by Shannon West
His omak’s words about husbands hadn’t set well with Larz, though, because if there was teaching to be done, he wanted to be the one to do it and not the other way around. He was a man, after all. His omak had some strange ideas, but then, he was human, so… As his father said, allowances had to be made.
And though much of Blake’s human DNA had been suppressed by the Tygerian doctors’ injections and “potions” as Blake called them, Larz, and his younger brother Nicarr had still managed to inherit his temper. The one thing he’d always admired most about Blake was his fiery, savage temper. Even Davos was wary of it. Perhaps Larz had a little of that in him too, because as King Janos made an impatient noise, drawing Larz’s attention back to him, and as he lifted his arm to send him away or even worse, Larz lifted his head, opened his mouth, and started channeling Blake.
“This is what I think of your opinion of Tygeria!” he said, spitting down at the king’s feet. A loud gasp went up from the onlookers.
“And for all your big talk about us, the Tygerians defeated you in every battle we ever engaged you in, didn’t we? We could have annihilated your piss-ant planet, but my father chose not to, out of the goodness of his heart! Tygerians are superior to you in every way! So what’s your plan here anyway? To capture us Tygerians one by one and talk us to death while we’re safely chained up and we can’t hurt you?”
The king looked down at him in disbelief, yet the corners of his mouth definitely twitched. “Piss-ant planet? I’d ask you what that was, but I’m afraid you’d find too much pleasure in telling me.” He tilted his head to take a better look at the boy and then nodded as if he’d made up his mind about something.
“As for my ‘plan,’ I think it just changed. I think I should make you very sorry for your insolence, slave boy.” Then in that other language he shouted something to the guards who began to drag Larz away, as the king arrogantly turned his back on him and swept from the hall.
The guards, who were pulling him in the opposite direction down another long corridor, were not disposed to be gentle with him. Roughly, they yanked at his chain and delivered a few stray kicks to get him moving faster. They only stopped when Larz lunged at one of them and kneed him between his legs. After a quick check of the man’s injuries, they eventually arrived at another set of double doors which were guarded by two more guards. These new ones regarded Larz with interest as the other two jabbered something in their language. Then they stood aside, darting Larz warning looks, and allowed them to open the door.
This room, like the other ones in this palace, was overdone and fussy, with swaths of dark red cloth hanging from the windows and pooling onto the floor. The carpet was so thick he left his footprints in it as he was shoved across it and forced down onto his knees by the foot of the bed. In contrast to being on his knees on the hard marble of the hallways earlier, this was almost a treat. They fastened the chain around his neck to the footboard of the massive bed and left him there, presumably hoping he’d worry about what was going to happen to him next. Other than the chains on his wrists, though, he was fairly comfortable. He did wish they’d chained his hands in front of him, but he would have to make do if they attacked him. He thought he could roll to his back and strike out with his feet if he had to and with his head and his teeth if he was attacked, but the plain fact was that he was no longer worried about much. They had done their worst by taking away his freedom, and taking him away from his home. In his opinion, they couldn’t do much worse to him.
If they tortured him, he would endure it and fight ’til his last breath. If they killed him, then at least this ordeal would be over. And he said as much to the king when he walked in the door and stood poised imperiously on the threshold, staring down at him as if contemplating what to do with him.
“Torture or murder? Is that all you think I can do to you?” He smiled at Larz cynically. “Gods, you are young, aren’t you? How old are you, child?” He said the word “child” like it was a curse word.
“I’m fifteen, and I’m not a fucking child. And I’m not afraid of you!”
“Is that right?” he said, walking slowly forward into the room. The material on his trouser legs was so tight and shiny, it outlined his muscular thighs, not to mention the bulge in his groin. Larz found himself captivated by those thighs as he came closer to stand over him. And by the bulge.
Still, Larz looked up at him with as much insolence as he could muster. This man’s deep blue eyes seemed to glitter at him from underneath all that dark hair, and his lips—good gods, his lips. They were lush and full and sinful, and when he glanced down at Larz, he could have sworn the corners turned up in a mocking little smile.
He raised his foot and the tip of his boot went under Larz’s chin. He wasn’t pressing in hard, but the sharp tip could easily hurt Larz if he wanted it to. The king lifted up Larz’s chin with that boot to make him look into his eyes. “What’s your name, boy? And don’t lie to me.”
“None of your fucking business.”
The king drew himself up to his full height and glared down at him, pushing the tip of his boot up a bit higher. “Never,” he said, his tone ice cold. “Never speak to me that way again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Kiss my ass. Did I make myself clear?”
One eyebrow quirked up and his lips twitched again as he lowered his boot and stood with his hip cocked out to the side, contemplating him. “Kiss your ass?” he repeated incredulously. “Where do you get all these colorful expressions? They’re not Tygerian, I think.”
“I get them from one of my fathers, who’s human. And who would totally kick your ass if he was here!” Larz matched his gaze, trying to put every bit of hatred for this king and for this situation that he had into it as he continued. “But let me tell you something and listen close. I’m not a slave.”
The king smiled a cruel little smile. “Not yet, perhaps. But we’re getting there.” The king shook his head and made a little tsking sound with his lips. “You’ve been spoiled. And very badly, I think. A little time working as my bath slave might do you some good. Help you learn humility and your place in my world.”
Larz narrowed his eyes. “A bath slave? What’s that?”
“You’d run the water for my bath, make sure it’s the proper temperature. Put in the appropriate herbs and bath salts. Then you would bathe me and stand by to hold my towel for me while I soak.”
Larz snorted. “What kind of job is that?”
“Yours, until I say differently.” He turned then and went to the door, calling for his personal guards. When they came in, he brought them over to stand in front of Larz and said something in his language. Then he repeated it in Tygerian. “Show this slave how to draw my bath. Then have him attend me. And if he gives you any trouble…kick his ass.”
The guards looked at both of them uneasily, but responded without a word by quickly unchaining Larz to pull him into an adjoining room. One of them jabbered at him again in his language, pointing at things, but Larz shrugged to indicate he had no idea what he was saying. The guard grew frustrated and struck Larz on his shoulder with the flat of his sword, but Larz only sneered at him. “Is that the best you can do? My little nephew can hit harder, and he’s only six.”
The man glared at him for another moment, then attached his chain to a ring on the wall and hurried from the room, leaving Larz alone for a few minutes. Larz was actually happy to be alone, if staying with the king meant bathing him and letting the man take him to his bed. He could have told the king, however, that, for the record, sticking anything at all up his ass was just not going to happen.
Vannos had told him and Nicarr that this was what was involved when you had sex with a man. According to Vannos, it was called “fucking,” and Vannos said he did it all the time now since he’d mated King Stefan. Larz got the impression that he’d actually been bragging more than a little. He said that when it happened, his king would get behind him or on top of him and put his typpid up Vannos’s ass and move it in and o
ut pretty fast. And then the white fluid that stained Larz’s sheets at night sometimes would fly out of the end of that typpid and go up inside his ass. Then it leaked out later and he had to clean himself up. It all sounded messy and unpleasant to Larz, but Vannos said it wasn’t that bad at all. In fact, it was quite nice and totally worth it. Hmm. If he said so…but Larz wasn’t convinced.
Vannos also told them his husband would sometimes put his mouth on Vannos’s typpid and then swallow the fluid that came out of it, but that was too farfetched for Larz to believe. He knew Vannos must have been teasing them at that point.
Now Larz had been to school. He knew the real Tygerian word for his typpid was “lokur,” or what Blake called “penis,” but that wasn’t what the people he knew actually called it. “Lokur” was only a word for when you were trying to be proper. He and his brothers called theirs their “typpid,” and the two sacs below it were called bollurs.
He’d also heard his omak say “dick and balls.” But then, “dick” seemed to be a word Blake used for a lot of things, including his father, and he said “balls” when he dropped things or when he was irritated about something, so Larz wasn’t absolutely sure they were talking about the same thing.
That’s why when Vannos told him that men stuck their typpids up other men’s asses, he’d had to make sure he was really talking about the flesh that got hard between his legs, his lokur, and not something else. Vannos assured him with a very straight face that he was. That was just taking the joke too far.
Whatever it was called and whatever happened, Larz thought he’d have to be careful around this king of Laltana. Even though the king had only been insulting so far, he hadn’t touched him at all, except with his boot, and for that he was grateful. But he might not be out of danger yet. He had a feeling that some men, especially the kind who bought slaves, wouldn’t be bothered overly much by how old he was. He didn’t want to kill this king, but he’d try to if any kind of fucking was involved, and he wasn’t the one doing it. Then of course, the guards would kill him, but at least all this would be over.
It wasn’t true what the king had said about Tygerians fucking children. That didn’t happen, and he didn’t know where King Janos had gotten the idea. Not only would his father never allow such a thing, but his omak would have had anyone who tried it eviscerated right in front of him. His omak seemed to like children a great deal, which had always worked out well for him and his brothers. They were able to get away with quite a lot that their friends weren’t able to. Best of all, he had always made them feel as if he loved them more than anything.
The door suddenly flew open and the bald man came hurrying in. “What in the world have you been up to? You’ve angered the king!” He gestured toward the guard who had come in with him to remove Larz’s chains, except for the neck chain, which was still attached to the wall. The bald man came over and squatted down in front of him.
He tapped his chest and said, “My name is Kelan. Tell me yours?”
Larz hesitated. This man’s king obviously hated Tygerians from what he’d said. Did Kelan hate them too? Names had power. The priests in the temples back home used them all the time in his ceremonies, naming his father and Blake and each of the princes. Omak said he was blessing them.
If this man or heavens forbid, the king, found out his name, he might be able to use it not as a blessing but as a curse against him in some way. No, it would be better not to let him or anyone else know his true name and that he was the son of King Davos, the ruler of the entire Axis of Planets, seeing as how King Janos said he hated Tygerians so much. Just in case. If he hated regular Tygerians, how much more would he despise the son of their king?
“Bastion,” Larz replied in Earthan after a moment, giving him the name of a boy he didn’t much like back home. Bastion was a braggart, a loudmouth and a bully and had said things about his human omak that Larz had bloodied his nose for. Larz decided to use this name because if King Janos or anyone else on this planet used the name in some alien cursing ritual...well, at least none of his friends would be hurt, and it wouldn’t be much of a loss, really, if the curse did bad things to Bastion.
The bald man named Kelan nodded, repeating it after him a few times. “Thank you, Bastion. Before the king comes back, we need to talk about what your new duties will be, as it seems your options have changed. The king wants you to be his bath slave. Do you understand what that is?”
Larz nodded, a little sullenly. “He wants me to bathe him and hold his towel for him.”
“Er…yes. And you mustn’t object or stare at his body, or touch him inappropriately.”
“I won’t touch him, but I’m not sure he won’t touch me. If he does, I’ll just kill him.”
Kelan looked alarmed and his face got red. “No, no, you mustn’t attempt that! Promise me you won’t!”
“I can’t promise. But if he leaves me alone, then I’ll leave him alone.”
Kelan closed his eyes and sighed. “Bastion, he’ll have you killed if you attack him. Do you understand? He-he has good reason to hate Tygerians.”
“A better reason than being kidnapped and watching my friends die around me? Watching boys who are cycles younger than me getting sold to old, fat, greasy men who came to look at them in their cages as they cringed away and cried for their omaks? I didn’t ask for any of this! And I never did anything to your king! I only want to go home!” To his horror, his voice broke at the end in a little sound that was suspiciously like a sob. He bit down on his lip and lowered his eyes so this man wouldn’t see any hint of moisture in them.
A noise at the door made both of them glance up to see the king, already in some kind of white robe, his bare feet, pale but small for a man, sticking out from under it. His robe had fallen open and underneath Larz could see his creamy white skin, not to mention the muscles on his stomach. They weren’t bulky like Larz’s, but they were defined and looked like they’d been developed through working and not through exercise or lifting weights. But that would be crazy, because this was a pampered king who probably had never worked anywhere. Best of all though, and the sight that made Larz feel a little breathless, was the flash he got of the king’s typpid and bollurs. It was quick and only for moment as he shifted his robe, but it was enough to set Larz’s heart racing. His typpid was long and not terribly thick, but his bollurs were heavy and pink and made him want to heft them in his hands. He wasn’t erect, so it was hard to tell his size, but Larz thought he had nothing to be ashamed about.
The king had obviously overheard their conversation, and his handsome face looked white and stricken. He waved Kelan away when he turned to him, stammering and full of excuses and apologies.
“No, just take him away. He’s right. He’s only a child, and I-I forgot myself for a moment. I won’t do it again.” He turned to speak to Larz. “Bastion,” he said, which let Larz know he’d been standing there listening for a while, since he knew his fake name. It also meant he had heard Larz’s threats to kill him.
“Go with Kelan back to the slave quarters,” the king continued. “I lost my temper with you, but…that was wrong of me and I’m sorry. Sorry for all of this.” He turned then, his face still red and went back through the door, closing it softly behind him. Kelan blew out a long breath.
“Well, His Majesty still can surprise me from time to time. He’s a good man, like his father. One day I’ll tell you why he hates the Tygerians so much, but for now, let’s get you back to the quarters to have your supper.”
A couple of hours later, two young women brought Larz a tray filled with food that was unfamiliar to him. But since he was starving and couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually eaten, he tried the bread and found it to be very tasty, with a nutty flavor and a smooth texture. He tried a little of what he thought was some kind of vegetable and a bit of a sweet dessert, but didn’t eat the meat, which was an odd shade of brown and had a taste he couldn’t identify. He drank all the water they brought him, though, and then arranged th
e pillows as best he could to lie down on them. It was full dark by this time and since no one turned on any lights anywhere, he decided it must be time to sleep. He was pretty exhausted and hoped he’d fall asleep right away.
Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, and not think too much about how worried his family must be about him, and not long so much for his home. He had to put thoughts like those behind him now, because they would only make him weak and he had to concentrate on strength if he were to survive. It was his enemies who would give him that strength. Mikos had told him that, and he believed it. It was men like the king he’d met today whose hatred would make him strong. He felt embarrassed that he had let the king see how upset he got, and he made himself a promise that he’d never again let any of them ever see how sad or frightened he was. Not ever.
****
It was close to midnight and still Janos hadn’t been able to still his mind enough to allow him to sleep. The feast to honor his Naming Day earlier had seemed interminable, with one boring speech after another. Still, Janos had to sit and smile and pretend. He had to acknowledge each flowery word of praise and every expensive bauble he was gifted with, when all he wanted to do was retire for the night. He was exhausted and had spent most of the entire day with advisors talking endlessly about trade negotiations with the Farlians and a recent rise in border raids from the Athelonians. It looked as if war was on the horizon with them again, sooner rather than later, which meant raising taxes to finance the thing, even though his people were already overburdened with war reparations from the Axis.
Reparations he had no intention of paying. Today, long after the war was over, Laltana still had no diplomatic relationship with the Axis forces, but his brother had agreed to make the payments to avoid an attack by the bastards while Janos was still rotting away in the Tygerian prison camp. They were intended as compensation payments from the vanquished to the victor, and covered damage or injury inflicted during the war. But his small planet hadn’t been involved until fairly late in the war, and then only because they’d been backed into a corner by the Alliance. They had threatened to cut off shipments of goods to their planet if Laltana didn’t ally itself with them and join their fight against the Axis forces. These payments, converted into diamond standards and goods, had taken a huge toll on his kingdom, along with the other kingdoms of this planet, though the Farlians made up for theirs in trade. Some of it legal, most of it decidedly not.