Her words were like static in my mind. The soothing caress of the sponge kept lulling me to sleep, only for Armiele to shake me awake again. Apparently sleeping through your bath was rude. Or maybe she was just worried she’d OD’d me and I’d stop breathing if I was unconscious. Wouldn’t that be ironic, if I died from the drugs she’d given me to keep me from offing myself.
After she washed my hair, she picked up a fish-shaped brush and began to work through the delicate strands. When the last of the tangles had finally been conquered, Armiele lifted me from the tub and carried me back to the vanity I’d spotted earlier, leaving me to float in front of the golden leaf framed mirror. The woman staring back at me had burgundy colored brows that matched my hair and shimmering, burgundy lips. A bouquet of tiny white flowers spread across my forehead and down my jaw line, ending with large, dark burgundy blooms on both cheeks. The goddess’s dull, grayish-white eyes that I now viewed the world through appeared as if they’d been covered in a thick layer of ice. Clearly not human. I couldn’t see even the faintest hint of myself in the stranger’s reflected face, which I’m sure would have horrified me if I was capable of feeling anything at all.
Instead I blankly stared at the mirror while Armiele spent hours braiding and pinning my hair up in an elaborate, tightly bound crown. She secured dozens of layered chains around my throat, each strand containing hundreds of colored gems in six alternating colors, representing each of the six regions of Teresolee. The bottom of the complex web of elongated necklaces had strands that connected at the back like a bra, securing the net of precious stones tight against my skin. Jewel-studded cuff bracelets were placed around my wrists, my forearms, just above my elbows and at the top of my biceps. The sparkling colors matched the gaudy rings that were slid onto each of my fingers. What had to be fifty carat diamond rope earrings were hung from my lobes, and were soon accompanied by six fresh piercings in each ear, holding colored studs for each of the regions.
Not even watching her kneed and twist my nipples until they hardened could rouse me. I remained utterly indifferent as she stretched each one taunt and pierced them, threading small diamond-encrusted rings through the holes that were secured to the sides of my necklace with tiny locks. Similar locks were affixed to the necklace’s clasps at the base of my neck and behind my back, making it impossible to even partly remove without the key.
This is the queen’s chastity belt. The key will be given to our future king, who is the only one who may remove it from your body. Anyone who touches you while you are wearing this—other than your compar, your servants or our healers—will be executed.
Your friends will address you as Queen Camithia from this day forward, and will be required to follow all rules of etiquette for interacting with our royalty. Anyone overhead using your pre-chosen name will have their tongue removed, as to do so is to counteract the will of our gods. Do not fear. All of this was shared with them prior to their surgeries, which you have undoubtedly seen were successful. While they will never be members of our race like you are now, they will soon have bodies much more suited for this world that are capable of bearing Syreni young. From what I’ve heard, they are bright, open-minded young women who are quickly assimilating into our culture. After what surely was an enlightening night communing with their new gods, they both volunteered for the procedures. Our new daughter of Poseidon’s name is Serienne, and our daughter of Neptune healer-apprentice is called Naome.
I was happy to hear that the surgeries hadn’t been forced on them, even if I struggled to comprehend how they could be so willing to accept their new lives. Thinking of Gentry and Tara as Naome and Serienne would take some serious getting used to. I’d be lucky if I could remember my own new name. Camithia didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Armiele paused and assessed her work, looking me over from head to toe. With all the bright colors on your cheeks and forehead, your pale eyes are washed out a bit. Hold still. She opened up a small compartment in the front of the vanity and selected a long, quill like needle, unsnapping it from the clasp that secured it in place. She held my face steady as she injected black ink along the base of my lashes and upward from the corners to my brows, permanently lining my eyes in a Cleopatra’esque, cat-like design. Switching to a crimson color, she took great care tattooing my lids—being sure not to press too hard on the thin tissue and risk injuring me—then opted for a soft pink to shade the skin from my lids to my brows. There. You are perfect, my queen. The general who is fortunate enough to be bound to you will be truly blessed. Come now. You must eat. The king is expecting us soon.
I dutifully followed behind Armiele—the effects of the drug having eased just enough for me to swim—as we passed through the bedroom and into a modest central living space. Each effortless kick of my tail covered more distance than fifteen of my most powerful human strokes could have accomplished. The challenge was learning control.
The shield of a prone, wrought-iron Syreni warrior served as a table, positioned so that it appeared he was doing battle with the octopus shaped chandelier overhead. Each of the cephalopods eight legs gripped a spear-shaped lamp, the spear heads emitting the soft blue light that illuminated the room. A small kitchenette occupied the remainder of the space, with a granite island countertop and a set of metal cabinets affixed to the stone walls.
A black-tailed Syreni female who appeared to be slightly younger than Armiele—based on her less wrinkled face, anyway—was busy setting the table with polished silver platters that were secured to the table with built-in clasps to hold them in place. When she caught sight of me she dropped into a revering bow, her eyes cast to the floor. My queen. I hope you find the food I have prepared palatable. I have not had the honor of serving a former human before.
The queen thanks you for your concern, Larriart. You may leave us now. Armiele answered for me. Larriart bowed again and hurried from the room with three quick swishes of her tail, being careful to avoid making eye contact with me.
It’d been a full day since I’d eaten, and almost a week since I’d had anything except sea peppers. We’d kind of gotten hooked on the semi-sweet, pickle like things but they weren’t exactly filling. Even heavily sedated I was starving.
Armiele removed the weighted covers from the three trays and stacked them on the far end of the table before motioning me forward. The tray on the left contained glazed, bright red fillets that were stuffed with shredded sea peppers and were pinned into rolls, each of them nestled within a lavishly forged, silver raptor claw. The middle tray was stacked high with pre-cracked crab legs piled underneath a simple mesh net. The much deeper tray on the right contained tropically colored, smelt-sized fish. Still swimming. The clear lid on top that kept them from escaping had a round hinged piece in the middle with a small silver handle.
I’d recommend that you start with the tiger fish rolls, my queen. We tried to make them as much like your sushi as we could. As for the rest, the rich, tangy meat of the widow crab is one of our most savored delicacies, and the super sweet honeytails make for a pleasant dessert.
Armiele gave me a look that fell somewhere between hopeful and anxious—mirroring the expression Austin often had while I was opening one of his more outside-the-box birthday gifts—as I slid one of the tiger fish rolls out of its claw shaped holder, raised it to my lips and took a small, exploratory bite. The sweetness of the sea pepper filling contrasted the mildly sour taste of the glaze, and the flakey red meat tasted a lot like tuna. When I stuffed the remainder of the roll into my mouth and reached for another she let out a high-pitched chirping sound, which based on her beaming smile, I interpreted as a kind of underwater Syreni laugh.
Larriart will be so pleased to hear of your reaction. You must try the widow crab next! Not waiting for a response, Armiele grabbed one of the legs from underneath the netting, yanked a long strip of flesh free from the shell and all but stuffed it into my mouth before I’d even finished chewing the second tiger roll.
The meat tasted as if it
had been heavily seasoned with garlic and peppers, even though it was straight out of the shell, and had me searching for a drink other than seawater to cool my burning throat. Armiele pressed a covered goblet into my palm and pointed to the thin reed protruding from the top. I wasted no time in taking a deep draw of the thick, creamy liquid, not even sure what I was drinking. It tasted almost like eggnog.
Once I’d recovered, Armiele sunk down in a steep bow and placed her forehead directly on the stone floor. My deepest apologies, my queen. I forget my place. I should not have forced that upon you like a giddy schoolchild. I will have the crab removed at once, and will fetch one of your guards to administer whatever punishment you deem appropriate for my insolence.
What was with her thinking she needed to be punished all the time? Is that how Syreni royalty treated their servants? She was like an abused dog cowering at the raise of their owner’s hand. I didn’t feel like swimming into the bedroom to get the tablet I’d used earlier, so I sat the weighted goblet on the table, lowered myself down to her level and pulled her up off the floor. When she still refused to look at me, I raised her chin and met her fearful gaze with a bright smile of my own.
You… are not mad?
I shook my head, then selected a crab leg from the pile to demonstrate my point and stuffed another strip of the spicy meat into my mouth. While Austin had always leaned more toward bland American fare, Thai and Indian food were among my favorites. And now that I had a suitable drink close by I couldn’t wait to dig in. After I’d polished off almost a quarter of the pile—along with three more tiger fish rolls—I was too stuffed to take another bite.
I glanced at the very much alive honeytails, worried that if I didn’t at least try one, offering the food would be taken as some grave mistake by Larriart, Armiele or both. After taking a few breaths of water to muster up my courage—my Syreni body didn’t contain lungs, so I no longer had to endure the burning sensation from having them filled with sea water while submerged—I pulled open the little hatch and went hunting for one of the quick little buggers with my hand. There were so many of them that the odds were in my favor, even if I didn’t end up capturing the one I had set out for. Now came the hard part. I’d planned to just close my eyes and pop it into my mouth, but stopped short when the one I’d captured started squirming around in my hand. The thought of chewing it—head, guts, scales and all—while it thrashed around in my mouth was almost enough to make me hurl. I held it out toward Armiele, questioning what I was supposed to do with it.
May I? When I nodded she took it from me and shoved the entire thing into her mouth. After a few seconds of apparently enjoyable chewing she swallowed down her meal. Try to set aside your preconceived notions about what parts of fish are edible, my queen, along with the idea that your prey must be dead and heavily processed in order to be palatable. The innards of the honeytail are what provide its sweetness, and turn sour only moments after its death. The bones are so thin and brittle that they serve much like towsen seeds in providing texture. I promise you will not be disappointed if you try one.
Whether it was the drugs or not wanting to hurt her feelings, I couldn’t make myself refuse. I snatched another of the three inch long fish from the tank, closed my eyes and plopped it into my mouth. As soon as my teeth sank into its soft belly a honey-caramel, apple-like flavor flooded my taste buds. It reminded me so much of my grandma’s caramel apple pie that I actually moaned. All thoughts of what I was truly eating—and that it continued to squirm around inside my mouth until about my third chew—vanished as I lost myself in the memory, my grandma waiting for my nod of approval before she would serve the rest of our family. I ate three more before I was so uncomfortably full that I had to stop or risk an involuntary purge.
I’m glad to see you have a healthy appetite. That will serve you and the babies you bear well. Here—you can use this to cleanse your teeth and freshen your breath.
Armiele handed me one of the little minty sponges from the satchel around her waist. I did my best to brush; spending some extra time trying to makes sure I didn’t have food trapped between my teeth.
When I finished, she took the used sponge from me and withdrew the shell filled with sherifan root cream. Seeing me shy away—I was just starting to feel coherent again, after all—she swept her loose, pumpkin orange hair back from her weathered eyes, took a firm hold of my chin and cast me a genuinely remorseful look. As much as it pains me to do this, my queen, your body is metabolizing the drug much faster than I thought it would. You are almost fully alert in less than four hours. I need to give you a little more to help you manage the stress of the council meeting. I assure you, I will be far more careful with the dose.
I couldn’t argue with her logic. If I was even remotely lucid, their little ceremony would be a disaster. I’d probably castrate whichever general claimed me as their compar—basically, their wife, from what I’d learned—and tell the king he could go fuck himself if he thought anyone was sticking a baby inside me. Somehow I doubt that would turn out well for any of us. When I nodded she took just a small fingertip from the shell and lightly coated my nostrils. The much smaller dose didn’t knock me out as before, but within seconds I could no longer make myself care about anything. It was like getting a chemical lobotomy.
Four Syreni soldiers entered the room moments later, greeting me with crisp, practiced bows and pledges of loyalty as my personal security detail. They all wore armor similar to Aristos’s but much more decorative, like it was designed for impressing royalty rather than protecting them in battle.
Only four members in a royal guard, Commander Sennika? Armiele questioned. Our last queen had twenty, and, while I mean no offense, the unit was led by a far more accomplished warrior.
Commander Sennika regarded Armiele with a composed, dispassionate gaze. I take no offense at the statement of fact, Lady Armiele. It is true I have only recently ascended, but I was personally selected by our general to lead the queen’s security detail. If you feel I am unfit for the post, I suggest you take it up with him. Given the unique nature of our new queen, Aristos and I felt it important to limit her personal guard to only those we could explicitly trust. A dagger wielded by a radical fundamentalist is a far greater threat in this circumstance than a large scale attack.
While his helmet concealed a good portion of his face, judging from his rounded, boyish shaped chin and youthful eyes he was still a teenager—or at least the Syreni equivalent of one. I had no idea how fast they matured. Even at his young age he was already as muscular as Aristos. His shoulder length, chocolate brown hair was knotted at the base of his neck, and reminded me of what my own had looked like.
I glanced down at my painted, jeweled, Syreni body with a kind of resigned detachment. In spite of Aristos’s earlier promise that I’d be trained as a warrior, I knew this was all I would ever become—a mindless doll to decorate, parade around and impregnate, granted a superficial title with no actual power. So be it. The next time Armiele drugged me I’d make sure I received twice the dose. I never wanted to think or feel anything again.
CHAPTER TEN
The crowning
* * *
Every member of the Throne of Nine—including the king—had been assembled around the Syreni-shaped granite table for almost twenty minutes, awaiting their first glimpse of the new queen. King Celandor wasn’t known for his patience on the best of days, let alone when half of Halon’s Gate was packed into the High Court galleries watching him nervously fidget with the sleeves of his ceremonial navy robes.
Commander Sennika, I called out, lacing my private page with the urgency of a formal command. I’d already tried summoning the queen’s handmaiden several times. Lady Armiele was either purposefully ignoring me, or was no longer within Halon’s Gate. My bet was on the former. I’d known her since birth—she’d taught me to sign as a child too young to have yet mastered telepathic speech—and yet after only one night spent with our young queen, I’d been cast aside like a three day o
ld honeytail.
I would have been offended if it wasn’t for knowing how utterly lost Kerrigan—make that, Queen Camithia… I’d better purge that name from my memory before it cost me my tongue—must be feeling. Expecting her to somehow cope after taking her away from her family, the only world she’d ever known, and the ambitions and dreams of her former life had already been asking far too much. Now she’d been given the body of a Syreni female without being provided with even the most rudimentary knowledge of our race. She had the eyes and powers of a goddess who was completely foreign to her, taken from a religion she was only just beginning to believe in. And she’d been thrust onto the throne of a complex, severely divided society in total upheaval, struggling for its very survival. The Gods had truly cursed her.
Yes, General? Commander Sennika’s response was a welcome interruption to such unpleasant thoughts.
I bit back the harshest retorts that came to mind—he was hardly to blame for the situation I found myself in—opting instead for cutting sarcasm. Has your new armor rendered you incapable of swimming, or was the cathedral relocated to the far side of the Eastern Seaway while I slept?
I’m sorry for the delay, my general, he said after a measured pause. He was still young and unable to completely mask his emotions. I’d picked up enough to surmise what he’d held back from sharing. Wise man. Although I had to give him points for creativity. The queen was heavily sedated. It took her some time to comprehend the rules of etiquette that Armiele explained, and she struggled to swim the short distance in her intoxicated state. We would have assisted her, of course, but she’s already been fitted with her chastity belt. We are entering the High Court now.
Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1) Page 9