Once bathed, they clothed me in an outfit Teetru and Diandra chose. A sarong woven with gold thread shot with white and turquoise blue with a hint of silver. This was attached to a wide, braided belt of thick turquoise, white and gold threads with thin gold chains plaited through. My breasts were wrapped in a turquoise bandeau bikini top. Added to this were gold bands at my biceps, a necklace that was a fall of intricate gold chains with tiny, blinking aquamarine stones and chandelier earrings of the same.
Best of all, they gave me a pair of turquoise silk underwear.
Actual underwear. They fit snug in the ass and the silk had no give but I didn’t care. I wanted to do cartwheels because I… had…
underwear.
And, okay, it sucked to admit but there was no way around it. The outfit was freaking great. Everything about it was amazing. The material, the colors, the jewels, they freaking rocked.
And since I had nothing (so far) but coffee to be happy about, I was not going to berate myself for being happy about my cool-as-shit clothes.
I had to hang onto something, didn’t I?
They sat me down and put eye shadow and kohl on my eyes and a gooey, tasty stuff tinted pink on my lips. They also brushed out my hair, dipping their fingers in a clay pot with more goo and gliding it through my hair, twisting it in long coils then securing it back from my face with a succession of little gold pins with aquamarine stones at the end (almost but not quite like bobby pins) that went from ear, over the top of my head, to ear.
Diandra took one look at me when I was done and smiled with happy approval, stating, “Your king showers great bounty on you.
This is very good.”
I stared at her.
Bounty. Right.
Whatever.
Then out we went into the camp.
And it was, mostly, a camp. A bunch of tents with firepits out front, some had tables at the side of the tent with primitive looking cooking stuff on it, big buckets resting beside them and other tools like axes and hatchets and the like. Some had smaller tents around them which Diandra told me were where slaves slept or where food and supplies were kept and meals prepared (around my tent, we had one of both).
There were a lot of torches stuck in the ground on the pathways which I knew from the night of the parade but also from seeing it hit the side of the king’s tent were lit at night. The only official area, as it were, was the dais which I noticed now was roughly carved from a huge, wide, long, cream slab of stone, the area in front of it deep and wide, made up of the same stone. A firepit did, indeed, run the length of the back with two pits at the top, though while we wandered the camp, these were not lit mostly, I guessed, because it was sunny and, I knew, it was stinking hot. The drums, incidentally, the big ones and small ones, were still set up.
And there were people. Lots of them. All of them looked at me and many of them smiled, many of them nodded, many of them looked happy to see me. Some of them, however, looked at me with interest or intensity, not exactly happy – cautious, I figured, undecided. And a few avoided my eyes.
This, I didn’t get. I also didn’t dwell. I had enough to dwell on.
Diandra chattered on and she tucked my hand in her elbow and kept me close as we walked. She informed me this was only a camp, not a settlement, The Horde was nomadic. They came to this location for the Wife Hunt every two years and the warrior selections, three times a year. They had homes, of sorts, in some Korwahk city but they visited them infrequently during their roaming although, she explained, they did settle in them for two months over the winter.
She told me tents were called chams. She told me shahsha was thank you. She told me poyah was hello.
“What does me ahnoo mean?” I asked after the words the king had spoken to the cruel warrior and she looked at me, her brows up.
“Me ahnoo?” she asked back.
“The king said, ‘Kah Dahksahna me ahnoo,’ to that warrior he threw off the dais during the wedding rite. What does that mean?”
She patted my hand in the crook of her elbow, looked forward and smiled. “It means, my dear, ‘my queen does not like’.”
“What?” I asked.
She looked back at me. “He told Dortak that you do not like… in other words, you did not like what he was doing to his bride. And, I will add, not many of us did. Definitely not the peasants, merchants, slaves or wives and, I’m certain, many of the warriors.” She bobbed her head at me. “You made that clear, even though you do not speak their tongue, it was plain for all to see you didn’t like what he was doing. He was challenging you by continuing to do it even though you told him not to. It is, in truth, not a woman’s place to command a warrior, even if that woman is queen.” She looked forward and I got the sense she was avoiding my eyes when she went on.
“Sometimes,” she paused, “I will admit, the wedding rite can get lewd, the warriors get wound-up, if a battle is mightily fought to claim a bride, they need to expend some energy and sometimes do so in…” she paused again then finished cautiously, “unsavory ways.”
Fabulous.
Diandra carried on after looking at me again. “But you are not just any queen. You are King Lahn’s Lahnahsahna. But more, you are the Dax’s golden warrior queen. You made a command. It went unheeded. The king acted to make Dortak adhere to your command.” Her fingers squeezed mine. “It was a bold statement.
This is not done. In saying simply that you do not like, but in punishing Dortak before all, he was telling his people you rule at his side.” She grinned at me. “It was very sweet and very uncharacteristic… of a warrior, of a king but especially of Dax
Lahn. He, my dear, is not normally sweet. Seerim was even shocked.” She looked away and muttered, “A sight to see. A good one.”
I looked forward too and these words moved through me. I wasn’t certain I believed he was sweet, that would take a lot of convincing.
But she had told me he’d bragged about me to his people and he had acted on my wishes to stop that girl from continuing to be defiled publicly.
Not to mention, he made it clear I ruled at his side.
I supposed that was nice.
“That warrior’s name is Dortak?” I asked because I needed a change of subject, pronto.
She nodded, didn’t look at me but her face lost its friendliness. I still saw it, even in profile.
“Dortak. A bad seed. As was his father before him and, as Seerim’s father tells me, his father before him. He covets the throne of horns. They all did. He will challenge the Dax.”
My body started at this pronouncement. “But King Lahn tossed him bodily down a flight of steps,” I reminded her.
She looked back at me. “I said he was a bad seed, Dahksahna Circe,” she leaned in and grinned, “but I did not say he was a clever bad seed.”
