Forbidden

Forbidden Book One of Zinah Lila Dubois (c) 2007

Forbidden Book One of Zinah Lila Dubois Published 2007 ISBN 1-59578-300-8 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2007, Lila Dubois. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Kate Cuthbert Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Dedication For Kimi. Thanks for being a one girl cheering section, you look super hot in that uniform.

Chapter 1 The twin moons hung low in the lavender sky. The small moon, Akita, is forever being pursued and protected by her larger mate, Ishlay. So was the natural order, that the male protect and pursue the female. Only here, within these walls, was one of those natural laws reversed. Her hands slid over the rough stone balustrade, rubbing back and forth, back and forth, the motion reminiscent of a soothing touch to a lover’s shoulders. The stone was abrasive against pampered hands; she craved the roughness of the touch, a small reminder of the dark pleasure of pain. She raised her hands, turning them to examine the reddened palms. In the light of the moons, the lines in her palms were deep, carving the surface of her hands into valleys and gorges. Stretching, she bent her fingers back until the light showed a smooth, white expanse of palm extending into five slim fingers. Slowly she turned her hands inward till the palms faced each other only a breath apart and raised them up, her head falling back in prayer. Her body made a taut line, stretched from the tips of her fingers to her heels. As she raised her voice in the secret words of invocation, the space between her palms began to glow. A ball of white mist began to grow, pushing her palms further apart until they were in line with her shoulders. With a few shouted words, she finished her prayer and the globe of mist burst, shattering into a thousand small points of light. As the light rained down onto her upturned face, shoulders, and breasts, the five watchers drew deep breaths. From inside the darkened chamber, the figure on the balcony was so remote and comely that they could not imagine her to be anything but the Goddess herself. She was silhouetted by the moons, their light outlining the slim length of her legs and swell of hips and breasts through the thin gown she wore. The light motes had settled onto her upswept hair, haloing a face with almond eyes and smooth cheeks, arched eyebrows and a gently rounded chin. Though it was turned away from them, it was as familiar as their own. When she felt the last flicker of light settle onto the tip of her eyelashes, she lowered her arms. With one smooth motion, she turned, balanced on the balls of her feet. She advanced towards the opened doors which lead into their chamber. Her step was light, each foot placed gently before the other. Toe, then heel touched the stone of the balcony, worn smooth by centuries of feet. As she entered the dark chamber, her vision failed for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the change in light, but her steps never faltered. Everything was where it should be, where she willed it to be, nothing would dare to be out of the place she had prescribed for it. The five men who knelt in a semicircle before her, their heads bowed, were no exception. The moment she turned to enter the chamber, they dropped their eyes, none daring to look upon her in this state without her permission. In this moment she was the essence, the embodiment, of her power. She stood before them; they were her protectors, her guardians—her possessions. One man, he who knelt directly in front of her, raised his eyes. In a single glance, a wealth of feeling passed between them; she did not, could not, berate him for his disobedience. Had one of the others seen, she would have had no choice but to inflict torment upon the body which was laid bare before her gaze, but that

glance was secret, private. His heart, against the dictates of his head, demanded that he gaze upon her, that he steal this one moment that would belong to the both of them. It was enough to fortify his heart for what would come. She held his eyes for only a moment, before breaking their gaze. Her lashes swept down, imprinting the moment in her mind, locking into her memory the feeling of the floor beneath her feet, the touch of the cloth against her body, the smell of the herbs in the air. Most importantly, she mentally imprinted the sight of him, the tilt of his head, the strength of his shoulders, the look in his eyes. She combined that with memories of the way he tasted, the lilt of his voice, the play of his muscles under his skin. And then, with her eyes still closed, she locked away the part of her that would have knelt before him, shedding the trappings of her power, her rank, for the simple pleasure of his touch. When her eyes opened, they glowed with the power of whom and what she was. Her gaze was hot as it roved over the bodies of her men. Her whispered words were husky and low, her passion-rich voice so erotic that they each felt a small shiver caress their skin. “Come to me.” It was a command, one which none of them wished to disobey. While the natural laws dictated that male be the protector and the pursuer, here the men were not the pursuers; they were the pursued, and they were owned, body and soul.

Chapter 2 A warm, wet touch on the sole of her foot woke the Priestess. With a disgruntled sigh she pushed against the annoying touch with her other foot. For a moment, there was blessed stillness once more under the mound of covers. Sinking back into an exhausted sleep, the Priestess rolled from her side onto her back, letting the silk sheet caress her arm, hip, belly, and breasts as she moved. The next touch to her foot was more insistent—warm and wet, sensual and playful. Unwilling to give up sleep, she drew her feet up and away. The mattress depressed and shifted as the owner of the touch followed her feet. This time the contact was less gentle, teeth scraped against her sensitive arch before nipping at her ankle. A few halfhearted kicks did nothing to deter her tormentor; instead the heavy weight of male shoulders fell across her thighs and the warm lips and tongue which had been tormenting her feet started in on the sensitive skin of her belly. His teeth pinched the flesh just below her belly button, tugging the skin and sending quick shocks of pleasure-pain through the nerves of her belly to dart into her nipples and sex. Resigned to the idea that her tormentor would not let up his torture until she dealt with him, the Priestess decided to make the best of what she considered to be a bad situation. Slipping one hand beneath the covers, she caught a hold of a thick hank of hair and used it to guide the talented lips to her left nipple. “Suck.” The order lacked her usual tone of command, her voice husky and soft with sleep. Anleeh’s soft reply of, “Yes, Priestess,” was muted against her breast. Then all there was in the world were supple lips, rough teeth, and a wet tongue upon her nipple. Her breasts were soft and loose from sleep, the skin sensitive from the continued rubbing against the sheets. First there were feather light kisses against the areole, these moved to longer, open mouth kisses which pressed his hot wet breath to her skin so that every time his lips lifted the skin was cooled. Before long her nipple had beaded up tight and hard, flushing a deep pink. Over this hard tissue he raked strong white teeth, letting the edge of his teeth bump over every distorted ridge of sensitive flesh. Finally he took the very tip between his lips, tugging gently. When she arched her breast into his face and pulled his hair, Anleeh obeyed her silent command and took the whole nipple into his mouth, drawing on it with hard, strong pulls which drew the blood into her nipple and pressed her flesh against the inflexible corners of his teeth. With a moan of pleasure, the Priestess threw back the covers so she could watch his dark head hover over her breast. The sight of a man worshiping her body, savoring the taste of her flesh, was familiar but never failed to excite her. Grabbing another hank of hair, the Priestess pulled his head away from her breast. Eyes submissively lowered, Anleeh waited, perfectly still, for her next command. “Why have you woken me, slave?” She caught a quick flash of green iris when he stole a glance before answering. “This morning it is my pleasure to wake you, Priestess.” “But it is not my pleasure to be woken.” “My most humble pardon, Priestess.”

“Is the purpose of your existence not to please me in all things?” She put steel into her words, reminding him that he had reason to fear displeasing her. “As always, Priestess, it is my greatest desire to please you at all times, in all things.” Smiling to herself, the Priestess untangled her fist from his hair. “Out of my bed, present yourself to me for inspection.” Slowly the naked male specimen emerged from beneath the covers, hopping lightly from the edge of the raised bed. “Face the wall; I want to see your ass.” Anleeh obediently turned his face to the far wall of her chamber. He positioned himself with legs spread wide, shoulders back, arms raised with fingers linked behind his head. The position displayed and flexed the muscles of his thighs and back. The Priestess turned on her side, enjoying the view. He was a pale cream, the skin a darker bronze on his shoulders and arms where his armor left his flesh exposed. His legs were tightly muscled with nice, thick thighs leading up into a high, tight ass. She could see the base of the anal plug she made him wear at night protruding from the cheeks of his ass. “Clench your ass. I don’t want to see the base of the plug.” His ass flexed powerfully as he obeyed, a small groan escaping his lips as he forced the plug deeper inside himself, the edges of the base biting into the cheeks. “Tighter, tighter. Good boy.” With a satisfied smile at his obedience, the Priestess pulled the covers over her head and prepared to go back to sleep. Less than a minute later, long bronze arms reached under the covers, hooking under her back and knees and unceremoniously dragging her out. “Agh! Damn you, put me down.” This time Anleeh did nothing to hide his smile or his laugh. “I beg forgiveness, Priestess, but as much as I would love to please you in all things, you do need to get up.” She halfheartedly smacked his shoulder as he began striding through the chamber with her held securely in his arms. Glaring into his smiling face, she resigned herself to being awake. “How nice of you to have pretended obedience for a few moments.” “Priestess, how you wound me; I am always your most obedient slave.” “No, Moregon is my most obedient slave, you are the most irritating.” His laugh vibrated through her body as he carried her, his step sure and quick. They had left the Priestess’s private quarters and were headed down the concealed hallway which led to the slave quarters. “I’ll have you flogged for laughing at me.” “Never at you, Priestess, and though it would be my pleasure to have you flay the skin from my bones, I hope that you do see the irony of the fact that the most powerful woman in the world’s greatest weakness is that she is so grumpy in the morning.” Finally beginning to truly wake up, the Priestess laughed with him, the sound like bells. “Put me down, I can walk from here.” Reluctantly, Anleeh released her, letting her body slide down his as he lowered her to the floor. Bowing from the waist, he waited until she had started forward before he submissively fell in step behind her. From this angle he was able to watch the tight jiggle

of her firm ass, her long hair kissing the tops of the cheeks. She was grace personified, sensual and playful with an unbending core of power. Only twenty-one, the spiritual well being of their world rested on her shoulders; it was a heavy load for her to bear, and though he and the other Zinahs tried to take some of the burden from her, in the end, it was she alone who brought the grace of the Goddess into their world. Anleeh followed her through the rune-covered archway which led into the Zinah’s quarters. The slave quarters were sumptuous, floors and walls covered in the finest fabrics and furs, but there were clear signs everywhere that this was not simply a sleeping area; indeed, most bedchambers did not have a wall lined with cuffs, whips, floggers, and anal plugs, among other things “Good morning, Zinahs.” At her greeting, a large mound of blankets moved, one by one the coverings thrown to the floor in a tangle of color and texture around the gigantic circular cushion which served as a bed for all five Zinahs. A mesh of limbs, from the palest cream to gold to black separated out into four men. One by one they stood, stretching briefly before dipping into low bows before the Priestess. “Present yourselves to me.” At the familiar command, the four newly risen Zinahs moved obediently across the room, Anleeh leaving his position at her back to join them. They had been together for five years and every morning of those five years they performed the same ritual. They were the Zinahs, the chosen protectors of the Priestess. They alone were the most trusted men of the Temple and the only people to ever touch the sacred body of the Priestess, but they paid for that privilege with their freedom. While in the old language, Zinah meant slave, it had come to be a title of respect equal to that of lord or general, for while they were slaves to the Priestess, outside these chambers they were the most feared warriors in the world. The presentation bar was nestled in a large alcove on the far side of the chamber. Positioned waist high off the floor, the bar was nearly twenty feet long and as thick around as a young sapling. With practiced ease, each man positioned himself, bent over the bar at the waist, hands against the floor on one side, feet touching the floor, legs spread, on the other. They lined up along the bar in order of rank, each one settling quietly into the submissive presentation position. Spread as they were, some of the softest parts of their bodies were open and vulnerable to the Priestess’s touch. From the mounds of their asses and soft inner thighs to their cocks and sacs pressed backwards between their legs by the curve of the bar, they were vulnerable to inspection and torment. Moving to the south end of the bar, the Priestess began her morning ritual inspection. Moregon, her bull, was by far the largest of her Zinahs. He alone was of the same race as she. Tanned and blonde, standing erect he towered over her by a full head. In the beautiful irony that was life, he was the gentlest and the quietest. When it was his turn to sleep by her and then wake her, he always crawled beneath the covers and rubbed her feet, sometimes for an hour, without making a sound. Though she still woke up grumpy, it was usually markedly less so than when faced with the wicked wit of the others. He was a careful man, and an amazing farmer. It was for this reason that he had been chosen

to serve as the Priest of agriculture, the fifth of the Zinahs. During his training he had spent hours poring over religious tomes relating to agriculture. He had set up several small gardens around the Temple where he patiently experimented with different types of seeds in different soils. He would ask, in his soft, deep voice, for her to please apply a certain spell to a bed of experimental crop, always taking notes in a simple, precise hand. She rubbed his left ass cheek, squeezing the flesh between her fingers before firmly grasping the base of the plug which protruded from his ass. Moregon gasped as she tugged on it. “What duties do you intend to perform today, Moregon?” “If it pleases you, Priestess, I will continue to work on my experiments with a heartier strain of barley in the morn, while this afternoon I will head to the fields in the south land to aid the turning of soil for the fields which were burned.” The Priestess sighed; the King had been angry with her and, as punishment, had burned the fields belonging to a small village beyond the Great City. “My thanks to you for the aid you give them.” “There are no thanks needed, Priestess; it is my duty, honor, and pleasure to serve you in all things.” When he spoke those words, willingly reaffirming his slavery, the air shivered; it was old magic, the willing sacrifice of freedom for a greater cause. With his slavery reconfirmed by his own pledge, the Priestess began to slowly extract the plug which had filled him through the night, reminding him of his submission. Slowly and surely she applied pressure, pulling back, bracing herself with a hand on his ass. She twisted the plug as she pulled, watching shivers race up and down Moregon’s spine. The utter helplessness to control their reaction to the plugs is what had steered the Priestess’s decision to force them to sleep with them in each night. When the tight ring of muscle finally gave under the pressure and the plug slipped out with a small groan from Moregon, the Priestess slipped the plug into a box to be cleaned and, with a final pat to Moregon’s upturned ass, moved down the line. Sesah, the next in line, and the Priest of conduct, would be working all day in the outer courts of the Temple initiating new men and women into the Temple life, teaching everything from proper dress to table manners. In addition to educating the general populace about Temple customs, he was also a skilled warrior who helped with the training of the new soldiers. He had a lethal grace, unique to him; not as heavily muscled as the others, he was poised in the extreme. Black hair was folded into the ritual knot of his people on the top of his head. His eyes, equally dark, were intense, glittering with fierce intelligence. He had been known to break men with merely his presence and a glance from those disquieting eyes. “Sesah, what duties do you intend to perform?” While he detailed a day of training and instruction to a new group of people who had come seeking sanctuary, the Priestess reached beneath him and stroked his flaccid cock, pressing it between her hand and the wood, working it roughly until it hardened. The strain became apparent in his voice, his words now coming in short, stilted sentences. When he finally finished his list of duties, she moved her hand from his cock to his balls, cupping them while gripping the base of his plug with her other hand; that was all the signal he needed. With a deep breath, he repeated the ritual words, “It is my duty, honor, and pleasure to serve you in all things.” One sharp, hard tug removed the plug, a cry escaping his lips, his cock twitching

against the beam, nearly coming. With a squeeze to his balls, she left him to regain his breath. Anleeh, that morning’s alarm clock, would be hearing cases all morning. As the Priest of law, he spent most of the day sitting and listening to people from every walk of life air their grievances. In the past year, his job had been especially trying as complaints poured in over the injustices and violations perpetrated on the people by the King. Once he had stated his schedule and repeated the ritual pledge of service, she tormented him by using the plug to fuck him once she pulled the widest part from behind his tight ring of muscle. It was a sweet punishment for waking her up. Within a minute his cock was hard, his hips moving against the beam helplessly as she manipulated him nearly to orgasm with the anal plug. When he was near climax, she removed the plug and moved on, leaving him gasping. Rohaj, the Priest of military training for beginning and intermediary soldiers was a statuesque man with ebony skin. He was completely hairless from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The beautiful contrast of his dark skin against her pale flesh was enough to send shivers through her. Today he would be working with a group of brand new soldiers, teaching them ‘which side of the sword to hold’ as he jokingly put it. Ruby studs glittered in his ears and nose, while a small gold ring graced each nipple. He was the only one with any piercings, and she loved to torment him with the small bits of jewelry. His voice was deep and as dark as his skin. When he was angry, it deepened to the growl of a hell-bound beast It was enough to make her shiver and possibly run and hide if she wasn’t so sure that he would die before hurting her. His plug was larger than the others’, deliberately so. When he first came to the Temple, he had hated her, hated this life, and hated his slavery. It had been a hard fight, an uphill battle to make him understand what it truly meant to be a Zinah. For that reason, she continually used more tools, more symbols of bondage and slavery on him than on the others. Though she now trusted him implicitly, it was a reminder of what they had gone through to bring him understanding. The larger plug and the piercings were her symbols upon his body. When his ass was also free of its nightly invader, she moved to the last and highest ranked of her Zinahs. Tamlohn. The first to come to her, he knew her better than any other living being. They had met when they were only sixteen, bound by fate at that tender age. He was tall, not as tall as Moregon, but a half head higher than her, his body long and lean with sleek muscles barely concealed by his golden skin. Fiery and passionate, his red hair matched his personality, while his quick and clever mind was hidden behind a pair of lavender eyes. Those eyes were his most captivating feature, so unique that it had taken months for her to get used to the feel of the violet gaze on her. With a deep breath she pressed her fingers to his hip, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she spoke. “Good morning, Ahgarah.” **** At the first touch of her hand against his hip, magic shot between them. Tamlohn heard her indrawn breath even as his own breath left his lungs in a rush. The first touch after they had been parted for long hours was always powerful, almost overwhelming.

Her magic skittered and danced under his skin. He knew she could feel him; more surely than the hand on his hip felt his skin, her magic touched his soul. His arousal, the most prominent of his emotions, danced from his body into hers, carrying with it other feelings, some of them so faint that they existed as no more than a breath of wind in his mind. Anger and jealously were there, faint but present. Joy at her touch, at her presence, overlaid these darker emotions. But it was his love for her, a deep, true love, which was a constant thrum inside him. If emotions had colors, his love would have been an overarching tint which distorted and heightened everything else he felt for her. He could feel her deep pleasure, almost contentment, as she touched his love-tinted soul. His love was a touchstone for her, a place of perfect peace in a world that could be mad. In repayment for this great gift he gave her, she responded in the only way possible: an equally deep and true love. Every muscle in his body went limp as he felt her love sweep though him, riding her magic, to touch his soul. He was the Prima Zinah, first bodyguard to the Priestess and General of her Army. The most powerful man in the Temple, his word was second only to hers. A warrior of unsurpassed skill, he was the leader of the private Temple army and trainer to the advanced soldiers. Only he had pledged first to the Goddess and then to the Priestess herself. This meant that in times of strife, he alone could overrule the Priestess, usually when it came to keeping her safe. He had been the first to come to her, and only his death would take him from her. He spoke, drawing in breath as best as possible from his bent over position. “Good morrow to you, Ahgarah. Today I plan to continue training of the advanced soldiers…” **** She let his words flow over her, not really listening, instead taking this moment to relax in his presence. Careful to cut herself off from the other Zinahs, she let her magic pour into the man she loved. What they had between them was forbidden. She never would and never could marry and he, as the Prima, had pledged to serve her until his death while the others could opt to retire if suitable replacements were ever found. When his silence penetrated her wandering mind, she hastily reached for the plug securely lodged within him, and then waited for him to repeat the ritual words. “It is my duty, honor, and pleasure to serve you in all things, Ahgarah.” Ahgarah, it meant beloved in the old tongue and no one but they two knew it. When he addressed her as Ahgarah, and she responded the same way, they were misleading the others, letting them think it was one of the privileges between Priestess and Prima that they address each other that way, a lie they were both willing to tell, a spoken reminder of what they felt for each other. He said it with the same respect and honor for her station that he used when he called her Priestess. With one smooth motion she removed the plug from his ass, stroking his thigh as his body clenched. Stepping back from him, she surveyed them, their submissively upturned asses bringing her arousal to the surface. Carefully battering down her forbidden feelings for Tamlohn, she opened herself to all of them, letting her magic flow through them and her arousal with it. “Rise, pets.” Gracefully unfolding, her five slaves stood. As rich in color and texture as the

chamber around them, each was a sensual delight in his own right, but together they were ecstasy made flesh. They stood attentively, eyes on her, waiting to see if she would delight them all with play or if today they would immediately dress and disperse to their different tasks. “Come, let us play.” Rohaj, Anleeh, and Tamlohn grinned. Sesah simply inclined his head and Moregon ducked, pink tinting his cheeks. The Priestess turned and led the way through an arch into another large alcove off the main room. The room was heavily carpeted in large mats and pillows. There was a single piece of furniture, a wide blue chaise, raised at one end so that one could recline partially sitting up. Without a word, the Priestess stretched herself out upon the couch, completely at ease with her nudity. Leaning back comfortably, she tossed a hand over her head and bent one knee, displaying her body to perfection. One by one her slaves knelt on the soft cushions around the chaise; all five cocks were now at least semi-hard merely at the promise of play. Semi-hard was not what she wanted; she wanted them full and aching, near weeping with desire for her, and what the Priestess wanted, she got. “Link hands.” Each man gripped the one next to him, but rather than clasping hands, grasped the forearm of his neighbor so they formed a secure circle around the chaise. The Priestess reached out to Sesah who knelt at her right near her head and placed her hand over his heart. With a cry, his body bowed back, the other men’s grips the only thing holding him up. Her desire rode a punch of power into his body, filling every molecule of his being; for a moment she let him suffer it, watched her power dance behind his skin so that he glowed from within, his cock standing up painfully hard against his belly, before condensing the power into a globe behind Sesah’s breastbone and then moving it into his shoulder and then down his arm where it fed into Rohaj through his hand. She held it inside Rohaj for a moment, causing him to hunch forward and gasp for breath, his body glowing with a dark light, like the moonlight through a canopy of leaves. Once his cock had risen to stand awaiting her pleasure, she once again condensed the power before guiding the globe into Anleeh. She held the power inside each one of them long enough to bring his body to painful arousal. Opening herself to their feelings, her body arched as their cravings flowed into her. Desire crawled under their skin, rippling in waves; she could see herself through their eyes, her body long and lean with full breasts and hips, her nipples hard, standing proudly from her breasts, a deep pink. Against the blue brocade of the chaise, her body glowed like gold. She shifted her legs, lowering her raised knee and parting her legs. Around the circle, they reacted to the smell of her sex, some gasping, moaning, others hunching forward as their desire was magnified. Closing her eyes, she looked at herself through their eyes while their desire wavered on the knife-edge of painful, their minds near madness. Slowly and deliberately, she raised her hands and placed them on her own breasts, feeling the supple skin, her nipples like diamonds, small and hard. She pinched them, hard, her body arching up into her own hands. Trailing her hands from her breasts to her belly, she brought them together over her belly button headed towards her mons. The only sound in the room was rapid breathing, broken by moans of desire. She could see in

their minds what they wanted. They wanted her long slender fingers to slide into her sex, parting the petals for them to see the deep riches within, wanted her to hold herself open, invite their tongues, fingers and cocks in. Slowly, slowly her fingers moved, the tips just ruffling the blond hairs, petting them softly. The anticipation was at a fever pitch, all of them waiting for her hands to reach her soft, vulnerable sex. “I can’t!” With a broken cry, Moregon lunged towards her. Anleeh and Tamlohn, on either side of him, struggled to hold him still, their fingers gripping his arms so hard that they stood out white against his flesh. Turning to her left, she looked at him where he knelt, struggling against the hold of the other Zinahs. “Moregon, look at me, look into my eyes.” As always, he obeyed. She held his gaze, her eyes glowing with power; the desire still raged through his body, beyond his conscious control, but she held him, with her gaze alone, she held him. “Sesah,” She spoke without taking her eyes off Moregon. “Five collars, a stand, clamps, a bowl, and a flogger.” She felt, rather than saw, him move from the room. “Moregon, tell me why I am going to punish you.” “Because I lost control.” “And why did you lose control?” For a moment he was silent, looking into her eyes. He was no novice to submission; he had lived with her for five years. “Because it was your will that I do so, Priestess.” She smiled at him. “That is true. So is there any shame in your loss of control?” “No, Priestess.” “But will I whip you for it?” For a moment he smiled, though his breath was still labored, his body shaking with desire. “If it pleases you to, Priestess, and I suspect it does.” She threw back her head and laughed, “You are right, it does please me.” At that moment Sesah re-entered the room, his arms full of equipment. “Tamlohn, collars on everyone. Sesah, set up the stand. Everyone else, hands on your heads.” Tamlohn took the collars from Sesah and, one by one, fastened the brown leather collars around each man’s neck. A single ring sat in the center of each collar. Tamlohn knelt by her side and obediently fastened the collar around his own neck. Sesah had secured the four-foot metal post into a slot in the floor two feet from the edge of the chaise. A pair of leather cuffs with buckles were attached to the top of the pole—called the stand, because when fastened into those manacles, you were forced to stand up, for as long as the Priestess wanted. “Moregon!” Her voice was sharp, causing him to jump. “Stand up, position yourself to be strapped in.” Immediately he rose, standing with his back to the pole, holding his arms behind him while Sesah fastened him securely. “Spread you legs, wider, wider still.” His legs were now three feet apart, his arms drawn up behind him. Her arousal grew at seeing him displayed and bound so submissively for her pleasure. Taking the flogger in hand, she remained reclining on the chaise. With a casual flick of her wrist, she brought twenty lengths of leather thudding

against his right thigh. He grunted and shifted just in time for the next blow to fall on his left thigh. She gave him five on each leg, his thighs blushing pink. The others were kneeling, their hands behind their heads, watching his punishment with hungry eyes. The fire of arousal, banked by the preparation for Moregon’s punishment, was back in full force. The Priestess herself was nearing her limit; her sex was so slick and wet that every movement of her legs caused her pussy lips to rub against each other. She wanted them, all of them, craved their touch. Most mornings one or two would get the pleasure of actually touching her, while the others were brought to orgasm when she linked to them at the point of climax, but today she wanted more. Sitting up, she motioned to Rohaj. “Come, up on the chaise.” She stood briefly while he rose and then positioned himself on his back on the chaise. “Hands above your head, Rohaj. Tamlohn, help me.” Tamlohn stood with her next to the chaise, a question on his face. Quickly, for she was impatient now, she knelt astride Rohaj’s legs, facing his feet. Tamlohn’s eyes widened as he realized what she wanted; moving closer, he held out an arm for her to brace herself against. Reaching beneath her spread thighs, she grasped Rohaj’s thick cock and guided it to her waiting pussy; slowly she sank on it, just a few inches, coating the tip with her cream. Lifting, she pulled his cock from her pussy and, angling her body, positioned the head of his cock at the tight entrance to her ass. She heard Rohaj suck in his breath. It was always a great privilege for their cocks to be allowed inside her body in any way, let alone in this dark entrance. With a low, throaty moan, the Priestess began to lower herself onto Rohaj’s cock. It was so thick that the pleasure danced with pain. She gripped Tamlohn’s forearm with one hand, the other behind her braced against Rohaj’s chest. Rohaj’s breath was coming hard and fast. “Priestess, please, I must, I must move.” “Move and I will have your cock in a vice for a week.” With her, this was no idle threat. “Tamlohn, give him five across the chest to calm him down.” Immediately Tamlohn picked up the flogger and landed five brutal blows, carefully avoiding her hand, each one punctuated by a guttural grunt. The Priestess continued to use his cock as her personal toy, sinking down until she was sitting on his thighs. “Ah, yes, it has been too long since I have had one of you in here,” She wiggled back and forth slightly, a strangled sound coming from between Rohaj’s clenched teeth. “Sesah, Anleeh, to me.” They both rose, coming eagerly to the couch. Without any discussion, she hooked a finger in each man’s collar and pulled their heads to her breasts; immediately each nipple was engulfed by a warm mouth. Sesah was more apt to use teeth to bite, the lovely sting just what she was in the mood for. “Anleeh, more teeth.” Immediately she felt teeth dig into her left nipple, the pain darting down into her still empty sex. Hands hooked into the collars of the men on her breasts, she looked at Tamlohn. They both knew where she wanted his cock. Rarely would she let any but him into her sex. “Come to me.” The Priestess watched him approach, crawling up from the bottom of the chaise. She

shifted her legs apart, bracing them on the shoulders of the men kneeling on the ground. When he was close enough, she pulled him to her, making him brace his hands on either side of her, against Rohaj’s chest, his chest brushing the backs of the heads of the men at her breasts. “Now, my pretty slaves, none of you may come until I do and until I give you permission. Anleeh and Sesah, if your lips leave my nipples for even one moment, your cocks will feel my displeasure. Rohaj, you will not move. Tamlohn, come closer. Bring your cock all the way into me, carefully, and then brace yourself against Rohaj; you are not allowed to move after that.” Tamlohn moved forward and, after carefully placing the head of his cock at the entrance to her sex, inched his cock into her. She was unbearably full; neither of them were small and the cock in her ass made it hard for him to get his cock into her tight sex. Inch by inch he slid in, making a place for himself inside of her; when he was at last snugly inside, he stilled, his arms braced against Rohaj, holding himself up to give the men at her breasts room to work her with lips, teeth, and tongue. Tilting her head back, she lay fully against Rohaj, reveling for a moment in her own power. These five dominant beings utterly under her power, hers to torture and torment. She could feel their arousal, their need for her, only her. The mouths at her nipples were relentless: sucking, biting, nibbling, and lapping. The constant pleasure/pain from her nipples only made the fullness in her pussy that much more delightful. She loved the feeling of two cocks inside of her, pressing into every part of her, so full it was as if they three were one, fused at their sexes. Using her legs as leverage where they were braced against the men’s shoulders, she slowly began to ride the cocks, fucking herself on both of them. Low moans escaped both men as her tight body rode up and down, but they held still as she had ordered, their will, their need, completely subservient to her own. She rocked her hips, back and forth, up and down, just enough movement to please her. Turning, she looked at Moregon, bound and displayed for her only a foot away, his face a study in misery as he watched the others pleasure her. Increasing the tempo of her rocking, the Priestess felt herself close to an orgasm. The muscles low in her belly had pulled tight, her pussy now continually clenching around Tamlohn’s cock, the muscles in her ass spasming as she fucked herself on Rohaj. Once, twice, three times she slammed herself down upon her slaves’ cocks. Her body exploded, her magic swelling beneath her skin. It was perfect pleasure, every part of her attended to. Like a black diamond in its brilliance, perfect submission and obedience made flesh in the five Zinahs, power and earth taking form in her. Tamlohn closed his eyes. As she came, her body glowed with a golden light so bright it hurt to look upon, her pussy fluttering and clenching around his cock. He gritted his teeth, using every ounce of will not to come; she had not given him permission. The men at her breasts had taken her nipples between their teeth and were sucking hard, keeping the orgasm dancing at its pinnacle. Her voice was power and magic laced when she spoke, echoing slightly within the room as her magic tinted the syllables, “Anleeh, fetch the bowl.” As Anleeh moved away from the couch she could see his cock standing up hard against his belly, glistening with pre-cum. With Sesah still sucking one nipple, the Priestess picked up the flogger. “Anleeh, go

to Moregon.” Obediently, Anleeh knelt at the bound man’s feet. Whoosh, smack, using one arm the Priestess brought the flogger against Moregon’s belly, the muscles in his chest rippling in reaction. Whoosh, smack, “Now, my pretty Zinah, I will give you eight more.” Smack, smack, the flogger hit his already reddened thighs. “The tenth blow will be directly on your cock; at that time you will come. Do you understand?” “Yes, Priestess, when you flog my cock, I am to come.” Smack, smack, “The rest of you watch Moregon as I bring him. Remember that everything you feel, pleasure and pain, is my will, the flogger is an extension of me, the flogger connects him to me.” Blows seven, eight, and nine fell on his belly and inner thighs, inches away from the final target. Drawing her arm back the Priestess delivered the tenth blow to his vulnerable cock, the lashes wrapping themselves around the shaft, a few kissing his sac where it hung defenseless between his thighs. On a guttural cry he came, Anleeh holding the bowl to catch his seed as it spurted from him. The Priestess came again at the sight, an orgasm clenching her body around the cocks still inside her. Wrapping her arms around Tamlohn’s shoulders, she slowly lifted herself off Rohaj, his cock slipping from her ass. Rohaj slipped from the couch, anticipating her wishes. “On your back so I can ride you.” Tamlohn turned them both, taking Rohaj’s place on his back on the chaise, his cock still firmly inside her. “Anleeh, you’re next; would you like me to bring you with the flogger or stroke yourself with your hand?” He bowed his head, “As the Priestess pleases.” She smiled, “This time I give you true free choice, what would you like?” “Then I will opt to bring myself, if it pleases you.” She inclined her head, “It does. The rest of you will also come the same way.” Obediently, each of the three kneeling men took their cocks in hand, fists squeezing, working themselves. Each was already so close, only years of training had prevented them from coming when she did. She loved to watch them working their own cocks, each one’s stroke very different. Sesah preferred long hand strokes to the very end, Anleeh would pump himself like a man crazed, while Rohaj always started slow—only when he gave himself over would he pump quickly, the muscles of his arm straining, his face contorted. As her slaves worked themselves, she began rocking on Tamlohn’s cock. Switching her gaze to the man beneath her, she locked eyes with him. In the moment lavender eyes met bright blue, a world of communication passed between them. With their eyes they asked and answered all the questions their lips could not speak. Good morning. I missed you. How are you? You look beautiful, handsome, wonderful… Do I please you? Do you still love me? Can you still love me? Yes, yes, yes in this world and the next. Yes, yes, yes, my own, my love. Power spiked in the room as their emotions flared. The three on the floor cried out as her power pushed into their cocks, filling them and surrounding them at the same time. Moregon cried out piteously as his cock rose again. With a mental flick, the Priestess undid his cuffs, allowing him to drop on unsteady legs and kneel beside the others. Tamlohn’s hands came up, his fingers rolling her nipples, feeling the tightness in her

sex and knowing that they were approaching a place they could only go when they, all six, were together. Riding his cock now, faster and faster, rolling her hips and then alternating by rising up and slamming herself down once more, the Priestess’s breath grew shallow. The hands on Tamlohn’s chest flexed, nails digging like claws into the smooth flesh and muscle there. “I am close, my Zinahs. When I come, you come with me. Let us go to a place beyond here.” Lifting herself for the final thrusts, she raised her hands over her head, the palms mirroring each other, offering up what they six did as a sacrifice of emotion, sex, and seed to the Goddess. Once, twice, three times she brought her body down on the stone hard shaft of the Zinah beneath her. With a high cry, like a bird taking flight, she came, her power gathering first in her body and then bleeding to them so they were encompassed in a circle of light, a piece of the sun made earthbound by magic. For a moment they hovered there, bodies straining in the throes of orgasm, the men’s hands tight on their cocks. Tamlohn’s cock fed her body with its seed, buried deep inside her, his hands digging into her hips to hold their groins tight together. The golden glow of the Priestess’s power showed on the men where they had touched her, as if their skin had been inked by contact with hers. Rohaj’s dark cock looked dipped in gold while his chest shimmered from the contact with her back. Anleeh’s and Sesah’s mouths and chins were painted gold as if they had kissed the sun. Moregon’s thighs, belly, and cock were traced with lines of gold, the whip having served as her touch on his body. For a perfect, endless moment, they existed in the power, they were the power, Goddess touched; for a moment they were divine. The circle exploded, thrown outwards from their bodies like the ripples of a pebble in a pond, but a thousand times faster, streaking through the room and into the Temple, an invisible ring of power. Most in the Temple were sensitive enough to feel it as it rushed through their bodies. It would be a good day for all who felt it; to be touched by the power of the Goddess was a rare and beautiful thing. Moaning, they who had manifested the power collapsed; only Tamlohn, who was already reclining, did not. Instead, he opened his arms to the Priestess as she slid forward onto his chest. With her lying there against his chest, piles of blond hair hiding their faces, he turned and pressed a forbidden kiss against her lips.

Chapter 3 The Priestess knelt before the altar, lips moving as she silently repeated the ritual prayer. Tonight was the new moons, and there was a special prayer said on each day of the moons’ four phases. Her hands moved slowly before her, circling and twining, shaping the air into the form of two glowing blue orbs. She drew on the natural power that existed in all things. The stone floor of the Temple room glowed slightly while the trees in the atrium directly behind the altar swayed in a breeze that did not exist. She could feel the steady thrum of the Zinahs in her mind. They were there, in her head and heart, quietly waiting. Though they went about their daily tasks whenever she performed rituals, they made sure to stay especially attuned to her. Sesah attended her today; he knelt on a small cushion to her right. His legs were spread wide while his arms were folded behind his back stretching his chest. His cock dangled harmlessly between his thighs, but she knew he was fighting to keep it soft. The free flowing magic that bounced through the altar room was a mild aphrodisiac. Had she so much as glanced at him, her power-brightened eyes would have brought him instantly to full arousal. The glowing orbs, replicas of the moons, were now fully formed, a pale blue that was darkening and deepening with each second that she poured power into them. The smaller, female moon, Akita, started spinning on its own. Whirring like a top, it danced in the air in front of her face. She extended her left hand, letting the larger, male moon, Ishlay, rest there. With her right hand, she guided the female moon towards her lips. For a moment, as she brought it to her face, her field of vision was filled with a glowing blue so dark it was black before the globe of magic entered her body through her lips. Accustomed as she was to the sparkling sensation of magic moving under her skin, it still never failed to delight her. Lights danced inside her closed eyes and sparkled in the skin of her face. Her lips felt full and swollen; she kept them parted and breathed deliberately through her mouth, letting her breath caress them. Slowly the magic descended through the slim column of her throat, skirting behind her collarbone, before splitting to flow into each breast, lighting them from within. The feeling was undeniably sensual—the nerves in her nipples sent shots of pleasure down into her pussy—but it was more. The magic made her feel her breasts not just as sexual objects, but as symbols of Woman. These breasts, her breasts, nurtured and fed all of humanity—she was the sustenance for all the world. The tingling in her nipples faded as the magic reunited behind her breast bone before swirling through her belly and, slowly, teasingly, coming to rest in her sex. The magic swelled her sex, filling every plump petal and deep hollow. She felt that deep thrum of sensual need more sharply now; her clit began to pulse in time with her heartbeat. But, as with her breasts, her sex was more than just an organ of pleasure. She was the giver of life, Woman, the earth itself. She was the High Priestess, the Goddess’s mouthpiece and servant upon the earth. She was more powerful, more beautiful, and more alive than words could describe. In one part of her mind, she could feel the increasing arousal of the Zinahs as they felt her body humming with need, and their confusion at the other things

she was feeling. They never would, never could understand the true power of Woman. Reveling in the power—knowing it was a form of reaffirmation and thanks from the Goddess—she let the light that filled her sex help to banish the shadows in her mind, the worries that rested upon her heart. Cupping her hand over her sex, the ball of magic emerged from her skin now embedded with the essence of Woman. With a sigh, she cast her hand up, throwing the mini Akita into the air where it hung suspended and still above her head. Turning her attention to her left hand, she poured more power into Ishlay until it began to spin and swirl as Akita had. “Sesah, to me,” she said. Moving his hands from behind his back, he shifted on to all fours and began to crawl towards her. He circled slowly behind her until he approached from her left side. When he was a yard from her, he stopped and pressed his head to the floor. Raising his head, he crawled forward only to stop and again touch his head to the shimmering floor. When he repeated the motion once more and lowered his head to the floor for the last time, the crown was only inches from her knee. “Well done, Zinah. Rise up now and display yourself for me.” He knelt up, spreading his knees once more and lacing his fingers behind his head. Mmmmmm, he looked delectable like this. His long dark hair was folded into the ritual knot of his people on the top of his head. Despite his lethal grace, in this moment there was stillness about him. His dark, silted eyes were black and intense. He understood better than any of the others that the power of ritual was in the process, not in the end result. In his home culture, ritual was an important part of everyday life, and the patience he had learned from those early years made him a perfect ritual companion, as well as a sensual delight. “Do you understand what I am going to do, Sesah?” “Yes Priestess, it is my pleasure to serve you, and the Goddess, in this way.” Leaning towards him, she stroked the side of his face and smiled. He sucked in his breath, his cock springing to attention. The combination of her touch and the magic that emanated from her was more than his self-control could handle. She frowned slightly, then sighed. “I am sorry, Sesah; I should not have done that. I do not mean to make it harder on you. Can you get yourself under control?” Closing his eyes, he mentally ran through a series of fighting moves, trying to use the mental exercise to decrease his erection. However, this merely led to thinking about when he had trained her in the fighting arts of his people, and how graceful and sexual she had been while executing the moves. With a groan, he shook his head, “No, Priestess, please forgive me.” “There is no need for forgiveness, I know that you tried.” She reached out and grasped his balls, squeezing them while pinching the nerve just behind. His cock jerked and jumped, at first finding pleasure in her touch. She increased the pressure, crushing the soft sac of his balls and pinching harder on the nerve until his erection deflated. Through the process, he maintained a stoic silence. “Rest a moment,” she said, carefully keeping her eyes and hands off him. The chamber was filled with the sound of his even breathing and the deep thrum of magic. She examined the foliage in the atrium that covered the back third of the altar room. She would have Moregon look at the small flowered bush, it seemed to be

drooping… “Priestess, I am ready.” She nodded, still not looking at him, and began to speak. “Today you serve as the embodiment of the Male. You will provide the essence of that which is male to this ball of magic which is a representation of Ishlay. You will accept the magic through your lips. It will travel through your body to reside in your cock. I will withdraw it with my lips. You are to remain flaccid until the magic is inside your body and touches your cock. When you reach orgasm, your body will expel the magic with your seed inside.” “I understand.” “Very good. Then we begin. Open your lips.” His lips obediently parted as her left hand brought the madly swirling ball of magic closer to him. She felt a brief resistance as the globe pressed against his face, but she pushed and the magic slipped inside his skin through his lips. His face was lit from within. It was both beautiful and horrifying to see the veins and tendons in his face backlit through his skin. His eyes, normally black, were now a brilliant blue. The muscles in his chest and arms fluttered as his body absorbed the feeling of the sparkling magic. It began to move, first skittering down his throat, then slipping into his chest. It spread to fill every muscle, his nipples glowing brighter than any other part. His breath was now coming in gasps; his face was expressionless, the air hissing in and out between his clenched teeth. “Hold it, just a minute more, now, revel in the feeling. Think how good it will be when your cock finally swells to attention.” The magic rippled under the skin of his chest. Forming once more into a ball, it slipped down to the base of his cock and settled into his balls. Suddenly she gripped both his nipples, pinching them hard. His cock sprang to attention, the magic swelling his shaft hard and fast. His cock and balls now glowed with magic. Perfect. “Beautifully done, lie back now, Sesah,” she ordered, giving each nipple one last tweak. He slipped backwards, keeping his knees spread until he was lying with his legs spread, hands folded beneath his head. She slipped between his legs, gently tapping the inside of his thighs until he spread them wide enough to satisfy her. She knew that his body raged with arousal and, for a moment, her pleasure in the ritual dimmed. He should feel more. He should feel the essence of what it is to be Male; he should feel that his body was the seed that planted the earth, that the strength of the mountains was in his shoulders. If there were a true priest, a High King… She shook herself; now was not the time. Not when there was such a beautiful plaything here before her. Smiling once more, she lowered her face to his cock and blew across the tip. She watched his face while she traced the head with her tongue. His eyelids were fluttering, his throat working as he swallowed convulsively. Finally she wrapped one hand around the shaft and gave a gentle tug. His breath left in a whoosh of air and his hips bucked. With a small chuckle, she settled down to the task that had been erected before her. Her lips slid over the head, taking it into the hot cavern of her mouth. Her right hand

pumped the shaft while the left fondled his balls. She slipped his shaft into her mouth, reveling in the way that it filled her lips. Gently she tested his thickness with her teeth, eliciting a whimper from him. She stroked his belly reassuringly and gentled him with soft licks. With two inches of cock firmly inside her mouth, she sealed her lips and began to suck. Her tongue laved the thick vein on the underside from within the vacuum of her mouth. She increased the tempo of her pumping hand and began moving her head, bobbing it up and down along his shaft. She could feel his seed gathering in his balls, felt them drawing up closer to his body. Sliding one hand up his smooth belly, she pushed her thumb into his belly button. Pushing hard against the sensitive indented flesh, she set the nerves in his cock and thighs tingling. She increased the pace of her hand and head, jerking and pulling on his cock, her mouth hot and tight as his cock slid in and out. Suddenly he exploded, his climax roaring through him and into her; a wave of pleasure rippled across her belly, a low-grade orgasm. As he came, her mouth was filled with the magic, now enriched by his seed. She pumped him several additional times, milking him for each last drop. Pulling back, she could see no sign of a stray sparkling bit of magic beneath his skin. Satisfied that everything had gone right, she gently patted his spent sac and laid his deflating cock across his belly. Kneeling back, she pursed her lips and started to blow, as if blowing a bubble. Slowly the magic emerged from her mouth, swelling and inflating until a perfectly formed replica of the moon Ishlay hovered before her lips. With a smile she pushed the ball until it moved up in the air with the other orb. They fell into place, Ishlay slightly above and behind Akita. She glanced down at Sesah. His eyes were closed, his chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm. With a chuckle, she patted his cock and then rose. He deserved his rest, but there were many more things for her to get done this day. **** As the Priestess left, she hummed a gentle tune. The altar room was located on the North side of the Temple. As she walked, sunlight from the opened archways which supported the stone roof illuminated her, bits of light clinging to her even when she walked into shadows, as if the sun itself could not bear to be parted from her. Turning left, she moved deeper into the Temple, entering one of the main interior hallways and kept walking. After so many years, her feet knew every stone, every secret nook and hidden garden. She was naked, as she was often. Her body, as that of every female, had been crafted in the image of the Goddess, and so was not a thing to be ashamed of, but to be reveled in. Besides, when she did have to leave the Temple, she was swathed in miles of ceremonial garb. Naked was much better. Finally, she came to her destination, a large set of stone double doors. They were too heavy for any single person to move, but parted with a touch of her hand. She stopped just inside the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dark and cool. By touch, she reached into a chest near the door and drew out a simple robe, knowing from experience that the chamber was too cold to remain naked. Blinking against the dark, she reached for a candle stick. Holding the candle with her left hand, she touched the tip of her right

index finger to the wick. Immediately, a pure bright flame sprung up. She moved around the circular chamber, lighting the other candles in the same way, revealing the contents in the brightening room. One section of floor was covered with pillows on low benches and chairs. Several small desks were scattered about, and a supply chest sat against one wall. But the main feature of the room was the books. The chamber rose up three stories within the Temple—cutting through other floors—and every inch of those three stories was covered in shelves stuffed with books. They ranged from small diaries, full of handwriting so gnarled that no one in recorded memory had tried to decipher the words, to sets of large tablets that had been bound in leather. Here was the true wealth and power of the Temple: knowledge. The history, theology, and science of their world were written in these books. All this knowledge, she though bitterly, and no power to use it. She settled onto a cushioned bench and drew a much loved history text onto her lap. There was no need to open the book; she knew its contents by heart. Her fingers caressed the smooth worn leather as her mind drifted. The original Books, a set of rituals, were said to have been written by the first High King and Priestess after the uniting of the Lands between the Seas. For 100 years, the first High King ruled in tandem with the Priestess who he took to wife. It is said that the bloodline of the first link ruled for 500 years, their daughters and granddaughters sent to the Temple to train and each become Priestess in her time. When there was no female of that bloodline to take the position, or if she was found unworthy, the reigning King would marry the one chosen as Priestess, and so the bond between the high Palace and the Temple was kept strong. For many years, the title of Priestess was synonymous with that of Queen or Princess. The problems began when one of the lesser Kings began to rebel. After being continually defeated by the High King, he decided it was the Priestess who gave the High King his power. Through trickery and deceit, he captured the PriestessQueen, and her successor, her daughter the Princess, and killed them both. The High King, driven mad by the loss of his wife and daughter, walked into the forest never to be heard from again. With the kingdom and Temple in mourning, the usurper was able to take control. He ruled with no regard to the dictates of the Temple and turned his attention to destroying what was left of the Priestess-hood. The last remaining daughter of the King’s bloodline locked herself within the holiest part of the Temple for eight days and nights. Praying for guidance, she penned the second set of rituals, the Second Books, those that detailed the gathering of the Zinahs, outlining their duties. The eldest sons of five of the noblest houses, those that opposed the usurper, came to the Temple to be the first Zinahs and, through their combined power, restored the Temple. Despite their prayers and military efforts, lead by the first Prima, they were not able to take back control of the kingdom. The honest peasants fled, some into the Temple, others to the far-reaching kingdoms. The Great City, seat of the High Palace and the Temple, which stretched to fill the valley between the High Mountains, was laid to waste. From the dubious safety of the Temple the helpless Priestess had watched as the kingdom fell to ruin. Fifteen generations had passed since then. The power of the Zinahs kept the Temple strong enough that they were able to curb the destruction wrought by the descendants of the usurper. The Temple now functioned as a small city, sheltering families who had lived within the safety of its massive walls since the fall.

Each Priestess kept a journal detailing the plots and schemes that the King had perpetrated upon her in an effort to diminish the power of the Temple. The schemes had ranged from simple assassination attempts to laying siege to the Temple and attempting to starve them out. Many times, the Kings had tried to marry the Priestess and so claim the title of High King, for it was written in the Second Books that while the role of the Priestess was true and right, the King would never be High King until he could call himself the husband or father of the Priestess. Some had sent their daughters to the Temple, but none had been found worthy. And so it was that the title of true King, High King, was left unclaimed, and, in his place, the five Zinahs served in the Temple. The first five Priestesses after the coup, or the Dark War as the people called it, including the last High King’s daughter, wrote guidebooks on how to train and maintain the five Zinahs. The training books explained why power was split among them and why they must be slaves to the Priestess. The terms of the service of the Zinahs protected the Temple from having false Zinahs worm their way in and try to take control. The King was not entirely without input though. If, by the end of the first year of her term, the Priestess had not found suitable Zinahs from within the people of the Temple or the surrounding area, it was the right of the King to present candidates, and many had tried to send spies. However, the spies were either found out or so changed by the Zinahs training as to be devoted to the Priestess. But there were subtler, more clever ways to hurt the Temple and the Priestess, and the current King was a very clever man indeed. He brought her Tamlohn after a year of frantic searching had revealed no worthy candidate. Tamlohn had been the perfect candidate: intelligent, gifted, a fearsome fighter. But he had not come willingly; he had been bloodied and chained, taken as a prisoner of war. She could not refuse to take him as the Prima Zinah, and so the King had forced her to accept his spoils, and, for years afterwards, had proclaimed long and loud that this meant the Temple sanctioned the war. She had tried to counter what he was saying, but she was distracted at the time, fighting her own battle within the Temple walls… The great irony was that no matter what trick the King tried, no one could take the Priestess’s place. She, and she alone, could channel the Goddess, both to make Her wishes known to the people and to carry their prayers to Her. And the Priestesses paid for the lack of High King, too. For fifteen generations they were nameless, as a sign of remembrance for the times before the Dark War. Queen and Priestess Analisa and Princess and heir to the Priestess Rohmanii were the last recorded names, the names of the murdered. From that point, and continuing until the return of the High King, she and those who came before and after were known only as Priestess. Opening her eyes, she blinked slowly and wiped away the single tear she had shed for a thousand years of grief. Looking down at her lap where the book rested, she could see her fingers tracing a familiar pattern. Over and over she traced a word against the leather cover of the book, as if she could imprint it there. ‘Cryessa,’ she wrote it again, and then again, the rhythm of her fingers never changing. My name is Cryessa… I have a name. My name is Cryessa, and I have a name.

Chapter 4 Cryessa sucked in a breath as a needle poked into her ass. “Oh mercy! Forgiveness, Priestess!” “Of course, Giselle, but please do watch what you are doing.” Cryessa stood half naked, her hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, on a small raised platform in the center of the great room of her apartments. Shifting slightly, more out of boredom than discomfort, Cryessa closed her eyes. The moon ceremony was only a few hours away and Cryessa could feel the magic building. There was a pulsing in the earth. Magic permeated the stones of the Temple until the air itself felt thick and rich. “Oh, oh dear.” Turning her head look over her bare shoulder, Cryessa frowned with concern at her attendant’s distressed look. “What is the matter Giselle?” “Oh Priestess I am so sorry!” “Giselle, please be calm; I cannot help if you do not tell me what is wrong.” “It’s wrong, all wrong!” She burst into tears. Truly concerned, Cryessa turned to face young Giselle. “Please do not weep, let me help…” Cryessa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror for the first time. Naked from the waist up, her reflection stared back at her. The ceremonial dress of the Priestess was cumbersome, tier upon tier of fabric which had to be precisely draped, pleated, wrapped, and then tied or pinned in place. The process took over an hour. Fifteen minutes in, Giselle had her into three layers of skirt. The undermost skirt, which rode on her naked hips, was dark blue with silver threads woven in. The layer atop was silver lace, and had to be positioned and tied properly so that the correct amount of the blue fabric hung beneath the silver. Atop the silver lace a pale green silk, the color of new leaves, was pleated and then bound in place around her waist with silver cords. At least that is how it should go. Cryessa’s reflection showed a pale green underskirt topped by a shiny red fabric and then the embroidered blue pleated half way around her and pinned in place. The remaining blue fabric trailed off the platform onto the floor. “Priestess, I am sorry! I was just so nervous about making sure the fabric was layered the right way and… and the pleating. The pleating is very hard!” “Yes, well, the blue fabric is not meant to be pleated. And this red fabric is for the sun ceremony.” Giselle nodded woefully. Cryessa wanted nothing more than to take the girl and shake her. Surely no one in their right mind would think that these colors should go together, never mind that Cryessa had opened one of the rituals to an illustrated page showing the Moon Ceremony dress. This color combination was practically painful to look upon. As satisfying as shaking Giselle and then swearing would be, that was not the way of the Priestess. It was only in front of the Zinahs she could relax even a little—and only

with one Zinah in particular could she relax all the way. “Please remove everything and we will begin again.” “Again?” “Yes Giselle. This must be correct. If you prefer, I can find another.” “Oh, oh no, Priestess, not that!” Once again the girl broke into noisy tears. Staring at the sobbing girl’s bent head, Cryessa gave into a very un-Priestess like urge and, raising both hands, pantomimed throttling her attendant. “I am fairly certain the Goddess frowns on murder of innocents.” Dropping her hands to her sides, Cryessa let her eyes close once more as the words washed over her, the music of the voice, the way she could feel each syllable slip over her skin. Tamlohn straightened from the archway where he had been leaning. “That is a truly lovely color combination, Ahgarah; it is a wonder no one has tried it out before.” Opening her eyes, Cryessa cast him a baleful glare in the mirror; he responded with a wide grin. Luckily, this comment passed over the top of Giselle’s head and did not injure the poor girl’s feelings. Tamlohn moved swiftly across the room to stand behind Cryessa, his head even with hers as she stood on the platform. As their gazes connected, time slowed, bowed down to the power of what existed between them. With her body super charged due to the naturally heightened magic, she could see his soul hovering around his body like a shadow reflecting not what he was but who. Golden and pulsing, it was that gilded soul, the essence of him, that she loved. It was he who broke the stare, turning to her attendant. “Giselle.” The girl merely trembled and continued to sniffle, her sobs quieted to pitiful snuffles. “Giselle.” This time there was steel in his voice. The Prima Zinah was the most powerful man in the Temple. No one disobeyed him. With a gasp, the girl looked up. “Is this how the Priestess should be attired?” He ran one hand along Cryessa’s hip. “No, Prima.” “Then why did you dress her this way?” “I… I just got confused; I was trying to make sure that I got everything right. It was the pleats… the pleats.” “You were trying to make sure you did it correctly, and this is what you came up with?” Again his hand snaked over her hip. “Yes. No. I mean, I tried, Prima.” She looked like she was going to cry again. Cryessa sent a sharp jab of her magic into Tamlohn’s hand where it rested on the outside of her thigh as a warning. He was being too hard on the girl. She felt him jerk and, in the mirror, watched his hand curl into a fist. With any of the others she would have stepped in by now, but he was the Prima and had the right to command everyone but her. “Giselle, please help me disrobe the Priestess, and then you are dismissed.” Though she stared at his reflection in the mirror, he did not meet her eyes again. Instead she felt tugging on the fabric as he helped Giselle strip her. What had taken

fifteen minutes to put on was removed in two. When the pale green silk slipped from Cryessa’s hips, Tamlohn ordered the girl out of the room. At last they heard the faint clack as the outer door of her apartments was closed. “Goddess, you are beautiful.” His voice was reverent. Turning her back to the mirror, Cryessa faced her beloved. “As are you.” “I have missed you.” “It has been half a day since last I touched you.” “Even a moment is too long; a breath turns into an eternity when I am not with you.” The truth of his words was in his eyes, those haunting, lavender eyes. “Tamlohn.” She said his name as a warning, reminding him with that single word of all the reasons why what they did was wrong. He lowered his eyes. She could feel him fighting to lock away emotions so strong that, if released, could destroy their world. The moment passed in pregnant silence. When he raised his eyes, there was a teasing sparkle to them and his lips were cocked, just waiting to grin. “You really must get a new attendant.” She sighed in mock exasperation. “We have been over this.” “We have. Giselle is not getting any smarter.” Smothering a laugh at the unkind comment, Cryessa stepped off the platform and picked up the embroidered blue material. She wanted to check that the pinning hadn’t done any lasting damage. “She is a good and loyal girl, and should be valued as such.” “You need an attendant who is as wicked as you, my love.” “I beg your pardon, slave? Did you just call me wicked?” “Did I say wicked? What I meant was depraved, dangerous, and deadly.” This time she laughed out loud. “How dare you; I am the light.” He snagged her by her bare waist and pulled her back against his chest. “You are a light that burns.” “I will make you pay for your slander against me.” “Goddess, I hope so.” “I shall lock you in a room lined with pink, fluffy pillows.” At his disconcerted stare, Cryessa threw her head back and laughed. Whirling away from him, she pranced backwards. “Come to me, slave.” “As my Priestess demands.” There was no humility in his words, only thick anticipation, and a grin splitting his face. Mockingly, he bowed low. As he bent, she called out, “Stop there.” Immediately he stopped, his body bent in an inverted L. Skipping back across the room, she circled his prone body, the position reminiscent of the morning’s presentation position, with one major difference—he was wearing clothes. Stepping near his head, she twined her fingers into his hair. She had allowed him to keep the hairstyle of his native people. The top section was pulled back into a tail high at the back of his head. The middle section just above each of his ears was then pulled back

and a second tail was created including the hair from the first. The rest of his hair was left to flow to his shoulders. Each section was bound tight against his head with a strip of tooled leather. It was into the thick rope of hair bound by the leather straps that she sank her fingers, curling them until she had complete control of his head. “Slave,” she purred, “since when are you allowed to wear clothes?” He tried to raise his head and look at her, no doubt wondering at the new game she had decided to play, but she held his head down. “Ah… well, Priestess, I was not aware I had been disallowed…” “Tsk, tsk, don’t lie, slave. I told you the day I bought you that you weren’t allowed clothes.” “Beg pardon, Mistress.” His change in address signaled he understood she was playing. “I will have to punish you for disobeying me.” Reaching back with her other hand, she delivered a hard spank to his leather clad buttocks. “Oh yessssssss, Mistress.” “Sound afraid, damn it!” Tamlohn snorted with laughter, his big shoulders shaking with mirth at her disgruntled command. “Ah, er, oh no please, Mistress, not that!” She was unable to hide her smile. “You are hopeless.” “Sorry, Ahgarah.” “One of these days, I really will forbid you the use of clothes.” “That will leave me ill prepared to defend you, my love.” She jerked his head up a bit, allowing his body to unbend slightly. Her eyes met his and, like an unexpected summer storm, need came over her. “On your knees.” Without a word he sank down, his knees splayed wide on the stones. “Open your pants and remove your shirt; expose yourself to me.” His training was flawless; without question, he obeyed. With a quick motion, he unbuckled the leather vest that wrapped over his torso. Next his tunic, a rich green in color, was pulled over his head exposing a muscled, scarbedecked chest. He hesitated for a moment as if waiting for her to comment, but Cryessa remained silent, waiting for him to carry out his orders. Next his hands dropped to his pants. The pants were laced up the outside of each leg. He undid first the left, then right sides, plucking the laces free to half way down each thigh. With that done, he tugged the front of the pants down, exposing the vulnerable flesh of his cock and sac. Now exposed, her slave raised his hands and laced them behind his head. The only deviation from perfect slave procedure was his gaze, which rested on her face instead of on the floor. The cravings inside her rolled and withered in delight at his obedience, his subservience. Stepping close to him, she slipped her thumb into his mouth. Immediately he began to suckle it. “Stroke yourself.”

Hands lowered from behind his head and went to his cock, one fisting at the base of the shaft, the other lightly petting his sac. Pulling her finger from his mouth, she slapped him across the lips, hard. She had to punish him. Punish him for the desire he raised in her, so much greater a need than she felt for the others. His head turned slightly at the slap, outlines of her fingers appearing across his lips and cheek, but his fingers kept stroking, obeying. Bending, she kissed his cheek, a fleeting brush of lips. The kiss pressed magic into his skin, causing the pain to flare brighter before it vanished altogether. Straightening once more, she reached for his head and, without a word, brought it to her mound. His abused lips brushed the soft blond hair there and then delved deep into her sex. With his neck bent at a painful angle, his tongue deftly parted her nether lips, opening her, and allowing her rich wetness to flow out. His tongue lapped at the inner folds of her sex, broad flat strokes against the sensitive pink flesh. Dissatisfied with the angle, Cryessa shifted her weight, raised one foot to his chest and pushed. With a grunt, Tamlohn dropped his hands, bracing himself as she pushed him onto his back, and then quickly arranged himself on the floor. Lying on his back, his hands once more went to work on his shaft, now fully erect. Stepping between his bent and spread legs, she kicked his knees as far apart as they would go. When she nudged one hand away from his sac with her toes, he stopped pumping and pulled hard on his cock. He pulled it up towards his chest to best expose his balls to her. He was totally vulnerable like this; she could do him great hurt if she abused him here. The fact that he trusted her, that he would accept it if she did choose to abuse him, sent a shiver of pure lust through her. “Keep stroking, but you may not come.” “Yes Priestess.” Without another word, she stepped around his body and knelt astride his head. She heard him take a deep breath the moment before she lowered herself, placing her needy, wet sex on his face. Leaning forward, she rested her hands on his chest, digging her nails into his flesh. This put some of her body weight on her arms, but most rested on his head, pressed between her body and the stone floor. Tamlohn slicked his lips, cheeks, and nose through her soft flesh. Opening his lips, he took her clit into the cavern of his mouth, sealing his lips and sucking not only her soft clit, but a mouthful of her pussy flesh deep into the vacuum he created. He buried his nose near the entrance to her body, his world full of the earth scent of her arousal. “Lick my clit.” The command was accented by a sharp slap to his inner thigh so unexpected that he cried out against her sex, muffling the sound in warm, wet flesh. Obediently he set his tongue to work, placing it flat against the nub and rubbing back and forth. When his jaw grew tired, he pulled back slightly and gave quick, hard flicks with the pointed tip of his tongue. He then studiously worked over the tiny bit of flesh, coaxing the ultra sensitive core out from its hood. Cryessa raked her nails over the skin of his belly, drawing eight red lines on his pale flesh. Her world was in her sex, in her clit where he so skillfully kissed her. As she felt her orgasm approach, she reached down, and feeling deliciously cruel, pulled his hands away from his cock. For a moment, his hips humped the air, desperately seeking the stimulation she chose to deny. A breath later, his bare ass settled against the stones once

more, accepting her denial. Pushing herself upright, she lifted slightly to be sure he could hear. “Until I come, your world is my sex. You will not breath but for the air in my body, nor see but for the darkness of my womb.” With that she lowered herself fully onto his face, arching her back and bracing her hands on her calves. She felt his face sink deep into her body; the lips of her sex flush on his cheeks, his nose sunk into the entrance to her body. Then she thought no more, for he began to move, his face rocking inside her sex. His lips and tongue focused on her clit, alternating hard with soft, biting with kisses. She forced herself to stay still, giving him no reprieve. His chest heaved as he tried not to take a breath; when he could stand it no more he gasped in a deep breath, dragging precious little air into his mouth while her warm wetness spilled over his lips and coated his cheeks. She was close, so close. His desperate breath pulled cold air over her heated flesh, drawing a gasp. The constant moving pressure of his lips on her clit had brought her to the edge, her toes curled, her jaw clenched. She was there, he could feel it, and he knew how to send her over. He closed his teeth around her clit, biting hard, knowing the moment of orgasm would make it sweet. Her world exploded in golden dust the color of Tamlohn’s soul. The already magic laden air shivered, the discarded fabric of her dress fluttering in a magic fueled windstorm. Like a flash flood, pleasure enveloped her, sweeping her away, only to retreat as swiftly. He held her clit gently between his lips as the windstorm died. In her orgasm, she had moved enough that he was able to breathe. When she stroked his throat with her fingers, he released her clit, swiping the fresh moisture from her inner lips with a parting sweep of his tongue. In the next moment she rose, giving him a lovely view of the sex he had just tended. The sight did nothing to calm his raging arousal. “Damn it to the North Wind, I will be late.” Tamlohn swallowed back a protest. It was her right to leave him like this. He had no right to demand that she allow him satisfaction. But, for a moment, he hated her. Hated that she had all the power and he none. Sitting up, he pinched hard at the base of his cock, gritting his teeth. His erection was not gone but it was diminished. Since he didn’t have time to re-lace his pants he settled for pulling the ties through the upper grommets and tying it there. It was enough to keep the pants on, with the added benefit of giving him room for his erection. Taking a deep breath, he stood and tried to calm himself, but could not shake some of his anger, his hurt. Why now, he could not say, but lately these surges of anger had been coming on more strongly, and were less easily pushed aside. This was their life, and always would be. “Send for a servant.” “Why have a servant dress you? Who knows your body better than I? I can have you dressed anon.” His eyes were now a deep violet, intense and mysterious—angry. “It is beneath you to dress me. You are the Prima Zin…” Suddenly his eyes shot fire. “No part of caring for or protecting you is beneath me. It is all I have. You are the air I breathe. Are you so eager to have another here? Have you

grown weary of your pitiful slave begging for time alone with you?” “Do not say that.” “It is true.” “It is not. Though you are owned by me, you are not some household servant. You are a Zinah, the Prima Zinah, the most powerful man in the Temple.” “It is a meaningless power.” “No!” Cryessa slashed a hand through the air as if she could strike down his words. “As Prima, it is your job to see to my safety, and, in cases of bodily peril, may you override my authority. This is a power no other has. That is your primary duty; it is only secondary that I take the Zinahs to my body.” “Is that all I am now? A fuck toy? Not good enough to make love with?” For a moment, Cryessa was desperately afraid that the simmering jealousy and anger she felt in him every morning would come spilling out. She was not afraid of him. She was afraid of what she would have to do to him if he lost control. I can’t believe we are fighting about this. Why is he doing this? Is he testing me? What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me? If I were a better Priestess, things like this would not happen… Why is he doing this? Why now? He knows that he has more of me than I had any right to give away. He has no right to ask for more. He stared at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Why is she doing this? Why, when she knows that all I want is to be with her, love her. We are alone, why could she not treat me as an equal, why only sometimes am I allowed the privilege of being a man with her instead of a slave? She thinks that I do not trust her, but I do. I cannot help but demand more. Silently, Cryessa sent her magic pulsing into him, looking for his feelings, trying to understand what had sparked this. He was confused, angry, and ashamed. Pushing deeper she found his pride, both in himself and in her, and a pool of deep calm that was the part of her that stayed with him always. She touched his anger, tasting it in her mind, afraid she would find that she had driven some part of him mad, turned love to hatred. Yes, there was his anger: at the world for making them Priestess and slave; at her for maintaining the roles when they were in private; and at himself for giving her more to worry about. Cryessa closed her eyes, tears threatening. “Do not do this, Ahgarah; already I break too many rules for you. If you fight me on this, I will not last.” Like that his anger retreated, smothered beneath the weight of her responsibilities. He was a slave to her, but she was a slave to the office she held. “Forgive me, Priestess, all I am is yours.” He touched his fingers to his heart, his forehead, his throat, and finally his lips. He held his hand out to her, and she took it. For a moment she stared at him as an understanding passed between them; any of the others she would have punished, but with this gesture of supplication they would close this small argument. With an effort that was painful to see, Tamlohn forced a smile. “We now have half an hour to get you ready. How long does it usually take?” She returned the smile, “Ninety minutes.” “Perfect. I’ll be right back, I am going for reinforcements.”

With that he turned and raced for the door, whistling for the other Zinahs. **** They had her dressed in twenty-two minutes. At Tamlohn’s call, all four of the remaining Zinahs arrived, already dressed and prepared for the ceremony. Upon hearing what was going on, Moregon went back for Tamlohn’s formal clothing and ceremonial armor. The remaining four had gathered around her, gazes moving from the cloth scattered on the floor and table to her. Tamlohn grabbed the ritual and examined the illustration. “Alright men, this can’t be any more difficult that the King’s sneak attack in ’21.” “That was a poorly planned attack, easily defeated,” Rohaj grunted. Tamlohn clapped him on the shoulder, “As will this be, my brother.” Rohaj laughed. “Personally, I think you should perform the ceremony dressed as you are,” Anleeh commented. Cryessa mock leered at him, “I will if you will.” Anleeh’s hands went to the laces of his pants, “As my Priestess wishes.” Only Sesah seemed to actually be working on getting her dressed. He stood to one side of Tamlohn looking at the book, the length of blue cloth draped over one arm. “I can do this, Priestess.” Cyressa, laughing and motioning for Anleeh to keep his pants on, looked at him and smiled. Women in Sesah’s homeland wore elaborate dresses, and it was undoubtedly his knowledge from home that gave him confidence. With one last glance at the book, Sesah moved forward, “Anleeh, help me.” “Why me?” Anleeh whined. “Make Tamlohn help you.” Tamlohn cocked one eyebrow. Though it was not strictly enforced at all times, there was a hierarchy among the Zinahs and Tamlohn, as the Prima, was at the top. Anleeh continued to grumble good naturedly as Sesah grabbed him and dragged him over to her. Taking one end of the cloth as instructed, Anleeh placed the fabric against her hip. Immediately, he jumped back. “Mercy, Lady! Touching you is like touching lightning.” “The ceremony is less than thirty minutes from now. What did you expect, Anleeh? The magic needs somewhere to gather.” Anleeh reached out once more, this time prepared for the sparks which leapt from her skin into his fingers. Sesah, holding the length of the fabric, walked around her, wrapping the fabric around her hips. Cryessa raised her arms, clasping one wrist with the opposite hand and then resting them both on her head. Sesah anchored the overlapping fabric with one of the pins. He certainly would never stick her as Giselle had. “Get the silver lace.” Anleeh moved towards the pile of fabric at Sesah’s order. “Priestess,” Sesah looked up from her right hip where he had just finished anchoring the first layer. “Can the top be done simultaneously?” “Honestly, I do not know why not; there are many layers there too.” Sesah nodded. “Anleeh, bring the thin purple silk. Prima, more hands are needed.” With a nod, Tamlohn and Rohaj stepped forward, Tamlohn propping the book open

on the floor. The teasing put aside, they worked as a team now. Cryessa looked at them, marveling at their ability to come together this way. There could not have been five more different men: each from a different place in their vast world, each physically different in the color of their hair, eyes, and skin. She knew from being inside their minds that the way they thought was different, too. Sesah and Rohaj still thought in their native tongues; Anleeh’s thoughts moved at a million miles a minute, while Moregon composed each statement inside his head before he spoke. “What? You cannot be serious.” Rohaj looked at Sesah. “I do not joke.” Sesah said. “You must create small one inch pleats, pin them in place, and then carefully wrap it over her breasts.” Rohaj peered down at the book. This was only the first layer of the upper part of the dress. Once it was complete, only a very small triangle of this fabric would peek out from beneath the outer layers. “Only a little piece shows!” Sesah just looked at him and went back to pleating the pale green silk around her waist. Rohaj grunted. Cryessa cocked an eyebrow at him. Rohaj held up the thin strip of purple fabric and, with a quick movement, slipped it around her and settled the center section into place over her breasts. Tamlohn looked up from the gold cord he was untangling and grinned. Rohaj pulled the fabric taut; Cryessa’s breath left her in a whoosh of air. Quickly he began winding the rest of the material around and around her chest. With a jerk, he tied the ends off behind her back. Anleeh and Tamlohn were doubled over laughing. Sesah looked scandalized. “Her ribs aren’t broken! It is not a binding!” Sesah sputtered, his normal reserved facade cracking slightly. Cryessa looked down to see her breasts squashed flat against the front of her body. Her lips twitched into a smile. “Sesah, it is alright, please finish. Rohaj, hold the book.” With another grunt, one of his favorite forms of communication, Rohaj bent and lifted the book, turning it so Anleeh and Sesah could see the illustration as they finished dressing her. Moregon had returned with Tamlohn’s clothing. Quickly, Tamlohn stripped off his half laced pants. His formal clothing looked much like his everyday wear, styled after the clothing of his native people, but while his everyday attire was made of linen and leather, these were silk, velvet, and kid skin. Each piece was worked with patterns of vines stamped into the velvet and leather and embroidered on the silk. The kidskin pants were a pale brown, disappearing into knee high boots of highly polished dark leather tied with gold cording. Cryessa had often teased him about the boots, for they were cumbersome to get on and off, but he clung to them as a reminder of his home. Above the waist he wore a purple velvet tunic; her choice, he would have gone with brown, but she loved the way it brought out the color of his eyes. The fitted sleeves came to his elbows, ending in a wide band of dark green embroidery. Over the tunic he pulled on a sleeveless leather jerkin, two shades darker than his pants. The jerkin was pulled snugly over the chest, the

thick leather acting as armor. The front piece was fastened with six buckles down the left side of his chest. He left the upper two unfastened so that a flap of the leather fell back, revealing the deep green silk lining of the garment. As Sesah continued to wrap her in yards of fine fabric, Cryessa surveyed her other men. Moregon wore the traditional costume of the Temple army: brown leather leggings made formal by the pattern of stars dyed down the front of each leg and a short, sleeveless gray tunic all but invisible under his armor. Comprised of leather breast and back pieces stitched with rectangular brass plates, the armor was heavy but very effective. Oval shaped pieces of the same brass plated leather were fastened over his upper arms, tied to the shoulders of the breastplate, and then buckled around his arms. His blond hair was left to hang loose to his shoulders. Rohaj, now that it was clear he would not be asked to assist in the dressing any further, moved to the chair where he had dropped his animal skin. In looks, Rohaj was undisputedly the most exotic of the Zinahs, and his formal dress reflected this fact. Normally he wore simple tunics and pants, but for ceremonies he wore the formal attire of his people. His broad chest was naked, an animal skin worn over one shoulder its only covering. When he had entered, Rohaj had pulled the gold and black striped skin over his head and dropped it on a chair; now he lifted it and shrugged it into place. Cryessa knew the animal it had come from only through his descriptions, for it was not native to this part of the world. He wore it draped over his right shoulder, the ends, or, in this case, paws, fastened at his left hip with a pin made of teeth. The skin covered much of his right arm but left his left arm, shoulder, and part of his chest exposed. The gold ring in his left nipple winked in the light. His bare left arm was adorned with three wide leather and hide straps: one high on his arm emphasized the bulge of muscle there; the second was fastened just below his elbow, and the third around his wrist. Normally he would wear a wrapped skin around his waist, but tonight he wore a pair of short, black leather breeches. Leather sandals with their laces wrapped up his legs and tied at the knee completed his ensemble. Anleeh alone had not chosen to match the garments of his homeland. Instead he wore a long leather tunic. With sleeves coming to his wrists and the hem to his knees, his body was one long uninterrupted canvas of dyed green leather. Upon this canvas, one of the Temple’s skilled artisans had created a masterpiece of embossed leather inset with pieces of silk. Like Tamlohn’s garments, there was a pattern of vines and plants worked into the green leather. Simple brown leggings showed beneath the tunic. The deep green brought out the colors in Anleeh’s hair, turning its mahogany depths red and gold. Lowering her arms so that Sesah could begin weaving thin strips of embroidered fabric around them, Cryessa contemplated her last Zinah. Like Rohaj, he was exotic in his look. While the other men glowed with color, Sesah wore all black. Loose black pants cinched at each ankle were barely visible beneath the knee length jacket he wore. The jacket opened down the front, a row of fabric knot buttons running from his waist to his neck holding it closed. The sleeves were wide, the cuffs stiff with silver on black embroidery. His long dark hair was pulled up into its usual folded knot at the top of his head. There was a final small tug at her back as the last bit of fabric was tucked and pinned into place. Sesah stepped back.

Cryessa examined herself in the mirror. Perfect. The multi-layered skirt hung straight down from her hips, the various patterns and colors complimenting one another. Across her shoulders and chest, long sashes crisscrossed, creating a woven pattern with just a hint of the purple fabric showing. Down each arm bright strips of velvet encrusted with gold, silver, and midnight blue metallic thread glittered where they wove over one another, her arms almost completely covered in fabric. Tamlohn came forward carrying the last piece. He stepped up and settled the heavy headdress on her. Made of midnight blue velvet stretched over a cap, the headpiece covered her from forehead to neck. Folds framed the sides of her face and fell down to her shoulders. It was anchored in place with a platinum band, the piece bedecked with small dangling stars that framed her brow. From the top of the headdress rose a large flat disk, a silver crescent moon set atop the gold circle of the sun. It represented the night and the day, sun and moon, as one. Made of pure precious metals, it weighed nearly as much as Tamlohn’s sword. Steadying her neck muscles to keep the heavy piece balanced, Cryessa stepped down. It was time, she could feel it. “Come, the moons call to me.” Silently, the Zinahs fell into line behind her. Cryessa made her way out of her chambers and down the massive central staircase. The level from which the ceremony platform jutted was two below. As they exited the chamber, the magical moon replicas came zooming out, moving to hover near her shoulder. Two flights down, they turned into a wide corridor, the air here fresh with the taste of the wind. The end of the corridor opened onto a wide platform; the sky beyond was velvety dark. Tamlohn could hear a low drone as they approached the end of the corridor. The people had come. He knew that the massive front courtyard of the Temple would be packed full of people, his soldiers forming a living wall to prevent them from moving deeper into the Temple complex. Framed within the arch at the end of the corridor, they stopped. “Prepare yourselves,” the Priestess said. Each man grabbed a handful of soil from a small stone bowl in an alcove. “We are ready,” Tamlohn told her. Cryessa, eyes unfocused, gaze on the sky as if she could see something no one else could, spoke quietly, “Moregon, go.” At her command, the big blond man stepped out. The ritual terrace jutted out from the front of the Temple building, appearing to hang suspended in the air above the open courtyard. There was no railing here, only a straight drop if a misstep sent one of them over the edge. Moregon moved to the right side of the terrace, stepping to the very edge. Tamlohn watched him drop his handful of dirt onto the stone at his feet. Now Sesah was moving forward, taking a position on the left. Next Anleeh went, he to the right in a position closer to the center than Moregon’s. Finally Rohaj went, taking the fourth position just left of center. Each man had dropped the handful of dirt he held at his feet. Seeing that they had each done this, Cryessa murmured the spell that would keep them safe. “May that which is the earth find the soil in the air. Turn their footing to the soil

beneath, like roots; bind them to where they stand that nothing save their will might snatch them from their perch.” Hidden from the view of the crowds below, the soil at each man’s feet sank into the marble of the terrace. Roots sprang up, wrapping securely around each man’s lower legs. The roots were not green, but a veined cream and red. The marble itself had been made living and now secured each man in place where he stood. This done, the Priestess let out a breath. The magic was ready; she was ready. “Are you ready, Ahgarah?” The whisper came from behind her. Tamlohn was at her back, where he would always be. She stepped forward, making her way out onto the terrace, the replica moons trailing behind her. The crowd grew silent as she emerged, their excited chatter about the appearance of the Zinahs tapering off. The Priestess made her way to the very center of the sweep of terrace, Tamlohn following behind her. It was time. Carefully, Cryessa raised her arms, ready to begin. “Goddess, be with me,” she whispered. She slapped her hands together, the crack of sound echoing over the thousands who had gathered below. Her miniature moons flew out over the crowd, swirling and dancing, their glow illuminating the faces of the massed crowd. Cryessa pressed her fingertips to her throat and then threw her hands wide. This time when she spoke all could hear her. “Here in the dark, we seek the light. Goddess, we seek the light of your touch.” Cryessa’s right hand stroked the air and a soft breeze blew through the courtyard. “We seek the knowledge of your will. We seek a life of peace.” The moons, which had come to rest above the center of the crowd, began to grow. “Goddess, show us the light!” The moons suddenly swelled, hanging huge and luminescent in the air. Those on the ground stared in wonder, some turning away from her to look at the magic born heavenly bodies. “Show us the vastness of your will, of your reach.” The Priestess raised her hands to the sky. The crowd gasped as a thousand stars seemed to fall to earth. They hovered over the people, taking up positions in relation to the moons. There within the courtyard she had, by the Goddess’s will, created the night sky, so close that it could be touched. No longer remote, no longer untouchable. While they stared, entranced, Cryessa took a breath; she could feel the world inside her mind, the cosmos pulsing in her heart. “Let us know the vastness of the world, that we may never lose hope.” She stepped off the terrace. Those in the crowd who had never seen the ceremony before screamed. The Priestess ignored them. Instead she concentrated on walking through the thick atmosphere of the drawn down sky. As she moved stars realigned, placing themselves in her path so that, as she walked, a shining path of light rose and then fell. Back on the terrace, Tamlohn swallowed his heart back into his chest, even as he stepped to the edge and dropped his own handful of dirt, feeling the roots wrap over his

boots. He knew what she was feeling, understood how the magic that kept her afloat worked, but he could not help but hate every time she took that first step. In a dark part of his heart, he could imagine her tumbling from the sky, her body broken on the ground below. In the dark hour before dawn, when doubt crept into his mind, he feared that it was at a time like this, when she was kept afloat by magic alone, that the Goddess would punish them for their love, strip her of her magic and send her hurtling into the stones. Cryessa stopped when she stood before the low hung moons. Taking a deep breath, she blew, stirring them. The stars began to whirl until they were a continuous ring of light. Cryessa looked into the blanket of white light, seeing images reflected within. First, a great dark expanse with a scattering of glittering dusk around a red striped globe. Next, a neon green mass with an oblong center the shape of a cat’s eye. One after another they came. Below her, the crowd gasped, many thinking that these were images only, some understanding that they were places far beyond the world they knew. “We thank you, Goddess, for this gift. We ask on this day that you again grant us the light of your moons to lead us through the dark of the night.” At her words, the replica moons began to rise. Cryessa held her breath; if the true moons did not rise now, it would mean the Goddess did not find favor with them any longer. As the moons rose, so did the stars. Her eyes on the moons, Cryessa began to make her way back to the terrace before she was pulled into the sky itself. Higher and higher they rose, growing and swelling, Ishlay growing larger and darker than Akita. Suddenly, from behind the mountain, the true moons rose. Her shoulders slumping slightly in relief, Cryessa hopped her way across the last few stars, careful to keep her headdress from falling. Tamlohn held out his arms, and she went into them without question. Turning so her back was to his chest, Cryessa watched as the four moons moved upward, the magical gift of her and Sesah’s bodies being taken skyward by the ever-swelling moons. For a final moment, four moons hung in the sky surrounded by the fallen stars. The courtyard below was bright as day, every detail visible in the white light, so different from the sun’s golden glow. Then the magic merged, the stars zoomed skyward, and the night sky showed only two moons. A beautiful peace settled over all who witnessed. Parents picked up sleeping children who only a moment ago had been wide-awake and vibrating with excitement. Lovers slipped arms around one another. Quietly, the crowd turned and made its way home. Cryessa herself relaxed. This peaceful calm was one aspect of being touched by the Goddess. On this night no nightmares would come, no voices would rise in anger and no children would be stillborn. The Goddess had granted them favor once more. Together with her Zinahs, the Priestess watched her people file out of the Temple.

Chapter 5 She was reclined on a couch in the great room the morning Rohaj came to her. The moon ceremony was several days past and the Temple had settled once more into a peaceful routine. Even the King seemed to have taken a rest from his endless plotting and manipulations. She felt him before he entered the room. While she would never be as aware of the others as she was of Tamlohn, each of them was a part of her. There was a small click as the chamber door opened, followed by the vibration of heavy footfalls. Though he could move swiftly in battle, Rohaj would never be light on his feet—there was just too much of him. “Priestess,” he said as he dropped to his knees beside her. “We have need of you.” Now that he was close, she could feel worry and anger coming from him. Turning away from the window, Cryessa rolled over to look at him. He was kneeling, legs spread, arms behind his head, gaze lowered. Even if she could not feel his emotions, his extreme attention to proper decorum would have warned her that something had happened. Reaching out a hand she cupped his chin, lifting his head so she might look into his eyes. “Do you fear what it is you have to tell me?” “Yes Priestess.” “Have I been so cruel that you fear to speak to me?” His gaze softened. Lowering his arms, he wrapped them around her waist. “No, Priestess; rather, I fear what you must do to make it right.” She laid a hand on the smooth flesh of his head, the gold of her fingers startling against the deep brown of his skin. “Tell me.” “It is Masig, one of my beginning soldiers.” “Is he hurt?” Rohaj dropped his forehead to rest against her belly. “No.” “He hurt another.” Nodding, Rohaj raised his head once more. “He tried to rape one of the serving girls.” Cryessa sucked in a breath. Rape was a crime for which she gave no quarter. Rape was the way men stole power and a favorite pastime of the King. “He stole away from the barracks in the night. From what we can tell, he came upon her as she was scrubbing the floor in the kitchens.” “Is she badly hurt?” “Nae, she fought back and screamed for help. He had her cornered in a pantry when the soldiers found them. Masig had managed to tear away her blouse and was abusing her breasts when they stopped him. She was angry more than scared.” “Where is the girl now?” “With her mother and sisters. They live in the housing South of the Masra road. I stopped in the College and spoke with Siara.” Cryessa nodded. Siara was the Head Mistress of the College housed within the Temple. The researchers and scholars who lived there served not only as the recorders of

history, but as counselors to the thousands who lived inside the Temple walls. “If Siara has gone to her, she is in good hands. Where is he?” “He is confined in a holding cell in the barracks. One of my commanders was head of the watch at the time it happened and had him put there.” “Good.” Some might think her unmoved, but Rohaj could see her sorrow, her sadness, in the tightening of her lips. They sat in silence for a moment. “You know what this means, don’t you?” “Yes, Priestess, but perhaps there is another way.” “There is not. Give me your hand, lend me your strength for a moment, I must save mine for what is to come.” Rohaj rose from the floor and slipped onto the couch beside her, wrapping his arms around her torso and slipping his leg over hers so that their bodies were flush. Cryessa leaned her head back against the couch and, drawing on the magic in Rohaj’s body, called out to the Zinahs. She sent a thin skin of magic out from her body. This method of communication with the Zinahs required a heavy use of power. The magic pushed through the walls, floor and ceiling, seeking them out. As it touched each man, her simple command, “Come to me,” was delivered. She had a different message for Tamlohn and kept pushing until she found him. There was a faint bong when the magic reached him, the sound reverberating through Rohaj and Cryessa’s bodies. Her message, carried by the spell, was simple. ‘Make the room ready.’ Rohaj, wrapped around her as he was, could hear the echo of her message. It was what he had feared. “Priestess, tell me there is another way.” “You know there is not. Now help me up, I must get ready.” **** Thirty minutes later, the High Priestess exited the Temple, her slaves arrayed behind her. The Temple complex was situated in the easternmost tip of the long valley that framed the Great City. Behind and to the sides of the Temple, the walls of the valley rose steeply, cradling it. The Temple itself was over fifteen stories tall built in circle upon circle. Each story sat off center of the one below it, creating many crescent shaped terraces. Some were covered in Moregon’s plantings while others were left open to be used by the many people who lived and worked within the Temple walls. Though not symmetrical, there was a beauty to the structure. Behind the Temple, three roads divided the space within the far-flung walls. They spread like the spokes of a wheel from the main structure, dividing the land into four areas. Originally only the two center sections had been used, the northern one housing the multiple soldiers’ barracks and training fields, the section directly to the south holding the housing for the permanent Temple residents. Since the fall of the High King and the Temple’s incarnation as a refuge, the upper and lowermost sections had been used for additional housing. Now dwellings filled every spare inch, some backed directly up against the walls. The situation was far from ideal, as these homes were vulnerable if the Temple were ever attacked, but it was the Priestess’s job to stop that attack from coming.

She emerged from the back of the Temple through wide, gilded doors, the only entrance known to the residents. With Rohaj’s help, she had dressed to go out. The garments, while not the elaborate formal wear she had donned for the Moon Ceremony, were no less powerful. The dress was uncomplicated, starting just above her breasts and falling to the stones beneath her feet. The top of the dress was straight across her chest, sleeveless and collarless. Her hair was pulled back and anchored in place with a gold circlet, the front of which was set with a crescent moon. Though her attire was simple, as they stepped out through the doors, the sun lit upon her. Hair and skin immediately began to shimmer as if the sun had taken up second residence within her flesh. A hush fell over those closest to the doors when they saw her emerge. Immediately, the path cleared for her and the Zinahs as they moved down a wide flagstone lane towards the soldiers’ area. Together they were a formidable sight. She was the shining power, followed by the Zinahs, her enforcers. Tamlohn walked just behind her to her right, Rohaj on her left. Behind them the remaining three ranged out, eyes scanning the crowd for any hint of danger. More than the sum of its parts, the group represented power, strength, and hope to the people. To see them moving through the crowd was to have faith restored. It was unimaginable that six such powerful beings could not cure any ill, solve any difficulty. They headed down the center road, Diyar, towards the barracks for beginning soldiers. When, at last, they stopped before the doors, Tamlohn moved in front of her to pull the great wooden door open. “Stop.” Her voice was low, meant for their ears only. “You all know what is coming?” Each murmured his affirmative. “Let me know if you cannot handle anything that will happen. I need unity.” “Priestess,” it was Moregon who spoke, “no matter what comes, we are your men.” She smiled—her beautiful, loyal Zinahs. Glancing at Tamlohn, she nodded, “Open the door.” With a slight bow, he pulled the doors open. The interior of the building was well maintained, but smelled slightly of male sweat, as if so much effort had been expended in these walls the stones themselves had absorbed it. Ahead lay another door into a large training center with additional facilities and several subsidiary structures in the courtyard behind the building. A door to the right led to the barracks themselves, simple pallets for each man with cupboards housing clothing. Entering, they turned not to the right, but to the left where a large archway in the wall showed the top of a flight of steps. The Zinahs now ranged themselves in front of and behind her. As much as they might trust the soldiers, they trusted no one but themselves with her safety. Tamlohn and Moregon led the way with Rohaj, Sesah, and Anleeh at her back. Slowly, they began their descent. One level down, carved from the stone on which the Temple sat, were cells built for both punishment and control. In the dimly lit hallway, Cryessa could already hear the clanking chains the soldier wore. The noise increased as the young soldier moved to the door of his cell at the sound of their approach. Rohaj pulled the keys from their hook near the door as he passed and now moved

forward, keys in hand. With a questioning look to her, he unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a surprisingly large room. One by one, the Zinahs entered the room before her. Upon seeing the five powerful warriors enter, the young soldier, Masig, placed his back to the wall, taking up a defensive posture, his head swiveling constantly to keep track of them all. He was blond, a pale shade more white than the gold of Moregon’s hair. He stood about Cryessa’s height, but the length of his arms and legs hinted that he might gain a few more inches. He wore simple shackles on his wrists and ankles, enough chain between them to allow him to move. It was Tamlohn who spoke first, “Kneel in the presence of the Priestess.” Masig looked sharply to the door, seeing her framed in its arch. Though underground in the gloom of a dungeon, she glowed with the kiss of sunlight; beauty, grace, and power made flesh. His wide-eyed glance took her in before a veil fell over his eyes and his lips curled in a sneer. “I kneel before no woman.” He looked around expectantly, having thought to provoke a reaction from one of the Zinahs, but they remained silent, watchful. Slowly Cryessa entered, using a puff of magic to close the door behind her. “The day you took your oath as a soldier, did you not pledge your service to me?” Masig sneered wider, “Empty words; I wanted to be a soldier, I care not who I serve.” Cryessa merely nodded. He seethed inside; he wanted the Zinahs to attack him, give him a chance to fight his way out, give him a change to use the fury that rolled through his blood. “Heard what I did for that kitchen whore? Come to get some of your own? I hear the rumors: you keep the Zinahs here as man sluts, little pussy whores all. Come to get a taste of a real man?” He thrust his pelvis out lewdly. No one showed a reaction to his comments, and the Priestess’s cool stare began to unnerve him. “Is that what she was? A whore?” “All women are; that one was asking for it.” “All women? What of your sisters and mother?” “My mother was raped by the King’s soldiers; nine months later she shat me out and abandoned me.” “Her rape made her a whore?” “Yes.” “Did you try and rape that girl because she was a whore, or to make her one?” Startled, not knowing the answer, he charged forward, wanting to stop her questions and hurt her for asking them. He had only gotten two steps when Sesah leapt forward and pulled him to a stop by taking each arm above the elbow and pulling them back sharply. With his arms pulled back, the chain between his wrists stretched tight across his belly, rendering his upper body immobile. “Bitch!” he shouted, fighting Sesah’s hold. “If they weren’t here, you would beg for it.” “No.” He screamed, the cry filled with fury. “You would! Bitch whore, I would make you

take it.” Furious, he struggled, while the Zinah effortlessly restrained him. “Remove the chains.” Without a word, Rohaj moved forward and unlocked the heavy manacles around his wrists and ankles, easily stifling Masig’s attempts to kick him. “Strip him.” The young soldier looked up. “Knew it, you’re a slut bitch like all the rest. Tired of your pussy boys, want a man who knows when no means yes.” Ignoring this prattle, Moregon moved forward and, gripping the V-top of his tunic, ripped it down the center. Sesah let go his arms so Moregon could pull the garment off. Anleeh stepped forward and slashed the ties down the outside of his right leg. “What are you doing, pussy boy?” Masig turned to attack Anleeh, but was quickly stifled by Moregon, who grabbed both hands and pulled them high over his head. With the boy immobile, Anleeh was able to quickly slash the laces on the other leg and then strip him fully. He was well muscled, as were all the soldiers, with the glow of youth around him. At a guess, Cryessa would say he was seventeen, his young cock flaccid and unimposing between his thighs. Naked and dangling from Moregon’s fists, Masig lashed out the only way he could. “You like what you see, slut? Bitch! Have your man pussy let me go, and we will see who should rule here! You would not be so strong without your sluts here to protect you. You are just like her! Just like them all!” Through it all Cryessa’s face did not change, nor did she move from her spot in front of the closed door. “Gag him.” Now it was Tamlohn who stepped forward and pulled a metal bit with leather straps from the pouch at his hip. “Stay the fuck away from me, pussy boy! I will…” Since his mouth was conveniently open, Tamlohn simply slipped the metal bit between his teeth, pulling the leather straps hard so the bit pushed deep between his lips and dug into his cheeks. In a deft motion, he fastened the straps behind the boy’s head. “Collar him.” The next thing out of the bag was a thick leather collar. As wide as a man’s palm, the collar forced the wearer to keep his chin up, giving no relief from the humiliation to come. Once it was buckled in place, Tamlohn pulled down one arm and then the other, fastening Masig’s wrists into cuffs built into the back of the collar. This done, both he and Moregon stepped back. Bound as he was, Masig’s arms were raised and bent, his chin held high, face distorted by the cruel bit. “Do you wish leg bindings or will you walk calmly?” Cryessa’s cool voice seemed to enrage him further. When he again lunged at her, Moregon took hold once more while Tamlohn knelt and fasted leather cuffs around each ankle, a three foot chain between them. “Do not mistake my mercy in asking you for true choice. You have forfeited the free will of a soldier and will now live as a slave to me. No mercy or lenience will be given.” She held out one hand, and Tamlohn stepped forward. He handed her the last item from the bag he wore. Dripping down each side of her palm was a long, thin chain. Deceptively slender, it

was unbreakable, a leash from which none escaped. Deciding a display of power was in order, Cryessa called on the magic in the earth beneath her feet. Placing a small ring of power around the clip end of the leash, she sent it slowly through the air towards Masig. The boy’s already wild eyes widened, and for the first time she saw fear. Clearly he had not known the extent of her power. As the end of the leash approached him, he started to reel backwards. Like talons, Cryessa called forth great spikes of raw magic from the earth. They rose all around him, trapping him more surely than any chain. With a tiny click, the leash was set in place; hooked to a ring on the front of the collar, the boy was now completely helpless. “Do not forget what I have just shown you.” His body shifted within the prison of invisible spikes, but he could make no more definite reply. “Now it is time to take you to the Temple where I can train you properly.” She handed the leash to Moregon and turned to the door, dropping the magic she had used back into the earth with a prayer of thanks. There was the sound of frantic movement behind her. She turned to see Masig’s wild eyes. Clearly he had not understood that, as of this moment, his life as he knew it stopped. The humiliation of being paraded through the streets this way was only the beginning. “I wish you to learn humility, slave. It is my will that you walk naked and bound through the streets. Consider it part of the punishment if you wish, but all you really need to know is that it is my will. My will is now yours, all you are is mine.” This time when she turned to leave, she did not look back. As her procession returned to the Temple, very few people looked at the Priestess; most stared at the bound and naked man being hauled behind Moregon at the rear of the party. A long chain connected the prisoner to the Zinah. Masig tugged at the chain, moving side to side as if he could break the other man’s grip. He considered just digging in his feet, but had a horrible feeling that he would simply be dragged, the stones ripping at his naked flesh. The people stared, some recognizing him and passing on the story of his attempted rape. Looks of curiosity and worry were replaced with expressions of grim satisfaction. Young women pointed at his cock, giggling, while parents pulled children away. The advanced soldiers raked him with disgusted stares. The humiliation sank into his bones, the sounds of the crowd’s murmurings a roar inside his head. “Look at it just dangling there! So small.” “He has brought shame upon the army, stupid boy.” “Yes, it was the sweet little red-head kitchen girl. I hope the Priestess gives him what he deserves. I doubt we will see him again anytime soon.” Those words, more than any others, scared him. What have I done? **** Cryessa slowly led her procession into the Temple. Servants, like the townspeople, stopped to stare at the leashed man. Cryessa’s apartment and the Zinahs’ chambers took up the entirety of the tenth floor, but it was to the ninth she led them. Built directly below the slave quarters was a room kept secret from all but a few. The only people who ever saw the inside were those who the Priestess needed to train and two loyal servants who

cleaned it. Since being made High Priestess, Cryessa had brought six men in here: the five Zinahs and another man who had been sent to spy by the King. The former spy was now a trusted high ranking solider, his loyalties turned by what had happened to him in this room. Masig would be number seven. Concealed by a series of twisting hallways and false walls which slid open at her touch, the entrance to the chamber was a simple wooden door, a door lacking both a handle and a lock. As she stepped up to the portal, Cryessa stopped, waiting until the sounds of footfalls grew silent behind her. It would undermine her authority to turn and check on everyone so she reached out with her magic, checking each of her Zinahs. Cryessa had to stifle a gasp as the roiling emotions of her men slammed into her mind, a gut wrenching amalgamation of lust, worry, anger, panic, anticipation, and fear. Absorbing this mess of feeling, she doubted the wisdom of taking the Zinahs in there with her. Connected to her, the Zinahs felt her swell of reservation. A moment later, the emotions began to quiet, replaced by firm resolve. Standing as she was, facing the door, Cryessa smiled, knowing none could see her. Her men were truly her saving grace, each ruthlessly suppressing their own emotions in subservience to her need. With a mental shake, Cryessa broke the connection and placed her hand against the plain door. Immediately a thin golden glow outlined her fingers, the spell she had placed on the door reading her hand. The spell was set to check not for a physical match, but a magical match. When like recognized like, the spell recognizing the unique flavor of her magic, the door swung open. Taking a calming breath, Cryessa stepped into the room. Tamlohn and Rohaj followed directly behind her, moving inside to take up positions on either side of the door. Anleeh went next. Each man moved confidently into the room, the surging emotions of a moment ago quieted. Sesah realized he had been standing there too long when he felt Moregon, still holding the end of the leash, nudge him. He had not come with the Priestess when she had used this room to break the spy; he had been too new in his servitude, his emotional wounds too fresh to re-enter this place. Breathing deeply through his nose, Sesah stepped across the threshold. **** Where was he? What was this place? Bound and gagged, with a simple brown kilt his only covering, Sesah stumbled into a dark room, propelled by a gentle push from the red headed man. “Sesah.” Recognizing his name, he turned. There was the glowing woman. Hair bright in the dark room, she appeared to be monochromatically golden to his eyes . Since being sent away, given away, nothing had made sense. A month ago, there had been no women made of gold in his world. But now his existence was fear and uncertainly, a massive city surrounded by mountains, and the ever-present chains he wore. The guards, her guards, were right behind him, pushing him into the room. The red headed man appeared to be the dominant. The other was a man so dark Sesah feared to look upon him. He had not known men could be that color; then again maybe he, it,

wasn’t human. How he hated this strange place with golden women and black men. He longed for the dark eyes and hair of his own people, the smooth hills and ocean. She was talking, the words meaningless—a jumble of sound. He knew she spoke in the common language, but fear filled his mind, blocking his ability to understand. His bonds were released, arms freed. His first instinct was to fight, turn and attack the two guards, but his mind knew the folly. Lashing out would only get him wrapped in irons again. “Can you understand me when I speak?” The words echoed in his mind. It was as if the meaning, the essence of the question, had been pushed into his head. Dropping to a crouch he took up a defensive posture, heart racing. What dark magic was this? “No dark magic here.” “Who are you?” “I am standing in front of you.” Rising slowly from the crouch, Sesah looked at the golden woman. “Do you know me?” she asked in his mind. “No.” “Do you know why you are here?” “I am a slave.” “This is true, but it is a special kind of servitude I require, a sacrifice of body, mind and spirit.” “The man who relinquishes control of his spirit’s will is a fool. A body serves slavery, not a soul.” She went silent, and for a moment Sesah thought he felt regret, sadness. Then she spoke. “I hope understanding comes swiftly to you.” She spoke aloud in the common tongue, but this time he understood her. Somehow she had calmed him enough that, for the first time in the month he had been in this foreign place, understanding of the language came easily. Turning from him, she spoke to the guards at his back, “Strip him.” Sesah stiffened, but made no move to attack; the time was not right. The dark man stepped forward and undid the single tie at his right hip, the garment falling away to leave him naked and vulnerable. She stepped forward until their bodies were inches apart. “I can feel that you understand and accept my ownership of your body.” Without warning she reached forward and grabbed his flaccid cock, wrapping her hand around it securely. He flinched in reaction. “But it is your mind and heart that I need.” He stared over her shoulder, refusing to answer. Her fingers tightened painfully around him. “I understand and respect your pride, but you must let it go. This pain is small compared to what I will make you endure to teach you. I only warn you now so that you might begin of your own will to open yourself to me.” His mind torn between the instinct to strike and unwillingness to harm her, he took no action but to fall to his knees, her fingers releasing him as he did so. Kneeling, he bent his head, taking deep breaths and chanting to himself in his native

tongue. Unexpectedly, her fingers brushed against his cheek, and, in that fleeting contact, he felt something new. Puzzled, he had to search his mind to identify the emotion she had conveyed to him. Hopeful, he finally named it; she was hopeful. Then the touch was gone. He was pulled to his feet by his arms. When he felt leather straps going around his wrists, he tensed. The golden woman had turned and pulled something from the darkness of the room; when she turned back to him she held a small whip. She spoke, her voice cool and remote, “Now we start.” **** Sesah jerked, dragging himself out of the memory through sheer will. Forcing himself to move, he entered the room. Masig was a miserable sight, dusty with trails of muddy sweat dripping down his face and chest. Spit had leaked from the corner of his mouth to trail down over the thick collar. Sesah was left to wonder at the boy’s thoughts. With his own memories at the surface of his mind, he wondered how the boy would accept what was to happen. **** Cryessa let the silence stand for a moment once Moregon dragged Masig into the chamber and closed the door. The only sound was his labored breathing, harsh and wet as he tried to breathe around the gag and through the spit that had collected in his mouth. She could tell by the way that his eyes rolled side to side that he was trying to understand where they were. His searching would be in vain, for the magic of this room was such that its secrets were revealed only when she wished them to be. He would see only four black walls. For his sake, she hoped he would not see the entirety of the chamber, hoped that she would not need every tool in the vast room to break him. “Welcome, slave. You are in a chamber seen by few. Once you leave here, you will never speak of it. And what happens to you here will be known to only you.” His eyes were now focused on her, but there was blankness to his gaze, disconnectedness. That would not last; she would not let it. “First, I wish only to speak with you, to understand you.” Tamlohn, positioned by the closed door behind the boy, moved forward and released the straps of the gag. With his mouth freed, Masig licked his lips, taking several deep breaths; he still could not open his jaw all the way due to the collar, but he tried, opening and closing his mouth several times. “What is your name?” “You don’t even know my name, bitch?” Evidently he had fully recovered from the humiliation of the walk. “I repeat, what is your name?” Again looking disappointed by her lack of reaction, he answered, “Masig, son of Yasim.” “How long have you been here in the Temple?” “Six months.” “Why did you come here?”

At this he paused. Cryessa could both see and feel him struggling with a great emotion; she held her breath, hoping this would be easy. “I told you, bitch, I wanted to fight.” Then again, maybe not. “How far along are you in your training?” Masig cut his eyes to Rohaj, his commander, but she stopped him, “Look at me! Answer now.” “Third level, beginning class.” “How high do you wish to rise?” He shrugged. “Where is your family?” “I don’t care.” “Your mother, is she living?” “I wouldn’t know, I never met her.” “And your father?” “I told you, I am the bastard of some soldier.” “You call yourself son of Yasim; who is he to you?” “A man in my village—an old man, too old to have been my father, but he gave me extra food, and, when I was old enough, the money to travel here.” “You call him father.” He looked angry. “I wasn’t asking your permission.” “And it is not permission I was giving, just a comment.” He sneered, “You high born bitch, pretending to care about my life. You know nothing of what it is to suffer.” Cryessa walked up to him, close enough that their foreheads almost touched. Startled, Masig’s eyes widened. She could not let this comment pass unchallenged. Leaning to one side, she whispered to him. “It is you who know nothing of my pain. Speak not to me of suffering, little boy.” Closing her eyes she opened herself, unlocking the dark place deep within. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his sweaty cheek. Masig’s body went rigid; her pain, like a ravenous beast, tore through his body, its talons ripping at the very foundations of his mind. His mouth opened in a scream he could not articulate. As suddenly as it had come, it was gone, Cryessa removing her lips from his cheek and backing away. Looking at her, Masig felt tears running down the cheek she just kissed. “Wh-what, what was that?” She did not answer him, instead she continued her questioning. “Tell me about her.” Mind still reeling, he struggled to focus, “Who?” “The girl you raped.” Masig flinched, his expression full of shame. It was the first true emotion besides anger she had seen from him. Cryessa prayed he would relent, but even as her mind formed the words of the prayer, his face closed down, his expression turning to a sneer. “She is just some whore. Stupid bitch said it was rape, but she was asking for it.” “How was she asking for it?” “I’m not going to explain it. She just was.”

“Why last night?” “What?” “Why did you choose last night to rape her?” He shrugged as best he could with his arms still bound behind his neck. “I was bored, the bitch was there.” “What parts of her did you touch?” “Whatever parts I wanted; the bitch was asking for it.” “Release him.” Masig look startled, and then smug at her order. This time Anleeh moved forward to release him. Once done Anleeh moved to the door and took Tamlohn’s place. As Masig rolled his shoulders and neck, now free of the bindings, Tamlohn moved to stand behind and to the right of Cryessa. “She was not asking for it.” Mid shoulder roll Masig looked up, eyes flashing fire. “The bitch was asking for it.” “You had no right to try and rape her, to force yourself on her when she did not want you.” “She did! She wanted me, she was asking for it.” “That is a lie.” Masig screamed, a powerful sound. Pushed beyond reason, he raced at her, arms outstretched. Tamlohn calmly stepped in front of her. Masig had been broadcasting his intent with his body before he ever made the move, giving Tamlohn plenty of time to act. Anleeh watched the smooth movement, knowing, remembering, how Tamlohn’s apparent lack of concern at the attack would only further enrage the boy. **** Panting from his latest outburst of struggle, Anleeh dropped to his knees. Dragging in great whoops of air, he took a moment. His blind rage lessened a bit, the roaring in his ears fading. He was bound: ankles, wrists, and neck. A long chain was attached to each cuff, the ends held by the giant black man. Rohaj—know your enemy’s name; in his culture, names were power. The giant seemed unmovable. No matter how he threw his body, the chains never gained any slack. “Rohaj, give him room.” With those words, the slack he had fought so hard to steal was given to him. “Anleeh…” “Do not speak my name, demon woman!” “—what I ask of you is a task greater than any soldier’s battle. I see in you the mind of an intelligent man.” Kneeling, he threw back his head and roared in rage. He was a warrior! It was the highest honor a man could attain. He was the lion, the bear. She could cage him, but would never tame him. There was no place in him for what she was asking. She tried again. “You want to serve here as a warrior.” “I am a warrior! I came here to learn more, more than any of my brothers. I will return invincible.” “You have pledged me three years’ service.”

“Three years for warrior training. I came to study with that…” he threw a glance at Tamlohn, “not to be a slave as he is.” He spat at Tamlohn’s feet. “Tamlohn is the greatest warrior in the world.” Anleeh scoffed. “He is a skilled fighter, but now I know the truth! He is no warrior, only a slave to a woman.” “He has more power than you will ever know.” “The only power that matters is warrior strength.” “I see in you a man who will help bring us justice.” For a moment, he paused. He barely understood the concept she spoke of, but there was a thrumming in his head at the words, like a plucked string. “Open your mind; you were meant to be more.” “There is nothing more for me than a warrior’s life, and a warrior’s death.” “You will never be as great a warrior as Tamlohn.” Rage poured down behind his eyes at her words. “I am already a better warrior, for I am no slave.” Blue eyes regarded him from a calm face. “You are already a slave.” With another roar he leapt to his feet, charging for her. He would rip out her throat and paint himself with her blood. She would never make a slave of him. Suddenly the path to his goal was blocked. Jerking his head up to meet his enemy’s eyes, Anleeh saw no fury, no fear, no battle rage. Tamlohn’s eyes were cool, speaking as clearly as words that he was not threatened. At that moment Tamlohn dropped to the floor and rolled hard into Anleeh’s legs, sending him sprawling on the ground. Rolling smoothly up from the crouch, Tamlohn gathered the chains which had trailed behind Anleeh as he ran and, with careless strength, dragged him across the floor, back to the place he had been just a moment ago. After dumping his naked body, now tangled in chains and scraped by the floor, Tamlohn calmly walked back to the woman. “Bind him.” Rohaj moved forwards and, rather than untangling the mess of chains, simply unsnapped each one and then raised Anleeh by grasping the ring in the collar he wore and lifting. Standing once more, Anleeh, now recovered, turned to attack. He lashed out with a fist. Rohaj twisted and grabbed his forearm as it shot past, using the momentum to spin him around and throw off his balance. In the same movement, Rohaj attached a new, thicker chain to the cuff. Anleeh stumbled, only to be brought up short by the chain on his wrist, which was attached to the ceiling. Rohaj grabbed his unfettered wrist, and pulling him hard to one side, attached a second chain. This time when he stepped away, Anleeh was left hanging from the ceiling, his arms spread wide, feet barely touching the floor. “I offer you another choice; do you want your legs bound or will you remain still for what comes next?” A distant voice in his head told him to ask questions, get information, try and understand what was meant. But the greater part of him was his warrior training, the voice of his people and his culture, screaming to fight. With a grunt of effort, he wrapped his hands around the chains and lifted his legs from the ground, kicking out to the left where Rohaj stood. The movement was a clear

threat. The woman turned to Rohaj, “The bar, please.” Obediently he turned, moving deeper into the chamber and, for a moment, he disappeared into the blackness, returning with a wooden pole in his hand. Anleeh tracked the other man’s movement with his eyes. He knew that Rohaj would be distracted as he tried to manipulate the pole on her behalf. The guard dropped to one knee, bending his head. With a lightning fast movement, Anleeh started to pull his feet up, only to have daggers of pain shoot through his thighs. Standing off to the right, Tamlohn flicked his wrist, the bull whip uncoiling from around Anleeh’s thighs and slithering to the floor. Anleeh had forgotten about the other guard—a fool’s mistake. Looking down his naked body, Anleeh could see a thick welt raised across both thighs, blood trickling down from a small laceration on the outside of his left thigh. Clenching his teeth against the fire that still licked along his flesh, Anleeh could do nothing more as Rohaj buckled the cuffs at each end of the pole around his ankles, forcing his legs wide. Body now spread in an X, only the balls of his feet touching the floor, Anleeh felt the first trickle of true fear, fear that he was about to be changed forever. Anleeh bowed his head, not wanting them to read his eyes. Suddenly within his field of vision was the hem of a pale green dress, a slim golden hand. Her hair brushed his face as she leaned close. “You have every reason to fear, but out of the depths comes the greatest strength. I will teach you things of which you have never dreamed.” He swallowed, matching her whisper, afraid to voice any sound which was not a clear denial of what she asked. “You will make me a slave.” “There is no shame in serving me. I will teach you, and through it, you will become a warrior greater than you can imagine.” The woman’s fingers brushed over his flaccid cock, causing him to jerk back, though he could not go far. “What do you do?” Defiance. “This belongs to me, as does everything you are.” “Nae.” “Aye.” Her fingers wrapped around the base where his cock and balls connected to his body. She cradled both his sac and shaft in her hand. Slowly she began to tighten her fingers. “Who do you belong to?” Control. Taking shallow breaths while struggling to maintain his balance and not add pressure to her grip, he still managed to answer defiantly. “To the Warrior God, never to a woman, not to you.” The woman glanced down at his soft cock, held firm in her fist. Following her gaze, he saw she held a group of leather straps. First she slipped one strap around the base of his cock and balls, the strap taking the place of her hand. She buckled it in place tighter than her hand had gripped; the pressure was uncomfortable but not yet painful. The second strap was wider, nearly three fingers broad. The woman bent slightly before taking his sac firmly in one hand and pulling down, hard. Anleeh jerked in reaction, pain darting through his cock. She pulled down, harder and harder, forcing

already stretched skin to give. Anleeh’s eyes shuttered closed. The pain was like continuous shocks running from his cock down through his legs and back up into his belly. When at last the downward pull stopped, there was a sharp pinch. He looked down in time to see Tamlohn moving away from him. Breathing in sharp gasps he struggled to understand what they had done to him. Rohaj knelt with a large mirror, reflecting the image of his cock from below. The leather bindings pushed his package away from his body and stretched his soft ball sac down. Below the thick leather of the second strap his balls were a small round globe, glossy and pink. He stared at the mirror in horror, control of his cock taken away from him so easily. In the reflection, pale gold fingers reached out and gently stroked the hard knot of his balls. Against all reason he felt his cock stir, wanting to rise, as if the loss of control had stirred his lust. “Remove the mirror.” He turned his gaze to her face. There was no mercy in her eyes. Her fingers moved from his blood filled sac to his limp cock, bound and dangling between his restrained legs. She toyed casually with his most private flesh, flicking it with her fingertips, pinching the tip, lifting and dropping it so it bounced against the restraints. “You are mine.” “Nae.” His protest was weak. Her expression did not change as she drew back one hand and brought it up between his legs, slapping his sac. Anleeh nearly passed out as spots danced before his eyes. She stepped close once more, now cradling his balls, “Aye.” **** Anleeh blinked hard. For a moment he had been lost in his past. Thrown back into the mind and body of a person he barely recognized. Though he did not understand it at the time, indeed he would not understand for many months after that first day in this room, she had saved his soul. While he was lost in his memories, the boy had been bound the same way, arms in leather straps attached to chains dangling from the ceiling with a spreader bar forcing his legs apart. Masig was now firmly under her control. Anleeh’s lips twitched, he would have to tease her about her utter predictability later. For now he simply shifted his weight, knowing his role in this drama was that of silent threat. The main players were the Priestess and Masig. **** It was time to move forward. Cryessa had to remind herself that she was not trying to train a Zinah, but to break a soldier, to teach him something. Though the elements were the same, critical differences had to be maintained. Though they were all being careful, she could hear the echoes of memories from some of her men. She knew that this would be hard for them, that this room had been a turning point in each of their lives. Some had not been back here since they were first

turned. With a mental slap, Cryessa told herself to focus. She had to concentrate on the man in front of her, watch him and read him so she knew what to do. From here on out, it would be his actions, and reactions, which drove the course of this training. “I still do not think you understand, slave.” “Understand what, bitch?” “I am in control.” “You think locking me up, beating me, makes you my master?” “No, I am your Mistress because you have proven yourself unworthy of freedom. As the protector of all the people who live here, it is my duty to remove you.” Cryessa stepped up to his bound and spread body. Reaching down with a casual hand, she petted his cock. For a moment she watched him fight his body’s reaction, but he was too young, his body too eager for any sexual attention. With only a few strokes of her fingers, she brought his cock up. Masig’s face was flushed a dull red with embarrassment. He stood naked and bound before Commander Rohaj and the other most powerful men in the world and a few simple touches brought him stiff. “Easy to please, I see.” He snarled at her, embarrassment fueling the banked rage inside him. “Bitch, whore, why don’t you drop to your knees and do what you are good for?” “If that is all you can think of when your cock is like this, I will have to control you.” Pulling her hand from behind her back, Cryessa held the straps up for his inspection. He sneered, but his eyes were questioning. “As your cock is very small, I won’t even need to shrink it down to get this on.” It was time to begin breaking him; she had let him rant long enough. Masig sputtered with embarrassment, “I-Bu-Big enough to, to…” “Quiet, slave.” Her voice was low and sharp. Drawing his cock and balls away from his body, she slipped the stiff leather strap around the base, drawing it tight. Now the blood was held in this part of his body; he could not come, nor could he grow soft. Masig gasped when he looked down. “What-what are you doing? Take it off. I do not want it!” “I do not care if you want it, I want it on you.” “You can’t…” “I can and have.” Calmly, Cryessa snapped the rest of the straps into place. The second piece was made of a thin, six inch piece of wood covered in leather; she laid this along the top of his cock. Three thin straps dangled down the side of Masig’s shaft. Carefully, Cryessa wrapped each one around the meat of his sex, fastening it with one of the three buckles set into the top piece. He struggled against his bonds as she worked, his cock bouncing around. In punishment, she drew the straps one notch tighter than she would have otherwise. When she stepped away his sex was studded with leather, the flesh imprisoned between the three straps along the shaft and the main strap around the base. Out of the corner of her eyes, Cryessa saw Anleeh lean forward to look, as if this was not what he had expected. Knowing he had never seen it, and sensing an opportunity, she

caught his eye and waved him forward. With a secret grin in her direction, Anleeh sauntered toward the boy. “Interesting choice, Priestess, but his cock is so small that it is hardly a punishment.” Masig looked at Anleeh, horror writ large upon his face. Up to this point he could push the fact that the Zinahs were here to the back of his mind. Their silence allowed him to pretend that they were blind to his embarrassment. “What would you suggest, Zinah?” “Considering his crime, would you not consider strapping it to the table top and whipping it?” Masig looked ill at the suggestion. Cryessa played along. “The suggestion has merit, but I do not like my slaves bloody.” Anleeh bowed, “As my Priestess wills.” The boy was silent, his complexion mottled from his body’s clashing urges to blush and pass out in horror. It was time for the whip. Even as she thought it, Tamlohn placed the butt of the whip into her palm. It was short but heavy, the tail made up of several wide strips of leather; it was properly called a flogger. The damage could be heavy or light, and it was much kinder than the bullwhip, which broke the skin every time. “I will punish you now, slave. You have earned punishment through your actions, but I will teach you a secret, known only to the men in this room. I am not a brutal Mistress, harsh yes, but not brutal. For though I will whip you, I will not leave you. Throughout the punishment, I will be here,” she touched a fingertip to his forehead, “and here,” and to his heart. “I don’t understand.” “I know.” Stepping behind him, she raised the flogger and brought it down on his back. Unlike the bullwhip, there was no snap, but a thud, like the sound of her heavy books falling to the floor. Masig shifted, rolling his shoulders. “Why are you being punished?” The flogger fell again. “Because that girl said I raped her.” “No.” Again she flogged him. “Why are you being punished?” “B-because she was—.” “No.” This time she struck harder, throwing her upper body weight behind it, bringing him up onto his toes, his fingers curled into fists. “Did that one hurt?” “Yes.” Whump, it struck his left shoulder blade. “Answer properly.” “Yes, it hurt.” “No, you are my slave. Again.” Whump, his right shoulder now. “I-I—I don’t understand.” “Is your cock still hard?” Masig’s mind rolled, he could barely form words. The pain of the flogger, though

milder than he expected, distracted him from what she was saying. He didn’t know what she wanted. “My…” She struck his lower back now, carefully avoiding the sides of his body where she knew soft tissues lay unprotected by ribs. “Your cock, slave. Look down at yourself and tell me if it is still hard.” His gaze dropped to where his cock jutted, imprisoned by the leather harness. “Yes. I mean yes, yes Priestess.” “Is it as hard as before?” “No, Priestess.” She moved around to his front and without warning brought the flogger down on his chest. Cryessa switched hands, flexing her sore fingers. “Slave, I want your cock hard.” “But-but-” “You think that you should be allowed a soft cock just because you are getting a little whipping?” Horribly lost, Masig simply hung his head. Cryessa reached out a gentle hand and raised his chin, looking right into his eyes. “I said I do not want your cock to be even a little soft while I flog you.” He knew she wanted something, she could see it in his eyes. Silently she willed him to understand, to begin to accept. “Priestess, I… I do not know how to make it hard if you are beating me.” She stroked his cheek in reward; they were on their way.

Chapter 6 Tamlohn watched the woman he loved work over the young soldier. When they first entered the room, he’d had to work hard to mask his worry from her. He alone had seen the toll the breaking of the Zinahs had taken on her. As Prima he had been here for each, but as her beloved he had held her while she whispered her doubts to the wind. Tamlohn began to relax, little by little. They had been here less than four hours and already the boy was changing. Each of the Zinahs had spent days locked in this chamber; in the case of Rohaj, weeks. Feeling optimistic, Tamlohn began to think that they might all make it out of here in time to eat supper together. As long as she stayed he would stay, but if it looked like this would take a long time, one by one he would have to send the others out. It was not a good idea to have all the decision making power in the Temple locked together in a room no one could find with a door none could open. It looked like she was about done with the flogger. Tamlohn considered going for some other equipment, but was not quite sure where she would go from here. Up to this point her treatment of the boy had been fairly standard. Though he wanted to aid her by anticipating her needs, Tamlohn remained still; he would wait for orders. He had absolute faith in her ability to turn this boy’s thinking. After all, he had watched her do it to the Zinahs, and had lived through it himself. “Slave, I am going to have my Zinahs release you. When they do, you will kneel on the floor with your head up so we can continue talking. Do you understand?” His face a study in confusion—had they not just been talking about the hardness of his cock?—Masig nodded. His rage had fled in the face of this world turned upside down. Everything was thrown off balance, he could not grasp anything. The only thing in the world that seemed stable was the Priestess. When the bonds came loose, Masig lowered himself to his knees. He started to sit back and then paused. What precisely did she want of him? Where should he put his hands? Even as he thought it, a piece of his rage flared. What did he care what she wanted? He settled back on his heels, arms at his sides. “Now then, slave, that flogging was a warrior’s punishment. But you are no longer a warrior.” “I-I am.” His voice was weak, more a hopeless plea than a protest. “No, you are not. My warriors are brave beyond measure, disciplined. They protect this Temple, the people in it, and me.” “I will fight.” “I expect no less, but your first battle will be in this room.” “With you? Do you expect me to fight Commander Rohaj…” “No, slave, Rohaj’s time is too precious to waste, and you have not earned the right to prove yourself in battle with such an advanced warrior; the battle you will fight is within yourself.” “Please—I do not understand. Nothing you say makes sense!”

“It will.” Cryessa moved to the back of the visible part of the chamber. “Come to me.” Masig lifted one leg, putting his foot on the ground, prepared to rise. “No, crawl.” “No, please…” “Crawl, slave, do this simple thing. I will ask much harder of you.” Weary, Masig knelt once more, placing his hands on the floor. Slowly he crawled across the stones, his shins, ankles, and feet scraping lightly. When he was only a few feet from her, Cryessa started to move backwards. Without needing to be told, Masig continued crawling, his gaze focused on the hem of her dress. As she backed up, the magic veiling the segment of room behind her dropped. Abruptly the room gained ten feet in length, revealing a more polished floor with several freestanding pieces of equipment and long tables with items on their surface. It was from these tables that Tamlohn had drawn the whip earlier. Silently the Zinahs moved into position, encircling the new space. She caught Anleeh and Sesah giving the pieces of equipment calculated looks, undoubtedly trying to guess which she would use next. Moregon simply took up a stance in one corner behind the stocks. Of all of them, it was Moregon’s training which had been the easiest, not only because of his sweet nature, but because he was raised in the Temple; indeed, his family had lived here for generations. So he had a much better understanding than any of the others about who and what the Zinahs were. Unlike her other men, he had considered it a great honor to be chosen. Rohaj was staring into the darkness, deeper into the chamber. If Moregon's training was easy, Rohaj’s had been the polar opposite, difficult to the point that she had nearly given up. Cryessa looked at Tamlohn, meeting his eyes, and then glancing at Rohaj and back again, silently asking him to keep an eye on the second in command. A slight nod was her response. She wanted to smile at him, toss a flirty glance or teasing look, but those things were not allowed, not appropriate between the Priestess and her men, so instead she settled for a formal nod. Halting her slow backwards walk, Cryessa watched the boy stop his awkward crawling. Already dirty when they arrived, he was filthy now “Now, slave, as I said a moment ago, the flogging was a warrior’s punishment, and you have lost that rank. You will now be punished in a different way. You tried to humiliate and hurt that girl, take her and use her for your own. Your strength is a gift meant to be used to protect, and you used it to attack.” Masig hung his head between his arms, still on his knees. Cryessa walked around behind him and picked up a thin, wooden switch. Unlike the flogger, this pain was very direct and sharp. It would raise nice red stripes on his skin, a beautiful dichotomy between the different kinds of beating. “Stand, slave, and bend over this.” Masig rose to his feet and then followed her finger with his gaze to a contraption the likes of which he had never seen before. It looked like a very thin, tall table with legs that touched the floor at angles instead of going straight down. On rubbery legs, he approached. Was he to sit on it?

Cryessa tapped the top of the horse with the cane. “Lie on it with your chest here, your feet on the floor where the legs rest.” Beyond protesting, Masig slid into place as she directed. Once in position, the only protected parts of his body were his chest and the one cheek he had resting against the table. With his torso lying along the thin flat top of the horse and his feet placed to the outside of the legs, his limbs were spread and she had full access to his back, legs, buttocks, and cock. Cryessa casually raised the cane and laid a stripe across the back of his right thigh. “Ahhh! Ow.” “Now, slave, I am going to cane you. Do I need to bind you or can you stay in position?” Masig was breathing hard, “I-I-that hurt Priestess, I do not want to displease you by moving.” “Will you do your best to be still?” “I will try, Priestess, but perhaps it would be better to bind me.” “Why?” “Because I am afraid I will move.” “You will not.” Cryessa moved to his face and bent down to look at him. “You will not move, slave; you will remain still.” A tear rolled out of one eye onto the covering of the horse. “Please, I do not want to disappoint you.” Cryessa smiled at him, a real smile. “You won’t.” Standing once more, she moved to his ass and began the caning in earnest. She kept the strokes light, raising stripes of color but not true welts. She carefully spaced the strokes, first hitting so it covered both buttocks, next one thigh and then the other. Masig’s body never moved. Knowing he could not see her, Cryessa let her face relax, looking up and giving the Zinahs a relieved smile; he was going to make it. What she needed was his desire to serve her, to please her, to be greater than anything else he knew. “Slave, I can see that your cock is going soft.” She slowed her blows to small taps. “Please, Priestess, please, I still do not understand how to make myself hard.” Swoosh, crack! She landed one hard on his buttocks for that answer. He cried out, his body hugging the horse in an effort to keep still. “Slave, I can see that your cock is going soft.” This time he was silent, his mind whirling, trying to understand what would make it right. Tears of frustration filled his eyes. Finally, in despair, he wailed, “Please, Priestess, I want to make my cock hard for you, but I do not know how to do it, I cannot control it that way. Please help me!” Perfect. Swiftly, Cryessa moved to his head and crouched so she could look him in the eye. “I told you I was not a cruel Mistress; all you needed was to ask for my help.” Tears continued to flow from his eyes, “But to ask for help is to be weak.” She stroked his cheek, “No, precious boy, no. To ask for help, for guidance, is the essence of wisdom.” Masig stilled. “You mean in anything, not just this moment?” “Yes, always.”

“But you are not always with me.” “Not I in this body, but the Goddess is always with you.” He shook his head, “I do not understand.” “Then I will help you.” Cryessa held out the cane to Tamlohn. “Your punishment will continue at the hand of the Prima.” Masig looked nervous. Having a slender, beautiful woman wielding a punishment device was very different from having a massive, muscle bound warrior do it. As Tamlohn took up his post, Cryessa held out her now empty hand; Moregon stepped forward and dropped a medium size plug into it. Swish crack. Tamlohn landed his first blow, considerably harder than she. Masig’s body jerked hard against the horse. “Good, slave, I can see you are fighting to remain still. Now then,” she held the plug up. “Have you ever seen one of these before?” Masig shook his head no even as another stripe was raised across his thighs. “Can you see how it looks like a short cock? I insert this into your anus. The muscles there will close around this skinny part and hold it inside your body. While it is in there, it will rub against a little nub of flesh inside you which can keep you hard. Your body will be very sensitive to it, especially the first time.” “You will put it in-inside me?” “Yes.” “Will it hurt going in?” “Yes.” “But it will make my cock harder?” “It can, yes.” Masig looked at her. Cryessa stared calmly back at him as if every minute or so he were not being beaten with a cane, as if they were not locked in a secret room surrounded by instruments of torture. “Then, I-I would like to have it.” “Ask properly.” “Please, Priestess, I would like to have the thing up my bottom.” “Why?” “Well, because you said you wanted my cock harder.” “To please me?” “Yes, Priestess, to please you.” “Tamlohn, step back.” Cryessa rose and went around to the boy’s stripped and glowing ass. Moregon stepped forward and, taking the plug back from her, began to grease it up. Carefully she took back the now slippery thing. Things were progressing so nicely Cryessa decided to push and see how far she could take him. “Reach back, slave, and open yourself to me.” Without hesitation, Masig reached his hands back towards his ass. For a moment his hands simply lingered on the globes of his ass cheeks, feeling the lines of heat from the caning. Then he dug his fingers into the beaten flesh and pulled his ass apart, sucking in a pained breath as he did so. “Good slave,” she murmured. This plug had a much broader tip than the plugs the Zinahs wore. When she pushed it

in, it would be like a true cock entering him. Cryessa started by rubbing the tip across his puckered sphincter. A shiver raced up his spine, she could see his skin twitch as it happened. Positioning the head right at the entrance, Cryessa started to push. “Slave, you are clenching your ass. Stop.” “I’m sorry, Priestess, but it hurts!” “Yes, slave, it will. Relax your ass and pull yourself open wider.” With a whimper, he did as he was ordered. Fingers digging into his abused flesh, he pulled hard, opening himself and letting the tip slip in. Cryessa leaned into it, watching the plug slowly disappear up his ass. When there was just an inch left outside his body, she slammed it into him, forcing his body to take the last inch in a rush. Masig cried out, his hips bucking helplessly as the plug rubbed against his insides. Grasping the end, she twisted it side to side. Masig pumped his hips, unable to help himself. “Slave, is your cock hard?” “Yessss, oh yes, Priestess.” “Good. Know that you will not be allowed to come.” “Oh please, please…” Cryessa gestured and Tamlohn stepped forward and whipped the cane across Masig’s ass. The stroke first showed stark white and then filled in a deep blood red. Masig cried out. “Rise, slave.” Slowly, Masig pushed himself up. There were flags of color high on his cheeks, but they were signs of arousal, not embarrassment. Standing now, with his lonely cock swollen large between the straps of the cock harness, Masig was a pitiful creature to behold. Looking at him, the Goddess whispered in Cryessa’s ear, helping guide her to the next phase. Turning away, Cryessa moved deeper into the room, mentally lobbing a globe of magic to each of her Zinahs. The blackness fell away as she moved towards it. Like a curtain being dropped, the spell revealed another segment of the room. There were only two items here. Against the wall on the right was a high-backed throne. The seat was plush, the arms and headrest encrusted with precious metals. The ends of the armrests were carved into the shape of snarling lions with winking ruby eyes. Opposite the throne, against the left wall, was a large cage. Cryessa seated herself on the throne, resting her hands on the lions’ heads. Masig slowly trailed after her into this new space. His gaze darted from her to the cage and back again. “Stand before me, slave.” Masig positioned himself before her throne. The Zinahs now moved into the new section of the chamber, each man clasping something in his hand. “Raise your hands and lace your fingers behind your head, slave.” Masig obeyed, raising his arms, and then, without being told, spread his legs wide on the floor. “Good.” At her simple word of praise, he looked pathetically pleased.

“Slave, you are to focus on me, on my words, and respond immediately and truthfully. The Zinahs will beat you as I speak with you.” Masig’s mouth opened as if to protest, but she cut him off. “No! Do not speak until I ask you a question. Remember that it is my will that you suffer this.” She nodded to the Zinahs. Anleeh stepped closer to the boy and slashed a short crop against his chest, raising a red splotch on his right pectoral. Masig gasped and twitched from the blow. Moregon stepped forward, a thick wooden paddle in hand. Positioning himself behind the boy, he brought the paddle down with a crack on the already abused flesh of his ass. Masig’s eyes rolled in pain, his knees starting to buckle. “No, slave, stay upright.” Immediately, his legs straightened. Sesah held a thicker version of the cane she had used. He brought it into play with a snap that laid a welt across the front of Masig’s left thigh. He whimpered, eyes filling with tears, breathing ragged. Rohaj, positioned behind the boy, stepped forward and, with no warning, brought the cat-o-nine tails he held up to slice into the flesh on the inside of Masig’s right thigh, laying short, uneven welts along the ultra soft flesh. Masig’s knees began to buckle once more. “No! Remain upright!” “Please, Priestess, I cannot,” Masig’s voice was a mere thread of sound. “It is my will that you do so.” “But, but I cannot…” Whistle, snap! Anleeh brought the crop into play once more, landing a matching blow on the other side of his chest. Masig moaned. Remember, Cryessa willed him. “Priestess,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, slave?” “Please… help me. I need your help.” Without a word, Cryessa drew thin ropes of magic from the stones at their feet, wrapping them up his legs to hold him in place. They would offer no protection from the beating, but he would remain upright for the rest. “Thank you, Priestess.” “You are welcome, slave.” Sesah laid a second stripe across his thigh. Again he moaned in pain, but remained upright. Moregon went next, paddling his ass once more. Masig’s eyes were unfocused as his body and mind sank into the pain. Closing her own eyes, Cryessa spoke to Masig’s mind. Sink into the pain; go to a place where there is only truth. Go there so that we might understand what drove you to this. When Rohaj laid a blow from the cat across his back Masig didn’t react. Cryessa spoke softly, “Did you try and rape that girl because she was a whore, or to make her one?” Masig answered, truthfully, his voice soft, matching the half focused look in his eyes, “To make her one. She is pure, perfect. I see her sometimes, outside washing vegetables or peeling potatoes, and there is a light inside her I can see. I want that light, I

want to know it, but—I cannot. I have nothing, came from nothing. I-I wanted to hurt her, take the light away because she had it and I never will.” Slap! Anleeh cropped him. “Why did you come here?” she asked again. “I wanted a better life. I want a chance to fight for my people, to serve. It, it is so hard. The others here are nothing like me, so happy with their perfect lives.” Snap! Sesah caned him. “I wanted to make Yasim proud.” Crack! Rohaj let loose with the cat. “Tell me about her.” His eyes seemed to focus for a moment, and there was grief in them. “Her name is Euco. She has red hair and blue eyes and freckles. She has a little brother who sometimes stays with her while she works. I watch her, laughing and teasing. She always smiles. Even at me. Most here are wary of the beginning soldiers, as if they don’t trust us yet. But not her, Euco always smiles at me.” “I see grief in your eyes. For whom do you grieve?” “For Euco. For myself.” “Why last night?” “Two of the soldiers in my barrack are engaged. They both have families here; both have so many people to help them. They were discussing the rings they were going to have made, talking about spending more money than I would make in a year. I know the girls, they are not half as deserving of beautiful gifts as Euco. “I knew I could never have what they do. I could never pay for a wedding or buy a ring. If I asked a girl to marry me, we would have no place to live for I have no family. They had their world given to them and … I knew I would have to take that life if I wanted it, and that meant Euco. “At first I just went on a walk so I would not have to listen to them, but then I saw her…” his voice trailed off. Whap! Moregon paddled his ass once more. “What parts of her body did you touch?” “Her breasts, they were so soft. She had freckles on the tops, I-I wanted to rub my face on those freckles.” Cryessa sat back, satisfied that she now knew the truth. Though she would not let it show, her heart ached for him. There was no excuse for what he had tried to do, but she could now see his pure heart, a heart sadly tarnished by his life up to this point. She would remove that tarnish, rip it off him through the bite of punishment. Slap! Anleeh cropped his right nipple. “What is a woman?” Masig looked up, his blurry gaze focusing on her face, “Priestess?” “Slave, if you truly understood the question, you would never have hurt that girl.” Masig shook his head; he didn’t understand. “You see, the Goddess made us to complement one another. A woman’s strength is here.” Cryessa touched her forehead, and then the spot between her breasts. “In her head and heart. Your strength is in your arms and legs, the physical strength of your body. “I want you to always remember that who you serve is not me, not this body or this mind, but my spirit which is that of the Goddess made flesh, as are all women. When I am gone from here, there will be another Priestess who you will serve. You serve the

Goddess herself. She has need of your power. I have need of it. And, in exchange, you will never be alone. In this place when you asked for it, I helped you. Remember that when all seems lost, the Goddess is there with you.” Cryessa raised her hand. The beating stopped. She withdrew the magical support and Masig slid to his knees, his hands still clutched together behind his head. Cryessa rose and moved to Masig, dropping to her knees before him so they knelt in mirror images of one another. “Masig,” It was the first time she didn’t call him slave. The beaten man looked into her eyes. “Look at me. Know me.” Cryessa raised her hands, palms to him. Closing her eyes, she opened herself, reaching, not down into the earth, but upwards into the stars. Goddess, let him know you. I see goodness in him; touch him with your light. Cryessa’s mind was suddenly filled. Inside her head rolled ideas beyond her scope of comprehension. An understanding of how all the world was connected, like a spider’s web or a thousand interconnecting rings. This was the touch of the Goddess. **** Tamlohn sucked in a breath. As many times as he had seen the Goddess bless her in this manner, it never failed to fill him with awe. Kneeling in the cold room wearing a simple dress, she was more beautiful that the night sky or the first rush of spring. Her hair moved in a wind that touched only her. She glowed, but not the gold of one beloved of the sun. Her body was haloed by a dark light. If darkness could burn with hews of green, lavender, and magenta, it would be the color that surrounded her now. Slowly her head tilted forward, and she opened her eyes. Tamlohn shuddered in both awed horror and reverence. No longer blue, her eyes were black, swimming with colors, like the aura that surrounded her. It was no longer Cryessa who looked out at the world through those eyes. No, he thought to himself, that was wrong, for she is the Goddess and the Goddess is she. What she was now was simply more. Masig, awestruck, lowered his hands from behind his head and pressed his palms towards hers. “Goddess,” his voice was reverent. When his hands touched the swirling dark glow, he stopped. For a brief moment Masig’s eyes glowed black, a physical indication that the Goddess had reached into him through the Priestess’s body. Masig’s eyes shuttered closed. Slowly, Cryessa stood, turned, and walked back the throne, seating herself once more. The black in her eyes slowly melted away. For a moment more there was silence. Tamlohn felt a touch to his cheek, a brush, as if a woman had gently stroked his face. In the next breath, the Goddess was gone. They could feel it. All eyes turned to Masig. Slowly he stood, his heavily abused body moving easily. Carefully he walked

forward to the Priestess. When he was a few feet away, he stopped. Deliberately he dropped to his knees before her, bending his head of his own will, not because he was ordered to. “I pledge myself, body and soul, to the Goddess.” The declaration was all the more powerful for its heartfelt simplicity. Falling forward to hands and knees, Masig crawled the foot and a half which separated him from the Priestess. He halted at her feet and raised his head, showing her his tear-stained cheeks. The Priestess stared down at him, her face remote and lovely. Slowly he dropped his head, resting it on her knee and whispered, “Priestess.” Raising her hand, she laid it on his cheek. No further words were necessary. He was devoted, body, mind, and spirit, to the Priestess.

Chapter 7 Hundreds of people were screaming in her head. Heart racing, Cryessa sat bolt upright in her bed. As her conscious mind took over, she lost the sound of screams. The sound faded as a dream does upon waking, but this had been no dream. Cryessa threw back the blankets. Stretched across the foot of her bed, Rohaj propped himself up on one elbow. He looked perfectly alert despite the fact that he had been asleep only moments before. “What troubles you, Priestess?” “They are screaming.” She slid off the edge of the bed and swiftly moved across her chamber. She exited her sleeping room, turned left, and headed for a large alcove off the main chamber. “Who is screaming, Priestess?” Rohaj padded behind her, naked as she. “I don’t know.” Her voice was grim. Cryessa stepped into the alcove. There, set into the floor, was a large, shallow pool, six feet across and one foot deep. Cryessa stepped up to the edge of her scrying bowl and looked down into the still, clear water. She could see the runes inlaid into the bottom of the shallow pool. This was a piece of ancient magic, dating from before the time of the usurpers. “Knife.” Cryessa held her hand out to Rohaj. Slipping a knife from the sheath he had strapped to his calf before he went to sleep, Rohaj handed it to her hilt first. Impatient now, Cryessa took the knife in her right hand and wrapped her left hand around the blade in a fist, feeling the sharp edges dig in. With a hiss of pain, she jerked the knife out of her closed left fist, the blade slicing through the flesh of her palm and fingers. Rohaj jerked to attention, taken by surprise; usually she was more discreet about obtaining her own blood. That, more than anything so far, warned him that she was truly worried. Cryessa extended her throbbing left hand over the bowl and opened her fist, stretching her hand until she could feel the pull of the separated flesh. Blood poured from her hand, falling in thick drops onto the surface of the water. “Take this that I might be gifted sight of things my eyes cannot see. Take this that I might be gifted hearing for things beyond my reach.” Her words and blood invoked the spell inscribed in the runes. The surface of the water clouded over, ripples spreading from the places her dripping blood hit. “Find them. They came to me in the dark of sleep. They are screaming.” The surface of the water grew still, and a hundred images flashed past, landscapes of rugged terrain, forested hills, and tidy rows of corn in fields both small and large. Then the images changed. Rohaj, watching the pool as the Priestess did, thought he saw the Temple as the moving scene showed the edges of the Great City. Cryessa gasped. She could just barely hear the sounds of chaos. Though she could not see the source of the cries, it was there. Her spell, speeding across the landscape,

searching out those who had called for help, had picked up the sounds of their cries, carried on the wind. Just the auditory was enough confirmation to assure her that it had not been a dream, though her heart had been telling her that all along. “Get the others.” Rohaj bolted from the room at her command. As he sped across the great room of her chambers and towards the hallway which led to the Zinahs’ quarters, he snatched a horn from the wall. As he started down the hallway, she heard him blow. The low tone was deep enough that it vibrated along her skin. Cryessa knew that the other Zinahs would be up before he made it to the end of the hallway. She was desperate to see what was happening, but she knew that it would be best if she waited until her Zinahs were all here. “Slow,” she whispered to the pool and the flashing images slowed. Clenching her throbbing left hand into a fist to stop the bleeding, Cryessa resisted the urge to expend magic communicating with her men. She would need all the magic she could get if she had to send out the army. The sound of heavy footfalls and clanking steel echoed through the chamber, the sound amplified against the stone walls. Without a word, her five loyal guards halted around the edge of the pool, eyes fixed on the still moving scene. All but Rohaj were half dressed, carrying bags with the rest of their clothing and armor slung across their chests. Rohaj, still naked from having slept in her bed, also carried a bag and was in the process of wrapping a length of worked leather around his waist in a kilt. “Ready?” she asked in low tones. “Aye, Priestess,” Tamlohn answered. He stood to her right, his eyes fixed on the scenery, struggling to identify the places the image showed. “Show me,” she told the scrying bowl, and once more the images picked up speed. They were on the outskirts of the city. Finally the cobbled streets gave way to dirt roads. The road they followed snaked its way up through the slowly rising foothills around the city. “Entine Road. North of the city center,” Anleeh stated. The others nodded. Cryessa took slow deep breaths, the words, the voices, were growing louder in her head. Struggling to actually hear the words beyond the weight of their presence in her mind, she swayed slightly on her feet. Immediately Tamlohn and Rohaj, on her right and left, moved closer, bracketing her body with theirs, Tamlohn slipping one arm around her bare waist, his eyes on her profile. The delicate lines of her lips were pressed tight. He could tell from the slight concavity of her right cheek that she was biting it, either to stop from crying out or to use the pain to focus, he knew not which. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her and turn their bodies so he could shelter her, use the flesh and muscle of his back as a living wall to protect her. Not only could it not be done because the threat was not physically in this room where he could block it, but it was not his place. He could stand beside and behind her, but he had no right to step in front of her; this was part of who she was. There were days when he ached to invoke his right to overrule her if it meant protecting her. But he could only take command when she was in great bodily danger. The horror of it was that, every day she was in danger, but not bodily. The danger was to her heart and mind, to her soul. This life was taking its toll on her,

and he could see it, more clearly than any other living being. He often wondered if his increasing frustration with this life was due to the fact that she was suffering and he was powerless to stop it. She was a good ruler, strong and caring. But her authority gave him no ability to protect her, to truly love her. Her body grew rigid in the cradle of his and Rohaj’s arms. “It’s coming.” Tamlohn switched his gaze back to the pool. **** Biting hard on the inside of her cheek, Cryessa concentrated enough to distinguish individual voices. “What going on, what’s happening? Why are they here?” “No, no no no. Please don’t!” “Get them away, hide them away. Goddess, keep them safe…” “…Goddess, help us…” “…Goddess, protect us.” Her heart breaking a little, Cryessa listened to her people beg for help. “There, smoke.” Sesah spoke, his voice slipping through the din in her mind, bringing her crashing back into reality. Forcing the voices into the recesses of her mind, Cryessa opened her eyes. The moving image was racing along the road, twisting through the low rolling hills. Rising from behind one of these hills were large plumes of smoke. Opening her cut left hand, Cryessa held it out over the pool and let a few additional drops of blood fall onto the image. A ripple moved over the image, distorting it for a moment before, with a leap, it raced across the landscape and up the side of the hill which hid the source of the smoke. As one they leaned in, taking in the scene before them. A small village was ablaze. On first glance, it looked as if every thatched roof hut were burning, illumining the panicked villagers. Men, women, and children darted from the burning structures. Most ran for the hills only to be stopped by the soldiers who were scattered along the pathways. As they watched, two of the King’s soldiers grabbed a young woman carrying a small child and shoved her back towards the open area in the center of the town. “They are corralling them,” Moregon said. “Why?” was Sesah’s question. “Why does the King do anything? To hurt our Priestess,” Anleeh replied. “Do we fight, Priestess?” It was Rohaj who had asked; it was the question they all had on their minds. Cryessa looked at the image in the scrying bowl. “It is most likely a trap,” she said. “Aye,” Rohaj replied. “The hills hide too much.” “Can you turn the image and look at the scene around it?” Tamlohn asked. “Nae, they called out to me and it is them I can see. Unless one of them knows where the ambush is, I can go no further.” “It is too far away, we will never make it in time,” Moregon said worriedly. “Not if the mounted soldiers go,” Tamlohn said quietly.

One of his innovations upon becoming Prima had been to train an elite group of warriors to battle while mounted on their horses. In this culture, horses were farm animals, used to work the land. The cavalry was one of their strongest weapons because the knowledge of how to train both the men and the horses was a closely guarded secret. As of yet the King had not been able to come up with its equal. “There are too few, I count at least one hundred fifty soldiers, the cavalry numbers only fifty,” Rohaj said. “Each mounted soldier is worth two on foot,” Tamlohn replied. “Two, not three,” was Rohaj’s sharp retort. “Enough,” Cryessa said quietly. “My army must go to these people, help them, but I will not throw away the lives of my soldiers. Prima, what say you?” She addressed the question to him, Priestess to General. “Speed is of the essence as there is a fair distance to travel. The mounted men will be the best hope for that. As you noted, Priestess, there is a high chance of ambush so I want 200 of the advanced soldiers to follow on foot, making all haste.” “Possibilities of a secret attack, to rule out ambush?” she asked. “There is no time, Priestess.” Cryessa was silent for a moment, weighing his words, examining the possibilities. There would be blood spilt this night, far more than the few drops she put into the bowl. She needed to protect her people, but she could not risk having the army annihilated. She hated that she would be sending them into a possible ambush, but in the end she had no choice. “Prima, take the cavalry and go first, I will do my best to aid you. Rohaj, you are to lead the second group of soldiers on foot, Moregon stay with Rohaj. Anleeh go and prepare the cavalry. Sesah, take your guard and do what you can to scout out the pitfalls.” Each man nodded before rushing from her presence to prepare for battle. As the other four raced from the room Tamlohn remained at her side. Cryessa told herself that they would think that she was giving last minute instructions or that she had additional orders for the Prima. She told herself they would not know, could not guess, that what she wanted was to spend a moment wrapped in the arms of the man she loved. They stood side by side as the sounds of footfalls faded. Then Cryessa turned and threw herself against his chest with a small cry. Tamlohn wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her hair. She was shaking. “Please be safe,” she whispered against his leather-clad chest. “I always am.” He inhaled the smell of her, dark and earthy like newly turned soil, but fresh not stagnant, like a summer’s breeze. She lifted her face from his chest. They were pressed together from knee to chest, bodies fitted, her naked form against the hard muscle and leather of his. Tilting her head back, she looked into his face. A long lock of her hair had spilled in front of her eye. With one hand he reached up and slowly smoothed it from her face. Pressed against him as she was, Cryessa felt small in his arms. It was rare that they stood like this, so she forgot the bulk of him, the maleness of his arms around her, his body sheltering hers. She traced his face with her eyes: brow, cheekbones, jaw, lips. Finally, she looked into his lavender eyes. His lashes were darker than the red of his hair; brown and thick, they framed his magic eyes.

“I fear that I might never see you again.” She whispered it. “I will always come back to you.” It was an empty promise; he was a warrior, his duty to serve her put him in danger. A day might come when he would not return, but her heart, thirsty for reassurance, drank in his words. His eyes moved to her lips. Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his head. Letting her eyes flutter closed, Cryessa lifted onto her tiptoes, her naked body rubbing along his clothed one. Gently their lips came together. The softness of the kiss was heaven, perfection. His mouth was open so that she breathed his breath, as he breathed hers. They did not move. He simply held her, his lips pressed to hers in a kiss that was almost virginal in its purity. It was a touch that was utterly forbidden. To share a kiss was too intimate, too equalizing. Kisses were for lovers, for family. They were neither. Mistress and slave, Priestess and Zinah, this was forbidden to them, and every time they did it was more perfect than the last. Her love for him swelled within her, until it filled her body like another thing living inside her skin. It was both a terribly fierce and sweetly soft emotion. Fused as they were, she felt his own love rise up, like a great dragon freed of its cage. With great reluctance, he broke the kiss, leaning her away from his body. “I could hear them,” he whispered. “I could hear the villagers.” In that instant, reality crashed back in. She had shared herself with him, to the point that he could hear the voices she had pushed to the back of her own mind. This was why their love was dangerous. For a precious moment she had forgotten everything but him. She stepped back, slipping the mantle of her power around her once more, like a suffocating cloak made of lead. “Go now, Prima. I will do my best to help you from here.” Tamlohn nodded. He started to turn away, but suddenly, with a sound close to a growl he turned back. One long stride brought him to her. Rough hands wrapped around her arms and jerked her up to him. Bending his head once more, he kissed her, savagely. As quickly as it had begun it was over. Tamlohn released her and stepped back. His face was fierce, warrior through and through. “I love you,” his words were as sweet and gentle as the first kiss, his tone as fierce as the second. “Be safe, my love.” He nodded, and was gone. **** Upon leaving the Priestess, Rohaj had headed not for the stairs down and out, but onto her balcony. This balcony, like most of the others, wrapped half way around the building in the shape of a crescent moon. The doors from the Priestess’s bedchamber were near the center of the crescent. Upon exiting onto the balcony, he turned right and followed the curve of the building around to the back, moving at a run. As the balcony began to narrow he slowed. There at the tip was what he was looking for. At this point, the balcony faced back onto the bulk of the Temple complex. From here, the Priestess could look out over the residents of the Temple. In the shadows of the building, where the curve of the balcony met the wall, there was a large box. Throwing

back the lid, Rohaj reached in and pulled out a great horn. Unlike the one which hung inside her chamber, and which he had used earlier, this was made of wood not horn, and much larger. Propping the curved bottom on the balustrade, he placed one end to his lips and blew. A low mellow tone reverberated, filling the open space between the back of the Temple and the residences and barracks. It was designed to be low enough that it would not wake people who were sleeping but was loud enough to be heard. A second later, a bright light flared on top of one of the soldiers’ barracks. Immediately four other lights situated atop the other army buildings sprang to life. There were, at all times, guards on the roof of each of the five main buildings. Kept atop the roof were large shallow bowls of oil. At the sound of the horn or any of the other preset signals, the guards would touch their torches to the oil and ignite the signal fires. With the signal fires lit, the guards would then run downstairs and ring the large gongs placed inside each building. Then, silently and without discussion or complaint, the entire army would prepare for battle. Rohaj did not need to see these things to know that they were happening. Their soldiers were well trained. Rather than moving back around the balcony and through the Priestess’s chamber, Rohaj simply vaulted over the balcony, landing with bent knees on the balcony below. From there he turned and raced through the Temple to the stairs, bounding down two at a time. **** Ten minutes after Rohaj blew the horn, and twenty after the Priestess first sat up in bed, the army was assembled. The Zinahs stood together in one last council of war. “Rohaj, move out with two hundred men, we still need time to finish saddling the horses. Anleeh and Sesah, you ride with me. Moregon, you are with Rohaj.” “Aye, Prima.” Briefly each man touched his right fist to his heart then forehead, in an abbreviated soldier’s form of the more formal gesture, before turning away to their respective duties. **** Inside the Temple, Cryessa knelt by the scrying bowl. The King’s soldiers appeared to be looking for something, but, more, the ill disciplined and ruthless men appeared to be taking delight in the destruction they caused and the terror they fueled. Once the residents of a hut were dragged out, the hut was then set on fire. In some places, the fire was spreading to the huts near it. At this rate, there would not be a single structure standing by morning. That was one thing she could help with from inside the Temple walls. Racing from her place by the scrying bowl, she went to her alter and grabbed the bare necessities. Settling once more on the floor, she set down a small bowl, a knife, and a thick candle. Raising the candle, she used a fingertip to light it. Placing the lit candle to her left, she next took up the knife. She cut the air around her in a circle with the blade and then, in the space directly in front of her, drew a circle around an inverted triangle—one

of the oldest symbols for the goddess herself. With that done, she placed the knife to her right. Lastly, she picked up the bowl and dipped it into the water of the scrying pool. Raising the bowl, she dipped her cut left hand into it, washing the blood off her hand and into the water. Now prepared, she reached out and started to draw in power. If she had more time, she could have used more tools, done this without the sheer brute strength of magic, but time was of the essence. She had no choice. Holding the bowl of blood-laced water in her left hand, she dipped the tips of her right fingers into the liquid. Extending her dripping fingers over the scrying bowl, she gathered the magic she had pulled into her right arm. She flicked her fingers, sending the bloody water, rich with magic, dripping onto the image, repeating it until the magic was gone from her arm. Breathing heavily and feeling as if she had just run for miles, Cryessa wearily got to her knees and looked into the scrying bowl. Where previously the night sky had shown through the plumes of smoke, there were now large rain clouds gathered. “Rain.” Immediately the sky opened and water sheeted down onto the small village. The water doused the fires and, in the resulting confusion, drenched villagers slipped away, into the surrounding hills. Hoping to provide even more cover, both for them and for her army, Cryessa leaned low and blew over the surface of the water. Fog rolled down from the mountains and enveloped the small town. Leaning back, she listened to the voices; many were gone, the speakers having grown calm. “Goddess, thank you for the rain.” “Away, away, away. We can get away now, slip out, they will never know, I know the way. I will take my babies and slip away.” “They are coming, they will save me. Surely the Temple comes, who else could have sent the rain?” “Let the Zinahs come soon.” “The rain… did you see… surely the Priestess, the Goddess…” Satisfied that, at least for the moment, most were safe in the fog, and many were slipping away altogether, she reached out to Tamlohn. The vision in the scrying bowl changed. Now she saw fifty men on horseback, racing down the packed dirt streets which skirted the outsides of the city. They were not as wide as the cobbled streets in the city center, but the dirt was easier for the horses. As she watched, they turned and veered up a road that would take them into the hills. “Hurry, Ahgarah, hurry,” she whispered. **** “Hurry, Ahgarah, hurry.” Tamlohn heard the words whispered on the wind. They had turned up Entine road, the pace slowing as the horses began to climb. There was no possibility of true surprise attack with the pounding of the horses’ hooves heralding their arrival. Tamlohn could tell they were approaching the town as his gelding thundered into a fog where the night had previously been clear. The magic laced fog made his skin tingle. He could taste it in the back of his mouth, green and sweet, like

eating the first shoots of grass in the spring. Behind him horses whinnied, balking at the excess magic they could feel even more keenly than he. Bent low over his own skittish horse, Tamlohn transferred both reins to one hand and laid the other against his neck and murmured nonsense words. His horse’s ears flickered, and his gait picked up. The other horses would follow, trusting the lead horse to guide them. Tamlohn reached out into the air that whistled past his cheek. The fog could not help them anymore. “Ahgarah,” he whispered to the winds. “They will hear us coming and your fog makes the horses afraid.” A moment later, a strong wind whipped down from the east, blowing the fog away. The path now clear, Tamlohn dug his spurs into his horse’s ribs, urging him faster. They were approaching a rise. His horse thundered over the crest, Anleeh’s at his side, and his breath caught. The village looked as if devastated by a storm. The muddy ground he could attribute to the Priestess’s efforts, but the gutted structures, scattered possessions, and huddled mass of frightened people were not caused by any storm. Even as he watched, a fully armed soldier dragged a man from one of the few remaining houses. The soldier shoved him to his knees in the mud and then casually kicked him with a heavy boot. From his vantage on top of the rise, Tamlohn could see two young children clad in simple white sleep shirts slipping out the back window of the house. Making a mental note of the direction the children went, Tamlohn focused his attention once more on the village square. It looked as if every man in the small community had been pulled from his bed and corralled into a pen, walled by lines of fully armed soldiers. A second glance revealed that the corralled men were all young. Tamlohn would guess most to be a score and five. While they were being roughly handled, none appeared in immediate mortal danger, so Tamlohn decided to take a moment to strategize. “What are your orders, Prima?” Anleeh asked. The normally gregarious man’s face was set in grim lines, mouth framed by deep brackets and eyes squinted as he examined the scene below. “Where are the rest of the soldiers?” “What, Prima?” “Surely they would not put all their soldiers in a central area.” “Prima, you would not. Do not credit the King’s soldiers with more intelligence than we know them to posses.” Tamlohn scanned the low hills that cradled the little hamlet. Once he took his men down into the little bowl they would be vulnerable to attack from above. Sesah was out there somewhere with ten of his specially trained scouts. They had ridden double with some of his men most of the way, but they were now out there on foot, looking for the ambush. But that knowledge coupled with the fact that two hundred more soldiers were on their way was not enough to reassure him. With a grimace, Tamlohn made his decision. “Four groups, three down to the village. We ride down hard in a show of force; we want to get those men out. The fourth group heads to the southwest. I saw two young

ones headed that way; find them, and any others who may be in hiding, and stay with them.” Anleeh nodded and then, raising up in his stirrups, turned and motioned. The six Commanders of the cavalry rode forward. In hushed, quick tones, Anleeh relayed Tamlohn’s orders. The unit leaders retreated to divide up the men into the four groups. Anleeh turned back to Tamlohn. “Anleeh,” Tamlohn addressed the other man. “How many do you count?” “One fifty, maybe one eighty. Our count at the Temple was accurate.” “And how many are we?” “With a few lame horses and injured men, we number forty-four.” Tamlohn grimaced. “We are superior in training, but in these close quarters it will be too easy for one of us to receive a knife in the back.” “True, Prima, but what shall we do?” “Her will is ours,” he tilted his head back. “What do we do? Pray to the Goddess to protect us. Hope that I am wrong, hope that this is not an ambush.” “We could send more men to scout…” “No. The villagers are not being harmed right now, but we cannot trust that to last. We pray, and we fight.” “As you will, Prima,” Anleeh replied formally, and then grinned. “Ah, Tamlohn, it has been too long since we had a good fight.” He laughed, “That is has, brother.” Tamlohn turned to look at his men. He motioned to the left and a fourth of the men peeled off under the direction of two of the unit leaders. If the villagers were out there, they would find them. Since only the Temple had mounted soldiers, the very sound of the horses may bring them out. “We ride hard, show of force. Protect the people.” With those shouted orders, Tamlohn settled himself in the saddle once more and, leaning low over his horse’s neck, dug in his knees. With a mighty leap, he started forward, the rest of the cavalry thundering behind him. At the sound of racing hooves, the King’s soldiers looked up. Even from this distance he could see the fear on most of their faces. The calvary pounded down the path, hitting the level space where the town rested. Tamlohn headed straight for the village center, his horse weaving through the houses. Anleeh peeled off to the left to come around from the side while another of the cavalry Commanders led a group of men off to the right to do the same. Thundering to the village center, Tamlohn leaned up and back in the saddle, fisting the hand which held the reins in the mane just in front of his horse’s withers. His horse reared up, front hooves pawing the air. There was a sickening crunch as one of the hooves made contact with the face of the guard nearest him. All around him the other mounted soldiers had reared their horses also, in an awesome display of power. As the front hooves landed on the water soaked soil Tamlohn pressed his right knee into the horse’s ribs while pulling left with the reins. His horse whirled as Tamlohn pulled his sword free of its sheath and leaned down to meet the attack of a soldier. He had the advantage of greater height, and, in a few deft lunges, he laid open the soldier’s chest with his blade. Jerking himself upright once more, he assessed the situation. Their only hope of

victory was to attack as viciously as possible before the King’s men could regroup. Digging in his knees once more, Tamlohn hooked the reins over the pommel of his saddle so he had both hands to wield his sword. The trick to fighting on horseback was to train both horse and rider to communicate through the use of leg movements. He plunged into the thickest knot of soldiers, rearing the horse once more, standing in the stirrups and leaning forward to keep his balance. The flailing hooves took out two men and shocked the others enough that, when he came down, Tamlohn easily dispatched three more. That’s seven, he thought to himself. Keep going, speed is the only hope. Across the square, Anleeh was cutting a swath through the men as wide as Tamlohn’s. Anleeh was utterly vicious in battle. Among his people it was called battle madness, and was a prized trait in a warrior. With the help of the Priestess, he had learned to harness the savage inside. Not long ago, the fires of battle would have made him mindless, but he could now focus that power, direct it as an archer did a well-aimed arrow. Rear, whirl, lunge, slice. Tamlohn had found the rhythm of the battle. Constant movement kept his horse from being a target. He tossed his sword from his right to left hands, leaning hard into the stirrups to keep his balance, and knocked away the blade of a man who was aiming at his horse’s rear leg. Suddenly the three soldiers who danced in a circle around him looking for an opening were gone, taken out easily and viciously by sneak attacks. Tamlohn looked to see Sesah’s ten elite guards surrounding him. Three of them were wiping blades. “Prima.” Sesah was at his left elbow. Transferring his sword back to his right hand, Tamlohn turned his foot toe out and held out his left hand. Sesah grasped his hand and, placing one foot atop Tamlohn’s, vaulted onto the horse behind him. “Go.” Sesah told his soldiers and like smoke they melted away to practice their dark skills on the remaining King’s men. With a glance around, Tamlohn could see that the battle was well in hand, and spurred his horse down a small path where the smoldering hulls of huts provided some cover. “Tell me,” he ordered the other man. “Prima, the ambush comes.” Goddess help them all. “How many?” “At least two hundred.” “Damn it to the North Wind.” Those were not good odds considering his men had already been fighting. At least some were injured, though he had seen none fall in battle. “How long?” he asked. “They are in a cave on the other side of the far rise. We did our best to stall them.” “How?” “Avalanche.” How ten men had managed to cause an avalanche, he would have to find out later. “Will the rest of the army be here when they come?” “Nae, I could not buy that much time.” “You have done more that I could have asked for,” Tamlohn told the other soldier.

Closing his eyes, he spoke to the wind once more. “Ahgarah, the ambush we feared comes. Too many and we are weary. We need your strength. We need the foot soldiers.” Opening his eyes, he moved back into the village center. The battle was done. A group of soldiers had dismounted and were removing the weapons from the remaining King’s soldiers who had surrendered. Tamlohn rode forward next to Anleeh, who turned to speak with him, the grin of victory slowly fading from his face when he saw Sesah mounted behind Tamlohn and the grim look on both men’s faces. “How many?” Anleeh asked. “Two hundred.” Sesah answered. “Damn it to the North Wind.” Anleeh swore viciously. “We will not escape this without heavy losses.” He was silent for a moment. “What do you want done with them?” He pointed at the surrendered soldiers. Tamlohn grimly shook his head, “We cannot afford prisoners; we do not have the time.” He looked at Anleeh, “Give them a choice. Those who do not join us die.” With an unhappy nod, Anleeh moved forward. There was no victory in killing a man who had surrendered, but nor could they afford to let these men remain and strengthen the King’s numbers. The four cavalry Commanders approached. Each looked weary; one had a hand clasped to his bleeding thigh. The horses’ heads hung low, their lungs working like bellows. “There is an ambush approaching. Two hundred.” Already pale faces turned gray at his words. “Retreat?” one of them asked. “I know not where the villagers are, nor the rest of the cavalry. If we leave, we abandon them to attack.” “We will fight, Prima,” another said. “But I fear we may not hold out for long.” “My prayer is…” his words were snatched away by a warm wind coming from the east. The wind smelled of spring and blood and earth. The wind smelled of magic. All around him soldiers looked up, heads cocking in question, eyes tuned to the east where the Temple lay. A second gust of wind came, sweeping down into the small valley and swirling around them. No longer wind, it was a tornado, the swirling air scattered with sparks of color, like a fractured star. The tornado began to slow and, for a moment, the sparks seemed to hang in the still air. Then, with a sound like a low gong, the air exploded. The sparks shot outward and slammed into the soldiers. Tamlohn felt one of the points of light slamming to his chest, easily penetrating his armor and slipping through his skin into the meat of his body. Every weary ache vanished, tired muscles felt well rested. Grinning, he felt as though he could take on a hundred soldiers by himself. All around him triumphant smiles graced his men’s faces, many vaulting back onto their horses. Damn, he thought, the horses. A small, dark point of light gliding up his horse’s right front leg, slipping into the meat of his shoulder. For a moment the horse shifted uneasily but then settled down once more. Clearly the Priestess had remembered his words about the magic upsetting the horses and was being careful not to scare them. All around him the horses’ heads were

lifting, some snorting and pawing the ground as if hungry for action. Behind him, Sesah shuddered as he absorbed the magic. “Prima, this does not change our odds,” Sesah said. Anleeh reigned in next to them, his horse hopping and kicking his back legs to add a flourish to the halt. “Aye Sesah, we will all die, but we will die happy men.” Tamlohn rolled his eyes at Anleeh who continued to grin. The Commanders, all looking much more alert than a moment ago, turned to break the news of the impending battle to their men. As they turned to leave, Tamlohn could see healed skin through the tear in the one man’s pants. “What of the King’s men?” he asked Anleeh. “King’s men? Surely you joke, Prima. After that display of power, which they tasted too, all are converted. They are drunk on the first taste of the Priestess. You could order them to run themselves through and they would.” “It will do for now. That is another twenty to our numbers. Sesah, can you handle them?” In response, Sesah slipped from the back of Tamlohn’s horse. “If they seem to have a change of heart, I will kill them.” It was not a threat, but a simple declaration of fact. Sesah slipped away, the shadows that were his men separating from pools of dark and moving forward to follow him. Tamlohn turned to Anleeh “Let us prepare.” **** When the King’s soldiers crested the hill, they were treated to a view of the decimated village, scattered bodies of their comrades, and a weary troupe of Temple soldiers, most sitting on the muddy ground. The Commander counted only five of the dreaded horses. He still had nightmares from the last time he had seen one of his soldiers killed by a gigantic hoof. There, in the center of the plaza, was the prize. The Prima Zinah knelt in the mud by another soldier. If he was not mistaken, it was another of the Zinahs, the brown haired one. He smiled in anticipation. Great would be his reward if he brought home the head of one Zinah, never mind two. And if one was the Prima… There were less than twenty men in the village, and he numbered one fifty after that freak avalanche had trapped and crushed part of his force; the fight was stacked in his favor. “I want the Prima myself.” He told the second in command. “No mercy, no prisoners.” “Some of our men down there may be alive, we will trample them…” “If they are stupid enough to be wounded, they deserve to die.” The second in command nodded, chastised. The Commander drew his sword and held it aloft. “For the King!” They charged down the hill. **** “Steady,” Tamlohn said, loud enough for all to hear.

At the sound of the battle cry, they had all jumped to their feet and taken defensive positions, the few who had their horses with them swinging onto their backs. As the first of the soldiers reached the flats, Tamlohn drew his sword. The others did the same. “Wait for it.” The first rank was now thirty feet away and advancing at a dead run, swords held out in front of them, prepared to run their opponents through. He looked up and, at the top of the hill, recognized a face, the Commander of the King’s personal guard. Ah, good. He thought to himself, this has been a long time coming. When they were twenty feet away, Tamlohn raised his fingers to his lips and whistled. Suddenly, rider-less horses burst from the spaces between the houses. They reared back, pawing gigantic hooves in the air. The soldiers closest called out in terror and tried to flee the flailing hooves. The army’s orderly advance was thrown off as they scrambled out of the way. When their hooves touched down, the horses galloped a few paces and then repeated the performance. Anleeh said the horses were dancing; indeed, when Tamlohn trained them, it often did look so, but to see them on the battlefield was to understand they were warriors. While the center section of the advance dealt with the horses, the front rows were still coming. Tamlohn yanked his attention away from the horses just in time to sidestep a vicious swipe. As the man pushed past him, unable to change his momentum, Tamlohn slide his blade between the man’s ribs and deep into this chest. A quick yank pulled the blade free and the body dropped near his feet. As he fought another man, he could see Anleeh, lips pulled back in a snarl, mind sunk deep in the battle rage of his people, taking on two men at once. In a show of raw brute force, he sliced one man completely in half at the waist and, using the same momentum, decapitated the other. The battle was raw and visceral. There could be no real finesse, no clean kills. They had to disable their opponents as quickly as possible. Sesah had brought the remaining mounted men in from the sides to flank the King’s men, boxing them into a small area. They would never win like this, but it might prevent them from being surrounded. Whirling and dropping to a crouch, Tamlohn swept out one leg, knocking his current opponent off his feet. When the man landed with a splat on his back, he sank his blade through the man’s armor, into his heart, killing him instantly. As he jerked the blade free, he saw one of the horses thunder past, headed for its rider. A moment later, the riderequipped gelding slipped past him and deeper into the battle. Raising his fingers to his lips, he whistled again. “Prima!” Turning, Tamlohn saw Sesah making his way towards him. The way was blocked by gruesome piles of bodies, and body parts. Glancing around to be sure there was no imminent threat, Tamlohn bounded over a fallen man and met Sesah. “How goes it?” Sesah was grim. “The first onslaught worked. Their front lines are almost decimated, but I heard the Commander order the rest of the force to retreat up the hill to prepare a second attack; we will not survive that. They will not be tricked a second time.”

“Damn!” For a moment Tamlohn hung his head, breathing deep. His Goddess fueled rush of energy was running out fast. Anleeh came up beside them. “They are retreating.” He pointed. The sound of a bellowing horn came from atop the far hill. The remaining men on the floor of the valley turned and scrambled up the hill. As the battlefield cleared, Tamlohn felt sick at heart at the scene now revealed. Dead and dying men were everywhere, and, unlike before, some of them were his. Looking around he did a quick tally; forty men still stood. “About thirty five dead.” Anleeh said beside him. Clearly he had been doing the same thing. Tamlohn cupped his hands around his mouth. “Find our wounded and dead!” The remaining soldiers immediately began combing the ground. He would not leave his wounded men to die in the dirt, and he would not leave the bodies of the dead to be trampled. “Fifteen horses.” Tamlohn nodded, but his heart twisted again. His own horse had never come. That sorrow would have to wait. The King’s forces were still regrouping on the top of the hill. “We need only hold out long enough for Rohaj to arrive.” The other two nodded, but their chances of surviving another attack looked grim. “Ahgarah,” he said to the wind. “We need Rohaj; we have lost good men.” A listless breeze fluttered past them, words barely audible. They… no more… coming. The Zinahs looked at each other and frowned. The Priestess’s response had been weak. “The Goddess is not as generous with power for battles.” Indeed it was one of the most frustrating things. Though the Goddess was both loving and harsh, and though she accepted death as a part of the natural cycle, the Priestess could never draw as much power to help them in battle as she could for other things. The Goddess would only support battle up to a point, and it appeared that their divine help had run out. “How long until the army arrives?” “At least another three quarters of an hour.” “We will hope this reprieve lasts…” Even as Tamlohn spoke, the King’s battle cry rolled down the mountain. Whipping around to see the remains of the King’s men, a full hundred he would guess, running down the hill, he whistled once more. His soldiers came running. “Partner up, protect each other’s backs!” He barked out the orders. “If you are in a fight you cannot win, back out! The army is on its way; we need only wait for them.” Most looked relieved at the information and not for all the gold in the world would Tamlohn have told them that the help was almost an hour out. Each man grabbed a partner. He, Anleeh, and Sesah would float, trying to take out the Commanders. It was well known that if you cut off the head the beast dies, and the King’s men were not known for their loyalty. He looked at the other two. “For Her.” Each echoed his words. “For Her.” Once more they touched fists to their hearts and foreheads.

For Her. It was a pledge to the Goddess, to fight for the Temple, to protect her presence on earth. For Her. For the Priestess. For his beloved. Turning slowly, he felt the battle calm come over him again. He raised his sword. Anleeh, tired of waiting, ran forward to meet the first of the attackers. Taken by surprise, he had no hope as Anleeh’s sword sliced open his chest. The next two were taken out with quick in-out thrusts of his blade through their throats. King’s men streamed past him on either side, many purposefully bypassing the Zinah and heading for the easier kills. Within moments, he was surrounded. Pushing his weight onto the balls of his feet Anleeh kept his body moving, it was the only protection he had from a sword through the back. Crouching, a great trick they had all learned from Tamlohn, he took out two men with vicious slices to the legs. The ground was too soft for some of the more acrobatic tricks that Sesah had brought to them, but he did his best, twisting and turning his body. Twenty feet away, though they could not see each other, Sesah took on three men at once. Thought he did not have the brute strength of many of the other Zinahs, his style of fighting was so different that he often had an easier time in battle for his opponents had no idea how to retaliate. Stepping forward, he jabbed two fingers on his left hand into the throat of one man, crushing his windpipe. As the man fell, slowly choking to death, he turned in a graceful leap and, both hands now on his sword, brought his thin blade down in an overhead strike, slicing his opponent’s body open from shoulder to groin. Several other soldiers fled at the sight of their comrade laid open that way. Tamlohn dropped another of his opponents and whirled only to find himself opponent-less for a moment. Breathing deeply, he turned to survey the battle. All he could see were the King’s men, some running, others engaged with men he could barely see. In a knot off to his right, he thought he heard Anleeh’s battle cry. The back of his neck prickled. He spun and rocked onto his toes to meet the opponent. Standing directly across from him was the King’s Commander with twenty soldiers at his back. A quick glance told Tamlohn that these were special forces; they all wore purple bars stitched across the shoulders of their simple tunics. The King’s personal guard, the handpicked fighters of the King’s army, and it appears they had come for him. “Prima,” the Commander said greedily. “I have been waiting for this.” “Surely all this is not simply to kill me; even the King would not be so stupid.” The Commander seethed for a moment. Undoubtedly he was hoping Tamlohn would drop and beg for mercy. “I will take your head to the King in a bag. But never fear, he wants more from this than your head.” “I am glad to see that you plan a fair fight.” He indicated the twenty men at the Commander’s back. He snarled. “In the end you will be dead and I will be richly rewarded. That is all history will remember.” The men at his back started to fan out, forming a circle around Tamlohn. The Commander looked at his men. “Take him, but don’t damage the head. That is mine.” Twenty men rushed him at once, coming from all sides. Tamlohn took out two

before he felt a sword slice open his back. His armor was made of more than just metal plated leather, so a blow that should have killed him merely opened up a deep cut. He tried to spin to meet that attacker, but was distracted as another sword bit deep into his thigh. Hissing against the pain, he stabbed two more. It was hopeless. There were too many, pressed so close he did not even have the space to raise his blade. There was another slice, this time down his side, followed by a stab to the back of his right knee. Pain darted through him as he sank to his uninjured knee. It was over; he would never survive this. Behind him a soldier raised his sword bringing the pommel down hard on the back of Tamlohn’s head. His last thought was his broken promise to his beloved; he would not be going back. **** Anleeh ripped his sword from his opponent’s flesh and whirled in time to see Tamlohn fall through a break in the men who surrounded him. Anleeh let out a battle cry. He was running towards the knot of men when he heard a familiar horn. Looking up, he stopped in his tracks. Along the hilltops two hundred soldiers stood. Later he would ask how they had gotten there so fast. Right now all he could concentrate on was the help they provided. He whistled, long and loud. Raising his sword in the air, he pumped his arm twice. Archers. He used the blade to point at the knot surrounding the Prima. There. From his vantage point on the ground, he saw a series of flags flash as orders were passed out and a moment later the twenty men closest to him raised longbows and fired. Arrows sliced through the night like shooting stars, the metal tips catching the starlight. Cries echoed from the men around Tamlohn as they fell, arrows protruding from their backs. Anleeh resumed his sprint. There were only a few left standing and, as he approached, two more took arrows, one through the chest, the other through the center of his forehead. He ran at the one he recognized as the Commander. The man was screaming. “No! Let me at him! I will take his head.” “Good idea.” Anleeh said, the moment before he cleaved the Commander’s head from his shoulders. Turning before the man’s body had even hit the ground, he pulled the bodies of dead soldiers off Tamlohn. He sucked in a breath when he finally got a glimpse of the other man; he was a mess, blood seeping from twenty wounds ranging from minor cuts to worrisome stab wounds. “Prima.” He whispered. Tamlohn opened one eye. “Thank the Goddess.” Knowing they would be safer away from here and trusting Rohaj to handle the rest of the battle, Anleeh jerked Tamlohn to his feet and then swung him across his shoulders. He ran for one of the paths out of the little death-village. They had to get the Prima back to the Temple or he would not live to see the dawn of this bloody night.

Chapter 8 Anleeh and Sesah staggered into the Priestess’s chamber with the gray-faced Tamlohn hanging between them. As soon as he had gotten the Prima off the field, Anleeh had grabbed Sesah and two horses and ridden hell for leather to the Temple with Tamlohn draped over the back of his horse. The ride may have made the Prima worse, but his best hope was the Priestess. As they staggered into the chamber, two acolytes came running up to him. Anleeh’s eyes widened in surprise. It was rare to see the acolytes in the Priestess’s apartments; they were potential successors, but the truth of her magic and what existed between her and the Zinahs was a closely guarded secret. She must have been truly weary to have called them to her. There was already a pallet made up in the center of one of the circles inlaid in the floor of the main chamber. Staggering over to it, Anleeh and Sesah lowered their bloody burden onto the linen draped pallet, quickly stripping him of his armor, knowing the acolytes would have no idea how to get it off the big man. One acolyte knelt near by, an anxious expression on her young face. She had dark brown hair and eyes and skin the color of ripened wheat. She wore a simple white tunic. A wide strip of embroidered fabric wrapped around her from just below her breasts to her hips. The embroidery was a series of Goddess images and runes. The second acolyte hurried away, only to return supporting the weary Priestess. Anleeh, in the middle of unlacing one of Tamlohn’s stupidly tall boots, looked up and froze in shock. Her normally golden complexion was completely white, even her lips leached of their rose color. She was attired like the acolytes in a long white tunic, completely open down the sides and held in place by a sash wrapped around her over and over till it resembled a girdle. She wore a crescent moon diadem on her brow. The combination of the unfamiliar clothing and her pale face made her a stranger. The second acolyte helped her kneel down beside Tamlohn, who had slipped out of consciousness. Just as they managed to strip him completely—Anleeh noticed with sardonic amusement that both acolytes blushed and looked away as they sliced the laces of Tamlohn’s pants and pulled them off—the door to the chamber flew open and banged against the wall. In rushed Rohaj and Moregon; clearly they had raced back to the Temple upon learning of the wounding of the Prima. The Priestess did not even look up, her eyes running over Tamlohn’s naked form, taking in the various wounds, identifying those that were the most serious. “Turn him over,” her voice was barely there, low and hoarse. Sesah looked at her for the first time and started in surprise. “Priestess, what has happened?” Much to everyone’s surprise, one of the acolytes spoke, her voice sweet as morning dew, “She used all the power she called, and all the power she had, and all that we could draw for her, until she started to eat into her own life force.”

Moregon, who had just finished turning Tamlohn, looked up, “Goddess bless us all, Priestess, what all did you do this night?” The Priestess ignored him as she ran her eyes over Tamlohn’s back. Again the acolyte spoke, “She brought rain and fog to the village before any of our soldiers got there. Then she took away the fog and gave second strength to many. But she used the entire last of her strength to shorten the road.” “Shorten—what?” Anleeh asked. It was Rohaj who replied. “As we raced to meet you, the road suddenly shivered and swelled and the very air was full of magic. Then, as if the earth itself had folded, the road shortened and just before us lay the path near the crest of the hill, the village on the other side. She folded miles of road so that we walked across it in ten steps.” Anleeh whistled low; he had seen her do incredible things, but that kind of raw physical manipulation of the earth itself was awe-inspiring. “That would explain why you arrived an hour before we expected help to appear,” Sesah observed. “Exactly.” Moregon had been anxiously watching the Priestess. “Do you have the strength to heal him, Priestess?” She looked at him with the ghost of a smile. “I will find the strength.” The acolytes both looked anxious, “High Priestess…” She held up a hand and the girls quieted. “You have done more this night than I could have hoped for, and more than I had any right to ask of you so early in your training. Return now to the College. Goddess be with you.” Murmuring replies of “Goddess be with you”, both girls immediately rose and left. “Is there anything we can do?” Rohaj asked when they were gone. She shook her head. **** Cryessa tilted her head back. She was so weary; every part of her body was made of bags of sand, lifeless and heavy. The Goddess would only give so much power to aid in battle, and tonight Cryessa had far exceeded that amount. She had been forced to draw on the magic stored within the Temple itself, and, when that was gone, on the reserve of magic in her body until she began to draw on her own soul. Tamlohn’s injuries were bad—life threatening if they were not healed soon. She did not have the power to do it as she was; she could not even stand on her own, let alone stitch muscle and flesh together. With her head back, she offered up another prayer into a night that had been filled with them. Goddess, bless me that I might heal this soldier who worked in your name. Nothing. Her heartbeat sped up in panic. She tried again. Goddess, bless him that I might make him whole. Nothing. Cryessa felt tears gathering behind her closed lids. Her throat closed tight as she fought the need to cry. In that moment of despair, she remembered what she had told Masig.

Goddess, help me, I need you this night. I need him. Please, Goddess, he is my heart, my strength. Everything was still, and Cryessa felt her soul start to crumble in despair, but, in that dark moment, a light flared. Opening her eyes, Cryessa saw a short, fat candle that burned in a bowl along the perimeter of the inlaid circle begin to glow. As they watched, the candle’s flame grew, changing from yellow to white and swelling until it passed over each of them, enclosing them in a globe of pure light. As her body was welcomed into the light, Cryessa let a single tear of relief slide down her cheek, dripping onto the floor, an offering to the Goddess. She was filled, renewed, made whole once more. Around her, she watched as her men took deep breaths, their stooped shoulders straightening. The light retreated until it was the flame of a simple, fat, white candle in a bowl, burning merrily away. Thank you, Goddess, thank you. Cryessa looked down to see that Tamlohn’s eyes were open, though slightly unfocused. She pressed a palm to his cheek before she bent to her task, placing strips of magic laced leather over the worst of the wounds. She would work now, knowing that the Goddess’s touch would have numbed much of his pain. “Welcome back, Prima,” Moregon said formally. “What happened?” His voice was rough. “We saved your ass again.” Anleeh teased. “I would tell you to go fuck yourself, but I am too tired.” Anleeh and Rohaj laughed. “There will be time enough tomorrow for you to learn what exactly happened; I have questions myself as I did not have the strength to keep the image alive at the end. I could only feel what you all felt…” her voice trailed off and her face drew tight. The Zinahs looked at each other, remembering their horror. Cryessa continued her ministrations. Taking a bowl of crystals from the supplies the acolytes had laid out, she began placing them on Tamlohn’s chest in the shape of a five point star. Though she could have healed him by simply pouring in enough magic, Cryessa decided not to tempt fate and the Goddess a second time. “The horses…” Tamlohn whispered. It was both a question and a statement. “Aye Prima,” Sesah answered. “Fifteen lost.” Tamlohn rolled his head to the side on the floor. He loved horses, had grown up with them, hence his skill in battle and his ability to train them. Only Cryessa knew that, in his land, a warrior’s horse was a prized possession, almost like a brother, and they were often given the family name. The first horse he’d had when he came to the Temple had been named Roin. Often spending time with his stallion had been the only way to help him make it through the bad days. Roin had been killed in the second year of her reign as Priestess. Tamlohn had been devastated. Where he came from, it was understood that in battle the horses were not touched. He had not been truly prepared for battle against the King, because he had never considered that they might go after Roin. When a blow from an ax had severed Roin’s rear leg, Tamlohn had rolled free of the dying animal and, with tears rolling down his face, slit Roin’s throat so that he would not suffer. Since then, his horses remained unnamed.

“How many men?” “The rest of the army has not yet returned with the bodies. We had the wounded brought ahead first; we are sending a cart back for the dead.” “Enough.” Cryessa said, more firmly this time. “This will wait for morning. Tamlohn, stop moving or you will knock the crystals off.” With the star now formed on his chest, Cryessa took a bundle of thyme wrapped tight with silver thread and, touching it to a candle flame, set the dried leaves to a slow burn so that a steady stream of smoke curled from one end. Slowly she began to trace the smoke over his body. “The King’s Commander is dead. I killed him.” Anleeh said unexpectedly. “Damn it to the North Wind!” Tamlohn roared, remembering at the last moment to stay still. “What?” Cryessa asked, scanning his body for a sudden gush of blood. “I wanted to kill him!” Around her, the other Zinahs smiled and snickered. Cryessa looked down at Tamlohn, incredulity writ large upon her face. Though she lived with five of them and was surrounded by them all day, there were times she doubted that she would ever understand men. Oftentimes she wondered what the Goddess had been thinking when She crafted men, and if they were not some cruel joke upon women everywhere. Shaking her head, Cryessa went back to tracing the healing smoke over his body. Tamlohn was looking around the circle, and this time when he looked at her he paused, frowning. “What are you wearing, Ahgarah?” Anleeh snorted. “You missed it, Prima, she had two acolytes in here when we brought you in. I am guessing that they dressed our Priestess.” He looked to Cryessa for confirmation. “Aye. They were worried that I had been so troubled and busy I had not had time to clothe myself properly, so they helped me dress.” The Zinahs all roared with laughter knowing that she preferred to be naked. “Where did they ever find that?” Anleeh asked between chuckles, indicating the tunic and sash she wore. “I remember when she did wear that,” Tamlohn said with a smile. “At the bottom of a trunk. It is from my training, from before I was Priestess. I do not think they would have known how to help me into anything else.” “Truly, Prima, it was priceless. I thought their faces would catch on fire when we stripped you.” “Imagine their shock if they were to know what truly happens in these rooms,” Rohaj commented. Cryessa smiled as they all laughed once more, Tamlohn chuckling quietly. At last she held the smoking bundle near his face and gently blew. She repeated the process till she was sure that he had inhaled enough. The Zinahs grew silent, knowing she was near the end. Setting aside the smoking thyme, Cryessa held both hands palm down over his chest. “Earth, air, and water, spun, woven, and weaved into flesh. Mend now this fabric which has been torn apart; make whole that which is separated. By my magic bind and weave, by my magic mend and heal.” The crystals on Tamlohn’s chest began to shine: pink, blue, yellow, and clear. The

runes on the leather strips glowed orange. Tamlohn hissed, his back arching up, for it was not a pain free process. The glowing began to fade, and Tamlohn relaxed. When the glow was gone altogether, Cryessa began to carefully remove her tools. First the crystals went back into their bowl. Then, one by one, she took up the leather strips revealing the healed skin beneath. There were scars. She could not remove those, nor would she if she could. They were marks of honorable battle. All around the circle, they let out relieved breaths and smiled. When the last strip was removed, Cryessa looked up. “Go now, my Zinahs, to bed. No plugs tonight as you are weary. We will meet late in the day as I am confident the commanders can handle everything until then.” They all nodded their agreement. Certain that the aftermath of the battle was being handled by the experienced commanders of the army, the still weary Zinahs bid the Priestess goodnight and left the room. All but Tamlohn who still lay naked before her. As the door closed, there was a moment of tense silence. Tamlohn pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Ahgarah…” Cryessa threw herself on top of him, hands fisting in his hair, lips fusing to his. Raising one hand, Tamlohn wrapped it around her, and, feeling her intensity, matched it. She wanted to be tender, be soft, but she could not. She had to know he was all right, know he was whole. She wanted to feel his muscles working against her, feel the strength of his body. Ripping her lips from his, she kissed down his neck, licking his skin, salty with sweat. Still holding them both up on one arm Tamlohn’s fingers dug into her ass, gripping tight. Moving her mouth to his shoulder, Cryessa bit him, hard. Tamlohn growled and rolled them over, pinning her beneath his body. His rough grip moved from her ass to her breast, squeezing her through the tunic. He set his teeth along the line of her jaw, nipping at her. Cryessa’s hands roamed over his bare back, nails digging crescents into him. She exhaled. Tamlohn’s fingers found her nipple through the fabric and began to pinch it. Pinch and release, pinch, release. Now pinch and twist. She moaned, and the sound was loud in the quiet chamber. The floor was rough and hard at her back. His body, hot above hers, pressed her down. His hand moved from her breast, and he half lifted himself so he could reach down and begin pulling up her skirt, his teeth now toying with her neck. Cryessa reached down for his exposed cock and began working it; there was no finesse, no elegance, just rough, greedy hands. She could hear his heart beat in her mind, feel it on her skin. Her skirt was now up above her waist; impatiently, he wrapped one hand around her thigh and jerked her legs apart. Rough. As his hand moved to touch her there, she stopped him, her hand on his forearm. “I want you in me, now.” “Yes,” he replied, for it was what he wanted too. He rolled between her thighs and shoved himself inside.

She wasn’t wet enough, it hurt, but it was perfect, wonderful, for she could feel him inside her, tight and rough in her body, reassuring her that he was alive. So alive that he could take her, push his body into hers, his cock working at her moist channel until it was wet, until she dripped around him. He exhaled. Once his thrusts became smoother, she lifted her legs wrapping them high on his back and holding him that way. They both moved so that they could clasp hands, their fingers interweaving, as his body took hers. His thrusts were fierce. Slow now, matching the beat of his heart. A rhythm like life. Da-dum, da-dum, his heart. Rocking, rocking, his body in hers. He thrust once more; she inhaled. He had still been a bit soft when he pushed inside her the first time. She could feel him swelling as he thrust until her body knew him to be at his full hardness. His lavender eyes were bright with lust, with life, as he picked up speed, his hips slamming into hers. He bent his held low, placing his cheek alongside hers. She could hear his uneven breathing in her ear and began to whisper to him. “More, harder, rougher. I want to feel you, feel you. Yes, yes, deeper, harder…” Spurred by her words, his movements became frenzied, the thrusts so deep and so hard that she felt them strike her womb, striking off little sparks of sensation. She was close, so close. Her words trailed away; she had lost the ability to speak. Wanting to take something of him in her mouth, she sucked his earlobe between her teeth. With a growl he turned his head and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue pressing in deep, as if he could steal her very breath. She suckled his tongue, giving into the primitive need to drink of him with her mouth as she did with her sex. Fused mouth and sex they rode. Again and again he pushed her into the floor, only for her body to rise and meet him once more. She felt the orgasm coming first as a fluttering low in her belly, the muscles tightening. She thrust her tongue up into his mouth, dueling with him. For a few strokes, he slowed, pulling back to slam hard into her. On the third thrust, the orgasm broke, her body clenching tight around him. He sped up, his cock now slamming into her orgasm taut sex, pushing back against muscles that clenched tight. She screamed into his mouth as the orgasm peaked, and he drank in her cries, her ultra tight body drawing him in until he too shuddered, his hips thrusting like mad, spilling a part of him into her, making them one for a precious moment. Shaking, he slowed and finally stopped moving. He slid slightly to one side so that he could rest without crushing her. Their sweatsoaked skin cooled rapidly in the quiet room, their panting breath the only sound. **** They lay that way for what felt like hours, but was really only half a candle mark. Their fingers were still woven together, legs intertwined. “How do you feel, my love?” she whispered, her words stirring the hair on his brow. He did not lift his face from the pillow of her shoulder. “Tired. You have quite worn me out, Ahgarah.” She sighed in mock exasperation. “I mean your wounds; we were rough, too

rough…” Lifting himself, Tamlohn untangled their hands so that he could press his fingers over her lips. “Your healing was true. I feel whole; only my head and heart remember the battle, for my body has forgotten it.” She nodded, clearly relieved, but Tamlohn could see the reserve in her eyes. Cryessa slid from beneath him and rose to her feet. “Come and wash away the battle.” Tamlohn slowly gained his feet and followed her to the bathing room. She pulled a heavy cork stopper from a hole set up into the wall, and immediately clean water from the rainwater cistern on the roof began to fill a sunken tub. He looked at her as she watched the water. There was still tension in her, the line of her shoulders and the set of her mouth giving her away. The quick round of life affirming sex should have cleared her mind, but it had not. Knowing she would need time, Tamlohn did not push her. When the tub was half full, she plunged one hand into the cool water and whispered a simple spell. A moment later steam began to rise from the now hot water. She stepped back and Tamlohn climbed down into the tub. Moaning in pleasure, he dunked himself completely under, staying down for as long as he could. Breaking the surface to breathe, he reached up and pulled the straps loose from his hair, dropping them beside the tub. Once more he dunked himself, the water now easing a scalp made tight from wearing his hair bound for so long. When he surfaced once more, she handed him a small pot of soap. The first flush of pleasure over, Tamlohn washed himself, efficiently but not too quickly. Dunking himself several more times to wash the soap away, Tamlohn finally stood in the tub, water sheeting from him. As he climbed out, he could feel her eating him with her eyes. After all these years, it was a sensation he was used to, one which made his body hungry, but he had learned control. Just because she looked on him with desire did not mean he would know the pleasure of her body. That wild sex on the floor had been beautiful to him. Her need for reassurance had made them equals. It had not been about who owned whom, but simple pleasure. The pleasure of knowing another person so intimately, of reassuring yourself that they lived, and so did you. As he finished drying himself, she took his hand, pulling him from the bathing room. Dropping the drying sheet as he went, Tamlohn looked at the back of her head, her hair held back by the diadem, the lovely length of it swishing behind her. The tunic she wore parted along the sides with each step, flashing long, golden legs. Cryessa led him into her bedchamber, heart thumping wildly in her chest. She needed something tonight, something she should not have, but would take anyway. Leading him over to a chaise, she motioned for Tamlohn to lie down. He did so, arms reaching up to cradle her, expecting her to climb atop him as she had so many times before. Cryessa shook her head. Tamlohn looked up into her face. His brows were drawn together in confusion. Purposefully lowering her shield, Cryessa let her emotions show on her face. He watched as a shudder ran over her as she stood, fully clothed, beside him.

Suddenly her face was impassive no more. Her lovely blue eyes were bright with unshed tears, her lips parting, and her breath coming in quick pants. Her expression was pleading, fearful, worried, and regretful. “Ahgarah, what…” She held up one hand but rather than the palm out ‘stop’ motion which was clearly a command, she held her hand cupped, as a beggar would. This was not the body language of the Priestess. When he did not speak again, she reached behind her back and untied the sash. Slowly she began to unwind it, her movements slow and deliberate. Hand to hand, she passed the ever-increasing mass of fabric until, with only a few loops still wrapped around her, the rest fell away. She dropped the sash to the floor. The tunic fell away from her body, shapeless without the sash. Dressed this way she looked younger, and, for a moment, reminded him of the girl he had first met all those years ago. Her gaze, which had been focused on her ever moving hands, now rose to meet his. She looked at him and what her eyes said to him made his breath catch. Look at me, watch me, they said. I will shed these garments—shed the Priestess, for you. With her gaze locked to his, Cryessa grabbed the tunic at the waist and slowly drew it up, gathering the fabric in her fists. When her hands could hold no more she lifted her hands, up and over her head, exposing her body to his gaze. She had spent more time with him naked than she had clothed, but this felt different. This was nudity beyond the physical, this was a person laid bare. Her heart and soul laid bare. For a moment she stood before him, naked and vulnerable, then slowly she reached up and detached the last vestige of the Priestess. With both hands, she carefully removed the diadem and dropped it onto the dress puddled at her feet. She shivered, her skin rippling, and when she looked at him, there was pleading in her eyes. He knew what she wanted, but he could not give it to her. Slowly she knelt beside the chaise, her legs folding smoothly under her. They never broke eye contact as she lowered herself both physically and in status. Tamlohn sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the chaise so that he faced her. She did not say a word, merely watched him with large, strangely innocent eyes. He held out his hand. Slowly she raised her own and placed it in his. “What do you need, my love?” he asked her. “Please,” was all she said. From the look in her eyes, he wondered how much she herself understood what she was seeking. Slowly she leaned forward and, shifting her hand in his, pressed her lips to his palm. Closing her eyes, she used her hand to press his fingers to her cheek until he held her face in his hand. His heart broke. She knelt with sorrow in her eyes, her body pleading with him, her heart seeking a love he could not truly give. This person who knelt before him now was the most hidden part of her, the part of herself which she had buried, hopes and dreams and longings which she could not

acknowledge. **** There was such stillness here on her knees, his hand holding her face, his eyes loving and sorrowful. She was beyond words, beyond speaking of what she wanted, what she needed. All that was left to her was to show him, to release some of what was bottled up inside her or her heart would crumble under the weight of it all. With a sigh, she moved her lips from his palm to his wrist, kissing his pulse. His fingers slid into her hair, pressing into her scalp. She slid her lips along the inside of his forearm, his fingers now sliding through her hair. She kissed the soft inside of his elbow and felt him shiver. Her hands wrapped around his legs, around the thick muscles of his calves, as she turned her lips from his arm to his leg, pressing soft kisses along the top of his thigh. Now she moved to give the same attention to the other leg. Every kiss was a pledge: I love you. An apology: I’m sorry. A plea: Forgive me. A promise: I will always love you. And a wish: Please, never stop loving me. Tamlohn swung his legs up onto the chaise once more, lying back. His eyes never left her face. Her hands slid along his legs as he moved. Once he was reclined, she resumed her soft kisses, up and down the front of each leg, even pressing her lips to the tops of his feet. She kissed up the outside of his right leg, each kiss slow and reverent, so different from the frantic nipping kisses of before, but no less passionate. Now her lips were at his hip. He reached down and scooped up her long, long hair. He pulled it across his legs, shivering at the feeling of that cool silk on his skin. As she moved even further up his body, her silken tresses trailed over him. Cryessa moved to press her lips around his belly button. With a sigh, she laid her cheek against his belly, letting her eyes flutter open so that she gazed up his chest at his face. When her eyes opened, his gaze was on her face, as she knew it would be. If she focused only on his face, she could let the rest of the world melt away. Instead of her chamber in the Temple, they were in a forest glen; he reclined against a fallen tree and not the brocade chaise. For a moment it was real, just her and her beloved alone together somewhere, no great duties to call them apart. She blinked and it was gone. The tears she had been fighting so hard welled into her eyes. She squeezed them shut and pressed her face hard into the soft flesh of his belly. Her breath came in uneven jerks as she tried not to cry. “Oh, beloved,” he said, reaching for her. “How… how can you reach for me? I sent you out, almost killed you.” His hand on her chin tried to raise her face, but she refused, turning away, pressing herself against him. “Beloved, you did what you had to do.” “I almost killed you.” “No, the King’s army almost killed me.”

“We knew it might be an ambush, and still I sent you!” “What choice did you have?” A choked sob escaped her lips, a heartbreaking sound. “How can I claim to love you and yet send you out to die in the mud?” His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face so that she had to look at him, see the truth of his words in his eyes. “I never doubted your love for me.” “I… I can’t do it anymore… it is too hard. Every time, I am afraid you will not come back.” “I will always come back.” The empty promise. She was silent for a moment. Then she whispered the fear she kept locked in the deepest part of her heart. “Some day I will be the death of you. Some day you won’t come back and it will be my fault.” “It is my duty…” “No!” Suddenly she flung herself away from him, scrambling backward on the floor until she knelt, arms curled around her belly. Her hair fell around her naked body like a tattered gold cloak. When she spoke, her voice was low with pain. “I feel my love for you is a lie. If I truly loved you, I would find a way, make a way, to send you away from here, away from me, away from your duties and the battles which will end your life.” She looked at him, her blue eyes bright with the tears she still had not shed. “But I am selfish. I need you. I fear to lose you, fear what I will become without you.” He sat up once more, “Our love is a healing thing…” “Or a killing thing, for surely it will kill you.” “I would rather die as your slave than live a day of freedom without you.” It was pure truth. In the end, no matter what frustrations or jealousies they might each feel, that was the truth that kept their love alive. She lowered her head, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. She hated that she was glad to hear those words. “Come here, beloved.” She rose to her feet and walked to him, her arms still wrapped around herself, her head still bowed. When she was close enough, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her down onto his lap before lying back on the chaise with her curled against his chest. Her body was shaking, as if the emotions she held were too much for the physical prison of her body and she might break apart from the force of them. “Beloved, let go, cry the tears you so desperately hold inside.” “I fear that if I begin to weep I will never stop.” He brought forward a lock of her hair and pressed his lips to it. “Such sadness do you hold within. Let there be peace in you, beloved.” Tamlohn closed his own eyes and willed himself to find peace. Peace with this life, peace with himself. Slowly her breathing evened out, the connection between them so strong that his peace affected her. She whispered to him from her place curled on his chest. “Promise me you will always love me.” He raised her hand and kissed the palm, “Always and forever.” “Promise me you will never leave me.” He kissed her finger tips, “Never.”

“Promise me that you will help me do what I must.” This was the true test. Could he love her enough to help her, support her in being the Priestess and thereby further his own enslavement, hiding their love? “I will do all in my power, my love.” She sighed, her breath washing over his collarbone. “It is my turn now,” he said. She raised herself up so she could look into his eyes. “Promise me you will always love me.” She kissed one corner of his mouth, “I will.” “Promise me you will never tire of me.” She kissed the other corner, “Never.” “Promise me that you will never forget how much I love you, even when it seems I fight you.” She looked into his eyes, acknowledging the struggle that he lived with every day. “I promise.” She pressed her lips against his. The pledges they gave were not formal magic, but powerful none the less. The vows they made were true, words spoken from the heart. As her lips touched his, the space around them shivered. Her hair whipped around them in the dancing air. Time stood still for this perfect kiss. The air grew still, her hair dropping around them both like a cloak. She took her lips from his and laid her head on his chest, at peace. **** In later years, when Cryessa looked back on this moment, it would seem that it lasted merely a second, but also a lifetime. It was as if they both knew that this moment was fleeting and not easily, if ever, to be repeated, and so the fabric of time itself altered for them, slowing the turning of the earth that they might live in it just a little bit longer. It was finally the chill in the air which bade them move. The outside world had stayed away as long as possible, but now a cold wind slipped through the room, sneaking in through the opened window. “The darkest hour,” she whispered. Tamlohn kissed her head and turned to look out the window. It was the darkest hour, that horrible time between the beauty of night and the hope of day. The stars and the moon were gone. “How do you feel, my love?” he whispered against the top of her head. “Well enough,” she replied. She shifted and drew his arm across her body even as another gust of wind brought shivers to her skin. He turned them both so that his back was to the window, protecting her as he had so often longed to do. “Tired?” he asked once they had settled in place. “A bit, but I do not want to sleep.” “Play?” He asked. She shook her head, “No, I do not want to have to dominate you right now, even in play.” “Who said the game had you as the dominant?” Cryessa turned to look at him, eyes wide. In their lives, she always had the power; it was only in these stolen moments that they could be as equals, both focused solely on the

pleasure of the other and therefore pleasuring them both. “If I let you dominate me…” Tamlohn rolled on top of her, pinned her down, “Who said you would let me?” Cryessa licked her lips. Part of her was screaming that this was a dangerous game; she should not let him get above his station, should not let him master her even in play, for it would undermine her position. But another part of her, the greater part, trusted him with her body and soul. “It will be the first time I have not been in control since…” She paused to think. “Since your training,” he supplied. “Yes.” Cryessa looked up into his eyes, so close above her that she could have counted his eyelashes, could see the ring of dark gray around the purple center of his irises. There was hope in his eyes, hope that she would play along, allow him this small chance to tip the scales which were so heavily weighted in her favor. Suddenly his face changed, and where hope had been, male arrogance now resided. He cocked one eyebrow, and his lips curled in a cruel and beautiful smile. It was the look that drove her wild, such assurance, such arrogance, as if he knew exactly what she needed, wanted, and he, only he, could give it to her. In that moment, with that look, she wanted nothing more that to feel that arrogance play against her body through his hands. Cryessa put on her best haughty expression, “Let me up, this instant.” Tamlohn smiled, and, for a moment, there was pure joy before the arrogant mask fell over his face again. “Well, my pretty slave, I see you have no manners. Your physical charms had better be worth the price I paid for you.” Cryessa curled her lip at him. “I was meant to serve an Emperor, not some barbarian King.” Hmmm, interesting twist, he thought. Barbarian, she called him? What the lady wanted, the lady got. “You may call me barbarian, girl, but you will serve me in every way you know, and some you don’t.” In response, Cryessa put her hands on his shoulders and pushed. He didn’t budge. His voice lowered to a menacing growl. “Do you deny me my right to touch your naked flesh?” She tossed her head as best she could while lying down. “Let me up, you unwashed brute.” Tamlohn jumped from the chaise and stood beside it, lording over her. He examined her head to foot, eyeing her as he would a piece of meat he would buy. Cryessa gasped and covered herself in false modesty, her eyes hungry as she gazed at him from beneath her lashes. Tamlohn smiled that cruel smile. “Tsk tsk, slave girl, you are already earning a harsh beating for your insolence. Now, uncover that body which I have bought and paid for.” Cryessa shivered in pure lust. Most of the world did not know that pain could be great pleasure, that a whipping at a lover’s hand could be the greatest heights of ecstasy, but she did, and to hear him speak of it sent a bolt of lust zinging from her mind down to her sex.

Breathing hard, pretending it was fear and not wild arousal that made her pant, she mutely shook her head at him. “Slave girl, you have one more chance to obey or I will ease my displeasure against your golden flesh.” Cryessa whimpered. Tamlohn’s eyes glazed at the sound, so full of feminine submission and longing. “Lower your arms and spread your legs.” Cryessa started to remove her arm from where she had wrapped it over her breasts. Just as one soft pink nipple was visible, she jumped from the chaise and darted around him, headed for the doorway. She was half way across the room when he caught her; he was not gentle. Inflexible hands grabbed her waist and pulled her back against his chest, her body slamming into his so hard that her breath left in a rush. “Naughty, naughty,” he growled in her ear. “Let me go.” She was breathless. “Never.” With that he spun her around and flipped her over his shoulder, standing with her dangling over his back. Cryessa gasped and oompfed. Tamlohn took both her ankles in one large hand and used the other to reach up and pinch her buttocks, hard. “Ouch, that hurt!” “You will hurt a lot worse in a moment, girl, so I suggest you save your cries.” Tamlohn retuned to the chaise and swung her over his shoulder so she landed on her back on the soft piece of furniture. “What will you do to me?” Her voice was thick with anticipation. Tamlohn began circling the chaise, his eyes alternating between roving her naked flesh with a predatory gleam and examining her face, reading her pleasure. “What treatment does a disobedient slave-girl deserve? Shall it be simple, a spanking or a paddling on your soft buttocks? Or shall it be harsher, perhaps I will take a crop to those lovely nipples.” He reached down and took one soft nipple and pinched it, hard, drawing it up and away from her body until she gasped and arched her back. When he released it, she whimpered. “Lovely,” he murmured and then treated the un-abused nipple to the same torment, pinching and lifting it away from her until she made a soft cry of protest. Now the beaded tips of her breasts were flushed a dark pink, her breathing was slow and deep, and the air seemed thick with the heat they created. “Turn over, on your knees.” Cryessa turned and knelt, folding her arms along the raised part of the chaise. Tamlohn snaked his hand through her thick hair and grabbed the back of her neck forcing it down until her upper body, from her hips to her elbows, made a straight line parallel to the floor. “Remain in that position while I punish you.” “Yes…” her voice was an aroused hiss. “Yes what?” He reached beneath her and plucked one of her nipples, giving it a sharp pinch and pulling down. “Yes, yes Master.” “That’s right, pretty slave.” Tamlohn gathered her hair and began twisting it like a

rope. When done, he wrapped the tail of her hair in a slipknot around his wrist, holding the end in his hand. “Now you can’t get away, can you?” He stepped to the side, making the rope of hair tight between them so she could feel his control, but not so tight that it would pull her hair painfully. Raising his right hand, his sword hand, he brought it down with a solid thwack on her buttocks. She shivered and moaned, the sound nothing but pleasure. He spanked her again, harder this time. Now she yelped, the sound a mixture of pleasure and pain. Quicker now, he began to spank her, hard blows, forcing the softly muscled flesh of her buttocks to give under the hard paddle of his hand. Soon there was a pink blush to her soft skin, a rosy glow. Her body was rocking with each strike. He knew, for he had experienced it himself, that she was deep in a sensual world of pleasure and pain. With her hair pulled away from her features, he could see the side of her face over her arm, her eyes were closed tight, her breath coming in through parted lips. Every so often she would lick her bottom lip, moistening it. Looking at her luscious lips, he knew he had to have her soon, and, since in their game only his pleasure mattered, he would, but there were things he wanted first. Pausing to shake out his smarting hand, he decided to end the spanking with a final hurrah. “Spread your legs.” Eagerly she inched her knees apart until they edged the chaise. He resumed his spanking, alternating cheeks. Then, without warning, he brought his hand up between her legs, spanking her sex. She jerked and yelped. “No!” He ordered, “Maintain your position while I spank your sex.” Carefully he brought his hand up once more, landing the blow on the plump mound. With her legs spread this way, he could see the red glistening inside of it, the visible moisture further proof that she enjoyed this painful game. The final swat he landed directly on those open pouting lips, the smack wet and loud. She jerked hard and let out a choked scream, followed by a low moan. He was tempted to simply climb up behind her and take her now, but he did not want it to end yet. “What a good girl to take your punishment so well.” He unwrapped her hair from around his hand. “Now stand up.” Slowly she slid from the chaise and stood beside it. She spread her legs on the stone floor and raised her arms, lacing them behind her neck. When a woman took this position, it had the added benefit of lifting her breasts up and away from her body, giving better access. Her eyes, as his always were, were on his face, not on the floor. Tamlohn lay back on the chaise and leisurely examined her, ignoring the fact that his cock had swelled to full hardness again. “Turn and bend so I might better examine your sex.” She did as she was told, turning and bending at the waist, wrapping one arm around each of her knees. In this position her sex was totally open and exposed for his pleasure. He let her stand like that for several minutes before having her stand and turn once more.

“I want a taste of your sex, slave, offer it to me.” With an eager look, Cryessa slid her fingers between the lips of her sex, the first touch it had known since the spanking. She eagerly slicked two fingers through herself, sinking them deep into her body before pulling them out and offering her hand to him. “No, slave, I will not take it from your hand; offer it to me on your nipples.” Cryessa raised her dripping fingers to her nipples and rubbed each one, scissoring the tip between her wet fingers, rolling and plucking it until her nipples were shiny with her sex juices. Stepping closer to the chaise, she clasped her arms behind her back and bent at the waist so her breasts dangled like tempting ripe fruits just above his face. Tamlohn grabbed a lock of her dangling hair and tugged until she lowered her torso so he could comfortably sip from her breast. He started with the right nipple, lapping at it before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. Once the nipple was clean, he played with it a bit more, nibbling and licking as she strained to hold the position. He turned his face to the side, her wet nipple dragging against his cheek. Using the lock of hair he still held like reins, he turned her until her left nipple was in a good position. Once more he lapped at her flesh, eating the taste of her body from the delicate pink flesh of her nipple. He ended with a hard nip that made her jump and then pushed her upright. They were both breathing hard, he barely able to concentrate as the driving need to take her almost overwhelmed him. There was one last thing he wanted from her. “On you knees.” She dropped to her knees as he sat up. Wordlessly he spread his legs and she scooted forward between them. He took her head in his hands, guided her mouth to his cock. The first touch of her lips around the head of his staff was heaven. **** Cryessa reveled in the feeling of his thick cock in her mouth. This was something she almost never did for it gave the man too much power. Its rarity gave it a feeling of delicious wickedness, uncommon in her life. Her nipples were still thrumming from the attention of his lips, teeth, and tongue. She had felt so wanton, so dominated, standing there and applying her sex juices to her nipples for his pleasure. Kneeling as she was with her heels digging into her bottom, she could feel soreness there from the spanking. Blow after blow coming down on her soft ass and finally, gloriously, on her soft sex. When he put pressure on her head, she started to work more of his cock down into her mouth. Carefully sealing her lips, she began to suck, bobbing her head ever so slightly. Just as she was getting a good rhythm, he pushed her away. Cryessa fell back on the floor and looked up just in time to see him come down off the chaise. With rough hands, he positioned her on her hands and knees. Just as she was turning to look over her shoulder, he surged into her. The sudden change from achingly empty to full was powerful, overwhelming. Moaning in pleasure, Cryessa hung her head and closed her eyes, concentrating on the man behind her who had positioned her body for his pleasure and was taking her so forcefully. His thrusts were slow but hard, each one pushing all the way in before he

withdrew almost to the tip. He continued for several moments until she wanted to scream with frustration. It felt good, but was not enough to bring her to orgasm. She swallowed the command that sprang to her lips and instead sank into her helplessness, reveling in it. Suddenly he sped up, as if the slow torture had finally become too much for him also. Cryessa braced her hands on the floor, locking her elbows as he pounded her. One of his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back; she gasped and moaned as her neck was arched backward, her spine dipping lower in reaction, opening her up for deeper, harder thrusts. “Come with me.” He growled. With those words, she was there. Her eyes fluttered, the orgasm overcame her, he pounded into her over and over and, at the very peak, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into her shoulder, marking her like one of his beloved stallions would a mare. **** Half an hour later, she stirred from her position on the floor. She reached back with one finger and poked Tamlohn. She didn’t even know what part of him she was touching, but she just kept poking until he muttered, “What?” “…squish…” “What?” It was a bit stronger now as if he were waking up. “Squishing me.” He chuckled weakly, “I’m squishing you?” “Yes, gedofame.” “What was that?” “Get. Off. Of. Me.” He laughed before shifting. They had simply collapsed forward after their shared orgasm, and it had left her sprawled on her belly underneath him. For the first time in a while, she took a deep breath. “Thank you, Ahgarah.” “Of course, beloved,” he said. Slowly, like a man crippled, he got to his feet. Turning her head on the floor, she giggled at his slow, awkward movements. Once he was on his feet, he reached down, turned her over, and then picked her up. Straightening, he groaned. “If you drop me, I will never forgive you,” she said. “Have no fear; I will not drop you,” he smiled, and there was a teasing sparkle in his eye. “I’ll toss you.” “Ha ha,” she said, dropping her head to his shoulder and yawning. The darkness had lessened though dawn was still a ways off. Tamlohn carried her to the bed and lay her down. This done, he moved across the room and opened the balcony doors so that from where she lay she could look out. Crossing the room once more, he climbed into bed beside her, wrapping one arm over her waist and slipping the other beneath her head for her pillow. Plumping a pillow for himself, Tamlohn settled in behind her and pulled the cover over them. For long moments they were quiet, looking out into the black sea of night. “Tell me about us,” she whispered. It had been a long time since she had said that to him. Startled, he was quiet for a moment.

“Is it too painful to think on?” she said in a small voice, as if she regretted asking. “No, no,” he assured her, kissing her temple. “It has just been a long time.” “It has,” she replied. “There is a glen…” **** Cryessa closed her eyes and listed to the rhythm of his words, the cadence, the weight of them in the air. The first day he was brought to the Temple, she had been only sixteen. Orphaned and taken into the Temple as a serving girl, she had been moved to the college at the tender age of six. At that time she had not understood the adults when they told her she was blessed, Goddess kissed. All she had cared was that she did not have to weed the garden anymore. Instead, her days were spent learning to read and write, dance and sing. At fifteen she had been brought before the Priestess. In that meeting, the Priestess, flanked by five of the most terrifying beings she had ever seen, had calmly told her she would be the next Priestess. Later she would learn that the Priestess had known much earlier that she would be next, and her education had been tailored to that end. It was also on that day that she lost her name. Calmly, the then-Priestess had told her she would be known from then on as Handmaiden. A spell had whipped her name from the memories of those who knew her. Being an orphan, her name was the only thing connecting her to her family. Losing it had been one of the most difficult transitions. But nothing had been as hard as the day they brought Tamlohn to the Temple. She had been six months into her training, learning the spells and ceremonies she would some day perform. It wasn’t until there was word that a suitable Prima might have been found that the Priestess had revealed the true role of the Zinahs. Everyone knew that they were servants of the Priestess, but that they were slaves, and the way they served the Priestess physically, had been a mystery to her until that day. Cryessa remembered her mortification at being brought into the slave quarters one morning to see five powerful men naked and bent over the presentation bar. Every morning she had been made to go and watch the Priestess in her morning ritual with them, but to a girl who had been sheltered in the college since the age of six most of what was done was lost on her. They told her the day before they brought Tamlohn that they had found the next Prima. Cryessa had been at once elated and horrified. She had been told that once her Zinahs were found, her physical training would begin in earnest. She had waited in the altar room, dressed in a simple robe and sash, nearly giddy with anticipation to meet this boy who would become part of her life. She had been given a look into the private world of the Zinahs and she had come to understand the close relationship between the Prima and the Priestess. Having seen it, she wanted it. In a world too often crazy, she had looked forward to having a confidant. She had not really thought about what it would mean to own that person as a slave, nor had she really listened when they told her he was a prisoner of war. When the doors opened, she had closed her eyes, wanting to prolong the suspense. It was a noise of pain, a stifled moan that caused her eyes to fly open. Two of the other Zinahs had walked into the room, dragging a bloody bound mess.

All she could see was white flesh wrapped in chain and tangled red hair. There was a bit in the boy’s mouth and a collar around his neck. Cryessa had started forward only to be frozen in her tracks by the Priestess, who forced her to stand there and watch as they finished dragging him across the room. They dropped him at her feet. She stood immobile, tears welling in her eyes. It was wrong, all wrong; this was not what she wanted. She looked down just in time to see a pair of lavender eyes glaring at her with hatred. For the next three months they trained, both together and separately, she with the Priestess, he with the Prima. She learned to dread times she had to spend with Tamlohn. In those days he had been full of rage, with a sharp tongue. After the first two months of training, they had been required to be naked whenever they were with each other to help them grow comfortable. Instead, Tamlohn’s cruel comments had made her horribly selfconscious. He had taunted her about her knobby knees and her breasts which were growing in unevenly. Through all this she never could hate him, or even be angry, for she had seen him in chains, and knew that, in a way, it was her fault. Snuggled safely in his arms, removed from the memory by many years, Cryessa sank into the memory of the day it had all changed. **** “Now.” The Priestess said. “Die,” Tamlohn snarled. He was kneeling naked on the floor of the Priestess’s apartments, his arms crossed over his chest. Across from him, Cryessa swallowed anxiously. She was kneeling facing him, also naked. Only strict orders from the Priestess prevented her from wrapping her arms selfconsciously around her body. “Tamlohn,” The Priestess said strictly, “as the future Prima you must learn to obey.” “The Prima is the general; I don’t see why I should learn to obey her.” He pointed stiff armed at Cryessa, not looking at her. He thought it was funny that she didn’t have a name and had taken to referring to Cryessa as ‘her,’ or ‘it.’ The Priestess now turned to Cryessa. “Handmaiden, we have worked for years now on your training, you are very knowledgeable and proficient in the ways of the Goddess, but without the ability to master the Zinahs, you will have no protection. “As I told you before, you must start taking command. Now, dominate him, make him obey.” Cryessa swallowed and looked at Tamlohn. He sneered at her with total distain, a feat which could only be accomplished by a sixteen year old boy. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, “P-Prima mine, place, um, place your-r hands behind you head and, and spread your, your legs in the approved…” “You must be joking!” Tamlohn threw back his head and roared with laughter, completely shattering her fragile confidence. The Priestess sighed. “Tamlohn, you are dismissed.” Tamlohn jumped to his feet. “We will practice later?” he asked the Prima. Despite everything, he was savoring the knowledge he was acquiring from the Prima who was not only teaching him new things, but letting him refine the skills he had learned in his early training in his home land. “Aye,” the Prima’s voice was low and growly, “there are things I must attend to here

first.” With a final smirk at Cryessa, Tamlohn swaggered out of the room. The silence was heavy with disappointment. Finally she couldn’t take it any more, “Priestess…” “Handmaiden, I have warned you that you must begin to command. I understand that it has been hard up to this point, but no more excuses. Remember what I told you. I will never punish one of your Zinahs, for they are yours, all I will do is teach him to accept and wield the implements.” Cryessa looked up from the floor in time to see Tamlohn poking his head around the open door. He grinned at hearing the Priestess say she would not punish him and then, with a smirk at her, disappeared. Cryessa looked up at the Priestess “He doesn’t want…” “It doesn’t matter; it is your needs which rule him.” “I cannot!” “You will.” The Prima had moved across the chamber and now knelt beside her. Turning to look at him, she saw he held a long thin cane. “Priestess?” Cryessa whispered, terrified by the sight of the massive, muscle bound Prima with a cane in his hand. “I am sorry, child, but I fear we have come to this. You must learn to master him, control him, and, until you can, his punishments are yours.” With that, she motioned to the Prima. Cryessa screamed as the big warrior laid a stripe, not across her back, but across the upturned soles of her feet. “Just two more on your feet, the pain you feel when walking will remind you of what you need to do.” “No, please…” Again she screamed as a line of fire was opened across her soft soles. She clasped her hands together, digging her nails into her own flesh as she tried to overcome the pain. Just as the pain subsided, the third blow came. With a sob Cryessa pressed her clenched hands to her mouth, stifling the sound. The Priestess knelt, pulled her hair forward over her shoulder and lifted her chin. There was kindness in the Priestess’s eyes, but also absolute authority. “Now you will take his punishment for his disobedience.” Horror filled her as she realized there was more to come. Scared, her teeth started to chatter, which meant that, when the Prima laid the first stripe across her back, she bit her tongue, another small pain in the sea of hurt her body had become. One after another, the Prima laid welts across her back. Cryessa did her best to control her sobs. She pressed her hands against her mouth while tears ran down her cheeks. The pain was like a fire in her skin, her breathing choppy and heavy, every other breath interrupted by the crack of the cane. In that moment, there was no hope. She would never, could never, master Tamlohn, let alone others they would bring. She was ugly and awkward and hopeless. For a moment, she considered jumping to her feet and running, running, running, across the room and out the doors over the balcony, so she could end this life on the stones below. In her pain she did not hear the Priestess’s raised voice, but the next thing she knew

was the press of something against her back. She cried out piteously as it pushed against her abused skin. She heard the whistle of the cane in the air, followed by the harsh ‘crack’. She squeezed her eyes tight, but the pain did not come. For a moment, there was silence. Slowly Cryessa opened her eyes, the only sound her uneven, tear-laced breath. Then there were sounds of breathing in her ear. Turning ever so slightly, she looked over her shoulder to see Tamlohn, his chest pressed against her back, his face screwed up in pain from the blow he had taken for her. Suddenly he was gone from behind her. The next thing she knew, he lifted her to her feet, and, before she could cry out at the pain, lifted her in his arms, grunting at the effort. His arm at her back was hurting her, his fingers were digging into her leg, but, in that moment, she would not have told him for the world. He had come to rescue her, to help her. He snarled at the Priestess and then walked out of the room with her. She said nothing as he carried her down a hall to the small room that was hers. Once inside, he laid her awkwardly on the bed on her side. She shivered in pain but forced it away, afraid he would leave. “Why?” There was a single chair in her room which he took and flipped around, sitting on it and resting his arms on the back, idly kicking one foot against the floor. He shrugged, but did not look at her. Cryessa moved slightly and pain shot through her. Suddenly it was all too much. Pressing her hands over her face, she started to sob. “Er, why are you crying?” There was discomfort in every note of his voice. “We are d-d-doomed.” “What?” “We are doomed! I will be a te-terrible Priestess.” “Surely no…” “I can do nothing right! I can’t do it. I can’t! How am I to learn to master you and four more? Four more! How am I too meet with a King, protect my people… Would that the Goddess had chosen another…” “No, I have seen you at work in ritual, there is such a light in you, surely you are meant to be the Priestess!” “Then why can’t I do it?” “Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe there is another way.” Cryessa wiped her eyes. “I wish there was. I tried to ask. But if there is not just one power, just the Priestess, the Temple will become like the Palace, ruled by someone who cares not for the Goddess. This way, everything we do is watched over by Her.” He considered this. Now that she had started, she could not stop. “I thought everything would be fine. Then you came. I didn’t want that, didn’t want you like that.” She looked up at him, suddenly fierce. “I didn’t know, please, I didn’t know that they would do that to you.” He looked skeptical, but nodded. “Truly! I thought, well, I though that it would be like what she has with the Prima, that they would bring someone who could be my friend, my-my companion as he is to her.” Embarrassed to admit it, she looked at the floor, watching his naked foot swing, “I was very excited that you were coming.”

His foot stopped moving. “Truly?” “Aye, truth.” They were both silent for a moment. She sneaked a peak at his face and noticed that he looked troubled. “They should not have done that to you,” he said finally. “I have to learn,” she replied. “But now every time I do something wrong they will beat you.” “Yes,” she said simply. She wanted to beg him to behave, beg him to spare her this, but her training had been true and she knew the wiser action would be to remain silent. Tamlohn raised his eyes and looked into hers. This was a turning point in both their lives, a bridge between the selfishness of youth and the duties of adulthood. “Tell me your name.” **** Cryessa was jarred out of the memory when Tamlohn stroked her arm. “Where are you, Ahgarah?” “Remembering the first time you did not hate me.” He laughed softly. “Nae. I never hated you. I was terrified of you. You were gorgeous, even then.” Cryessa smiled. She had been stunned when he first told her that he had always thought her beautiful. “I would have never known you thought that.” “Well, I had to protect myself from you somehow.” “You seem to have done a very poor job, love,” she whispered, turning her head and kissing his arm. “Indeed I have. I am quite helplessly under your spell.” After the day of Cryessa’s beating, a slow change had begun until they were a unit, a pair. Together they had learned the content of each of the Rituals backwards and forwards. They had been trained to give and receive both pleasure and pain. On the summer solstice of that year, they had lost their virginity in each other’s arms under the watchful gaze of the moons. With Tamlohn supporting her, Cryessa’s confidence had grown. The final part of her training had been to take Tamlohn to the room beneath the slave quarters and break him completely. The task had been easy for they had grown to be friends and lovers. It was on the day that the Priestess deemed the training done and approved his release from the room that he told her he loved her for the first time. Wrapped in each other’s arms, much as they were now, she had cried when he told her, for she had been sure he would hate her again for the control she had exerted over him. When she stopped crying, she had returned the words. The next day they had laid out the rules for the secrecy of their love, grimly locking away their feelings. Later that night, he had started to whisper to her of another place, another life, their life. Since then his tale had become both her most deep-seeded fantasy and her solace in times like this. “We had a hard training, you and I.” “That we did, Ahgarah,” he replied. Shaking herself, she apologized, “I am sorry, Ahgarah, will you begin again?” “Of course.” He kissed her shoulder and started his tale again. “There is a glen. It is a

quiet place, hidden in a little dip. There are tall trees all around, willows, with their long, drooping branches. “In the center of the glen, protected by the trees, is a cottage. It is small, only two rooms. There is whitewash on it, outside and in, and, as it is springtime, there is fresh straw thatch on the roof so that the inside smells of growing things. There are flowers out front, all manner of wildflowers, every color that you could imagine.” Pausing for a moment, he kissed the fading bite mark on her shoulder. “Our life is simple there in that little cabin. I raise horses in a little corral out behind the cabin. You raise food in a garden you planted. There is no silk and velvet for us to wear, only time-worn leather and cotton. You sit on the fence to watch me train the horses, and I help you weed the garden. You sing. “At night I lay you down on the soft skins before our small hearth and love you with my body. In that cabin, sex is not about power or control, only pleasure and making babies, sons and daughters who will run wild in our glen, dancing in the flowers. “At night we are tangled in each other’s arms as we sleep. Every morning I watch you wake, watch the life, the love return to your eyes. Before we leave the bed every morning, you sit beside me under the covers and braid a white ribbon into your hair. We do not have many nice things, but this ribbon is silk, with silver threads. I bought it for you and gave it to you on the day we married. Every day you braid the ribbon into your hair, in a love knot. “That, my love, is the life we would have if things had been different, if the Goddess had not needed you to be Priestess, and needed me to protect you.” Cryessa nodded, her throat tight with longing for the life he described. Her eyes had drifted shut so that she could better imagine the scene he described. Now she opened them. “Look,” she said. “The darkest hour is gone. The dawn has come.” They lay wrapped in one another’s arms while the sun climbed higher in the sky and finally slept. **** Six hours later Cryessa woke, her body’s protests telling her that she needed more sleep. With her normal unhappy morning grumble, she pulled the covers over her head and turned to Tamlohn. The space where he had been was empty. Suddenly she was wide-awake. Cryessa sat up in bed, peering around bleary eyed. Blinking hard she finally focused, and, when she saw him, her heart constricted. While she slept, he had slipped from her side and now lay across the foot of the long bed. To sleep at her feet was the position of her slave, her Zinah. His action, more clearly than words, reminded her of who they were. His place was not beside her, it was at her feet. She swallowed the tears she had not let herself cry last night. Though he was right there, only meters away, the wall he had reconstructed between them was more real than ever. He had kept his promise to her: he would help her be the Priestess, be his Mistress. Cryessa pulled her hair over one shoulder and lay back. A puzzled frown replaced her look of sorrow as she buried her fingers in her hair. Slowly she drew a single lock from amid the heavy mass.

There was a single white ribbon braided into a lock of her golden hair.

Chapter 9 They met later that same day in the great chamber of her apartments. None of them had gotten the sleep they needed, but it would have to do for now. There was work to be done. They were all reclined comfortably on soft chairs placed in a circle. Rohaj had often remarked that it was the most lush and comfortable place he had ever sat for a council of war. “Without a doubt, it was planned as an ambush. More than likely, it was planned as a strike on the cavalry. If the location was chosen purposefully, they would have known that only the mounted soldiers would get there in time,” Anleeh stated. He was naked, as they all were, sitting on the edge of his chair, his elbows braced on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. “It was more than just an ambush. I fear there is more to this plot, Priestess.” It was Sesah who spoke, sitting ramrod straight in his own chair. All eyes turned to him, expressions becoming grim. “Explain,” Cryessa ordered. “As we were scouting, we saw a group of thirty soldiers surrounding a tall wagon. We were too few to attack them and, at that point, we had not yet discovered the bulk of the ambush. I sent one man to investigate. He was able to get high enough to see into the cart. In it were people.” “They took villagers? Why?” Moregon asked. Sesah shook his head. “That my soldier could not discover. All I know is that they were all young men, around twenty-five.” “Last night, when we first saw the village in the scrying bowl, they had gathered men about that age in the center of the town, yet when we arrived they had men and women of all ages gathered there also,” Tamlohn said. Cryessa did not turn to look at him. She did not yet trust herself to keep her emotions hidden. Last night was too fresh. She had pulled her hair into a loose braid, hiding the white ribbon in the mass. “So those men were taken between the time we left this room and when the cavalry arrived.” Rohaj stated. “Sesah,” Cryessa said. “Was there anything about those boys that might give us a clue about why they, in particular, were taken?” Sesah shook his head, “Only their sex and age, Priestess.” “I did not hear them cry out.” “My soldier said it looked like they had been drugged.” “Drugged, or already dead?” “Drugged. He said he saw one man moving as if in the middle of a nightmare.” She sighed. “It was a terrible oversight that I did not keep the scrying bowl on the village.” “Priestess, no…” “—no way for you to know…” “—the presence of the guards…”

“Enough.” She held up a hand, stopping their protests. “All we know is that the King has taken captive men around the age of twenty-five from this small village. What we need to know is why they were taken and how we can get them released.” Tamlohn spoke up again. “We can wait for the report from our spies in the Palace. They are scheduled to report six days hence.” She shook her head. “No, that is too long. The King wanted my attention, and now he has it.” The Zinahs exchanged looks, wondering if their suspicions as to her plans were correct. “We must go to the King.” **** They would arrive at the Palace unannounced. It was good to remind the King that she could get into the Palace without his knowledge. He knew that the Priestess would never mount an assassination attack against him—that went against what she and the Temple stood for, her army was defensive only. But his vulnerability and a display of the powers of the Priestess would serve to remind the King of who he was dealing with. They planned to arrive at twilight, when her powers were at their greatest with the presence of both the sun and the moon in the sky. Each of the Zinahs would wear the formal clothing they had worn for the moon ceremony, but would be more heavily armed. As dusk approached, they met in the altar room in the Temple where Cryessa could concentrate her powers and open a portal to the Palace. Her five Zinahs walked into the room, each looking more deadly than the last. Moregon had a huge two-handed sword strapped to his back, the pommel showing over his left shoulder, complemented by long daggers strapped to his legs and shorter ones on each forearm. Behind him, Sesah was finishing strapping leather cases which held small, starshaped pieces of metal onto his forearms. As he finished putting the last buckle in place, he lowered his arm so his sleeves fell to his fingertips leaving the only visible weapon his short sword he wore at his hip. Rohaj had his staff in a case at his back. It was a long, cylindrical piece of heavy dark wood. After coming to the Temple, he had learned fighting with swords and preferred it in battle, but he still practiced with the staff and was deadly when he chose to wield it. Anleeh, whose normal dress attire had no weaponry with it, wore a sword at his hip and daggers on both legs much like Moregon. Tamlohn, the last one in, wore a double-handed sword on his back as well as a sword at his hip. Unlike the others, the only visible part of the daggers he wore on his legs were the hilts which protruded above his boots. Attached to his belt on the hip not occupied by his sword was a coiled bullwhip. Tamlohn could use this weapon very effectively; indeed, it was one of the best things for keeping people at bay while the other Zinahs got the Priestess out. He actually wore the weapon for the Priestess to wield if it became necessary. It should never fall to her to defend herself, but, if the impossible happened and they were not there to protect her, he wore a weapon she could use.

Cryessa was already dressed and ready to go. Unlike the others, she was not wearing ceremonial garments; she would not honor the King that highly. Instead she wore an elaborate day dress, but she had specially chosen this outfit to anger the King, to remind him of what he could not have. The dress was made of silk and heavy lace in alternating bands. There were three bands of rose colored silk: one over her breasts, one around her hips, and the other around her knees. Silver lace filled the space between the bands. The shadows of her bellybutton and her legs, including most of her thighs, were visible. The silk around her breasts was reinforced on the inside with leather to make it more stable, as there were no shoulders or sleeves to the dress. Cryessa had Giselle lace the dress tight across her chest so that her breasts were pushed up, firm and plentiful, above the top of the dress. Contrasting her near-nudity from the waist up, she wore a thick, silver choker set with pale rubies and clear crystal around her neck. Several silver chains let teardrop shaped jewels drip low onto her chest, one fat crystal resting just at the start of her cleavage. Matching cuffs adorned each wrist, and a silver diadem, set with a large ruby, sat on her brow. Attached to the diadem was a long sweep of the same silver lace from the dress. Currently she had the short front piece thrown back, but the long trail of silver spilled down her back and trailed behind her on the floor. She smiled at them as they lined up beside her. “You all look remarkably deadly.” “Good, that is what we were going for,” Rohaj said with mock seriousness. Her smile turned into a grin, a last bit of lightheartedness before they took on the King. The Zinahs would be there as a visual threat but the verbal and political battle was hers alone to fight. “Are you ready?” she asked them. Each man nodded. “Good.” She turned to face the altar. Cryessa raised her hands to her sides, palm facing forward. Slowly she began to build power in the space in front of her. She visualized the power condensing in a long straight rope on the floor in front of her. When there was enough power, she flipped her hands, palms now facing up and the rope of power unfurled up into the air, forming a shimmering doorway. With the doorway formed, she closed her eyes and visualized the altar room in the Palace. Since the Palace had once been the residence of the Priestess when that title was synonymous with Queen, the altar room there matched the one in which she stood. The first usurper had gone through the Palace and removed all the symbols of the Priestess and the Goddess, but nothing could change or erase the magic which existed inside the stone and mortar. Each time they showed up in the Temple, it made the King crazy. He never knew how they got in or out of the Palace undetected. When she could see the altar room in the Palace in her mind’s eye, Cryessa rotated her wrists, palm down. The wavering magic door became solid, showing the altar room in the Palace. Tamlohn and Rohaj came up on either side of her. When she nodded, they both stepped forward into the doorway, passing through so that they traveled the length of the

valley in a single step. Cryessa followed them through the door with Anleeh, Sesah, and Moregon right behind her. As Moregon stepped through, Cryessa slapped her hands hard against the outsides of her thighs and the portal vanished. She could feel the magic waiting under the stones at her feet. Anleeh grinned. “Off to scare the crap out of the King?” Cryessa didn’t even react to his teasing comment. She had sunk into herself, preparing. Her face was impassive, remote and lovely. Her body, golden and beautiful in its wrapping of lace and silk, was the essence of everything feminine and holy. Reaching up, she pulled the front section of lace forward over her face, covering her face from forehead to nose, leaving her chin and pink lips bare. Tamlohn and Rohaj led the way out of the chamber, leaving the other three to protect her back. They exited the altar room which was currently being used for storage and turned left. They made it down several corridors before they were spotted by the first servant. He was a young man and, upon seeing them coming down the corridor, promptly dropped the buckets of water he carried and stared. His jaw nearly hit his chest as they walked by and he got a clear view of her. They were nearing the King’s private apartments. By entering from the altar room, they had bypassed the heavily guarded throne room and the corridors which led far back into the Palace. Finally they reached the hallway off of which the King’s chambers lay. Here they met more servants scurrying about, carrying out the King’s outrageous demands. Most simply froze in their tracks upon seeing their approach. Out of the corner of his eye, Tamlohn saw one man turn and bolt down the hall the way they had just come. The man would warn the guards, but it was not a problem, they were already close enough to the King’s chambers that the guards would not arrive in time to stop them. At the end of the long hall, two large double doors emblazoned with the King’s seal provided the final obstacle. With little ceremony Tamlohn and Rohaj reached forward and ripped the doors open, proceeding quickly into the room to maintain the element of surprise if there were any guards in the room. Sesah and Anleeh came in behind them, but stayed in the doorway, protecting the Priestess who was still standing on the threshold. Moregon turned so his back was to the Priestess and kept an eye on the hallway. The King was not in the central room. Tamlohn and Rohaj circled the whole room twice before motioning to Anleeh and Sesah. “It is safe to enter, Priestess,” Anleeh told her. She did not acknowledge the comment, but stepped into the room, leaving the three behind her to close and bar the doors. She moved across the chamber to double doors set into the far wall which experience had taught her was the King’s bedchamber. Tamlohn and Rohaj waited there. When she stopped in front of the doors, they swung them open, hard. The two guards who had been stationed inside on either side of the door were flattened against the wall, giving Rohaj and Tamlohn time to dart inside and smash their heads against the walls, rendering them unconscious. Cryessa walked coolly into the room and approached the massive bed where King Throlock sat, sputtering, as he watched her calmly invade his private chamber. Cryessa

had to force herself to remain impassive as she took in the scene on the bed. Two girls knelt, naked, on either side of Throlock. Another girl was reclined at the head of the bed, her breasts positioned to be his pillow. The girls showed absolutely no reaction to their abrupt entrance into the chamber. Their eyes were glassy and vacant. One of the kneeling girls was rocking slightly from side to side in a horrifyingly childish manner. Drugged, they had been drugged. Cryessa shifted her eyes behind their veil, but did not turn her head. There in the corner of the room, as she expected, was a cage. Unlike the one in the training room in the Temple, this cage was miniscule. The girl who knelt huddled inside barely had space to raise her head and could not move her arms and legs at all. There was a heavy muzzle around the girl’s lower face and her eyelashes were fluttering up and down, the whites of her eyes rolling. On a table just to the side of the cage was a pestle and mortar and a basket of potent lotum flowers. When sniffed the flowers had a heavenly aroma; if the scent was inhaled too long, the potent perfume had a drugging effect. Cryessa would have bet the Temple itself that the King had ground the potent petals of the flower into an oily paste, slathered it onto the inside of the muzzle, and then forced the girl to wear it. The prolonged exposure to lotum could render a girl incapable of thinking for herself, drugging her into total obedience. If that was done too often, it could result in permanent damage to the brain. Cryessa wondered if the girls on the bed and the girl in the cage had recently been exposed, causing them to show no signs of life, or if they been reduced to what she saw them as now, lifeless dolls, no thought or actions of their own, for all time. The King, recovered, glanced around the room now filled with her guards. “Priestess,” he said with a snarl. “What a pleasant surprise.” “King Throlock, I have come to have speech with you.” “As you can see, I am quite busy.” He gestured to the naked girls. “Your pleasures will have to wait.” Cryessa stepped close to the foot of the bed. Rohaj, Sesah, Anleeh, and Moregon took up places at the four corners of the giant bed, boxing him in. Tamlohn stayed behind and to one side of the Priestess. As she stepped closer, Throlock got a better view of her. His mouth, which had been curled into a sneer, went slack at the sight of her golden body so enticingly clad. His eyes fastened on the swell of her cleavage. His cock, which had been lying soft against his thigh, stirred. Cryessa pressed her advantage. “Why did you take those boys prisoner?” She whispered the question, not wanting to break the sensual spell he had fallen under. “Traitor, a traitor in the town. Heard a rumor of a rebel army.” “Why did you take so many of them?” “Best to be safe, kill them all.” Cryessa force herself to be calm at that. “Why was there an ambush waiting?” At this, the King shook himself, breaking himself out of the spell of her body. Many men upon first meeting her were struck dumb by her physical beauty. The King continued to succumb because he desired her body above all things, desired it because he

could not have it, but the spell she wove with her presence only lasted so long, and he became a bit more immune each time. Through she could have worked other spells, active magic, to trick him into telling her the truth, it was forbidden. As was having Tamlohn kill him where he lay. The King curled his lip at her, clearly angry at having let her trick him once again. With a cruel smile, he reached for one of the kneeling girls and fisted his hand in her hair. Using her hair as a handhold, he brought her face down to his now rigid cock and forced her mouth around him. His eyes never left the Priestess’s face. It was clear to everyone in the room that he was imagining her there on her knees, her mouth around his cock, her body and mind under his control. Knowing he could only see her lips, Cryessa curled them in a show of disgust. At her obvious revulsion, Throlock’s arrogance deflated and he viciously pushed the girl off him. Moregon took a single step sideways and stopped the girl from rolling off the side of the high bed. He made no movement save that. Keeping her lip curled, Cryessa spoke to Moregon. “Remove the King’s playthings while I speak with him.” No compassion, no sympathy. If she ever let him know how much it upset her to see these girls like this, he would only hurt them worse. Moregon pulled the girls from the bed and hustled them off to a corner of the room. Out of the corner of her eyes, Cryessa saw him bend and open the cage, slipping the muzzle off the girl inside and helping her out. Cryessa turned away from the bed, though it made her nervous to turn her back on Throlock, knowing that a knife between her shoulder blades was not beyond him. She moved away from the bed and took a seat in a high backed chair in a grouping of furniture on one side of the room. Tamlohn moved with her like a shadow. The King moved from the bed, doing his best to ignore the Zinahs who still stood around him. Jerking on a simple robe, he moved to where she sat and threw himself down on a chair, doing his best to look unconcerned. “So, Priestess, you wish to discuss the traitor I have captured?” “All the boys you took are traitors?” “My spies discovered that a man of that age, in that town, has been carrying information to my enemies. It is for the good of the people and the stability of my kingdom that I kill the traitor.” “One traitor, not every man of that age in the whole village.” “It is better to err on the side of caution.” Cryessa forced herself to stay calm; surely he would not kill every boy he took from that village. “King Throlock, would it not be best to identify the traitor and let the others return home, as a sign of goodwill to the people?” He slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. “The people do not deserve my goodwill.” “Why?” “They plot against me, I will teach them to obey if I have to write the message in their own blood.” Cryessa was starting to feel desperate. It was like dealing with a petulant child, one

who held the power of life and death. “King Throlock, the Goddess frowns on such a needless slaughter of innocents.” He snorted, “The Goddess does not favor me, so why should I listen to Her?” “Every day that the sun and moons rise as they should, the Goddess favors us all.” Throlock tilted his head and regarded her with a cool smile. “I trust that you will appease the Goddess.” Cryessa could now see the entirety of the plot. Not only would he crush the threat of a traitor, if indeed there had ever been rumor of one, but he set up an ambush opportunity to wipe out her army. Finally, she would have to appease the Goddess on his behalf, making herself complicit in his actions. The second part of his plot had been thwarted and that would only make him more determined to carry through the rest of his plans. “King Throlock, to live within the Goddess’s light is not to knowingly do things which will displease her and then ask forgiveness.” The King simply smiled. Cryessa seethed inside, though nothing showed on her half veiled face. “There were over three hundred members of your army in that village last night. Might I ask why such a high number? And why some of them were in hiding?” “My soldiers were not in hiding. They were waiting to make sure that the traitor did not have an army with him.” No one who heard it believed what the King said; it was clear that he himself did not believe it, and could not even bother to tell a better lie. “I feel there was a needless waste of life last night, King Throlock.” “Indeed there was. Your soldiers should not have interfered with my policing duties.” “I regret that you do not feel you can come to me with your problems and worries, King Throlock.” That was both a truth and a lie. She wished he would come to her so that she could have some advance warning and do more to head off his plots. On the other hand, she had no wish to have more contact with him than was necessary. “It is also my deepest regret that we do not have a closer relationship, Priestess.” His eyes were fastened on her breasts as he said it. Cryessa took a deep breath. The King’s eyes glazed over. “I do not wish you to kill all those boys.” He nodded stupidly as she practiced her deep breathing. “Give the boys to me that I might find a traitor among them.” “Yessss. Give them to you…” Feeling slightly lightheaded, Cryessa exhaled one last time and then resumed normal breathing. The King shook his head and jerked his gaze to her face. “Thank you for agreeing to give the soldiers over to my care, King Throlock. I pledge to do my best to discover who among them is a traitor to your rule.” She carefully neglected to promise to tell him what that traitor said. Throlock seethed at having been so easily manipulated, but then smiled. The swell of relief she had been feeling started to deflate. “Priestess, I will need a guarantee from you if I release them to your care.”

“What sort of guarantee, King Throlock?” “A simple gesture of goodwill, that I might know your intentions are pure.” “King, I am the Goddess’s mouthpiece on earth; you insult me to imply that Her favor is not guarantee enough.” His smile was wolfish, even as he pretended humility. “Alas, I am an unenlightened soul. Show me the great understanding of the Goddess and grant me a boon in exchange for my trusting you with these men, who may be my only link to the rebels.” She tried to keep the wariness out of her voice. “What boon do you ask for?” “Let me look upon the Goddess mouthpiece in all her glory.” He raked his gaze up and down her body. Cryessa could not stop herself from sucking in an affronted breath. It was an incredible insult that he even ask. He stared at her, trying the read her reaction through the veil she wore. He was half hoping she would refuse, giving him a reason to kill the young men and force her to offer a sacrifice to the Goddess. He did not know what the sacrifice meant except that it was of flesh. He hoped that she ripped that flesh from the backs of one of her Zinahs. The other part of him wanted her to give in. To see her naked would be a preview of things to come. Some day he would have the power to overthrow the Temple and take her for his own. The slavery of the girls he had now would be paradise compared to the slavery and debasement he would make her suffer. Even the thought sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “You will exchange the lives of those men for a glimpse of my body.” Throlock nodded and then hastily added stipulations upon hearing her careful wording. “More than just a glimpse is in order, Priestess, and I want to see your face.” Cryessa’s mind whirled. She had no real problem with showing her body. It was the fact that he had the effrontery to ask. And the fact that the very sight of him made her skin crawl. The real danger here was that, from now on, he would simply take whomever he wanted hostage and then demand her naked body as payment for their release. That vicious cycle she could not afford to start. “If I do this, King Throlock, I can never do it again. The Goddess’s rule is that a man who is not an initiate of the Temple may only look upon my body once. Any more than that and you would be driven mad.” He scoffed, “Mad?” “Indeed, King. Only imagine the heaviness in your mind that you feel when you look upon me now, a thousand times more powerful.” He looked wary at that; he believed her. “Mayhap it is best if we did not risk your mind, King Throlock,” she said softly. “Give me the soldiers and I will be gone from your Palace.” For a moment it looked as if he might agree, but his hunger for her flesh was too great. “Nae, Priestess, I will risk it, just this once.” Now that he knew, he would set his advisors to discovering a way for him to look upon her once he overthrew the Temple without making himself mad. Maybe if he blinded her? Pushing that problem to the back of his mind for a moment, he looked up at her face,

those red dipped lips. Many a night had he come in the mouth of one of his little slave girls while imagining those red lips wrapped around his cock. Cryessa swallowed and then nodded her acceptance, and stood. “I will send a group of my soldiers to escort the men from your dungeons to the Temple.” “As The Priestess wishes.” Cryessa had kept herself carefully shielded from the Zinahs through it all, but now opened herself. Waves of outrage and anger washed over her though nothing had showed on any of their faces. It was Tamlohn she focused on, his voice and emotions she plucked from the bunch. Ahgarah, are you sure about this? Will it not show too much weakness? I hate that he would look at you, hate that any but I would look upon you. Ignoring the comments, she focused on the questions he had posed. Would this show too much weakness? She was not sure. All she knew was that she could not abandon those poor men to the cruel deaths the King would give them. Enough, she spoke to them all at once. The lives of the innocents must be saved. Cryessa reach up for the diadem which anchored the veil over her face. The King leaned forward in his chair, his breathing quick with anticipation, his eyes focused on her face. Slowly she lifted it away from her face, passing it off to Sesah on her left. Then for the first time she looked the King directly in the eyes, her clear blue meeting his murky brown. The King licked his lips. “You are more beautiful than I ever imagined,” he whispered. Cryessa did not acknowledge the comment; instead, she motioned for Sesah to deal with the lacing on the back of her dress. She would rather have had Tamlohn do it so that she might have taken courage from the fleeting touch of his fingers, but she needed his attention focused on the King. There was a very real chance he would lose himself enough to come at her when he finally saw her naked. She felt tugging at her back as Sesah began to unlace her. Slowly, the constriction around her breasts eased. Little by little, Sesah loosened the lacings. Finally she held up a hand, stopping him. She let her hand fall to her side and Sesah let go of her dress. The dress fell from her, sliding down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her completely exposed to the King’s gaze, her only covering the jewelry she wore at her neck and wrists. “Oh yes, yes… Just as I had always imagined, but so much more.” Cryessa stared at the wall behind the King, ignoring his mumblings. She doubted he knew that he was speaking out loud. “Such lush breasts, I want them. I would beat them bloody. Pretty red blood rolling down that gold flesh. Yes, yes, yes.” Her stomach rolled at the image her mind helplessly formed at his words, but she did not move, made no attempt to cover herself, simply stared at the wall. Around her the Zinahs shifted unhappily, their bodies twitching with the need to protect her from this violation. The King stood and came closer to her. They were of a height. Cryessa tensed, but he made no move to grab her, instead he circled around her, his eyes slimy and invading on

her flesh. When at last he stood in front of her once more, he looked up into her eyes. Cryessa blanked her mind to be sure that none of her disgust and fear would show. Throlock leaned close and whispered to her. “I will know this flesh some day. You may think you are safe behind the Temple walls, with the guards all around you, but I will know your flesh and take it for my pleasure.” He pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes, waiting for her reaction. Calmly she looked back at him, showing him that what he had made her do meant nothing to her. “No,” she said, not bothering to whisper as he had, “you will not.” There was the ring of truth in her words that even he could hear. Throlock snarled and started to reach for her. Rohaj and Tamlohn both sprang forward, but she took care of the King herself, quickly binding his entire body in magic, freezing him in place. “Sesah,” she said. Immediately Sesah stepped forward and lifted her dress from the floor, settling it around her once more, deftly drawing the laces tight and tying them off. Next he lifted the diadem and placed it on her head, once more hiding her eyes. She removed the magic from Throlock and he spun away, his face curled in hatred for her and her power, so much more than he would ever have. “My soldiers will be here before morning to take the men to the Temple.” Cryessa inclined her head slightly, turned, and walked out of the room, the Zinahs trailing behind her. **** As they made their way back to the altar room, Cryessa threw up confusion spells so that any who saw them pass would give conflicting directions about which way they had gone, protecting the secret of their way into the Palace. No one spoke until they had once more gone through the portal and were safe in the altar room of the Temple. “Priestess,” Moregon said hesitantly. “Are you alright?” “I will be fine.” Now that she was away from the danger, she was able to let her emotions show and her face relax into an unhappy grimace of distaste. She pulled the diadem off and looped the long train of fabric over her arms as they made their way back to the tenth floor and her apartment. It was full dark now, dusk having come and gone while they were with the King. When they all entered her apartments, Sesah once more went to her back and helped her out of the dress. He took both the dress and the veil and laid them over a chair to be dealt with later. Tamlohn stepped close and undid her jewelry. Now completely naked, she started to shiver. “Oh, Priestess,” Moregon whispered. “I am fine. My nakedness is not something I am ashamed of, it is just that, that…” “He raped you with his eyes.” It was Tamlohn who said it, his voice rough as he tried to hide his anger. Cryessa nodded slightly and closed her eyes.

They flew open when she felt a gentle touch against her right thigh. Moregon had dropped to his knees and was pressing his lips against her leg. “Let us ease the memory from your flesh.” Anleeh said as he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Slowly, each of the other Zinahs joined in, Tamlohn coming up behind her and pulling her back to lean against his chest. His hands settled on her waist. For a moment she remained stiff, but these were her men. They would not see her need for comfort as a weakness for they served her wholly, both in times of great strength and times of weakness. Cryessa tipped her head back over Tamlohn’s shoulder. If she concentrated she could tell their hands apart by the size, strength, and the signature of magic each of them carried, but she did not want to think. Instead she abandoned herself to the sensation of ten hands and five mouths moving over her flesh. Lips kissed and licked the hollow behind her right knee. Strong hands kneaded the muscle of her calf. Feather light kisses moved over the dip of her waist on her right side while hands cradled her left arm, a tongue lapping at the pulse in her wrist. Slowly, she shifted her legs open, signaling she wanted more. She wanted the sweet light of an orgasm to burn away the memory and feeling of standing naked before a man she despised. If she had to, she would do it again, but for a fleeting moment she felt cheap, used, a whore. The sensation of a tongue tracing up the inside of her thigh caused the feeling to dim. Fingers dug into the muscles of her ass, kneading it, pulling the cheeks apart. The feeling receded further. A delicate tongue touched her labia and the soft skin was pulled into the warm cavern of a mouth, held in that warm darkness, and suckled. She felt arms tighten around her as they moved, lifting her feet from the floor. Behind her, Tamlohn dropped to his knees, still holding her upper body. When they all settled, she was cradled against their bodies, arms and chests supporting her legs, back, and head. They shifted and her legs were spread wider. The lips which had briefly left her labia returned, and were joined by another set. Cryessa looked down her torso to see two heads, one curly brown, and the other blond, pressed together between her legs as they sucked and lapped at the lips of her sex. The sight was so arousing, their cheeks pressed together as they worshiped her sex, their cheeks hollowed as they sucked her soft, delicate flesh into their mouths, that Cryessa threw her head back against the shoulder at her back and moaned. All around her, they shuddered at the sound. Her moan was raw and guttural, coming from deep in her chest. Taking advantage of the position of her head, Tamlohn leaned forward and began to kiss and lick the spot behind her ear. Fingers began plucking at her nipples, first stroking around and around the areole and then rolling and pinching the beaded tip. The fingers left for a moment, and when they returned they were wet with saliva. The wetness was rubbed into her nipples by greedy, quick fingers, then a rush of air drew the tips of her breasts up hard and pointed as the men tending her breasts leaned low and blew across the tips. The lips closed over her nipples, sucking them just as her labia were being sucked. Through it all hands roamed over her flesh until there was not an inch of her body that had not been warmed by their touch. Fingers stroked up and down her arms, lifting

them up behind her head to give them better access to her breasts. Cryessa curled her fingers into the loose hair at the back of Tamlohn’s neck, knotting her fingers in the rough silk even as he continued to press soft kisses to the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Hands traced down the exposed underside of her arms, cupping her elbow, kneading the muscles of her upper arm. Fingertips stroked across her belly, pressing just hard enough to be a caress and not a tickle. The muscles of her belly fluttered and danced as they painted swirls over her flesh. Those same hands moved to her breasts once more, fingers circling the mounds, tightening, pushing the meat of her breasts up through the circle of those fingers, trapping the blood so that she could feel the nips and licks against her nipples even more keenly. Between her legs, the tandem eating of her sex continued. They studiously avoided her clit, letting the arousal build like a storm on the horizon. One pair of lips left her labia and moved lower, directly over the wet entrance to her body. A tongue lapped at her, licking over and over at the sensitive flesh near the entrance to her body. Fingers spread the lips of her sex wide at the top, exposing her clit. Her sex was spread open wide, wider, until her clit rose from the stretched flesh, the hood drawn back slightly. Warm breath blew across her wet, exposed clit. The dichotomy of cold and hot had her straining in their hold, her fingers tight in Tamlohn’s hair until he hissed in pain against her neck. Cryessa’s breath was coming fast now, her breasts full and swollen in the tight grip, her nipples tender from the constant attention. One finger moved, lightly brushing her clit as it forced the concealing hood back until the raw bundle of nerves was exposed. And then, finally, it came, the quick brush of a tongue directly against the center of her sex. Cryessa cried out as a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain swept through her. Again her clit was licked. The muscles of her belly grew tight. The mouth at her entrance stopped its soft licking and three fingers were pushed inside. The sudden invasion sent sparks of pleasure dancing through her. The muscles low in her body tighten as the orgasm built, fueled by the touch of hands and press of lips along her flesh. Her body clenched hard around the fingers inside her and her nipples and sex lips swelled with blood. Feeling her orgasm, they pushed her body, stoking the fires of her passion that it might burn away the King’s foul presence. Hands which had touched gently now pressed hard, digging into her flesh, holding her body in place, forcing her to accept the oncoming pleasure. Tamlohn’s teeth dug into her neck, holding her head still. Her nipples were trapped between strong teeth as the meat of her breasts was roughly kneaded. Her thighs were pushed wider away from each other and fingers were shoved deeper inside. Rough hands forced her sex lips further apart, mercilessly exposing her clit to the tongue which stabbed at her un-hooded clit. Cryessa could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Her blood felt like quicksilver, the slow gentle loving morphed into a raw animal passion, her body worked by five men who knew it almost as well as she did. Then, like the beast she had named it, her orgasm was upon her. Her muscles grew taught, her body arching up hard so that they struggled to hold her. Toes curled, fingers clenched in soft hair, she threw her head back and screamed her pleasure to the sky. When the first wave passed, they did not stop, instead they pushed her body harder, stoked the flames higher. Muscles already tight drew tighter, knotted beneath her flesh. The tongue on her clit worked her over and over until her body built a second orgasm on

the peak of the first. When teeth scraped over her clit, she burst again, her body bowed back and up in a soul shaking orgasm. The air danced and candles rattled in their holders. Shooting stars whipped past, their tails red, blue, and green in the twilight behind her closed eyes. As the last strains of the pleasure faded, they collapsed against the floor, an ungainly pile of limbs, sweat soaked and weary, but at peace.

Chapter 10 The beginning of the end came two weeks later. Unlike the night of the King’s ambush, the voices didn’t wake her. “—give me strength of arm and heart…” “—arm and heart and head that I might…” “—that I might fight with the honor of…” “—honor of my people.” It was Tamlohn who woke. Yawning and blinking, Tamlohn rolled from his side onto his back. He was lying on the great circular bed in the slave quarters. She had been insatiable that evening and had taken Rohaj, Moregon, and himself to her bed. Three hours later, he and Rohaj had stumbled, exhausted, to the slave quarters, leaving Moregon to deal with waking her up in the morning. She had used his ass hard that night, so he had been allowed to go without a plug, but he had watched as she forced one of the extra large anal plugs into Rohaj. Rubbing his eyes and blinking to focus them, he tried to recall what woke him. The voices in his head had not felt like a dream, there had been no sense of self. It was not he saying the words rather he had felt like an eavesdropper. There was something familiar about the recitation. Almost as if he had heard it before, a long time ago. He lay for several moments in the dark, listening to the other men breathe. Try as he might, he could not figure out where he had heard the words before. Instead he examined the words themselves. They sounded like a prayer, a warrior’s prayer. A cold chill overtook him. Tamlohn slid from the bed. He was half way across the chamber when Sesah spoke. “Prima?” Sesah whispered. “Is there a need to rise?” Tamlohn stopped and looked over his shoulder. Sesah’s face was a pale oval of white in the darkness of the room. He considered the question. He had not the Priestess’s deep connection to the people, nor had the dream given him a sense of dread or urgency. There was no reason to wake the others. “Yes,” he said to Sesah, surprising himself. He exited the chamber, the sounds of Sesah waking the others echoing down the corridor behind him. It was lighter in the Priestess’s chamber because moonlight spilled through the open window. He could see the large mound of Moregon’s body at the foot of the bed. Silent on bare feet, he made his way around the foot of the bed and crawled onto its vast expanse. She was buried in a mound of soft covers. Slowly, he began stripping the layers away until he had her face uncovered. She was frowning in her sleep, her eyes closed tightly. As he watched her he saw her lips move. Though she made no sound, he could read the words from her lips. “…honor of my people…” Confirmation of his suspicions. She was the one who could hear the words as they were prayers to the Goddess. He was hearing them through her. It was odd that it had woken him and not her.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. He would rather have kissed her awake, but with Moregon sleeping at the foot of the bed the risk was too great. Speaking of Moregon— He felt the bed shift beneath him and the next thing he felt was the sharp edge of a blade at his throat. Stillness reigned for a moment before Moregon removed the blade. “Prima?” “Aye.” Tamlohn watched as Moregon sheathed the blade in the holder strapped to his calf. Tamlohn nodded his approval at the other soldier’s actions, though he made a mental note to speak with Moregon about swiftness. In his opinion, Moregon should have been awake long before. Tamlohn turned his attention back to the Priestess. He took her shoulder and shook her until she started to mutter irritably. When he continued to shake her, she lashed out with one arm. Tamlohn ducked, but she got Moregon. “Ouch.” She muttered, her hand having come into painful contact with the hard muscle of Moregon’s arm. “Priestess,” Tamlohn said loudly. “Wake, I fear there is danger.” She pulled the covers over her head. Tamlohn and Moregon both jumped down, one on either side of the bed. Simultaneously they took the covers and dragged them to the foot of the bed. Abruptly ripped from her warm cocoon, Cryessa sat up cursing. She snarled at them both and then blinked and looked around. In that single glance, she took in Tamlohn’s presence, the lateness of the hour, and the abrupt awakening. When she focused on Tamlohn once more, he could see that she was completely alert. “What is…” even as the question left her lips she knew the answer. The voices were still echoing in her mind, like a half remembered dream. She looked at Tamlohn. “I hear voices in my mind. They sound like prayers, the same prayer repeated by many, but I sense no fear or danger that would have woken me.” “The voices woke me.” Tamlohn told her. “I heard them through you.” The sound of heavy footsteps and clinking metal had her looking towards the door. Rohaj, Anleeh, and Sesah entered her chamber, all in battle attire. She frowned, “Why are you dressed so?” To a man, they looked at Tamlohn. Following their stares, Cryessa could see Tamlohn’s worry and a hint of frustration. “Prima, why have you asked my warriors to prepare for battle?” she asked him. Tamlohn was silent for a moment. She opened herself to him, touching his mind. She could feel his frustration building; he could not find a way to express verbally the instinct that told him the words he heard were trouble. “Enough,” she said. She slipped from the bed and moved from the bed chamber to the alcove with the scrying bowl. “I feel what you feel, Prima, your instincts are good enough to warrant a look.” “Thank you, Priestess,” he replied. Tamlohn handed her a dagger which she used to prick her finger, a few drops of blood falling to the surface of the still water, her method far more delicate than it had been the night of the King’s ambush.

“Take this that I might be gifted sight of things my eyes cannot see. Take this that I might be gifted hearing for things beyond my reach.” A misty image of the Great City from above rose to the surface of the water. The image was not crystalline clear as it had been before as she had not poured blood into the bowl, but it was clear enough for them to identify the streets and landmarks at they flew past. “It’s headed towards the Palace,” Sesah pointed out. “Could the prayer have been coming from the King’s soldiers?” “Nae,” she replied. “That did not have the flavor of a prayer from his soldiers, plus it is rare that the King’s soldiers pray to the Goddess. They have been taught to fear and disrespect Her.” “There is something that worries me,” Tamlohn stated. “I feel like I have heard this prayer before.” “Tell me,” Rohaj said. Cryessa kept her eyes on the moving image as Tamlohn recited the words of the prayer they had heard. “Why did you hear it, Priestess?” Anleeh asked. “I know you do not hear every prayer made by every person throughout the day; it would overwhelm you.” “True. I do not fully know why I hear what I do, but it does not always mean danger, or fear, or despair. Many times I wake with cries of thanks ringing in my ears. I feel that the Goddess selects what I hear, and her reasons are her own.” “Look,” Moregon said, turning their attention back to the scrying bowl. The Palace now filled the bowl, its massive walls and high towers spearing into the night sky. Like the Temple the Palace sat at the end of the valley, in the crook where the hills met. Rising behind the Palace, the mountains climbed into the night sky. The image continued to move, slowly now. They were treated to an overhead view of the bailey and inner court; then they soared over the rooftops of the main building itself. “We go behind the Palace?” Moregon said in confusion. Cryessa did not respond, for she had no answer. She was as puzzled as they. Finally the image slowed and came to the stop in the woods behind the castle. For a moment, there was nothing to see. Then there was a flash of light between two trees, starlight reflecting off metal. “Mercy,” Moregon whispered. Cryessa pushed drops of blood from her finger to drip onto the water. “Light.” The image grew lighter, and what the light revealed made her heart stop in her chest. Soldiers, thousands of soldiers, were creeping down the mountain, between the trees. “Merciful Goddess, there must be two thousand men,” Anleeh breathed. “Looks like there was a rebel army after all,” Sesah said. “We must warn the Palace,” Cryessa said. They all looked at her, surprised. “I hold no love for the King and care not if he loses his crown, but we know nothing of the intentions of that army; they could plan to slaughter every innocent inside the Palace walls. I will…” A battle cry broke through Cryessa’s words. The image pulled back so they could see the bulk of the Palace. The courtyard was full of soldiers, and more swarmed over the back walls like ants. The war cry had come from a lone guard on top of the front wall.

Even as they watched, the guard’s cry was cut short by a knife through the throat from one of the invaders. “Too late,” Sesah said quietly. “Go!” Cryessa screamed, jolted from the paralysis the sight of the invading army had brought upon her. “Protect the people!” Her scream jerked them to action; Tamlohn ran a loving hand across her waist as he sped past, but had no time for more. He and Moregon raced for their armor and weapons. Sesah and Anleeh made for the stairs, while Rohaj dashed out onto the balcony to use the horn to wake the army. Cryessa dropped to her knees, eyes fixed on the slaughter taking place. **** Tamlohn brought his sword up in a vicious arch, severing the arm of a King’s soldier. A quick thrust pieced his heart, brining an end to his life. Jerking his sword from the corpse, he looked around. The fifty men he rode with had taken care of this small contingent of the King’s soldiers. Scattered around the city were small garrisons of soldiers, stationed so that if something happened the King could immediately get control of the people. The Temple army had ridden out just as the signal came from the Palace for the garrisons to attack. They had divided the army and each ridden for one of the garrisons. He knew from experience the King’s soldiers’ orders were to kill any able-bodied man if the Palace were being attacked, to prevent an uprising of the peasants. They had not been in time to save all the men, there was a pile of ten or so bodies in front of the garrison barracks, but for the most part they had been able to protect this one small pocket of the city. “Twenty men stay, secure the King’s men, and then ride to meet us at the crossroads near the second watch tower!” Tamlohn shouted his orders and, with a knee to his horse’s ribs, turned and headed in the direction of the second watchtower. There was another garrison there. He feared what he would find there as the King’s army had had more time to wreak havoc. Thirty men thundered after him. It would hurt to have his force diminished from fifty to thirty, but it could not be helped. The majority of the Temple army had been sent out under Rohaj towards the Palace. He and the other Zinahs had taken groups of fifty men and ridden into the city itself to be used as shock troops. His horse’s hooves thundered over the cobbled street, the sound echoed by the ringing hooves of the horses behind him. They rounded a bend in the road, and he could see the crossroads at the second watchtower where the garrison sat. The situation was as grim as he feared. Forty armed soldiers stood in a ring around a group of what looked to be sixty men, ranging in ages from fourteen to forty. They stood in a huddled circle, wide, terrified eyes fixed on the armed soldiers who surrounded them. More soldiers were scattered in and around the small houses that made up the bulk of this area of the city. The soldiers went door-to-door looking for anyone who might still be hiding. Terrified women and children were fleeing down the streets, some headed right towards him. They ran to the edges of the road at the sound of the oncoming horses. “Prima! Prima!”

Tamlohn looked to the right where a young woman stood pressed with her back against a house that sat just off the road. Her hands cupped a belly swollen large with child. Her face was streaming with tears that glowed silver in the starlight. “Please, Prima, I need him.” She turned her gaze to the corralled men. Tamlohn nodded though he was not sure that she saw him. He had no idea which man she was looking at, but he understood her plea. Despite all that they did, there would be families torn apart this night. Lives would be lost, lovers, husbands, wives, sons, and daughters would not see the dawn. He could not stop it all, but he could do his best to lessen the pain to the people. He was outnumbered, not an unusual circumstance but never desirable. He considered calling on the Priestess for added strength but resisted. She would have her hands full keeping track of everything that was happening and doing her best to aid the direst situations. His situation was not dire—at least not yet. He raced his newest horse full tilt into the man closest to him. Signaling with his knees he brought his horse onto his hind legs so that the churning front hooves disabled the next soldier. The fighting was vicious, punctuated by the screams of dying men and horses. Tamlohn cleared a space in the circle of soldiers and then moved his horse into the center, reining in next to the terrified villagers. “Go!” He shouted over the sounds of the battle, pointing towards the opening he had created. The men began to scramble towards safety. Tamlohn fought off the soldiers who moved forward to stop the fleeing men. Despite all they were doing, Tamlohn and his men were losing. Numbers, as well as their attempts to protect the people rather then hacking through them, hindered their efforts. Tamlohn cursed as he looked around. This battle would not end well. He could call for reinforcements, but he knew that there were no men to be spared anywhere. A battle cry rent the air. Tamlohn looked up and jerked his horse around in the direction of the sound A hundred soldiers decked in leather armor streamed towards him. The rebel army. “On guard!” He screamed to his soldiers, warning them of the oncoming attack. A man on horseback thundered towards him. Tamlohn watched as the man leaned to his right and then left, dodging blows from the King’s men and taking out a few with his sword. The man’s skill on horseback was near as good as Tamlohn’s own, though he was the only mounted man. Tamlohn braced himself for battle, flexing his fingers around the hilt of his sword. I cannot die this night. I promised her I would always come back. “Commander!” The man on horseback brought his horse to a stop in front of Tamlohn. Tamlohn raised his sword. “Commander!” the man shouted again and Tamlohn realized the soldier was addressing him. “We seek to protect the people too! Peace between us. Peace between us!” Tamlohn blinked, this was unexpected. Even as he reached for the Priestess in his confusion, he felt her magic pull at him. For a moment she used the magic to connect herself and all the Zinahs together. His vision swam as he saw other battles taking place in other locations, seeing through the eyes of the other Zinahs.

Thoughts darted through the connection like arrows. “They say they are friend to us?” “Truth or lie?” “Goddess bless me, I was almost cut down and one of the rebels saved me.” “What do we do?” At that question, they all fell quiet. “Prima, what say you, is this peace the truth?” It was the Priestess who asked. “It is.” He was not sure what made him say it, but he could not fear these men. “Then I will let everyone know.” The Priestess withdrew the connection. Tamlohn’s vision snapped back into focus. The commander of the rebel contingent was looking at him warily. Tamlohn opened his mouth, but no sound ever emerged. A shockwave of magic tore through the city. If he looked carefully he could see it coming, a ripple in the air. When the magic hit him, his mind was filled with the thought, the idea, that the rebels worked for the same cause as the Temple, that they were friends. Tamlohn knew that his message would have reached every Temple soldier. The rebel commander’s jaw was hanging open. “What, what, what…” Despite the dire battle, Tamlohn threw back his head and laughed. “That, my friend, is the touch of the Goddess.” Grinning and full of renewed hope, Tamlohn turned his horse and dove back into the battle. The King’s soldiers had realized they were dealing with a double onslaught and many threw down their weapons. Those who decided to fight were quickly dispatched. With the battle done, Tamlohn slid from his horse. The Rebel commander did the same. “We will help you dispatch the remaining men.” “No,” Tamlohn said. “They laid down their swords in fair surrender. My men will secure them to await the Priestess’s decision.” The King is dead. The words were whispered on the wind. Tamlohn turned to face the Temple, unsure if he had heard correctly. Throlock is dead. Goddess be with us, Tamlohn thought. The sound of a hunting horn rent the night. The men all turned and looked towards the sound; it came from the direction of the Palace. Twice more the horn sounded. The Rebel soldiers all began to move. Tamlohn looked at the Rebel commander, his lips parting to ask what the horn meant, but the words caught in his throat as the Rebel commander placed his blade at Tamlohn’s neck. Around him there were cries of outrage as the Rebel soldiers turned on his men, blades pressed against throats and backs. It had all been a trick. Lie! The friendship is a lie! The rebels have turned on me and my men! He screamed the words inside his mind, thinking them directly at the Priestess. Her reply came quickly. It is the same everywhere, we have been tricked, Ahgarah. “Nae!” He screamed the words even as he dropped to a crouch, kicking the Rebel

commander’s legs out from under him. He grabbed a handful of mane and swung onto his horse’s back. He dug in his heels and his horse sprang forward. He gave the horse his head, knowing that the beast would head for the Temple. He turned to look over his shoulder, but there were no pursuers. An already dark night had gotten blacker, and all he could think was that they had left her unprotected in the Temple. As he whipped around a corner and onto the main rode, Anleeh and Sesah thundered up beside him. “They turned on my men,” Anleeh growled, the words barely audible as the wind snatched them away as they rode. “I was able to get away.” “It is the same for me.” Sesah said. They could see the Temple now, its great gates shut. Almost there, Tamlohn thought. Moregon and Rohaj thundered up beside them. “Prima!” Rohaj shouted as they pulled even. “It is a planned ambush; we saw it on our way. They have five hundred men in the hills near the Temple!” Tamlohn felt his heart drop. Beyond words, he pushed his horse faster. As they galloped towards them, the Temple gates opened. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tamlohn saw men swarming out of the hills. “Faster!” he shouted. Like an arrow his horse shot through the slim opening in the gate, Rohaj’s horse’s nose practically touching his horse’s tail. “Close the gate!” Sesah yelled as he rode through. There was a reverberating thud as the soldiers closed the heavy gate, dropping a bar into place. Quickly they retreated further inside the walls so that the portcullis could be dropped, the heavy metal grate providing the second line of defense. Tamlohn jumped from his horse and raced towards the Temple doors. Together the Zinahs raced up ten flights of stairs. As one man they tore into her room, only to come to a thundering stop as the saw her kneeling by her scrying bowl. Lungs laboring, barely able to hear above the pounding of his heart, Tamlohn dropped to his knees beside here. “We have been foully tricked.” Tamlohn squeezed his eyes tight at her words and the despair he heard in them. “Priestess, it is my fault…” “No, Prima, the responsibility is mine and mine alone.” “How bad is it?” Rohaj asked, his voice rough. Cryessa waved her hand and images of the Temple soldiers lined on their knees, most with blades against their throats flashed past. The unit that had gone to the Palace itself had been forced into the lower bailey and had been sealed inside, preventing them from coming to the aid of the Temple. The last image showed the front of the Temple where five hundred soldiers stood, waiting. “The Temple is surrounded, our army has been neutralized, and we have less than

two hundred soldiers here in the Temple and a thousand defenseless people.” Anleeh gave the bleak summary. “The attack was well planned.” Sesah said. “We would never have let them get this close if they hadn’t pretended friendship.” “No matter how it was done, the truth is that we are surrounded,” Cryessa said. Tamlohn was lost in the darkness of his thoughts; how had he not felt this coming? “Look!” Moregon said. They all stared at the image in the scrying pool. A small contingent of ten men rode forward and pounded on the massive wooden doors. “We will negotiate.” Cryessa said as she watched the pool. “I fear what we will be forced to give up, but it is our only hope.” Cryessa rose smoothly to her feet. Tamlohn watched as she erased the horror from her face until all that showed was the smooth mask of the Priestess. “Rise,” she commanded. “Sesah, Anleeh, to me.” She moved across the chamber to a chest which held her garments. Quickly they helped her dress in a simple sheath. Over this Cryessa shrugged a long open coat embroidered with runes. Anleeh eased a heavy headdress onto her head. If she was going to appear before these men, she would remind them of who they went against and who they risked angering. “Anleeh, you are the best archer. I want you to go down. Allow ten men, no more, inside the gates. I will speak with them from the second level balcony. Keep an arrow notched in your bow.” Anleeh dashed from the room. “Come, let us meet with the rebels.” **** Hoping that nothing showed on her face, Cryessa stepped out onto the balcony which jutted from the front of the second level of the Temple. She moved carefully towards the balustrade, keeping her steps measured and slow that she might show none of the anxiety she felt. Her heart had frozen in her chest when she saw the rebels turn on her beloved Zinahs and the rest of the Temple army. Once she was up against the balustrade, she pressed her hands to the top of the stone. She doubted that anyone would be able to see their shaking, but she did not want to risk it. She stared down at the ten soldiers Anleeh had allowed inside the gates from behind the protective veil of silk lace attached to the headdress she wore. Tamlohn, Rohaj, Sesah, and Moregon ranged out on either side of her. They were dressed as they had been when they entered the Temple, in battle armor wet with sweat and blood. The rebels had been moving restlessly, but stopped when they saw her. To Cryessa’s amazement, all but one bowed their heads in a sign of respect. The one man who had not bowed moved forward and the others parted for him. Like the others, he wore a leather hood tight over his head. Unlike them, there was a gold circlet around his brow. “Priestess,” The man said in a loud clear voice. “I have come to negotiate with the Temple.” “To whom do I speak?” She replied.

“I am the leader of the Rebel forces.” “Have you a name?” “Not that I would share yet, Priestess.” Cryessa processed that for a moment. He was wary of her, that much was clear. “Very well. I ask for an explanation of why you came to my soldiers in friendship and turned on them.” “The Temple possesses a mighty army; when we came to you, our intentions were the same, we wish no harm to the inhabitants of the Great City.” It was a roundabout answer, but he had made it clear that their plan had always been to turn a truce of friendship to their advantage. “Your men surround my walls. Why?” “Only to guarantee my safety while I speak with you, Priestess.” “I am the mouthpiece for the Goddess on earth; my word alone is bond.” He nodded, but made no further response. “You have killed the king.” The man looked up in surprise; clearly he had not thought she would know. He could not know that, in his last minutes, the King had called out to the Goddess he had derided all his life so that Cryessa had been pulled to him in time to see a sword cleave his head from his shoulders. “Throlock deserved death.” Cryessa did not respond. “I will tell my army to release your soldiers. They will be allowed to return to the Temple and I will do no harm to the people.” “What do you ask in return for such a boon?” “That is something I would prefer to discuss in the light of day. I will release your soldiers now and ask two things in return. First, that we will meet again tomorrow to truly discuss the future of the Kingdom.” “Done.” “Second, I demand a single life in exchange for the lives of all your soldiers.” Cryessa sucked in a breath; around her the Zinahs stiffened. Cryessa’s mind whirled, looking for a way out of a trap whose end she could not see but which she knew would be horrible. “You ask for a hostage?” “No, Priestess, a life. A single life forfeit for those of all I have at the tip of my sword.” “And if I do not agree?” “Do not mistake my will, Priestess. The rage and grief which built this army will not be easily thwarted. Against such rage there are no walls that cannot be knocked down, no defenses that cannot be breached.” The threat, though not explicit, was there. Unless she did what he wanted, he would kill all her soldiers and then they would come after the Temple. She felt more than heard Rohaj snarl, “He just threatened you!” Rohaj’s words were low so only the other Zinahs heard. Tamlohn and Rohaj both moved closer to her so that they almost touched her sides. “Peace,” she murmured to them. She let silence stand for several moments, let the threat hang in the air so that the rebel would know that she understood.

“Whose life is it you will take?” she finally asked. “We demand someone of importance to the Temple.” “Every life is of equal value to the Goddess.” “But some are more important to the Temple.” “Speak, then; who is it you will take from me?” “I demand the Prima’s life.” Cryessa’s vision went gray at the edges. Her knees started to buckle, but Tamlohn’s hand came up to support her. The press of the balustrade at her front and Tamlohn’s hand at her back kept her upright. “No.” she whispered. “Ahgarah.” She turned and looked into his lavender eyes, those beloved lavender eyes. “Ahgarah, you must tell him you need time to think, we have to regroup.” “No… I must tell him no.” “Ahgarah, give us time to plan.” Like a puppet she nodded, “Plan, plan, we need a plan.” She blinked behind the lace and seemed to shake herself from the terror which had gripped her. She looked down at the rebels. “I will retire to consider your heinous request.” Despite her best efforts, venom slipped out on her voice. Slowly she turned and moved back into the depths of the Temple, her Zinahs right behind her. She kept walking, up, up, up, through twisting halls and corridors until she reached her own apartment. Once inside its sheltering walls, she seemed to finally sag under the horror of what they had demanded. Rohaj helped her out of the headdress and cloak. Without discussing it, they moved to the circle of chairs and cushions for a council of war. Tamlohn was the last to take his seat, rather than sitting at her right, he sat directly opposite her. Cryessa let her head fall back against her chair and whispered a prayer to the sky. “Goddess, help us, for I do not see the way out.” She opened herself up and let their emotions rush into her. Fear, anger, and worry rolled and bubbled in a potent mix. “Stall.” Rohaj said. “We stall for time. Given enough time, the soldiers who are trapped in the Palace will find a way out. That is the bulk of the army; with them we can meet the rebels in open battle.” “That will work.” Moregon said, his voice full of hope. “No,” Sesah said slowly, “the minute they figure out what is happening, they will attack the Temple, and with only two hundred we will not be able to hold them off long enough.” “Waiting will give them time to build siege weapons,” Anleeh pointed out. They all fell silent again. “There is a way out of this,” Anleeh said passionately, “there must be.” “Yes,” Cryessa said looking up. “We must simply find it.” But try as she might, the rebel leader’s words swirled through her mind blocking her ability to think. “I demand the Prima’s life.” No, no, no. He is mine; I need him more than anyone will ever know. You cannot have him. Cryessa started to block out the emotions of the Zinahs, their worry and fear was feeding her own, when she realized she could not feel Tamlohn.

She straightened in her chair and looked at him. His face was smooth, passive, but his eyes were dark with an emotion she could not name. “Prima, why do you block me from your mind?” Fear made her words harsh. The others all looked up, their gazes darting between Cryessa and Tamlohn. “Ahgarah, you know what must happen.” Cryessa’s mouth went dry. “Prima, what are you saying?” Tamlohn looked at Anleeh who had spoken, “There is no way out. The Rebels’ wellcrafted trap has sprung shut and there is nothing we may do to stop it. I must go to them.” A chorus of no echoed through the room. “I forbid it.” Cryessa said, her voice shaking. “Priestess,” he said in a cool, firm voice. “There is no other way.” Slowly and deliberately, he rose from his chair. He was leaving; he was leaving! “No!” Cryessa screamed. She bolted from her own chair and flung herself against Tamlohn’s chest. “I forbid you to leave!” “Ahgarah…” he whispered. “NO!” she curled her fingers into his armor. Turning her head to the side, she looked at Rohaj. “Take hold of him, bind him to the chair if you must, but I forbid him to leave.” Over her head, Tamlohn looked at Rohaj. “There is no other way, brother.” Rohaj hung his head; for a moment he was silent. When he raised his head again, his face was set in grim lines. “Priestess, the Prima is right.” Cryessa stared at Rohaj in horror. “The Prima is right.” One by one, the other three men repeated the phrase. They had all gone mad; how could they think, even consider sending Tamlohn to his death? Anger curled in her gut. She slashed a hand through the air, her other hand still dug into Tamlohn’s armor. “I care not for your thoughts; you will do as I say. Come up with another way out of this. I will not sacrifice him.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Ahgarah…” Tamlohn tried again. “Be silent!” “No,” Cryessa gasped and looked at him, astonished that he would disobey a direct order. “Ahgarah, I must go. There is no other way.” He carefully unhooked her fingers from his armor and stepped back. “I say that there is another way, and you will go nowhere, for I have forbidden you to leave.” Tamlohn looked at the floor. Cryessa felt a surge of relief mingled with shame. She hated to treat him like this, but it had to be; she would not let him go. Tamlohn looked up and met her gaze. Something she saw in his eyes made her heart stop. “I invoke my right to overrule you.” “No,” she whispered. Around her, the other Zinahs sucked in their breath. “The army at the walls is a direct bodily threat to you, Priestess. If the walls are breached, your life will be forfeit. The oath I took,” he looked around, “the oath we all took, demands that I lay down my own life before that happens.” Cryessa shook her head, her gold tresses whipping around her face. Without speaking, she threw her hands up, drawing magic up from the floor, wrapping the magic

around him, forcing him to stay where he was. This time when she spoke her voice was gruff and wet with tears. “You will not go; I forbid it.” She kept her eyes locked on Tamlohn’s. There was deep sorrow in his eyes as he slowly raised one foot and stepped backwards. There was an audible snap as he broke through her magic. “By the Goddess,” Moregon whispered. “The Goddess has heard me and recognizes my right to overrule you, Priestess. Your magic cannot hold me anymore.” There was resignation, sorrow, and regret in his eyes. It was in that moment that the possibility that he would die became real to her. No longer he might die; he would die. Past the point of reason, Cryessa ran to him. “Hold her!” Tamlohn yelled. Anleeh and Rohaj jumped forward, grabbing her arms. “Let me go!” she screamed. She tried to call up the magic to throw them off, but it would not come. “No, no, no.” she moaned. “This cannot be real.” She could not fight the tears any longer. Cryessa bowed her head as the first sob welled up in her chest. Tamlohn looked at the woman he loved, her head bowed in defeat, the sound of her sobs heartbreaking in the quiet room, restrained by her loyal guards who looked like they would rather have disemboweled themselves than do this to her. He moved towards her. When he was a few feet away, she looked up. Hope shone in her eyes. “Tell me it is a lie; tell me this is not the only way.” “I cannot do that, Ahgarah.” Tears slipped from her cheeks. “I cannot do this without you.” He wiped the tears from her cheek. “You can and must.” “You promised; you promised me you would always come back to me.” It was a pitiful plea. “Oh, Ahgarah…” “Nae,” she whispered, suddenly angry, “do not call me your beloved, for it is a lie; if you truly loved me, you would not leave me.” The other Zinahs astonishment at the term’s meaning went unnoticed. “I will always love you.” “Then do not do this. I will find another way.” “There is not other way. I gladly die to protect you.” “I need you here!” She started to struggle against Rohaj and Anleeh’s hold. “Priestess, stop,” Anleeh begged. “We do not want to hurt you!” Tamlohn reached out to touch her, but she jerked away. “Ahgarah, stop this now.” She did not respond to his words, but continued to fight against the Zinahs. “This is madness,” Rohaj said. Tamlohn nodded grimly. Taking a deep breath he did something he had sworn to her he would never do. “Cryessa, stop.” At the sound of her name, Cryessa went still. She looked up through the tangle of her own hair at Tamlohn. The day she told him her name he had sworn never to think it or speak it aloud, and he hadn’t, until now. “Merciful Goddess,” Moregon murmured. “Is that her…”

Cryessa looked into Tamlohn’s eyes and the rage which had fueled her fight stilled. Tamlohn took her face in his hands, smoothing back her hair. “There will be another time, another place for us.” His voice was fierce, for he believed every word he said to her. Surely a love this true and deep would overcome something as trivial as death. “Our glen,” she whispered. He smiled, “Yes, our glen. I will see you there some day, my love.” Tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “Would that I might die also, that I might join you there all the sooner.” “Nae, nae. You are the Priestess; they need you. I need you to be strong for them.” Her eyes closed and she nodded. “My heart is breaking,” she whispered. “As is mine.” Tamlohn whispered. The strange peace he had felt since he realized what he must do cracked, and he felt a sob well in his own chest. Squeezing his eyes against the tears. he pressed his forehead to hers. “I will always love you,” he told her. Cryessa raised her head slightly, “And I, you,” she whispered, and then she kissed him. She tried to pour the lifetime of stolen kisses his death would rob them of into that single kiss. Rohaj and Anleeh released her arms, and she wrapped them around him. Holding him one last time. It was he who broke the kiss. “If I do not leave now, I fear I will never go.” She wanted to tell him to stay, but he was right; she was the Priestess, his death would protect the people, and that had to be her first priority, even if it would kill a part of her soul. “The Temple thanks you for your sacrifice.” The words were formal, though her voice broke as she said them. Tamlohn stepped back from her and bowed low. “Prima,” Rohaj said, but then he said no more, as if he could not form the words. Tamlohn looked around at the Zinahs. “Protect her.” They all nodded. “Forgive me, my brothers, that I could never tell you what she was to me, and I to her.” Again they nodded. Tamlohn looked at Cryessa, “By your leave, my love.” “May the Goddess be with you, beloved.” Tamlohn pressed his fingertips to his heart, forehead, throat, and lips. Turning, he walked from the chamber. A strange calm settled over Cryessa, the burning sorrow and anger that had alternately consumed her was gone. She walked coolly over to her scrying bowl. She wiped her hands across her wet cheeks and then dipped her fingers into the water, using her tears to bring the image to life. “Show me.” The water shivered and cleared. They could now see the front of the Temple. The rebels stood in the center of the open space before the door. A few moments later, Tamlohn emerged. One of the soldiers, not the leader, moved forward. Tamlohn spoke with him for several moments. The soldier turned, looked over his shoulder, and nodded at the rebel leader. Tamlohn led the party across the courtyard to the massive wall. Slowly the portcullis was raised. The Temple guards waited until they were all inside the space between the

portcullis and the gate and the portcullis was lowered once more before they opened the gate. The images moved in time for them to see Tamlohn and the rebels emerge. The soldiers now surrounded Tamlohn, leading him back to where the bulk of the rebel force was waiting. They were only a hundred yards away from the Temple wall when the soldiers motioned for Tamlohn to stop. The soldiers surrounding him moved away, leaving him standing alone in a wide clearing. Another soldier moved forward, but this man was armed with a bow, an arrow already notched on the string. Cryessa took a deep breath. The soldier moved forward until he stood only twenty feet in front of Tamlohn. He drew back on the bow. I love you, Cryessa. The archer released the arrow. For a moment, Tamlohn did not react. Then, ever so slowly, his knees folded and he fell, the arrow protruding from his chest. High in the Temple, Cryessa fell to her knees, her tortured screams filling the chamber, and only the restraining hands of her remaining Zinahs keeping her from breaking apart in her grief.

Chapter 11 She wore the full regalia of her office to the meeting with the rebel, the usurper. It seemed unreal that Throlock was dead. The last heir of the man who had first broken the kingdom was dead, his army broken by another usurper. A Rebel leader who has stolen away the man I love. Only twenty-four hours had passed since Tamlohn walked out the gates of the Temple and into the waiting arms of the conqueror. Twenty-four hours had passed since she watched the one person who kept her human, kept her alive, have an arrow pierce through his heart. The meeting was being held within the Temple. She hated the idea of letting the murderer into the sacred grounds of the Temple but, as Rohaj had argued, it was the safest place. He would be accompanied by four guards, to equal hers. She waited on the dais, her body heavy with the complete ceremonial garments, gold and jewels weighing down her neck, earlobes, and brow. Rohaj now stood to her right with Sesah in his old place at her left. Slowly, the great double doors of the main audience chamber were pushed open by two Temple guards. Each bore a black handprint over the right side of his face, a sign of mourning reserved for the death of one of the Zinahs. The delegation was led by the Rebel commander. His clothing today revealed his gray hair and lined face. Behind him, four muscle bound soldiers formed a V, their eyes taking in the room, spotting the places where extra soldiers could be concealed. They shifted uncomfortably when they realized how great their disadvantage really was. For a moment, a single moment, she contemplated violating every oath she held sacred and ordering their deaths. Her principles, her morals, her beliefs had led them here. The kingdom had fallen, the Temple was surrounded on all sides, and Tamlohn was gone. The battle rough Rebel leader stopped before her and bowed low from the waist. When he straightened, she inclined her head slightly. I just bowed to the man who killed my beloved! “Greetings, High Priestess. I am King Karlohm from the High Northern Kingdom, leader of the Rebel army.” “Greetings, King Karlohm. I am the High Priestess of the Land Between the Seas, Keeper of the Books, Handmaiden of the Goddess.” For a moment she was silent, letting the weight of her words, of her power, rest on him. “The Temple understands your actions to be a reaction to the rule of Throlock.” At his nod, she continued. “We sympathize with your frustration, we know and have felt your fear; however, we cannot condone your actions or your methods. No matter how good your intentions, innocent men, women, and children died yesterday.” “Many more will be saved by the removal of Throlock and his line from the seat of High King.” “Throlock was never High King. He lived in the Palace, but he was never High King.” Karlohm inclined his head.

“Tell me, Karlohm, what is it you think you have gained by doing this? You have decimated the royal army, and your cowardly actions have allowed you to compromise my own forces.” “My army did not attack the people; we came to liberate them, not hurt them. Your army spent most of the time fighting alongside mine, protecting them from the royal butchers.” “Until you turned your sights upon the Temple.” He inclined his head again, showing no remorse for the fact that he had ruthlessly planned and executed the scheme. “As for asking my generals, I have only one left since you demanded the Prima Zinah as payment for our continued safety.” Her voice broke slightly; turning her head away, she stared at the wall, willing herself under control. The Zinahs shifted uncomfortably behind her; her control was slipping and she was letting them feel her emotions again. “Priestess, while the dislike between the Temple and the Palace has long been known, there were rumors in the past that you supported the King’s actions. After all, did you not take prisoners to be your slaves in the Temple?” She waved her right hand, giving Rohaj permission to speak. “If we are prisoners, we are willing. There is no greater honor than to serve the one true and pure ruler in this realm. If you hadn’t turned on us in the battle like the cowards you are, you would never have made it to the gates of the Temple.” His voice was dark with menace, a promise and a threat of retribution implicit in his tone. Karlohm took an instinctive step back and then quickly stepped forward again, angry at his retreat. His bodyguards shifted and one of them drew a knife from his belt. One minute his hand was curved around the hilt of the blade and the next the knife had fallen from his grasp. His scream caused the other guards to jump, eyes wide, starting at him as he sank slowly to his knees, his left hand clamped around his right forearm. There was a piece of curved, lethally sharp star-shaped metal embedded in his wrist. Sesah shifted his position, slipping his hands back into the sleeves of his robe. “Do not touch a blade in the presence of the Priestess.” Karlohm’s eyes shifted in dawning horror from the bleeding man’s wrist to Sesah and then back to the Priestess. He had not seen Sesah move to throw the star. “Enough,” she said. “You say that you have come here, brought violence to the Great City and now into my Temple, in an effort to bring peace. Now, tell me, have you any idea of how to do this? The kingdom is yours; prove to me that you are different than the last man who took control of these lands through violence and deceit.” Karlohm’s lips tightened at the insulting comparison to the first usurper. There was anger in his eyes and his voice when he spoke. “The Temple’s position of defense is well known. For fifteen generations, you have controlled the most skilled fighting force in all the land, but refused to use it to actively take the control of the Palace. Too long the Priestesses have waited for the return of the High King, but have done nothing to help in the finding of him. You expected to find the High King already in the Palace, and mourned when each new coronation did not bring a worthy man to the throne, but did nothing to search for the true heir. I tell you now that the High King was born and it is your marriage to him that will re-unite our land.” Cryessa sucked in her breath; she was not surprised, but she was disappointed. For a

moment she had hoped that this man would show the presence of mind, the vision, to be able to rule, if not as High King, then as a good and just King. “I find your ideas to be no different than that of a hundred men who have come before you. The High King cannot be made by wedding an unworthy man to the Priestess. I will not wed you, King Karlohm” For the first time, a broad smile broke over his face. “Nae, Lady, it is not I whom you will wed, but my son. It is he who will rule as High King. I am an old man; the revolution has taken the last of what I had to give. The throne of the High King needs young blood, passionate enough to deal with all the problems that will come.” She was startled. “You would place your son in the throne as High King?” “Aye” She let her eyes rove over the four men who flanked him. “Nae, Priestess, he is not here, he suffered injuries in the battle and is being tended.” “You have my condolences; I will pray that his recovery is quick, but I still cannot marry him.” Frustration glittered in the man’s eyes. “You let your rules, the Books, blind you to the needs of the people! Don’t you see a wedding between the Palace and the Temple would bring them hope, a hope that they have not felt in far too long! As Queen, you would have more power, more power to effect change, to help the people, than you ever had as Priestess. I came here today willing to negotiate a contract. You could appoint the remaining Zinahs as Ministers of State. Lady, I know that you love the people greatly. You sacrificed the Prima to ensure the safety of the people of the Temple…” “Never, never speak to me of the Prima.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her vision had flashed red with anger when he mentioned Tamlohn. How dare he? Suddenly she was weary, so very, very weary. The anger had drawn the last of her strength. She no longer trusted herself, trusted her decisions. Cryessa knew she should retire to her rooms, meditate and pray for guidance, but sitting here on her throne all she could feel was grief; in her mind’s eye, she watched her memories of Tamlohn flash by. Him as a young man, covered in dust, helping her organize the library. His eyes hard, mouth set, muscles straining as he trained with his men. Naked in her bed—under her, on top of her, his greedy hands and mouth touching her, pleasuring her, reassuring her. The flash of his violet eyes, the red of his hair, the sound of his voice, the way he tossed his head; these things filled her mind, her heart, leaving no room for reason. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was too much responsibility. She had been responsible for her people, for Tamlohn, and she had let them down. There must have been a solution, a way to foresee and stop what had happened; if she had been better, cleverer, more worthy, she could have done it. She could have kept him alive and laughing. Memories of every time she had rebuffed him, kept them apart because of her adherence to the rules, battered at her brain. What a fool she had been. Her stupid rules had forced them apart, and now the most precious memories of her life would be stolen moments in his arms. In her grief and despair, she made a decision. “Very well, you are right. I have not protected the people. I have failed them.” She ignored the indrawn breaths of the men at her back, though she could feel waves of disbelief and concern battering at her back and shoulders. “If my marriage will bring

them even a moment of hope for the future, then I owe it to the people to give them that. Anleeh, please see to the drawing up of the marriage contract. I want each of you placed into an appropriate Minister role. King Karlohm, release my army. I want your men to vacate the Palace. We will clean it and purify it. The new High King can move in the day that we marry. You may have a chamber in the Temple annex until that time, if you so wish. I ask that you withdraw you troops from around the Temple. The Temple army will take over policing duties in the City until my marriage. Set the marriage for one week from today; that should give me enough time. Zinahs, when you are finished here, attend me in my chamber; there is much to discuss.” With that she rose, a powerful and beautiful woman, dressed in finery and carrying the weight of her office. For the first time that weight seemed to drag her down. As the men bowed, she turned and, with measured steps, left the chamber. It was done. By the time she reached the private section of the Temple, she was running, shedding garments and jewelry as she went. His name was a litany in her mind, Tamlohn Tamlohn. My Ahgarah, my beloved. She burst into her bedchamber, willing him to be there, stretched across her bed, waiting for her. Her heart broke a second time when she found the room empty. Irrational in her grief, she ripped the chamber apart, as if she would find him in there, somewhere. She knew he was still there, the next time she turned around he would be there, his arms reaching out to hold her, his lips ready with a teasing comment, a quick smile or a kiss. Pressing her fingers to her lips, Cryessa sank down amid the ruins. Her face was dry. She knew that if she cried for him, if she truly let herself grieve for him, then his death would be real. Now it was just a terrible dream, but she had hope that she would wake up and it would be all better. He was here; all she had to do was find him. If she reached inside and found the place where he rested in her, she could find him, pinpoint his location. Then she would send Rohaj and the soldiers out, and they would bring him back to her. With a deep breath, she centered herself and, drawing on her magic, she touched the place inside her where Tamlohn was. For a moment she could feel him, his breath on her cheek, his smooth chest beneath her fingers, and her heart leapt with joy. He was there, he was all right. Then the moment faded and all she found were memories of him, warm and full of joy, but dead, lifeless memories. No, no! She just wasn’t trying hard enough. The room shuddered as she drew on her surroundings for more magic. The stone walls and floor shimmered, the wood of the bed cracked and the scattered contents of the chamber began to whip and fly about in a fierce wind. She knew, knew that if she poured enough power into their link she could find him. Her arms hugging her chest, she rocked back and forth as the world spun madly around her. The earth shuddered as she fed power into the link, more and more until magic raged out of control. She opened her eyes and, for a moment, saw him standing there amid the swirling chaos. With a gasp of joy she leapt to her feet and started towards him. “Tamlohn!” she threw her arms around him, needing to hold him, to find peace with him amid the chaos she had created. But her arms passed through him and he was gone. She stared in horror at the place he had been. He was gone. With a tortured scream, she dropped to her knees, the earth shaking with her grief, the magic she had gathered spiraling out of control. It exploded in shock waves through

the Temple and beyond into the countryside. In the audience chamber the Zinahs froze, their breath leaving their bodies as her grief rolled through them. Outside the walls, the soldiers froze as an unseen wave rippled across the land. They blanched, looking at one another; they knew the Priestess to be powerful, but this kind of power was unheard of. And while they all froze, contemplating the Priestess and her power, the Priestess knelt, her body shaking as the tears finally came. She did not grieve as the Priestess— though she should. She should grieve for all the lives lost, but she did not. As she slipped from her knees to lie on the floor, she grieved as a woman who has lost her true love. **** Rohaj slipped into the Priestess’s chamber. It had been nearly a day since she had let her grief roll through the Temple. His heart contracted as he saw her; she looked so small there, as if her grief had stripped away her innate power. She was curled on her side, her knees drawn up. Her hair was tangled, stuck to her cheek in places. Raising the covers, he slipped into bed behind her. Despite the fact that she was buried under blankets, her skin was cold to the touch. He curled his big body around hers, giving her his heat. They lay for a moment in silence before she spoke. “Can you ever forgive me?” “Forgive you?” he asked startled. “I lied to you, deceived you. Every time I called him Ahgarah, I lied to the rest of you.” “Your only lie was one of omission; there is no shame in that…” “There is! The Priestess is not allowed to love! I lied to you when I pretended that he was nothing more to me than, than…” her voice broke. “You each did what you had to do, what your felt to be the right thing to do.” Cryessa turned in his arms and pressing her face into his dark shoulder let the tears flow silently. “Priestess, listen, it is not too late. We can break the contract; you were in no state to make this decision yesterday.” Raising her head slowly, she looked down at him. “No, we will go through with it. Karlohm’s son may not be meant to be High King, but Karlohm was right when he said that the people deserve hope. With you and the others in the positions of Ministers of the Realm, you will be able to guide this new dynasty. For once you will be in a position to truly effect change; no longer will we sit in the Temple, frustrated, as we watch the people suffer.” “But what of you; we won’t be your protectors anymore. You will be somewhat protected by your continued role as Priestess, but you will be at the mercy of this man.” She turned away. “I expect that I will spend most of my time here in the Temple. Karlohm and his son want to be the rulers of the Land Between the Seas. He does not seek the fabled bond between the Priestess and High King; all he wants is the political strength of the joining of the Temple to the Palace.” “What if you are wrong, what if he wants you to be his wife in every way? You forget your beauty. If he has not heard tell of it, then when he sees you at the marriage he will want to make you his in every way.” “I take it for granted that he will expect to bed me; after all, he will need an heir from

my body.” Rohaj growled, “How can you treat this lightly?” “It is just my body.” “You will not be able to control the sex; you will have no protection.” “He is a lesser King’s son from the North. If he hurts me overmuch, I will do my best to control him with a few tricks; I expect that he will not be a sophisticated bed partner.” “I cannot like the idea of you being hurt.” “Nothing can hurt more than I already hurt.” Rohaj stared at her back as she got out of bed. Her shoulders were slumped and bruises decorated the skin beneath her eyes. “Come now, I have been in bed too long; it is time I began preparing to make welcome the High King.” For the next five days, she worked like a fiend. She and Sesah created two staffs of workers, one remained in the Temple, the other went to the Palace. The Palace was stripped and thoroughly scrubbed. Many of the belongings had to be replaced because they carried the brand of Throlock’s line. Most were given away to the poor; a few were kept and locked in the library with the Books as reminders of the past, kept so that they might not forget. Cryessa spent an entire day going from room to room in the massive Palace using prayer and heavy doses of magic to purify the rooms. It was the first time that she had been in many of the areas of the Palace and part of her marveled at the beauty of the rooms with their vaulted stone ceilings and carved lintels. The Palace had not only been cleaned top to bottom, but carpenters had been brought in to do some light remodeling. Anleeh had cleverly negotiated to have the well trained and loyal Temple Army installed in the Palace barracks as the new Royal Army. The surviving members of the Royal Army were given the opportunity to wait and swear their loyalty to the new King on the day of the wedding and coronation. If they chose that path, they would then move into the Temple barracks to begin their re-training. The same offer was made to any soldiers from the Rebel force that chose to remain in the Great City. Two bedrooms were remodeled into a suite for Rohaj, who would split his time between the Palace and the Temple. As General of the Royal Army, his first duty would be to oversee the soldiers in the Royal barracks but, until a permanent second general could be found to oversee the training of the beginning soldiers in the Temple, he would have to split his time. Masig would take over Sesah’s duties in breaking the new soldiers and so a room was remodeled for him too. After much debate, it was decided that the court would be moved to the Palace, and so a team of people transported all of Anleeh’s precious courtroom accoutrements into the chamber in the Palace that he deemed suitable. Moregon would have an apartment in the Palace as the Minister of Agriculture, but, as he assured her daily, he would come back to the Temple each day to check on his precious plants. She knew that they were concerned for her. When they went to the Palace, they each chose apartments as close to the Royal chambers as possible, as if they could protect her with their proximity. The flurry of activity helped her keep her mind from her grief. Her mind knew that

tomorrow was her wedding day, but she could not make her heart care. She was a pillar of strength in those five days. Only she could have completely transformed two households while helping to plan the wedding feast. The feast promised to be the grandest event in centuries. Everyone was invited. When it was clear that they would not be able to gather up enough food, she had pulled out an old spell book and managed to conjure barrels of smoked fish, sides of venison, and jars upon jars of sweet jam and precious butter. If anyone thought to ask why she had not done this before, they had only needed to look into her drawn face to see the toll it had taken on her. Only one thing nearly caused her flimsy façade of strength to break. Two days before her marriage, they bricked in the entrances to the slave quarters. They were all there. Everything had been left just as it was. The remaining four Zinahs placed their clothing in the chamber along with everything else. Unbeknownst to Cryessa, Rohaj had secreted out Tamlohn’s clothing and personal effects, knowing that someday she might want them as a remembrance of the man she loved. In their last day as the chosen, the Zinahs would wear none of the items associated with their servitude. There would be no plugs, no toys, no collars, or whips. Rohaj knelt to press the first brick into the mortar that had been laid down on the doorway, a sob escaping Cryessa’s lips. Immediately three pairs of arms wrapped around her, hands stroked her back and belly, kneading her shoulders and hips. “Priestess, you do not need to watch this; let me take you back to your chamber,” Sesah murmured in her ear. “I do need to watch, we all do, to help us understand and to accept the changes we face.” Sesah nodded his obedience to her will and, wrapping an arm around her waist, he caressed her arm as he watched Rohaj brick up the doorway, irrevocably changing all of their lives. When it was done, she turned to leave but paused. “Tomorrow, everything will change; I will still be the Priestess, but Queen, too, so there is something you need to know.” Slowly she turned to face them, meet their eyes, and for the first time spoke to them as an equal, “Cryessa. My name is Cryessa.” **** The morning of the marriage and coronation dawned bright and clear. Cryessa watched the sun rise, perched in a tall chair while Giselle dressed her hair. By the time the sun was fully up, Cryessa was dressed in the full ceremonial dress of the Priestess. She sat impassive, as active as a rag doll, as Giselle applied rouge to her lips and cheeks and kohl around her eyes. She had not slept. Instead, she had walked the halls of the Temple like a ghost. It was the end of an era. The Temple was changed, both physically and in its purpose. She prayed as she walked that she had made the right choice, that this new era would bring joy and peace. Around ever corner, through every doorway, she found another memory of her beloved. With a soft smile on her lips, she sealed those memories inside her. Part of her was glad that the era of the Zinahs was done. He would forever be the last Prima; no other would ever walk these halls with his title. That right would be reserved for his ghost.

“I am done, Priestess.” Giselle’s subdued voice brought her back to the present. “Thank you, Giselle.” Cryessa got to her feet and moved to the window to better watch the dawn. She could see people beginning to stir. There was a bite of excitement in the air. Karlohm had been right. Upon the announcement of her marriage, hope had spread like a wildfire. People from the far lands had begun to travel to the Great City to bear witness even before the date had been announced. She heard the door close behind Giselle. Closing her eyes, she ran over the order of events for the day, finding comfort in the mundane. The coronation would be first. As Priestess, she would administer the coronation. Once he had been declared High King, Karlohm’s son would then be in a position to marry the Priestess, which the law forbade him do as a simple, lesser King. At the end of the marriage, the feast would begin. During the first hours of the feast, all were invited to swear loyalty to the new High King and Queen Priestess. At sunset, she and the High King would retire for their wedding night. The feasting would continue for the prescribed seven days. Cryessa figured she would get through the formal mating, then give him an hour to mount her again in private, then she would slip away to continue overseeing the feast. It was a huge logistical undertaking and the newly acquired and trained Palace staff would need help and leadership. She leaned against the stone windowsill as the sun rose higher in the sky, her mind running through the tasks for the day, and, for a moment, she knew the kind of peace that she used to feel. Cryessa raised her hand. Draped across her palm was a white silk ribbon. Slowly, she drew a lock of hair forward and plaited the white ribbon into her hair, tying it off and then hiding the white love knot within the mass of her gold tresses. A single tear slipped down her face as she reached up to put her hand on her own shoulder were she swore she could feel his fingers rest. And so, on the morning of her wedding to a man whose name she didn’t know, Cryessa watched the sunrise with the ghost of the man she loved. **** Rohaj stared at the Priestess’s unbound hair. Cryessa, he reminded himself, after today, you will be able to call her Cryessa, Queen Cryessa. It amazed him that, after all these years, he finally knew her name. He stood to her right at the head of the cavernous formal audience chamber in the Palace. Anleeh was reading from one of the original Books, reciting the opening words to the formal coronation ceremony. “…and so to symbolize the need of the High King to rule in tandem with the Temple and the will of the Goddess, it is the High Priestess who will anoint his brow and place the crown upon his head.” Anleeh stopped speaking and looked across the sea of faces that had packed in to see the coronation. There were orators outside who reported every word and action to the huge crowd that had gathered in the courtyard of the Palace, even spilling over the drawbridge to gather outside of the walls. Cryessa took over the ceremony. “Hear me one and all. On this day and in this hour, I crown the new High King. In this chamber, we will see a King born, and he will heal the lands.” Please, Goddess, let my words be true. “We reunite the Palace and the Temple. My sons will be king, my daughters, Priestess. I feel and know your eagerness, your hunger, your hope for a future bright with peace. Today is not the end of a dark journey, but the beginning of a journey that will be guided by wisdom and light.” Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to meet her future husband, “Come

forward, you who would be King, and let us begin our journey now.” An excited ripple moved through the chamber as the wide double doors opened. Beyond them she could see the mass of people in the courtyard, could feel the teeming mass of humanity that waited outside. Then her view was blocked by the dark silhouette of a man. With measured strides, the figure advanced down the aisle. As was custom, he wore a dark cloak, symbolizing the darkness in which all men walked. He is tall, Cryessa thought as he advanced. She kept her eyes on him, though the hood of the cloak shadowed his face. He wore odd boots, knee high light leather fitted with dark green lacings which showed beneath the cloak as he walked. She stared with detached fascination at his footwear. I wonder if they are considered great finery in the North; they seem too clean to have been worn in battle. With a shake she forced herself out of the strange detachment that had become her shield. She owed it to her people to ground herself in the moment. When he reached the great seal in the floor, he stopped. He stood a moment and she could feel his eyes on her where she stood, crown in hand. Slowly, his hands emerged from the cloak, rising to grasp the edges of the hood. With a quick movement, the figure pushed the hood back. Cryessa’s heart stopped. Tamlohn stared at Cryessa, the crown grasped in fingers gone white. He could hear the ripple as someone in the crowd recognized him and passed the information on. Behind and to Cryessa’s left, Sesah had dropped to his knees, stunned. While his mind took in these things for later analysis, Tamlohn had eyes only for her. Her face had drained of color, and he watched her lips, those beautiful, beloved lips, form his name. He drank in the sight of her like a man addicted. He knew, could feel, what torment she had suffered thinking him dead. Her eyes were glossy with shock, and he watched them fill with tears. She started to tremble. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms, to hold her and be held, but there was the little matter of their coronation and marriage to take care of first. “I am Tamlohn Caledon, son of King Karlohm Caledon of the Royal line of the High North Kingdom. I come here today to pledge to serve you as the High King. I will honor the Temple and the Priestess in all that I do as King.” Taking a deep breath, he departed from the ritual words. “You know me; know my dedication to the people of this realm. I have served you for many years as the Prima Zinah. It is with that same devotion that I will embrace being High King over all the lands, and husband to the Priestess.” Those who had not known gasped. Reaching up he untied the cloak, dropping it to the ground, symbolizing his shedding of the darkness. Strangely hesitant, he approached the platform where Cryessa stood until, stopping before her, he dropped to one knee. He could head her ragged breathing, feel the thrumming of her heart. Cryessa watched in wonder as Tamlohn knelt at her feet. He was alive; never mind that he was to be King, and her husband. He was alive. She could not stop shaking. When he spoke, the sounds came from far away but each word sank into her soul. As he knelt, she stared at his bent head. She had to anoint him, simply press her lips to the top of his head, but she was terrified. Would she touch him only to have him dissolve as before?

“Ahgarah… Beloved… everyone is waiting.” She almost laughed, after a week of thinking him dead, these were the first words he spoke to her? It sounded like him; oh she wanted to believe… “Are you real?” He looked up and, upon seeing her face, softened. “I know what you have suffered, beloved, and I know that you must doubt your senses, but I am here and I will never leave again.” She nodded at his words, tears filling her eyes. She closed them until she knew she would not cry and then, bending at the waist, she pressed her lips to the top of his head. Straightening, she raised the crown over her head and when she spoke, her voice was clear. “People of the Land Between the Seas, prepare to make welcome His Majesty, High King Tamlohn.” She placed the crown on his head and a thunderous cheer rang out. Tamlohn stood staring at her, now only a breath away. Reaching up, she turned him by the shoulders to face the crowd. “Greet your people, Your Majesty.” He stood, staring into the sea of faces, faces filled with hope and trust. They needed him to rebuild and restore. They needed him, and he needed her. Turning slightly, he grasped her hand and pulled her to stand at his side, as equals. His fingers slipped between hers, lacing them together. Side by side they faced the people, their people. The crowd had gone quiet, as if it was holding its breath, waiting. It only took a moment for his clever brain to understand what was happening. They were excited to have a King, full of hope and faith in him. But she was the Priestess, the one eternal good and true thing in their world, and they had just turned her over to a man. For the first time in living memory there was a High King, a man capable of taking the Priestess to wife, and they were scared for her. With deliberate grace he raised their connected hands. He waited until she turned questioning eyes on him and then, his eyes holding hers, he pressed his lips to their linked fingers. The chamber exploded in applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the stone, ringing like bells. They had rejoiced to see a King crowned—but that single kiss promised that the relationship between the High King and the Priestess would be what it was meant to be, a mating of souls, a deep and true love. He could hear the orators perched outside the doorway yelling to the crowd, “The High King kissed the Priestess’s hand. ‘Tis a match of love, not duty—as the Goddess meant it to be!” The next few hours passed in a strange fog for Cryessa, their marriage completed in only a few moments, a simple binding of hands. At times the world seemed blurry, as if her eyes couldn’t focus; sounds were drowned out by her internal litany of he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive. In the next moment, the world would snap into focus, sounds and colors sharp and distinct. Her one anchor through it all was the touch of Tamlohn’s hand at her back. Love, pure and bright flowed into her from his touch. Tamlohn rubbed his thumb soothingly against her back as he rested his hand just above the swell of Cryessa’s buttocks. He could feel the heat of her body through the

layers of her clothes. But it was her emotions, swirling and heaving, that seared into his palm. One moment a joy, bursting, blinding joy, would sweep through her. With her next breath he could feel doubt and disbelief crowd in until she turned her eyes on him and looked him up and down, studying him, weighing the reality of his presence. He could not blame her for her turmoil. He had had a week to come to terms with what was going on, and he had not had to suffer through the grief of thinking her dead. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, to explain. So many questions he had to ask. But, more than anything, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips, press his forehead to hers, and breathe in her breath. He wanted to take her in his arms and know that he never had to stop touching her, that no law or custom could tear them apart. He got the opportunity to answer some of those questions when he pulled her aside to speak with his father. “King Karlohm,” Cryessa said stiffly as the Rebel leader approached. Tamlohn smiled, “I do not think you need to address my father so formally, beloved.” Cryessa looked up at him. “That is truth?” “Aye,” Tamlohn’s father answered. “I wonder if you can ever forgive me, Priestess.” Cryessa looked at him in confusion. Karlohm shook his head, “I am an old man and muddle things; let me explain.” He leaned back against the wall. “It broke my heart the day my eldest son was taken in battle. I was told he was killed, but no body was ever found. “I mourned him, buried an empty casket, and resigned myself to his death. It was some years later that we began to hear stories of the new Prima, a red haired man who rode a horse as if he were one with it. “At first I dismissed these stories, but the more we heard them, the more I began to wonder. The rebellion began to grow in the North and I joined it, adding my army to their numbers, always thinking that if, someday, the rebellion reached the Great City, I might lay my questions to rest.” “You always planned to ask for the Prima?” “Yes. I want to assure you that everything I said was true. The reasons for the rebellion had nothing to do with my son. I only asked for the Prima that I might have a chance to see if the Goddess had blessed me by returning my son to me.” “Had I been cleverer, beloved, I would have recognized the signs of my homeland, but it has been too long since I have seen them,” Tamlohn added. “What signs?” “The soldiers who were skilled riders, the style of armor, their boots. Also, the prayer we heard that night, the one which woke me. It is a traditional warrior’s prayer in the North. That is why it felt so familiar to me and why it woke me.” Cryessa nodded, and then asked the question which had been plaguing her. “But I saw him shot down.” “The arrow had a blunted tip coated with a drug. It only rendered him unconscious.” Cryessa looked at Tamlohn. “But I could not feel you any more.” Tamlohn pulled a medallion from around his neck, showing it to her. The runes inscribed on it prevented the Goddess’s touch upon the wearer. It was Karlohm who answered her questioning look.

“We did not know the extent of your powers, and so we put this on him while he slept.” Tamlohn picked up the explanation, “I kept it on because I was not sure what spell you might use to try and find my body, or damage those who you believe had my body.” Cryessa nodded, and then turned to look at Karlohm once more. “So you always intended to make your son High King by wedding him to me?” Karlohm laughed. “Nae, Priestess. My plan was to take on the Kingship myself; my second son is not old enough.” “But the wedding?” Karlohm laughed and Tamlohn grinned. “That was my idea,” Tamlohn admitted. “When I awoke and realized who the leader of the Rebel army was, I was beside myself. I did not know what to do. I stayed up with my father late into the night. I explained that my slavery to you had been a willing slavery and that it was I who insisted on sacrificing myself. I admitted that I loved you and when I heard my father’s plan to ask that I be named King, I asked if he would bargain for a wedding also.” A single tear slipped down Cryessa’s cheek. “I thought you dead; I could not feel you.” Tamlohn pulled her into his arms, “Will you ever forgive me?” “No,” Cryessa muttered, her arms tight around him. Tamlohn laughed, “Very well, my love.” He stroked her back and then worked his fingers into her hair, cradling her head. It only took a moment for his fingers to find the braided lock with its white ribbon. Tamlohn separated the thin braid from the rest of her hair and pressed it to his lips. As the sun set, the guards at the door began to ring the gong, signaling the end of the day and the beginning of the night, their wedding night. When the vibrations from the last gong had faded, Cryessa stood, Tamlohn immediately coming to his feet beside her. “We retire now to consummate our marriage.” A loud cheer rang through the room, many faces split by grins. None would dare make a bawdy joke in front of the Priestess, whom they still revered, but the atmosphere of joy and frivolity guaranteed that once the King and Queen and witnesses were led from the room, the ribald comments would begin. Without another word, Cryessa began leading the way out of the audience chamber which had been fitted with long tables and benches. Many more tables filled the courtyard while even more revelers had spread blankets and tarps on shady pieces of land and picnicked. It was a large party that followed the King and Queen, members decided through the wedding negotiations. While some of the witnesses were dictated by ritual, Anleeh had managed to negotiate to have all four of the remaining Zinahs there. Among themselves they had agreed that, no matter what the cost or consequences, if the new King began to harm the Priestess they would step in. Now, instead of preparing to protect their beloved Priestess from the unknown man who would take her, they went to watch two people who they loved begin their life together. In addition to the four Zinahs, there were three other witnesses. The first was King Karlohm, Tamlohn’s father. Trailing nervously at the end of the party was a young married couple. Per the ritual, there needed to be two witnesses from among the common

people. Sarabeth and Michum Fenderson had been married only one year. Selected at random from the thousands that had come, they were both terribly excited and terrified. Sarabeth had seen the Priestess—no the Queen—several times as she conducted ceremonies from the platform in the Temple but had never been this close. In a simple green homespun skirt and laced vest over an oft-worn white shirt, she felt woefully simple. Her husband, meanwhile, stared nervously at the backs of the Zinahs. Though all seemed relaxed, shoulders loose, arms harmlessly at their sides, in Michum’s eyes they were walking danger. He could not help but feel trepidation at being locked in a room with the most powerful men and woman in their world. At the head of the party, Tamlohn and Cryessa walked next to each other, the backs of their hands, shoulders, and knees brushing as they walked. Cryessa could feel Tamlohn memorizing the path they took, evaluating the interior of the castle for its strength and weaknesses. King for less than a day and already he was a better King than they had seen in a thousand years. Cryessa stopped before a set of double doors. They were new, the iron bands still shiny and bright across the freshly molded door. The smell of cut wood rose strongly from them. Tamlohn stared at the doors for a moment before commenting, “These seem somewhat out of place with the rest of the castle.” “They had been scarred with the shield of Throlock.” “I see.” Rohaj came from behind them and pushed open the doors, the new, well-oiled hinges silent. Sesah moved forward too, each man placing his back against one of the doors, flanking the entrances like the guards they would always be. Anleeh was the next to come forward. He would be directing the proceedings as he had the coronation. Anleeh herded the remaining members of the party into the room, leaving Cryessa and Tamlohn standing side by side at the threshold to the royal apartments. She turned toward him, letting her emotions swim up to not only shine in her eyes but dance over his skin through her power. “Are you ready for this, beloved?” She spoke through the uncertainty, the excitement. It was both wonderful and terrifying that they might finally have what previously they had only dreamed. If they could not do it, could not love each other, be with each other, in a traditional manner as man and wife, it might break both their hearts and the kingdom. Tamlohn turned to her and then carefully cupped her face in his hands. “My soul has known yours since the first day I was dragged before you in chains. Only you know both my dark and my light. My soul will love yours no matter what body, what life path we have led in the past, or will lead in the future. I only know that loving you saved me, as I saved you. Together, we can save us all. That is our destiny; in this life, this moment, we two can bring hope to all.” The conviction of his words was in his eyes, the press of his fingertips into her cheekbones, the very power he radiated. Until he spoke she did not realize that her doubts, her fear, still lingered in her heart and mind. She did not know they were casting her mind in shadow until he was there, light held before him and within him, banishing the dark. She raised her own hands to cup his face in a mirror gesture, his features framed by

her hands and the crown he now wore. She was utterly beyond spoken words. Only her heart spoke directly to the Goddess, and it was a simple prayer. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For him. For this life. For the chance to bring peace and hope to this land once more. Thank you. Thank you for him. Suddenly his face shifted between her hands, those perfect lips curling in a smile, and she wondered if the Goddess hadn’t allowed him to hear her prayer. Turning those smiling lips into her palm, he kissed her gently before taking her hands in his and turning them both to face the opened doors, their future, once more. With a last glace her way, High King Tamlohn laced his fingers with hers. “Yes Priestess, Majesty, Beloved, Cryessa; I am ready.” Together, they took the first step. The End About the Author: Lila moved to Southern California where she obtained her degree in anthropology and currently resides in Hollywood, which provides an endless supply of exciting evenings and writing ideas. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt and Turkey Lila speaks five languages, none of them (including English) fluently. She has neither husband nor cats but there are some piranhas living in a fish tank behind her couch. Visit her at www.liladubois.com

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