Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1)

by Angela Angelwolf

  Slowly, the room emptied. Kro’tos, unable to take out his anger on anything else, went around kicking random trussed-up humans on the floor. Finally, he shouted to his guards. “Take them all to the arena. They’ll be sport for the summer games before MY re-election!”

  The guards dragged the trussed-up humans off two at a time. Pashera looked for Amaz and Tenrici. Amaz was unconscious, her face bloodied, and Tenrici glowered silently at Pashera as she was dragged by.

  The knots in Pashera’s stomach twisted violently. She would certainly be found out. It was only a matter of time.

  A thin saurian in gray robes ran up and whispered something to Kro’tos. The king’s wide face broke out in a wicked smile from ear to ear.

  “According to ancient law and tradition,” the king said. “Anyone who holds MY office must be married. You aren’t married,” he pointed at Tol’zen. “You can’t be king.”

  “I’ll be married by the time I’m king,” Tol’zen said.

  “To who?” Kro’tos asked in real astonishment.

  “None of your business,” Tol’zen said. “I’d like her to live to the wedding.”

  Pashera’s guts, which were already in knots, now took another twist. Did her master, her lover, the one who killed three of his own kind for her and who told her he loved her, mean to marry her?

  How would he feel when he found out about her part in the slave revolt, as he inevitably must?

  Groaning, holding her stomach, Pashera sank to the stone floor.

  Tol’zen hovered over Pashera with real concern, but there was little he could do as the scholar Y’Sasos and the scientist U’Clee went over the endless minutia of the election details. Tol’zen and Kro’tos had to affirm that they heard and understood every part.

  Y’Sasos emphasized that votes could be bought, and voting was not secret. But just as importantly, neither side could attack the other before the vote. Doing so would forfeit the election. There was also supposed to be an amnesty after the election.

  “I doubt you’ll abide by the amnesty,” Tol’zen told Kro’tos, who smiled wickedly. “But that won’t be my problem. Not if I win the election. Which I will.”

  Kro’tos’ smile faded.

  “Threats of personal harm are not allowed,” U’Clee concluded his reading of the rules.

  “You will regret this,” Kro’tos hissed at Tol’zen.

  “That’s a good example,” U’Clee said. “One more, and I’ll rule you ineligible for the election,” he added as Kro’tos looked ready to erupt. “And don’t think I won’t.”

  When they got back home, Sai’tan was waiting for them, as was U’Chan.

  “Are you out of your mind?” U’Chan demand.

  “Good to see you, too, brother,” Tol’zen said wearily. Then he called into the kitchen: “Sai’tan, Pashera’s stomach is bothering her. Make her some tea, would you?”

  Sai’tan bustled into the hallway and gave Tol’zen a hug. “You’re mad,” she said. Then she took Pashera into the kitchen, sat her at the table, and got busy with tea.

  Pashera was so exhausted by a combination of worry and hope that she sat at the table numbly. She could hear Tol’zen and U’Chan argue in another room.

  “All our hopes, all our plans,” U’Chan said. “You’re throwing them away.”

  “An opportunity presented itself,” Tol’zen said. “We’d be fools not to take it.”

  “Our mission – our goal – is very clear. You are endangering everything.”

  “On the contrary. We hoped to save some of our people. Now we have a chance to save all of them.”

  “Including the ones who would see you dead!”

  “The die is cast, brother,” Tol’zen said wearily.

  On the two argued. But exhausted, Pashera drifted off in her chair. She woke up when Sai’tan pushed some broth in front of her, but wasn’t able to eat much. Finally, Sai’tan bustled her off to sleep on her mattress beside Tol’zen’s bed.

  The walls muffled most of the sound. But the last thing coherent thing she heard before drifting off to sleep was U’Chan, his voice heated, yelling, “You’ve killed us all.”

  Chapter 11. Belles from Hell

  When Pashera woke up, it was morning. She stumbled to the cesou, then managed to wash her face. Then she crawled into bed with Tol’zen. He tucked her into his arms, never fully waking up.

  She tried to fall back asleep, but so much was whirling in her head. One part of her dreaded that one of the slaves would talk about her part in getting the wonder weapons, and then she’d be dragged off to whatever hell awaits rebellious slaves.

  But before that happened, she wanted to hear Tol’zen say that he wanted to marry her. If she could just hear that, it would be enough.

  In her own tribe, weddings were elaborate group affairs. Everybody participated. The women were treated as queens for days running up to their wedding. There were gifts. It was a splendid time.

  She wondered: Is that what it would be like for her and Tol’zen? She envisioned them dressed in fine clothes, as only the saurians had. Her hair would be done in flowers, and Tol’zen’s feathers would be dyed a fine shade for his wedding. And they’d have a feast of all the wonderful food in Guadalquivir. And there would be gifts. And all the lords and ladies of the city would bow down to their new king and his bride.

  And then they’d have babies. Like all the women of her tribe, Pashera had been raised to think that children were the main reason for her existence. Sure, she wanted to control her own life, but she also wanted babies. She wondered: Would they have human feet, or saurian feet? And would they have hair or feathers? She’d love them either way, of course.

  But then, why hadn’t she seen any human-saurian hybrids in the city? The saurians certainly fucked the human women enough.

  Her fantasy hiccupped. She had another thought: What kind of people elect their kings? In her tribe, the king came from a long line of kings, and the priest came from a long line of priests. The only elections were the intra-tribe elections, which the tribes of her valley did when they weren’t waging ritualized, low-level wars. Even then, only chiefs, shamans and other nobles voted. No one was every truly happy with the results. That’s why there were so many wars.

  But the Remnant apparently had a long, if neglected, tradition of voting for their kings. It was so neglected, the current king had to be reminded about it. And now Pashera realized what bothered her so much. Tol’zen had known about this long-neglected custom when the reigning king didn’t. It was almost as if he was … planning for it.

  But he wouldn’t have had the opportunity if there hadn’t been a slave revolt. And there wouldn’t have been a slave revolt if Pashera hadn’t unlocked the wonder weapon armory.

  An armory where all the weapons were conveniently drained, so the chances of the revolt succeeding where nil.

  These and other troubling thoughts were wrestling in her mind when Tol’zen finally stirred.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Who are you going to marry?” she asked. “Who is going to be your queen?”

  Tol’zen blinked, and shook his head. “What? Oh yes, I did say I would take a wife last night, didn’t I?”

  “You also said you loved me,” Pashera said.

  “And I do,” Tol’zen said. “I hope you love me, too.”

  “I do. I DO!” she said urgently, staring into his eyes. “Are you going to marry me?”

  Tol’zen laughed.

  The noise shattered Pashera’s heart and left it in pieces on the floor.

  “I can’t marry you,” he said. “I love you. I do. But I can’t marry you. I can’t marry a human.”

  She looked at him aghast, her mouth working, trying to find words. The way he had said “human” shocked her.

  He smiled at her. “I love you, Pashera,” he said. “I. Love. You. But the Remnant will not be understanding of our love.

  “The Remnant works hard to keep the humans under our heel. And admitting you�
��re worthy of love would be too much. I might as well marry a yast or a weaver. I’d be lucky if they just chased me out of town.”

  “We could run away and live together,” she said desperately. “You could come live with my tribe.”

  “Your tribe would murder me in a heartbeat.”

  “Then we’ll go live in the old tower. And I’ll be your wife. And we’ll be happy, just you and me.”

  Tol’zen shook his head. “Love and marriage aren’t the same thing, don’t you see? And I must marry to be king. But I’ll always love you.”

  “Who are you going to marry?” she demanded. “Who will make you as happy as me?”

  “It’s not about happiness,” he sighed. “It’s never about happiness. It’s politics.”

  He paused for long seconds, thinking.

  “Sai’tan will help me find a wife,” he said. “Yes, that’s the way of it.”

  “But what about ME?” Pashera shrieked. “You love ME! You said …”

  “I said the truth,” Tol’zen cut her off. “But I can’t marry you. I will take a saurian wife. I must, to win the election.”

  He touched her shoulder. She flinched.

  “But I will always love you,” he said.

  “So what happens to me?” she felt the tears welling up. “What about me?”

  He sat silently, thinking. And the longer he was silent, the more upset she became. Finally, he gathered her into his arms and held her, as sobs wracked her body.

  “Shh, shh,” he said. “It will be all right, you’ll see.”

  Sai’tan helped plan everything. First, she sent Tol’zen off politicking. Tears streamed down Pashera’s face as he left.

  Then, she moved Pashera’s mattress and things into a small room off the hallway. The room was like a cupboard without shelves. It was so small, the edge of the mattress curled up when it was laid out. Sai’tan told her to keep it rolled up unless she was sleeping. “This is standard slave quarters,” Sai’tan told her. “Nice and cozy, you’ll see.”

  Sai’tan sent out a call for eligible females. There were many replies. That night, Sai’tan arranged for noble ladies of the city to visit. She kept Pashera busy preparing various foods and sweets.

  When Sai’tan wasn’t looking, Pashera spat in the food.

  The work went all day and into twilight. Other saurian females arrived, with human slaves in tow, with more delicacies and to clean the apartment top to bottom. Pashera was put to work on the floors, and the other females worked her hard. Sai’tan disappeared, to rest and clean up.

  Pashera worked on. She hadn’t known how dirty Tol’zen’s bachelor quarters were until she had to really clean them. The standards of her own tribe made ample allowance for dirt. Not so the standards of Guadalquivir. Scrub, scrub, clean and clean, bucket after bucket, she made the walls and floors shine.

  Pashera tried to do her work quietly, but an occasional sigh escaped her. One of the saurian females laughed, not unkindly. “For too long, you’ve lived with a bachelor,” she said. “Once he gets married, his wife will keep you busy.”

  “Once he gets married, we’ll live in a palace,” Pashera said.

  “Oh, what a cheeky thing you are,” laughed the female, who was named Kin’che. “His wife will slap that sauce out of you, I’m sure. But you’re right, you’ll live in a palace. And you’ll have to clean all of it.”

  All the saurian females laughed and laughed. Pashera turned back to the floors and scrubbed with fanaticism.

  She became very hungry, but the saurian females wouldn’t let her eat until Sai’tan returned. And that was very late. By then, the delicious smells coming from the kitchen were making the girl ravenous.

  When Sai’tan walked through the door, she was dressed so fine that Pashera hardly recognized her. She wore a black dress trimmed with silver, with one shoulder uncovered. Her skin was done in silver-highlighted makeup. Her head-feathers, which were usually an agreeable blob of white, were coiffed into a black tear-drop shape that narrowed toward the back of her head. Into the feathers were set sparkling jewels.

  She smiled kindly at Pashera. “You’ve worked hard today. Let’s get you fed and off to bed,” she said.

  The home was sparkling clean now. Sai’tan directed one of the other females to pour Pashera a bowl of stew, and sat at the table with Pashera while she ate.

  “The ladies will want to check you out tonight,” Sai’tan told the girl. “Pretend to be asleep, even if you aren’t. The last thing you want to do is answer their questions.”

  “Yes, Sai’tan,” Pashera said miserably.

  “If you must talk, address all saurian females as ‘mistress’. You never know if they’re harsh or not. Practice with me and you won’t go wrong. Remember not to look them in the eye, either.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Pashera said, still sounding miserable.

  “And try to sound happy. No one wants a gloomy slave. Look at it this way; if Tol’zen’s plans work out, you’ll be living in the palace.”

  “What if his plans don’t work out?” Pashera asked, then added: “mistress.”

  “Good girl. Well, let’s not think about that. I’ll tell you my story sometime. It’s a cautionary tale. Now, let’s get you off to bed.”

  Pashera was bone-tired, and by the time she lay down on her mattress in the closet, she did not fight sleep.

  Later, movement and sound woke her up. As tired as she was, she heard the closet door open. Even half-asleep, she had the presence of mind not to move.

  “So that’s the slave, then?” a female voice said. “She looks so much smaller than in the throne room.”

  “Her teats are big enough,” said another female voice, obviously not pleased.

  “Oh, there are much bigger,” said another voice. “Did you see the dugs on that black bitch that led Kro’tos’ slave revolt? I’m surprised she walks upright.”

  “None of them are far from walking on all fours,” said another voice, and there were titters at that.

  Pashera lay quietly, pretending to be asleep. The saurian females picked apart her appearance, criticizing her haystack of hair, her nobbly knees and elbows, the fact that she was too thin, that her feet were too big, that that her skin wasn’t even dark, which was another sign that she was lowly evolved, even for an ape.

  “Poor, pale thing,” one of the women finally sniffed. “Not much to worry about there, I suppose.”

  “Not once he has a real female,” another said, and they laughed.

  “Let’s let her sleep,” Sai’tan said as she closed the door. “She’s a hard worker.”

  The crowd moved back into the other room. As soon as she thought she was alone, Pashera cracked open the door. No one was there. She crept out of bed and down the hallway.

  The guests were in the formal room, not far from the kitchen. But slaves bustled back and forth to the kitchen, there was no way she could spy on them.

  But then she remembered that the top of the bedroom nearest the formal room had a crenelated top, the better to let air flow through the apartment. She’d only discovered it today – or was it tomorrow already? – during the furious, top-to-bottom cleaning. She snuck into the bedroom. By standing on a piece of furniture near the wall, she could peer through one of the gaps in the top of the wall, past a potted plant, to see the goings-on in the formal room.

  She saw Sai’tan and eight other ladies in their finery. Their elaborate collections of jewels, displayed on hair, face, chest and arms, put Sai’tan’s few diamonds to shame. They wore the colors of the rainbow, no two alike. The closest were two shades of white – which Pashera guessed the ladies wore to showcase their fine, dark skin – and one of those was pearl, while the other so white that its intricate patterns fairly glistened along with a compliment of jewels.

  But the one that really caught Pashera’s eye was dressed in iridescent material that hugged every curve, and shadowed the crevices just enough to give any male tantalizing hints. Her outfit twinkled with jeweled b
rilliance that shifted with the light. Sometimes it was the glitter of gold. Sometimes the light danced over the opaque surface like the lady was clad in sheets of opal.

  Each lady had a human female slave to serve her, dressed in her colors. They enjoyed one course of food after another. Some of the ladies surprised Pashera with their appetites. She grinned as she watched them eat something she knew that she spat in.

  The conversation was a round-robin. Each female talked about herself, her breeding, revered ancestors – some of which were shared – and her and how they would be a good queen. Two or three had a talent for the arts, one was an excellent botanist, another was well-known as a poet. And all of them bragged about the size and quantity of the eggs that their mothers had laid.

  “My mother always laid in clutches of six,” said one lady, topping the rest.

  “Hmm,” said another across the circle. “Funny that I only remember you and two brothers.”

  “Well, it’s the damned nest predators, isn’t it,” said the first one. “They get worse every generation. I’ve complained to the king about this personally.”

  There was lots of sympathetic clucking about that.

  The night went on. Sai’tan handed out paper for the ladies to write on and asked them all questions. Questions like: “What’s the most important thing in a relationship?” And “how much say should a woman have in a home’s finances?” Also, oddly: “Your husband’s rival is in the way, but there must be no scandal. What poison do you use?”

  The ladies laughed and chatted while answering the questions. But they kept all their answers to themselves.

  When they were done, Sai’tan collected the papers and told them she’d go over them with Tol’zen. She thanked them for coming.

  “Is that it for the evening?” said the lady in an iridescent dress. It was, in fact, already well into the night, and perhaps the early part of the next morning.

  “The next round may include poisonings,” Sai’tan explained. “I thought we’d save that for a smaller group.”

  “But what about rounding out the evening?” asked another lady. “All the best parties end with orgasms.”