“Now if you love me, give me my tribute!” Her husband pushed her thighs back and squatted over her, driving his shaft into her helpless pussy over and over again. “Give me my tribute of cum!”
Sillara felt her cum spray out of her, splashing against her husband's balls, and he laughed triumphantly as he shot jet upon jet of his own hot seed deep into her starving pussy.
The dream receded again as Sillara and her dream-husband lay locked in each other's arms.
“Your Grace?” Knocking came again at her bedchamber door, and Sillara was obliged to let the dream go.
But never in her life had it been so hard to do.
“Yes?” Sillara rose from her bed, not at all surprised to find her knees shaky from climax. The dream had been too real for her not to come. Dressing was the matter of moments, for the loincloth and strip of fabric that made up the clothing of a female Desertmaster was all Sillara wore, despite her station as “Queen”.
She opened the door to see a young woman standing there, her brown hair twisted into a triple braid. “Your Grace, you requested that we tell you when the Ausir awoke and asked for you.”
Sillara smiled, splashing some water on her face from the bowl by her bed. Of course Konas would be asking for her. “Take me to him, then.”
“If it please Your Grace, Chief Priest Vaelus hopes to speak with you after you have seen the Ausir.”
Pity welled up in Sillara, pity for Konas. No one would even say his name any longer. He was still given the freedom to go where he would, but he was barred from her home. They would have cast him out into the desert, but she had forbidden it outright. She had commanded them, as their Queen, that they give him a home and lodging, and they obeyed. In all things they obeyed her, except that they would not allow Konas—or any pure-blood, she was sure—to be her husband, and they would not let her leave.
The young girl was chattering to Sillara as they approached the house Sillara had insisted Konas be given.
“Sillara!” Konas was waiting inside for her, and when she entered he clasped her to his breast. “My lovely one!” He stroked her hair, running the silken tresses through his fingers. “How do you fare on your own?”
Sillara leaned up and kissed him. “Konas, I am your true wife. Do not worry.” She felt a sudden jolt of excitement. Over the past three days, beginning the day after Konas had been taken from her, she had felt Soren's growing anticipation. He was close to finding her. What else could bring such joy to him? “Soon my brother will come for me, and then we will be able to escape.”
“No.” Konas's despair was plain in his dead green eyes. “They would rather kill you than lose you.”
Sillara knew that Konas spoke the truth, but she could not find it in her heart to believe his words, not when Soren's excitement was an ever-present song in her heart.
“Your Grace? Chief Priest Vaelus wishes to speak to you about the well.” The girl bowed, Sunjaa fashion, and Sillara placed another kiss on Konas's lips.
“What do they want with you?” Konas's anxiety was the only emotion she could see in him, and the healing bruises on his fair face pierced her with pity.
“They need me to look at the well—”
“They worship technology but know nothing about it!” Konas turned his back on Sillara. “And you must go to them.”
Sillara did not how to explain her feelings to Konas, for anything she said in defense of the Desertmasters would hurt him. “I have not accepted their crown, Konas.” But that is only because the coronation is set to be next week. “And you are my husband. Nothing they do can change that.” But Sillara knew well that Kings and Queens were rarely able to pick their mates. She could understand, having been brought up to be a Queen, that these Desertmasters would feel themselves able to choose her husband. Had not the Sunjaa of Arinport forbidden King Jahen to take any wife not full-blooded Sunjaa? Was not King Tivanel only just saved by Konas's machinations from having to marry her, a woman he did not desire? And did not the Desertmasters have a King in mind for her? They had spoken of the Queen's King and his foretold arrival.
“But I cannot be with you!” Konas still did not turn around to face her, but his outburst scattered Sillara's thoughts. “And we are trapped here for the rest of our lives.”
Sillara pressed herself against Konas's back, kissing him between the shoulder blades, and then she left with the young girl, whose name she learned was Vora, to go to the temple-tomb.
“Chief Priest Vaelus said it was urgent, Your Grace.” Vora seemed relieved to leave Konas behind.
“I will see him at once.”
But Sillara's meeting with the Chief Priest took scarcely ten minutes. His concern over the rising water levels in the well was immediately assuaged by Sillara pointing out the improvements she had made on Tambril's original design.
Soren's excitement grew, and the song in Sillara's heart swelled up. She made her way to the top of the temple-tomb and found there the small door she had seen on the schematics. It led, as the plans had indicated, to a small covered balcony, one that faced east. Sillara smiled. The acoustics could not have been accidental. Tambril's son had designed this temple-tomb, and he must have been a musician of some skill. Sillara sighed. She missed her lyre, and she resolved to see if the Desertmasters had any metal to spare for one. Metal was present in the city, but she had not seen any mines. She did not know where they got their metals. She had been spending these past two weeks among the Desertmasters learning their laws and history, as well as repairing every technological device Tambril had left behind.
She shook her head, refusing to dwell on her lost lyre. Soren was close. She knew it. So Sillara lifted up her voice and sang. She sang an ancient Sunjaa song, one of the poet Aren's pieces on the return of Meshken from his long voyaging set to a melody of her own composition. Her heart was full of Soren's glorious arrival—but to her it felt like a return, for was he not returning to her?
Sillara conjured up another of her voices, one that took up the refrain, and her song spilled out through the city streets. She could send her voice to any location she could see, so she filled the city square surrounding the well with her song, a different verse from each side of the square, and from her place at the top of the temple-tomb, she poured her heart into the refrain.
“Returning, returning, the Sea-Lord returning
His sails white against the sky,
Returning, returning, the Sea-Lord returning.”
Though the Desertmasters ceased their occupations and filled the square to listen, Sillara did not heed them. Soren's excitement caught up her joy into it, and she felt his pleasure amplifying her own and being increased in return.
Then she saw the black silk of an Ausir balloon as a dark blot against the deep blue of the desert sky. Tears filled her eyes, and she ran back into the temple-tomb and out into the square, the square where her voice still echoed. There she waited the last minutes of Soren's journey, and when his balloon touched down in the square, she ran to him.
She saw, but did not care, that Nathen and Merieke were in the basket. Her eyes were filled with her brother, his glorious bronze chest bare to the sunlight, his thin Sunjaa skirt not hiding the muscles of his legs, his long black hair tousled by the wind, but most of all his eyes, those pools of gentle night that were filled with love for her.
“Soren, Soren, Soren!” Sillara threw herself into her brother's arms even before he was fully out of the balloon basket, knocking them both to the ground. Soren laughed and held her close, kissing the top of her head.
“Sillara! Singing my welcome then?”
Sillara nodded, unable to speak further through her happy tears. Soren was here, and all would be well. The Desertmasters would let her go, or maybe not. It did not matter, not now that Soren was here.
“Soren.” Konas's voice cut through Sillara's joyous haze, and she and Soren were helped to their feet by Nathen and Konas.
“The King! It is the Queen's King!” Vaelus shouted.
“Did he just call me 'King'?” asked Soren, putting his arm protectively around Sillara's shoulders.
“Yes, brother.” Sillara felt as though her face were glowing. “They speak some mixture of ancient Sunjaa and ancient Fihdal, but their grammar is primarily Sunjaa.”
“They will not let us leave,” said Konas. “Or more precisely, they will not let Sillara leave.”
Soren's grip on her shoulder tightened. “Explain, sister.”
Sillara leaned her head on Soren's breast, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. “They call me 'Queen',” she said.
“And so did the Sunjaa of Arinport.” Soren rested his chin on her head. “This is not strange. You conquered them with your song?”
“They named me 'Queen' from the moment they saw I was both Sunjaa and Ausir. They were founded by a half-Ausir over a thousand years ago, and they were some sort of precursor to the Fihdal and Vadal people interbred with Sunjaa.”
“And the Sunjaa would have none of it and banished them.” Soren understood the implications at once.
“Exactly. But their half-Ausir leader, Tambril, enabled them to dig a well deep enough to add to the water here at this oasis. They have been here ever since.”
“Worshiping their technology,” said Konas bitterly. “Technology given them by an Ausir, technology they do not understand, and for its sake they keep Sillara here!”
Sillara glanced up at Soren. There was more to the people's desire of her than her skill with technology. They viewed her as a being of myth stepped out into the real world, a demi-goddess come down to rule them.
“Your Grace.” Vaelus bowed to her. “What is your King's name?”
Sillara glanced at Soren, who, knowing what the Desertmaster's tongue was based on, was able to follow their speech a little already. His nod showed her he had understood, and she waited for him to speak.
“I am Soren,” he said. “And Sillara is mine.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Vaelus bowed to Soren, and Sillara smiled to see the amazement on the Chief Priest's face. Soren's brilliance astonished Vaelus, and pride in Soren filled Sillara's heart.
“He has come to take me home,” said Sillara.
“Your home is here,” said Vaelus. “For the gods have given us a glorious Queen and a mighty King to be her lord!” He gestured to the balloon. “For see how the King comes down from the sky to claim his Queen?”
Soren looked at Sillara. “Did he just say this was your home?”
“Yes, and, Soren, they need me more than the Ausir ever did.” Sillara knew that Soren would understand her feelings toward these Desertmasters.
“And unlike the Ausir,” said Konas, “they will kill you rather than let you go.”
“Your Grace, will it please you to be crowned with your Queen in six days?” Vaelus bowed before Soren. “For you have been sent, in accordance with the divinations of Abrexa's priests, to be our King.”
Soren shook his head. “I will think,” he said.
“Can we get out of the sun?” asked Merieke, coming up to Soren and laying her hand on his arm.
Sillara stiffened at the familiarity of the touch, but Soren did not seem either pleased or angry.
“I have a house,” said Sillara. “I will take you there.”
“And you have servants, yes?” Merieke surveyed Sillara's Desertmaster-style garments. “So they can make you more clothes before we leave?”
“I live as a Tamari Queen,” said Sillara, unexpectedly angry. She forced herself to smile. Merieke and Nathen had come all this way to accompany Soren in his rescue of her, and she owed them all courtesy.
“That means there are no servants,” said Soren. “Now, take us home, sister.”
Sillara led the way, her hand in Soren's, down the street to her house. The Desertmasters lined the street, cheering as they passed.
When they reached Konas's house, he stopped. “I am not permitted any farther,” he said. “They will not let me enter her house.”
The glint of fierce joy in Soren's eyes surprised Sillara, but she was happy to see it regardless of its cause.
“Would you stay here for a few minutes, Soren? I need to talk to you about what is really going on in this city.” Konas laid his hand on Sillara's shoulder. “She is too innocent to know all their plans.”
Soren's glance comforted Sillara. She knew he trusted her judgment, but his courtesy kept him there. “If you speak quickly, I will listen to anything that will help me best serve my sister.”
“And you, Lady Sillara, can take us to your house,” said Nathen. “For Merieke and I are weary and thirsty.”
Sillara had never been so tempted to discourtesy in her life, but she pasted on a smile. “Of course.” She looked up at Soren. “Hurry, please, brother.”
Soren squeezed her tightly, and she never wanted him to let her go. But Konas coughed, and as soon as Soren released her, Merieke half-dragged her away.
“This is my house,” said Sillara. She showed Nathen and Merieke in, and once the door had closed behind them, Merieke hugged Sillara.
“Welcome me, sister!” said Merieke. “For I am part of your family now!”
Sillara simply stared. Her thoughts had remained with Soren, and it took her a moment to register what Merieke had said.
“What?”
“I am Soren's—” said Merieke.
“Not his wife.” Sillara fixed her gaze on Merieke's bare wrist. She did not wear Soren's Ausir wedding bracelet.
“Not yet!” Merieke laughed. “Just his concubine for now.”
Sillara bit her lip. Merieke did not deserve Soren, not even so much as to be his concubine.
“And we can hope,” said Nathen, “that our families will be even more closely united.” His eyes glowed. “For surely after how Konas endangered you by bringing you out into the desert, your father will never let you be married to the Ausir King.”
The Desertmasters will not let me leave anyway. The thought was not at all bitter to Sillara, and she could almost see Soren wearing Tambril's crown.
Chapter Nineteen
Soren followed Konas into his house, a collection of dim, empty rooms. Konas kept no fires lit here, no lamps burning, and the curtains were drawn against the heat of the day.
“Welcome to my exile.” Though Konas walked before Soren, he gestured expansively to the close-walled gloom of the place.
Soren said nothing but kept his gaze fixed on the back of Konas's head. Whenever his host would turn his face to the side, he thought he caught a glimpse of him smirking. Konas led Soren through the house, and as they passed from room to room, daylight brightened the walls. They turned a corner, and a garden spread out before them. This green space protected by tall palm trees grew out of the middle of the house—or rather, it was as if the sand brick home had been built around it. Soren had never seen any architecture like this, neither in Arinport nor among the Ausir nor at any of the northern ports he had visited in his time in the navy.
The cheerlessness of the house, being so much at odds with his happiness at seeing Sillara again, had annoyed him, but this garden lifted his mood. It was perfectly situated, and Soren actually smiled at Konas.
“A fine house,” he said. “These Desertmasters, as they call themselves, honor you.”
Konas shook his head. “Not as they should.”
Soren stared his unasked question at Konas, and Konas clearly perceived his silent meaning but did not respond. Instead he grinned and waved Soren forward. “Let's sit down and relax in the shade. There are many flowers in the garden that give forth a pleasing aroma, ones that I have found ease a troubled mind.”
But Soren's mind was not troubled. Konas obviously wanted to talk about something, and he was taking his sweet time to get around to it.
“Would you like a cup of cool water?” Konas asked. “You must be thirsty from your flight.”
<
br /> Soren sat on the stone bench among low, leafy bushes he had no name for. “No, thanks.”
“Mead?”
“What's that?”
Konas reached out and cradled a red blossom in his hand. He inhaled its fragrance. “It's a drink made from honey, much more potent than beer.”
“Sure,” Soren said, “I'll try that.” He had the feeling Konas would go down a mental list offering him this and that until Soren accepted something. The Ausir was playing the gracious host with pedantic precision.
Konas left the garden humming to himself, and Soren rolled his eyes at his departing form. Something was wrong; Soren knew it.
When Konas reappeared, he carried a tray with two cups as lightly as he wore his wide smile. He passed Soren his cup, then took the second cup in his own hands. He stood before Soren and raised his glass. “A toast. The Itenu children are reunited in a happy hour.”
Soren narrowed his eyes. Konas had not looked too happy when Soren's balloon had landed. On the contrary, he looked decidedly peeved. But Soren put aside his suspicion, raised his glass, and drank the dark, bitter liquid.
Konas smacked his lips and exhaled theatrically. “A good drink, though it be devised by savages.” He held the cup up and inspected it.
Soren and Konas had spent a lot of good times together; they had worked side by side inventing and crafting the winch and chassis for wurm-hunting. They were friends, so why this smiling hostility?
“You brought me here to tell me about the Desertmasters's plans.” Soren wanted to see his sister, so the sooner Konas told him what was going on, the sooner he could get back to Sillara. He had spent days worrying over her, and he longed to sit beside her, hold her hands, and chat with her as they loved to do.
Konas frowned and waved away Soren's comment. “Nothing like that, old friend.” There was no friendliness in his voice. “I just wanted you to know that I know how you feel about Sillara.”
Soren rose to his feet. He did not know what Konas meant, but he did not like it. “How do I feel about her? She's my sister—I love her.”
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