by Regine Abel
But what of tourist-attraction types of businesses? Jewelry stores? Beauty parlors? Even the clothing stores offered a very limited inventory, with nothing extravagant or non-conformist. Where were the women’s clothing and shoe stores? I’d only seen concubine outfits and discipline specific servant outfits. Yet, I distinctly remembered the wives and concubines at the side tables wearing some beautiful dresses and jewelry. Where did those come from?
When Ravik returned from his touring tonight, we would go to Councilor Fenton’s home where we’d been invited for dinner. I liked the man. Although a little gruff, there was a great kindness in him and an unshakable loyalty towards Ravik. For that alone, I would have liked him. Until then, I hooked up my computer and started analyzing the footage I’d taken.
CHAPTER 11
Ravik
I settled down in the shuttle as my two most trusted bodyguards took me to my next destination, Tagar at the helm and Nowik on the com. It had been a long, exhausting day. I just wanted to go home to my woman and lose myself in the softness of her embrace, not head to one of the Fifteen’s compound. What a stupid idea to leave him for last in today’s tour. I’d reasoned that seeing him first would have put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day. But after all the depressing visits I’d had thus far, every one of the clans struggling, and me helpless to provide any solution, I didn’t trust myself not to lose it on Boros Grumar.
Clan Grumar’s compound loomed ahead, sprawling at the foot of Mount Jyriak, its dark buildings cleverly erected and laid out in a way to give the illusion they blended in to the rocky face of the mountain. Once part of the elite, Clan Grumar had been renowned for the masterful craftsmanship of their blacksmiths, forging the best swords and weapons in the realm. But technology soon made their skills obsolete as it allowed anyone to achieve results of similar quality, faster. The only other sources of income for the clan stemmed from their stone quarries and duralium mining. But like Clan Caldes, Clan Grumar quickly found itself losing most of its clientele as better, stronger, more stable materials became available on the intergalactic markets. The limited local demand for stone and duralium no longer sufficed for the far too many clans that relied on the mining and selling of those products for their livelihood.
As we began our descent, Boros, his three sons, and elder council clansmen approached the landing pad to welcome me. I begrudgingly recognized he was showing me more courtesy than many of the clans, especially those whose situations had grown as dire as his. Stepping down the ramp after we landed, I let my gaze roam over the Clan Leader. Two years younger than I, Boros had aged well. As was often the case with non-warrior bloodlines, he stood noticeably smaller than I in both height and constitution. Still, by galactic standards, he’d be considered a very muscular giant. His shoulder-length dark-brown hair framed a proud, Braxian face where light-brown eyes peered at me, devoid of the fear mixed with hatred I usually received from the other Fifteen.
“Magnar Ravik,” Boros said, hitting his chest with his fist. “Welcome to the Grumar compound. Health, strength, and prosperity to your clan. My home is yours.”
His sons and council clansmen repeated the salutary gesture, although they remained silent.
“Thank you for your welcome, Clan Leader Boros,” I said with a nod.
The heavy metal doors of Clan Grumar’s Hall never ceased to impress me. The smithy work on them was exquisite with the clan’s sigil carved on its face with laser precision, and filled with the opalescent nyrian stones abundantly found in this region. The doors parted to let us in. Within the large hall, with its maroon floors and light grey walls, a large stone sculpture of an anvil and hammer occupied the center of the room. Standing by the door, his clansmen on the left fisted their chest, heads bowed, the females and servants on the right getting on their knees, aside from his wife who remained standing, head and eyes down.
I gestured for all to rise, reflecting once again on how tired I had grown of these rituals, vestiges of an era long past. The last time I’d broached the subject of doing away with them, my close council had sternly warned me against it. However irritating it felt to me, it reminded people of my position and status. In these troubled times where some murmured about challenging my rule, removing symbols of my power could play against me.
Boros led me to his private chamber where he and his council clansmen spent the next forty minutes listing their woes and the hopeless situation their people drowned in.
“I cannot invent yet another civil project of no real use to the realm just to keep your men working,” I said at last in exasperation.
“Nor are we asking you to,” Boros countered, visibly stung. “The reality is that, come winter, my clan will starve. I do not challenge the new anti-slavery laws. However much it harms us right now, we agree that Braxia needs to change before we are further left behind. But I can no longer afford to pay their wages or even send them home. By month’s end, I will release the majority of my servants, which includes all my former slaves, to seek their fortune elsewhere.”
I barely repressed a flinch. For a clan to have no servants was the ultimate sign of degradation. Whatever my personal issues with Boros, I didn’t want to see such an ancient house brought so low, not to mention how it would give my detractors more ammunition against me.
I heaved a sigh. “I will speak to my council about granting you another emergency fund—”.
“No,” Boros interrupted, before nervously rubbing his broad, flat nose. “It will be no more than using a glass of water to extinguish a forest fire.”
True. But that’s all there is.
“We have exhausted every avenue,” Boros said in a tired tone. “Despite his efforts, Anton couldn’t find buyers for the resources we produce. However, he found many primitive colonies that would love benefitting from our blacksmithing skills, since they are of no use here. But that means displacing and scattering my people. I will only resort to it as a last option.”
I nodded, feeling for his pain in spite of everything. “So what would you have me do?” I asked.
He exchanged uncertain glances with his clansmen before turning his wary eyes back to me. I narrowed mine in suspicion.
“It has come to our attention…” Boros cleared his throat. “Well, the word is that your female is closely acquainted with the Tuurean leader.”
My back stiffened, feeling instantly irritated as I did every time I heard mention of said relationship. Although Ravena had assured me there was nothing romantic between them, her vagueness as to the actual nature of their rapport set my teeth on edge.
“The Admiral is not their ruler. He only leads their military,” I said, my voice colder than I wished it. It was petty of me, but pointing out that I outranked him—even if his power far exceeded mine—made me feel slightly better. “What of it?”
“The Tuureans are building a new home world for the Veredians on their planet, Tuur. They will need tons of basic resources and building materials,” Boros said, shifting in his seat. His clansmen nodded, murmuring their approval. “If your female put in a good word, maybe they would consider procuring some from us.”
I leaned back against my chair, my gaze roaming over the men assembled around the table. They stared back at me, faces strained by stress and worry, eyes full of hope.
“You would deign to let a female intercede on your behalf?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“This is a matter of survival, Magnar,” Boros said, his tone hardening. “Those who bark and yowl the loudest in your Hall are the wealthy who’ve grown fat, entitled, and lazy thanks to their fertile agricultural lands. Having to pay staff rather than enjoying free slave labor puts a dent in their already sizeable profits, and they don’t like it. As for me, I don’t care who mediates in our favor as long as it can result in us finding work so that my people will have food in their bellies come winter.”
I nodded slowly. Anton had hinted something along the same lines, but I’d been reluctant to mix personal matters with bu
siness. I didn’t want Ravena thinking my interest in her was due to her contacts and wealth. But my people were suffering, and I had a duty to uphold.
“I cannot promise you a positive outcome, but I will ask. Keep in mind that your materials are common,” I said, cautiously.
“We are aware,” Boros conceded, “and we are ready to undersell anyone… within reason.”
“Very well,” I said.
The conversation continued for a short while longer before I could finally take my leave.
“Magnar, if I may,” Boros said as we rose to exit the chamber. “I would like a private word with you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but nodded my assent. Boros’ sons cast wary glances at him. He gestured with his head for them to go on, all would be fine. And it would be. The boys were foolish to fear I’d attack their father in his own home. As per Braxian law, you couldn’t disrespect or harm a host after he had welcomed you within his house, extended the basic hospitalities to you, and you had accepted them. Magnar or not, such shameful action would result in banishment and even execution based on the gravity of the offense.
Once the door closed behind his youngest son, I raised an inquisitive brow at him.
“I will go straight to the point,” Boros said, his voice firm but non-threatening. “As all the others, I’m aware you’re eliminating the Fifteen, one by one.”
My jaw clenched, and my eyes hardened. I couldn’t believe he’d bring this up so bluntly. What did he have in mind?
“I do not dispute your right to seek vengeance. The day you issue your challenge, I will accept it, and fight.” He lifted his chin proudly, holding my gaze without flinching. “Your quarrel is with me. When I fall—and we both know I will—I only request that you do not extend your wrath to my sons and my clan.”
“Why the fuck should I care about your request?” I snarled.
“Because they are innocent!” Boros snapped. “They’ve done nothing to you.”
“Lissy had done nothing to you. That didn’t stop you!” I yelled. My hands fisted, and I took two menacing steps towards him, forcing myself to go no further.
His light-brown eyes darkened as he leveled me with a hard glare. “Your son had done nothing to you. Did that stop you?”
Shock, disbelief, and a stabbing pain coursed through me at the cruel, but all too true, words. Blinded by rage, I rushed him. Grabbing him by the throat, I slammed him against the wall. Boros hissed but didn’t resist or attempt to fight back. Arms hanging by his side, he held my furious gaze, unwavering. Did he have a death wish?
Is he trying to entrap me?
“Nice try, Grumar,” I snarled in his face. “You will not have me executed for breaking hosting laws.”
He recoiled. The genuine shock and outrage on his face threw me.
“I can have witnesses come in to confirm that I renounce my host privileges,” Boros said in a voice hard enough to cut stone.
I released his neck with a brutal shove and took a few steps away from him. He straightened, stretched his neck, and rubbed the skin where a print of my hand had already started to appear.
“You think you’re the only one who’s been haunted ever since that wretched day?” Boros asked, his eyes filling with shame and sorrow. “Do you think I take pride in being counted among the Fifteen? Did it ever cross your mind that just like you, some of us also didn’t want any part of what happened that day? That we’d been forced into acting against our will by order of our sires? I didn’t want to go to your house to begin with. My father threatened to banish me. And when I tried to cut short, your father ordered me to go on longer because it wasn’t enough. You were there!” he shouted, pointing an angry finger at me. “You saw it with your own eyes.”
I blinked, my mind reluctantly going back to that day. The boys laughing, jeering, shouting encouragements at the one fucking my Lissy, some of them stroking their cocks in anticipation. And then Boros and Niklas, faces drawn, jaws clenched, and hands fisted.
Neither had wanted to be there.
Yes, I’d been there. And now that he’d brought it back to my attention, I distinctly remembered hearing my father asking Boros if he were a cock lover that he’d be done after three pumps; to get back in there and fuck her like a man. I’d been too lost in my own grief to acknowledge his.
But he’d still fucked her. Shouldn’t Lissy be avenged of that?
And you let all of them fuck her, then killed your own son. Who will avenge them of you?
Head spinning, stomach churning, I turned away from him, staring at the trophies on his walls without seeing them. The silence stretched between us until Boros broke it with a soft voice.
“What we’ve done cannot be undone,” he said. “We can only try to prevent it from ever happening again by changing the laws, as you have, and by raising our sons to be better than we were. I will not fight your right to vengeance, but please, do not bring more innocents into this.”
My back still turned to him, I gave him a sharp nod and marched towards the closed door. I opened it to find his clan assembled outside, their expressions tense and fearful. Their gazes shifted over my shoulder, seeking their leader behind. When Boros walked out unscathed, a few of them sighed audibly while all faces lightened with relief.
As I neared my bodyguards standing by the front door, Boros’ sons approached me with a medium-sized hovercart carrying a small crate.
“These are samples of our materials for your female,” Boros said, “to give her a clear idea of what we have to offer.”
“Very well,” I said, my voice still filled with tension. “I will make sure to give them to her.”
A soft—but not particularly natural—cough drew our attention. Boros’ wife, Sorna, stared intently at her husband, her arm passed around the shoulders of their oldest daughter, Vela. The younger woman held a pretty, rectangular, flat box.
“Ah yes,” Boros said, distracted. “My mate has prepared a present for your female, to thank her for assisting in the hunt and, in many ways, saving most of our men. We would be honored if you would accept it.”
I stared at it, speechless for a moment. Females were not normally acknowledged in such a fashion, and least of all for battle prowess. The thought it might be a trap to hurt Ravena, and me through her, flashed through my mind, but I immediately dismissed the idea. The punishment for such a cowardly act would be too dire; his entire clan would be passed through the sword.
“You may approach,” I said, softening my voice.
Sorna gave Boros another worried glance before leading her daughter towards me, their steps a little ungainly from nerves. They stopped before me, Sorna standing behind her daughter with both hands on her shoulders.
“My daughter is very talented with nyrian stones and made this for your female,” Sorna said, nudging her daughter.
Vela stared at me, wide-eyed, her slender body shaking slightly. She looked unable to decide if she were awed or terrified to be in my presence. When she failed to react, a more forceful nudge from her mother snapped her out of her dazed trance. She lifted the lid of the box with shaky hands to reveal a jewelry set; necklace, earrings, and bracelet. I didn’t know much about jewelry but could immediately recognize the work as exquisite.
“Beautiful work,” I said, genuinely impressed. “It is lovely. I’m sure Ravena will like it.”
Vela’s face heated with pleasure. She cast an uncertain look over her shoulder at her mother who smiled proudly and squeezed her shoulder, and then at her sire who nodded his approval. After I took the box from her hands, Vela and her mother bowed their heads before moving back to their place among the other females and servants.
With a final goodbye, I headed back to my shuttle, chest aching, head spinning, and wanting nothing more than the comfort of my little bird’s presence.
* * *
Sitting at the breakfast table in my room, Ravena on my lap, I nuzzled her nape, while she scanned the stone and metal samples Boros had sent. She squirmed, m
umbling for me to behave as my roaming hands cupped her breasts. I wanted her, again, despite having taken her twice since my return. Braxian males lived in an almost constant state of arousal. We could literally get hard on demand, even without being excited at all—which was a rare occurrence. However, getting soft without proper release actually proved far more complicated.
I’d never been so hungry for a female before. Yet, this hunger had grown stronger. Ravena’s scent had started changing last night. Subtle at first, it had been growing steadily ever since. I initially wondered if she’d already conceived, but even if it were the case, the change of scent due to pregnancy didn’t become noticeable before the first month, but usually closer to the second month. The aroma didn’t match either. Ravena smelled like concentrated lust in its purest form. It took me a while to realize she was entering the early stages of her mating fever, which Veredians called season. I’d heard plenty of wild stories about how sexually voracious and aggressive they became then. I couldn’t wait to see—and experience—it all.
Ravena sighed as she put down her scanner. I didn’t need to ask why. I hadn’t held much hope, but it still saddened me to have my suspicions confirmed.
“Useless, right?” I asked, my hand lifting the hem of her concubine dress to caress her inner thigh.
When I’d asked her to wear it, I’d expected her to tell me to fuck off. But she’d been willing to play along—as long as it remained within the privacy of our chamber. The diaphanous, sleeveless, white dress fell mid-thigh, transparent enough to show her curves but not details like her nipples.
“Hmmm, not useless, no,” she said, spreading her legs ever so slightly. “But this stuff is available pretty much everywhere. Although, these stones have greater density and are sturdier. No wonder your buildings last forever.”
“But that’s not appealing enough to justify buying them over others?” I asked, my fingers venturing higher towards the apex of her legs.
“Technically, yes; it would be worth it if they were closer,” Ravena said, turning slightly to the side. “But it’s a long trip to the Western Quadrant. The transport costs alone will likely eat most of the profits they could possibly make. Assuming the Tuureans agree—which remains a big if—Clan Grumar will, at best, break even.”