Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights

by Gail Roughton

  He sighed in mock despair. “You’re a hard woman, Green Eyes. I gift you with clothes any woman in Trusca would give ten years off her life to possess, and you call me names.”

  “Didn’t gift me with it last night, though, did you? When I asked if there was a dressing room and you said no!”

  “I have many talents, of which the ability to feign sleep most convincingly is merely one. But I can’t peer through stone, which I would have had to do last night, had I opened this door then.”

  “You watched me!!”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I had to laugh at how very American and typically male he sounded. “Okay, but now get out!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Get out! Get out of my dressing room, and let me dress!”

  “Ah, but you don’t have your clothes yet.”

  “I’m quite certain I can find something suitable in your generous array of gifts!”

  “No, you can’t. Not for this morning. Saraya left it on the chair in the main chamber, it wasn’t ready until now.”

  “What?”

  “Come,” he said, placing his arm around my waist, and pulling me toward him.

  He led me back out into the main chamber and lifted the garments which Saraya had lain over the back of one of the huge chairs. I stared at my new clothes, copies in feminine form of his own patrol clothes. The outfit was complete, from the fur tunic, to the tight, leather-like leggings, to the soft leather boots that hit at knee level. I saw that underneath the outer clothes, she had lain out undergarments of Trusca’s softest, whitest materials, which resembled the thermal underwear of my world, though, being from Florida, I had little familiarity with such garments.

  “You do ride, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I ride.”

  “I thought so. I could feel you balance yourself on Pegasus. How did you come to learn such? My mother told me that the mounts of your world had been replaced by mechanical conveyances and that not everyone could ride.”

  “Not everyone can,” I said, stroking the soft fur. “It’s mostly a recreational thing with us, now. But Car—a friend of mine—”

  “Ah. Your Carlos. He kept horses? And so you do know how to ride. Well?”

  “Fairly well, yes.”

  “You’ll get better. It would please me if you rode with me on occasion.”

  “You mean out? On patrol? Like your mother?”

  I loved the idea, and it was too late to take the comment back when I remembered that his mother had died on one such patrol. From the darkening of his face, I knew I had finally struck a nerve.

  “I assure you that if I wanted to rid myself of your presence, I wouldn’t have married you first to do it.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—really, I didn’t—”

  He shook his head slightly. “No, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t. In any event, Green Eyes, my Trusca’s considerably safer than my father’s. It’s been some time now since the Prians crossed far over the border, and I’ll never take you into anything I think might turn dangerous. And I’m much better at judging that than my father was, I promise. He was somewhat impulsive. My mother curbed that instinct in me. And Madison. I wish she’d had some luck with Brenden.”

  “But you will take me on patrol?”

  “You want to go?”

  I nodded.

  “If you’d like. It’s not to most women’s tastes, certainly, but my mother enjoyed them immensely.”

  “Night patrol, maybe?” I don’t know why I asked that; perhaps it was merely the dark and secret sound of the words. I’d always nursed a secret yearning to join the CIA.

  “No,” he said shortly. “Never. Night patrols cross the border.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re wasting the morning. I’d like to see you in your riding clothes. No other woman in Trusca wears such.”

  “Never?”

  “No. Truscan women aren’t fond of such pursuits. My mother was the first and only woman to order such clothes, and so it came to be considered a prerogative of the queen.”

  I couldn’t resist.

  “What about your first queen? Your son’s mother?”

  He looked at me strangely, and I almost began to think I had managed to incur serious displeasure when he smiled.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. His English was so fluent, sometimes almost stuffy, and in the next sentence so absolutely American.

  “Not her thing, huh?”

  “Most definitely not. Go. Seek your sanctuary.” He handed me the riding clothes. “I want to show you my stables.”

  Chapter Nine

  I checked the door for a latch, but it didn’t have one. I wasn’t terribly surprised. I pulled on the clothes quickly and felt more at home than I’d felt since I first crashed. The kirsons were very comfortable, but this outfit was better than blue jeans. I looked in the mirror and smiled. I looked more modern than I’d looked since I arrived. I wondered if he’d object terribly if I ordered more of these and used them for everyday. After all, he’d said such was considered the prerogative of the queen. I grabbed a brush and pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and searched through the dresser, hoping the item I sought was there. Ah! I grabbed the leather cuff and inspected it. It was just what I thought it was, a small length of sturdy but flexible leather with two holes in either end. I bent it over the base of my ponytail and thrust the small smooth stick which had originally been inserted through those holes back through. A Truscan ponytail holder.

  I raided the cosmetics quickly. There was the jar of finely ground face powder which, come to think of it, suited my coloring a lot better than the face powder Kiera had originally produced for my use. I was knocked for six. He had not only custom ordered my clothes, which I knew he had done simply because I was, for the first time in my life, the shortest grown woman in the country, he had custom ordered my cosmetics, too. I located a small jar of cream that glowed with the deepness of burgundy, and carefully applied it to my lips and cheeks. The effect was marvelous; I always had a hard time finding exactly the right color of lipstick and blush. Too much brown, and I might as well have not been wearing anything; too much red, and I looked like a clown. This was perfect.

  He called through the door.

  “Green Eyes! We’re wasting—”

  “The morning,” I called back. “I know. Another minute.”

  I opened the small case that stood on the dresser. They probably weren’t the crown jewels, if Trusca even had crown jewels, but they were fine, all the same. Most Truscan women had pierced ears, the custom must be universal and inter-dimensional, and the selection was wonderful. I didn’t know what Trusca called the glowing yellow metal, but I called it gold. It was close enough, certainly. I picked up mid-sized hoops and quickly inserted them, and pulled out a heavy-link gold chain which I slipped over my head. It glowed against the dark brown fur of the tunic. I walked to the door and took a deep breath. The queen was ready to make her first public appearance. I opened it and walked out.

  His back was to me, but he turned as he heard the door and then stopped in mid-motion. He didn’t say a word, but I’d seen that look before. It acknowledged the presence of a major babe.

  “Well?” I demanded. “I thought you wanted to show me the stables.”

  “I don’t think you want to know what I want right now,” he answered and took my arm. “So I’ll show you the stables.”

  His people stopped and stared as we moved down the stone steps.

  “It’s been a long time since they’ve seen a woman dressed such,” he whispered.

  I knew that was true, but I didn’t think it was entirely the reason for their stares. My outfit and his had been designed to match, but in no shape, form, or fashion did we resemble the Bobbsey twins. I moved in these clothes with assurance, such as no other woman in Trusca could. In fact, I moved with an assurance that no other woman in Trusca had. I remembered his words of
the prior night, that he wanted me to be for him “…what no other woman in Trusca could, for no other woman in Trusca was raised as I know you to have been raised—in a culture that does not exist here.” Thank you, Gloria Steinem and all your sisters.

  I knew we made an extremely striking couple, and my comparatively short stature did nothing but emphasize both my own assurance and his towering height and great shoulders. He greeted his people with pleasure, stopping to make a quick comment here and there, and then, as we approached the door, he put his arm around my waist and drew me closer. I wasn’t about to object in full view of the world. Appearances were important here, and I’m sure we projected an image of a very contented newlywed couple as we walked across the open Courtyard, one who just incidentally happened to be the king and queen of this fantasy land of Trusca.

  I hadn’t been to the stables; I’d expressed some interest, but Kiera had gently sidetracked me back to the inner-workings of the Rata. As there was certainly enough there to catch my attention, I hadn’t pressed the issue. As we approached the wooden and stone structure, I caught the good smell of fine horseflesh, the funky smell of horse manure, and the sweet smell of new hay. Dalph raised his hand in greeting to the stablemen, and headed straight to the back, to the separate stall where Pegasus was stabled, apart and elite, as befitted his station. There was an identical stall next to his, and in it I could see…

  “Oh!” I exclaimed softly under my breath.

  “Beauty, isn’t she?” he asked softly. I stared at her, the falton mare, as black as Pegasus, with the graceful curving horns of her elite breed springing forth behind her ears.

  “Oh, yes!” Pegasus was impressive but overwhelming. This animal, proportionately smaller, was more graceful, daintier, so that her distinctive head was not the first thing that caught one’s attention. “She’s beautiful!”

  “She’s yours. If she consents.”

  “She’s what?”

  “She’s yours. Faltons are becoming increasingly rare and they’re very treasured. Took us some time to catch her. I saw her last year and knew she had to be Pegasus’ mate. It took us almost as long to tame her as to catch her. You don’t break a falton, nor do you own one. It’s a partnership and doesn’t work unless they want it to.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Can I touch her?”

  “Of course.”

  I moved closer and, projecting my best attitude of competence, ran my hand down her nose. She moved closer to me and nuzzled, lowered her head, and shoved her nose under my arm. I was delighted.

  “So she’ll have me?

  “Seems so.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Officially, she doesn’t have one. Only their master or mistress names a falton.”

  “Unofficially? You had to call her something.”

  “Guess.”

  “Andromeda,” I said.

  He laughed. “Of course,” he agreed. “And now that she has a mistress, what’s her name?”

  “Andromeda,” I said firmly.

  He laughed again. “Of course.”

  He turned swiftly, and as he turned, I heard the steps behind us. He had obviously heard them first. It was Johnny, and the men exchanged quick greeting in Truscan, too rapidly for me to take any guess at all as to what they said.

  Johnny approached me and hesitated. Then he bit his lip.

  “Tess—”

  “Good morning, Mr. Arnold,” I said in a clipped tone. “As in Benedict.”

  “Tess—” He broke off and looked helplessly at Dalph. Dalph backed off from both of us and crossed his arms firmly.

  “I won’t have this,” he said. “You’re both additional limbs for me. Another right arm, another left. One’s limbs must work in harmony, or they serve no purpose. I’ll go check on the guards. When I return, you will have made peace.”

  “When Prians fly,” I said.

  “Then you will have at least reached a workable relationship. I won’t have one of my arms cutting off the other for spite.” I knew that was directed at me. Dalph continued on. “Johnny did nothing to you or against you out of spite. What Johnny did, he did for me. For Trusca. And for you, though I know you don’t think so yet. You must at least listen to him, you owe him this much.”

  He turned on his heel and left us, striding rapidly through the stables.

  I glared at my traitor.

  “Okay, I have my orders. So talk.”

  “Tess—” He broke off again, and then took my arm, which I jerked away. “Okay,” he said, with a sigh, and then pointed over to some bales of hay which stood near the faltons’ stalls. No one but us stood in this portion of the stables. “Can we sit down?”

  I moved and sat, but I didn’t relent. As incredulous as I was to realize it, I did understand Dalph’s actions. And as we are all what we are and what we are raised to be, and as he had been raised to rule this country, I did not condemn him for acting like the absolute monarch that he, in fact was. But Johnny McKay, that was different. Or I wanted it to be; even as my hard-core of common sense tried to send out the message that Johnny had known me less than a week and that he’d helped raise Dalph from the age of seven.

  “You ain’t goin’ make this easy, are you?” he asked, sitting down beside me.

  “You made it look pretty easy,” I said, “when you left me there, getting carried down to a king’s private chambers by a man I knew nothing about! I didn’t know he spoke English, I didn’t know his mother was American! I didn’t know anything!”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. But I also knew some other things that you haven’t had time to figure out yet. And I didn’t think we could afford the time it’d take for you to figure ’em out.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as it takes more than a few days for any American to come to terms with the fact that this is an absolute monarchy and that nothing else will work. Not to mention that you’re an American woman and can’t even conceive that you might not be able to take care of yourself. And you can’t, Tess. I could see Baka’s mind working the minute he laid eyes on you. So could Dalph. Besides all that, Dalph is absolutely the very best you could do here. The only man you’ll ever begin to be happy with, who’ll have any idea at all who you are. It’s lonesome, being one of a kind. Works out otherwise, too, I guess he explained all the political ramifications?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that’s all true, but still, I’d have been upfront with you, Tess, if I’d thought you could have handled it. Or if I thought we had time for you to learn to handle it.”

  “And what’s the big rush?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure, really. We don’t have anything concrete. It’s a feeling in the air, more than anything. I don’t know anything, but I smell it. Kruska’s been quiet for too long. I don’t like it. And Baka’s smile, it just gets oilier and oiler.” He shuddered slightly. “Snake Oil City,” he added, just to make sure I got the point. “I don’t like that, either. Not worth a damn. But besides that, Tess, it’s not just that you need Dalph. You do. You don’t know how much. But I love that boy and I know. He needs you, too.”

  I snorted. “Haven’t noticed he needs anybody.”

  “Yes, he does. And I don’t mean politically. He’s an abnormality in his own country. He wouldn’t admit it, even to me, but politics ain’t the reason he plunged straight into this marriage. It’s you. Who you are, where you’re from. He’s lonesome, and there’s not another woman in Trusca’ll ever hope to understand him the way you’ll be able to. You’re a connection. To his mother. Hell of woman, Madeleine; you remind me of her. A lot. A connection to his mother’s country. To a country that’s partly his, too, one that he’ll never see.”

  I repressed the urge to laugh that rose in my throat as I considered the consternation which would follow in his wake should Dalph ever make his debut in my world. I think I had visions of Arnold Schwarzenegger as Conan the Barbarian strolling through a formal garden party.

&
nbsp; One analyzes the situation and does the best one can. Sound business practice. I just wish I didn’t feel so manipulated.

  “Johnny, if I am ever, ever going to trust you again, and I don’t say that I ever will, don’t you ever screw me over again. Ever. You both got what you wanted. I’m committed to Dalph and to Trusca for the most binding of all possible reasons, self-preservation. And if you and Dalph really intend to make me a part of this management team of yours, if that’s not just a bunch of bull—”

  “It isn’t,” he said quickly.

  “Then I have to know what’s going on. None of this ‘need-to-know basis’ attitude. Not ever. Not again.”

  He nodded slowly. “Not ever again. With one stipulation.”

  “Which is?” I asked warily.

  “Which is that Dalph, like any man, has his own past. And his own secrets. Some of which I know. Some of which I’m sure he’ll tell you, and some of which, he won’t. Or won’t for a while. I won’t tell you. I don’t want that classed in the same category as withholding information, because such things are his right, his choice. Not mine.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose.”

  “But I will tell you that Dalph’s more American than you can possibly know. He recognizes that circumstances have given him knowledge and education, through his mother, that Trusca wouldn’t otherwise have had for years. Maybe never. He feels that gives him the responsibility to keep her safe. He has a dream of a free Trusca, a mini-America, even, not in his time, not in Dal’s, maybe not in his great-great grandchildren’s’ time, but one day. And he knows he’s the only chance Trusca has at it. He’s raising Dal the same way. Ain’t got nothing to do with holding the throne for his bloodline. It’s got to do with holding the country until the country can hold itself. You see what I’m saying?”