Queen’s Man: Noxious Negotiations

By AnnaMarieAlt

Aarvan and Rejeena find themselves awash in a maelstrom of deceit and vengeful malice as they seek to negotiate peace among the varied groups upon Kriiscon—despite hundreds of years of war and hatred, filled with loathsome acts of cruelty. Their success or failure will decide the ultimate destiny of the island.

Treachery and betrayal abound, turning negotiations toxic. Innocents will be yanked into the melee—by chance or divine design?

Aarvan must convey peaceful intent to Pyyke, leader of the Caana, an old man slowly dying with little to lose. Pyyke abhors everyone, and he will confront the great queen’s man with the most brutal, barbaric challenge of his life. Can Aarvan rise above the ghastly torment, debate with this horrid man to fulfill his function and survive?

Rejeena, in her turn, slams head-first into reality. Her heart-niece commits a crime of passion directly in opposition to Rejeena’s new laws. Forced by dire circumstances, the new great queen must make a decision no human being should ever have to make.

Will Rejeena and Aarvan, each facing personal devastation, pull together and create unity? Or will they be torn apart by merciless fate and the hatred of others?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664131057

AnnaMarieAlt

AnnaMarieAlt enjoys a passion for writing romantic fantasy fiction, building otherworldly realms. Her two careers, the military followed by civil service, exposed her to varied cultures, races, religions, and beliefs stateside and abroad—England, Continental Europe, the Far East, the South, North, Southeast, Hawaii and Kentucky, where she now resides. This exposure granted her a rounded view of the world and a host of invaluable knowledge that she now brings to her fantasy creations. These experiences, earning a college degree, while surviving and supporting the Women’s Liberation Movement launched her understanding of herself as a woman and a writer. She writes to convey her myriad experiences, because she cannot not write—to share the legacy of a lifetime and accept that we are all human. AnnaMarie has written the Queen’s Man series, an adventurous, romantic fantasy, about the island of Kriiscon, where women rule and men are slaves. The series encompasses the struggle between a domineering but curse-haunted queen and a mysterious, audacious Mainland man, the twisted struggle between women and men for supremacy, culminating in the battle of star-crossed empires. Her words expose the ugly underbelly of the human race and illumine the power of virtue, while following the grinding agony of a culture in the throes of change. Life’s ambition: Fully grown, AnnaMarie wants to be just like Granny Clampett.

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Copyright © 2020 by AnnaMarieAlt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/29/2020

Xlibris

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Contents

The Queen’s Man Series:

Glossary of Terms for Queen’s Man Series (Alphabetical)

About the Author

The Queen’s Man Series:

A twisted, epic tale of the struggle between woman and man for supremacy, and the battle between opposing life creeds.

In their world, the series parallels battles raging in ours today.

1. Queen’s Man: Into The Inferno (Available Now)


2. Queen’s Man: Beyond The Corridor (Available Now)

3. Queen’s Man: Conflict (Available Now)


4. Queen’s Man: Enter The Caana (Available Now)

5. Queen’s Man: Treachery (Available Now)

6. Queen’s Man: Decision (Available Now)

7. Queen’s Man: Paaerta Hunt (Available Now)

8. Queen’s Man: Discovery (Available Now)

9. Queen’s Man: Of Glaalet Kind (Available Now)

10. Queen’s Man: Karma (Available Now)

11. Queen’s Man: Noxious Negotiations (Available Now)

12. Queen’s Man: Of Balance (Coming Soon)

Twelve Books in Series

Website: www.annamariealt.com

Women rule on the island of Kriiscon and hold all men as slaves. On the opposite shore, men rule the Mainland and treat women as mere chattel.

A decade-long curse denies haughty Queen Rejeena of Kriiscon the greatest gift from their goddess, the gift of daughters. Coupled with the threat of assassination from her outlaw cousin, Rejeena’s very existence and happiness hang steeped in jeopardy.

The queen’s life changes forever when a Mainland man, Aarvan, plagued with no memory, awakens on Kriiscon. Rejeena claims him as her queen’s man. The island’s way of life infuriates and repels Aarvan, yet a potent, exotic attraction binds Rejeena and him together. Even as conflicts rage, both their own and those of outside forces, their passion deepens.

The island is plagued with conflict—assassination efforts; posses of men battling for independence; more powerful, lustful queens; developing disloyalty within the queen’s guard ranks. Aarvan and Rejeena must battle all foes, who seek to separate and destroy them—emanating from both the Mainland, with vast numbers and superior weapons, and Kriiscon itself.

Ultimately, queen and queen’s man must confront each other, seek to overcome cruelty, intolerance and injustice as they build a bridge to harmony and love—a long journey fraught with adventure, intrigue and mortal danger. All the while, standing together, they must strive to gratify the Mainland, unite the raging forces upon the island, and control the destiny of Kriiscon.

Is such a harmony of feats even possible?

The sky wavered and flickered before his eyes. Wouldn’t hold still. Pain, sharp as the thrust of a stiletto blade, lanced from his right leg and arm, and radiated throughout his body as though in devilish delight to quadruple the misery. A dozen lesser spots pulsed and ached.

He lay on his back. Had to concentrate to compel breath into and out of his chest. Head spun in dizzy circles. The ground—it is ground, isn’t it?—listed, shifted, rolled beneath him like ocean waves, left him queasy and edgy as a tarag cat stalking an alert, sharp-antlered prey. He tried to grasp the ground with his left hand. It didn’t help. The earth kept heaving. Dark tree branches waved in the breeze above him. A golden ball of sun glared down, as though in disapproval. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue.

Why’d I do that? Another voice inside his head. You fell off the mountain. How do you know? I’m you. I fell with you.

A black curtain descended. No, no blackness, never again, no more of the dark. He blew a weak puff of air to push it away. The dark particles slid apart, spun, disintegrated.

My guards? Where are my guards? You have guards? Yes. Why? I don’t know why, but I do. He tried to yell, but only a sad squeak emerged.

Heard a loud whisper. Cut his gaze sideways. Two men sat horses forty feet away.

There’s the scuzzrut dote. One rider pointed. Must’ve been what we heard coming down the mountain. Just good luck we happened upon him.

Bad luck for his smarmy arse, the other snarled. We can finish part of the function.

Yeah, skewer him. Then let’s clear out.

He watched as they aimed crossbows at his chest. He could do nothing. Couldn’t move. Stuck flat on the ground like a pig at the slaughter. Watched them pull the triggers, release the bolts that would kill him.

A tiny immeasurable flick of time. The fabric of sound rent by a shriek—an angry child, whose favorite toy had been snatched away. Pale gold shimmer glowed in the air, danced between him and the men. Riding the breeze—a faint, smoky whiff—as the first gust of warmth from a fireplace.

The twin flying missiles of death hit the shimmer. Bounced backward. Fell harmlessly to the ground.

What the … one mounted man wailed. Gaped at the shimmering apparition. Let’s get out of here! They spurred their horses and galloped away.

A face in the shimmer. Shoulder-length blonde hair, handsome features, triumphant grin, pale green eyes. A giggle.

Barrett? Can’t be. Tried to sit up, see better. Couldn’t. No strength. The shimmer vanished, simply wasn’t there anymore. The face gone, too. Nothing left but the sound of horses’ hooves beating into the distance—and the pain beating at him. What just happened? I cracked my head. I’m hallucinating. Barrett? Barrett is far away, can’t be here. Oh, LaSheena, where are my guards?

He tried to yell for help again. Just a weak croak. Rolled toward his left side. Tried to push up. Agony stabbed through him, sliced from his leg upward to fill his chest. The darkness swooped upon him, swirled about and claimed him.

* * *

Darkness again, but not completely. More dingy, indistinct, filled with the odor of musky earth, like underground dampened and never truly allowed to dry. Undiminished pangs as hell-fire thrummed through his body, cleaving outward from his right leg and arm. Small points of hurt everywhere—his head, shoulder, ribs, left hip, his jaw, nothing untouched.

A whispery male voice. Keep quiet, so they won’t hear us.

How long they going to be out there? A deeper tone.

How would I know? We stay until they go.

What about him?

He’s out right now. If he wakes, it’s in his interest to keep still. They’re looking for him, and I doubt they’re friendly.

Shut up. Another voice, harsher. They’re right over us.

A clump of dirt fell onto his face, one small bit onto his lips. He spat it away.

Shhh. A hand clamped over his mouth.

Rumbles sounded directly overhead as the muffled clop of horse hooves passing.

The rumbles ceased and a voice whispered, You awake?

I think so. His own voice sounded hollow, stifled.

Keep quiet. The deeper tone. We dragged you in here. They’re looking for you.

Who? Who’s looking for me? Pain pulsed, pounded. Couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.

Don’t know. Likely want to kill the Great Queen’s Man of Kriiscon, hang your pants on their kill wall.

Remembered who he was—Aarvan, indeed Great Queen’s Man of Kriiscon. Fell off the mountain. Someone shot at him. Golden dazzle. Barrett? No, couldn’t be. Where are my guards? he whispered to the shadowy figure crouched nearby.

Don’t know. Ain’t women out there. Quiet!

Horses passing again, not above, same level as he lay. Men’s voices, indistinct, bumping into his eardrums without recognition, meaning nothing.

Lay still and silent. Nothing else he could do; torturous stabs accompanied the slightest movement. Didn’t know friend from foe.

Time dragged on sloth claws. Biting, pervasive chill settled into his bones. The persistent misery sapped his energy, requiring all he had to breathe.

One of the men said, Dark now. They’ll be camping, won’t be searching. We need to get him out of here.

How? Where to?

We’ll go to that cave over on the east side. He came down this side. Likely they won’t look that far. The harsher voice spoke, Brost, where are you?

The first voice Aarvan had heard answered, Back here. While you two been jabbering, I’ve been working. Got a dragsledge put together. We can put him on it. Two can drag him and one can wipe out the tracks.

How you get a dragsledge made?

A snicker. Found two big broken off roots. Used ’em as sides. Cut up my pack for crosspieces. Got it covered with twigs and leaves. He won’t be comfortable, but he won’t be dead either. Wasn’t much in my pack, anyway. You guys will have to take the blanket and food.

Someday you may turn out worth something, Harsh Voice said. Let’s get moving then. He hunkered over Aarvan. This is going to hurt … dote. Can’t be helped.

Heat flushed through Aarvan. He growled, a weak sound even to his ears, Don’t use that term. I’m through hearing that blasted insult.

What you think we should call you?

Aarvan, Starke, asshole, even hey you … anything but dote.

The man released a chuckle, more a verbal sneer than amusement. All right, hey you it is. This is going to hurt, probably more now than before you opened your mouth. Harsh Voice called over his shoulder, You fastened the leg and arm?

Best I could. Answer from the darkness. Put sticks on the side and tied ’em in place. He needs a healer for those breaks.

I’ve breaks? Aarvan asked.

Harsh Voice said, Yeah, Hey You, right leg and wrist. Maybe a couple ribs. Knocks and bangs all over.

No wonder I hurt, and can’t react. How can I do my function, negotiate in this condition? Aarvan sighed. Blast, why now?

What’d you expect; you fell off a mountain? Lucky you’re not dead.

The three men pulled him onto a device and strapped him fast. The movements and the next few hours passed in a blur of stabbing, relentless agony. The dragsledge bumped over rocks and into holes. Once, one of them stumbled and dropped him. Then one of the side poles snapped. They had to find another in the dark and fasten it to the original.

By the time they tugged him into the east-side cave, sweat drenched him despite the chilly, autumn night air. The wet and cold combined until he felt encased in a block of ice. His breath rasped in gasps, left hand clenched at his side. Right hand useless. Mind numb, couldn’t put together a coherent thought.

The fellow with the deep tone growled, Brost, get a fire going. Taber, help me find brush and leaves and get out the blankets.

Somebody might see the glow of a fire, Brost said.

We’ll have to chance it, Deep Voice said. We don’t get him warm, he’ll be dead.

They scurried about in the dark.

Aarvan shivered, tolerated the continuous torment, forced breath in and out.

After a while, they moved him onto a hard bed of twigs and leaves, a blanket beneath and two on top. A fire blazed, sent heat pulsing through the small cave. Time passed and the pain settled to steady irritating throbs; the sweat dried and his breaths came easier. He was vaguely aware of the men eating a meal. They offered him water, and he drank a little. More time crept along as a three-legged turtle struggling up a steep hill. He floated in and out of half sleep, half unconsciousness, continuous misery.

He opened his eyes. While he drifted, time fleeted. The man called Brost busied himself stomping out the fire. Gray light of early morning filtered through the cave mouth.

Though still hurting, weak and nauseous, Aarvan’s mind seemed clearer, and he could make small movements without debilitating spasms.

The deep-voiced man stood over him. You’re awake?

Yes. Aarvan met his eyes. May I ask your intentions toward me? Who exactly are you?

The man took something from a pocket and dropped it onto Aarvan’s chest. This might help.

He picked the object up with his left arm. A kruet?

Yeah, a kruet.

I don’t understand.

One kruet is the price of your life, Great Queen’s Man.

Aarvan closed his eyes, reopened them. I’m too tired for word games. That didn’t clear it up.

Deep Voice asked, You don’t recognize me?

Aarvan peered at him. No, I don’t. But don’t take it amiss. I’m not sure I’d recognize myself right now.

Name Klaarn mean anything?

Klaarn? Aarvan delved into his murky mind. Oh … oh yes, the saatcaa holdee … Rhotha’s Towne?

The man grinned. That’s right. You handed me the kruet tip instead of my mistress. Took a set of balls. Showed maybe … He stopped, cleared his throat. Maybe you got a different outlook than most dratted queens’ men. He stared hard at Aarvan. That kruet is the only reason we dragged your ass into that slit in the ground.

I take it you’re not a holdee anymore?

Nope. Escaped from my bitch mistress. Klaarn motioned to his two companions, who stood beside him. Brost, young fellow born here but don’t care for loose men. Taber, a Mainlander marooned here by a shipwreck, like so many others.

Not loose men, not holdees? Who are you then?

Women call us outtowne taats. Just trying to survive until we can get better circumstances.

Aarvan paused, puffed out several times, sucked in replacement air. Weariness seeped again through his bones. My guards have to be looking for me. Contact them. My great queen will reward you for my rescue.

Don’t know about any queen’s kruets. Not planning to chance contacting any of those looking for you. Klaarn’s grin reasserted. Got a deal in the works. Louie, fourth member of our group, already made contact.

Aarvan frowned. Contact with whom?

You’ll find out soon enough. Louie will know where to look for us. Anticipating a big pile of kruets from selling you. Then all of us—he gestured to his companions—can go our chosen ways and find those better circumstances.

Blast it, Klaarn, get me back to my queen. She’ll pay you.

The man shrugged. Like I said, already got something in the works. He turned away. Brost, you watch by the entrance. Searchers not likely to come over here, but if you see anyone, let us know. He swung back to Aarvan. Anyone comes around and you yell, Taber here gonna gag you. Got that?

Yes.

You hungry? Klaarn’s tone warmed.

No. But can you answer a question?

Ask. We’ll see if I can answer.

When I … Aarvan stopped and started over. I thought or dreamed two guys tried to shoot me while I was lying on the ground. Something stopped their arrows. Do you know anything about that? Fuzzy thoughts filtered through his mind, a giggle, golden shimmer, a face … but what face? Unclear. Everything unclear. Like a haunting, half-forgotten nightmare.

Taber, Klaarn called, you saw him first. You notice any arrows or guys trying to shoot him?

Saw a couple guys on horses, way in the distance, running like the devil chased them.

Brost called from near the cave entrance. I saw a coupla arrows lying on the ground. They looked intact. Was going to grab them. A man always needs good arrows. But Taber yelled at me to hurry.

I could hear searchers coming, Taber growled. Wasn’t waiting around for them. We barely got this asshole out of sight as it was.

I saw a … like a shimmer in the air, Aarvan said. A golden glow-like thing. Nobody saw anything like that?

Hey You, Taber said, you just fell off a mountain. You were out of your mind.

You heard nothing?

Like what?

A giggle, a yell like an angry child?

You were delirious, you idiot. Stop with the stupid questions and get some rest. You’ll need it. Taber stalked away, and Klaarn stared at Aarvan like he had lost his senses.

Aarvan closed his eyes and sagged deeper onto his makeshift bed. He tried to encourage his foggy mind to work. He pushed the shimmer and the giggle from his thoughts. Probably, he had been delirious. More importantly at the moment, who on this island might pay kruets for him? Ishtabarra or Shabet? Not likely. They should be back on Prittaan. Please, LaSheena, have them back on Prittaan. Who then? The Caana? No, he was supposed to negotiate with them in less than two weeks. Wouldn’t happen now, with him busted up like this. Who? Might be any of a lot of folks, wanting to claim him to ransom back to Great Queen Rejeena. Much worse, for the privilege of hoisting his separated head on a war lance and to hang his pants on a kill wall. He shuddered, worried and fretted, but after a while the restless sleep of exhaustion claimed him.

Voices pulled him to wakefulness, familiar voices, though he couldn’t identify them through the murk cluttering his brain.

Sticks? a female voice griped, strong and wispy in the same breath. You strapped sticks to a broken leg?

Best we could do, Klaarn said. You got healers; you can fix him up better.

Assholes. You dragged him over rough ground on that sled thing? You could have killed him. She, whoever she was, didn’t sound happy.

He’s right, a male voice said. Sticks likely their only option, and they had to get him away.

I know his voice. Who is it?

They could only do so much, the familiar male voice continued. Pay him and let’s get going before any searchers come this way.

Aarvan forced his heavy eyelids open. Shadowed light filtered into the cave from the full sun of late morning. Klaarn stood at his feet, a slight twist to his mouth.

As Aarvan lay prone and miserable, standing over him, in matched poses, feet planted, arms akimbo—Tatia and Jannsen.

* * *

Awareness returned slowly in fits and starts. Mind reeled, righted, reeled again. His eyes opened, dropped closed. He forced them open once more. He lay in a room, not a cave, an actual room. On a skindown. Warm. The pain had modulated to dull but steady throbbing from his leg and wrist.

A lantern pulsed light in feeble tenacity against the prevalent gloom and shadowed corners. He saw a window to his right. It was dark. Night.

He couldn’t see anyone around. He clenched his eyes and tried to remember. Oh yes, Klaarn—the blasted twerp. The great queen would have paid him plenty, but he couldn’t wait. Who did I see? Oh, Great LaSheena! Jannsen? Tatia? Tatia had been there?

Vague memories flickered. Jannsen and Tatia, side by side. No one spoke. A healer. Placing a rag over his nose and mouth with some foul-smelling liquid. Trying to jerk away. Someone clasping his head tight, gripping his one functional wrist. Couldn’t hold his breath. The foul smell down his throat and into his lungs. Grayness swirled. Darkness fell, consumed him.

Next thing, waking here.

Why Jannsen? The blasted Caana. They were to talk about the end of enholdment. Wasn’t that what Jannsen wanted?

And Tatia. The woman escaped from Rejeena’s Towne, with his forewarning saving her from being hanged, after the discovery of her illegal activities. Didn’t she have sense enough to not bring herself back to the queen’s—now the great queen’s—attention? Surely the accursed woman didn’t think she could own him.

Jannsen and Tatia together? Why? A smirk manifested in his mind. Maybe they were sharers of euphoria, had found satisfaction and comfort in each other’s embrace. He blew out a great puff of air. Then why would they buy me? Klaarn used the word ‘sold’. And me flat on my back with broken bones.

At his hard breath, a soft cough sounded out of his sight beyond the head of the bed. A chair scraped. A clean-shaven, blond-haired young man, face sagged into lines of boredom, eyes dispassionate as a choppy gray sea, appeared beside him. I’ll tell them you’re awake. He walked away.

Wait, Aarvan called. Who?

The man ignored him and strolled from the room, and Aarvan glimpsed a dimly lit hallway through the opened door.

A few minutes passed in silence. An outside door latch clicked. Two men wearing full beards, dressed in mixed Mainland clothing and Kriisconian skins, entered the room. Without speaking or looking at Aarvan, they hung six lighted lanterns along the walls on prepared holders. The young, blond man returned and placed a brazier against the far side of the room. He lit the kaartii and departed after the other two, leaving the room open to the hallway. They all ignored Aarvan.

He gritted his teeth. His throat ached, coldness churned in his stomach, heat pushed against his skin from inside. What’s going on?

After a few minutes, two women entered. One carried a healer’s bag and the other a tray of food and drink. The healer stopped by him and smiled. You appear much improved.

Could you kindly tell me what’s happening, Shiira?

I am to ascertain your health, Great Queen’s Man. That is all. I am disallowed to tell you more.

Why all the secrecy?

You will needs ask those who rule.

I would if they were here, he grumbled. Where are Tatia and Jannsen?

You will see them when they so decide.

He sighed and sagged back, the pangs, throbs, confusion and exhaustion sapping his energy, what tiny amount he retained.

The other woman stepped forward. Are you hungry? She offered the tray.

With their assistance, he drank deeply but waved away the food. Nausea still threatened; he didn’t dare eat.

The women completed their duties and departed.

He closed his eyes and reviewed his situation. The picture created in his mind didn’t please him. Blast them! Blast them all!

The second she walked through the door—the tangy, intriguing aroma of intoxicating perfume preceding her—the presence inside his head alerted. No hostility, but a baser, carnal aura, projected to his internal warning system. His stomach churned, even as he breathed in the bouquet. Blast. Tatia. He opened his eyes.

She stood by the skindown. Her slim body, encased in the usual pale, gossamer dress floating about her, dominated his vision. Those gray, almost colorless eyes fixed upon his, and a sly smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Aarvan, my beautiful one, look at you, all cracked and broken. Did I not tell you being queen’s man stood too dangerous?

Tatia, what do you want? Whatever you paid those cretin taats, my great queen will double it.

Oh, I am most certain she would. Triple it even. But I do not intend to offer her the choice. Tatia leaned down, and her mesmerizing odor wafted about him.

He sucked in deep inhalations of its erotic, aromatic caress, felt a stirring and warmth between his legs. Oh, blast.

She chuckled. Breathe, Aarvan. You know what it is I want, what I have always wanted from you. A warm hand slid beneath his cover, rubbing his belly.

Oh, my god, I’ve no pants. Nothing lay between them but the blanket—Tatia’s hand under that. He grated through clenched teeth, Take your hand off me!

She continued to rub across his belly, leaned closer, kept the enticing odor of her perfume floating around his face. I hate to see you suffer such dire straits, my beauty. It does, however, allow me complete control. I may act as pleases me and there is naught you can do about it.

Aarvan scoured his forehead with the heel of his hand. So much effort, both mental and physical, to fight his pain and weakness—lost in that entrancing aroma, summer flowers enhanced by black licorice sweetened by vanilla spiced with something unrecognizable but irresistible. Find the strength, man. Find the strength! He shoved her away with his left arm.

She glowered, then called, Asfaa, come. Her partial, Asfaa, entered, followed by another woman Aarvan didn’t know. They carried ties. Without a word, they caught hold of Aarvan’s left arm, pulled it over his head and fastened it to the bedpost. He fought, jerked and twisted. In his weakened condition, they overpowered him, and also tied his left ankle fast to the bottom.

Thank you, women, Tatia said. You may go. The pair departed as they had come, swift and silent.

Now, what will you do, Aarvan? Tatia’s eyes glittered, part anger, part desire. You lie truly at my mercy.

He tried to ignore her powerful scent. Tatia, blast it, I warned you to get out of Rejeena’s Towne to escape the queen’s wrath, save your neck. You owe me some good will—he jerked his chin at his bound wrist—not some enforced skindown drama.

Oh, indeed I do, Aarvan. Your warning constitutes the reason you lie not already encased between my thighs with bissah sap laced spikes in your entrancing ass. I shall not allow you to push me away, though. My greatest wish is for you to desire me, ask me to have you, join me in the bond of euphoria.

Not going to happen.

Indeed? She grabbed his blanket and flipped it off. He lay naked. Tatia strolled around his bed, her gaze a touchless caress. Her intriguing aroma, pure seduction, encircled him.

God help me, that stuff is lethal.

Ah, she murmured, finally, the emergence of your full beauty, your virility—every bit as gorgeous as I imagined. Your insipid queen does not appreciate nor deserve her fortune with such a possession.

His carnal tormentor returned to sit beside him, hovered, allowed her perfume to overwhelm his nostrils. She whispered, "The mixture is made specially for me by a great conjuran. I noted your reaction the first time we met on Mainway; I knew it would eventually entrap you.

Yield, Aarvan. You lie hurt and weak. Why make it difficult upon yourself? I promise you will greatly enjoy my ministrations. She drew back and smiled. I shall be gentle.

Her hand slid onto his belly, dipped lower and lower; her fingertips aroused and stimulated him. Soft lips descended to his chest, laving, kissing. Caught his nipples in her lips and sucked. Her tongue flicked and circled them. All the while that heady fragrance invaded his nose, pulled into his lungs, pulsed through his bloodstream. The essence of her scent and intimacy of the touch slid down his body to influence what they had no business affecting.

Stop! he rasped. Leave me alone.

Oh, no, my beauty. I wax ardent, merely from the sight and touch of your beautiful body. I intend to make you mine today. When I finish, you will never look at another haughty queen. She slid close beside his thigh. With both hands, she gripped his manhood and chuckled. Look, Aarvan, your shaft stands half ready to receive me. How long I have waited for the pleasure of my hands grasping you. She glided her fingertips along the heavy blood vessels on the bottom of his member. Rubbed and caressed. Palmed his balls. Oh yes, she sighed, sufficient for a truly blissful experience but not too much—precisely as the rest of you, perfect. Her gaze moved over his body, not a big man, not a small one, built with the long, lean muscular of the tarag cat, denoting both speed and strength. Sleek, exquisitely handsome, the fulfillment of her most provocative skindown dreams.

They both felt the lengthening and hardening of his maleness.

Therein lies the beauty of the phallus, she whispered. It knows what it desires, does not heed the wailing of the closed mind.

He bucked and tried to jerk away, but his injuries and bonds disallowed him success. Something inside his head whispered. Let it go. You want her. Relax, enjoy. Pull in that aroma. It will transport you, carry you to heights. Don’t fight. You can’t anyway. Another voice answered, No! No. I don’t want her. I want only my Jeenie.

The perfume filled his head, clouded his vision, blunted his reason. Her fingertips glided over his skin, mesmerized and tantalized, warm with tendrils of heat, cool with tingles of need and yearning.

Leave me alone, he croaked past a dry throat.

Oh, Aarvan, we both know you do not mean those words. Her voice turned hoarse with passion. Breathe deeply. She waved her hand as though to waft more scent to him. Her lips descended to his belly, sucking, kissing, sliding hot over the sensitive skin.

His body tingled all over, skin burned and itched with want. His manhood stood erect, full, ached with its demand to be sated. Accept her, the voice in his head urged. Take her, serve yourself. Discard her later. No one need ever know. The second voice, softer, also insistent, said, Think of your queen, your daughters.

A vision bombarded his tormented mind. Rejeena—his Jeenie—gazed at him with her vixen face, so personal to his inner man. Aheeka grasped one of his lower legs; Agaalea tried to climb the other. Baby Grace, with her tiny twisted leg, contentedly squirmed in his arms. The sight, the feel of them burst as mutinous water through a crack in a dam. Tingling and fiery want warped to disgust and fury. Tatia’s stench blew away as high-scudding clouds fleeing a fierce wind. He lunged against his restraints, not heeding the pain, and bellowed, Let go of me, you blasted harridan! I don’t want you. I never will. Hands off!

Tatia reared back and stared.

His eyes blazed, face twisted. You’re loathsome! Next time I’ll let the soldiers come. Watch you swing beneath the gallows.

She surged to her feet. With a full arm swing, she backhanded him across the side of his face.

Sharp pain exploded in his cheek. Shafts of white light flashed and vanished and flashed again before his eyes.

Her voice growled low and raspy, revealed an agony beyond wrath and disenchantment. You arrogant, targeethan bastard. You pile of gamy mertan’s rot. A pleading sound now. I asked but for you to receive me. Give me pleasure. Rose again to near a shriek. But no … you cannot move your thoughts beyond your blighted queen. She called, Asfaa, and flipped the cover over his lower body.

Untie him, and leave, Tatia snapped as her women entered.

The partials complied.

He lay as before, broken leg, broken wrist, battered body, weak, nearly helpless—but my soul is intact.

Look at me, Aarvan, Tatia grated.

He tried to focus on her face through the still flickering bits of light.

She leaned down. This is not over, not finished. You will yield to me, and you will do so willingly. Her breath huffed, and pale eyes gleamed with ugly promises he didn’t want to read. She rose, whirled and stalked from the room.

He lay silent, amazed. The tantalizing scent, even its lingering effect, no longer plagued him. He closed his eyes, sucked in breaths, savored his victory, tried to will away some of the pain. His manhood, still erect, pushed against the light cover as though looking around for its due. Still aching, wanting satisfaction. His epiphanic vision didn’t seem to have affected its reaction. Rotten traitor … behave yourself.

The door hinges creaked. Aarvan snapped his eyes open.

Jannsen, tall and strong, a mocking grin splitting his neat beard and mustache, walked to stand beside the bed, near the injured leg. Physically whole as opposed to the great queen’s man—the bastard.

The Caana crossed his arms and stared at the prone man. Are you aware you’re a complete idiot?

Jannsen, would you kindly tell me what’s going on? What am I doing here? What the blast do you want? We’re approaching negotiation—at least we were.

Is your queen really worth this much? Jannsen ignored the questions. All Tatia wanted was a liaison. A roll in the hay. You couldn’t even give her such a small thing. He shrugged. It’s just a carnal coupling, you know? Just an act, a physical release. He gestured toward the upright blanket. And it’s obvious you wanted it.

He wanted it; I didn’t, Aarvan growled. And what business is it of yours, anyway?

Tatia’s the one who paid for you. She’s not a nice woman. LaSheena alone knows what she’ll do now.

Then what are you doing here? What do you want?

Jannsen displayed a nasty grimace and again pointed to the pushed-up blanket, which had wilted some. I can help you with your problem.

What the blast—how? Jerk me off?

The Caana shook his head. Not my style, Porch Dog. But I can do this. He smashed a fist onto Aarvan’s broken leg.

Despite the cast which had replaced the sticks while he lay unconscious, blinding shards of agony ripped up and down Aarvan’s leg. Pain blew off the bottom of his foot. He released a tortured bellow, then his lungs froze. Lunged up and across, reached to protect the leg. Whole side of his body afire. Burn. Scorch. Brain stilled. Consumed by misery. Gasped for air. Nothing.

Someone slapped him on the back. Not sure who. Sucked in a breath. Like inhaling a dragon’s fiery exhalation, but had to breathe. For long minutes, he crouched, hand clasped to his leg, bent over, wheezed, jerked singeing air into his depleted body. The agony tore at him all the while. His sight cleared and he dropped back to give his lungs more expansion room. Still gasping.

Jannsen stood as before, contemplating him.

You … bastard, the great queen’s man squeezed out. Why’d … you do that?

For the third time Jannsen waved toward the blanket over Aarvan, and a wicked smile etched his features. Helping you out, Porch Dog. See? Problem gone.

Aarvan’s cover did now lay flat over his abdomen. Jerkwad … your idea … of help?

Gotta admit it worked. Jerkwad? Now there’s a new word. Jannsen’s smile gave way to a serious expression. Call it a bit of softening up, too. With disenholdment on the horizon, now more than ever, I want you to convert to the Caana.

Aarvan glared. Convert? You stupid … blasted, putrid … He gestured toward his leg. This will … make me want … to join the Caana? Still unable to keep lungs full of air.

You know, Porch Dog, you really should learn how to cuss like a man. Stupid, blasted, putrid, jerkwad. Those’re pathetic. But to answer your question, no, not make you want to. Convince you there’s no choice. I can stand here and pound on your leg all day. Won’t hurt me a bit. How long you figure you can hold out?

Aarvan stared at the smirking Caana for long, dragged-out moments. He pulled air into his lungs, pushed it out. The fire in his leg subsided a bit, his gulps eased, breaths strengthened. His eyes flickered with those asps coiling to strike, cleared, then the snakes resurged their deadly omen. Not long, he said in a slow, matter-of-fact tone. I’d have to accept your demand. He held Jannsen’s gaze. But it wouldn’t last. Eventually, I’d get my chance, and I’d kill you and every Caana I could lay hands on.

Jannsen met those threatening eyes without a flinch. Think about the course the fortunes of this island could take. Men and women will negotiate and end disenholdment. Everyone, both sides, having to learn and live under new rules—and a bunch of them won’t like it. This entire culture could disintegrate into chaos. A whole host of folks, men and women alike, will hang onto their grudges with the tenacity of a bantam hen protecting a lone chick. He uncrossed his arms. There will be confrontation, and it will get nasty and violent.

The great queen knows about nasty and violent. She and the other queens will be prepared.

To do what? Jannsen sneered. Take the side of the women, no matter the issue? He shook his head. The Caana need an enforcer, someone scary enough to make anyone on either side think twice about stirring up trouble. He pointed a finger at Aarvan’s chest. We need you.

Me? Aarvan glowered. I don’t go around scaring people into compliance. And if I’m so scary, why’d you whack my leg? Did you think that would endear you and the Caana to me?

Threefold. The Caana leader backed up to a low washstand and sat on the edge. Took care of your problem, grabbed your hardheaded attention … and it was fun.

Fun? You accursed Caana, you’ll think fun when I get out of this bed.

Jannsen snorted a laugh. Now there’s the interesting part about you, Porch Dog. Rough-handling you is like rain on one of those giant shirtera leaves. It hits, runs off and it’s gone. Forgotten. By the time your leg heals—presuming Tatia decides to let you live—you’ll be on to some other adventure. You’ll remember I smacked you, it won’t be important anymore. The laughter died, his face straightened, arms crossed again. Now, what about joining the Caana as our enforcer?

Aarvan reared slightly upright, brows drawn. No! How many times do I have to say it? No. I’ve chosen my path, Jannsen, and it’s the only one I intend to walk. I’ll do my enforcing for the great queen. He sank back and frowned. You choose your own walkway—I hope it’s stony and you trip and fall on your face. Let me to mine.

I believe you really do mean that, Jannsen said, as though releasing a long-held aspiration. He rose, walked around the bed and leaned over the prone queen’s man, staring directly into his eyes. It’s too bad, because I could have rescued you from Tatia’s revenge. Now, you’ll have to face it. An ugly sneer darkened his features. How do you think you’ll like her intentions?

The Caana didn’t see the blow. But he felt it. Aarvan’s left fist smashed into his face. Hurled him backwards.

About the same as you liked that, the queen’s man snarled.

Jannsen brought himself up short. Why you sorry … He clamped a hand to his face, covering eye and cheek. He stood still for a bit, brows drawn, mouth tight. He chuckled. Pretty good strike for a guy flat on his back. Now, maybe I’ll help Tatia think up a fitting fate. He spun and left the room, pulled the door shut behind him.

The young, blond man returned, didn’t speak, strolled out of Aarvan’s sight beyond the head of the bed. A chair creaked.

Aarvan closed his eyes. He absorbed and restrained his surging emotions—fear of what they’d do now, need to be out of here and gone, wish to not be broken and helpless, desire to be back with his great queen, their daughters—and the rage pulsed through him despite the restraint and because of his situation.

After a while the healers returned. He refused their offered medications; he didn’t trust them or their potions. He drank water and forced down a bowl of thick soup. The healers and his guard snuffed the lights except the brazier. Despite the steady grind of pain and angst, he slept.

* * *

For most of the next day he saw no one except guards who changed shifts and healers who treated and fed him. When he asked questions, they ignored him or gave non-answers. All he could do was lie there, fume and wait for developments.

Late in the afternoon a slatternly, older woman entered, carrying a pail of water. She set the pail on the floor, then moved about, dusting and reorganizing the few items in the room.

The present guard, a surly looking fellow of mid years, arose. I’m taking a break. Let me know when you’re done, you worthless tart. He spoke to the old woman, but pointed at Aarvan. Keep an eye on him.

I am no guard, you whiptongue, she carped.

Do as you’re told. Nobody’d care if I knock you about a little. Be a relief from watching him—he gestured contemptuously toward Aarvan—and not allowed to stick a knife in his fetid queen’s man gut. He spun and walked out.

The old woman muttered to herself, shuffled to the closet and grabbed a broom and mop.

Aarvan said, I’m sorry he spoke so to you, Aseberda. If I could, I’d knock some manners into him.

The cleaning lady turned and stared. What did you call me?

His soft voice wafted, as a caress. Aseberda. I’m … I’m sorry … I don’t know your name. I didn’t intend to insult you.

She snorted. Aseberda, indeed? She crossed her arms over her mop handle and continued her stare. Are you so highfalutin, as great queen’s man, you cannot recognize a term of respect and admiration. Aseberda? An old mop woman?

I wasn’t aware respect hinged upon whether you swing a sword or a mop. He gestured. Does the mop remove your dignity as a person?

Most feel it to be so. She squinted. My name is Daliina. But aseberda strikes my ears well. She neared the bed, and her brown eyes gleamed, long gray hair hanging unfettered halfway to her waist. Why would you, a great queen’s man, denizen of the tallest misty mountain of all, bother about the dignity of one so lowly as me? Whipcord lean, Daliina’s hand rose