The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

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The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle Page 11

by H. O. Charles


  Benay-gosa were pleasures singular to him though. Only he could enjoy these beautiful women, which was some small comfort amidst the gluttony of the attendees. Perhaps he would take two of his women to his chambers tonight. Tara was looking especially succulent this evening in her vivid, red silk dress. It touched the floor but appeared to be split entirely up the back of her left leg, and he was pleased to see that much of her bosom was on display too. He could not decide on the second. Maybe Suhla or Rhionin.

  Suhla had been with him for longer than any of the others, four full years, and he hoped that she might continue to please him and provide an heir in the years to come. But one could never be sure when a woman’s temperament could change, or when she could so easily become bothersome.

  Heirs. His thoughts turned to

  Morghiad. Acher had never expected the boy to look as much like his mother as he did. It was a shame to have lost Tylena, and she had been a necessary casualty in a difficult battle. He had loved her more than any woman and, yes, she had rejected him, but she had learned the price of doing so. His benay-gosa knew that price too.

  It amused him how often they tried to refuse his advances in light of this knowledge, though they did not resist for long. He was stronger and they could be made to comply with a little pressure. It was only right that the king should exploit what was rightfully his.

  Morghiad, however, seemed to have no knowledge of his entitlement at all. Or perhaps he had shunned it as a foolish sort of rebellion. The boy needed to learn what

  women were; he needed to know that they were a necessary curse that had to be controlled and ruled. If only he could get his son to sample a single woman - just one - the problem would be solved.

  Morghiad had shown far too much in the way of weakness when the witch had been put down. Servants had spoken of how he had wept for her, as if she were something more than an animal! The king had gone to a great deal of trouble to smother that particular rumour. At fifteen, the lad should have taken it like a grown man. He was pathetic. He needed to grow a backbone if he was ever to do his duty. Perhaps if Morghiad ever got around to siring an heir, he could be banished to some remote corner of the country where he would be of greater use. He would never make much

  of a ruler.

  Acher scanned the room for Morghiad, who was usually distinguishable by his height, but cursed at not being able to see him. The lad clearly had scurried from taking part in the necessary social discourse. He was probably drinking in some dark corner in the company of his guardsmen. Damn boy!

  The Lady Aval di Certa had shown some interest in him, however, and it may have been an indication that it was time to pursue such interests on the kahr’s behalf. Acher asked his footman to seek out the chestnuthaired beauty, and thought further on the problem. If things did not go well for her and Morghiad, the king could always make her one of his own benay-gosa.

  Lady di Certa approached in the

  company of the footman and bowed quite adequately. A draught of wine and a good beard scratch were necessary operations while he appraised her. Aval had been at court some years before, but had made no great impact. She was attractive in a predatory sort of way, and far too assertive to be a good wife, but that did not mean that she could not be made benay-gosa to Morghiad. Anything more and it was entirely possible that she would try to control the weak lad. “Tell me of your House, Lady di Certa. Is it of any import?”

  The lady’s eyes bulged. “The di Certa’s own three-hundred square-miles of the best land in western Calidell, my lord.”

  “Not the best land!” the king snorted. “And what is your position in this House?”

  “I am the eldest granddaughter of its

  head, my lord.” She kept her chin raised.

  The king stood from his throne and drew near to inspect her more closely. Her breasts were quite magnificent. “Are you interested in my son?”

  Aval kept her eyes fixed on the throne. “I find Morghiad very handsome, my king.”

  He circled her, assessing all angles. “Yes, but what is it you want from him?”

  “What any woman desires from a handsome man. Perhaps more.” Aval would be good enough for breeding - that much could be said of her.

  “So you desire him for sex. Should I make you his benay-gosa?”

  The woman coughed - a rather inappropriate response, given her position. “I hope to marry well someday, my lord.”

  “Out of the question! Marriage is for the children of kings only.”

  Lady di Certa bit her lip. She was far too assertive for a woman. “Of course, I should only wish to be with your son if he wishes the same of me.”

  The king merely responded with a grunt. He had heard enough. He took his seat upon his throne and beckoned Suhla over so that he could run a hand appreciatively up her thigh, and pull her onto the arm. She was not terribly intelligent, but she was very well-trained indeed. “Lady di Certa, if you or my son request that you don the scarves of a benaygosa, I will accede. I will not grant you anything more. Enjoy the ball, my lady.” He waved his hand in dismissal. Lady di Certa curtseyed and withdrew to the mass of silks and lace.

  Suhla giggled as Acher twirled his fingers in her long, dark blonde hair. He had grown rather tired of the celebrations, and watching the vultures fill their already-stuffed crops had become repetitive. King Acher rose and held out both hands to signify that he was about to leave. The band roused the hall with a vigorous fanfare and the crowd parted, creating an avenue to the great doors.

  He caught Suhla and Tara by their waists and pulled them close to himself, declaring, “Tonight I shall feast on some of the finest women of Calidell. May you all feast with such abandon and pleasure as I. I bid you good night, my honoured guests.”

  The crowd applauded graciously, and the king sashayed along the channel of people with his benay-gosa in tow. The smell of the

  women beside him was intoxicating. He took note of some of the prettier faces among the surrounding people as he passed, though none were quite the quality he was looking for. Blasted Morghiad was still absent from the gathering! They would have words about this transgression tomorrow.

  The green doors parted before him, and he passed through in silence. Once they had reached the bottom of the steps, Acher released the two women and turned to address the rest. “Tara and Suhla will accompany me this evening, please run along to your beds, my pretty whores.” It amused him highly that two of these ‘whores’ had once been high-born nobles, higher than Aval.

  The women in red curtseyed like bobbing roses, and drifted away through the

  arched corridors that led to the benay-gosa quadrant. They truly were exquisite to watch.

  Acher took the hands of the remaining females and placed them together. “Will you walk in front of me, ladies? I would like to admire you from behind.”

  The two women inclined their heads in acquiescence and turned from him, though Tara had developed a tendency to a sullen expression recently. It was quite unbecoming of such a pretty woman. Once, she had stood out from the other linen girls like a jewel amongst a pile of coal with those violently blue eyes of hers, but this sour-facedness of hers made her tan skin wan and her eyes dull. He would have to correct that particular problem as soon as possible. Such were the responsibilities of being Acher’s apartments were a short distance from the Malachite Hall, and they took up three levels and an entire aspect of the fountain courtyard. Every floor and wall in the rooms was swathed in polished granite or marble in shades of white and grey, as the only colour the king wanted to see in there was on himself or his women.

  He followed them past the unlit antechamber and into the lounging room, which was tall and broad, and filled with black velvet chaises for each woman. Beyond that was his bed chamber, and he led his ladies through the two, heavily worked silver doors that opened onto it. A vast expanse of cream satin sheets lay before them.

  The women’s first duty was to remove their clothing slowly, and Acher went to
seat

  himselfupon the chaise that had been placed before the window. The autumn breeze filled the voiles behind him, causing them to brush at his shoulders gently. After the heat of the hall, he welcomed the coolness that came with those soft winds.

  Suhla, the shorter of the two women, arched her back sinuously as her dress dropped to the floor. She certainly knew how to entertain a man, whereas the darker, taller girl was stiffer in her movements. She faced away from him, and probably still had sourness painted across her features. Both were a pleasure to admire, even so. Acher rose and strode to Tara to grab her roughly by the arm, and he forced a hard kiss onto her lips. She would learn to behave.

  Tara struggled against him, twisting her

  arms in an attempt to escape his grip. Her complaints were muffled against his lips, and they only served to heighten his passion for her. He released her and she stumbled backwards, dark honey hair falling over her shoulders.

  “Undress me,” he demanded. Suhla obeyed immediately, and began undoing the buckles on his coat with delicate fingers. Tara remained where she was for a moment, her expression bitter. The king made sure to make his displeasure obvious. “You know what the punishment is for disobeying me.”

  Tala bit her lip in the midst of her grimace, moved toward him, and helped Suhla lift his coat from his shoulders. It gave him tremendous satisfaction to see her tamed, to see her obey.

  Still pouting, Tara pulled his shirt out

  from behind his belt, uncrossed it and tugged it from his arms while Suhla got to work on his trouser belt. She was doing it much too slowly for Acher’s patience. He pushed her away, which sent her reeling to the floor, and undid the fastening himself. But Tara was going to be the one to learn her lesson first. He indicated for her to get on the bed, and she obliged, again with a grim look upon her pretty face, and lay face-down on the sheets.

  The king kicked off the last of his trousers, along with his heavy boots, and walked steadily to the prostrate woman. Her face was buried so that her expression was hidden, which was a very good thing. At the very least he could enjoy her fine backside and the curve of her spine without her mood spoiling it. He leaned forward so that he could

  place a fist either side of her shoulders and his knees between her thighs. She remained perfectly still. Good girl.

  Suhla approached to perform her duties as the second woman, making sure that he was suitably aroused. Of course, this engagement would benefit Tara too, as any pleasure he felt, she would get to share in. He often wondered why women were not more grateful for that. He lifted his right hand and ran it down to her bottom, pulling one firm cheek away from its companion. The skin felt wonderfully soft beneath his fingers.

  Just then, Tara thrust herself upward faster than he could react, and she thumped his face squarely with her back. In surprise, Acher fell backward from the bed before he could catch himself, and the ground came to greet him rapidly. An aghast Suhla watched on with hands that covered her mouth, but did nothing to intervene.

  While he lay on his back in shock, Tara leapt to her feet and ran to the opposite edge of the bed. She slipped, fell onto a pile of clothes and then re-adjusted herself, grabbing at a robe once she had found her feet again. She made for the doors, but pushed over a crowd of glass vases as she pulled on the gown. Each vase shattered into thousands of shards as they hit the hard, marble floor. Burn her!

  But Acher was no weakling. He rolled onto his side and clambered onto all fours. He yelled after her as he recovered his balance, and then launched into the air with arms outstretched. He caught her around the legs, and they both fell to the cold, polished floor

  with considerable force – such force that Acher’s left elbow gave out a loud snap. It sent waves of shrieking pain through his body, but he gripped Tala’s ankle firmly with his good arm before she could escape. “Suhla! Fix me so I can deal with her!”

  His grip was too strong for Tara’s squirming, but he did not know how long that would last.

  Suhla approached the pair tentatively and knelt before them.

  “Take the hand and hold it tightly,” he instructed. He could feel that one of the bones in his lower arm had rotated out of the socket and was now caught or snapped in an outward manner; he knew what would be necessary.

  Suhla gripped his hand and he heaved his weight against it, still clutching a writhing

  Tara in his other hand. He gave his left arm a sharp, inward twist, and the resulting pop made Suhla jump back in surprise, but the king knew it had worked. The pain immediately subsided as he felt the bones knit back together again. He turned to Tara. She would pay very dearly for injuring the king - very dearly!

  He grabbed her other ankle and dragged her back into his bedchamber. She was kicking and screaming at him now, yelling something about his being vile or wretched or some other insult. Acher gritted his teeth and hauled her into the broken glass, revelling in her screams as he did so. He roughly flipped her body over, and seated her back deeply into the crushed shards so that they would penetrate the robe. Her front was speckled with glittering lumps of glass and drops of blood.

  A few of the larger cuts were already sealing themselves closed and extruding pieces of vase like eyes squeezing out their tears.

  Tara was weeping freely. Her body could undergo far more injury before it lost its ability to self-heal quickly. She knew that he could make her suffer, that he would make her suffer.

  “Do what you will, King Acher,” she spat at him, “I will be your whore no longer. I’d rather die than share your foetid, barren bed again!”

  The king braced her against the floor using one knee and wrapped her hair around his fist. He began to pull her up by it. She kicked out in reflex and the boniest part of her knee made contact with his crotch. He buckled instantly, eyes shutting hard against the light. He could do nothing to prevent his hand from releasing her hair, and she was free.

  Tara sprinted past Suhla to the apartment doors, and threw her weight against them. They parted lethargically at first, but then they began to slide more rapidly upon their bearings. She glanced behind herself, observing King Acher was not close, and ran through.

  Acher lay on the floor amidst the sparkling pieces of vase for a moment, and considered his own anger at her foolish decision. At least Suhla had remained; loyal little Suhla. She was trying to soothe him, though he found it rather irritating and unnecessary. In a few more seconds he would be recovered and able to resume his planned activity with her. Just a few more seconds of agony. When the pain was gone he would call

  the guards and have them track down Tara. It wouldn’t take them very long to find her. Then, he thought, it would be time to make an example of her.

  Fold upon fold of blue cotton fabric descended from her broad hips to the grey marble floor, swaying as she moved around the

  bed. A simple tune purred along her lips in time with her movements. She was too plain to be beautiful, and too wide for Morghiad’s taste, but her dark yellow curls were rather glossy and fluid. Caala arranged the bed sheets with her usual forceful vigour, and something about her reminded him of stories of Queen Garhel of Orta, an indestructible woman of robust proportions who fought off twelve invasions in a single century.

  Morghiad suppressed a grin, closed his book and rose to peer out of the nearest window. The clouds were still heavy outside. “I’ve asked another servant girl to assume your duties. Her name is Artemi. Has she mentioned this to you?”

  The broad woman jumped as soon as he spoke; it was not often that more than a nod passed between them during her visits. Morghiad kept his position with his hands clasped at his back, and waited for her to turn slowly. Her face was plump and a little pink from her exertion, and Morghiad could see from her eyes that she was old, though quite how old he could not have guessed.

  She cleared her throat. “I have spoken to her about it. Unfortunately she has a backlog of cleaning to do from the blood- er, the feast day. She will be along when she has completed it, m
y lord.”

  That really was not good enough. Artemi needed to learn as much as possible about her power in a very short time. It was far more important than scrubbing ball dresses! He would have to go and speak to her directly. “Where canI find her at this hour?”

  Caala’s eyes bulged, which might have meant Morghiad’s inquisition was giving her entirely the wrong impression. “Er, my lord? Does my work not please you?” Immediately she realised the impudent manner of her question and bowed awkwardly, reddening further. “You may find her in the servants’ cellars at this time of day, I believe. If not, she may still be in the linen rooms.”

  Morghiad nodded and glanced back at the clouds. He had never been down to the cellars before, though it was a trip many of his men had made. “I have no problem with your work.”

  He heard her sniff in response, and he ignored it. The sky appeared to be darkening by the minute. “I hear the cellars are something of a maze. Will you help me find her?” He had

  little time to waste wandering around those caverns. Perhaps he could ask Artemi about Silar; it was his business, in a way. He had to keep everyone safe from her and he had to protect that flaming hair woman too.

  “Of course, my lord.” Caala curtseyed with surprising elegance. “Will you allow me to complete my duties here before we depart?”

 

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