The Golden Dynasty f-2

by Kristen Ashley

  Lahn was in bed, on his side, silk sheet up to his waist, elbow in the pillow, eyes on me.

  My really not so little anymore tigress was lounging on a big, fluffy, hide-covered pad in the corner, her pink tongue licking a bone.

  My stomach roiled as the nausea returned and my eyes moved back to Lahn.

  Even nauseous, it wasn’t lost on me my husband was hot.

  It was just that with morning sickness, I was in no mood to do anything about it.

  I went to the bed, pulled back the sheet, lifted a leg and collapsed on my back, head to the pillows. I pulled the sheet up and slapped the folded, cool cloth over my eyes.

  I felt Lahn’s heat against my side then I felt his large hand on my belly.

  “Perhaps I was wrong,” he murmured. “If you carry a golden daughter in your womb, she would not be so rough on you.” I felt him get closer and knew I was right when his soft voice came at my ear and his hand pressed gently at my belly before he whispered, “I believe we made a warrior, my doe.”

  “I don’t care what it is, just as long as you’re happy with it because it’s the only one you’re gonna get, big guy,” I muttered back and heard him chuckle in my ear but felt his mouth leave that area after it brushed skin.

  Nice move and I loved to hear Lahn’s amusement.

  But I was not being amusing.

  I lifted one side of my cloth so I could slide my eyes to him to see he was still grinning and I informed him, “I’m not kidding. I don’t like puking as in, really don’t like it.”

  I watched his eyebrows go up in a face that was still smiling. “Puking?”

  “Hurling, calling Buick, heaving, throwing up, vomiting, puking.”

  He chuckled again.

  I found nothing funny.

  I dropped the cloth and announced, “After this, birth control all the way.”

  Through another chuckle I heard Lahn ask, “Birth what?”

  “Birth control. After little Lahn or little Lahnahsahna makes his or her entry into this world, you’re sheathing your sword, big guy.”

  An amused but confused, “Sheathing my sword?”

  I lifted the cloth again, glared at him then moved my glare down to the area being discussed and just to make certain he got it, I gave a little nod in that direction.

  He got it. I knew it when he roared with laughter.

  Again, I found nothing funny.

  I dropped the cloth and tried not to let his big body shaking the bed make me hurl.

  Finally, he quieted his humor but remarked, “I’ve heard of this practiced in the Northlands. We do not practice the same in the Southlands, my queen.”

  “Well, you’re going to be a trendsetter,” I returned on a mutter.

  “Trendsetter?”

  “Setting the fashion, being the first.”

  His hand still at my belly slid up, curled around my breast and his voice was partly amused, partly serious when he informed me. “I’ll not have anything between me and my golden queen.”

  I opened my mouth to say something smart but he kept talking as his hand slid back to my belly.

  “And we will have many children, many warriors to serve Suh Tunak, many golden princesses so their father can behold your beauty on more than your face.”

  That was sweet and all, really sweet but… I did not think so.

  “That’s sweet, Lahn, but I’m being very serious.”

  “Then I will be serious as well and tell you I will not use these… things.”

  “Then you’ll pull out before the festivities culminate. It isn’t full proof but it’ll be something,” I muttered.

  Suddenly, the cloth was gone and Lahn’s face was in mine, his big body looming over me and I noticed immediately he no longer thought anything was funny either.

  “I will not spend my seed on your skin.”

  Uh-oh.

  I stared in his face and knew I said something very, very wrong.

  “Lahn –”

  “A warrior’s seed is his essence; it is the future of Suh Tunak. It is not wasted unless used to deliver the worst insult he can give or released on the body of a Xacto. Traitors, enemy warriors weak enough to get captured alive, spies foolish enough to be detected, they receive wasted seed. And a warrior does not plant his seed in Xacto and you, my golden queen, are not Xacto.”

  Okay, it was safe to say this conversation had taken a drastic turn down a road I did not want to go. So I had to detour us, pronto.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  He glared at me. Then he clipped, “Okay.”

  “I, uh… didn’t know,” I said quietly.

  “Now you do.”

  I sure did.

  I lifted a hand to cup his bearded jaw and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. I won’t speak of it again. I just really don’t like being sick.”

  “I don’t like it either. It means I cannot take your xaxsah in the mornings. I like to take your xaxsah in the mornings. What I do not like is having to wait until the evening.”

  Hmm. Clearly my apology hadn’t put him in a better mood.

  So I sought to better his mood and suggested softly, “How about you try to take my xaxsah with your lisa and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “I do not wish courting you being sick with my mouth between your legs, Circe.”

  Okay, well, that didn’t work.

  I rolled into him, fighting the nausea as I ran my hand down his chest and then wound an arm around his back, whispering, “Lahn –”

  Suddenly, he pulled in breath through his nose and he did this so sharply, I shut up.

  When he expelled it, his eyes locked with mine and he whispered, “We ride on Maroo in two days.”

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head forward.

  I knew this and I didn’t want to talk about it. Not then, not ever. I’d be living it soon enough.

  A second later, I felt his lips on my forehead so my eyes opened to see the beautiful column of his throat.

  Against my skin, he said, “We could be on campaign a month or we could be on campaign a year. And you will be here and I will not.”

  All right, he wasn’t pissed about the birth control discussion, he was worried. That was good. What was bad was, for my husband, I needed to talk about this and I didn’t want to.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said gently.

  “I know you will be okay.” His hand again pressed into my belly and I felt his mouth move from my forehead so I tipped my head back to catch his eyes. “But every day, he or she grows in you and this I will not see. You will grow heavy and I will not be here to watch your beauty bloom to be even more beautiful. And he or she could come and I will not be here to cut the connection and be the first being they gaze upon so they will know their father.”

  “They’ll know you, honey, even if you’re not here. They’ll know.”

  He stared down at me in mild affront, his brows drawn. “I must be at the birth. It must be me who pulls him from your womb. The first being a child must see, Circe, is their father. The first touch they must feel is the touch of their father. Their connection to their mother is established for months, their father must have those to establish his.”

  Wow, that was beautiful. But as beautiful as it was, I was hoping for someone like a midwife who would “pull him from my womb”. Even the midwife serving a savage, primitive horde. My guess was my husband hadn’t handled or even attended very many births (as in, none) and she’d likely have experience I might need.

  You know, just in case.

  I decided it was wise not to share this.

  Instead I sighed. Then I gave him a squeeze.

  Then I said, “Well, you better kick some Maroo ass, baby, then get yours home to me…” I paused then whispered, “Safe.”

  His eyes roamed my face for long moments before his lips twitched up.

  “This is the plan,” he muttered.

  I grinned at him.

  He grinned back.

  Then it faded and h
e whispered, “I must go.”

  I nodded and waited. Then it came, his hand at my jaw, his thumb sweeping my cheekbone and his eyes wandering my face with such intensity it was like he was trying to burn the vision of it in his brain.

  This happened every morning right before he left me since the day after the attack. This, I guessed (but did not ask), was an indication of a psychological wound he endured while riding hard to get to me after learning of a plot to murder me that included a traitor in his very own cham. Then arriving home to have his first vision of me being a me covered in blood. It was clear this had marked him deeply. And although it was a beautiful thing to think the very idea of my loss could wound him so severely, I hated that that wound was there.

  I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  So I did the only thing I knew to do. I pressed into him and smiled brightly.

  Then I suggested, “How about this, I take your xac in my lisa when you get home tonight.”

  The intensity in his eye shifted, then faded, then returned in a different way, then his arm curled around me and he pulled me deeper.

  “You just made me a promise, kah bahsah,” he growled.

  I pushed slightly up and, against his mouth, I whispered, “I won’t renege, kah bahsan.”

  His eyes held mine for a heartbeat before his head slanted and he kissed me, deep and wet and I was really glad I used that twig.

  When my toes had curled and my nipples had gone hard and I realized that I didn’t feel at all like throwing up in his mouth, he released my lips, lifted up, kissed my forehead and then he maneuvered his big body over mine and out of the bed. Then I watched over my shoulder as his fabulous body with his seriously fine ass walked to the bathroom-ish style room.

  Then I rolled to my back and examined the state of my stomach.

  I was fine.

  I was about to call out to inform Lahn of this when a roil of nausea slid through.

  Okay, so I wasn’t fine. Therefore, I didn’t call out to Lahn.

  But I listened to him and watched him as he moved around in the other rooms and our bedroom. And as I listened and watched, I committed what I heard and saw to memory.

  And I processed the last six weeks and I did this in an effort not to think about what the next six weeks (and longer) would bring.

  * * * * *

  We had stayed at our camp for two weeks after the attack. Lahn again mostly disappeared during this time as planning a war was obviously time consuming. But every day he woke me to say a very nice good morning then he’d be gone and I wouldn’t see him until my next good morning.

  As he ordered, a new cham replacing our old one was sheltering me in a week (actually, more like five days). This one was made with darker, thicker fabric and had a variety of new poles. Where the other one just had those holding up the roof, this one had four in a star shape between each support so that even if a knife could cut through the fabric, there wasn’t enough room for anyone to squeeze through unless they chopped their way through the wooden supports.

  Lahn was clearly not taking any chances. This felt nice. But, every time I saw those poles, it made me sad. I missed our old cham and I missed my Teetru as I knew her to be (not, obviously, who she ended up being).

  I didn’t dwell on the sad.

  Our cham was also bigger, perhaps two feet all around but two feet added to the circumference of a circular tent was a lot. It seemed cavernous compared with our old one.

  I would understand this added room when our long, narrow table was not returned and one just as long but three times as wide was set in its place with four chairs around it rather than just two at the ends. Also, another chair with a small ottoman were introduced to our décor (yes, an actual chair!). The chair was heavy on the wood but the back and seat were cushioned and covered with rose velvet with a design cut into them.

  These were spoils of raiding.

  I didn’t think of that. I thought instead my new furniture was perfect for girls’ night in and I used them for this purpose. Copiously.

  I also had a new slave (more spoils of raiding). Her name was Quixa, she was older than Jacanda and Beetus, younger than Gaal and Packa and she was Korwahk.

  Jacanda, who had naturally taken over as leader of the girls after we lost Teetru (a surprise, I would have guessed Gaal or maybe Packa, but Jacanda was really good at it, the girls took to her and settled very quickly), took Quixa under her wing and was delighted with the addition.

  And she told me Quixa was delighted too. And she explained why.

  “Quixa is born slave and her masters were kind. But when they were travelling through Keenhak, their party was set upon by Maroo and her masters were killed. She was taken by Maroo and everyone knows that the Maroo treat Maroo slaves one way, all slaves from other nations another and not in good ways. She is happy to be in service to a Dahksahna and she is very happy to be home. These last three years,” she shook her head, “they have not been good for Quixa.”

  Okay, well, I had to admit that made me feel better about Lahn stealing her from someone else while out pillaging. Not a lot better but it was something.

  For me, things were business as usual, outside of Lahn being absent most of the time and the fact that my personal guard swelled from two to six. Lahn added Bohtan, Feetak and Char and Vuntus’s husbands Tark and Yoonan (respectively) to their ranks. This was explained one morning when I’d asked about his choices and Lahn had the time to answer.

  “You share a bond with their wives. Through that they are bonded to you more than you simply being their golden warrior queen. This intensifies loyalty. Their wives want no harm to come to you because you are their friend. And these warriors hold deep feelings for their wives so they will make this so.”

  I thought that was a nice way to look at it.

  It was nicer when he went on.

  “And they all came to me separately, knowing I would be seeking more protection for my Dahksahna, and they volunteered for this service.”

  Definitely nicer.

  I never went anywhere without at least two, but usually there were four of my guard with me and after what happened, their presence was definitely welcome.

  During these two weeks, I saw three of what Diandra told me were “raiders” or “raiding parties”, in other words, groups of The Horde who went out marauding. They rode over the horizon to swell our ranks. In each raiding party, there were about a hundred horses all together (warriors and wives) plus their convoy of wagons. I also saw one “patrol” (again, this info gleaned from Diandra) which was a troop of The Horde that patrolled Korwahk to keep the civilians safe from other country’s marauders or to be on the lookout for invasion. Korwahk did it themselves but they did not countenance others doing it back. That said, it happened on more than the rare occasion so these groups found action often. The patrol had what looked like a few hundred horses (plus wagons).

  Lahn explained to me that these returning warriors were the groups that were closest in location to the Daxshee and would ride with us. We had been waiting for their arrival and the day after the patrol joined us, Lahn announced we would be packing up the Daxshee and meeting the rest of Suh Tunak in Korwahn.

  Korwahn, by the way, was the largest city in Korwahk, where all the members of The Horde kept permanent residences even if they didn’t spend much time in them.

  It was a four day ride to Korwahn and the morning of the day we were to arrive, my girls gave me the business. I would not, Jacanda informed me, ride into Korwahn for the first time as Suh Rahna Tunakanahsa Dahksahna Hahla looking anything but head-to-toe queen.

  I put my foot down about gold dust in my hair and my feathers (in other words, I did not intend to wear either). The Korwahk Horde rode as one, I wasn’t going to shine like a beacon while everyone else had four days of dust on them.

  But I did don a sarong made of pure gold silk, my belt of gold disks, a gold silk fold of material tied around my breasts with earrings that were simply long, thin gold cha
ins with a gold ball at the bottom and a matching choker necklace of a bunch of the same chains with intermittent balls adorning them. I had peach tint on my cheeks, peach gloss on my lips, pearlescent peachy eye shadow and I allowed them to dust around my temples and eyes with gold dust (because every girl knows, a little glitter was always okay, even if riding a dusty trail). I also allowed them to clip my curled, twisted hair in a fall in the back with a heavy, gold clip.

  That was all but, I thought, that was more than enough.

  I should have listened to Jacanda.

  When Korwahn came in sight, Bain’s horse came back to mine and he plucked me off Zephyr, galloped us to Lahn, Lahn plucked me from Bain and planted me in front of him and away went Bain and Zephyr.

  Apparently, I would ride into Korwahn at the lead with my Dax.

  Lahn confirmed this with a squeeze of his arm and a murmur in my ear.

  I didn’t make a comment; I was too busy staring at the two, large, stark, cream stone plateaus jutting into the blue sky in front of me. They were at a forty-five degree angle to each other with one slightly taller than the other, the shorter one jutting out further. And there was what looked like an enormous, jumbled, interconnected building made of cream mud and dark beams that rode up their faces and sprawled across the landscape.

  It was phenomenal.

  And that was from afar.

  It got better up close.

  The Dax’s Horde had been seen and therefore people had time to prepare. We were greeted boisterously by men, women and children who had run out of the city to do so. Therefore, when we reached what Lahn whispered in my ear was called the Avenue of the Gods, the podiums of the enormous statues that lined it were thick with people, all of them tossing petals at Lahn and me, crying out our titles and cheering.

  Even if the colorful petals weren’t drifting through the air, the Avenue of the Gods that led into Korwahn would be breathtaking.

  Starting at the wide end of a sweep of statues that curved to (somewhat) narrow, were two cream stone podiums at least the height of a man and on each was an identical stone woman (the height of at least three men and we’re talking Korwahk men) carved out of what looked like ivory marble. She was full-on pregnant, her big belly protruding over her sarong, her large breasts covered in a bandeau. One of her arms was curved under her belly, the other arm lifted, her hand held over her eyes as if blocking out the sun or peering into the distance to locate something (it was the latter, Lahn told me, the True Mother’s eyes were peeled for the return of her warrior). Her hair was long and fell in carved marble curls and twists but was adorned with gold clips all around, these looking they were made out of real gold and sparkling in the bright sun (and Lahn confirmed they were, indeed, real gold). There was also gold at her neck, her ears, her wrists and her biceps.