Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) (30 page)

“Not much, not enough to interfere with what I have in mind for today.” Nate nipped at her lips. “Help me with this?” He tugged at his loincloth, wanting her hands on his body.
 

She obliged, taking her time undoing the knot, treating the task as foreplay, caressing his balls through the cotton before unwinding the fabric. She stepped out of reach as his cock jutted proudly. Head to one side, she surveyed him from head to toe, smiling.
 

“Is admire all you’re planning to do?” he teased. “I’d like the same privilege, please.” He tugged at her nightgown. Obligingly, she raised her arms, and he pulled the garment over her head, placing it to the side, then removed the single sheer undergarment. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her skin smooth, lavender darkening to purple on her sides, between her legs, her nipples… Bithia cupped her own breasts for a moment, displaying them for his admiration. He placed his hands over hers, pushing the soft globes together, enjoying the feel of her ample charms overflowing his hands. Bending his head, he kissed the top of each breast and then sought her lips. She tasted of the berries they’d had for breakfast, sweet and tart all mixed together, and perfect.

Locked in an embrace, they sank onto the piled blankets together. Bithia lay on her back to give Nate full access, and he caressed first one breast, then the other, relishing the lushness of her body underneath his. He kissed his way down her soft stomach before sliding one hand between her legs, finding her aroused and ready for him. Again, he inserted two fingers into her warmth and stroked, massaging the places where her reactions to his efforts indicated the most pleasure. Adding pressure to his hand with her own, Bithia moaned and arched, gripping him tightly to her as she climaxed.

After the tremors of her orgasm subsided, he moved to cover her, the tip of his erection pressing against her soft folds. Nate guided himself inside, going slowly to allow her to adjust to him, biting his lip in an effort not to come too soon. She was tight and hot, and he’d never experienced anything so good. The urge to plunge into her and thrust with all his power was nearly irresistible, but he held himself in check. He didn’t want to rush this initial experience with her, and he very much wanted her to have all the pleasure he could provide, which required him to be patient.

Bithia adjusted her position on the blankets, holding him locked to her body. She moved her hips, increasing the exquisite pressure on his erection, and he had to stop, holding himself motionless. “I’m too close,” he said in a whisper.
 

“As am I,” she said, nibbling his earlobe. “Let this first time be a whirlwind, and we can take our pleasure more slowly the second time.”

Freed from the need for rigid self-control, Nate drove deeper. Bithia met him move for move, her body welcoming his until he was convinced they were one person, moving in unison, the ecstasy building higher and higher between them until he lost himself in an intense and all-consuming release. He heard her saying his name, and in his mind there was a burst of beautiful lights and colors and sounds as she went rigid, locked on him in her own climax.

They lay together for a few moments in silence, breathing hard. Bithia trailed her hand over his back, gently caressing the scars before stroking his butt. “You have amazing strength, my warrior.”

“Just as well the machine kept a barrier between us before,” he said, rolling to the side. “We’d have shorted it out, if we’d done that in the dreamspace.”

She laughed.
 

It was late afternoon. Nate, Thom and Bithia had finished dining on fried fish that was caught in the pond. Thom had the small lake all to himself for quite a long time. The sergeant made no comment whatsoever when Nate and Bithia eventually strolled through the grassy dunes, hand in hand. He’d merely shown them his excellent catch and boasted about his rediscovered skills as a fisherman.

They’d enjoyed a swim in the refreshing waters of the clear pond. Bithia was familiar with the concept and was a strong swimmer. Unembarrassed, she swam in her undergarment, having rinsed out her nightgown and spread it to dry on a nearby bush. Thom resolutely kept his eyes anywhere but in Bithia’s direction until she was dressed. He concentrated on gutting and cleaning the fish with his Talonqueni army knife while Nate and Bithia swam together. Later the three of them had gone to the cabin to cook the fish, of which there were now only spiny remnants.

Nate suddenly moved to douse the fire.

“Someone’s riding this way on the beach from the headland,” he said, pointing for the benefit of his less-farsighted companions. “I hope it’s Atletl and Celixia, but we can’t take chances. We’ll take cover in the dunes behind the hut until we’re sure.”

A tense half hour ensued before it became apparent that Atletl and Celixia were inbound from a successful shopping expedition. Each was riding a kemat, with three others trotting obediently on a lead from Atletl’s saddle. One of the spare animals was loaded with baskets and sacks.

“So Bithia’s jewelry and your coins were highly useful at the market, I gather,” Nate said to Celixia with admiration.

“Indeed,” Atletl agreed. “I’m an excellent bargainer, of course.”

“Any trouble?”
 

Atletl shook his head. “None at all. Help us unload the kemat, and then we can talk.”

As the men worked together to shift the baskets and sacks from the patient quadrupeds, Atletl told them that the lights Nate had glimpsed at the headland the night before were the outskirts of Poqueteele, a well-known deep-sea harbor city. The main part of the city was hidden from view beyond the curving coastline.

“Our ending up here is excellent, because people are constantly coming and going, and a pair of strangers doesn’t excite as much interest as we might have caused in a true fishing village.”

“A deep-water port?” Nate was surprised. “This country has trading partners?”

Atletl and Celixia nodded. “Oh yes,” the priestess said. “There are several powerful countries across the ocean whose rulers don’t fear Sarbordon. There is Inshpan, for example, from whom we get wondrous fabrics for gowns.” She dimpled at Bithia and said teasingly, “None of which could we trade for today, my lady, due to your captain’s harsh order we must go dressed as peasants.”

Bithia ran one hand over her lavender nightgown, now much torn. “I can’t feel too badly about not wearing something fabulous. I’ll be happy to have a pair of sandals and a decent skirt and tunic, I assure you. I certainly would have worn something more durable into the healing chamber, had I any idea of what I’d be doing when I walked out.”

“Looks fine to me,” Nate murmured in her ear.

“I traded for something else I think you’ll like.” Celixia went to her dappled brown and gray kemat. She unfastened a small sack from behind the simple saddle.
 

There was a constant, faint air of tension between the two women, Nate noticed, as he had yesterday in the lab complex. On an intellectual level, he was sure Bithia realized she couldn’t blame Celixia for what her ancestors had done in terms of keeping Bithia imprisoned and forced to serve as an oracle. On the other hand, Celixia was the only visible clan member left. He admired the effort Bithia exerted not to be rude to Celixia, but the situation had to be stressful for both on some level.

“What is it?” Nate caught a whiff of a warm, spicy smell that set his mouth watering.

Bithia’s face lit up as the aroma wafted to her also. “Six-spice cakes? Don’t tease—tell me you got those?”

Celixia nodded, apparently pleased with her find and their reactions to it. She handed the sack to Bithia, saying, “There’s a family legend about the original Hialar’s wife—”

“Frantlia.” Bithia nodded and named the woman, a faraway expression on her face.

“Yes, she supposedly baked a batch of these for you to eat after you’d consumed the contents of the red box. It was meant to celebrate your leaving the healing chamber, only of course, well...” Celixia fumbled to a halt and reddened.

“Only I didn’t get out in time to eat them.” Bithia finished the story in a neutral tone. “These are delicious—I can’t thank you enough. You must all share with me.”

“The cakes are baked for the Festival of T’naritza once a year in my village,” Atletl said with a mouthful of one of the pastries.

“Aren’t these good?” Bithia shamelessly took her third one from Celixia’s seemingly bottomless sack.

“Much better than petrified dried fruit,” Nate said somewhat absently.

“What’s the matter?” Sensitive as always to his mood, Bithia frowned.

Shaking his head, not ready to explain himself yet, he took another six-spice cake and peppered Atletl with new questions. “Does Poqueteele have altars to Huitlani? Are there priestesses there?”

Sobering, the Githholz warrior nodded. “Yes, but the people of Poqueteele worship the Fourth Spirit, which is the sea, the dominant goddess of the coast region. Sarbordon’s ancestors didn’t dare tamper with the sea when they conquered the nation. Poqueteeli are an independent people, even in the old times under the previous rulers. The new rulers needed the trade, the fisheries, the shipbuilders too much to risk alienating the people by demanding human sacrifices.”

“We told anyone who asked a fine tale of arriving fresh off a boat from the southern islands,” Celixia said, “therefore ignorant of recent events. My invention of our origins also explained his terrible accent.” She playfully dug Atletl in the ribs.

“People were only too happy to tell us the news.” Laughing, Atletl dodged her elbow.

“Did you get wild rumors?” Nate asked. “Or pretty close to the truth?”

“A mixture of both. The city’s packed with refugees, the majority having left Nochen long before it blew. For the most part, people have the story right—T’naritza’s warriors won the sapiche game and freed the Lady—”

“And she called down the wrath of her father on the city and wiped it out in a single day.” Celixia bowed to Bithia.

“Do the people think she—and we—traveled home to the sky?” Thom sounded hopeful.

Frowning, Atletl and Celixia exchanged glances. The priestess shook her head. “Some say she walks the land, seeking out the followers of Huitlani and taking vengeance on them.”

Bithia’s jaw dropped. “Why would people think I’d do such a thing?”

Nate rested a hand on her shoulder as he leaned past her to get another delicious spice cake. “Wouldn’t surprise me if a few old scores are being settled these days and conveniently laid at your door. Not much we can do about the situation, I’m afraid.”

While Bithia contemplated the events, chewing in silence, Celixia recounted more market gossip. “Others think she fled to her father’s realm and took her warriors with her. I heard at least five variations on each version of the story. Many are fearful of what she may do next, which is a sad thing.”

“Not if it scares the Huitlani worshippers into keeping a low profile.” Thom snorted. “A little fear is probably a good thing.”

“I don’t want either our enemies or any would-be friends to search for us,” Nate said, licking icing from his fingers. “You didn’t say anything about Bithia? Or about having been in Nochen before it blew?”

“No. We stuck to our story of being simple south island immigrants come to establish ourselves on the mainland after finding the wreckage of a storm-driven Inshpan ship on our beach. The lie was to explain the rich treasures we had to trade.” Nate nodded approvingly at the details Atletl had embroidered into the tale he and Celixia had told in town. “Now is not the time to draw attention to ourselves,” Atletl stated the obvious, but with more forbearance and modesty than Nate would have expected of his grandiose recruit. “The city’s under the control of Sarbordon’s governor and his troops, although I heard a lot of restless talk in the streets. We may have cut off the head of the empire by destroying Nochen, but it’ll take time for the rest of the body to die. Each governor will try to hold what he or she now has—they’ll fight. Sporadic revolts will break out, and my people, the Githholz, will continue our invasion of the areas we covet.”

“Speaking of the king, any word about him? Or Lolanta’s fate?” Nate broke ruthlessly into what he could tell would be a lengthy recitation of the potential future triumphs of the Githholz.

“It’s unknown where either was at the time of the great explosion.”

“So one or both may be alive.” Nate shook his head. “Not good.”
 

“And really pissed off,” Thom said.

“Did you see any priestesses?” The feral women worried Nate more than temporal forces. If the king was indeed dead, buried under the talmere, none of his surviving generals was likely to care about hunting for an elusive goddess. Each would be scrambling to seize as much territory and power for themselves as they could get, not seeking the kind of trouble Bithia unleashed on Nochen. But the priestesses were another story. If the entire order accepted the dogma Lolanta had explained to him in her chambers, the religious zealots would see recapturing and sacrificing T’naritza and her warriors as the solution to the current problems of the Huitlani faithful.

Atletl chased an errant crumb, intent on enjoying every bite of the treat. “I didn’t see any priestesses,” he said with obvious relief.

Celixia sighed. “I saw two of them watching me while I bartered in the clothing stalls. I didn’t recognize them, nor did they give any sign of knowing who I was. Not all the priestesses trained at Nochen, so there’s a good chance these women wouldn’t realize who I was. In any case, I finished my trading and left immediately. I didn’t see them, or any others, again the whole time. I watched carefully.”