“He’s getting the Inquisition, huh?”
The boy looked down at his feet. “I do not understand. Forgive me, but I have never met a human before.”
“I won’t grow a third eye, or a fifth limb. Not anytime soon.”
Zeren nudged Aarn in the ribs. “You are such a scaredy cat.”
“I am not,” the other youth protested. He looked at Sam. “What may I bring you?”
“I’d really like a vegemite sandwich and a pot of strong tea.”
“Vegemite?” Zeren’s brow creased.
“Viethemiter,” Aarn slowly articulated in felinus.
Sam mouthed the word, too, consigning the felinus pronunciation to memory. Feegle it—why did the cat language have to be so difficult? She was going to have to teach these boys some Aussie speak.
“Veg-e-mi-te,” she said.
“Ah, yes! Harimal san-Duran has a private store. For you, I can gain access to it,” Aarn replied.
Samantha bit her lip. Vegemite: out and about in the galaxy, a protected culinary delight of a Chizan Prince. If she wasn’t so damn tired and worried, she might have dissolved into hysterics.
“And what tea may we bring? Chizan has excellent varieties.”
“I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
The boys bowed out of the room and Sam opened the glass door leading onto the rose-covered terrace.
She walked to the balustrade and looked down. Below her, nearly thirty-five meters, she saw more gardens where cats and people roamed among the flowers and shrubs. Chizan was warmer than she anticipated, and while the crimson sun of the planet caressed her skin, it did little to dispel the cold fear nagging inside her.
She could get used to the reddish tinge the sunlight cast over everything, not harsh and bright like on earth, but soft, muting—almost relaxing.
Sam inhaled. Chizan’s cinnamon-scented air welcomed her. Odd, that word, she thought. The planet was welcoming her? And what of its inhabitants? What welcome would they give her?
Returning to the apartment, she pushed open doors. Two rooms were empty. The third was a sitting room, with overstuffed cushions spread around the floor. Several low, carved wooden tables held filigree copper lamps. Tapestries, woven with rainbow threads hung against two walls.
The next door led into a bedroom. A large round bed on a raised dais dominated the room, its mauve silk coverlet embroidered around the edges with silver. Lengths of sheer silk hung from the ceiling, falling around the bed. A large fluted crystal vase sat on a pedestal against the wall, full of farseth, the sacred purple roses of Chizan.
Sam walked forward, running her hand over the silk drapes. Through an open doorway she saw the bathroom. With its deep sunken bath, it resembled a Roman bathhouse. The walls were pale blue, the ceiling painted with an underwater scene, reminiscent of the holo image John had ordered at Rendezvous. The dolphin-shaped taps were crystal and gold. The aqua and white floor tiles were cut into a mosaic forming a rolling wave stretching from wall to wall.
She ran the bath and stripping off her clothes, settled into the warm water, lathering her skin with lavender soap contained in a prismed crystal decanter at the side of the bath.
When she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in her old bathrobe, she found her clothes had been unpacked and each item carefully arranged on the bed. She flicked a t-shirt disdainfully. What a sorry assortment. Stars knew what the unpacker had thought and then she flushed to see her underwear, also neatly arranged, according to color. If one of the boys had… Oh man! Embarrassment did not begin to cover what she was feeling.
Turning away, she saw that the table against the far wall had been set with a gold platter containing vegemite sandwiches, the crusts removed. She laughed to herself.
Another platter held a variety of cut fruits: peaches, strawberries and pears, as well as unknown Chizan delicacies. An ornate gold pot contained a strong brew of steaming tea.
Sam poured the brew into an eggshell-thin blue china cup and tentatively sniffed. Almost like Lady Grey, but other Chizan spices combined with the bergamot and lemon. She sipped. It was delicious. She drained the first cup and poured another. Then bit into the sandwiches.
She demolished the fruit, licking her fingers of juice. The licks reminded her of a lifetime ago when John had licked her from head to toe. She had reciprocated. The memory stirred, cramping her stomach. How she wanted him, needed him, burned for him. Could not get enough of him. Her hands shook so much she spilled tea over her bare feet. She set the cup down on the saucer.
A doorbell chimed and moments later a tall man bowed into the room. He was dressed in a flowing black silk kaftan, with that familiar swirl across the high collar. His blue-black hair hung to his waist, silver streaks from each temple extended the length of his hair. His grey eyes studied her intently, before he lowered his gaze. He bowed again and held out a carved wooden box.
“With the King’s compliments. Where may I put it?”
“Ah…on the table. Thank you.”
The man glided across the floor, his bare feet lightly slapping the tiles. He turned to her after he had placed the box on the table. “Is there anything I may bring for your comfort?”
Only John, Sam wanted to reply, but figured that was out of the question. “No, thank you.”
“The san-Duran wondered if you would like to choose some jewels for your ceremony. He has many heirlooms.”
Sam ran her fingers over the pearl necklace about her throat. She rarely took it off. “No, this is enough.”
The man’s gaze narrowed. “If that is your desire.” He bowed and turned, his robe flapping around him as he departed.
Sam let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. The man set all her senses on edge. Some felinus could do that just by their presence. This guy exuded confidence, arrogance and danger. Taren-the-assassin she could handle, but not this felinus.
Curiosity led her to the box and she flipped up the lid. Lying inside, neatly folded, were three silk robes. Carefully lifting each out, she discovered that the sandalwood box had scented the garments.
One robe was plain black, with the Ronsevaal colors across the high collar, another was cream, threaded with silver and gold. The last was stunning—neither green, nor black as she held it up to the light. Shadows rippled over it, masking its true color. Embroidered about the hem and collar and at the end of each bell-shaped sleeve were tiny farseth roses with crystal petals.
In a silk purse at the bottom of the box Sam found a gold chain. She lifted it up and saw at its end a tear-drop shaped crystal, green, flashing with mauve and silver. It spun on the end of the chain, sending colors coruscating over the walls. The effect was hypnotic.
She realized what this stone was. Very few people outside of Chizan had seen star-crystals, let alone possessed one. But rumor was rife in the galaxy about the power of the crystals. Some insisted the stones were sentient and bonded with their owners. Others spoke of the power infused in the crystals and how such could be wielded by the felinus shamans. How much was true and how much was myth? She had a feeling that she’d soon find out.
She slipped the chain over her head and the gem lay in the valley between her breasts.
Every robe was too beautiful and precious for ordinary wear, so Sam carefully hung them in the wardrobe. Consigning her old clothes to the bottom of the drawer, she chose a pair of shorts and her favorite t-shirt and slipped them on. Something comfortable. She smiled inwardly, remembering the time in the Saturn Hilton and John saying he was going to slip into something comfortable—her. Her skin warmed with the memory.
Dressed in her old togs, familiarity brought some confidence and normalcy, and on Chizan she was going to have to get strength where she could. Taren’s advice to John echoed in her ears.
She finished the pot of tea and reclined on the bed. Tired. No, beyond tired. Exhausted. She lay back and closed her eyes. Just a nap…
She woke slowly, languidly. Familiar scent washed over her. War
mth. His mind caressed.
Turning, rising on her elbow, she saw John sitting beside the bed on a cushion, leaning forward, his chin resting on his knees. His tawny eyes glowed with amusement.
“How long have you been there? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I like to watch you sleep.”
“You do?”
“Yep.” He smiled. “I imagine what I’m gonna do to you when you wake.”
Sam pushed herself up from the bed and walked to him, straddling his thighs, settling down on his legs, facing him. She kissed him gently. “I missed you.”
“You’ve been cared for in my absence?” Not quite a question, his chin lifted to the table and the wooden box, the remnants of her tea.
“Vegemite sandwich does wonders for a gal.”
John grinned. “They raided Hari’s private cache?”
“I know, stealing a guy’s vegemite, how low can I go?”
“Hari won’t mind, my fe’ha tu.”
Sam traced her finger over his lips. “Just what does that mean?”
“It is a title. Mate, wife, my everything.”
“How do I say it for you? Fe’ha tuan?”
“During mutatis all will be revealed.” He touched the chain around her neck and lifted it, drawing the crystal from beneath her t-shirt. His gaze narrowed, then lifted to her. “Where did you get this?”
“A servant. Though, I don’t think he was actually a servant. He looked at me as if I was a bug he’d like to crush. Anyway, this guy brought it along with the kaftans. This was in the bottom of the box.” Her gaze searched his. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Show me the robes.”
“Now?”
“Indulge me.”
Reluctantly, Sam slid off John’s lap. She tugged the wardrobe door open and John fingered the gowns.
He smiled. “He’s a clever bastard, my father.”
“What?”
“The crystal, the clothes, he brought you the gifts himself, to meet you, to dissect you.”
Cold dread washed through her. “That guy was your father? He didn’t look like you, or Hari.”
“No, he probably glamored himself, too. I didn’t think he’d do that to you so soon.”
“He was very kind.”
“Oh yeah. He can be that, when he wants to be.”
“John…” She rested her cheek against his chest. “Come to bed. I want you. Can we get that mutatis thing over and done with, so we can have some peace and some proper loving?”
“We’ll go to the Temple tomorrow. Until then, we abstain.”
“Temple? Like the temple we had in the halo-room?”
“Kinda.”
“And we have to abstain? That’s part of the ritual?”
“Yes.” John smiled. “It’ll make the consummation all the more intense.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“Definitely good.”
“How was your meeting with the King?”
The subtle tightening of his arms around her, the tension coiling in his muscles, told Sam all she needed to know.
“You got chewed out?”
“Chewed and spat out.”
“Because of me?”
“Not entirely.”
“It’s okay, John. I know I don’t pass muster with most people. And you’re Ronsevaal, so…”
He lifted her chin with his thumb and rubbed the pad of his second finger over her lips. “Other people don’t matter. You have friends. Taren is your clan-brother. And you have me. As you say, I’m Ronsevaal, so I have certain authority and I used it, honey-cat. Made the bastard on the throne squirm.” He kissed her, a gentle chaste kiss, but the intensity spoke volumes.
Sam lifted her mouth from his. “But things have changed. Hari’s missing. The King’s own son missing. It means you have clan duty where none existed before.”
“You think so?”
“Humans aren’t as dumb as you think, cat-boy. I understand about politics and dynasty. Taren was most enlightening about his clan duty. I figure it’s the same for felinus.”
“Even more so.”
“And if Hari…” She couldn’t bring herself to speak it. If Hari is never found… “What does that mean for you. For us?”
“You are my fe’ha tu, Sammi. I’ll mate for love.”
“And for duty? You are san-Duran, after all. If you’re last of the line, you might have to—”
“I would never.”
“Never is a long time, beloved.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “The last time a royal felinus mated with a human woman, it led to his abdication.”
“Only because my mother died. My father was stricken with the Madness. If a felinus loses his or her mate, it’s worse than death. My father couldn’t endure without her.” He paused. “You think too much, Samantha.”
It was one of the rare moments when he called her by her full name. He was angry. With her? Or with everything?
“Everything,” he whispered.
“Then come to bed and forget everything.”
John shuddered. “I need you, Sam. But the ritual—”
“To hell with that feegling ritual. You’re san-Duran and I’m your fe’ha tu. You gonna follow the ritual, or follow me to bed?” She stepped away, paused and looked over her shoulder, her right eyebrow raised.
The next morning, hand in hand, John and Samantha walked the pebbled path towards the crystal temple. Sam kept her attention fixed upon it, otherwise the apprehension would overwhelm her.
With every step the mutatis ceremony grew closer.
The site of the ceremony was located two hours from the palace. John and Sam had flown in the tiny air car, landing it in a heli-pad on the border of the wood.
They had walked the remaining distance to the temple on a winding path, overgrown with tiny white flowers. Beside the path, a stream tinkled and bubbled over crystal rocks, breaking the silence. The dense canopy of red oak branches provided shade from the hot noon sun. The scent of Chizan—ginger, cinnamon and roses—hung heavily in the air
Sam’s heart thudded in her ears; her legs shook so much, she felt drunken. John’s hand over hers was trembling.
Arriving at the temple, Sam saw that outside it, on a thick white rug, platters of food and two goblets and pitchers of drink had been arranged, all kept cool by a laser shield.
“This is it?” Sam asked as John halted. The circular temple was made from translucent crystal. Eight slender columns supported a domed ceiling that was decorated with carvings of roses and vines. Each flower was studded with purple crystals, twinkling like stars. “And there’s no one else but us?”
“Yep, this is it.”
“Just us?”
His lip quirked. “Did you think we would have to do it in front of witnesses? Kitten-mine! You’re so precious.” His knuckles caressed her cheek. “Trust me. When mutatis is over, no one is going to ask us if we reached that level. Our aura will mark us as mated.” He leaned forward and kissed her.
The caress was electric, igniting Sam’s starved senses.
“I have something to ask you, T’serlan,” he whispered.
“What is it, T’serl.”
“Am I your beloved?”
“You are my everything, Kuno.”
He inclined his head, his tawny eyes misting with tears as he gazed at her.
“So, what is it you want to ask me, Kuno?”
“It’s difficult.”
“Cat got your tongue?”
He almost smiled. “I’ve always wondered, knowing the true circumstances of your marriage, why you never changed your name from Sinclair, after he died. If this question offends…?”
“I didn’t have another name to take.”
“But your family name?”
“I had six families and every time I was fostered, I had to change my surname. Every placement was as bad as the one before. Sinclair was just the latest.”
“And the worst.”
Sam shrugg
ed. “I never knew my blood parents’ names, and even if I had, they gave me up.”
“Then, how about Lucas?” He smiled. “I know it’s old-fashioned for the woman to take the husband’s name as her own, but would you mind? It was my mother’s family name.”
A felinus son offering the mother’s name to his mate, Sam knew it was a rare and indescribable privilege.
“It would be my honor.” She inclined her head and then smiled. “And what about Ronsevaal?”
“I prefer not to use it. Hell, Sammi. Mention that name and people around you will scrape the ground for favors. Remember the vultures who came soliciting me in Hari’s apartment? You can be Samantha-Sharille Lucas-Ronsevaal-san-Duran-fe’ha tu if you really want.”
She grimaced. “Is that my full title?”
“For high ceremony, there’s more. The name reveals lineage. Cats are very proud of their ancestry.”
“What a bloody mouthful.”
“Let me fill your mouth with other things besides words.”
“What other things?” she whispered huskily.
He leaned into her, his mouth slanting over hers. He dipped his tongue over her lips, gently parting her. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the temple. Immediately, the security shield sprang into life, encasing it in a muted silver glow.
“No one comes here uninvited, beloved, the screen is for privacy. Besides, we don’t want to scare the birds. You can be very vocal when aroused.”
“You were the one screaming his lungs out yesterday.”
He blushed. “Is it any wonder? I didn’t realize you could do that with water and bubbles. It tickled.”
“I’ll tickle you some more.”
“You promise?”
Slowly, he untied every ribbon holding her traditional white mutatis robe together and prized it open, teasingly, as if he were opening a parcel.
“Yep,” he said. “A very precious parcel.”
Sam smiled as his mind coiled with hers.
John stood back and shrugged off his robe; it fluttered down his body, like wings.
Sam feasted her gaze on him, every long, hard centimeter of him. She reached out to grasp his body.
“Aaaah.” He smiled and then gasped, doubling over. “Hell-stars! It hurts.”
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