The Horned Goddess’s priestess, a mature, rounded woman whose mouth looked more suited to laughing than frowning, brought her staff of office down with a thud.
Mykh dropped to both knees before his throne and bowed his head. Corinne also bowed, thankful for her years of martial arts as she tried to bring her forehead as low as possible. Even proud Mazur lowered his head when the priestess rapped for attention three times, every beat echoing through the room.
The last beat completely died away before Mykh lifted his head. He resumed his place on the Dragon Throne and the audience seated themselves, each on their own little cushion.
Corinne straightened up cautiously and wished that she’d plotted something set during the Goddess’s Dance at the capitol, just so she’d understand it better. But she’d only considered that festival as it related to Mykh’s conception, not as an event that she’d need to know in detail. She settled back to watch the proceedings with the happy anticipation of an author whose characters were now running the show, and surprising her during every minute.
“Welcome to Torhtremer, Holy One,” Mykh greeted the priestess. “How may we serve the Mother of All Life?”
“We have come to bless the Dragonheart’s Companion for the Goddess’s Dance, that she may be fruitful and the realm rejoice.”
A muscle ticked in Mykh’s jaw but his voice stayed even. “Holy One, I am but a young man and newly come to the Dragon Throne. I have no wife to celebrate the dance with.”
Shock ran through the throng and even the high priests and priestesses looked startled. “Not handfasted yet?” Corinne heard one shocked whisper.
She tilted her head, wondering why they were so surprised when Mykh spoke the truth about his unmarried status. Did the people really honor the Companion as if she was married to the High King? She’d thought they were only concerned about the child, not the mother.
Mykh’s fingers tightened on Khyber’s hard scales before he continued. “I wish to beg the guidance of your wisdom, as my ancestor King Rhodyon the First did. Will you guide me in selecting a jewel from the Dragon’s Hoard that she may accompany me for the Goddess’s Dance?”
The hall broke out into a chorus of gasps, mutters, and whispers as the audience absorbed this. The High Priestess’s jaw frankly dropped, but she recovered faster than her fellows. “We are honored to assist the Dragonheart as the gods and goddesses lead us. Please bring forth the Dragon’s Hoard that we may see.”
“Certainly.” Mykh raised his voice slightly to reach across the chamber. “Guardian, bring in the jewels.”
Yevgheniy’s scarlet robes blazed in the great portal. He bowed and clapped thrice. Two women appeared behind him, then more.
Yevgheniy stalked into the throne room, followed by Mykh’s hundred concubines, walking two by two and looking like what they were: the most beautiful, intelligent, skilled young women in the Seven Kingdoms. Each one had been selected as the finest example of her province’s womanhood during an annual competition that made the Miss America Pageant look like a game of tic-tac-toe.
Traditionally, a third of the finest jewels were set aside for the enjoyment of the High King and his personal guests. The remainder gave their favors to the kingdoms’ bravest soldiers and diplomats. Magic ensured that the men, except for the High King and the Guardian, remembered these encounters only as a delightful dream never to be spoken of lest it vanish. Magical oaths kept the women silent after their time as jewels ended.
When not so engaged, all of the women studied the carnal arts to capture and hold the High King’s attention, as well as the arts and sciences that best suited each one’s taste.
Every woman, unless pregnant by the High King, departed after a year with a substantial dowry and the freedom to choose her own future. A jewel knows its own setting, said the ancient proverb, and imperial bureaucrats enforced that wisdom against any parent foolish enough to arrange a jewel’s marriage without her consent. The jewels were eagerly sought as brides, and many of them married the fine soldiers or diplomats who’d caught their eye.
Corinne settled back to watch the women she’d thought so long and hard about. Mykh was secure enough on the throne so that he didn’t need to seek a foreign alliance, leaving one of his beautiful concubines the obvious choice to become his true love. But none of them had struck sparks when she’d tried to plot a romance for him.
Still, maybe she’d been wrong and she could spot his mate during this parade.
The women streamed down the center aisle in a steady flood of beauty and elegance. Some were dressed to emphasize their suitability as queen while others focused on their womanly assets. Some wore beautiful gowns of embroidered silk or rich brocade, or the modest silk tunic and trousers of their native provinces. Still others wore sheer gauzes, with only a few bands of velvet or embroidery for decorum.
Someone in the audience recognized a hometown girl and shouted encouragement. Another clapped, while a third whistled. The air began to swell with sounds of the crowd’s approval.
Corinne recognized Juli immediately and sighed. Tall, richly curved with lavish golden curls, she strode through the throne room like the trained fencer she was. She was also one of the very few women whose sexual appetites approached Mykh’s for frequency and intensity. But Alekhsiy—Mykh’s younger half brother and the image of his father, Iskander the Smith—had caught her eye on the journey to the capitol, a yearning unaffected by Mykh’s exciting but irregular attentions.
True to form, Juli walked next to Wen-Chuan, her favorite sparring partner. They made a striking pair, with Juli’s height and lush golden beauty set off by Wen-Chuan’s raven-haired delicacy. Even their clothes were different, with Juli wearing flamboyant blue chiffon with a low-cut bodice and high waist to frame her breasts and slit skirts to show off her beautiful legs. Wen-Chuan wore a scarlet silk tunic and trousers, outwardly modest but so soft and closely fitted that it highlighted every elegant curve. But both costumes allowed their wearers to move with the ease and precision of trained fighters.
Corinne smiled as she saw Vholodhya, Ghryghoriy’s right-hand man, watch the oblivious Wen-Chuan. He’d met her when she first arrived at the palace and fallen hard for her wit and beauty. Since then, he’d plotted and contrived to deny other soldiers access to her. Now he prayed daily that she’d marry him after her service as a jewel ended.
By this time the throne room sounded like the beginning of the Super Bowl, as the spectators shouted, clapped, or thumped the marble floor. Their enthusiasm had spread to the crowd outside as additional cheers floated in from the balcony.
A gap appeared in the line behind Wen-Chuan. Then a single woman sashayed down the aisle, head-high and magnificent bosom prominently displayed. Corinne stretched up to see better then chuckled when she recognized the walk.
Only Mhari could strut her stuff like that. She’d fluffed up her red hair until it glowed and danced like a river of living fire. Her outfit was closer to the traditional harem outfit than that of any other woman, featuring a velvet bodice so short and low-cut that it was barely more than a band around the most generous breasts in the harem. A wide jeweled waistband above pleated, transparent silk trousers allowed glimpses of her other spectacular charms. She had a wicked sense of humor that kept the other women roaring with laughter, when they weren’t threatening murder for her shameless attempts to eliminate any competition for Mykh’s attentions.
Mhari moved to her own beat as usual and she rapidly closed the gap to Wen-Chuan, focusing totally on Mykh as she smiled and winked at him. Her attempts at flirtation blinded her to the women before her and she ran into Wen-Chuan’s back, making the smaller woman stumble.
But Mhari’s luck had run out this time. Wen-Chuan quickly recovered her balance and grabbed Mhari’s hand. A few cunning twists of her fingers sent Mhari’s fingers into unnatural directions and agonizing pain across her face. She bit her lip and Wen-Chuan released her. Mhari fell back into step beside her assigned partner, shaking the circulati
on back into her hand.
The altercation was over so quickly that few caught it. But Vholodhya, Wen-Chuan’s beau, relaxed beside Ghryghoriy while Mykh coughed. Corinne settled back down on her cushion, trying to remember who she’d thought could keep Mhari happy and out of mischief.
Finally all hundred women stood before the dais, flanked by junior priests and priestesses. The crowd fell silent as Yevgheniy swiveled to face Mykh and bowed. “The Dragon’s Hoard is assembled, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you,” Mykh acknowledged. “Holy One, I offer you the finest jewels in Torhtremer to choose from.”
The high priests and priestesses immediately circulated among the women, occasionally asking a soft question.
Corinne leaned forward eagerly to watch. She caught sight of Mykh’s hand, knuckles white with tension, clamped down on Khyber’s paw. Mazur looked frankly bored while only Khyber’s golden eyes moved as he studied the priests.
When the religious council huddled together before the southern windows, a single nod from Ghryghoriy sent the guardsman to clear a private space around them. Order reestablished, Ghryghoriy glanced up at a small balcony above the portal. Corinne followed his eyes and discovered a clump of archers standing watch . . . and Ghryghoriy’s beloved wife, Amber. The two exchanged a look so full of love and understanding that Corinne’s eyes burned.
Now that is what I want for Mykh, Corinne thought fiercely. And maybe some day for myself, too.
The priests and priestesses broke their huddle and returned to face Mykh. The room was so utterly silent that Corinne could hear the fire burning in the braziers and smell saltwater from the harbor beyond the windows.
“We have studied the jewels and truly they are splendid beyond belief. The Goddess is proud of all her daughters,” the High Priestess pronounced. She stopped to clear her throat.
And . . . Corinne prompted silently when the silence stretched out.
“But no one of these beauties stands out beyond the others.”
Mykh’s fist beat on his leg then stopped abruptly. The crowd’s tension was as palpable as the marble columns.
“There is another who may answer your question, Your Majesty,” the High Priestess continued. “The Imperial Dragon has known every Companion of a Dragonheart. We ask him to share his wisdom in this matter.”
That’s passing the buck, Corinne sniffed to herself.
The throng gasped but no one spoke. Mykh became even stiffer while Mazur sat up, his ears pricked.
“Greetings, Holy One,” Khyber answered. “It is gratifying to be remembered by the Goddess’s servants.” He nodded politely to the priests and priestesses, very much like Sean Connery reporting for duty as James Bond.
Many in the throng squeaked in awe and prostrated themselves. They stopped when they realized that none of the dignitaries had moved and sheepishly sat erect again.
“Only one woman in this room has the strength needed to heal the High King,” he continued and paused for effect.
The crowd rustled but didn’t dare interrupt him by so much as a whisper. Mykh’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Corinne glanced from him then back up to the huge dragon head looming overhead.
“She sits before you, beside the High King. Corinne, a sorceress from a far-off world and his battle trophy.” Khyber’s head swung down and around to look Corinne in the eye. She jumped to her feet and glared at him. She was glad that Khyber wasn’t inclined to eat her, but forcing her to marry Mykh was almost as bad.
“Now just wait a minute, you big lizard!” she began but was cut off by Mykh’s simultaneous snarl when he erupted from the throne.
“I will not be bound to a sorceress, Khyber, even for a month.”
“Enough!” Khyber growled. His words reverberated oddly and Corinne quickly looked around.
Everyone else in the throne room was frozen in place, some with mouths open or hands lifted to gesticulate.
Mazur yowled triumphantly, “At last a friend on the Tiger Throne.”
“What did you do to them, you green control freak?” Corinne demanded, shaking her finger at Khyber. Forcing her into marriage was just too much to be borne.
“Nothing much. They are frozen in time until you children come to your senses.” He looked sternly from Corinne to Mykh.
“Any other woman but her,” Mykh snarled.
“You are the one who permitted the religious council to select a Companion. Don’t object now because their choice offends you. Or do you mean to prove that a High King is more changeable than spring weather?”
Mykh flushed and set his mouth hard.
“And you.” Khyber’s voice lowered to a gravelly purr as he considered Corinne. “All the ch’i of Torhtremer will be focused on the Dragonheart’s Companion during the dance, more than enough to melt the ice serpent’s poison and heal Mykh.”
“But there’s no remedy. I’m sure there isn’t,” Corinne protested.
“You don’t know dragon magic, which can send fire through a person’s meridians, or earth magic.”
“Okay, I won’t argue with you about that,” Corinne said slowly. “But what does it have to do with me?”
“The people’s ch’i will come first to the Dragonheart’s Companion. Then she will circle it through her body and the High King’s until it cures him.”
Corinne snuck a glance sideways at Mykh. His mouth was set in a hard line as Khyber spoke.
“Only a sorceress can successfully channel this much power,” Khyber continued. “You are the only sorceress alive today so you must do it.”
She could see the muscle throbbing in Mykh’s cheek.
“You know, I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do this. After all, I’m the one who caused this mess. Isn’t it asking a lot for me to execute the fix properly?” Corinne demurred.
“Precisely why you must do it. You must balance the harm you did with the good of healing.”
Corinne tried again to dissuade Khyber. “What happens if Mykh can’t forget it’s my fault and won’t share the power with me?”
“The High King will do his duty. Unless he provides a true-born male heir, the Dark Warrior will destory Torhtremer.” Khyber’s tone permitted no argument.
Mykh growled something that sounded like a curse. “Very well,” Corinne agreed reluctantly. “I don’t think this will work but I’ll try.” Her eyes met Mykh’s. His earlier fury was now overlaid by icy resolve.
“Do you swear that you will be Mykhayl Rhodyonovich’s wife, forsaking all others throughout the Goddess’s Dance?” Khyber demanded.
“I do,” Corinne answered cautiously. A month of his kind of sex, why not? she encouraged herself.
“Excellent,” Mazur purred, happily kneading the pillow under him.
“And do you swear that you will be his wife for a year and a day thereafter, should the Goddess bless you with a child?” the dragon continued.
Corinne opened her mouth to object but thought better of it under Khyber’s frosty glare. She consoled herself with the thought that if Mykh became fertile, he’d probably seek a child from any other woman in Torhtremer than her. “Okay, I’ll agree to that, too.”
Khyber nodded at Corinne, his expression saying that he’d noted her hesitation, then turned to Mykh.
“And do you swear that you will be a faithful husband to Corinne Carson throughout the Goddess’s Dance? And for a year and a day thereafter if a child is granted to you?”
“I swear,” Mykh gritted.
“Children, children,” Khyber soothed, sounding lethally amused. “You now have the Goddess’s blessing to spend as much time as you can between the sheets.”
Corinne and Mykh both flushed scarlet. “Hurrah! A great lady to ride the tiger again!” Mazur enthused, wildly rolling around on his back and purring as loudly as a drum-roll. “Hurrah! Hurrah!” Khyber chuckled as he coiled himself into a throne again. Mazur somehow managed to slip into a very superior pose just before Khyber spoke again.
“Behold the Dragonheart’s Companion!” he announced in a voice that made the room quake. “May the land rejoice and an heir be born!”
The crowd erupted to their feet, shaking the rafters with their cheers. The roar spread beyond the room and echoed back through the open windows from the courtyard beyond, sending pigeons circling through the sky. Even the guardsmen pounded their spears on the floor in approval. The concubines’ faces showed a mixture of emotions: shock, disappointment, then relief. Finally they, too, joined the cheering.
Mykh took Corinne’s hand and bowed, then straightened up to smile and nod at the throng. She copied his movements and expression, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
At least this affair didn’t look anything like her first wedding. That dress had encased her in white lace from throat to toe, with a ten-foot train for emphasis. Her current leather and jewels outfit was more remarkable for what it didn’t cover than what it hid. And these witnesses were as raucous as any World Cup fans, unlike the stiff formality of that prestigious chapel and country club.
The High Priestess finally pounded her staff long and hard enough that the crowd quieted as Mykh ushered Corinne to the Tiger Throne. She glanced up at him quickly, he nodded curtly, and she sat down very, very slowly. The silver was surprisingly warm and comfortable, rather like a comforting fireplace seat at a ski lodge. She settled herself securely, making sure that the dragon scales covered all the important parts, while Mykh took his place on the Dragon Throne.
The High Priestess marched onto the dais and the other high priests and priestesses fanned across the steps behind her. Two young acolytes brought her crowns of roses and sage, with cedarwood points, then bowed their way back down the steps. The throne seemed softer to Corinne, as if it was decked with cushions.
“Blessed art thou, oh dragon, who brings the cloud and rain to quicken the earth,” the High Priestess intoned and lifted a crown to Mykh. He kissed it quickly, mouth set, then lowered his proud head so she could set it on his red hair.
Captive Dreams Page 9
