“Then I’ll get dressed in the bathroom.”
“I’m afraid . . .” Yevgheniy began but never finished.
Mazur sprang from the bed, knocked the old warrior to the rugs, and pinned him there. He yawned, displaying a full set of very large teeth, and delicately took Yevgheniy’s head into his mouth. The man’s eyes closed but he made no move.
Corinne jumped off the bed and took a hasty step forward, then stopped as Yevgheniy slowly relaxed under the big cat. A fountain’s lyrical song floated in from the garden beyond as counterpoint to Yevgheniy’s harsh breathing and Mykh’s curt voice in the other room. Her body ached from a multitude of bruises and muscles exhausted by a night’s hedonistic exertions.
Finally Mazur opened his mouth, lifted his head, and looked at Corinne.
“Go,” he chuffed. “You can splash in the water while I guard. It’s very nice water. You will enjoy it. The other women never went there.”
Corinne nodded, reassured about Mazur’s attentions. But Yevgheniy might not be as relaxed. “Are you okay?” she asked the human nervously.
Yevgheniy shrugged very slightly. “Mazur has never hurt me before. I can wait for you.”
She swallowed hard and tightened the silk quilt around herself. “Thank you very much, Mazur. Please be careful with Yevgheniy.” Corinne picked up the discarded bundle and edged around the two sprawled across the rugs.
“Of course. We have played before.” Mazur yawned again, sat up, and lay down, this time between Yevgheniy’s legs. Any attempt to escape would place the man’s private parts within inches of Mazur’s splendid teeth.
Yevgheniy wisely didn’t try any such thing. Instead, his eyes tracked from Mazur to Corinne where they lingered with an unreadable expression.
“I’ll hurry,” she assured him.
“His Majesty expects us to join him in a candlespan.”
Corinne sent her mind back to what she knew of timekeeping in Torhtremer and translated hastily. A candlespan, or how long it took for a large candle to burn down, was approximately an hour. That should be long enough for a bath and getting dressed, plus some Tai Chi as exercise. She nodded at Yevgheniy and escaped, still clutching the silk quilt around her. She refused to limp in front of him.
The bathroom was bigger than she’d expected. It centered on a pool, which dwarfed any bathtub she’d seen in publicity tours or Celeste’s sybaritic decor. The pool looked like a small mountain spring, surrounded on three sides by marble and granite crags. The polished rock looked more like shower stalls at an expensive resort than a backdrop for waterfalls. Other nooks and crannies held mirrors that swam in and out of the mist unless looked at directly. There were also sinks, toilet, and bidet, all carved from rock with brass fixtures and remarkably recognizable for an Iron Age world.
She tested the water by dipping her foot into it and frowned. It was barely lukewarm. Better than nothing but her abused muscles wanted more. Maybe she could try something similar to The Leopard and the Lily’s big bathing scene. She cleared her throat and spoke to the empty room.
“I would like some hot water.”
No steam arose from the pool. Damn. Was there a magic word involved? She tried again.
“Please give me some hot water. Please.”
Clouds of steam instantly floated above the pool. She tentatively touched her toe to the water’s surface and jumped back with a yelp. “A little cooler, please!”
The clouds of steam immediately faded to a smooth haze. She tested it again and smiled. Perfect.
Was Celeste doing as well with basic technology in that far future world? Was she even alive to try? Corinne bit her lip and pulled her thoughts away from her sister’s plight. Worry wouldn’t help her to escape and rescue Celeste.
An hour later, Corinne considered her situation. The bruises had faded within minutes of entering the pool, while the aches had turned into a strong sense of well-being under the cascading water. Any spa on Earth would kill for that pool.
A simple breakfast had appeared when she finished drying herself, showing up on a ledge as soon as her stomach growled. Her taste buds welcomed the brown bread, goat cheese and oranges with all the enthusiasm to be expected after living off room service and airline food for three months. And displayed not a trace of nerves about being held captive on a world so far away from Earth that she had literally no idea of how to go home.
None of this helped her escape or find Celeste. Maybe she should have searched the room one more time for an escape hatch, instead of devouring breakfast. Maybe Celeste was choking down one of those dreadful meals in a tube, or hooked up to a machine that pumped things into her blood instead of feeding her. Maybe Celeste wasn’t eating at all.
Corinne closed her eyes and stopped her breakfast from reappearing in her mouth. That done, she repeated a few more of her sifu’s proverbs before taking stock of her situation. The disadvantages were clear enough but there had to be some advantages. Maybe Mykh’s lust was an advantage for her, uncomfortable though her response to him made her feel. Even so, she still didn’t want to go naked.
Corinne tried one more time to persuade the silk quilt to become a toga but it slid off her shoulder rapidly again. It was much too slick and bulky to become clothing and she reluctantly picked up the leather-clad bundle. She just didn’t want to find out what attire Mykh thought suitable for a dangerous sorceress. Perhaps a transparent shift that barely reached her thighs? No, that was a concubine’s wardrobe. Sackcloth, with a ball and chain as accessories?
The heavy leather was scarred and stained almost black from age and hard use. It was tied with rawhide cords and looked like a man’s luggage, not a palace ornament. At least the knots came undone easily.
Corinne folded back the leather only to gape at the contents. Gold and jewels blazed against brightly colored enamels. Neither sackcloth nor prisoner’s garb and far too lavish for his concubines. She began to get dressed as quickly as possible in the skirt and top.
Finally she surveyed the result in the long mirror. The outfit was lightweight, a perfect fit, extremely comfortable and embarrassing as hell. The long skirt was made from dragon wing scales, long triangular pieces hanging from a broad leather band that rested on her hips. A single, very wide panel in the front was flanked by overlapping scales that encompassed her like a strange cross between a kilt and a grass skirt, while mercifully reaching past her ankles. The result was entirely decent, especially if she stood still, but an open invitation for a man to slip his hand between the scales and fondle the woman underneath.
The upper half was much like a bikini top with narrow leather bands looping around her neck and back. Its cups were circular, each shaped like a dragon’s claw with five sharp spikes holding a leather cord that spiraled to cover her nipple. Both skirt and top were enameled and gilded, then accented with jewels. Even the leather sandals shone with the same gilt and enamels.
Technically there was nothing to offend even a movie studio’s censors but the reality was scandalous. It offered everything to invite and nothing to hinder a man’s possessive touch. She looked like a combination of hula dancer and porn star.
Corinne whirled to see her back, but the movement sent the panels soaring up to her hips. She froze, blushing, just as Mazur yowled. “Great Lady, the man is growing restless. Will you join us or shall I play with him again?”
“Don’t play with him!” Corinne answered hastily. “I’ll be right there.” She cast one last glance at herself in the mirror and headed out, trying to walk as smoothly as her drama instructor had taught. Maybe a glide that kept Victorian hoop skirts from bouncing around would keep her respectably covered in this rig.
She found Mazur stretched in front of the bathroom door, idly polishing a gleaming black claw, while Yevgheniy paced across the bedroom. He stopped when she entered and assessed her. His eyes flashed with appreciation, but he veiled his expression quickly then opened the double doors into the meeting room. “Come with me; His Majesty is waiting for us.”
Corinne followed him hesitantly, her mouth dry at meeting her captor—and lover—again.
Mykh’s eyes blazed with triumph and possessiveness when she entered the room. The handful of councillors there, all dressed in fine silks and brocades, watched closely as he strode toward her. They showed more interest in her than she’d expect a concubine to evoke.
“Perfect,” Mykh pronounced. “Dressed for display as the High King’s trophy. But you look cold as ice, sorceress. You are lacking only one element.”
“How about a cloak? Or a long kimono?” Corinne suggested, made restless by the greedy sweep of his eyes over her and the cool draft tickling the backs of her thighs.
“Hot blood pounding through your veins, sorceress. You must look eager to serve the Dragonheart.”
“Eager?” Corinne squawked, nervousness forgotten.
His kiss silenced her retort and scorched her down to her bones. She brought her knee up sharply between his legs, but he dodged the attack easily. He captured her hands and held them together in one giant paw.
“I won’t kiss you,” she vowed. “I won’t. No matter what you do.”
He laughed down at her. “Such a fierce kitten, always fighting like a tigress,” he purred and pulled her up against him. She twisted and fought like a wildcat but finally stood quiescent, growling at him in frustration.
He took her mouth with a conqueror’s sureness, then lingered until she moaned and yielded to him. His fingers kneaded her ass and she forgot their audience, as she tried to move closer to him. She clutched him closer when he transferred his attentions to her breast. The room could have been full of kings and queens and their entourages but she didn’t care, not when his mouth was sending jolts of fire from her nipples to her cunt. Her hips circled and pushed restlessly against his hard thighs.
She blinked when he finally lifted his head. Her eyes would barely focus.
“Much better, sorceress,” Mykh purred as he touched her mouth assessingly. “You’re swollen from my kisses and flushed from my teeth, while your hips sway eagerly to cradle me.”
“You sexist jerk!” Corinne shouted and kicked him, a good solid sweep kick. The amber pendant burned her throat but she didn’t care, not when he staggered as a result. “Asshole,” she grumbled.
He recovered quickly and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Behave yourself or I’ll mount you here and now.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” But her body tightened at the thought and she threw a wary glance at the nearby table. Two of his big strides could take them to it. He could sweep the maps off and bend her over it. A trickle of heat surfaced from her core and touched her thigh.
“And now, my sorceress, you also smell like a woman in heat,” he whispered in her ear then released her. “We will proceed to the throne room now,” he announced to the room at large. “Little sorceress, Mazur, you will follow me.” He lifted an imperious eyebrow at them.
Corinne bridled but Mazur nudged her leg. “Must I?” Corinne muttered but she fell into step behind Mykh, Mazur on one side of her and Yevgheniy on the other. She sniffed her disgust as she followed him through the door. The councillors’ voices blurred as they joined in.
Ghryghoriy waited outside with two of his men, gorgeous in his black and gold dress uniform with his hand resting on the hilt of his magical sword, White Fang. Corinne immediately remembered some of the clever ways his long fingers had driven his wife to ecstasy. She blushed and lowered her eyes, hoping that he couldn’t read her expression.
Ghryghoriy bowed slightly and walked beside Mykh in response to an unspoken signal. His two men slid into place behind Corinne, assessing her with the cold clarity of undercover cops searching for illegal weapons. She tilted her nose higher in the air and stalked after Mykh, heedless of her revealing attire.
If they didn’t stop treating her like a sorceress soon, she’d figure out how to act like one, just to teach them a lesson.
Sentries snapped to attention, while footmen hastened to fling doors open, as the procession passed along the corridors. They halted before two immense portals, while servants clucked over the exact fit and hang of Mykh’s garments.
One manservant moved toward Corinne but she glared at him. “Touch me, buster,” she hissed, “and I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat that you’ll see your creator before you find those pearly whites again.”
The man blanched and shrank back. Then he started forward again but Mykh waved him off, chuckling. “Keeping yourself for me alone, my sorceress?” he whispered.
“You wish!”
He laughed at her response and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Such a ferocious tigress you’d make, my sorceress.”
“Beast.”
Mazur rumbled something suspiciously like laughter. She glared down at him and he met her eyes. He couldn’t have looked less innocent if he’d been caught in the middle of the lily pond, with a goldfish’s tail hanging out of his mouth.
A ram’s horn sounded, long and rich like spring coming to the high mountains, and Mykh turned back to face the portals. Corinne instinctively straightened her skirts.
Once, twice, thrice the great horn called out. Then trumpets blew, long and sweet, before other trumpets answered them in a triumphant paean of joy and rebirth. And the great doors opened slowly, without a hand touching them.
Mykh strode into the throne room, looking both magnificent and deadly, and the wall sconces burst into light as the trumpets sang. The result was blinding, like standing in the middle of the Super Bowl at halftime. Most of the assembly fell prostrate as Mykh passed. But some froze, staring up at the great sconces blazing from both the round golden globes and the silver shell backings, before dropping to the floor.
Mazur’s tail thumped Corinne’s ankle and she quickly followed Mykh, as Ghryghoriy’s two men and Yevgheniy stepped aside. The enormous room was full of people, more than double the number that had attended the Raven and the Rose’s wedding. They ranged from uniformed soldiers with hard faces and hands made restless by lack of weapons, to cynical diplomats and bureaucrats in their silk uniforms, to black-robed scholars and peacock-vain courtiers watching and memorizing every one of Mykh’s movements.
Wizards gathered at every corner in their white robes, each one made unique by shimmering threads in their specialty’s colors. They worked low magic, casting spells that made life easier, such as heating bath water or transferring food from the kitchens to where it was wanted.
Curved balconies lifted above them, meant for sorcerers but empty now since no sorcerers lived in Torhtremer. Sorcerers worked high magic that could do such wonders as moving armies or rivers, even steal a person’s soul by looking into their eyes. And as different from low magic as an atom bomb is from a sledgehammer.
Representatives of Torhtremer’s Seven Kingdoms stood closest to the dais, while diplomats from the world’s other realms watched from farther back.
Simultaneously, another procession emerged from the matching portal on the opposite side of the room. Two sturdy women in pleated white dresses carried the great metal halberd that had previously hung behind the Tiger Throne. They were followed by three young girls, also dressed in white and carrying sheaves of flowers.
Mykh ascended to the dais and stood in front of the Dragon Throne, looking out over the throng. The throne’s golden eyes opened as Khyber entered his wooden shell and began to watch the assembly. Mazur’s tail tickled Corinne’s leg and she obediently took a position next to Mykh, on the side closest to the Tiger Throne, while Mazur stood haughtily on his other side. The women brought the halberd onto the dais and up to a display stand behind the Tiger Throne, sweating a little as they carried the massive weapon up the stairs. The councillors filed into place on either side of the dais and tried to look important.
The ram’s horn blew again three times when Mykh seated himself and the halberd thudded into its stand. The Dragon Throne immediately came alive, turning itself in an instant from stiff wood t
o softly breathing dragon scales. Khyber blew delicate gusts of sulfur-laden fire, lighting the ceremonial braziers at each of the dais’ corners, and relaxed. His posture managed to convey great respect and affection for the man reclining against his forepaws. Corinne was simply glad that the Imperial Dragon was apparently paying no attention to her.
Mazur hissed softly as he dropped down, a second after Mykh. Corinne blinked but followed suit, only to find herself seated on a large and very comfortable cushion that had appeared out of thin air. She gulped and assumed the most decorous position possible, straightening her skirts to provide the maximum amount of coverage before looking out over the room.
A brass gong rang from beyond the great portal, sending shivers through Corinne. Its echoes died away slowly before it rang twice more.
A religious procession filed in, beginning with young acolytes waving small brass pots of incense to cleanse the room. Others carried garlands of scarlet and white roses, mixed with branches of sage. Priests and priestesses followed, beating on small drums and cymbals, while elderly ones carried the symbols of their deities. Their robes were wrapped like togas, echoing the style of Buddhist monks. The colors ranged from the pale yellow of sunshine, through dark gold, to a red deep enough to appear crimson. Most prominent of all were the followers of the Horned Goddess, their robes so pale as to be almost silver but bordered with the other gods’ and goddesses’ colors.
All of them marched down the central aisle, then broke into separate strands to curve around the outside, until a solid wall of priests ringed the throne room. Alert guardsmen stood behind them, spears in hand.
Last came the leaders of each deity’s adherents, every one holding the symbol of their office. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing Mykh.
A sigh ran through the gathered throng, as they humbled themselves deeper into the floor. Corinne frowned, trying to remember why they were so awestruck. Maybe it was because all the religious leaders only came together every seven years in Torhtremer for the Goddess’s Dance. This was, after all, the first such dance since they’d defeated the Dark Warrior’s armies at Tajzyk’s Gorge and the first peacetime dance in more than a century.
Captive Dreams Page 8