Page 16 of Blood Slumberm
“Men and women are equals in Orthros,” he went on, “although the greatest power rests in the hands of the Queens and the Goddess.”
“I have lived in a temple where a goddess and her devotees hold power, and it was anything but beautiful and pure. Why is Orthros different?”
“Hespera worshipers stood against the Orders in the Last War, while the mages of Chera bowed to them.”
“And the temples of Hespera were razed for their trouble.”
“Ask yourself why the Order of Anthros banned worship of Hespera. The mages of war and order could not allow a goddess of peace and freedom. Everything about the cult of Hespera is a threat to them. Especially powerful women.”
Bleakness filled her aura. “All they achieved by resisting was exile.”
“They achieved a land free of the Orders’ influence.”
Troi had run so far to escape Orthros, only to meet a woman who would thrive there.
“What will you do when your revenge is complete?” he asked.
Her gaze shuttered, and her inner defenses hardened over her emotions. “Have you thought that far ahead yet?”
“No.” He could not see past the moment when he would hear Rixor’s heart stop beating. “The ball is tomorrow,” he said, striving for a lighter tone. “This is our last night to prepare. Any rough edges on me you still wish to file down, Your Highness?”
“My compliments on your table,” she replied, the traditional words of appreciation guests gave their host at the end of a banquet. She set aside her fork. “Keep your fangs to yourself tomorrow night, and you shall do quite well.”
He levitated the nearby lute into his hold and began tuning it. “In that case, we have time for some diversion.”
“Where did a prince learn to play the lute?”
“I have always been a man of many talents.”
“Do you remember how to tune that, after sleeping for a hundred years?”
He tightened another string and tested it, rewarded with a pure, high note. Much better. “There are some things one remembers forever.”
How many nights had he played for his men to lift their spirits?
Then there were the earlier memories he preferred to forget. His mother’s smile on those rare occasions when he could play for her. His father’s admonitions that a lute was useless in a warrior’s hands.
Troi found himself playing the opening chords of a Hesperine dance. He had picked it up in the coffeehouses on the docks of Orthros during long, wild nights of dancing, which usually ended in private upstairs rooms. He had tried to drown his inner battles in blood and pleasure until the night when he had been powerful enough to come back here for his last stand against his enemies.
That confrontation had been one hundred and ten years in the making. So why, instead of strategizing on the eve of battle, was he sitting here playing a Hesperine song for Celandine?
Her foot tapped on the floor under the table. “This song is like your ring.”
“It is made for dancing.”
“I don’t know the steps.”
“Why not choose your own?”
She left the table and stepped down into the open center of the hall. Pausing, she closed her eyes, tapping out the beat of the song against her hip. Then she began with the opening steps of a Cordian dance he recalled from his day. Its restrained sensuality had made it his favorite.
She adapted and blended the steps to suit the Hesperine tune, and as she found her rhythm, her moves became more confident, more passionate than any woman would dare before an audience other than a Hesperine.
He watched her rediscover the joy of movement without pain. She was lost in the music, her robe swirling around her. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sway of her hips and the sensual motions of her hands. He could imagine how she would move under him and how her touch would feel down his back.
Troi had been burned by lovers before. Had he ever let that stop him from playing with fire?
None of them had been as dangerous as Celandine. But this hunger for her was more consuming than anything he had ever felt before.
