! Better stop her!” Rae lunged for it.
With lightning reflexes, Garr snatched the bowl, craning it out of her reach. She stretched for it, but he stopped her with his hand to her shoulder.
Rae stuck her tongue out at him. For an instant, his stoic face broke into the briefest of grins. “Vex me again, tiny mate, and I will make you pay.”
“It’s called being playful.” The idea of what “paying” would mean filled her with the most wonderful, nervous curiosity of her life. “Don’t Ythirians play?” She managed to dip her fingers into his flour mixture, and dabbed a stripe of it on his nose.