Page 48 of Into The Rift

“We were lucky to take even one hostage. The Tygerian ships are impressive, and not to be underestimated. If Linnius were wise, he’d give up his plans for invasion. I met this King Davos, and he’s fierce and has many sons. He’ll be a formidable opponent. Using the one wormhole to take a fleet of ships into the spiral galaxy known to us as C390 is, in my opinion, reckless and foolhardy.”

Another of the council members, nearer my own age, made a scoffing sound. “How fierce can they be if they all look like this boy?”

He saw my face then and his face paled as he quickly amended his words. “Not that your little prince isn’t beautiful.”

“You’re right, he is. But this boy is a grandson of the Tygerian king and a cross-breed. The king himself, and all of his sons, are large, powerful men. Though I remind you of my grandmother, Itaka, who is not a person to cross in any kind of way. Size doesn’t always matter. This young man is not someone to trifle with.”

“True enough,” Leonis said. “Itaka was not one I’d like to make angry. Many others made that mistake when she first came here to Pton. Each and every one of them disappeared. Lucky for you, Lord Dominiko. Safe individuals are for marrying. Dangerous ones are for pleasure.” He glanced again over at Jago. “Would you say this young prince of yours is dangerous?”

Jago knew they were discussing him, though he didn’t understand a word of what they were saying. He stared steadily back at them before glancing up at me.

“I’d say he definitely is.”

“Then you’re a lucky man.”

Chapter Fifteen

Jago

We left the big office building after another half hour or so and got briefly back on the transport thing that had brought us there. Niko said we were heading toward the palace and the dula, though we’d be in our own separate wing—the one his grandmother had once occupied.

I had some idea in my mind of what this dula might be like, and I learned it from a book. Blake had always loved books, and once he became the beloved Royal Consort, he’d told Davos that he’d like to have some from Earth, and he’d like to make a small room for those books in the king’s palace. He meant ones that were written in Earthan or in American English, of course, because that’s what he spoke. Not that he minded if British English books were ordered too, and other Earthan languages as well, if any of the other human love slaves asked for them, though he didn’t order them unless someone asked.

Not because he was self-absorbed—though he was, a little, to be honest—but because he intended the books to be read by his children. He wanted them to know about the people and history and customs of Earth, so he was really eclectic about his choices. He directed the Nilanium traders to bring him both fiction and non-fiction and to make sure there was a great deal of history and “fine” literature included. The mistake he made was in leaving it up to the traders and their own discretion.

After all, these were Nilaniums, and they loved a bargain. They purchased a variety of books, though some were in large lots. And not all of them were exactly what Blake had in mind.

He kept every one of them, though, in their own room he called a “library.” As a child, when I used to visit, I loved to go in that room and look through his many books, and I loved the ones with the garishly colorful covers the most. And one of these was entitled The Arabian Nights. It was a collection of “Middle Eastern” folk tales originally written in Arabic, according to what Blake told me, and I loved those stories.

They were all about a king who found out his wife was unfaithful. He had her killed, but then he decided all women were the same—all lying and untruthful. So, he began to marry a whole succession of them only to have them executed the next morning. Finally, one named Scheherazade tricked him by telling him a story but not ever ending it. The king, curious about the ending, waited and let her live one more night to finish. And one more, and one more and so on. As soon as she finished one story, she began another and managed in that way to postpone her execution over and over again. This went on for a thousand and one nights. By the end, she had saved her life, because he let her live.

The stories were all different and some were wild. There were love stories, tragedies, comedies and even erotica, though I was pretty sure my omak-ahn didn’t know about those. A lot of these stories, being Middle Eastern, featured something called harems—and these sounded like the dulas to me.

In harems, men who had more than one wife kept them in a separate part of the home reserved for them along with the man’s concubines and female servants. Even their female relatives, like their mother, their sisters and daughters stayed in there. From what I could tell, a dula on Pton was similar in concept, only with the addition of hostages being kept there too. But maybe that was because Linnius wanted to use the hostages as sexual partners.

The idea of a man like that Linnius coming there and picking out his choice for the night was abhorrent to me. He was not an attractive man, to say the least, with his tall, skinny body and mean looking face. If it hadn’t been for Niko, I’d have already tried to escape, no matter the consequences.

But there was Niko, and I was grateful to have him there. It seemed a strange thing to say since I wouldn’t be here except for him—I’d be safe at home. I knew that none of my family would ever forgive him for what he’d done. I decided to think about that some other time, though, and just be glad he was here with me in my exile.

Of course, it was even more than being grateful for his company. I was pretty sure I loved him, even though it wasn’t supposed to happen so fast. I think I’d loved him from soon after we met on his ship. Blake had seen it, and though he wasn’t happy about it, I think he recognized it. He’d certainly seen it before.

At any rate, I thought I knew what a harem might be like, but I soon found I was wrong. As soon as we walked into the main huge, sprawling building, we were in the middle of a hum of activity. It wasn’t the quiet, serene and perfumed place I thought it would be. People were bustling around everywhere, and everyone seemed busy and preoccupied, going from one building to the next. The various buildings were nestled amid rich lawns and were quite beautiful. They were joined by big courtyards filled with trees and flowers, but they were all encircled with high, windowless walls. Once again, the idea of being in a huge cage came back to taunt me.

Niko drew me into a large, cool building he said used to be Itaka’s home. It was nice, with blue tiled walls and polished stone floors. The rooms were spacious, and the furniture looked comfortable, with a lot of pillows and lounging areas in every room. It was scrupulously clean too, and Niko said the servants probably still came daily to keep it in good order. He didn’t seem to think this was as unusual as I did. He led me into a large bedroom and showed me a closet filled with soft robes in every color. They were made in some rich, heavy fabrics and heavily embroidered.

“Pick whatever will fit or whatever best suits you,” he told me.

“I’d prefer trousers like yours.”

“Those may be hard to come by, but I’ll see if I can find you some. You can’t wear servants’ clothing and most of the dula boys wear almost nothing at all. That won’t be an option for you.”

“Oh?” I said, pretending to be curious. “And why is that?”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me until I forgot what I had asked him in the first place. Finally, he pulled away and stared sternly down at me.

“You know why. With that hair and that face, I’d put you in a hooded robe if I thought you’d wear one.”

“Well, I won’t. And what’s wrong with my hair and my face?”

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