“A sensitive one,” he said in Greek. But he called back the clockwork sniffer. “Done. Not many places to hide weapons and poisons on her, is there, sir? You’re clear.”
A distant series of booms made Sofia flinch again. The guard looked upward, then shrugged. “The Tuesday propaganda bombardment. You’ll get used to it. We’ll be scrubbing walls and stomping the clockies tomorrow. You may go.”
“Thank you.” Dankyo strolled on.
The palace of the emperor-bey was a maze of buildings and open gardens, promenades and water areas. Successive terraces led onward and upward. By the time they reached the portico of the Decagon, with the curved dome above and ochre walls below, Sofia was thirsty and tired, her feet were aching, and a fleet of ravenous bugs were whining about her ears. The orange sun at their backs was split by the horizon.
A soft-faced, plushly dressed vizier, a man with a voltaic trumpet, and a bevy of guards followed them into the foyer of the audience chamber. Here they were announced, examined again for armaments, and finally chivied between double gold doors. Another party, all men in Ottoman dress, arrived in the foyer as they left it.
At the end of the opulent room, past a double array of guards, was the Emperor-Bey Constantin XXV. He sat on his throne dressed in white silks and a gold brocade coat. A boy servant beckoned them and announced Dankyo. Being supposed a slave, she was ignored.
The trumpet blared as they approached the emperor-bey. Lean and alert in appearance, his black curls framed a smooth, pale face seemingly unmarked by more than twenty-five years—except she knew he was nineteen. Being the emperor-bey had taken its toll.
With Dankyo, she knelt, listening as he spoke.
“Your Serenity.”
“Dankyo of House Kevonis, you are welcome in my country.” While he spoke, the chamber was clearing of people. All methodically filed out save for the emperor-bey, the vizier, and two nearby guards—one man, one woman. Both guards were in immaculate polished armor, helmet, mail, and black leather with the saint and halo logo engraved on their breastplates.
When the room was settled again, the emperor-bey waved at Sofia and Dankyo. “Pray, have some wine and honeyed pastries. These are trusted people. There is no need for pretense here, Miss White.” Then he added, chuckling softly, while his gaze drifted from one of them to the other. “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the flies. I love your jokes. I give you leave to speak freely in my presence.”
Sofia noted they weren’t given leave to rise. But eating and sipping wine while on her knees gave her feet a rest, and she happily munched on a pastry and drank as Dankyo gave thanks for their invitation and a million other boring things.
“Of course,” the emperor-bey said abruptly. “Your thanks are accepted. Though I no longer need you to help organize the palace security or to find traitors. In compensation for your travels I will allow you to assist your countryman, Henry, in his delivery of arms for my soldiers. I believe he is being well paid by your government. The other matter—Miss White, would you like to see the tomb?”
She gulped a mouthful of pastry and set her glass aside. “Yes, Your Serenity.” Her sore muscles revived at the thought of finally seeing the tomb.
“Then tomorrow you shall do so. May I say how surprised I am, Miss White, at your appearance. Your beauty astonishes me. Dressed as you are, there can be no mistake. Your hand.” He smiled and reached toward her.
Is he flirting? My hand? Oh. She offered the back of her hand, and he drew it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“But first, you and Dankyo have a dinner to attend tonight at the house of Dimitri Heraklos. You must establish yourself as being, to their suspicious eyes and ears, a true slave before I will risk allowing you to enter the harem. My vizier will direct you to a place of refreshment so you may both bathe and make ready.
“I dismiss you.” He clapped his hands, and servants ran into the room from somewhere behind the throne area. Seconds later, the double doors opened, and the guards and other attendants returned, silent except for the scuffing of their shoes on the tiled floor.
What? They were going to a public dinner with his enemies? Now? Tonight? A whole field of butterflies swarmed, fluttering frantically, into her stomach.
Without a single protest, Dankyo bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Serenity.”
Even as she too bowed, thoughts scampered screaming through her mind. But, but, but… Stop. No!
Yet there was nothing she could do. When an emperor said do this, you did. Maybe her head wouldn’t roll, but clearly she’d never get into the tomb if she refused.
She had to pretend to be Dankyo’s slave in front of the emperor-bey’s direst enemies. Being this up close and personal with them was not on her plan for Byzantium. She rarely swore, but now seemed a great time for it.
She sighed and let her shoulders droop. How hard can this be? I’ll just be very humble. I can do that, can’t I?
As long as they didn’t make her kiss Dankyo’s feet, she could do this.
Ugh. Note to self. Make sure he cleans his feet really, really well.
As they were escorted away, Sofia heard the emperor-bey speak. “Bring Helena and Josephine to the Octagon bedchamber. I have need of their ministrations.”
Whether the ministrations were what she thought or not, another thought bothered her far more than the emperor-bey indulging in hanky panky with two women straight after he’d kissed her hand. Tomorrow she would be alone in the middle of this labyrinthine place.
Grow a spine. Half the parties at University are more dangerous than this place. The emperor-bey will forget you two minutes after you leave his sight. And he probably needs a servant to wipe his bottom and blow his nose.
Besides, everything about Byzantium seemed to zing straight into her blood and pump her awareness to the highest level. With Dankyo and his dark, enticing promises, with the vibrant colors, with the tropical lushness, the clash of armed men, war and weapons, and all that mingled with religious fervor. For a second she shut her eyes and just…breathed. Byzantium was alive like nowhere else she had ever been. She needed to be here. Somewhere in Byzantium was the path to her future.
Dankyo took her by the elbow, and she saw a boy in servant garb hurrying away.
The hard look in Dankyo’s eyes softened, and he seemed to run through something in his head before he spoke. “Sofia, thank you. The men at the airship tried to take over the Princess Kay by force. There was a fight, but they were all killed. All is good.”
“All? No one else was hurt?”
“No. From what Sten told me, he’s a well-trained fighter, and the rest of the crew is ex-military too.” He rubbed her elbow gently with his thumb. “I’m impressed. Later, you will say how you do this.”
“Sure. I guess. I can try.”
“Thank you.”
She shook her head at this sudden kindness and went to follow him down the corridor. Time to get dressed and be a slave for a night. Even that had her buzzing. And she knew why, she knew exactly why. And his name started with D.
Chapter Seven
She’d expected a room that she would have to share with Dankyo, but instead they were directed to two separate rooms. When she stepped into hers, the door clicked shut behind her, and she faced four women and a submerged bath filled with steaming water. Bearing staid expressions, the women came toward her.
“Hold on.” She held out both palms. “Wait.”
It made no difference of course, and a half hour later she’d been washed, primped, and manicured. She now stood naked and glowing with warmth from the bath, and before her the women held up the clothes she must wear.
Oh. Hell.
The ruby-accented pantaloons were to be expected. As was the tunic of silken cloth, shaded from wine red to palest pink, that flared at the hips into a soft hoop with a strange tinkling assortment of little silver chains. What wasn’t expected…
Sofia gaped. “No.”
Fifteen minutes later they deliver
ed her to the adjacent room where Dankyo waited, dressed suavely in a moon-silvered gray suit with a high collar.
She colored just thinking of what she wore but stood her ground. The women, giggling, retreated from the room and left her standing alone. I can do this.
Yes.
Except her nipples reminded her of how they were strung up on and gripped by the devilish silver spirals of wire with those feathery wisps of fabric woven onto the wire. The tunic had a neckline that was really a breast line for it cupped her just beneath her breasts and left those precious assets utterly uncovered. Her nipples poked up even perkier just remembering the woman applying the silver wires.
Whenever she moved, the wisps of cloth floated and drifted and tugged at her. It was disconcerting, especially when Dankyo leisurely examined her, walking around her. She turned to follow.
“No. Stay there, Sofia.”
“Uh.” The idea of obeying, just for a second, made her slow, and he smiled.
“Stay.”
Inexplicably, she did. This was his power, and she knew it. She wanted, needed, to obey. Those images she’d always had, of going to her knees before a man, returned full force. Sharp enough to keep her still and to send a tingle to the moistening center between her legs.
“Good, Sofia.” How she adored the sound of her name coming from his mouth. “You know, you are so lovely, and I can’t appreciate you properly unless I see all of you. From here.” Briefly, he placed his palm on her buttock, then walked farther to come full circle. “To here.”
This time he only gestured at her front. Her breasts lit up with warmth. She swayed. Her ass remembered the line of every one of his fingers as they’d lain upon her flesh.
I let him touch me. Wake yourself. I’m still deciding…aren’t I?
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. She repeated that in her head all the way through the Decagon palace, as a passenger in the little chugging steam cart and then in a new limousine—all the way to the walled-in palace of the Heraklos family. Minarets pointed skyward at the four corners of the main building. As she trailed behind Dankyo up the terracotta steps to the front entrance, she muttered prayers. She was so confused.
“What are you saying?” Dankyo asked quietly without turning around.
The thought of answering with the truth terrified her. If he interrogated her, she would have to face herself.
When she didn’t answer, he stopped and looked at her.
Caught with one foot on a higher step and one lower, she felt singled out, targeted. Again her body responded. Her lips parted as she strove to think of an answer that made sense yet didn’t betray her. A breeze sifted across, making the cloth attached to her nipples flail at her gently and rattling leaves on the nearby trees.
“Well?” He put his hand to her face and caressed her.
Shaken, on the verge of answering, she was saved by a summons from a steward above.
“Sir! The party begins. You must enter now or be locked out.”
“Later, then. I will ask again.” His eyes held the promise. “Perhaps tomorrow has come early?”
She shook her head, but he only smiled grimly. “Don’t lie to me, Sofia. Never ever lie.”
Oh God.
Numb with fear and some emotion she couldn’t understand, she followed him.
They were led along a wide corridor furnished with low chairs and tables, then through a keyhole arch into a large squarish room. Anxiety clamped down onto her stomach. Rather than a single central table, people were gathered about low knee-high ones.
With her gaze at Dankyo’s feet, things flashed into sight and caught her eye before something else intrigued her—damask cloth and the brilliant sheen of embroidered cushions, the silver of pouring jugs and platters, lemon scent and sweet smoke and roast meats. The eyes staring at her were made up with kohl, and the mouths below with poppy red. The tinkle of teacups and spoons and forks. The gentle moans of the aroused.
The people.
She stumbled.
Barely clothed men and women at the feet of their owners. Some naked. Bare breasts were being fondled. Men ate while their slaves did all manner of duties—feeding them or holding their plates or massaging their feet.
“Here, sir. Food is being served. Enjoy.” The servant left.
“Sofia.” Dankyo took her elbow and gently tugged. “Sit, or you will be noticed.”
“Oh.” Afraid someone might grab her and force her to participate in what might easily become an orgy, she sank to her knees and sat back on her heels.
Dankyo was on the divan. With his hand on her upper arm, he pulled her to him, then closed his hand on the back of her neck. “Listen to me before the servants return. There is nothing to be concerned over. You are with me. No harm will come to you.”
At the touch and his voice, she became a little calmer. She wasn’t alone. But dozens of questions still trampled through her thoughts.
As food arrived and they were left to themselves, she relaxed. Sometimes men glanced at her, but none ventured over. Her clothes were demure compared to utter nakedness—though her nipples ached from the sensations constantly buffeting them. For a while Dankyo ignored her and merely asked her to hold the platter up where he could reach. To her, right now, being ignored was bliss. Her heart rate descended. It seemed this was a dinner where simply attending was enough. Good.
From out the corner of her eyes, she cataloged the people and was surprised to see two of the emperor-bey’s personal guards attending the vizier who had escorted them at the palace. The female guard, at the least, was the same also. Though the guard wore a helmet that covered her eyes, Sofia recalled the thin scar across her mouth.
When only a small portion of the food remained on the platter, Dankyo speared a piece of spiced meat on his fork and put it to her lips. He smiled at her hesitation.
“Eat, Sofia. Some Masters enjoy feeding their slaves.”
Hunger made her stomach gurgle. She opened her mouth and took the morsel.
Dankyo fed her the rest of the meal, then gave her iced wine before allowing her some of the dessert. Men visited them, greeted Dankyo, and left after exchanging a few words. If this was a slave’s lot, she could tolerate it.
Quietly, and gradually, the atmosphere changed. Some of the men began using their slaves in sexual ways. She tried not to look, but curiosity enticed her. Most fascinating was a young redhead lying on a divan, attending to her Master who stood before her. While she fondled his cock, his fingers were pumping inside her cunt. With a shudder and loud moan, the woman came. Her Master chuckled, then took charge of her head, thrusting deep inside her mouth.
“Oh my God,” Sofia whispered. She’d never watched another couple make love.
“Sofia?” Dankyo bent and said softly, “Your nipples are standing up more than they have all night.”
Instinctively, she raised her hands to cover her breasts.
“No. Don’t move.”
What? She looked at him, and he shook his head. Ah. Of course. Slaves did not cover themselves. Blushing furiously, she put her hands on her thighs.
“Very good.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. I will only look, not touch. I like the appearance of those wires on you.”
She caught her lip in her teeth. Sitting as she was on her heels, with her breasts outthrust, she couldn’t stop imagining him doing something to her—licking her nipples, and sucking them into his mouth. The room became just her and him. With his trouser-covered knee inches away, the temptation to put her head down and rest her cheek on him seized her. She so wanted to put her nose to the fabric and inhale.
She squeezed shut her eyes a second. What is this? Silly. Am I such a besotted wretch?
The harem pants were diaphanous. Were they transparent enough for him to see the moisture leaking between her legs? Concealing herself seemed a good idea, but when she shifted her legs to close them, he reached down and placed a hand on her thigh.
“I said, don’t move.”
Anger flared. He was
playing with her. He knew she couldn’t deny him here. Yet that knowledge fuelled her arousal. Her pussy clenched, sending a delicious message running up her body.
Teasing back might be unwise, but she moved her legs even wider, then licked her lips with her wet tongue tip. He wouldn’t touch her. Dankyo was too well-mannered, too in control. Perhaps it was she who had him at her mercy? Dare I do more?
Pulse quickening with apprehension, she did a little movement this way and that way so her breasts bounced enough to attract attention.
Elbow on knee, he came close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Beware, young lady. I have limits. Move again, and I will make you touch yourself.”
Frozen, she fumbled to decide if he was genuine or not. If he commanded her out loud, she would have to obey. Sure her eyes were wide with worry, she stayed still. And the fact that she did, and that he’d made her, somehow went round in a circle and put a noose around her chest, made her breathe stiffly. As surely as if he had touched her, his words aroused her. Below, her clit was hard and protruding.
Why do I like this? Why? For several minutes they looked at each other. Her stock-still, him with his hands splayed on his wide thighs. He blinked at times. He studied her. She studied him until the very air on her skin energized. Her awareness expanded; her body waited…for something.
The tromp of armored men shook the wooden floor. Metal jingled and leather creaked. Voices were raised, though not in anger, but in command.
It woke her. As if she’d been hypnotized, her heart kicked back into action and thudded up to normal speed. Her eyes seemed dry from not shutting them enough. One deep breath and she turned to see what the fuss was about. Dankyo caught her chin.
“Don’t look. It’s janissaries.” He lifted his head as if to watch what was happening behind her.
Janissaries? She knew of them. The original janissaries were trained as soldiers by the Ottomans from the children of captives. As centuries passed and the siege of Byzantium grew old, the customs of the two facing cities had intermingled. There were churches across the Bosporus, and mosques and minarets here, and janissaries too. Many, she knew, had reached high office in the Byzantine government.
Steel Dominance Page 6