House of Lust

by Tony Roberts

  She shut her eyes and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, fighting to keep control of her emotions. “You’re equally much younger than I. By the time I’m free I’ll be much older. You won’t want to look at me.”

  “I meant what I told you, Isbel. I love you. I want you. You deserve better than that!” he hissed, pointing angrily at the door. “I’m going to be fine, out of his way. But you, you’ll be with him, being watched, being insulted by his selfish manner.”

  She put a hand on his forearm. “I’ll be fine, Vosgaris. Look after yourself, and I’ll be happy. I’ll keep the memory of what we’ve done here with me, and look forward to when we can be together.” She kissed him, then began dressing. He helped her, speeding up the process, and in hardly any time she was ready. She smoothed down her dress and looked critically at herself. “Do I look alright?”

  “Fabulous.”

  She smiled, then went to the door. He blew a kiss to her, and she did likewise, then, steeling herself, turned the handle and left quickly. Guards were outside, and they looked quizzically at her. “Escort me back to my room,” she ordered softly, and she walked, hardly noting the walls, tapestries, people that she passed.

  Once in her room she went to her bed and sat on it. Her handmaidens had returned and waited for Isbel to tell them what she wanted, but she shook her head. “Tell anyone who calls for me I’m indisposed; I have a headache.” She lay on the bed, alone, the door to her bedchamber shut, and idly played with her hair.

  She would miss Vosgaris and his touch hugely; having just been with him this once, she knew instinctively that she would yearn for him more than Astiras. She smiled to herself. Astiras had accused her of infidelity just to get back at her, not caring whether the accusations were true or not. What his actions had done was to throw her into Vosgaris’ arms and achieve precisely what he had not wanted to happen. Ironic.

  Vosgaris’ mind was full of Isbel. She was so different than Amne. Amne was hot sex, lust, passion, desire. Fabulous body, energy, wickedness. Such an alluring trap, but one in which there was no permanence.

  Isbel on the other hand, was caring, pleasurable, gentle, loving. There may be fifteen or so years between them, but he knew she was the one who would make him happy, and he would be the one to make her happy.

  He really hated Astiras.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Amne knelt in the temple, her head covered as protocol dictated. The priests noted her presence and nodded in approval. The Koros should be seen to attend the temples, for it told the people that they favoured the gods and set the example to the rest of the empire.

  Amne in reality couldn’t care a damn about the gods; her idea of heaven was a night of frenzied passion with Lalaas, but that was never going to happen as long as she was married to Elas. She wouldn’t actually do anything to help hasten his end, but she could pray to the gods to arrange some unfortunate accident. Then she shook her head. No, that wouldn’t be right. He was what he was, not through a malicious sense of pleasure, but because that was the way he was. He never meant to hurt the princess, she knew that, it was just that they were utterly ill-matched, and it was just one of those things that happened.

  She finished and got up, heading for the door. The day was bright outside and she paused there for a moment, her escort patiently standing close by. Nobody was taking any chances with her anymore. “It is a welcome sight seeing you attend the temple,” Elas said from close by, startling her.

  “Oh! I didn’t notice you here, Elas. Yes, I come here quite often these days.”

  Elas was flanked by four big guards, all carrying their volgars. The temple was part of the palace complex, so that the imperial family could come and go from the palace without going onto the streets. The temple was accessible from the streets, but there was a partition running down it that kept the imperial parties from the rest. A lattice screen formed the upper part and a solid wooden barrier the lower.

  “I am heartened to hear that,” Elas said gravely. “I was told this is where you were and so I came to see for myself.” He held out his arm and Amne took it. The two walked slowly towards the garden at the rear of the palace grounds, their guards walking not far behind. Amne waited for her husband to speak; clearly there was something on his mind.

  “I am aware of your wish to visit other parts of the empire,” he began slowly. “Which is something that would not normally be agreeable, since you have two daughters to think of now.”

  Amne looked at her solemn-faced husband. “Normally? You mean you are considering allowing me to visit father in Zofela? And Argan in Turslenka?”

  Elas made a non-committal gesture with his head. “You would have to take Kola and Stana with you, of course, along with a vast army of attendants, supplies and support.”

  “Oh, Elas, it wouldn’t be that bad, honestly! Two carts are all I’d need with four staff.”

  “But Lalaas would not accompany you; his position is here.”

  “I know,” Amne said brightly. “He knows his duty.”

  “Hmm, but do you?”

  “Yes, Elas, that is something I’ve learned recently. I’ve been a bad girl, but I’ve put that behind me.”

  Elas regarded her for a moment. “You know, for the first time in a long time I actually do believe you.”

  Amne smiled dazzlingly and kissed him on the cheek. “I will be the wife you always wanted – and the mother to your children.”

  Elas squeezed her forearm briefly. “That would make me very happy indeed.”

  Amne thought this was akin to Elas whooping with delight and leaping over the palace wall on a cloud of euphoria. She came to a halt and looked at what stood before her; the stone table that Dragan Purfin had ravaged her over. Memories….. she recalled how she had felt at that moment, and how she felt now. Chasing men was something she would no longer do – except in her mind and then only as far as Lalaas was concerned. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Lalaas. Now she wouldn’t mind if he ravaged her over the stone table. Repeatedly.

  “Something on your mind, Amne?” Elas asked, looking at her closely.

  “Oh, just thinking how this place could be tidied up and smartened with a makeover – it looks so neglected and old fashioned. Clear this corner out and replace this tired looking structure with a conservatory.”

  “Why so, Amne?”

  “Why, you could grow warm weather plants here all year round! Something bright and colourful to decorate the rooms and halls in the drab winter season. What do you think? The gardeners could get started almost straight away – they’re going to clear out the winter’s detritus for the rest of the place, and this is so secluded and out of the way it’s cut off from the rest of the gardens.”

  Elas looked around, appraising the state of the area. “You could be right – this is a waste of space that could be used to be productive. I shall speak to the head gardener about it.”

  Amne squeezed his arm and gave him another big smile. “It will look much tidier and make the place look bigger, believe me.”

  “It’s good to see you taking an interest in things outside the palace walls, Amne. I’ll go plan the garden makeover with the head gardener, and you can plan your journey to Turslenka and Zofela. We need to make sure security is satisfactory, of course.”

  “Oh, thank you Elas,” she kissed his other cheek. He looked surprised. She released his hold. “That’s two kisses you’ve had from me today – you’re privileged.”

  Elas bowed. “As long as they are just for me.”

  “I have made a promise to myself, to you and to the gods.”

  “Then I have no worries on that.” Elas watched as she walked away, her two guards in close attendance. He looked thoughtfully at her, then at the sky, squinting. Duty. He had to fulfil a busy day’s schedule yet again. However he did feel less stressed about it, and surmised that it may be down to the lack of tension between Amne and himself. Perhaps she had finally settled down? He sincerely hoped so.

&nb
sp; Amne made her way to her bed quarters. Here her two daughters were playing in their nursery room off through one door. Kola was now five and beginning her tutoring while Stana was three and still too young for that. “Girls,” she said, picking Stana up. “We’re going to go on a journey soon.”

  “Oh?” Kola said, looking up from her picture book. “Where?”

  “To see your uncle Argan in Turslenka, then your grandfather and grandmother in Zofela.”

  “Isn’t that a long way away?” Kola replied.

  “When are we going?” Stana asked, staring into Amne’s face from a handspan’s distance.

  “Yes, Kola, and by the end of the moons’ cycle, Stana. It’ll be exciting – you’ve never gone out of the palace before, and you’ll be seeing lots of new places.”

  “Will we ever come back here?” Kola stood up, jumping up and down in excitement.

  “Oh yes, we’ll only be gone until the end of summer. We’re going now because the weather is much better and we’ll come back before the rains start again. I’ll write to both your uncle and grandfather, letting them know we’ll be staying with them for a short time.”

  The girls squealed in delight. This was an exciting adventure.

  Lalaas came to her later that day on his daily check and was surprised that she was going to go. “You mean Elas actually agreed to it? What did you do to bribe him?”

  Amne chuckled, squeezing his hand. “Oh, you cynic. He’s quite happy with me at the moment, and isn’t looking over me like some mother fowl. He approves of the new me, of course,” she fluttered her eye lashes at the guard captain.

  “Lucky he can’t read your mind in that case.”

  “Mmmm; he’d have you exiled somewhere if he could. I’ve got him to agree to change the garden, too. That stone table in the far corner is going, you know, the one Dragan used with me.”

  “Ah, yes, the seduction table, as I call it.”

  “It wasn’t so much a seduction as imposition.”

  “I was under the impression you enjoyed it.”

  Amne punched him on the arm. “You calling me a woman of loose morals?”

  Lalaas grinned, and got another punch.

  Amne then held his arm. “I would if you were doing it to me.”

  The guard captain nodded briefly. “We both know that. Still, now Elas is much happier with you, you see how he’s more prepared to allow you more freedom of movement. How have the girls reacted to the news they’re going on an adventure?”

  “Excited. I think the time away from here will do them good; it’ll do me good, too, although I wish you were accompanying me. It’ll be good seeing Argan after all this time. He writes so infrequently. Men! Or boys, to be more accurate. At least I get something from him every so often. Istan never writes. I get more from Sannia and Clora.”

  “Oh yes, the wife of the empress’s spy in Niake. How’s things with them?”

  Amne rolled her eyes. “Clora is desperate to have a child. She talks of little else. She asks all the time about my girls and Sannia’s brood. Poor thing; she’s getting quite frustrated.”

  “Maybe the gods have decided she’s not to have one?”

  Amne shrugged. “They seem to move in odd ways. I’ve got pregnant twice with Elas quite easily, yet even when I was – abused by Dragan – nothing happened. You would think if I can be with child that easily with one man, then it ought to happen with another.”

  “Then you’re lucky Elas doesn’t want you every night or by now we’d be deep in little Amnes.”

  She giggled. “That’d drive you all mad.”

  “Not to mention you. Kola is quite a spirited girl, a bit like you. Do you think you’ll clash with her as she gets older?”

  “Oh, I hope not! I’ll be there to make sure she stays on the right path, too. And don’t look at me like that, Lalaas, I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Stana is going to be a beauty, by the looks of things. Certainly got your looks.”

  Amne smiled proudly, and squeezed Lalaas’ hand. Thank you; yes I think she has got my features. I may have to keep a special eye on her.”

  “It’s not her you’ll need to keep an eye out for; it’ll be the young men around her.” They both looked at the three year old happily stacking wooden blocks on top of the other, then squealing as the unsteady stack fell over. “It seems impossible, looking at her now, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes – they are growing up so fast, though. It seems only yesterday they were born. Ah well, I must go prepare an inventory for my visit to Turslenka. I must write to Argan, too.”

  Lalaas grinned and gave his excuses, needing to continue on his patrol of the palace.

  _____

  The bridge over the Ister was a cold place. The three buildings on the Kastanian / Bragalese side offered some shelter, and Vosgaris had spent a couple of days there resting and preparing for his new posting.

  He had seen Isbel once after the time they had made love. She had been in her room flanked by assistants and Astiras, watching him like a hunting avian. Vosgaris had wondered if he had any inkling of what had happened, but he had supposed not because he had not impaled him through the guts.

  Isbel had been formal and correct, and had wished him well on his mission. She had processed all the documentation for his attachment to the Mazag army, sealed and signed. Astiras couldn’t be bothered with all that paperwork so he normally got his long-suffering wife to handle that aspect of rule. He had stood there glaring at the captain. “Serve us well, Captain,” he had said, “and I shall look favourably on a posting to Kastan City or Niake.”

  “Sire,” Vosgaris had saluted. “Ma’am,” he had bowed to Isbel who had inclined her head briefly to him, a twinkle in her eye that Vosgaris had caught, before she had stood up, all formality.

  He had then been handed an equine in the stables and an escort of two men, both soldiers, and they had departed Zofela for the south-west. Vosgaris had wondered if he would ever see the place again – or Isbel. Once at the bridge he had requisitioned the best berth for him and gone over the paperwork handed him.

  One had been an imperial message for General Vanist which he had left alone. There had also been a letter to him, written by Isbel but signed by Astiras, giving him clear instructions as to his mission. There also had been a small note that had slipped out when he had opened the official orders.

  It had been from Isbel and Vosgaris had read it before slipping it into his tunic. He now pulled it out again and read it once more. ‘Vos, I will miss you so much. Take care and don’t get hurt. I will wait for you. All my love.’ It wasn’t signed but there had been a large kiss symbol at the bottom. He stroked the words lovingly, his heart heavy. Who knew when he’d see her again? The letter could have been from anyone, since it was unsigned, but he knew who it had been who sent it, and he would keep it on him, next to his heart.

  “Captain,” one of the other two poked his head round the door. “Mazag army’s coming.”

  Vosgaris sighed and put the note away. He got off his bed and made his way outside. There was a light rain but nothing too bad. There was low cloud and visibility was poor, but the far bank of the river was visible, and coming across the long bridge were soldiers, flags and pennants fluttering, some on foot, others mounted. The leading soldiers were all mounted and regarded the three Kastanians with interest as they spread out to wait for their leader.

  In one of the other huts the four soldiers on duty stayed out of sight. Vosgaris had assured them all was in order and that the Mazag army was authorised to pass through.

  More Mazag soldiers, this time on foot, tramped past. Many of these had been part of the army that had helped to defeat the Venn outside Zofela a few years back, so this was not something unknown to them.

  One of Vosgaris’ aides had a small Kastanian flag on a pole which fluttered spasmodically. The main part of the army carried on marching, as per their orders, then moved off the road to form up alongside it.

  Finally the ri
cher, more flamboyant flags approached, denoting the general. Vosgaris prepared himself, Astiras’ imperial document in one hand. General Vanist, tall, hard-faced and with a cruel mouth, rode over to where the three-man delegation stood. “Captain Vosgaris?” he asked.

  Vosgaris saluted and stepped forward, offering the sealed scroll. Vanist clicked his fingers and another man dismounted, dark complexioned, thickset, and with a craggy face. This man took the scroll, briefly examined it and handed it to Vanist. The general broke the seal and unrolled it. It was written in proper Mazag, that of the court in Akinkum, the Mazag capital. It was not provincial or spoken Mazag, but for official purposes his nation still insisted on using the form of their language now mostly forgotten. Archaic, useless. He understood it, naturally, and nodded in satisfaction.

  “The General thanks you,” the other man said in accented Kastanian. “You will attach yourself to his court and ride with him on inspection of the army.”

  Vosgaris bowed. They got their equines and rode with the command group to where the seven hundred men of the army were now arrayed. Spearmen, archers, cavalry. Nothing unusual in that. Mazag loved cavalry, and were more inclined to use missile troops than other nations. The spearmen were the protection, keeping enemies off the archers and providing a secure haven for the cavalry.

  “Good men, yes, Captain?” Vanist’s words were translated by the other Mazag officer.

  “Indeed. They look tough and professional. A credit to you, General.”

  Vanist grunted in amusement. Kastanian flattery was like anal wind; a pain until it had come out, then it was a relief having gone. “We shall meet the Venn head-on and send those unspeakable scum back to their hideaways in the cess-pits of their homeland. They want Valchia? They will end up losing Kral.”

  Vosgaris wondered about that. What would Mazag’s attitude be once Venn were kicked out of Kral? Mazag would then dominate the region. There was gold, iron and timber in abundance there. Enough to finance a war. Another one. Kastania did not have any known gold mines any more. “Zilcia may not allow that to happen, General.”