House of Lust (52 page)

Metila leaned forward and breathed in the container smoke.  Argan felt a shudder go through her and she stiffened.  She pressed into him, her head tilting back, mouth open, eyes shut.  The young prince concentrated on his fingers, keeping them firmly locked over the woman’s wrists.  He was aware that Metila was gasping and shaking, and the motion was pressing and rubbing against his loins.  He felt a rising excitement within him.  He drew in a deep breath, full of Metila’s scent, and he gritted his teeth.  What was all this happening to him?

Metila bent forward again and inhaled fully of the wispy smoke from the container.  She stiffened again and leaned back into Argan.  Her mind seemed to split and flow apart and she felt herself rise up out of her body.  Part of her mind knew she was still there being held firmly by the struggling prince, but for the most part she was now floating above them, looking down.  She swept out through the ceiling and into the bright Turslenkan day, swooping and diving, flowing into alleyways and through walls, looking, seeking, searching.

Argan held on fast, his every fibre straining to keep hold of the woman’s wrists.  She was swaying in every direction, left, right, forward, and back.  Forward was the hardest as she threatened to pull him forward too, and his feet shifted desperately.  Just when he was on the point of falling she would push back into him and he had to hold her there as she pushed hard.  Her hair covered his face and he could not shake himself away from it – whatever coated the follicles stuck to his skin.  He could breathe, most of the time, and he actually quite enjoyed it when she was still for those moments, as if pausing.

Another alleyway and Metila plunged into it, sweeping past figures in a blur, looking, watching, sensing.  Nothing.

The townsfolk went about their daily lives as usual, trading, buying, building, selling, waiting.  Those who lived in the alleyways conducted themselves as they always had, not caring for the rule of law.  Two men watched for victims to pass, eager to find a suitable victim to rob.  Anyone foolish enough to walk past them alone was game.  A breeze pushed past them and they looked up, puzzled, then at each other.

“You feel that?” one asked.

“Ah,” the other nodded.  “A foul wind I’m a-thinkin’.  Not’in good’ll cam of it.”

The other agreed, shivering.  Whatever it had been, it was gone, but for a fleeting moment he felt as if something was looking into his very soul.

Metila crossed roads, swooped into houses, flew through rooms, taking in dozens of scenes in a heartbeat.  Her chest began hurting and it was time to return.  She turned around a wide corner and blazed through another housing estate, climbing through the roofs and heading for the governor’s residence.  Her vision was beginning to blur.  She had almost left it too late.

Metila sucked in a deep breath and shuddered mightily, falling into Argan.  Her chest rose and fell and her eyes flickered open.  “Thetos,” she gasped.

The governor sprang up and was with her in an instance. 

She glanced briefly at Argan.  “It is safe to release me,
Lakhani
.”

Argan complied and Thetos swooped her up in his arms and placed her on the bed.  She was soaked in sweat and Argan wiped the damp patch on his tunic, grimacing.  The odour of the woman coated him, smothered him.  It didn’t displease him.

“Sire – the cloak,” Thetos pointed to the crumpled garment in the middle of the floor.  Argan picked it up and passed it to the governor who covered his woman, stroking her hair, speaking softly to her.  Argan looked on awkwardly; it was as if he were looking in on a scene he shouldn’t.  He took a step sideways.

“
Lakhani
, stay,” Metila breathed, staring at him intensely.  “Come, kneel.”

Argan did so, not really understanding anything.  He was prince and this was a commoner, a foreign commoner, yet he was readily prepared to follow her wishes.  He looked at her in wonder.  The sweat had made the black liner to run, making her face a mottled pattern of black and her deep tanned flesh colouring.  “Are you alright, Metila?”

She smiled briefly.  “Thank you, yes.  I tired.”  She spoke Kastanian, for Thetos’ benefit.  “I sleep soon.  You good, hold on well.  Thank you.”

Argan smiled, not sure what he should say, if there was anything he should, indeed, say.  Her hand came out to him and he took it.  Her fingers squeezed once, then she turned to look at Thetos and the way she did so made Argan’s heart swell.  He hoped one day some woman would look at him the same way.  It was so – beautiful. 

“You rest, Metila,” Thetos said gruffly, “and tell me later what you saw.”

She nodded and sighed, slipping into sleep.  Thetos rose and indicated to Argan to follow him out.  In his day room the governor showed Argan a chair and sat in his own heavily.  “Tell me, sire, what did you think of that?”

“Well, it was very interesting, Governor, and not something I will probably experience again.”

Thetos grunted and reached for a bottle.  It was a thick green bottle with a hefty stopper and he hauled it off and poured himself a glass of an amber liquid.  He looked up.  “Not something for you, sire, it’s very strong stuff, and you’re not of the age to handle or appreciate this.  You might be able to handle a lighter drink – that slim bottle over there on the shelf, with the stopper.  Yes that one.  Pull the stopper and pour yourself a quarter glass and top it up with water.”

Argan did so, noting his liquid was a light red.  “Vinefruit?”

“Aye, Pelponian.  Not the best but its reasonably local and cheap.  Needs cutting with water, tastes like the inside of a carrion avian’s nest.”

Argan giggled, and followed Thetos in raising his glass.  “To Metila,” he echoed Thetos’ toast.

He sipped it, as he’d been told to do many times.  Getting used to alcohol meant caution.  Taking in huge swallows was not wise.  He may be fifteen in ten days’ time, but taking up a life of dedicated drinking now was not for him.  The taste was sharp, but the water made it palatable.  He smacked his lips.

Thetos pointed at the glass.  “In time you’ll savour some pretty good vinefruit, and you’ll spit that rubbish out.  But start with the shit and so you’ll appreciate the classy stuff.”

“I’ll remember that, Governor, when I’m in my palace full of Bragalese slave girls being waited on to my heart’s content.”

Thetos slapped his leg and roared in appreciation.  “That’s what I like about you, young prince, you’ve got a damned great sense of humour, unlike some of these up-their-own-arses noblemen I am foisted with.  Metila speaks highly of you too, and believe me, that’s a huge compliment.  She normally detests Kastanians.”

“So why does she serve you, Governor, and look at you as if you are the best man she’s ever seen?”

Thetos grinned.  “That’s love, sire.  One day you’ll have your Sasia – sorry, Amal – look at you like that, and you’ll worship her like I worship that sensual, wicked woman in there.”

“How can you be sure, Governor?  Amal is a friend, a servant.”

“Ah, I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and take it from me, when a Bragalese woman looks at any man like that, he’s in serious trouble.  She’s not of the age yet, but when she does, by the gods she’ll have you every night.  Mark my words.”

Argan shook his head slowly, trying to work it all out.  “But – I’m betrothed to Velka Varaz – I’m to marry her!”

“And so you will, sire, and it’ll be a wonderful marriage.”  Thetos sipped some more of his drink.  It burned into his stomach, a wonderful feeling.  “But once you experience the physical love of a Bragalese woman, and not one of their –
contracts
–“ he grimaced in distaste, “then you’ll know nothing will ever live up to that.  I don’t know how you’ll resolve that thorny issue with the Lady Varaz but you’ll do it somehow.  You won’t wish to be apart from Amal once you taste her love.”

“You make it sound like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had, Governor.”

Thetos nodded emphatically.  “Being in love with a woman who equally loves you is so special, Prince Argan.  When she looks at you that special way, when you can see it in her eyes, shining at you…” he shook his head in wonder.  “Love is like nothing else.  It’s the most wonderful feeling ever, and it can also be the most painful.”

“Painful?”

“Not having a woman you love, or having it taken away from you – it’s so hurtful you could cry.  You probably will.  Metila, now there’s a special woman, and you won’t likely find anyone ever like her.  She can wrap me round her little finger, and may the gods help me but I’d kill for her.”

“Really?  You would actually kill for Metila?”

Thetos shifted his position.  His buttocks hurt if he sat too long in one position.  “You felt that woman against you, and don’t tell me you didn’t like it.  Tell me, what do you think of her?”

“Metila?  Oh, um, nice.  Very interesting.”

“No, no, no, no.  I mean, sire, as a woman.  From a male viewpoint.  Don’t be afraid to tell me – I’m interested in what you, as a growing young man, actually thinks of her as a woman, not as a person.”

Argan put his glass down and thought deeply.  He recalled how he had felt with her pressed against him.  “Exciting.  Pleasurable.  Desirable?  Yes, desirable.”

Thetos nodded.  “And yet you’re an adolescent and not aware of just how pleasurable and exciting a woman can really be.  But honestly, sire, if anyone threatened Metila, what would you do?”

“Stop them.”  He said it immediately.

“And if they were going to kill her?  You with a sword in your hand?”

Argan nodded slowly.  “I would kill them.  I would protect her, Governor.”

Thetos put his glass down, too.  “Thank you.  I needed to hear that from you.  I care not for the emperor, oh I know, he’s the emperor and I will obey him, believe me.  But he – had her and that I cannot forget.”

“So why did it happen?” Argan burst out, throwing his arms wide.  “It caused so much trouble!”

Thetos thumped his table hard.  “She did it to secure my position here, to put me in great favour with him.  She thought it was the best way to go about it – sometimes a Bragalese woman does not fully understand how other cultures work.”

“Oh.  So she did it just for you?”

“Yes!  That’s love, Prince Argan, that’s what someone will do to help their beloved.  That’s why I would readily kill anyone who tries to hurt her.  But I don’t care for your father or for Prince Jorqel.  I don’t know him.  I do, however, care for you.  I like you.  Yes, once you attain sixteen years you can order me about as you see fit.  But the difference is I will readily obey you, and I know Metila approves of you, too.  I would willingly follow you into battle.”

Argan regarded Thetos in surprise.  “Governor, I would not wish to ‘order you about’, as you put it.  I would ask you, perhaps…”

“Ah but you may be put into a position where you have no choice.  I like you – and pledge my support for you should you have need of me.”  He stood and pushed his good arm forward, hand outstretched.

Argan stood and grasped his forearm and felt Thetos’ do likewise.  As two warriors, they held one another and exchanged knowing looks.  “Governor, I’m overwhelmed.  I don’t know what to say.”

Thetos chuckled and broke the grip.  “Let’s say we’ll accompany one another into battle if we corner this shit Slavis?  You’ll need battle experience anyway.”

“Agreed – and Kerrin must come too.”

Thetos grunted.  “Naturally.  No good having a bodyguard who has no battle experience.  Now, you’d be best away on your duties or I’ll have your tutors jumping up and down on my head.”

Argan left and went to his room.  His tunic was damp and smelt overwhelmingly of Metila.  He discarded it and pondered over what to wear in its place.  He was still trying to make his mind up when Amal arrived.  She was surprised to see him but was pleased nonetheless.  Argan looked at her critically.  Would he feel the same way towards her that Thetos did to Metila one day?  How?  “Amal,” he said, “come here.”

She did so, puzzled.  His bare chest smelt odd.  “Argan – what is that smell?”

“Metila,” he said.  “She was using some potion and I was needed to help her.  The Governor was there, too.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “You will need a wash, Argan.”

“Yes.  First though, hold me.”  Argan held out his arms.

Amal looked surprised but readily did so, happily letting his arms close around her back and so she was pressed against his chest.  “This is nice, Argan – but why?”

He looked down at her face.  She only came up to his chin now.  He was still growing and she was slowing down.  “I want to know how it feels to hold you, how much I like it.”

“I like it, a lot,” she replied, snuggling into him, a big smile on her face.  “You’re getting very strong – your muscles are growing.”

Argan stroked her hair and was fascinated by her reaction, a soft purr of pleasure and she pressed her head against him.  “Amal, if I asked you to take your clothes off, would you?”

“Yes, Argan – do you wish me to?”

He was momentarily taken aback by her willingness, and then nodded slowly, not wanting to speak in case his voice failed.  He stood there spellbound as she unfastened her dress and allowed it to fall down onto the ground, then her chemise followed, and finally her undergarments.  There she was, naked, looking at him expectantly.