From the perspective of those other species, my own included, it might have been for the best, but still, it was a damn shame.
FIVE SONGS AND AS MANY SPECTACULAR ORGASMS LATER, I changed into a white gown with a halter top and a floor-sweeping skirt and staggered off in Tychar's wake to have dinner with Scalia, only then realizing that he couldn't have gotten much in the way of satisfaction out of the deal, because, as far as I could tell, I was the one experiencing all the fireworks. It was a sort of win-win situation for me—I'd gotten lots of music out of him, and plenty of joy, too—but I wasn't quite sure how he'd benefited, though he certainly hadn't complained!
Of course, I had an idea he was just biding his time. I knew that if I ever did anything more than just kiss him, it was going to be even better, though to be quite honest, such a thing was hard to imagine.
And the music had been so amazing! The songs were hauntingly beautiful, and Tychar not only had a good ear, but also had a voice that was guaranteed to make any woman swoon. He wasn't short on charisma, either; if he ever got on stage, he'd be a galaxy-class superstar in no time. But, of course, as a slave—and one that Scalia didn't care to advertise—that wasn't very likely.
To my dismay, when we neared the slave quarters, Tychar merely gave me directions on how to find the dining room, obviously intending to leave me to face the dragons alone.
"What? You're not coming with me?" I squeaked.
"I have to face a whole room full of Darconians all by myself?"
"They will not eat you," he said with a smile and a glance at the guard who opened the door for him. "They are plant-eaters—remember?"
"But you're my attendant, aren't you?" I said desperately. "Don't you have to go wherever I go?"
"Not if there are outsiders present."
"Oh, yeah, right," I said, feeling slightly confused. All those orgasms must have had my brain in worse shape than I thought. "No one's supposed to know you're here, are they? I forgot."
"Most of the time, we simply keep out of sight, but if there are offworlders visiting—or certain other outsiders—we are locked in. Scalia is not sure who our enemies were, so she keeps us hidden from all of them. She fears that we will be hunted down if we are ever seen."
"Didn't stop her from showing off her cats to the new piano teacher," I reminded him.
"Yes, but Earth is too remote to have taken part in our war," he said with a slow smile, "and you, my lovely teacher, do not appear to be a bounty hunter."
"Hey, I can be tough if I have to," I protested, squaring my shoulders and trying to stand up a little straighter— though, even barefoot, he was still the taller of the two of us by several centimeters. "If it's not too hot... and if I have a decent weapon... and maybe an army behind me. Sure, I could go out hunting bad guys. I'd be good at it, too, because no one would ever suspect me."
If the little chortle I heard as the doors closed behind him was any indication, I don't think he took me very seriously—nor did the Darconian who stood guard at the door.
Looking at me appraisingly, he remarked, "No one would suspect you of being anything but a very beautiful woman."
"Oh, what would you know?" I said witheringly.
Shoulders back and head held high, I marched on to the dining room, and the guards let me in. I was slightly surprised that they allowed me to pass without even giving them my name, but then I remembered that I was the only Terran on the whole damn planet, so even if they'd never seen me before, they would have known who I was. I kept forgetting that...
Upon entering the room, I considered it to be quite fortunate that I'd worked up a bit of courage ahead of time, because the room was positively swarming with lizards. When I entered, all sound and movement stopped as each one of them turned to stare at me.
Now, if you've never faced a large dining room full of Darconians, you may not understand just how I felt at that moment, but Scalia obviously did and broke the silence immediately.
"This is Kyra Aramis, our new music teacher," she said proudly. "She is Terran." Glancing around, she added, "From Earth."
Conversation broke out again instantly, and though most of it took the form of hushed murmurs and words I couldn't catch, I still got the distinct impression that their reception of me wasn't entirely friendly. Remembering what Tychar had said about unrest because of Scalia's progressive ways, I figured it would be best if I watched what I said.
Bowing my head slightly, I bade them all a firm "Good evening," and took an empty seat across the table from Zealon. I thought that adding something along the lines of, "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," might have been a shade on the unbelievable side given the circumstances, and since I didn't want to come across as either fawning or insincere, I left it at that. Actually, I decided that keeping my mouth shut except to put food in it might be my best course of action, but there are times when I tend to blurt out whatever I happen to be thinking, regardless of my best intentions.
As far as I could tell, there seemed to be an even mix of males and females. I was getting better at telling the difference—and the strings of beads some of them wore were a good clue—but there were a few present who could have gone either way—small males or rather large females. Then I almost shouted out loud as the light finally dawned on me, for it was color, as well as size, that distinguished the sexes. The females were green with purple, blue or mauve highlights, while the males had either yellow, orange, or red iridescent tints to their otherwise green scales. Rather pleased that I'd managed to figure that out before having to ask someone—Tychar probably would have charged me a kiss for the information—I must have been smiling to myself, because a large female a few seats to my left demanded to know what I found so amusing.
Just how she knew enough about Terrans to know that I was smiling was a mystery to me. I toyed with the idea that she might have been an anthropologist of sorts, but decided against it when I noticed how many beads and bangles she was wearing—certainly not scholarly attire on any planet! I wondered if she was the wife of one of the government officials, but decided I'd best not ask, since she might have been an official herself, especially given Scalia's statement that the men were too volatile to be in charge.
As always, honesty is the best policy. They might even get a chuckle or two out of my lack of knowledge about their kind. "I just figured out how to tell males from females," I replied. "It's the difference in color, isn't it?"
She appeared to be rather affronted by this. "There are many other differences," she said haughtily. "I would begin with the fact that males are much less attractive than females. We are much more refined than they."
Scalia laughed heartily. "Dobraton!" she said with a wave of her arm that set her own bangles to jingling.
"Do not be too harsh with the girl. She had never seen a Darconian before yesterday." Glancing sideways at her daughter, she added, "Zealon was supposed to be educating her in the ways of our world, but I can see that she has omitted some rather pertinent details."
As we had mostly discussed music and Scalia's slaves, I was forced to agree; Tychar had taught me far more than Zealon had. "I suppose it's my own fault for not asking the right questions," I said equably. I chose not to mention that the heat was keeping me from being terribly energetic or sharp-witted—or conscious—long enough to devote myself to the study of Darconian biol-ogy. Dobraton would undoubtedly have seen my heat in-tolerance as a sign of weakness, and my instincts told me that weakness was something I should avoid showing to her at all costs—even if I
was
only a piano teacher!
With that in mind, I decided to make a point of drinking water, rather than wine, unless pressed to do so, since passing out at the table would be a grave tactical error.
Hopefully, I wouldn't be asked to attend many of these large gatherings once the novelty of having a Terran in the palace wore off, though it did occur to me that Scalia might not tire of it. She might not be able to show off her slaves to just anyone, but I was fair game.
As the dinner progressed, I noticed that Dobraton's ideas seemed to run counter to Scalia's on most topics, especially with regard to becoming more open to offworlders. She was extremely delicate in her phrasing when it came to voicing her dissent, but the scathing glances Dobraton sent in my direction led me to believe that if she had her way, I would be among the first to be deported. I wondered what she would have thought of Scalia's slaves and decided that this was one person who Scalia definitely needed to keep in the dark!
Another thing I noticed was that several of those present were merely giving lip service to Scalia and didn't seem at all unhappy with what Dobraton was saying.
But perhaps the most interesting thing I noticed was that Wazak, who was seated across from Dobraton, was about to explode.
Stupid me, I decided to put my foot in it, if for no other reason than to avoid being caught in the middle of the Darconian version of a cat fight. "So, tell me," I said when there was a brief lull in the conversation. "The government here is a monarchy, isn't it? Not a democracy?"
The arrow hit its mark, and Dobraton recoiled as though I'd actually slapped her, but Scalia was the one who answered me.
"A monarchy, yes," she replied. "But with input from a variety of sources."
"A Queen and her council of advisors, then?" I concluded.
"Yes," Scalia said firmly.
"And these advisors," I said with genuine interest, "are they elected, or appointed?"
Scalia seemed absolutely delighted that I'd asked that question. "They are appointed," she said, beaming at me with frank approval.
"And can, therefore, be... removed, if their advice is unsound?"
"Why, yes," Scalia said, putting a lilt in her voice that I hadn't heard before. "Though I have seldom had to do such a thing."
I nodded and went back to making a careful selection from the platter of fruit in front of me. Wazak looked as though he'd laid a golden egg and was sitting on it at that very moment. I began to think that he actually approved of me.
Dobraton must have decided to fall back and regroup, for she said, in a voice dripping with honey, "Try one of the yellow ones, my dear. They are my personal favorites."
Now, I'd never tasted any of the yellow fruit before, but if the look of pure venomous dislike which Dobraton shot at me just before suggesting it was any indication, she was lying through her big, flat, dinosaur teeth. However, if for no other reason than to prove that the ladies of Earth were not to be outdone by the lizards of Darconia, I picked one up and took a bite of it. As I might have suspected, it was like biting into a lemon—a really old, really sour, really bitter lemon.
"They're a bit sour, aren't they?" I remarked casually, doing my utmost to keep my mouth from going into a permanent pucker. "I must say, I believe I prefer the sweeter ones, myself. After all, you are what you eat."
Dropping the sour lemon thingy on my plate, I chose another kind, adding, "That's an old Earth saying, by the way." I took a nibble of a purplish plum and added, "Don't know how true it is, but I believe I'd rather be sweet than sour."
Dobraton hissed at me, undoubtedly wishing she could breathe fire like a dragon, though to be honest, I wasn't altogether sure she didn't exhale a faint puff of smoke.
I'd have to remember to ask Tychar if that was possible.
I'd have imagined that Scalia had probably hissed at him a few times when she found it impossible to get his dick hard—which made me wonder briefly what methods she'd tried. However, having made my point, I kept quiet and essentially ignored Dobraton after that, thinking that being locked in with the slaves would have been a lot more fun than dinner with the council. In fact, the next time I was invited, I decided to feign some sort of obscure illness. The Darconians couldn't know very much about the maladies which might inflict humans; I could invent all sorts of things, and they'd never know I was lying.
I was toying with the idea of faking one just then, but, unfortunately, Scalia had other ideas and suggested that we all go into the Great Hall for our after dinner entertainment—which, as I might have guessed, was me.
Arriving in the Great Hall, this truth became more evident when I saw that, while we were at dinner, some enterprising servants had moved the Steinway. It was quite dark by then, and an intricately carved candelabrum, which illuminated the entire stage, had been set upon the piano. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that "candelabrum" was a misnomer, because there were no candles; having been carved out of glowstone, it emitted its own light.
I'd never enjoyed performing in front of large audiences, but, deciding that outright refusal was unwise, I sat down and played the "Moonlight Sonata." Somber, but beautiful, I've met very few who didn't like it, and the Darconians were no exception. Taking their seats in the hall—some grumbling, some restless—they became silent with rapt attention once I began. Even Dobraton seemed to be paying attention.
Following a round of enthusiastic applause, I played a few of my other personal favorites, and, as the saying goes, brought down the house—except that this time, it was nearly literal. I discovered that when Darconians are truly excited, they thump their tails on the floor as well as clap their hands—which, as you might imagine, was something along the lines of a hall full of humans jumping up and down. I will also point out at this juncture that Darconian chairs were essentially benches or stools with no backs to them, such as we humans use, which allowed for much freer tail movement.
At the end of my performance, I took a quick bow, hoping I'd done my part to demonstrate that having visitors from other planets wasn't such a horrible thing after all.
If the enthusiasm of the audience was any indication, I'd made a few converts—which was quite possibly Scalia's intention all along. She was a tricky old girl...
An odd thing happened after that, though, because Dobraton asked to see The Shrine. Scalia never batted an eyelash—or
eyelid,
I should say, since Darconians appeared to have only a nictitating membrane to protect their eyes instead of lashes—and led the way. If she' d sent word ahead that we were coming and that the slaves needed to vacate immediately, I sure couldn't tell it. Arriving at the entrance, my heart took a plunge toward my feet as the guard pushed the door open; it was not even locked.