The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(7)

“Until you’ve had your pleasure. Then your goddesses return to making babies and keeping house.”

“Just so. Honorable men continue to make offerings to them, though the offerings are nightly pleasure and helpful tools rather than frivolities.” His eyes snapped with humor as if he sensed how much his words irritated her. “So you must forgive my courtiers and counselors if they are uneasy at having to deal with you as Kisua’s Voice. In their eyes you should be secure in some man’s kitchen, receiving the adulation that is your just due.”

She laughed, not as gently as he. “Would they be displeased to find me here with you now?”

“Doubtful. A man and a woman associating for pleasure makes far more sense to them than a man and a woman associating for business.”

When Sunandi politely turned away the next morsel, he set aside the platter and took her hands, pulling her to stand. She rose with him, curious to see how far he meant to go. “In fact,” said the Prince, “they will actually be pleased that I have seduced the Voice of Kisua. No doubt they’ll expect you to become more acquiescent after a day and a night spent offering dreams of ecstasy to Hananja.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They do not understand outland women.”

A day and a night. Mnedza’s Hands, he had a high opinion of himself.

“I see,” she said, keeping her face serene. The Prince made no move to pull her against him, did nothing more than hold her hands and gaze into her eyes. She met his eyes without wavering, wondering what a Gujaareen woman would do in such a situation. He had strange eyes: a clear, pale brown, like polished amber from the tall forests across the sea. His skin was of a nearly matching shade—not unattractive, but certainly improper for a nobleman. Amazing that these Gujaareen had allowed even their royal lineage to be diluted by northerners.

She decided to banter. “And you understand outland women?”

“I have two hundred and fifty-six wives,” he replied, his voice rippling with amusement. “I can understand any woman.”

She laughed again, and after a moment’s further consideration stepped closer. His hands tightened immediately, pulling her nearer still until her breasts brushed against his chest through the folds of her gown. He leaned close, putting his face beside hers, cheek against cheek. He smelled of sandalwood and moontear blossoms.

“You find me amusing, Sunandi Jeh Kalawe?” His voice held only the barest hint of roughness; the lust was in him, but firmly controlled.

“I am a woman, my lord,” she replied, in the same tone he’d used a moment before. “I find any man amusing.”

He chuckled, breath warm against her ear, and began pulling her toward the couch, his grip coaxing her to stay close. “You’ll find I’m unlike any man you know, Sunandi.”

“Because of your great experience?” She posed the question carefully, knowing he would sense her true meaning but leaving him a safe outlet. He had two hundred and fifty-six wives, and was duty-bound to please them all. He was also far older than he looked. No one knew his age for certain, but he had ruled Gujaareh for more than thirty floods, and he didn’t look a day over that much. His lineage was famous for its longevity, said to be the gift of the Sun’s scions.

But the Prince only sat down as they reached the couch, pulling her to sit beside him. Not until she was seated did he release her hands, shifting his grip to her hips instead.

“Because I am the Avatar of Hananja,” he said, his golden eyes hungry as a lion’s, “and I will give you beautiful dreams.”

*

Once their business was concluded and the Prince slept, Sunandi rose from the couch to attend herself in the wash-chamber. She took care to confine her exploration of the Prince’s apartments only to what was in sight, for there was no telling when he might wake and come looking for her, and he would already be suspicious of her motives. Though she had expected to find nothing of note, her attention was caught in his study, where an iron case bristling with four elaborate eastern locks sat bolted to the desk.

There, she realized with a chill. The secret she had come to Gujaareh to find: it was there.

But she did not approach the case, not yet. Most likely it held dangerous traps; Gujaareen were fond of those. Instead she returned to the terrace, where with some unease she found the Prince awake, as alert as if he had never slept, and waiting for her.

“Find anything interesting?” His smile was a sphinx’s.

She returned it. “Only you,” she said, and lay down beside him again.

*

She returned to her suite late that night, just as the Dreamer passed zenith. The Prince had not made good on his boast of a full day and night of pleasure, but he’d given a respectable accounting of himself nevertheless. The pleasurable aches she felt in the aftermath told her that it was probably just as well. She’d gotten out of practice; by morning she would doubtless be sore.

More important matters claimed her attention as soon as she crossed the threshold of her suite, however, where Lin waited for her.

Few of the Gujaareen had paid any heed to the skinny, wheat-haired child among the other pages in Sunandi’s entourage. Northblooded youngsters were common in Gujaareh, and in any case it was the fashion for nobles of both lands to keep a few curiosities on hand as entertainers. It pleased her to let them think this was her only purpose.

“A long appointment, mistress,” the girl said, speaking in Sua since they were alone. She lounged across a chair in the corner, her impish face not quite daring a smile.