Fantasyland 02 The Golden Dynasty (38 page)

Mere seconds later, not yet fully recovered
from my own orgasm, my mouth received the gift of his groan.

Once he recovered, his lips swept my cheeks,
my eyes then his face disappeared in my neck.

I held him tight and stared at the roof of
the cham, not able to stop myself from feeling moved that he showed
me his spirit, something so precious to him, something he kept
safe, something he did not share and further not able to stop
myself from being dazzled by the display.

Shit.

I pulled in a breath, turned my head and,
mouth at his ear, I whispered, “You’re a natural at this kissing
business.”

His head came up and his eyes came to mine,
the shimmer gone but his gaze was warm.

“Natural?”

My hand slid to cup his jaw. “Have you ever
kissed a woman, my king?” I asked my question softly in
Korwahk.

His eyes held mine in a way it felt like he
was trying to read me before he grunted his clearly guarded
negative admission of, “Me.”

I was his first.

He’d given that to no one else. He’d given
it only to me.

Shit. I liked that.

I smiled at him. “Well, you’re good at
it,” I said softly in English. “A natural.” He stared at me so I
lifted my head two inches, my lips a breath from his where I
whispered, “Kay anhay tee.” I paused then finished with emphasis,
“
Chah.
”

I liked it…
a lot.

I watched again as his eyes smiled.

Then they grew intense and he whispered
back, “Kah rahna tunakanahsa Pahnsahnalla.”

I blinked.

This was new. He called me,
my golden warrior
goddess.

“What?” I asked then in Korwahk, “Tela?”

Instead of answering, he pulled out, rolled
and sat up, taking me with him so I was straddling him. His hand
cupping my head tipped mine down and his arm around my waist
squeezed tight.

Then he said in Korwahk (most of which I
caught, some of which I guessed), “I am sorry, my tigress, but you
have a difficult choice this morning. Either you attend the pyre or
you do not. It is your choice but I urge you to watch the ashes of
Dortak’s bride drift to the heavens.”

All thoughts of what Lahn called me flew
from my head.

Last night, I attended an execution slash
suicide. This morning, a funeral.

Fantastic.

It must be said, sometimes this queen
business sucked.

My eyes slid to his ear and I whispered in
Korwahk, “I will go.”

“Lahnahsahna,” he called and I looked back
at him. “This is not the easy choice,” he told me then gave me a
squeeze. “But it is the right one.”

It was way cool he understood and even
cooler that he seemed proud of me.

I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I sighed
then I nodded.

Then I asked in Korwahk, “What was her
name?”

Instantly, he answered, “I do not know.”

I blinked again then I stared. Then I asked,
“You don’t know?”

He shook his head, “I do not.”

Was he crazy?

I pulled back an inch and felt my eyes
narrow. “You ordered the death of a woman whose name you don’t
know?”

His arm tightening brought me back and his
brows knit as he studied me. “She is the wife of a warrior. Of
course I do not know her name.”

Of course he didn’t know her name?

He
was
crazy.

Then it occurred to me that never, not once
in all the times she interpreted for us, had he called Diandra by
her name. If he referred to her at all, he called Diandra “wife of
Seerim” or “Seerim’s woman”.

“You know,” I informed him, “women are wives
of warriors but they are also a lot of other things. They are
mothers. They are friends. They are healers. They are –”

“Circe,” he cut me off with a mini-squeeze,
speaking patiently, “they are also the most beautiful women in the
land. For that reason, they do not exist to Suh Tunak as anything
other than a warrior’s wife. They cannot. It is forbidden.”

I now stared in confusion
and
curiosity. “It’s
forbidden?”

Lahn nodded. “I must tell you that with
your beauty, which far exceeds any woman I have ever seen, there
are times when I regret you are my Dahksahna. This means people
know who you are, you are on display, you sit at my side and men’s
eyes can study you and they do. I see it, I see they take great
pleasure in their study and it often lasts a long time.” Another
squeeze. “This I do
not
like but
this is my
burden as
Dax.”

Uh-oh. My belly was getting melty.

Lahn kept speaking. “It is a high crime
for a warrior’s wife to share a bed with a warrior not her husband.
If this were to happen, both would be punished severely. In olden
times, it happened frequently. Warriors are men and wives are
beautiful. To maintain necessary distance, to warriors, all wives
are known only as the wife or bride of a warrior. Contact is
minimal and personal relationships between warriors and other wives
are very rare and only occur when permission is granted by the
husband and usually is always supervised
by
the husband. Another burden I must carry as you
form attachments to your personal guard and wander the Daxshee
amongst your people.”

He knew about that?

“You know about that?”

“Bain and Zahnin report your activities to
me daily, my queen.”

Oh. Well. That wasn’t entirely surprising.
Intrusive, but not surprising.

The good news was, this wasn’t about
possession or stripping women of their identities but about
stopping infidelity.

And, for once, there really wasn’t any bad
news except the “punished severely” part which I did not want to
know so I was not going to ask.

I looked into his eyes and saw he had braced
for my response so when I said, “Okay,” his chin jerked back half
an inch before he smiled and gave me another squeeze.

Then he repeated, “Okay.”

Why did I think it was so sweet when he said
that word?

I needed to move on.

I started to push away, muttering, “I guess
I should bathe…” when I trailed off and fully took him in.

Last night, he had rivers of paint on his
body. Right now, he didn’t but I did, the paint he transferred to
me when he held me after the judgment.

Last night, his hair had been plaited
(something I had done yesterday morning). Right now, his hair was
flowing free.

And lastly, last night,
he’d been
painted.

My body froze.

He’d been painted! And it wasn’t
me
who painted him.

“Lahn,” I called and his hand in my hair
slid down to rest between my shoulder blades as he grinned.

Then he murmured in a deeper than normal
voice, “My tigress, you sit astride me leaking my seed in my lap,
you do not have to call my name.”

Okay, that was kind of hot but I wasn’t in
the mood for him being hot.

I put both my hands to his shoulders and
asked, “Who painted you last night?”

He stared at me and I watched the shutters
cover his eyes.

Not
a good sign.

“And,” I went on, “who bathed you this
morning?”

His arms curled tighter around me and he
said a soft, “Circe –”

Oh no, I did not
think
so.

“Did you visit the Xacto?” I enquired in a
dangerous voice and his arms got tighter.

“Kah Lahnahsahna –” he murmured.

That meant yes.

Oh no,
I did not
think
so.

“You promised!” I exclaimed, reverting to
English, pushing hard against his shoulders and he went back but he
took me with him, twisted and then I was on my back, him on top of
me again. “Get off me!” I yelled, still pushing. “You
promised!”

“Quiet, Circe,” he ordered softly.

“I will not be quiet!” I shouted.

His arm moved from around me so his hand
could cup my face, his thumb coming to my lips and pressing
lightly.

“Quiet, my queen,” he said in English then
reverted to Korwahk, most of which, luckily, I understood. “You
were in no state to paint me last night and by tradition, in a
ceremony where I would be passing my judgment, I needed to be
painted. I had no choice and although I promised, you must
understand I broke it with a thought to your state of mind. This
morning, I swam in the creek to rid myself of my paint and in order
not to further break my vow to you.”

Oh. Well then. That was understandable. It
was even nice.

Shit.

“Well,” I whispered against his thumb, “okay
then.”

He looked into my eyes for a heartbeat then
he threw his head back and laughed. Before I knew it, his thumb
left my lips, his still laughing mouth replaced it, his tongue slid
into my mouth and he kissed me hard and deep.

Totally a natural.

I kissed him back and he rolled so I was on
top, both his hands moving to hold back my hair.

When he broke our kiss I saw from close up
that his eyes still held mirth.

I would know why when he stated with not a
small amount of arrogance, “My tigress is stubborn and her claws
are sharp but I knew I would win her mouth.”

He was gloating.

He was also not wrong.

So, I rolled my eyes and muttered,
“Whatever.”

This made him chuckle which made me roll my
eyes again.

Then he stopped chuckling and called,
“Circe,” and when my eyes went back to him, his hands dropped my
hair and his arms wrapped around me. “I will not be attending the
pyre with you. I have much to do. You will be escorted by an honor
guard. I command that you not leave their sight and,” his arms
tightened, “if Dortak should have the insolence to attend the pyre
of the bride he drove to take her own life, you will show no
response. I will deal with him in less than a week and then you and
Suh Tunak will only have bad memories.”

Again, he was speaking in Korwahk so I
didn’t understand all of what he said but I followed. Even so, I
was stuck on the concept that Dortak would be there which was such
bad taste, it
defined
bad
taste and that my king wanted me not to grab the nearest blade and
send it flying at him.

“Circe,” Lahn called again, I focused on him
and he asked in English, “Okay?”

I stared down at him. Then I heaved a sigh.
Then I forced out my, “Okay.”

He grinned, then he lifted his head and in
my ear he whispered, “Kah teenkah tunakanahsa,” telling me he knew
it was difficult for me to agree to his command but he was pleased
I did.

Then he kissed the skin of my neck, rolled
me to my back, grinned down at me a second while I tried to recover
from how hot he looked smiling at me with his hair flowing down his
shoulders, chest and back then he bent forward, touched his mouth
to my forehead and exited the bed.

I rolled to my side and watched him tie the
ties on his hides as he barked, “Teetru!” then without looking
back, slapped the flaps aside and he was gone.

I rolled back to my back, pulled the silk
over my naked body and hoped they didn’t wear black to funerals in
Korwahk.

Then I listened to my girls calling “poyah”
to me as they rushed into the tent dragging the bath and I heard
the tinkling silverware which meant breakfast was soon to be served
as the rest of this morning washed over me: Lahn’s mouth on mine;
my husband sharing his most precious possession with me; him
telling me I was beautiful and he didn’t like other men watching
me; his thinking of me when he needed to be painted and still
thinking of me when he washed it off, doing so without breaking his
promise; and just how much I liked his hair down and how much more
I liked to hear him laugh.

Shit, shit,
shit.

I was in trouble.

It was not until much later when I would
remember that I forgot to ask him about why he kept saying I
commanded the heavens and why he called me a new name – his
goddess.

* * * * *

I wore ice blue to the funeral and none of
my signature gold: an ice blue sarong shot with silver, an ice
blue, wide suede belt (that was so plush to the touch it was
shocking and I fell in love with it instantly), another fold of
silk to cover my breasts, also ice blue with heavy, silver ovals
dangling at the ends. My jewelry was minimal, just silver
chandelier earrings and the seed pearl bangles I bought at the
marketplace. My makeup was pearlescent and for the first time,
Teetru arranged my hair in twists and curls pulled back at the top
and sides into a fall at the back that was created by pins she slid
in so they were invisible.

I heard the horses before I walked out of my
cham but was surprised how many there were. Four horses held
warriors I had not seen before. Diandra was on her roan, Seerim
beside her on a black mount. Feetak held Narinda in front of him on
his chestnut. A dapple gray held Bain with his new bride Oahsee
sitting behind him, her arms about his waist. Zahnin, alone but on
his feet, his hand holding the bridle on a buckskin horse. Bohtan
with Nahka on a palomino. And Zephyr was there for me.

The women all held flowers and as I
approached Zephyr Jacanda handed me a beautiful, vibrant orange
bloom that looked like a tiger lily except with twice as many
petals.

I noticed right away that no one was in
their finest finery, even if it was never as fine as mine.
Attending the pyre clearly was not a cause for celebration, an
opportunity to show off or a fashion parade. It was what it was, a
sad occasion, the marking the end of a life – this one more tragic
than most and every death held tragedy so that was saying
something.