by Clare London
I leaped to my feet, angry at his blasphemy. Too late I realized my face was now very close to his, my furious breath dusting his cheek.
His gaze locked on mine, his expression a far more complex mix than mere anger. “Relax, Maen. I know what a model citizen you are. I just wish you’d loosen up a little. Show the man underneath the Warrior to someone other than our Mistress—someone else who could offer you the attention you need.”
“You?” I said harshly.
His eyes flashed with fury, though I’d not meant it insultingly. There was a sudden movement of his upper body, his arm lifting toward me, reaching for my neck. Before I could avoid it, he’d gripped the hair at my nape, his fingers tangling in it, a forceful caress against my skin. His face was pale and far too close. I wasn’t afraid of him; there was nothing he could do that would put me in danger; we both knew that. But that familiarity was the very thing that made me pause—that, and an instinctive reaction to drop my head back, baring my neck and pushing only a token resistance against his possessive grip. Then his heated breath was on my face and his mouth came down on mine. His thick tongue licked at my lips, asking for entrance.
I opened my mouth wider to protest, but when Grien’s tongue thrust inside, I let it. In fact I leaned farther in toward him, savoring the warmth and the strong sweetness only found in a masculine mouth. I was vividly aware of the callused pads of his fingertips gripping at my flesh; I could feel the loose threads of his dark hair caught against my chin as we came together. My lips crushed against his and the pulse in my neck throbbed painfully. My tongue slid across his, caressing the rough surface, teasing at the sensitive taste buds, seeking to plunge into his mouth in return.
He groaned. It woke me up from my erotic daydream and I pulled away, perhaps a little more slowly than I should have done. His let his hand fall from my head, and we both pulled ourselves upright again.
“It’s been too long.” His whisper sounded ragged. He licked his lips as if to savor the last warm drops of my saliva. “The passions are there, as always. I can taste them! They’re so strong in you. I’ve always felt it. Even now you’re a Gold Warrior. You’re doing yourself no good holding them in. You need relief as much as we all do—”
“As you do!” I snapped. My heart was beating too quickly for comfort. I’d been caught unawares, and for that I was angry with myself. The desire had shot through my body like the fastest arrow. The mere touch of his mouth had ignited something very deep and low inside me, something that threatened everything that kept me together. The passions he spoke of—these were not something I liked to admit to anyone, apart from my Mistress. But I’d never been anything but honest, had I? My body liked the feel of Grien’s body: the thick arms around me; the strong, square jaw, rough with evening stubble, rasping under a questing tongue; the dark shadow of muscle across his torso. It would be all too easy to fall in with him tonight, drink with him sitting tightly beside me in the crowded bar, fumble with him in the alleyways outside, then collapse, exhausted and drunk, onto his bed at the end of the night and let him strip me.
My imagination shied away from the further delights I knew he’d offer me. He was a good and intuitive lover, never too rough, and his coupling would be very satisfying.
But not tonight.
He was watching me regain control of myself, apparently fascinated at the passage of expressions on my face.
“You’re a strange enigma, Gold Warrior,” he said slowly. “I think I preferred you as a Silver. We all knew where we stood then, eh? But you’re right, I like coupling. I need it.”
No apology was needed, and he was a proud man; he’d not give one. He was a worthy Silver, and I was proud to have him in my Guard.
This other matter between us—that was a different thing altogether.
“Find someone else,” I said. My throat was uncomfortably tight again. “I’m not denying you that satisfaction, and it’s not personal, Grien. Nor is it because of my Mistress. I just want no one at present. Find someone else….”
“It’s you I want.” He looked almost sorrowful. “But you know that, don’t you?”
I could only stare at him, the clamor of footsteps and distant male voices in the background, and the loud metallic clang of the supper gong. The rest of the Guard moved toward the kitchen, eager and hungry. Tomorrow they’d be sharing rations with Bronzemen, and there would be less food for a while—though of better quality in honor of the new recruits—until eventually the cooks balanced their store cupboards again.
Someone shouted along the hallway, and there was a loud, raucous laugh in reply. Grien’s smile was slightly forced, as if it hurt him to support it. He twisted his lithe body, turning away as abruptly as he’d entered, and he left the room.
I stood for quite a while longer, my hands on the table, supporting myself, still upright.
MY MISTRESS’S rooms were on the south side of the Household. Its buildings were arranged around the central courtyard, with the Mistress’s rooms and the barracks at opposing corners. Between us were the stables, the servants’ quarters, and various offices and guest rooms required for the business of the city.
The Silver Captains posted along the corridor to her room saluted me as I walked its length. The floor was wide and uncarpeted, the walls painted in a pale color to complement the stone blocks that formed the building itself. Our Household was relatively new, only established in this location for the last four generations. It was always a problem to get raw materials from the harsh land around the city, and the construction of any new center was a protracted, frustrating affair, so there was rarely any requirement for a Household to be anything other than functional. This was the Queen’s own wish, and austere decoration was encouraged in any new structure to best serve the city’s needs and prevent waste of its resources.
Once saluted through into my Mistress’s reception room, I stood at attention while her secretary called through to her. I thought she must be alone. Most of the barracks were on rest shift tonight, as Grien had confirmed, and they’d gone down into the city to celebrate the successful Choosing. So when Justes returned from our Mistress’s quarters about an hour ago, it had been to a quiet and relatively empty room. I’d heard his groan of relief as he fell on his bunk, and heard the clatter as he hauled off his boots and fell exhausted back onto his meager bedding.
It had made me smile. My Mistress was lusty and well experienced in bedroom tactics. Justes was still young—he was overly enthusiastic in his response. Such a combination inevitably meant he was easily tired as a lover. By the time I’d washed and left the barracks to take the same path, he was asleep on his bunk and snoring loudly, with his trousers still unfastened. I didn’t envy him the ridicule of his fellow soldiers when they returned from town. None of them would care to be reminded that they’d been in the same situation in the past.
One of my Mistress’s Ladies came out from the inner rooms to greet me. There was always someone to attend to the Mistress at any hour of the day or night. The Lady looked me up and down as if to check my acceptability. This was unnecessary, for she knew me well and I was, after all, a Gold Warrior. But my status was lower than any woman of the Household. She had every right to examine me.
Not, however, the right to call me to her bed as she may any of the Silvers—not, at least, without my Mistress’s permission. No Lady could. That was a privilege of my rank as Gold Warrior.
And then I laughed at my false pride. It was unlikely anyone would have called me tonight, not with a barracks full of younger, stronger Silvers to choose from, and not with the prospect of a new intake of Bronzemen arriving tomorrow!
“Please enter,” the Lady murmured. She stifled a yawn. It was a difficult duty, the midnight shift. I would have sympathized with her, but it would be socially unacceptable. It wasn’t for a soldier to converse with a Lady unless requested.
The supper wine had obviously been good and my Mistress was more than a little flushed. She wore a simple purple silk robe,
which had slipped off her shoulder because of the relaxed way she lay, stretched out on her bed.
The room was a luxurious contrast to the austere corridors outside. Many of the Mistresses had created small palaces in their bedrooms, using the richest fabrics and the softest linens. It made for a more enjoyable night for us men—and it wasn’t for us to question the way they took advantage of their position. The soft lamps on the deep red walls cast mysterious shadows about the furniture. Tapestries draped across the corners brought warmth to the cold stone. The floor was carpeted—something not found in many places of the Household—and there was a room to the side that I knew held a private bathing area, with perfumed oil and creams, continuous hot water, and towels that were softer than the bed linen itself. Her bed was large enough for four people—and she had entertained that many, at times—and covered with pillows, rather than the folded cloths we used in the barracks.
I’d spent many comfortable hours here during my career.
My Mistress lay with her long hair spread out on one of the pillows. She yawned widely, then waved her cup for me to refill. Drinking some more wine, she reached for me, tugging me down from my seated position on the edge of the bed beside her. She kissed me with her tongue and her lips, her fingers at the sides of my freshly shaven face. This continued for a long time. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, and our kisses were familiar and enjoyable, but she made no move to consummate anything. I was still fully dressed, apart from shedding my boots and sword. I wondered why she’d called me at all. Justes was maybe a little inexperienced, but I was sure his enthusiasm would have been more than enough for her entertainment.
“You wonder why I called you here, Maen, don’t you?”
Uncanny, her perception! Or maybe I was too easy to read.
“Perhaps I just want to talk. Perhaps pretty, blond Justes, the Silver boy, had sufficient energy to wear out my sexual appetite. Hush!” She smiled, catching my cynical look. “All right, perhaps that’s not the truth. But I do want to talk, and tonight you’re the best companion for that. It was a good Choosing, wasn’t it?”
I nodded agreement. She had excellent judgment. For the whole ten years she’d been in office, we’d had a fine Guard and contributed many good children to the city. She pulled herself tipsily up onto her arm and gazed at me. “And the boy, Maen?”
“The boy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now, soldier, I’m slightly drunk and almost naked in your arms, and I allow you a freedom of speech that no one else has in my presence. But I’m not stupid, nor will I ever be! Remember that you’re a man and I am your Mistress, and do not play verbal games with me.”
I hastened to calm her, to apologize. I hadn’t meant to be coy. Her question caught me unawares and I had genuinely wondered what boy she meant. Now I knew.
She sighed. “He is beautiful. You saw it too—don’t deny it! He’ll be spectacular in uniform, and he promises great strength and vitality. Will he meet your military standards? Will that please you?”
“He’s a Remainder. I don’t know what traits he may bring with him that are incompatible with life in the Household.”
“They have all been raised in the Central School,” she protested. “That’s the whole purpose—to offer schooling to all children, regardless of their final status. It is an absence of discrimination. It’s what our devotion demands of us.”
“I know.” I should tread carefully. As she’d said, she wasn’t to be regarded as stupid. “But even in the school, it’s accepted that the Remainders keep together and the Household children find and bind to their own. It’s more than just the brand. There’s some characteristic they recognize in each other. That’s why it’s so rare to find a pure Remainder at the Choosing—”
“And, in return, why the children of Household lineage find it so traumatic if they are never chosen, and they have to consign themselves to being a Remainder.” She nodded in agreement with me, her eyes troubled, and I was privately surprised at the extent of her understanding. “They don’t mix so easily, moving between the worlds. A citizen of the city isn’t as generic as we are led to believe.”
“I’m sure the boy won’t be a problem, Mistress.”
“And you will train him well, won’t you, Gold Warrior?” she murmured. Her hand stroked almost aimlessly along my bare arm.
“If he’s in my Guard, I will.” I smiled with some confidence.
“Yes, as you’ve guessed, he will be.” She laughed. “You deserve each other. I want to see the sparks that will fly! Something about him made me question whether he’ll be eager to assume the honor of Bronzeman or whether he’ll be more of a challenge for you. But keep him away from your rapacious Silvers, for he’s mine until he’s qualified. All for me and my favored Ladies.”
She laughed softly and rolled onto her back, the flimsy silk robe slipping away completely now from her fine body. Her breasts were pale and had grown fuller with every child she’d borne. They rippled now, like soft, shallow pools of flesh. I could take one in my hands, like a frothing cup of warm ale, and bring my lips to it to taste. She always liked that caress.
I needed no reminder about the sexual exclusivity of Bronzemen. I knew the rules as well as she. The young men could couple only with the Mistress and the Ladies until they were fully trained and passed as Silver Captains. At their Bronzeman time, they were at their finest and their most fertile, needed purely for breeding and the intensive training that would make them some of the best men in the city. But when they were Silver, they’d be available to all. They were stronger then and more emotionally stable; they could enjoy all kinds of additional pleasures, for the Silvers were the mainstay of the military and to be indulged to a large extent. Didn’t I know that well enough? I ran a garrison of them. I understood them. And I’d been one myself.
My Mistress’s voice broke in on my musings. “Do you wonder about your own sons, Maen? At the Choosings? Did that boy make you wish for that, in some way?”
“No.” I paused, afraid to expose my thoughts to this woman who seemed already to know them. Sometimes our conversations filled me with a nervousness I barely understood, and I had to trust that Mistress Luana would not harm me deliberately. “His bearing was nothing like a son’s, even though he’s still so young. Believe me, I’ve never sought anything like that from the Bronzemen. I think of my own personal contribution to the city, I admit. But I don’t know if I’ve ever sired any child of yours or anyone else’s—”
“No, you don’t,” she said, sharply now. “And I may never tell you. You’re not allowed to have any connection. You have no rights over the fruit of your seed at all. Though maybe in those years to come, when any child of your coupling will be ready for the Choosing… maybe then I will tell you.”
“You don’t have to,” I hastened to say. After all, it was set clearly in the rules. “Such rights have no value for the service of the city.”
“No, they don’t.” Her gaze was dark and unfathomable to me. “Don’t repeat my own Devotions back to me, Gold Warrior. You’re not the person for that!”
I flushed and prepared to leave, but she grasped at my arm as I sat up from the bed.
“Hush, Maen, you’re not usually so sensitive to my taunts. You cannot go and leave me untouched, can you?”
Her expression was a mixture of amusement and some coyness. She pulled herself upright, brushing her hair back over her shoulders and leaving the robe behind her on the bed, a pool of shining fabric at her hips. She knew the power of her naked beauty, the seductive smell of her perfume and her cushioned flesh. She had bathed for me—she always did, between lovers. But I was flattered, for it was a courtesy some Mistresses saw no need for. I felt the familiar tremor in my body and the smile of anticipation that came unbidden.
She lifted a hand to my face and stroked my cheek. “You know we’re promised a visit from the Royal Household soon?”
“The Queen herself?” I was startled.
“Maybe not.” Mistress Luana let a f
rown creep across her brow. “Likely she’ll only send that daughter of hers, Seleste. I’ll need your support should that visit happen.”
The gaze that caught mine was unclouded by drink. We both knew the importance of the news. It was a rare honor, to receive the Queen’s Household. And yet sometimes not such an honor.
My Mistress relaxed again. “And so, Gold Warrior, where were we? My skin is tight and hungry for your special massage….”
I started to apologize for my inattention, but, rather to my surprise, she pulled me down suddenly onto the bed and began kissing the words away. She gave the small, throaty moan that showed how aroused she was. “Enough of the dreams of the young, Maen. Tomorrow I’ll allow my desires to get completely out of hand, and I’ll survive on nothing but honey wine and soft, virginal flesh for two weeks at least. Will you ensure that food trays are left at my door at regular intervals?”
I was laughing already, even as she slipped open the cords of my shirt and ran her fingers through the hair on my chest. I shrugged the garment off my shoulders and her gaze ran greedily over the muscles of my torso. “You’ll handle your responsibilities as well as you always do, Mistress,” I teased. “All I ask is that you leave me sufficient to create a soldier or two after you’ve taken your satisfaction.”
She laughed, pleased at the compliment. “But tonight, it’s just us. My favorite Warrior and his most splendid, gorgeous body.”
I smiled. She had a garrison of those, surely, from Bronze to Gold, and I was nothing more special than the others. Her words were to please me—and that gratuitous kindness was only one of the reasons I thought her the best Mistress in the city.
“We know what we like, Maen, because our bodies have coupled for years. There’s a special, more mature satisfaction to that, isn’t there?”
“I think so.” I laughed too. I had to confess she made me feel rather immature—it was a skill of hers. Her lips caressed my neck. She had a habit of tickling at the brand on my inner arm that distracted me from the attention I should be giving her. I bore a servant’s version of her own brand, that of the Exchequer. The mark of coins in an elegant oval; the mark of privilege. “But how am I to know, Mistress? I’m a Gold Warrior now. I’m not expected to have the pure beauty of the Bronzemen, nor do I have the sexual prowess of the Silvers. I can only offer you companionship and protection, and my loyalty and commitment to managing your men. This time of my life isn’t meant to be one full of lust and tumbling in sheets and hour after hour of Ladies’ satisfaction—”