I Dream Of You

1 It was a couple hours after midnight and since he couldn’t sleep he decided to review the recordings of people entering and exiting the city gates. He despised the modern technology that the Empire had imported into the Islands, but he found it useful at times. He called for one of his stable of women to come and ease him while he watched the replay. It had been weeks since he’d dreamed of the lady. The dreams had begun when he was twelve. He hadn’t spoken of them to anyone until a week before his thirteenth birthday and then he’d told only his uncle. Perhaps if his father had survived the constant assassination attempts he could have spoken to him. But his father’s younger brother was the only father he’d known since he was seven years old. His uncle had told him that boys becoming men began to feel the need for female flesh at about that age. Such dreams were normal and would go away as he grew into a man. The very next night he’d been inducted into sex by an experienced sex slave, who had praised his performance, calling him a stallion when she had expected a colt. She told him that she would have said that anyway, but in his case her words were nothing but truth. Most untried boys fumbled, but he acted as if he had done this a hundred times before. He hadn’t said anything, but all he had done was what his dream lady had taught him in the previous year’s dreams. He had not outgrown the dreams. Even now, thirteen years later, he still dreamed of her. Always and only her, the same woman in every dream. When he was a boy he hadn’t been able to decide which was better: the dreams or reality. Now, he knew. The reality of a woman’s hot wet mouth sucking him was good. All the women kept in his stable were well trained and they exerted all their skill on him, the heir. Their hot wet mouths and hot wet bodies gave him great pleasure. But he would a million times rather spill his seed onto his belly while dreaming of his lady than be with the docile woman kneeling between his spread thighs now. He wished the dream was real. The tape droned on, faces and bodies of travelers passing by the camera one at a time so that they could be recorded and identified. He watched them pass, one hand knotted in the hair of the woman swallowing him so expertly, guiding her to the tempo he preferred. The pressure was building, preparing him for an explosion. He continued to watch the monitor, forcing himself further down the girl’s throat. There was a brief break in the lines of people entering the city, long enough for him to stretch back in his chair and tell the girl to straddle him. As she rode him, her back to his chest, the line of travelers started up again and he saw what he was waiting for. There. That man with the spiky blond hair of a married man with many children was not a usual traveler. He tried to hide his clan tattoos with a scarf around his neck, but the City Guards removed the scarf, pulled the neck of his tunic down and let the camera record them clearly before allowing the man to pass through. The tattoo was not the clan symbol of his enemy. This man was a son of the broken Blahkan Clan. Obviously he was a hired sword. Of course, the man might be one of the modernists who preferred the cowardly blaster to dispatch his business. It would be like the Nordu clan chief to hire someone like that. His clan had discarded honor to

eagerly embrace the outsider technology. This assassin would fail. He would see to it. Neither he nor his grandfather would fall to assassination. Clan Chirikan had been the premiere clan of the Islands for more than two hundred years. Nordu-Chief-men would learn that he had reached too far this time. A tap sent a copy of the screen image to the communicators of his five ranking men with a command to find the man. Feeling his peak nearing, he reached around the girl to dive his fingers into her wet folds, pressing and stroking her with an expertise that matched her own. When he felt her release begin he lifted her off his lap and shoved her aside before he allowed his own release to come. He kept his eyes on the monitor, watching for more men sent by the chief of the Nordu clan. A casual pat on the backside sent the girl away, and he slouched in his chair, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. The girl had performed with submissive skill. But she wasn’t his dream lady. All his girls were forbidden to touch him or kiss him or even look at him. All of them were blond, birdlike in slenderness and fragility, utterly subservient and silent. The exact opposite, in fact, of a make-believe woman he had made imaginary love to for thirteen years. If she were here now what would she do? His eyes drifted closed, ignoring the passing people on the monitor as he imagined his dream lover bending over him, her full breasts a taunting inch too far from his lips. Yes, she would play with him like that while she ran sharp fingernails over his nipples and sucked his earlobe into her hot mouth. If he reached for her she would take his wrists and press his hands flat on either side of his hips and order him to stay still while she had her way with him. And he would allow it because it gave her pleasure. She would lift her breasts to his mouth commanding him to suck her, and he would, using his tongue and his teeth to arouse her. Would her hands slide down his chest to his belly and then to his penis? Or would she spend long minutes kissing him before advancing to that stage? She would fondle his balls before removing her glorious breasts from his mouth and taking him in her hand to smear the head of him with his own saliva from her breasts. She would straddle his body at his knees, kissing her way over his thighs to his navel, barely skimming his cock. She would move slowly up his body, holding herself above him without letting her flesh touch his body at all. Her hands would run up and down over his hard hot shaft over and over until he could barely keep from moaning. She would move up a few more steps so that he could see her deeply flushed core glistening teasingly over his aching penis. Then, when he was straining fruitlessly to find that hot wet flesh between her legs, she would finally allow him to move. Come inside me, she would command, right now. He imagined his body driving up and into her, using his hands to pull her down over him so that he thrust deep. Her hot tight sheath would encase him so that pushing in and pulling out of her was like being milked. He could almost feel her dark brown hair brushing over his shoulders as she rode the pace he set. He could almost see her wide mouth falling open in a groan of pleasure when she reached her peak. She would collapse over his chest, riding him bonelessly while he drove himself to orgasm. In his dream his seed would spurt into the depths of her body and she would lift her face from his chest to smile tenderly at him. He would stroke her hair and tell her he loved her and then… She would disappear.

His body jerked violently and he gasped with deep relief as he came. Fresh seed spurted on to his belly as he wilted into his chair. It cooled quickly against his heated flesh. He suppressed a curse and reached for the damp cloth the girls always brought for him to cleanse himself after he finished with them. It was sad, he reflected, that he found more pleasure in a daydream than in the body of a real woman. He didn’t know if it were that way for other men; he had never spoken of it. It was with a feeling of grief threading through his sexual satisfaction that he re-wound the recording to watch it again for anything he may have missed. That feeling lasted until the end of the footage, when two women with three children were recorded. The older woman had dark blond hair and a broad flat face like the majority of countrywomen in the region, dressed in the calf length tunic and trousers that the country wives wore. The younger one looked a little like– no. Not really. She was dressed like a countrywoman, a farm wife who toiled beside her husband and dropped a babe each year. But that dark brown hair was unusual here where 80 percent of the population was blond. And her wide mouth was like that of his dream lady’s. And her sharply marked arched brows and hazel green eyes, too. But her naïve bovine expression was nothing like his sultry dream lover’s. The resemblance was superficial. He was seeing his dream lady only because he was missing her presence in his dreams. He needed to sleep now. Tomorrow he had an assassin to kill, revenge to plan and a lesson to teach that upstart Nordu who thought he could topple the Chirikan clan. But he tapped the screen images of the brown haired woman and her companion to his private communicator before he strolled back to his bedroom.

2 He rose early the next morning and spent an hour in sword practice. It was two hours less than he usually spent honing his blade skills, but he had had received word that the would-be assassin had been located. So he cut his practice short, bathed and had his long blond hair put into the five braids of an unmarried man and bound in a tail at the back of his head and was just finishing his breakfast when a messenger from his grandfather arrived. The man bowed very deeply. “Highly Honored Chirikan-Heir-men, the Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Chief-men bids you join him for the midday meal.” He bowed back, an appropriately slight bow from a lord to a servant. “Inform my most highly revered grandfather that I will be honored to join him.” His grandfather, the head of Clan Chirikan, had no doubt also received word that he assassin had been tracked down. He would expect a report at the midday meal. He would meet with his Men of Rank at his offices this morning to hear their reports on the assassin. He belted on the Sword of his Clan. Surrounded as always by his six bodyguards, he strolled the four blocks to his office building without haste. He was always careful to present himself as calm and in control. To appear eager or anxious would damage his image. A dozen men were already there, four of his Men of Rank and their attendants and some office workers. His First Ranked man, Chirikan-Densuku-men, stepped forward to greet him. They exchanged bows, much less deep than the servant’s had been. After all, as the heir’s second in command Densu-den was a man of high rank. As such he had the right to address the heir by his familiar name with the affectionate honorific instead of the formal –men and continue to look him in the face as they spoke. At least on non-formal occasions. “Jaka-den, the man whose image you sent has been found.” “Good work,” the heir said admiringly, running an absent finger over one narrow braid draped over his shoulder. “That was fast, Densu-den.” Densu-den made a short polite bow. “I cannot claim the credit for that,” he said with becoming modesty. “It was the three sons of Chirikan-Hanku-men who tracked him down in the south sector.” He made another bow to Chirikan-Fintu-men, the man of rank in charge of the south sector. Fintu-men bowed back gravely. The Chirikan clan was large, numbering over 10,000 soldiers and another 5,000 other men who helped keep the business running smoothly. But Chirikan-Lakansu-men, the Chief of the clan, had taught his grandson how important it was to make even the lowest ranking member of the clan feel worthy. He kept a list of the men of the clan in his head. It helped his memory that Hanku-men had been one of the men who had tried so hard to protect his uncle’s life when his uncle had been slain in one of the numerous struggles for

control of the city. Hanku-men had lost his leg in that battle and turned into a drunk but his sons were shaping up well. “Grant the three sons of Hanku-men passes to the South Sector’s House of Women for one week,” he tossed over his shoulder to one of the scribes. “Honorable companions, conduct me to this man who comes into our territory without leave.” They walked, a well armed group of men openly showing their clan tattoos, through the city, but the city guards knew better than to try to stop them. The Imperial Governor might have the power to rule on paper, but everyone knew the real power in the city was with the clan who had ruled this island since the Terrorist Wars had destroyed the ancient nations. The guards might have given the swords, the archaic weapons used mostly for ceremonial purposes now, a second look, but remained at their posts without making a move. Other pedestrians left the streets abruptly at their approach, or if trapped, pressed as far back as they could and bowed down to the ground as they passed. The assassin was trapped and surrounded by Chirikan clan men in his lodging in a poor part of town. The parts of the city controlled by the Thess Empire seemed to always be poor. Instead of working to make the city wealthier the Empire preferred to take rather than give. And Clan Nordu was much like them. They would rather murder a man than accept the Way. Cowards. But this assassin was a proper man. When the heir entered the room he had been herded into he bowed with an expressionless face. He had removed his wrap tunic and his trousers, both to demonstrate that he had no hidden weapons under his garments and to show off his clan tattoo. He asked in a perfectly controlled voice that his garments and weapons be returned to his wife and that his sons be told that he had died with honor. The heir honored the assassin with a swift death under the venerated blade of the ancient Clan Sword. He wiped the blade clean on a silk square and handed bloodied silk to the clan men he had assigned to deliver the body and head to the widow and sons so they could put it in their household shrine. The heir wasn’t disappointed, exactly. He walked back to the garden district of the city to his grandfather’s house feeling a little unsettled. A fight would have at least have woken him up. But it was good to know that there were still men in the world who cherished honor over the crudities of modern conveniences. When the heir met his grandfather for the midday meal he bowed so deeply his long pale braids lay over his feet. No one deserved respect more than the man who had saved the clan from being overwhelmed by the Empire, who had destroyed every enemy and rival until the Chirikan clan was the only one acknowledged in the City. His clan tattoo twisted its way up his frail wrinkled face to curve like a blade over his eyebrow. The heir may have taken over some of the day to day concerns of the clan but his grandfather was still the Chief. His grandfather’s old First Ranked man was also present for the meal. Chirikan-Carbu-men was deserving of almost as much respect as the clan Chief. After all, he had been very active in every battle, every struggle of the clan for sixty years. And he was known to be a seer. Many times his visions had guided the clan out of peril.

The walls of the dining hall were lined by the bodyguards of the three highest ranking men of the Chirikan clan. The Chief, his second in command and his heir knelt on the lush carpet facing each other in a triangular formation. They were served by well trained maid servants, all young, beautiful and demure. Even when carrying food to each man’s separate low table and offering drink they kept their eyes lowered to the carpet and their voices lowered to sweet murmurs. The heir would never be so disrespectful as to allow his eyes to linger on them, but their delicate presence soothed him. The three men ate in silence for several minutes. It was only after they had finished most of the meal that they began to speak. “Jaka-den, tell me of the assassin. Was he a blade swung in your direction or mine?” “Blahkan-men confessed that he was sent to kill me, most honored Chief-men.” The heir might be addressed familiarly by his grandfather, but he would never address his grandfather as anything other than Clan Chief. “To kill you would only leave me as Chirikan-Chief. To kill me would leave you to find a new heir, and who better than my Grandfather’s father’s sister’s son? I suspect Nordu-men is behind this.” The clan chief looked thoughtfully into the distance. “This feud is no longer an honorable one. We must end it.” The heir agreed. His father and his uncle had both fallen to assassins. He and his three female cousins were all that was left of the Family now. “Shall we hire assassins of our own? I would prefer to challenge him to meet me on the field of honor.” “We cannot risk your loss, honored grandson. No, neither swords nor blasters will end the feud. Carbu-den has Seen that a marriage between our clan and the Nordu Clan will bring the feud to an end.” The heir controlled his instinctive denial. He bowed instead. “How can that be? Nordumen has no daughters.” “He has three sons. I have three granddaughters. Rudi-den already has had a husband and Elku-den is already promised to your First Ranked man. Luki-den is seventeen. Young for marriage, but old enough for a betrothal.” The heir made sure his face was serene. The idea that any of his sweet orphaned cousins would be married to the son of a depraved monster made his back teeth ache. The idea of little Luki being forced to marry an enemy made his heart ache. Luki was sweet and funny and spoiled. The youngest of the Family had learned how to get her own way. When she had expressed an interest in learning the Sword, their grandfather had tuttutted, saying it wasn’t an appropriate thing for a girl child to learn. She had gone to the clan archives and found books from before the Dark Years and proved that ancient Samurai women had learned the Sword. So she and her two older sisters had been given rigorous training. She knew how to get what she wanted and she did it without whining

or tears. He doubted that Nordu-men would be very kind to such an independent woman. But it was his grandfather’s duty to see to Family. He would arrange marriages as he saw fit. And Carbu-men had Seen it. So he bowed again to his grandfather and hid his thoughts behind a serene face. “Tell me, honored grandson, did Blahken-men confess? What weapon did this assassin plan to use?” The clan chief allowed one of the serving girls to pour more water for him. “No, honored Chief-men. He was a true man. He had a sword. He did not beg for his life or try to bargain by selling information to us, nor try to escape by telling lies. All he asked was that his clothing and weapons be returned to his wife and that his sons know that he had died with honor.” “So, Jaka-den, did you arrange to send his belongings back to his wife and sons?” asked his grandfather with mild interest, before delicately biting into a soft bread roll with aged teeth. The heir bowed. “I did, honored Chief-men. He was a man of worth. Why anger his sons with disrespect?” The clan chief waved another serving girl away. “You are wise, for one your age. And how old would you say this worthy man was, Jaka-den?” The heir considered. “Perhaps my own age, or a year or two older.” “So, twenty five? Perhaps twenty seven. And he had sons,” said his grandfather. “More than one?” The heir suddenly knew why his grandfather had summoned him. Had he found a wife for him? It was an effort to keep his face smooth. He bowed again. ”Yes, honored Chiefmen.” His grandfather and Carbu-men continued to gum their food placidly. Perhaps he was wrong and they would not bring up the matter of his marriage. He was by no means opposed to marriage. But by leaving himself single he was able to control the four sectors by hints of a marriage alliance. Actually marrying a girl from any one sector could lead to a power struggle within which would give Nordu an opening to topple them. His grandfather had thought that strategy sound, but he had been hinting strongly for the past year that it was time he became a husband and father. Playing the sectors against each other would work for only so long. But no. Carbu-men compressed his mouth and stared hard at the heir. “Have you found her yet?” he demanded. The young man was so surprised he barely kept himself from rudely returning the stare. “Found who, honored Carbu-men?” the heir asked politely, with a very slight bow.

“Your wife.” The heir wasn’t sure he kept his jaw from dropping. Marriage was arranged by the elders. It was his grandfather’s place to select his wife. Even if his parents had been alive his grandfather would have been the one to approve their choice. When his grandfather chose a wife for him, he would obey. But never would he seek a wife on his own. “No, honored Carbu-men.” “Have you been looking?” the old man asked. “No, honored Carbu-men.” “Why not? She is in the city now.” Carbu-men looked at his chief and wagged his head. The chief put aside his plate and stood. The heir immediately bowed again at this sign that the old man was about to make a pronouncement, and kept his eyes on the carpet in respect. “My old friend has told me that your wife will be a very brave woman, as bold as a lion, cunning as a wolf and as strong as a bear, honored grandson. That woman has entered this city. He has Seen her. She is a foreigner with dark hair and she will leave our city soon. You must waste no time finding her. When you find her you will bring her to me.” An image of his dream lady mixed with that of the brown haired woman who had entered the city yesterday streaked through the heir’s mind. He bowed lower, and remained that way to hide the result of the heat that flooded his loins. He did not protest that marrying a foreigner would give them no advantage. Even if he had wanted to protest he would never dishonor himself that way. But he did not want to protest. He wanted to find that woman and experience all that he had known in his dreams in the flesh. His grandfather smiled down at him, benign. “Before we can end this feud with a marriage between the clans you must have heirs of your own. Nordu-men would find it too tempting to eliminate a single block between his grandson and the chieftaincy of our clan. But even he would not murder babies. Go, find this woman and we shall see if she is fit to be the lady of the Clan.” “I hear and I obey, greatly honored Chirikan-Chief-men,” he said humbly, and used his communicator to command every man in his clan to seek the brown haired foreign woman whose image he sent them.

3 This city wasn’t so different than a hundred others Portia had been in, and in her five years in the Imperial army she had seen dozens. Parts of Ungru City were clean and expensive and parts of it were dirty and cheap. Sometimes those sections were separated by only a couple blocks of bland middle class housing neither expensive nor dirty, like the hotel district here. She and her sister-in-law Brita were staying in a small hotel in the poorer section of the district. They didn’t have much money to spend, and Portia was already regretting her impulse to report a possible rebellion to the Imperial authorities. If communicators weren’t forbidden to the civilian population in this forsaken province she could have simply sent a quick anonymous warning and forgotten it. She wasn’t a soldier in the Imperial Army anymore, after all. What did she care? But spending most of her twenty seven years in the Empire had left a mark on her. Curse it. Why couldn’t there have been a transmittal station closer than the city 50 leagues away from her brother’s farm? This city, like all large cities, had an underworld of crime. The difference here, her brother Svin had told her, was that the crime was very well organized, and kept tightly controlled by groups of men called clans. The clan system of honor and respect was rigid. They spoke in very formal language, a bastardized version of the English most people in the Empire spoke. They used archaic forms of address and bowed a lot. Clansmen were identified by special tattoos that usually began under the left collarbone and then rose up to the neck and even onto the face. The more important a clan man was and the higher up in the clan he was, the higher the tattoo went. Any clan member could read the tattoos and know who the wearer was, what his position in the clan was and which clan he belonged to. To anyone else, the tattoos were just decoration. Also the way they wore their blond hair meant something. Heaven knew what. But the old fashioned clans, with their love of archaic ideals, were so powerful that communicators, blasters and even modern medicine were outlawed. Why the Imperial governor allowed the native’s prejudices couldn’t be explained. This province was made up of islands. Maybe being so isolated from the rest of the world for the last couple hundred years had caused that. Brita ducked under the blanket that separated the children’s corner of the room. Her sons, ages 11 thru 5, were finally asleep after a day of long travel. “So far so good,” she sighed to her sister-in-law. “I’m exhausted. I can’t imagine how we will be able to go back on the road as soon as we pick up that medicine.” Portia privately agreed. Traveling by herself in an automated transport was easy compared to walking with three energetic boys. But in this traditional province no decent woman traveled alone. She couldn’t have made the trip by herself. “But we must leave the morning after tomorrow, if we want a respectable escort.” she reminded Brita. Even two grown women traveling together would have raised eyebrows. But Svin had gone to the caravan master and had used his special mental gift to “convince” the caravan master that he had to have a particular medicine to treat the Lieutenant Governor’s favorite horse but couldn’t leave to fetch it himself. He said he hated the idea of sending

his wife and sister to fetch it, but what could he do? His sons were too young to go themselves, and there was no man to go. But if the caravan master, obviously a decent, trustworthy man, would look after his womenfolk then he could let them go with fewer worries. The persuasion worked so well partly because it was based on some truth. Svin really was too busy with the Lieutenant Governor’s horse to be able to leave. Otherwise he would have been the one to go to the city to send the warning. The caravan master had agreed to take charge of the women but this was a very quick trip, and the women would need to keep to his schedule. Portia snorted. If the caravan master had any strength of will at all, he would have offered to collect the medicine for the horse doctor. But Svin had prevented that sensible suggestion. Svin could have made fortunes using his gift for persuasion conning the wealthy. But Svin was as stolid and honest as a man could be. He used his gift to talk the animals into behaving and getting well and to prevent men from brawling in the tavern at night. His was a dull and peaceful life, tending his neighbors’ sickly livestock and helping his wife in their fields. After her release from the army Portia had come here to this distant pastoral province to take a break. She could have stayed with any of her other brothers, but Svin and his wife would give her the peaceful refuge she so badly needed after the battles in the west. The others… No. They would try, in their bumbling male way, to give her what she needed, but their lives were far too violent or unsettled for her nerves after the bloody western wars. She had needed peace. But after a year here she was ready to leave it behind once again for the freedom of the road. A visit to a backwater province like this was a nice break, but she could never live this life. “Boys down, then?” she asked her sister in law quietly. “At last, thank heavens,” Brita breathed. “I don’t know how you can bear to be always going places. It’s so tiring!” “You do get used to it,” she told her sister in law, beginning to undress. From her waist wrap she removed her stiletto and illegal-in-this-province mini-blaster and put them on the dresser. She tossed her knee-length outer tunic over the back a chair, peeled off her calf-length under tunic and unbuckled the sheaths that held her favorite small daggers to her thighs. She removed the loose trousers and rubbed the red marks the sheaths had left on flesh of her thighs. Then she carefully laid her weapons in an easily accessible row. Brita was doing the same, although she had only a mini-blaster and a knife in her waist wrap, and she handled them gingerly. Her husband and brothers-in-law had taught her how to use them, and she felt confident that she could fight in defense of her sons, but she wasn’t comfortable with it like her sister-in-law obviously was. Of course, Portia had been trained to fight by some of the fiercest fighters on three continents since she could walk. And she had used those skills in her days in the Army. She was used to taking care of herself in any situation. “If we lived in another place that allowed transmittals you would have come alone, wouldn’t you?” she asked now.

“Probably,” Portia agreed, brushing her shoulder length dark hair. “But Ungru City is the closest. I’m sorry that you had to be dragged all this way.” “That’s alright,” said Brita. “I like to know that I’m helping the Empire, even if it is a secret. It is exciting, really, to see a big city like this. As long as we don’t have any trouble with the clans.” “We shouldn’t, should we? Svin said as long as we mind our own business we won’t even see them.” “No reason why we should,” Brita agreed with remember relief. She had grown up on this island and she knew as much as anyone who wasn’t actually in a clan. Which wasn’t very much. But the clans were said to be respectful of women as long as the women were respectable. Which she and Portia were. At least… Portia was acting as if she were respectable. While they were out on the roads she had assumed a sweet, vague expression that made her look more than a little stupid. It totally masked her true personality. “If you do see any and recognize them as clan, just remember to bow low and keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. As long as we mind out own business we will be fine. You’ve traveled so much to so many different kinds of places that this can’t be too foreign for you. ” Yes, Portia had been a lot of places, with a lot of different customs. For five years she had served in the Imperial Army in a variety of capacities. She had been a fighter. She had been a cook, healer and messenger. More often she was the troop’s secret weapon. Like all her siblings, she had a weird gift. Hers was to always know whether a person was telling the truth. That kind of dependable information had been invaluable to the commander. She had tagged along to many a truce or treaty talk, so that she could tell her commander whether or not the other side was sincere. She had been in many cities in the Empire and many nations outside the Empire. But this city, which the Imperial Senate mistakenly believed was ruled by their governor, was like nothing she had experienced before. Brita sat on the narrow bed they would share. “Your life has been so exciting, Portia. I envy you sometimes.” “I envy you, Brita. You have a good life. Your husband loves you and values you. You have three children. You have a home of your own. You have a place that is yours always.” That was all absolute truth. Someday she would like to have a home and family of her own. After so many years without one place that was truly hers, she longed for a home. Just not on a little farm where there was more work than could be crammed into a day. Brita stared at her exotic sister-in-law. “But--- Your life is so exciting! You’ve had princes ask to marry you! Everyone loves you!”

With brisk moves Portia tied off her short sleeping braid. “Brita, I’m a bastard. The princes don’t want to marry me. And I won’t be anybody’s whore, not even the Emperor’s. I want a home someday, not a cubicle in a prince’s harem.” “But--- You’re welcome with any of your brothers. There’s Feodor, Viktor and Ivan in the northlands. They’ve room in their palace for you as long as you want to stay. They barely live there themselves, so it’s empty. Or there’s Duran and his littermates in the Imperial capital. Or—Good heavens, I can’t even remember all your brothers. I’ve been married to Svin for 12 years, and I still haven’t met them all.” Her family tree was too complicated for even her to comprehend sometimes. She had three brothers who lived and ruled the savage wilds of the north. They didn’t rule people exactly. Their subjects were werewolves. So were they. That was their gift. She had another two brothers who were assassins employed by the assassins guild in Murak, far across the sea in the Old Americas. Both of them could will themselves invisible. Now that would be a useful gift! There were the identical triplets who owned an inn in Thess City, the Imperial capital. They called it the Three Cats, a private joke reflecting the fact that they were Lion shapeshifters. Another six brothers had a variety of talents and were soldiers in a couple different armies, fighting on behalf of various governments or criminal organizations. There was only one other girl, whom she barely knew, since she was a nun in the Jurin Order. Their father had had a dream of breeding an army of talents for himself. He had stolen or bought dozens of women who had magic gifts in an effort to create offspring who could be his obedient little tools in taking over the world. Too bad for him none of them was interested in being obedient little tools. Something must have been wrong with his sperm, because the overwhelming majority of his offspring were male, and few of them had been obedient. Brita must have been thinking along the same lines because she slipped into bed with a little sigh. “You have far too many brothers and not enough sisters.” “I know,” Portia groused. “But don’t blame me. Dear old dad kept trying to make some female breeding stock of his own blood. You gotta feel sorry for his wife. She was probably glad for the girls he stole and raped. At least she didn’t have to put with him. We’ve all lost count of how many bastards he has. It’s just a shame there’s only two of us girls in the entire lot. Maybe if Colton hadn’t killed him when we escaped the compound he’d have had a few more girls.” The bitterness in Portia’s voice would have scratched glass. “On the other hand,” Brita said quietly, “at least you know you have family to call on if you have trouble. Any of your brothers would drop everything to help you if you needed it.” “Yah, and even if I didn’t need it!” She snorted as she turned off the light. “And considering that they’ve been training me to fight since I was a baby, I don’t need help much. They just can’t pass up a fight, and what better excuse for a little mayhem than a sister who needs protecting?” Another snort. “But still, you’re right. And it’s good to

know that I have places to stay when I need some time. Thanks, Brita, for taking me in last spring.” Her sister-in-law wrapped her in a quick hug. “You’re always welcome. You don’t even need to use your teeny little gift for persuasion. G’night, Portia.” Portia laid along side her oldest brother’s wife, eyes wide in the dark. Her gift for truth let her feel the sincerity of that statement and she was touched. She knew she needed sleep now, but she didn’t want to dream tonight. Her dreams were too embarrassing to go through when she was sharing a hotel bed with someone else. And they were likely to come tonight. All the blond haired men in this city reminded her of her dream lover. But she did not want to wake, empty and aching, with a witness. Brita would know well enough what sort of dream it was, and probably start introducing her to eligible young men the minute they got back to the farm. To take her mind off her long haired blond lover she planned where she would go to send the transmittal, what other stops she would have to make so that it would not appear that the message was the whole point of this entire trip. It was unlikely that the bumpkins who were plotting against the Emperor had any idea that she was betraying them, but she had practiced secrecy and caution too long to give it up now. Caution and secrecy—and a healthy dollop of her brothers’ deadly training—had kept her alive this long.

4 The heir strode down the street with no hint of his usual saunter. His communicator had beeped, notifying him that the information he had requested on the woman was waiting for him at his offices. Only for information this important would he use electronic communications. It was taking his men far longer to locate the woman than it had the assassin. She had been within the city gates for nearly 16 hours now, and he had put out the word that finding her was a priority over 2 hours ago. It was nearing the time for late afternoon tea. He would have her join him for that, and then he would present her to his grandfather. And tonight he would make love to her in the flesh, not in his dreams. He was distracted by thoughts of his impending marriage. But his guards had no such excuse for not seeing the attack before it was launched. He roused to find himself between the transmittal station and the women’s market, his guards already fighting. Blaster shots had cut down two of his men, the ones who had been directly in front and beside him, and the city folk who had not been able to retreat were cowering on the ground. It was satisfying to be able to shoot back, screaming his rage at the dogs so dishonorable that they would bring modern weapons into a feud. His battle screams rose in new fury when one of the blaster shots cut down a civilian woman. But his voice bubbled in silent choked horror in his throat when he saw a brown haired woman holding a boy behind her as she backed away from the fray. Why was she here? Blaster shots cut the air between them, endangering her life, and his screams shot up to a new frenzy at the idea that the woman who might become his wife could be hurt by the dishonorable actions of the vile dogs that used unclean weapons to fight what should be an honorable battle. For one moment her eyes met his, wide with half-recognition and fear. One of her hands was buried in her waist wrap as if holding something. A wound? Honored Ancestors, was she hurt? He would flay the flesh from the bones of any man who caused her an instant’s pain. He lost sight of her because of the fight but he did not forget about her. At the first lull he wanted to go after her himself. But he couldn’t risk taking the battle to her. The dogs may have given up, but perhaps they were only making a feint. Instead he ordered two of his body guards to go after the woman and take her to the safety of his home. The older man quickly hid the shocked expression on his face with a bow and humbly protested that he could not leave the honored heir protected by only two men. With scowl worthy of his grandfather in his younger, fiercer years, the heir commanded them to go at once and find the woman. “Chirikan-Heir-men, forgive us, please. Which woman? There were many in the market today.” “The tall woman with brown hair,” the heir bit out. Was there another he had been seeking? “I charge you with finding her and bringing her instantly to my house.” They bowed and hurried off. The battle between the heir and his guards and the cowards who fired at them from hidden locations had drawn the attention of several other clan members. They rushed to the rescue, and conducted the heir to his fortified house in the garden district. There he sent a message to his grandfather that he had been targeted for

an assassination attempt but that all was well and he would be presenting the dark haired woman shortly. To help him wait he ordered the information about the woman to be read to him. His scribe’s voice wavered slightly as he began to read the report. “The female subject is Selin Porteeah-men, aged 27, unmarried. Resides with older brother, Catson Svin-men, brother’s wife Catson Brita-men and brother’s three sons aged 11, 8, and 6 on small farm 10 leagues from Depatu Village. Catson Svin-men came to the Islands fifteen years ago by Imperial transport and settled in Depatu province. He works as a farmer and healer of animals. Catson Svin-men is unsworn to any Clan, but serves the Imperial Lieutenant Governor’s stables and herds frequently.” The heir watched the scribe conclude with a bow. “That is the entire report?” he asked with disappointment. The scribe bowed again. Her brother was an Imperial man, perhaps one of the settlers the Empire had imported to strengthen their hold on the Islands. Unfortunate. The clan did not get on well with the Empire. He would have to deny her any commerce with them. The heir waited impatiently for his men to return with the woman. Minutes passed, and then an hour. He forced himself to remain in his chair, half reclining with his eyes closed. But he wanted to pace. Perhaps the men had misunderstood and taken the woman to his grandfather? Or they had been ambushed by the assassins? What if the woman had been injured or taken captive? Or… killed? Surely even honorless dogs would not kill a woman! He was about to summon more men to go out and search for her when finally the two men he had sent entered. The blood on their tunics made the heir’s breath freeze in his lungs.” Where is the lady?” The men bowed all the way to the floor. “Most honorable Chirikan-Heir-men, she would not come.” His lungs worked again. “I sent you to escort her here. Why did you not bring her?” The bows flattened out to the ground. “She refused, Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Heirmen. Forgive our worthless selves for failing you.” “Explain,” the heir commanded gently. “Why is there blood on your clothing?” The men shivered at that frightening tone. “We found her in the streets of the lodging district, she and the boy. She was not properly polite when we addressed her. She only bowed once and tried to leave without speaking to us. When we informed her that you had commanded her presence she declined. We were very polite. We told her that she must come. You are the heir to the great Chirikan Clan and your word is law. It was an

honor for her to be called to you. She called us names no woman should know. The boy —rash child—attacked us with a knife! Then the woman also attacked us with a knife. They ran off. It shames us that they eluded us. We searched a few of the lodging houses, but there are too many. We returned to confess our failure and seek more men to search.” “A woman and a child defeated two trained Clan soldiers?” Sarcasm dripped from the heir’s tongue. “Rash child, indeed. No doubt the boy thought that he was defending his kin from you, blunderers. Did you say something to make the boy fear for his kinswoman’s virtue? He was rash, perhaps. Foolish, certainly. But also honorable and brave. Already a soldier of worth at his age. You have failed not only me, but the Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Chief-men as well. It is he who has commanded that I present this lady to him. Jenduku-men! Take all your men and search for Selin-Porteeah-men. Find her and bring her here. Assure her and her kin that her virtue is safe. She can expect nothing but honor from me and the Chirikan Chief-men. Do not fail.” The Third Ranked man of the heir’s entourage bowed low and left with a crisp step. The two bodyguards who had been unsuccessful in bringing the woman to the heir begged to be allowed to die to rectify their terrible failure. The heir denied their wish. Regaining their honor through service would be their penance. He sent them off to serve as latrine cleaners for one month, a job so humble that no man of worth was expected to do it. It was well after the hour of the evening meal when a runner brought word that the woman had been found. He donned one of his finer robes and left it open that she might be able to plainly see his rank in his clan tattoo. He forwarded the runner to his grandfather and settled himself in his ceremonial chair to wait for the sight of his bride.

5 “Merciful heavens!” cried Brita when her son and sister-in-law ran into their room at the hotel. “What--?” Portia didn’t know whether to kiss her nephew or kill him. Attacking a tattooed clan man with a knife had been stupid. But Bakta was only eleven years old and he had been frightened that his aunt would be taken away forever by criminals. Still, age didn’t excuse her stupidity in also attacking. It would have been far better for her to persuade the men to let her go. Her foremost gift was truth, but she had a touch of persuasion too. But once blood was spilled it was too late. Minds were not easily manipulated by her puny gift for persuasion when they were upset. She told Brita the story in short concise sentences, ending with, “We took a very long way back to the hotel, so they shouldn’t find us too easily, but I think we should pack up our things and be ready to run if necessary. I got the transmittal off to the capital alright, so that’s done at least.” Stupid, stupid to have run! Now the criminal clan would look twice as hard for her. What would they do to Bakta if they found him? She couldn’t let that happen. “Look, if anything happens to me, transmit a message to the boys in the north and the triplets, alright?” she told Brita. “You and the boys better hide, OK?” “But why do they want you?” asked Brita mystified. “Because you saw their fight? Probably a couple dozen people saw it. It can’t be that.” A pale, perfect face framed in a fall of white blond braids flashed before Portia’s eyes. Her dream lover? Uncomfortable coincidence. The man today had had his long hair pulled up in a pony tail made up of a bunch of little braids and a dark tattoo climbing up the side of his neck to his cheek, his expression bloodthirsty. But even through the confusion of shooting she had clearly felt him latch on to her. That wasn’t a good description. It was more like he had reached out an immensely long arm and grabbed her neck. It wasn’t the usual feeling she got of truthfulness or deceit. The feeling had still lingered when she had sliced the clan man’s arm to make him go away. “I don’t know. Maybe they think I was helping the other side?” A lie. That leader wanted her. “I was going to leave you and the boys here while I hid somewhere else in the city, but maybe if they find me they’ll let Bakta off. So if they come here I’m not going to make a fuss. You and the children hide. I’ll go with them and trust to my talent to persuade them to let me go. Just you be sure to send a transmittal to the boys to help me out, alright? Just in case.” “Yes, alright. But why don’t you just persuade anyone who comes to leave again without you?”

“They’ll just send more.” That, she was positive of. That man wanted to talk to her. Maybe talk, maybe something else. “So send a message to my brothers asking them to come right away.” “Yes, I will. How long will it take them to come do you think?” “They’ll be here about five minutes after they get the message. But I don’t know when they’ll pick up the message. Might be a couple days.” Brita envied that talent. Imagine being able to travel thousands of miles in a blink. That was better even than being able to persuade people to do what you want them to. Or to always know if people were telling the truth. Until she had met her husband she hadn’t known that people could be born with gifts. Now she knew better. Svin speculated that there had been people with gifts all through history, but after the Dark Years of the twenty-first century, a higher ratio of gifted people survived than non-gifted people. Some gifts were terrifyingly strong. Some of her in-laws had more than one talent, like Portia, who could read truth and do a little of what he husband did with persuasion. The shape shifter brothers could turn into animals and travel long distances in a blink. The assassins could disappear and speak to each other without words. One of the brothers-she forgot which-could stop a heart by thinking about it. He could control a person’s mind to make them do whatever he said. And he could make them feel his touch with a thought. Svin had scolded that brother loudly for strangling a man without ever touching him. The brother had replied brutally that the man had deserved it. Yes, her in-laws were a frightening bunch. Portia was speaking calmly to the boys, warning them that the clan men could come back and if they did, they were to hide and be very quiet. The magic in her voice would make the usually rambunctious boys obey. While they were packing the firm tread of many feet sounded in the hall. “Hide,” mouthed Portia. Brita and her three sons closed themselves in the closet. Brita could see the room through the slats. Portia stood tall and calm in the middle of the room and called permission to enter when fists pounded on the door. Blond men dressed in cross wrapped tunics spilled into the room. One stood before Portia and bowed. “Selin Porteeah-men?” Portia bowed back. “I am Portia Selin.” She willed them to not look for her sister-in-law and her nephews. The man bowed again, a little deeper. “The Honorable Chirikan-Heir-men requires your presence. He bids me tell you your virtue will be honored in his house. Have no fear of shame.”

He was speaking the truth. Portia nodded slightly. “Thank you.” Again the man bowed and Brita tried to think very loudly to her sister-in-law that a bow should punctuate every sentence. Oh dear, Portia wasn’t bowing. She couldn’t read minds. Brita hoped the criminal would not be angry. “Will you honor us by walking with me, honorable Porteeah-men?” “It would be my pleasure. Please lead the way, sir.” The man bowed again but Portia didn’t. Oh, dear, oh, dear, Brita thought in the closet, Portia was going to be in so much trouble if she couldn’t be more polite. She had better get a message to her shape shifting brothers-in-law right away. They could travel thousands of miles in a matter of minutes and they would be able to get Portia out of this mess. She wished she could talk to Svin right now. Her husband would know what to do. Portia walked beside the crime lord. She assumed he was a crime lord. He hadn’t introduced himself, but she thought by the way the other twenty men who surrounded them treated him that he was pretty important. His tattoo came up over his jaw, and the hair on top of his head was shorter and spiky but the rest was in three very long narrow braids at the nape of his neck. What did that hair style mean? He seemed very powerful. Strange, he was about six inches shorter than she was. She wondered when would be the appropriate moment to ask why the Cherry-whoever-man wanted to see her. Probably not now. She amused herself by watching the reactions of the people they encountered on the darkening streets. They mostly cleared out of the street altogether, staring very furtively at her in the midst of these dangerous looking men. It was like magic, seeing the crowded streets melt into broad open paths through the city. One member of the crowd didn’t clear out quite quickly enough because he was so busy gaping at her. One of the clan men pointed his blaster at the offender and the offender threw himself down full length on the street. After a while, the consistency of this sort of behavior became less amusing and more frightening. These clan men were not fooling. People didn’t behave that way without a reason. How many innocent people had they murdered to generate that kind of fear? What would they do to her? The homes in the garden district were huge and ornate. Her group was admitted through the gates of a house so well guarded that she surmised this must be the house of the chief himself. They entered the house and all the men took their shoes off, had their feet washed and dried and put on soft slippers. Servants were there to help, bowing continuously. Two came with a basin of warm water and washed her feet for her. Another gave Portia a nice pair of slippers embroidered with flowers. Then the leader bowed to her once more and said, “This way, if you please, honored Porteeah-men.” She followed the leader, and two more of the clan followed her, down a hall that turned sharply several times –defenses, in case of attack? Unusual in a regular house, but probably normal in the home of a crime lord— to a closed pair of doors, guarded by two more clan men. They bowed rather more deeply and opened the door.

She followed the crime lord into a white room starkly furnished with a line of woven mats, and a single occupied low couch. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at the man there. She was in one of her dreams! The lover she had dreamed of for years was sprawled on the low couch, wearing a gorgeous robe that hung open over his chest— Dear heaven. That chest was heavily tattooed on one side, the blue lines running up to his cheek, and the other side was overlaid by multiple blond braids. Her dream lover was a crime lord.

6 At last, she was here. The heir sat forward ever so slightly, watching avidly as Dendukumen led the way to the spot where petitioners came to kneel when he held court. The Third Ranked man knelt and bowed, very deeply. The woman did not. “Most Honored Chirikan-Heir-men, I have discharged your command and brought you what I was sent to find.” He bowed once more. “This is Selin Porteeah-men.” The woman bowed awkwardly, her eyes remaining on his with a challenging expression in them. He had to catch his breath. For a moment she had looked exactly like his dream lady. In his mind he removed her plain brown tunic and unbound her braid. Yes. It was she. He did something then he had never done for anyone but his grandfather. He rose from his seat and bowed so low his braids touched the floor. “You are welcome, most honored Selin Porteeah-men.” When he bowed the two dozen other men in the room bowed even lower. It would not do for them to have their heads higher than his. But the lady just nodded cautiously. Such rudeness astounded him. But her manner seemed nervous, not arrogant. Was she so ill educated that she didn’t know proper conduct? “Leave us,” he commanded softly. She immediately turned back to the door. “Not you, Selin Porteeah-men.” She froze. His men of rank filed out, followed by their attendants. His six bodyguards remained at their posts until he commanded them to leave also. They argued, humbly but vehemently. He had been attacked once already today. They could not allow any further harm to come to him. The Chirikan-Chief-men depended upon them to safeguard the heir. “No harm will come to me at the hands of this lady. You may leave.” Still they argued, pointing out oh so humbly that she already had Chirikan blood on her hands. Had the weapon she had used been confiscated? With her multi layered garments she could be hiding any number of weapons. The heir suppressed a smile. He had a solution for that: strip her naked so he could search her for weapons. But no, it was not yet time for such play. “Honored lady, do you carry any weapon upon your person?” he asked instead with a half-bow of polite apology. His tone implied that of course she wouldn’t have any weapons. It was plain she was angry. To his great surprise she pulled a small blaster and a knife from her waist wrap. “It’s not like I need them to be able to defend myself, you know,”

she snarled. She did not even bow to cover her discourteous words. She reached under her tunic and removed two more knives. He accepted the weapons with a bow. “Naturally not. No harm will come to you here, Selin Porteeah-men.” He passed them to the nearest bodyguard and commanded them again to leave. Again, they demurred. Frustrated, he asked the woman, “Selin Porteeahmen, do you swear an honor oath to not attempt to harm me while we are alone?” “As long as you don’t attack me I won’t attack you,” she said promptly. He was surprised into a rude stare. “I swear on my honor to not attack you, Selin Porteeah-men.” He bowed, but she still did not return the honor. “Then I swear not to attack you, my lord.” The bodyguards, still reluctant, left, bowing deeply. He stepped toward the woman. She shifted back. “You have been less than polite, Selin Porteeah-men,” he chided. “Sorry. I’m not from around here. I don’t know what’s polite and what’s not.” Was she being deliberately difficult? Her words were curt, the tone flip. “First, an apology should be given with a bow. When you are spoken to you always bow when replying. The depth of your bow is very important also. To a servant you need only incline your upper body a few inches. When addressing me your torso should be parallel to the floor.” “You bow to servants?” she asked skeptically. “Of course, Selin Porteeah-men. Service deserves honor. Another thing. You should not address a person –particularly one whose rank is higher than your own- without using their title or name.” “Yeah? Where I come from it’s rude to call someone by name. Only friends do that.” He would be far more than a friend to her. They did a little dance again, he moving close, she backing away. He could smell her scent, a dizzying mix of soap and woman. Her eyes seemed to be having trouble deciding where they should look. They clung to his chest for a moment before bouncing away, to gaze at the air over his shoulder, the wall to his right, back to his chest before landing on her hands clenched before her. “When in formal settings you should call me Chirikan-Heir-men,” he instructed her. Her eyes, the same greenish-gold eyes that he had seen in his dreams, were glazed. His voice deepened with desire and he advanced one more half step. “Chirikan, the name of my clan. Heir, my title. Men, a suffix to show respect. When we are in an informal setting with those you do not know you may call me Chirikan-Jakadu-men. Chirikan, my clan name. Jakadu, my personal name. Men, to show respect. When we are with only family

and very close friends you may all me Jakadu-den. Den is a suffix denoting affection. But when we are alone like this you should call me Jaka-den.” He was close enough to see panic chase the aroused glaze from her eyes. She almost stumbled, trying to back away and bow at once. “Uh, thank you, uh, Chirikan-uh-Heirkan-er-men. I’ll try to remember that.” “Do.” In the ancient sacred language he murmured, “Tonight I’ll call you beloved. You will lay in my arms with my seed in your body and my hair around your neck binding you to me.” She slid a step to the right to avoid him. “Excuse me? Didn’t catch that.” He switched back to a language she could understand. “My grandfather wishes to meet you and you must show him proper respect, Porteeah-den, if you are to lie in my bed tonight.” Her head came up, eyes narrowed, and she stopped retreating and faced him with cold anger. “There are some things you need to know, Chirikan-Heir-men. One, I am a virgin. Two, I’m not planning on changing that anytime soon. And three, I have a lot of brothers who will kill anyone who tries to change that without my permission.” Admiration warmed him. She was proud and fierce enough to match his late honored grandmother as clan mother. He bowed deeply. “One, I’m glad. Two, I will change your mind for you. And three, Selin-Porteeah-men, I swear that you will lay beside me tonight. But,” his voice gentled “if it is your wish I also swear that you will lay beside me as chaste as a sister. I swear I will never force you to do anything in love making that you do not want.” “Truth,” she whispered. Then, belatedly, bowed. “Thank you, Chirikan-Heir-men.” Relief and elation danced in his veins. Her defiance was melting. She would be his. “We will go to my grandfather now. Remember to bow to him. Copy me, but bow a little lower than I do. Address him as Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Chief-men. Do not stare at him. Do not look directly at him.” He paused, wondering what else he should remind her of. “Don’t speak unless you are asked a question. When we walk, you will walk two steps behind me.” “So I get to heel?” she inquired sarcastically. “You want me to roll over, too?” So quickly the lessons he had given her had been forgotten. “Selin Porteeah-men, do not think that because I find you beautiful that I will not discipline you.” She stared at him strangely. “You think I’m beautiful?” “As beautiful as a dream. “

“Truth,” he heard her whisper again as he turned away to summon his guards back.

7 He was beautiful. He was sexy. He was crazy. Portia walked a yard behind the sexy crazy man, torn between furious outrage, fear and hot lust. His gorgeous silk robe billowed out behind his long strides. Its richness contrasted sharply with the stark whiteness of the narrow underground passageway they were in. She remembered the sight of the robe parting to reveal his tautly muscled chest and flat belly and had to swallow hard. In her dreams she had kissed that chest, stroked the light hair that grew over his breastbone, felt that belly slap against hers in a frenzied search for orgasm. Well, no. She knew it wasn’t him. He just looked like her dream lover. Heck of a coincidence. He thought she was beautiful, a little voice whispered inside her head. And he truly meant it. She could feel that he was telling the truth, unlike handsome, shallow Dirkin from the troop. When she had been 19 years old, a new recruit away from the too-close supervision of her brothers at last, Dirk made her believe he loved her. She had been set to give him her virginity, but at a crucial moment he had made the mistake of saying he loved her, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She had felt the lie and it really killed the mood for her. If he’d just kept his mouth shut five more minutes she could have finally lost her virginity. All she wanted was to find out if sex really was as good as her dreams. But no, Mr. Lying Lips wrecked it. He made her feel cheap. She had snatched her clothes back up and left his tent in humiliation. Made it kinda hard to fall in love when you knew a man was lying. There were dozens of people walking in front of them and behind them, all of them armed with business-like blasters in one side of their sashes and genuine swords in the other. She figured most of them to be bodyguards, but about a half dozen were dressed almost as nicely as Chirikan-Heir-men. Portia had to make herself not snort over that name. Didn’t any of these walking examples of tradition have one syllable names? What was wrong with showing respect by calling someone sir? She would like to see their faces if she called the heir “Jock”. Her half-defiant amusement drained away when she got her first look at the head guy of the clan. He was little, half buried in ornate robes that seemed too heavy for his withered body. Sparse white hair was gathered in skimpy long braids, his face was wrinkled like a dried out raisin. He looked frail, and utterly terrifying. It wasn’t hard to follow the heir’s example and bow really low. The old guy might not be able to run a league in ten minutes but he had thirty thousand people ready to do whatever he said, and that scared her spitless. “Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Chief-men,” said the heir and she noticed how smooth and melodic his voice was. It made her female parts shimmy. “Honored Chirikan-Heir-men.” The voice from the little old man was amazingly strong. She had to take a quick peek to be sure it was really him talking. She got a blurred impression of the clan chief seated on

a low platform with another shrunken person to his right and a little behind him, and a hundred men all on their knees along the edges of a large room before looking down at the thick carpet under her feet. “Your search was successful.” “Yes, Most Highly Honored Chirikan-Chief-men. This is the honored lady, SelinPorteeah-men.” There was a long, considering silence. To bolster her nerves Portia wondered if they ever hugged, or even called each other grandpa and grandson. But her nerves seemed to be doing belly flops in her throat. This whole thing gave her a bad case of the shakes. “Selin Porteeah-men, lift your face to me so that I can look at you.” All of a sudden, she’d really rather not. But she felt the heir beside her give her a subtle nudge. Her back was beginning to hurt from bowing but she didn’t dare straighten up. She raised her head to look at the old guy. “You are bold, Selin Porteeah-men.” Oh, crap, she wasn’t supposed to look at him! She cast her eyes down again. “Chirikan-Heir-men, bring her closer that I may look at her more nearly.” The heir took short steps forward, still bowing, his elbow nudging Portia along. Only a yard from the old guy he bowed once more, even lower, then knelt on the carpet with his hands on his thighs. Relieved that her back wouldn’t be straining anymore, Portia bowed too, and knelt. “Look up, honored lady. You may look at me.” The old guy could put a ton of command in his tone. From the sides of the room was a slight ruffle of sound, a bunch of people gasping softly, hastily stifled. Portia looked up. There were at least a hundred more people in the room now. The clan chief studied her with penetrating blue eyes that didn’t go with his wizened body. “Honored Selin Porteeah-men, when I look into you I see strength. I see courage. I see loyalty that will die rather than betray those it loves. I see fear. Fear of the future. Fear of me. I see yearning for a home. I see intelligence. I see a woman worthy of honor.” The heir bowed from his kneeling position. Portia jerked herself from her surprise and copied him. That old guy was just plain creepy. And so was the toothless bundle of silk robes next to him. “Honored Chirikan-First Ranked-men,” the clan chief said, “what do you see?”

The toothless one was male. She had thought it was a woman. He had a voice not nearly as strong as the clan chief’s but his thin screech was loud. “I see a clan made strong by three sons, and daughters as well. The dream is good.” Sons? Dream? Only the heir’s hand clenching painfully on her thigh kept her mouth shut. She tried to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem to notice. He was bowing again, curse it. No wonder his belly was flat. She was getting sore with all this exercise. He shifted his knees until he faced her, his handsome face as serene as one of those fancy marble statues in Thess City. “So be it. Honorable scribes, come forward.” Two men shuffled forward on their knees and bowed. They were dressed in the same kind of robes as the heir, but much plainer, and theirs were wrapped and held in place with sashes. Their blond hair was cut rather short, barely touching the collars of their robes and they had no braids. The clan chief began talking in some foreign language that sounded at times short and choppy and at times high and sing-song-y. One of the scribes had a pen and tablet, the other a knife. The one with the knife shuffled over to the heir and bowed before untying the ribbon that held his little braids together at the back of his head. Portia watched out of the corner of her eye. Good grief. What the— One of the braids, the thickness of two fingers, was sliced off two inches from the scalp. The slashed braid was tied off and threaded through a coil made of gold wire. Then the man shuffled over to her and bowed. She remembered to bow back, feeling proud of herself to have remembered, but the feeling died abruptly when the man reached to tie the braid around her neck. “Hey!” she protested. “Do—“ “Porteeah-den,” the heir breathed very softly. “Do not. I will explain all this to you later. Nothing bad is happening. Trust me.” How she had even heard that tiny whisper she didn’t know. But she could feel he was telling the truth. She wanted to trust him, but this was nuts. What kind of ceremony involved cutting off his hair and putting it around her neck? Did it mark her as his slave or something? Whatever. She could leave, and if she had problems leaving then her brothers would spring her. It was hard, but she forced her panic back down. She even bowed to the guy with the braid. “Sorry ‘bout that. I mean, I beg your pardon, sir. Honored scribe.” Of course the man bowed back. He probably had great abs too. Then he fastened the weird necklace around her neck and shuffled back on his knees to bow to the clan chief. It took a couple minutes more before the chief concluded his speech in the foreign language. The other guy with short hair was writing furiously, probably recording the

speech. When he finished he offered his fancy tablet and pen to the heir with a bow, and the heir bowed back (of course) and took it and wrote something on it and returned it with another bow. Good heavens, then the guy tried to give it to her. Portia stared at it and couldn’t decipher a word of the foreign language. “Sign your name in the top left blank, Porteeah-den,” the heir murmured to her. She bowed and took the tablet and signed Portia Selin in the blank and bowed again as she gave it back. She was sort of getting the hang of this bowing routine. If she hung around here much longer she’d have great abs too. By the time she finished congratulating herself for catching on, the clan chief was signing the tablet. There was lots more bowing and then the clan chief stood up. He bowed directly to Portia, a pretty deep bow. Even to someone like her who wasn’t used to this rigid culture that seemed pretty weird. She didn’t even have to think about it. She bowed back very low. “You are welcome to us, Chirikan-Lady-men.” While Portia was trying to figure out what he meant by that, he stepped so close she could smell his bad breath. “My honored grandson has dreamt of you since he first entered manhood,” he said quietly. She snapped her mouth closed so fast she bit her tongue. “Ow! What?” She fumbled a quick bow. “Most Noble Chirikan-Chief-men.” “Dreams,” the old man said simply. “Erotic, I believe, for the most part. Foresight is a gift that runs in our clan. Most of those honored with that gift see the future of the clan in daytime visions. Others see what will affect themselves in nighttime dreams. Some Dreamers have been able to project their dreams to the ones whose futures will be affected. Have you dreamed also, Chirikan-Lady-men? Ah, I see you have.” Her face must be red as fire. She could read that the old man believed what he said. Could it actually be true that her dreams weren’t just her healthy libido? She made herself not look at the heir, but she remembered dreaming a hot tongue dragging over her breasts and her breath quickened. For once keeping her eyes modestly on the floor seemed like a good idea. “Rise, Chirikan-Heir-men and Chirikan-Lady-men, and show yourselves to the men of rank of our clan.” She was going to die of embarrassment. How many of these grave-faced men bowing to her knew that she had been having hot sweaty dreams about having hot sweaty sex with the man standing beside her? Nobody knew about that, not even the brothers she was closest to. When the heir motioned her to bow and back away from the low couch-thing the chief had gone back to, she did with more haste than grace. She was going to die. And then she was going to kill the man striding ahead of her.

Either that, or try out some of the things she’d only dreamed of doing.

8 He remembered the first time he had dreamed of the woman walking behind him. He had only just begun his change from boy to man and the only thing he had known about women was that they were frail and to be cherished. His mother had loved him deeply and promised to never leave him, but she died of an illness at about the time the dreams had begun. His two younger sisters had not been strong enough to survive the illness either. His grandfather had consoled him by saying that women were delicate. They must be sheltered and loved and cherished as much as possible while they were alive so that the love would linger in hearts even after they were gone. His female cousins, the only other living descendants of his grandfather, had been sheltered even more than was usual for girl children of the clans. They had been loved and cherished so thoroughly that they sometimes complained privately to him that they were smothering. He had wished fiercely that his dream lady was real, and at the same time he had been relieved that she wasn’t real enough to be able to die. Now he had his dream lady for his wife. He would love Porteeah-den so well that her spirit in his heart would never die. But he did not want her to feel like she was smothering. How could he strike so delicate a balance? He stepped out of the secret passage, swept through his receiving hall and straight back to his bedchamber, and through to his private garden. He would rather have stayed in his bedchamber and removed Porteeah-den’s ugly clothes to hold her bare body against his. But he had promised her answers and she deserved them. With a flick of his hand he ordered his guards to disappear into the four shadowy corners of his garden and another flick brought a servant forward to light the hanging lamps over the carved stone bench framed by Miku flowers. He turned at last to look at Porteeah-den. She was so beautiful. His hair in its gold coil glinted at her throat. She was his. Truly his. “Please sit down, honored Chirikan-Ladymen.” It thrilled him to be able to call her that. “You have questions.” “You better believe it, “she snarled at him, neither sitting nor bowing. “Like, what is this all about?” She gave the gold rope at her throat a fruitless vicious tug. “You will not be able to remove it, Porteeah-den, without a jeweler’s aid. Please don’t pull on it like that. You’ll hurt yourself. Your skin is already growing red.” She dropped her hand, glaring at him. “OK, fine. Just tell me what it means. Am I supposed to be your slave?” Shock sent him a quick step closer. “Of course not! You are no one’s slave. You are the lady of Clan Chirikan.” Her face screwed into a fierce scowl, firing his blood. She was so fair, this warrior woman. Heat gathered below his belly. “You are my wife, Porteeahden.”

A variety of expressions chased across her face. The anger and shock he recognized. He wasn’t sure of the others, but he hoped that desire was one of them. “I didn’t make any vows. Did I miss the ceremony? Was I even invited?!” Her voice was strident but she looked more confused than angry now. He controlled his impulse to take her in his arms. “The ceremony was conducted in the sacred language by my revered grandfather. Neither of us was required to participate. But it is binding. You are my wife and I am your husband. Are you angered by that? “Yeah, I’m angry!” Did that sound half hearted? He dared to step close and take one of her hands. It was rough with calluses. He had never touched a woman’s hand that had calluses. She was so wonderfully different than the women he had known in the past. In the future he would ensure that she did not have to labor so hard that her hands bore calluses. In his dreams she had not been callused. “Porteeah-den—“ “My name isn’t Porteeah!” she snapped. But she didn’t try to pull her hand away. “It’s Portia. POR shyuh. Why didn’t your fortune-telling dreams tell you that, huh?” “I do not know. We never spoke names in my dreams. I did not know they were true dreams that told the future. Not until my honored grandfather spoke of it tonight. Do you believe me, Portia-den?” She looked up at him very hard for a moment. “Yeah, I believe you. Now just tell me: What exactly do you want from me?” “Love,” he answered immediately. “I want us to love one another so whole heartedly that neither of us will ever be alone again.” Again she stared at him. “You really mean that. You don’t even know me. Maybe I’m a bad person. Maybe I’m a cheat or a liar. What if I spent the last ten years in prison for killing someone? Or--” “It would not matter, Portia-den. You are my wife, and the dreams tell us that we will love deeply.’ He caught his breath. “Portia-den, do not weep. What troubles you? I will make it better for you, I swear. Come here, beloved.” **

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

**

Portia sobbed onto that beautiful hard chest. The sparse hair over his breastbone was soft. She felt him wrap his robe around her, hiding her in a cocoon of silk protection. He was telling the truth. He really did want to love her. It was all she had ever wanted. A home of her own, a man to love her, children. And hot sex, of course. All of which he could supply.

“Portia-den,” he was murmuring into her hair, his arms tight around her. “Do not weep.” Just last night she had been envying Brita for her loving home and now— Brita! She was alone in the city--! Unless her brothers had already come. And if they came they would be looking for her. And if they found her with a man… How many times in her teenaged years had they prevented her from having a boyfriend? Boyfriends were heartily discouraged. No, not heartily discouraged, fatally discouraged. Fatal to the boy, that is. Spending her teenaged years with a pack of wolf shifters and a pride of lions had given her so few opportunities for romance… But her brothers couldn’t have received a transmittal so soon. The office was already closed when the clan men had taken her away. Brita wouldn’t be able to send a message until tomorrow morning. So the soonest they would come would be tomorrow. But she wasn’t really sure she needed them to rescue her anymore. This was her chance to finally get rid of her virginity. Maybe not tonight, but soon? “Portia-den. What troubles you?” In only a second she had forgotten about Brita. Again. “My sister. My brother’s wife. She’s alone.” She fought out of his embrace. “I’ve gotta find her.” The heir raised a hand. A man scared her to death by slipping out of the shadows. “Hajiru-men, send a squad to the honored sister of the Chirikan-Lady-men and see that she is escorted to safety in the most honored Chirikan-Chief-men’s house.” Good heavens, she’d been sniveling for an audience. “I’d like her to come here, please.” “We are newly married, beloved Porshuh-den. We should be alone tonight.” Whoa. Now that scared her. Not because she was afraid he’d hurt her, but because she just shouldn’t be so intimate with a man she didn’t know and yet she wanted very much to let him make love to her. She stepped back hurriedly and accidentally backed into the bench and fell sprawling on it. Good heavens! She suddenly recognized that bench. In her dreams she had often been stretched out on it naked while her dream lover—this man!—drove her to heart pounding orgasm. But the cushion now was blue. In her dreams she had almost always been in the dark. But the one time she had seen this bench the cushions had been red. The heir advanced on her with a smile that reminded her amazingly of her lupine brothers. “I shall immediately order new cushions for the bench. Red, were they not? No, don’t get up so soon, beloved.” Obviously he remembered those dreams too. The weight of his torso pressing hers into the cushion was at once familiar and strange. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t. I don’t even know you.”

He dropped his forehead to press against the base of her throat, stilling his stroking hands to hold her shoulders. “You know me better than most wives know their husbands on their wedding night. You know where and how to touch me to bring me pleasure. I know what will give you delight. Why should we deny ourselves what we’ve only had in our dreams?” “Because you promised that you wouldn’t—“ His fingers slipped to the gold-wrapped braid of hair that circled her neck. “I did promise that you would lie beside me tonight as chastely as my sister. And you will, Portia-den, if that is your wish.” “Yeah, it is!” He smiled as he straightened up. “That is not truth, Portia-den.” “It’s mostly true.” He was so handsome with that slight smile curving his lips. “I’m curious. Yeah. But I’m not ready for the whole package yet. OK?” “OK.” It sounded kinda funny to hear this uptight formal man say OK. “Um… It’s been a pretty long day. Where will I –uh-sleep?” “Beside me, Portia-den.” “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea…” Actually, it was too hot an idea. Just looking at him was weakening her resolve. They were married. Why wait? “My wife sleeps beside me.” OK, that was definite. This guy would be just as imperious as that little old man in a few years. She bowed with exaggerated formality. “As you wish, most honorable ChirikanHeir-men.” “Jaka-den,” he corrected. “We are alone. Call me Jaka-den.” “Alone? How many guards we got looking at us right now?” He paused. “Six, I believe.” “They gonna be watching us all the time?” “Of course.”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Uh-uh. I’m not sleeping with you for an audience.” It obviously took him a minute to figure that out. “It is for our safety, Portia-den. All ranking men and women of the clan have guards.” “Not in the bedroom. I’d never relax knowing people are watching. So if you’re expecting me to let you out of your promise anytime soon you can forget it.” He bowed. “That is a most persuasive argument, Portia-den.” “I’ve been know to be persuasive on occasion.” Although she hadn’t been trying now. “So, the guards can be outside the door, right? And you know how to fight, and I know how to fight, so we’ll be alright.” He nodded. “Very well, Portia-den. You have convinced me. And since I have proven myself willing to compromise you shall do the same, yes? I will not give you the ‘entire package’ tonight, but we will open the wrappings at least, agreed?” “Uh. Sure. As long as the guards stay out I can agree to that.” He smiled again. “Then let us go in. I will feed you and we will bathe and prepare for bed.” “Separate baths, right?” “If you prefer.”

9 The bathing room was huge. Her wolf brothers from the north had a set up sorta like this in their palace, except she didn’t think there was a sauna here. There was a wooden grill to stand on in one corner while maids poured hot water over the bather and then scrubbed the bather vigorously and washed the bather’s hair. After being thoroughly cleansed the bather was led to a tub the size of a small pond where benches were placed under the steaming hot water so the bather could relax and soak. Then the bather would go to a table in another corner of the room where maids massaged the bather with scented oil. Lastly, the bather’s hair would be combed and braided. When he –her husband?!-- had agreed to separate baths what he had meant was that the servants would set up a folding screen between then and carry it along on each step of the bathing process. While she had been being scrubbed she could hear him on the other side of the screen also being scrubbed. When they walked from the scrubbing area to the pool she could see his feet in bath sandals walking on the other side of the screen. The maids stood waist deep in the water to hold the screen up while they relaxed in the pool. The hot water felt so good she almost nodded off. He spoke occasionally, telling about the next five days of wedding celebrations. The Oath ceremony would take place soon, depending on coming events. They would join his grandfather for some meals where she would be introduced to his cousins and other ranking members of the Clan. She made wordless sounds of interest. But mostly she was wondering what he looked like on the other side of the screen without his clothes on. She almost found out when one of the maids holding the screen didn’t quite keep up when they were getting out of the pool. She had seen naked men before. The Imperial Army was strict in its rules against fraternization and its code of modesty, but an army encampment made breaking those rules easy. She was probably the only female in her unit who hadn’t had at least one affair with her male counterparts. And she had tried, only her stupid gift kept preventing her. It was so unfair that she knew more about love making than most of the girls in her unit, but she had never been with a real man. The massage table was very comfortable. She was lying on her stomach and the maid’s hands were wonderful, digging into her tight muscles. She turned her head and saw her new husband smiling at her. The screen hid his body from the shoulders down but not his head and neck. Had she seen that smile before? It looked sweet. His blond hair was unbraided, darker from the water, laying in a sodden flow over the edge of the table to the floor. She had not realized it was so long. Hers was only a little past her shoulders. She had let it grow out of her military crop since coming to this province. His was nearly waist length she guessed. More maids came and knelt on the floor by their heads, using thick towels to dry their hair and wide toothed combs to comb it smooth. “I remember this from my dreams,” he murmured softly. “The two of us lying like this after bathing and talking. We did it often.” She didn’t remember the talking part. She remembered him getting up from his table and carrying her into the bedroom and making love to her with his unbraided hair brushing

over her thighs and breasts. She remembered how hot his mouth was on her breasts and how deft his fingers were between her legs. She could almost feel him sliding into her, stretching her vagina with the most exquisite sensations of heat and pleasure. Just the thought of it made her breath catch and heat roar to life in her body like the engine of a glider igniting. She wondered why she had thought waiting would be a good idea. They were married. Yeah, it wasn’t a ceremony that she was used to, but his grandfather had been there and told everyone that she was married to his grandson. Couldn’t get much more official that that, right? And he was just a few feet away, naked behind the screen. When she turned her head to look at him again he saw something in her face that made his go still. His eyes devoured her. “My robe,” he said to the maid. “Permit me to braid your hair, most honored Heir-men,” the maid bowed. “Leave it loose,” Portia said impulsively. He smiled at her again, as feral as any of her shape shifting brothers. “Yes, leave it. You may braid it in the morning.” He lifted up from the table and Portia had a brief glimpse of his bare shoulder and arm muscles bunching with the movement before the screen hid him. She quickly sat up and looked around for a robe. A maid held it out with a bow. She took it and put it on just in time. The screen was pushed out of the way and her husband was there, lifting her in his arms. The feel of his muscled body moving against hers as he carried her made her shudder. She wasn’t quite sure where to put her hands. She knew where she wanted to put them, but the maids and guards were trooping alongside them down the hall and she didn’t want an audience. His shoulder was a convenient place to lay her head. His hair was almost dry under her cheek. It smelled of the spice scented shampoo he had used. He put her down in his bedroom and reached to untie her robe. She stopped him by putting her hands over his. “I want us to be alone, remember? You promised.” “Very well. Leave us, everyone. Do not come back until we call for you for any reason save the honored Chirikan-Chief-men’s command.” He waited until they had finished protesting, bowing and filing out. Then he smiled at her. “Now what is your will, my beloved?” Her shyness lost the battle with her curiosity. “I want to see you. Take off your robe.” He complied, smiling still. “And I want to see you. I have been wondering how accurate my dreams of you were. Do you indeed have a scar on the back of your left thigh just above your knee? I remember when I first saw it in my dreams and asked you about it that you refused to speak of it.” Her eyes jerked from his chest to his face in shock. “You could see me in your dreams? And you talked to me?”

“Yes. Could you not see and talk to me?” “No. Only twice the lights were on in my dreams. Once we were on the bench in your garden. The other time… I don’t know. Your bed, maybe. The rest of the time it was dark. And we never talked.” He made a clicking sound. “In my dreams we were almost always in the light. After we made love we talked. Or we talked before we made love.” “About what?” “I cannot remember.” He smiled again and held his arms out to direct her attention back to his body. “Do I look the way you remember?” “Well…” She ran her eyes over his bare, slimly muscled body from his shoulders to his chest and abdomen to his long legs and slender feet. Then she centered her eyes on his erection. It looked a lot thicker than she had imagined it being. “I never saw you, really, just your face a couple times. Mostly, I remember the feel of you.” “Touch me,” he whispered. “Do I feel the way you remember me, Portia-den?” She traced the lines of his clan tattoo where it curled around the side of his pectoral, and up the side of his throat and over the edge of his jaw to his cheekbone with a fingertip that barely touched him. “I don’t remember this in my dreams. I must not have seen it, I’m sure I would have remembered it. It’s so sexy. And I remember that your hair was blond, but not that it was so long. Except here, where they cut your hair off to make my wedding ring.” He leaned forward to run his lips over the braid of his hair circling her throat. “Wedding ring?” “Mm. Where I come from married people wear rings on their fingers so everyone will know that they’re married. No flirting allowed with people who wear wedding rings.” “Here a Clan soldier wears his hair in five braids. When he married one braid is cut off and put around his wife’s neck. Then for each child his wife gives him another braid is cut off and given to the child to wear. Do you remember the feel of me, beloved?” She let her hands sweep over his body, re-acquainting herself with the contours of his biceps and his pectorals and the muscles in his back. “You do feel familiar, only in a distant sort of way, ya know? Like someone I haven’t seen for a long time.” “Has it been so long since you dreamed of me, Portia-den?”

“A couple weeks.” After exploring the rest of him she finally moved her hand to his erection. He let out a shaky breath. “You OK?” “If OK means ecstatic, then yes, I am OK, Portia-den. Until today I did not know you were real. I thought you were just a dream. Yet I have been waiting for you my entire life. Kiss me.” He took control then. With a few deft moves of his hand he untied her robe and pushed it off her shoulders to the floor. He cupped her breasts and kissed them, leaving them wet and tight. He was feeling more familiar by the minute. She knew without him asking that he wanted her to nip at his earlobe and nipples with her teeth. She knew what he liked because they had done this a thousand times already in their dreams. When his hand slipped down her belly to pet the hair between her legs she moaned in anticipation. Now he would slide his fingers back and forth along the groove between her legs and then he would slide one inside her. “Bed,” she panted into his throat where she had been kissing him. “Now. Please.” Without removing his finger he walked her slowly backward to the bed a few yards away. It was only a mattress on a platform raised a few inches from the floor, but the sheets were the finest white silk in the world, and the blanket was woven from the prized wool from the mainland mountains. He tossed the blanket aside and laid her on the sheets. They were cool and soft against her heated sensitive flesh. She lay on her back in eager expectation. This was the point at which her other would-be lovers had ruined it for her. This one wouldn’t ruin it. He knelt between her spread knees, moving his finger in maddeningly lazy circles inside her, looking at her with a marveling smile. “You are so beautiful, my wife. Too lovely to be real. I’m afraid I’ll wake alone with my seed on my belly as I have so many times before.” Truth. She could feel his aching sincerity and amazement and felt tears of wonder wet her eyelashes. “I’m here. I’m real. And I’m ready, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. “As am I, beloved.” He withdrew his finger and slid it back in repeatedly, increasing the tempo until she was surging up against his hand, gasping. She almost screamed when he stopped moving his finger inside her. Instead he bent and nipped at the flesh around his finger and the little nub of flesh above it. Great and glorious heaven! This was even better than the dreams! He slid his finger out of her and smiled at her as he ran it over the head of his penis, coating himself with her juice and his. Then he braced himself on one hand by her shoulder and took the base of his penis with the other. She felt the head of him sliding back and forth in the wetness between her legs, collecting moisture to ease his passage, and then at last he sank into the heat at her core.

Pleasure was buried under distress. Distress turned to pain. This was not like the dreams! She couldn’t suppress a gasping hiss. He froze above her, his penis barely penetrating her body. “Ow! Stop!” she ordered. “That hurts! It’s not supposed to hurt, is it?” “Yes, Portia-den, you are a virgin and a virgin does experience pain the first time or two.” She thought his voice sounded like he was strangling. Was it hurting him too? How could that big thing ever fit in her? “Try to relax, beloved. The pain will pass.” “That’s easy for you to say! Get off!” “No.” He leaned down to kiss her, trying to not let the lower half of his body move. “It will get better, Portia-den. We know that, because in the dreams you knew pleasure and the dreams are true foreseeing.” “Right.” Truth. In the dreams she had loved the feel of his body moving in hers. She tried to relax. “OK. Keep going.” It hurt. It really hurt as he pushed his body deeper into hers. She could tell he was trying to be gentle, because in the dreams he would often slide all the way into her in a single forceful push and then begin teasing her with tiny little thrusts before sliding all the way out and slamming back in again and again. In the dreams her body had given way easily to his, matching his forcefulness with thrusts of her own. She knew it would get better. Soon. Right? Yeah, maybe next year sometime. When he had seated himself completely inside her he stopped moving and dropped his sweat slicked forehead to the pillow beside her head. “I am sorry, beloved, that you aren’t finding pleasure in this. I’ve never been with a virgin before so I am unsure of what to do to ease you.” It was a little better now. The burning pain was starting to go away. She shifted her legs to try to find a less uncomfortable position, but that made him groan between his teeth. “Sorry. It’s better now. Really. You can move. Just… maybe be a little gentle, OK?” “Of course, beloved.” She could tell he was trying. The sharp pain had faded into a stretched, too-full feeling of discomfort. He tilted his hips to find the angle that would press against her pleasure spot and she thanked him for it with a kiss on the wrist of the hand he had braced beside her head. In only a minute or two she could tell he was near release by the way his body strained against hers. The pain was pretty much gone now and she was able to believe

that she would be able to find pleasure much sooner than next year. Maybe even tomorrow night. But really, she thought as she felt his seed spurt inside her, she was glad they were done for tonight. She held him as his body came gradually to a halt within hers. His weight was a known, welcome one. “I am so sorry, beloved.” “That’s alright. Next time it’ll be better.” “Yes.” He lifted himself off her and pulled out of her with a wet slithery pop. She stifled a moan as her passage retracted to the size it had been before his invasion. He pulled her into a sitting position to hug her. “Are you well?” She put her cheek against his sweaty chest. “Yeah. Sore, but that’ll go away.” “I am so sorry,” he said again, laying back down and pulling her so that she was laying half across him. His fingers toyed with the tip of her breast. “I never wished to cause you pain. Please believe that.” “I do. I suppose you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” He raised a brow at that cryptic proverb, but he seemed to get the gist of it. His hair was spread in tangled disarray over the flat pillow. She couldn’t resist petting it. His hair was longer than hers, thicker than hers and softer than hers. So unfair. His lashes were thicker and longer than hers too. “Now that I’ve broken your eggs, love making will not be so unpleasant for you. But I am truly sorry that your introduction to love was so painful.” “I’m glad it was you,’ she said, smiling down at him. She stroked the hair in the middle of his chest with one gentle finger. “You have no idea how many times I tried to get rid of my virginity. But we’d always get to a certain point and it wouldn’t work out. Either they would say something astronomically stupid or one of my brothers would interrupt. Drove me crazy. I’m glad now, though.” “Other men?” He stiffened beneath her. “You tried to give yourself to other men?” “Yeah, but it never worked out. Good thing, too. It would have been horrible to go through that with any of them. They wouldn’t’a cared if it hurt me. Hey, what’s up with you?” His eyes had frozen over and his face was tight. ”Are you jealous? Don’t be. If I’d known that you were real and I would be married to you someday I never woulda looked at any of them. Seriously. Don’t try to tell me you were a virgin too.” “No,” he admitted. “I’ve had women. High ranked clan men always have stables. I’m not sure how many women are in my stable.” “Stable?!” she gasped. “What are they, horses?”

He pulled her back down to his chest, and made soothing noises at her. “No, conveniences. I only called for one of them on the nights I did not dream of you. And I never took any of them face to face, the way I dreamed of us making love together.” She snorted. “And you’re mad at me for just kissing a couple guys?” “I am jealous,” he admitted. “Hear me now. I swear to you, Chirikan-Lady-men, that you will be the only woman I touch from this day forward.” She kissed him lingeringly. “Thank you. I promise I’ll never even look at another man. I can see why I’m going to fall in love with you.” In fact, maybe she was already in love with him. The way he put her robe back on her and carried her back to the bathing room to personally wash her virgin’s blood and his seed from her thighs was just another thing to love about him. They sat together in the hot water of the pool to ease her soreness for a few minutes before he helped her out of the pool and dried her with gentle caressing hands, and then carried her back to their bedroom. While they had been in the bathing room the maids had changed the bedding. He laid her down on the cool clean sheets and kissed her sweetly. “Sleep well, my beloved,” he whispered, curling around her. And she did.

10 Her first full day as a married woman was at times hectic and at other times utterly boring. She woke far later than she was used to. On her brother’s farm she rose at sun up to help with chores. This morning she woke to a mouth caressing her throat. It took her a minute to remember the events of yesterday and who was kissing her. Then the soreness between her legs reminded her. “Good morning, Chirikan-Lady-men,” her husband whispered into her neck where he was suckling her. “Portia-den. Beloved.” “Good morning, Jaka-den,” she returned. “Dream lover come to life.” He rose from the bed, naked, and called for the attendants to come in. She scrambled for her crumpled robe. The days when she had gone unconcernedly naked among the wolves were long gone. He led her again to the bathing room, accompanied by a whole flock of maids and guards. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the idea of a dozen men and women in the same room while she was using the toilet and brushing her teeth. The bath this time consisted only of the scrubbing portion, with scented lotion rubbed into her skin afterwards. Then the maids put a simple cross-wrapped tunic on her and combed her hair and took her to another room where breakfast was set out on low tray-like tables. Her husband was speaking quietly to three men in a far corner where a screen had been folded back to reveal a state of the art communication station, the first she’d seen in the past year since she’d come to this technology barren province. The men bowed repeatedly as the heir spoke, and bowed low towards her without looking at her as they went to stand by the door. The heir’s face was somber when he gestured to the breakfast. She knelt awkwardly in front of one of the trays. “I have news,” the heir said as he flowed to the floor and picked up a piece of fruit. “Your honored sister has not been found. I fear she may have been taken by Nordu-Chief-men, our enemy. We will continue to look for her. Do you know of a place she may have hid in?” Portia put down her napkin. She told herself that he was her husband and telling him was not betraying family. “This morning we were supposed to meet the caravan to go back to the farm. Kalk Farmer’s caravan, at the green fountain by the East Gate. If she was hiding she might be there now.” A finger flick from the heir sent one of the men out, presumably to go to the fountain and search there for Brita. “Yesterday, after we –my nephew and me --ran back to the hotel I told Brita that she and the kids should hide if I was taken away and then go to the transmittal station and send a message to my brothers to come.” She twisted her fingers anxiously. “I didn’t know then

who you were, ya know? I figured they could help me if you were… um. So they might have come already and taken her back to the farm.” “Your brothers could not have come so soon. She must still be in the city somewhere. We will find her. She is under the protection of Clan Chirikan now. Anyone who causes her any harm will be punished.” She should tell him that some of her brothers could shift shape and travel by magic. But she had spent her entire life keeping family secrets. So she uneasily ate her breakfast while her husband continued to give quiet voiced orders to his men. After a few minutes they gave final deep bows and left. “Are you troubled, Portia-den? We will find her, I swear. Come, eat. Today will be a long one for us. My honored grandfather plans to present you to the clan today as my honored wife and lady of the clan.” “Didn’t we do that yesterday?” He made a sound of derision. “That was a brief, hasty affair. Today you are my wife indeed. Had you chosen to delay our consummation then we would have delayed the presentation as well.” “So everyone is gonna know that we—uh—“ He seemed to be trying to suppress a smile. “Portia-den. We are married. It is what married people do.” “Right. OK, yeah. So, when’s this presentation going to be?” “In a few hours. We slept late today. We will have to hurry to be dressed and ready on time.” Portia wondered what was going to take a few hours. How long could it take to get dressed? But she hadn’t ever seen what the clan considered formal wear. Her makeup was thick. Dead white paint covered her face except for red circles of blush over her cheeks and red painted lips. Thick black lines outlined her eyes. It made her look like a doll. Good heavens, the fifteen layers of silk tunics were about 14 too many. They were held in place with a wide belt that was stiff with sapphires and gold embroidery. Her shoes were examples of the height of idiocy. Little platforms coated in gold and set with more sapphires in straps over her feet. Walking took a great deal of effort. Add to that the incredibly intricate hair style, most of which was made from false hair, the priceless hair jewels, the wrist and ankle bracelets, and the almost solidly pearl studded over robe and it was no wonder it took two maids to help her walk. They, the lucky things, wore only four robes a piece and minimal jewelry, although their makeup was almost as exaggerated as hers was. They showed her over and over how to incline her body in just the slightest of

bows so she didn’t topple over and how hold her face in a placid serene expression so her makeup would not crack. When the maids towed her out into the corridor she was struck green with envy. Her husband was wearing only a single cross-wrap robe so loosely wrapped that his clan tattoo was clearly visible and another robe, admittedly sewn with pearls, but still nowhere near as impossible to walk in as hers, that hung open from his shoulders to sweep along behind him as he walked. His blond hair was in a gold banded pony tail of little braids except the shorter hair where it had been cut yesterday. That was stiffened into a spike to show plainly that he had been shorn. Each braid ended in a tassel of tiny pearls. His wrists were covered in a multitude of bangles and huge pearl drops hung from his ears. She hadn’t even noticed that his ears were pierced last night. He wore a large sword that would be outlawed anywhere else in the empire. Maybe it was outlawed here, too. After all, he was the leader of a criminal organization. He bowed to her. “Most honorable Chirikan-Lady-men.” She bowed a little too deeply and straightened back up only with great effort. “Good heavens. This is gonna kill me. Hope I don’t have to do a lot of bowing today. This get up weighs a ton.” “You need only incline your shoulders an inch when receiving the oaths of honor. You are beautiful today.” “Lie! You don’t really think that. But look you look gorgeous.” The heir actually blushed. “I prefer you the way you were last night. Naked, pressed against me in my bed. When you are in formal attire I can scarcely recognize you. But you look like the Lady of the Clan dressed like that. Most impressive.” “Thanks.” At least the makeup hid her blush. “So, where to, most noble husband? Not far, I hope. Walking in this get up takes the strength of ten men.” “We will be carried. My grandmother wore that same robe and she was neither as young nor as strong as you.” “She must’ve been stronger than she looked, if she wore this,” she shot back. They were carried on deeply cushioned chairs on carrying platforms by several strong men. They went thru the house to the street. In any other province in the Empire, they would have been in open gliders. The maids walked directly beside her chair and an army of guards walked alongside. People in the street bowed very low as they passed. They were carried only a couple blocks to a building with an immense crowd standing in front of it. They pushed through the bowing crowd and into the building, setting down in front of a stage with rows of low chairs and cushions. The Clan Chief was already there, dazzling in his gems and pearls, seated on the chair in the center.

The maids had to physically help her out of the carrying chair. The deepness of the cushions and the weight of what she was wearing made it impossible to stand up on her own. She tottered up the two steps onto the platform and bowed to the Clan Chief. Her maids helped haul her back upright. “Honored Granddaughter, you bring pride to the clan today,” the old man bowed back. He raised one thin blue veined hand and a trio of women dressed just as ornately as she came forward and bowed to him and then again to Portia. “These are my granddaughters, the daughters of my second son. This is Rudi, the eldest. Widow of Chirikan-Mensokumen. Elku, the second born. And Luki, the youngest.” Portia had no idea how old they were. Their faces were coated with the white paint just like hers was. She managed stiffly controlled bows to them. Her husband came to her side and bowed to the women as well. “Cousins, it has been too long since we have seen you,” he said warmly. “We have been mourning my honored husband,” murmured the eldest in a quiet sweet voice. “But we wanted very much to meet our new cousin and welcome her to the family.” She bowed just very slightly to Portia. “We are so happy to meet you, ChirikanLady-men. Our honored cousin needs a wife who will love him. We know you will be perfect for him.” Portia was surprised and warmed by the truth in her voice. “Thanks. Call me Portia… when we’re informal.” She noticed something that she had barely glanced at. Behind the foremost chairs was a white flag. No… It was a sheet. A sheet with a reddish brown smear near the center! Was that from last night? Rudi followed her gaze and gave her an approving bow. “It is a proud thing, is it not, to prove one’s honor in the traditional way?” Portia almost choked in her hurry to deny it, but she was interrupted. “Most Highly Honored Ones,’ said a thin old voice. “Please take your places. We must begin the ceremony.” Portia was guided to the seat immediately on the Clan Chief’s right. Her husband sat on her other side. The three ladies sat on the Clan Chief’s left. Maids and secretaries sat behind them, ready to serve water and snacks and take notes of the proceedings. A large chest of gold coins sat just behind Portia. She had never seen an actual coin in her life, much less a gold one. In the empire all financial transaction were done with print transfers. No one used money. She was told that she would be hearing each head of house in the clan make an oath of service and loyalty to her. She should nod and thank the man

for his oath and give him a coin as a symbol that as Clan Lady she would provide for them in need. But first she would be recognized by the Empire. “The Imperial-Chief-men,” announced a man at a side door. “The Imperial-Warlordmen.” It was habit ingrained in her by five years in the Imperial army that made Portia try to stand to salute when she saw a man wearing the uniform of an Imperial General approach. The weight of her clothing and jewels and the sharp pressure of her husband’s hand seizing her wrist made her sit back again. The two men in Imperial garb bowed briefly to the Clan Chief. The Clan Chief inclined his elderly head just slightly. “My lord,’ said the one who must be the governor, looking down his nose at the elderly man sitting on the floor. “I trust your health is good.” “Most honored Imperial-Chief-men, I flourish. And you? I hope that you are also well?” “Never better.” The governor bowed slightly to the heir. “Good morning, Jakadu. Is this your bride? A virgin, I see.” She could feel her husband boiling with rage beside her but it didn’t show on his face. Even she, who wasn’t that familiar yet with clan customs, could tell that the governor was being very rude. Behind her mask of paint she was boiling too. But why was he here at all? Her husband bowed. “This is the Most Highly Honored Jewel of the Clan. The Chirikan-Lady-men.” The governor nodded to her. “Congratulations on your marriage, ma’am.” “Thank you, sir.” The coldness of her voice surprised her. But honestly, couldn’t he at try for a little respect? Maybe not to her, but what about the clan chief? She didn’t tell him that a year ago her title would have been Corporal Portia Selin. The general didn’t speak at all, just nodded blandly around before both he and the governor left. Portia leaned close to he husband to hiss. “What were they here for? Why didn’t they arrest you?” “Arrest me? They wouldn’t dare.” The oath taking took hours. The first to make their oaths were the highest ranking men in the clan, starting with the old guy called Chirikan-Carbuku-men, whom she had seen last night. Old he might be but he could still whip out his sword with style and lay it at her feet with a bow. “Chirikan-Lady-men, I pledge my sword, my heart and my life to your service. May death take me before I fail you.”

The words were slow and solemn, and utterly sincere. She could feel the truth in him. And she felt it in the others who made their oaths. They would literally die for her. In a few the sincerity wasn’t quite so strong, but in only three did she sense an outright lie. It troubled her and she made a mental note of their names. The oaths went on and on and on all afternoon and into the evening. She hadn’t kept count but there must have been five thousand men with their families crowding around them laying a sword at her feet. When it was over she was starving, sweaty, head-achy and exhausted. The three ladies escorted her, all of them supported by their maids, to a nearby bathing room. It took some serious scrubbing to get that paint off her face. But it felt so good to be clean and being massaged on a table with the prospect of fresh clothes that she could only sigh with relief. The other three women were also being massaged on tables that were moved into a cross formation to so they speak with each other easily. “You shall sit with us during supper,” Rudi told her. Without that horrible makeup she looked to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. “Grandfather will be talking to the men about men things. We want to get to know you. You’re from the Empire, aren’t you? Tell us all about it. They use communicators all the time, don’t they? And they travel in machines. I wish I could live somewhere like the Empire.” Portia stared. This woman seemed so casual and eager compared anyone else she had met in the clan. “Yes. The world is run on technology. Why don’t you use it here?” Rudi made a face. “Because the clan worships the old ways, the way it was in the nineteenth century.” “But that’s five hundred years ago!” “Yes,” agreed Elku. “But our ancestors thought that was a purer way of life. You knew that these islands were once a nation called Japan?” Portia nodded vaguely. “After the Dark Years in the 21st century, there were almost no native-born people left in Japan and no technology survived. Our ancestors were already here, they say, soldiers from a place called America living here. They took control and became kings. They ruled for about two hundred years, but because we are on islands we didn’t keep up with the outside world. While other people were establishing new nations and re-discovering how to manufacture guns and build computers our ancestors molded the people to become obedient and traditional. We did not have guns or modern weapons. Our communications were slow. So when the Empire expanded to the islands in my great grandfather’s day we were easily conquered. One might think that we would have accepted technology then, but no. Grandfather and Cousin have communication devices, but those are only for emergencies.”

“Pht!’ snorted Elku. “Rudi likes to show off her education. Pay no attention to the Teacher-men.” “No, it’s interesting.” All of that sounded sort of familiar. Portia hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the slave-tutors her father bought, especially when they droned on about history, but the Terrorist Wars and the earthquakes and plagues and famines of the 21st century had taken up an entire year of study. It was sort of interesting in a morbid sort of way. “So, did the Empire outlaw your family? Why did they come today? It wasn’t like they were polite, but they didn’t arrest anyone.” “Pht!’ said Elku again. “They don’t dare.” “That is true,” Rudi agreed. “They don’t dare because even though most of our people don’t have modern weapons they are very loyal to us. The Empire doesn’t want to have a rebellion on their hands. And if our people fight to the death, who will work the fields or harvest the pearls? The Empire has been moving settlers in slowly for the past two decades, but not enough yet to take over. They can’t spare so many from their own lands.” From the far table came Luki’s sleepy voice. “Do you believe that there was once so many people in the world that laws were made so that a family could have only one baby?” “That’s just a myth, Luki,” said Elku impatiently before turning her head back to Portia. “The Imperials came so that they could see you. And so that the people would see that they were giving honor to the clan. We are not the supreme rulers we once were but we still have some power and the Empire is cautious. And really, that means that we do rule.” Rudi made a rude sound. Portia made a dismayed sound. “That’s treason! You’re talking about the Empire! Their soldiers are stationed here. You pay taxes to the Imperial Treasury.” “Those are good points, cousin,” Rudi said. “But who has been able to forbid technology from being sold here? Who has been able to refuse to send recruits to serve in the Imperial army?” “But technology is good,” Portia protested. “I think you should have it.” “I agree. Grandfather clings to the past. I think Cousin Jakadu wants to keep the old ways but he might be more open to change. Another clan has accepted technology and wants to destroy us. I think the Imperials are encouraging them. If you were to talk to Cousin Jaka he would listen to you. You have a bond to each other. I can see it.” Elku put in, “Rudi has a gift. She can see bonds and patterns, just like our grandfather’s first ranked man can see the future.”

“You can?” Portia looked at her with respect. “And me and Jaka-den have a bond? What’s it like? A rope tied to our waists, connecting us?” “I don’t see it, exactly. It’s more of a feeling. I can feel the bond my sisters and I have. I can feel Carbu-men’s bond with grandfather. Usually I don’t sense a bond between newlyweds right away. I think it must take time to form a bond. But you and Jaka-den have a strong bond already.” There was something in her voice that reminded Portia that she was a widow. “I’m sorry about your husband. Did he die recently?” “It’s been almost two years.” Rudi’s voice was low. “We were married six years but I never learned to love him. We didn’t have a bond. Isn’t that wicked? He was always disappointed in me because I did not give him children.” Portia opened her mouth to blast the dead husband, but closed it again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have kids,” she said awkwardly instead. “I can tell when someone is lying,” she offered, to change the subject. “Today, a few of the people swearing oaths were lying. Is that normal? All three women lifted their heads to stare at her. “No. You must tell Grandfather who they are. To swear a false oath is very bad. If their loyalty is not to Clan Chirikan, then who? If they had given their loyalty to Clan Nordu they are betraying us.” “I will.” They got up and dressed in the much simpler tunics the maids supplied and went to the hall to eat. The men were all sitting at one low long table. They bowed to the men and the men bowed back. Another table was set up for the women. Portia and her three new cousins knelt at the table. “How come there’s only us four here but there’s six men over there?” asked Portia, scooping rice into a bowl and topping it with chicken in some kind of spicy sauce. “Try some of these vegetable with that,” Rudi suggested. “We are the only women of rank in the clan currently.” “But don’t any of those men have wives? Daughters?” “Not many and those are not here today. It has been two years since our honored grandmother has gone to the Pure Land. It is for the lady of the Clan to raise up women of rank.” “You mean women can’t come to this sort of thing unless I, what, invite them?”

“It is your place. There has been no one to hold women’s court for two years. As Lady of the Clan you will hold your own courts for the women.” Rudi’s face lit. “With your gift you will always know what the best judgment is.” Portia set down her bowl. “Yikes. I’m pretty sure that’s against Imperial law.” Rudi scowled. “You’re lady of the clan now. The Empire and its laws don’t concern you.” For someone who had seemed so submissive a few hours ago, Rudi was frighteningly blasé about treason. “I thought you liked the Empire. You want to live there.” “I like the technology the Empire uses.” Rudi corrected. But she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the men’s table to be sure no one heard that. “I do not want to live there. Just somewhere that they use technology.” Elku exchanged a look with Luki. “Is there such a place? The Empire rules so much.” “Of course there is,” Portia said. “On the mainland, north past the Empire, are the Lupine Principalities. And of course, the Empire lost the Western Wars so a lot of those lands are forming their own governments. And way across the ocean are the Old Americas. There’s dozens of countries there that have technology. See, there’s lots of places you could live.” “You know so much,” Luki commented. “How many places have you lived?” “A lot. I pretty much grew up in the Inda Province in the Empire. But I lived with my brothers in the Lupine Principalities when I was a teenager. Then I served in the Imperial Army. I lived in Thess City for a while with other brothers, and spent a couple years fighting the wars in the west. And here, with my brother, for the past year.” “You have lived in a great many places,” Luki remarked. Rudi breathed, “You were in the Imperial Army?” “How many brothers do you have?” asked Elku. “Where do your parents live?” Without thinking about it, Portia added a touch of persuasion to her voice. “Oh, let’s not talk about me anymore. Do any of you have sweethearts? She listened to their replies with relief. As a widow Rudi was past romance. Elku confided that she was relieved to be promised to Jaka-den’s First Ranked man. They would be married in six months, after she had turned twenty one. She had been afraid that she would be obliged to marry an enemy in order for an alliance to be made. Luki, at only seventeen, dreamed of romance, but as one of the three ranking women in the clan she was so well guarded that she would never meet a boy alone. In fact, she had never seen a boy up close.

The meal came to an end. Jaka-den indicated that they should say goodnight to the other ranking men. The clan chief beckoned Portia forward to kiss her cheek. “You are a source of pride to this clan, Portia-den.” She remembered the blood stained sheet and made herself bow. “Thank you, honored Chief-men.” Luki bowed beside her. “Honored Grandfather, Portia-den has a gift too. She can see truth.” The old First Ranked man smiled, showing off his two remaining teeth. “I knew she was gifted, but not what her gift was.” “A good gift, I think,” said the chief. Portia bowed. She hesitated and then said, “During the oaths I could feel the truth in almost everyone. But there were a few who didn’t mean what they were saying.” Suddenly the chief went from a benign grandfatherly man to a pitiless leader of criminals. “And do you recall their names, honored granddaughter?” Portia bowed again and told him. Jaka-den quivered beside her. “I will go at once, honored Chief-men, and question these men.” The chief waved his hand. “No, no, Jaka-den. Send someone to watch them. You are newly wed. Enjoy your wife tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough for such things.” Jaka-den bowed immediately. “As you wish, honored Chief-men.” His gaze slid to his wife. “We are ever obedient to the will of the Clan Chief.” Good heavens, Portia thought as she followed behind him, her husband had sense of humor! She eyed his lithe figure and wondered which part of him she should kiss first when they got back to his bedroom.

11

Kissing was not on her husband’s agenda. At least, not immediately. He led her through the underground passages from the Clan Chief’s house to his own. Going this morning in the chairs through the city had been a risk but he had wanted to show her off to his people. He stopped to allow a guard to open the door to his hall, paused to kick off his shoes, ordered their attendants to remain in the hall and then swept through hall and his bedroom, leading the way to the garden. It had rained that day, a gentle summer rain that washed everything clean and left it fresh. The servants had, of course, removed the cushion from the bench and replaced it with a red one. In the light of a single lamp the color was plain. He hardened his heart against his flesh’s desires at the sight of the new cushion. “Sit down, Portia-den. We need to speak of some things before we share pleasure.” He waited until she sat on the bench, and shook his head over her pouty expression. “We will make love tonight, but I want to talk first. Otherwise I might forget.” She settled herself and put an attentive look on her face. He wanted to kiss her. “Our Clan has an enemy. Nordu-Chief-men. Have you heard of him?” “Yeah,” she nodded. “Rudi talked about him. Elku was afraid she’d have to marry him.” He shook his head, thinking of Luki and her possible husband. “Elku is already promised. And I’d sooner give her to the Cave Demon than him.” “Oh, good. I’m sure she’d prefer that. The Cave Demon sounds like fun.” “Hush, wife.” He paced a few steps and back. “Nordu has tried twice in two days to have me assassinated. And now you say that some of the clan has been swayed from their honor.” At her confused look he clarified, “They made oaths of honor to you, but they lied. Their fealty is not with us. We take pride in our honor. To made an oath and not mean it… Must I tell you how dishonorable that is? The Nordu Clan has little honor. They lie. They force girls from decent homes to serve in the Women’s Houses. They steal from the poor, they cheat the helpless. And they do it with the aid of the Empire.” “Uh-huh,” said his wife with a pleased smile. “So, they are the criminals! Boy, that’s a relief! I was told that you and your clan were criminals. That just didn’t sit well with me, you know?” “I would not tell any woman these things. Nordu-men will continue to try to kill me until either he succeeds or I kill him. Tonight you are a wife. Tomorrow you could be the widow of a man cut down by a long distance weapon. I could die because a coward has too much filth in his heart to face me honorably across swords. A woman should not have to even know about such evil. I wanted to shelter you from this ugliness.” His eyes ran over her face. “But I heard you speaking with my cousins at supper, and I believe that you have seen ugliness before, have you not? When you were in the Imperial Army destroying peoples’ homes in the West.”

He watched her squirm and open her mouth. To lie? “No, do not try to make me think of something else. That is another gift, is it not?” She took a deep breath. “I hardly ever use that one. It’s not very strong. Not like Sv—“ She broke off, then seemed to brace herself. “Not like Svin.” This is what he really wanted to talk about. “Your brother? How many brothers do you have?” She stared mutely over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “You do not like speaking of your family. That is when you turned my cousins’ attention.” He knelt and ran one hand up the back of her leg under her tunic until he touched the scar on the back of her knee. “In my dreams you always refused to speak of this wound. Will you still refuse to speak?” The struggle on her face was plain. Her voice was cool and unemotional when she answered. “My father set a dog on me when I was thirteen.” His hand closed tight over her knee. “Why would any father do such a thing?” he asked, horrified. She shrugged, “He wanted to.” Could a father be so evil? Was even Nordu as evil as that? He had always believed that even evil men loved their children, especially their precious daughters. The scar on her leg was small compared to the scar on her heart. “You have brothers. Did they not shield you? Or… Were they also cruel?” “My brothers saved me. They were my guardian angels.” “Beloved Portia-den, I swear that I will cherish all our children. Our daughters will find nothing but love and protection in me. Our sons will learn to treasure their sisters from the moment they draw breath. Where is your father now?” Tears seeped from her closed eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Her tears were breaking his heart. “I told you about Nordu-men to show you that I trust you. Someday you will trust me enough to tell me these things.” “I don’t know you.” Her words were cold, but her voice shook. “Very well, beloved, we have spoken enough tonight. We should learn one another better. Come, kiss me.”

“I’m really not in the mood anymore.” She would be. He would make sure of it. But for now he would give her only comfort, and passion would follow. “Very well, beloved,” he said again. “I’ll carry you in and we’ll lie together until we fall asleep.” She got up. “I can walk just fine,” she snapped with a hint of her growl in her voice. He picked her up anyway. And somehow landed on his back, a snarling woman pressing her elbow into his jugular. “I said I can walk!” His blood heated and rose. So did other parts of his body. How long had it been since he had been surprised in a fight? “You are magnificent,” he breathed. Barely. He dragged air in past her elbow cutting into his windpipe. “I have not found myself on my back in a fight since I was a boy in training. You make me want you. Kiss me.” “No.” Her elbow moved and he felt her hands pushing his loose cross wrap tunic off his shoulders roughly. “Not even if you beg.” He made a playful bucking movement. It pressed his cock against her belly, made it harden more. “I don’t beg.” “Stop that.” Was she truly annoyed, or just playing with him? “Keep quiet or I’ll leave you here.” Playing, then. “As you wish, beloved. But what will you do while I lie still?” She sat up, considering him. “Take off your pants.” He smiled slowly, and made sure to move languidly when he loosed the waist of his trousers, lifting his hips to leisurely slide the fabric down. Her eyes were fixed on him as first his lower belly was revealed and then the head of his half erect penis. He paused tauntingly, but of course she surprised him again. Her hand darted out and captured his penis. She held it in the circle of her middle finger and thumb. Under the head he was narrow enough for her to do that. “Keep going,” she said, nodding at his trousers. “Take them off. All the way off.” He obeyed, wondering what she would do now. Her other hand fondled his balls, rolling them against her palm. His hips shifted restlessly. “I remember you like to be touched right here, behind these. And here too, just under the where the head flares out.”

But she released him without following through, making him growl and sit up. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed at him. “Down.” “On the bench,” he suggested. “The gravel on the path is not comfortable.” He had every intention of having her on her back eventually. He didn’t want the gravel biting into her back. “Alright, on your back with one leg on each side of the bench. And then don‘t move.” He loved it when she took command. This was one of his favorite dreams come to life. He loved the way she stood astride him, stroking her hands as lightly as a breeze over his chest and belly before combing her fingers through the hair at his groin. It was not enough. He grasped the front of her tunic and towed her up his body so that her spread legs were over his chest. “You are wearing too many clothes, beloved.” “So?” she teased. “What do you think you can do about it?” He stroked his fingers over the cloth covering her core. “I don’t know. It’s a shame you forbade me to move. Otherwise I might remove this barrier between my hand and your body. I could feel your heat and wetness against my fingers. I could explore you, every bit of you, inside and out. Can you imagine how my finger would feel moving inside you? Or perhaps two fingers? Or my teeth and my tongue. I would be so careful,” One of his hands kept petting her while the other swept down to grasp his cock, “preparing you for this. No pain this time, beloved. Only delight.” He rejoiced that the cloth between her legs was growing damp. Her hands were not precisely steady when she lifted her tunic over her head and tossed it away. Her breasts bounced with her movements. His mouth wanted to close over one, so he sat up and reached for her. “No!” She lifted a leg to swing off him and half tripped on her drooping trousers. “Now see what you made me do? Bad husband!” He tried to assume a humble expression. “I’m trying to be good.” That made her laugh. She looked down at her husband dwarfing the bench he lay on with a smile. All that perfect male flesh was hers. The broad shoulders, the taut male breasts and lean belly, the long flanks and most especially that bit of him that was standing up. She kicked off her pants and went back to stand beside the bench. “OK, touch me. Make me want you to the point of insanity.” “Come closer, beloved. Stand as you did before, so that you are open for me.” His finger playing in her folds was the best thing she had ever felt. Unless it was several of his fingers touching and rubbing her, holding her open for one to slide deep. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Lean forward,” he growled. “Give me your breast.” The combined feeling of the slide of his fingers between her legs and the scraping of his teeth over her nipple drove her right over the edge in less than a minute. Her legs gave out. Her husband caught her with a low satisfied male laugh. His fingers under her arms were slick. “That felt so good,” she panted against his throat. “But I’m not done with you.” “I certainly hope not.” “You sound pretty proud of yourself.” “I am. I did tonight what I should have done last night. Now your body is relaxed. You can take me in without pain. Are you ready, Portia-den?” “In a minute. I gotta rest after that.” “But beloved, I am still in need.” She laughed to hear the whine in his voice. “OK, then.” She reached behind her to blindly take his erection in her hand and squeeze gently. “This help?” “No. Put me in you. Now.” “Bossy,” she chided him. But her legs didn’t feel quite so much like boiled noodles anymore. She was able to stand up enough to fit the tip of his penis to her opening. He felt amazingly big as she pressed down on him. It wasn’t painful exactly, but it was a bit uncomfortable. She went gradually. “No, Jaka-den, don’t move. Please.” Her teeth clenched. “Let me do this slowly.” “Bossy,” he groaned, but let his hips relax against the cushion again. “You feel so good, beloved. So good. A little more. There!” The entire head of his penis was in her and it felt like she had forced him past a barrier, because now he slid easily the rest of the way in. She looked down at their bodies and she could see only a sliver of his penis. She sat down on him and even that sliver disappeared inside her. He still felt very large inside her, but she wanted to move, so see how it felt to have him inside her. It was a little uncomfortable, but the more she moved the easier it was. The too-tight feeling was soothed by the wetness his body produced in her. When he started shoving up against her she didn’t try to tell him to stop. It felt too good. “Now, now!” he shouted, and then froze except for the tremors that wrung his seed from him. Portia could feel it inside her and felt a little cheated. She hadn’t found release this time although it had seemed close. She curled over him and put her face against his neck

with a sigh. His penis was softening, sliding in their juices a little ways out of her. Even that movement made a tiny zing of delight shoot through her. “Portia-den,” he whispered. “Did I hurt you this time?” “No.” She gathered her strength and stood up. His penis slipped out of her and lay wetly against his belly. “It was good.” “Like the dreams?” “Almost.” She swung her leg over him to stand beside the bench. Her eyes examined him thoroughly. His vibrant blue almond shaped eyes were closed, the girlishly long lashes resting on his high cheeks. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. The muscles in his arms and chest were long and pronounced under his pale skin, neither bulky nor sloppy like some of the men she had served with in the Army. More like the elegant physiques of her lion shifter brothers. The light of the rising moon painted him silver. His arms hung limply off the bench, one buried in the trumpet shaped blossoms on one side and the other grazing the gravel on the other. “You are so beautiful.” He opened his eyes, surprise and –bashfulness?—in them. “Me? I am a man. You are beautiful, beloved. I am… your husband.” He swung up to a sitting position. “And not a considerate one. Come sit.” She squeezed onto the bench beside him. He reached and plucked one of the pink blossoms behind them. “Smell the Miku flower. It is sweet. Do you feel how soft the petals are? Yet they are firm. They do not wilt easily or fall from the stem. My honored ancestor Christianson Stephen-men bred this flower for his wife. He was one of the first generation born to the American soldiers after the destruction of the Wars. He was the one who forced peace on the factions. He was like an Emperor, powerful and even brutal to his enemies. But he was alone until he saw Fukuoka Miku-men. She was the daughter of one of the few traditional Japanese families left after the Dark Years. The history books say he stole her from her family and to placate them he took on traditional ways. There are plays about their love. He was a warlord, dyed deep in blood but he also loved flowers and making gardens. This entire district was created by him. And he loved his wife. He created this flower for her. There is one book about this flower that no one outside our family has read. A single copy of it exists. I have that copy. Shall I show you what he says about this flower?” Portia thought the scent was lovely, sweet but not too strong. The single flower nodded on its sturdy stem against her cheek. He smiled and drew it down her throat to her breast, circling her nipple. The petals were cool. “I am a bad husband. I found pleasure but left you behind. I’ll remedy that.” “Uh.” She cast a quick glance at his lap. “But you’re not –er-“

He lifted his limp penis with a finger and thumb and shook his head sadly. “No, he’s still weary, lazy little man.” “Not so little,” she protested. “Shush, wife. I was saying that I have other things to use to pleasure you. My lips, my tongue, my teeth, my fingers… this Miku flower. Close your eyes and concentrate on feeling.” “A flower?” She closed her eyes obediently. The cool blossom brushed over her nipples. “What does the book say?” “It says that for five whole years his wife refused his bed. She was little more than a child, taken by force from her home by a man twenty years her senior. The Warlord terrified her. He sought many ways to seduce her, but none worked. There was no gift he could give her, no honor high enough that would make her love him. He elevated her father to the status of a king. He brought her diamonds and gold. He learned that she loved cats and gave her the most beautiful kittens he could find. When he learned that she loved music he sought out the finest musicians in the Islands and brought them back to play for her. She tried to run away. He was desperate when he forbade her to leave her rooms until she granted him her maidenhead.” Portia snorted. “Bet that went over big.” The flower was running in circles over her breasts, and then down to the hair at the tops of her thighs and back. It was pleasant, but she wanted more. She canted her breasts in his direction. “It did not please her. He was a warlord. Battle had been his life since he could walk. Gaining the love of a woman was something he knew nothing of. He built her a private garden and when he saw the pleasure she found playing among the lilies and roses with her kittens he set himself to create a flower just for her.” The flower was nudging at the crease between her thighs. Jaka-den eased her down so that she was lying on the bench. “It took him two years to create the Miku flower. All his desires were absorbed by the flower. He thought of his wife’s small soft breasts with their pink nipples and wished he could suckle at them. Like this.” She sighed when his hot mouth closed over her breast and his tongue glided around her nipple. “Keep your eyes closed, beloved. You are supposed to be feeling the flower.” The night air was cool on her wet breast. “What flower? All I feel is you.” Suction surrounded her nipple again, a gentle pull that went straight to her groin. “That’s nice, Jaka-den. I like it.” “I’m glad, beloved.”

“Do the other one, please.” She felt his braids fall on her shoulder when he bent to kiss and lick her other breast. And then he was sucking on that one too. Too? Her eyes shot open. She looked down her at her chest and saw her husband suckling at one breast and the trumpet shaped flower fastened over the other nipple. “Hey!” “Close your eyes. Must I tie a sleeve over your eyes?” “But…” “Feel it. Close your eyes and feel what the Miku flower is doing to your body. I can see that you like it. You lift your body toward it. The scent is stronger now too, and here, between your legs, you are pink. Almost the same color as the flower. You want more.” “You’re killing me!” But she kept her eyes closed. It made her more aware of her other senses, like the scent of the flower and the coolness of the air and the calluses on his hands as he parted her legs, folding one up so her foot was flat on the bench, her knee bent. The suction at her breast was weaker now, but it didn’t matter, because there was new suction at the little nub of flesh between her legs. It was cool, not hot like her husband’s mouth would be. But it was his fingers that held her open for the flower and ran lazily up and down her slit. “More, Jaka-den,” she pleaded. “Are your eyes still closed? Good. Let me finish my story. As he worked to create this flower my honored ancestor spent hours imagining what he would like to do to his wife. He planned and dreamed and one day he had a blossom that would suck at his finger if it was wet. That was the key. The flesh must be wet for the bloom hold firmly. Was this an accident? Or did his ancestors grant him the means to win his wife’s favor? He saw the possibilities in his creation. If his shy reluctant wife would not allow him to touch her, perhaps she would allow the blossom he named for her to touch her. He arranged to have her bathing pool filled with the flowers so that when she relaxed after cleansing herself they would find her flesh and bring her near orgasm. Then, when her body was needy he would come into the bath and do… this.” On the last word his finger sank deep. She shuddered. “And this.” His lips fastened on her breast, sucking harder than the blossom could. “And this.” He kissed her lips. He hadn’t done that before and her eyes flew open. “Jaka-den!” “Hush.” He jerked her up so that their bodies were flush against each other, breast to breast and groin and groin. The sweet scent of the blossoms was strong. “I will finish the

story.” He stood up, still holding her, and began to walk through the garden towards his bedroom. “It worked. My honored ancestor entered the bath and found his wife covered in blossoms, twisting and moaning with her need. He picked her up out of the water and carried her to his lonely bed. He laid her there and picked the flowers off one by one.” Portia found her breath heaving in and out of her lungs as he settled her against the sheets and pulled the few blossoms off her. “He kissed her –like this… and opened her legs so she was spread out for him like a banquet for a starving man. Yes, like that, Portia-den. How lovely you are, beloved. After five years without his wife in his bed he must have been like starving man with a feast laid out for him. But he did not greedily shove handfuls of food into his mouth. No, he controlled his appetite. A nibble of this, and sip of that, then a bite of this.” “Hurry up!” she ordered. “Quit playing.” “No. It is my turn to be in control now. When his honorable wife was properly aroused-“ “I am!” “-he opened her lower lips and entered her very carefully.” “For heaven’s sake! Please!” “You beg so prettily.” She lunged up on her elbows, glaring. “Beg--? I don’t beg!” “No,” he agreed simply, “you will never have to. I am yours.” “You’re—recovered now.” His penis was fat and hard again, just barely touching her swollen flesh. She lifted her bent legs. “Come on.” “This time you’ll have your pleasure, I swear.” She was lost, drowning in the sensation of his penis spreading her wide and pressing deep. It was the most amazing thing to feel him moving in her. She almost couldn’t separate the feeling of his mouth sucking at her throat and his hand shaping her breast. It all combined to make her rise to a peak of pleasure. His penis sliding inside her and his fingers playing with her clitoris made her explode almost too soon. Her throbbing body slowed to a halt and she lay limply under him, playing with one of his braids while he continued to thrust until he shouted, and fell on his side next to her. She gulped in deep breaths, the aroma of the crushed Miku flowers filling her lungs. She felt almost drugged from the scent and the languid satisfaction of spent passion. It was just like one of the dreams.

“So how does your story end?” “She fell in love with her husband, of course, and they lived happily ever after.” “Making love every night? That sounds good.” She yawned. “Thank you.” He kissed her nose. “Thank you, Portia-den. I will never cease to thank my ancestors for you. Thirteen years of making love to the dream has made me only more eager for a lifetime of making love to the reality. Shall we bathe and…” He saw that his wife had fallen asleep and broke off with a smile. He raised the blanket over their naked bodies and pulled her back against his front. She was a miracle to him, as much as his revered foremother Miku had been to Christianson Stephen-men. Perhaps they would spawn a dynasty too.

12 Only after one of his dreams of her did he sleep like this, utterly relaxed and totally unaware. The first notice he had of anything wrong was something sharp closing over his shoulder and dragging him off the bed. He yelled in pain even before his eyes opened and the first thing he saw when he did open his eyes was a dark shape dragging his wife away. She was still for a moment, and then she began struggling. What had her? Not a man. It was too dim in the bedroom to see clearly, but it looked like a large dog. He rolled, trying to free himself from the cutting vise that clamped on his shoulder, shouting for his guards. “Feodor!” screamed his wife. “You let him go this minute! Vik, get your teeth out of my arm!” The vise holding him had fur. Then it didn’t. It changed in an indescribable way into hot skin and muscle and his shoulder was released but his arms were seized in a painful grip behind his back. He struggled in spite of the threat of broken bones. His wife needed him. A voice from door said calmly, “Did Vik hurt you, Porsh?” “No. Curse you, Feodor, let him go! Jaka-den, it’s OK.” A lamp was lighted, and the yellow glare showed the heir a naked man with wild black hair holding his wife in a fierce grip. Terror and rage froze his lungs. He tried to lunge at them. “Take your hands off her. If you harm her I will kill you so slowly that you will pray for death.” The man behind him jerked his arm to an even more painful angle. “You talk big,” he growled in his ear, “for a man who smells of my sister. My virgin sister.” “Feodor, you moron, that’s my husband! Where are the guards?” The third man spoke from the door. “Sleeping. The maids down the hall, too. They’ll wake up when we get this sorted out. So you’re saying you got married? Why didn’t we get an invitation to the wedding?” “Nobody got an invitation! For heaven’s sake, put some clothes on, guys.” In a blink the two men he could see went from being naked to wearing loose knee length drawers. A minute ago they had been covered in fur. The heir had to swallow. They were werewolves. He had read of them. Up north and west in what had once been Russia there were several werewolf communities. His wife’s brothers were werewolves? She was not. He would have noticed by now if she were. “You too, Porsh,” said the man who had held his wife. “You got a robe or something?”

She turned to look for a robe but couldn’t find one. Their clothes were no doubt still strewn over the garden. She settled for the sheet on the bed and wrapped it around her and then bringing the blanket to him. The man behind him told her harshly not to come too close. She ignored him, slapping the man’s arms until he released him. She wrapped the blanket around his waist and pressed a pillowcase to his bleeding shoulder. “If you’ve hurt him badly I’ll never speak to any of you again,” she spat at the man still behind him. The man came around to look at his shoulder carelessly. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him. He’d be dead if that’s what I wanted.” The heir tried to shield his wife with his own body from all of them. “Do you know these men, Portia-den?” “Yeah, these are three of my brothers, Feodor, Viktor and Ivan. They live in the Lupine Principalities.” All three brothers resembled each other strongly. They came to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of him. The resemblance was even more striking when they stood side by side. Their faces might have been handsome if they had looked even slightly civilized. They all had strangely colored eyes that were brown at one moment and golden at the next. The heir felt it strange that none of them seemed to have any body hair. They were wolves, weren’t they? The hair on their heads was thick and black and hung in untamed waves past their shoulders. Their bodies were heavily muscled, marked with old and new scars. “Should I welcome them, my wife?” he asked coolly. “After they stole into our private sleeping chamber and mauled us?” “Well, yeah. I mean, they had their reasons for worrying about me. I told you Brita was going to get a message to them. Remember, the last time Brita saw me your guys were hauling me off to heaven knows what. Hey, Ivan, did you find Brita? She alright?” “The cats took her back to Svin.” Ivan was the man who had stood by the door. He was a little taller than the others, seemed perhaps a trifle more reasonable. “She told us you were a witness to a crime and the crime lord captured you. This the guy?” “Yeah, but it’s not like that. Here, Jaka-den, hold this over the cuts.” She turned to her brothers with her hands on her hips. “He didn’t capture me. He just wanted… He—had me brought here to… uh…” Feodor snarled. “Yeah, we see what he brought you here for.”

She flushed. “We’re married!” she protested. “Must have been the shortest engagement on record,” said Viktor drawled scornfully. Ivan, who seemed to be the leader of the brothers, looked the heir right in the eye. “No sister of mine will be married to a Yakuza.” The heir looked at this brother with surprised respect. That was an old word that no one even knew any longer. “We are not Yakuza. We are not criminals. Until seventy years ago the Chirikan clan ruled Ungru City and most of the surrounding lands.” “So how come everyone says you’re a criminal?” challenged Feodor. “I do not know why the Empire spread that story. Perhaps they believe it makes them look less like fools to have criminals elude them than to have a ruling clan resist their dominance successfully.” It was hard to look regal when clutching a blanket around one’s naked loins with one hand and pressing a pillowcase to a bleeding shoulder with the other, but the heir managed to look coolly disdainful. “If you will go down the hallway to the sitting room my wife and I will join you in a few minutes.” Feodor snarled at the word wife, lip curling up to show wolf-like teeth. Portia-den pointed an angry finger right at him. “You’re turning Wolf, Fe. Get out so my husband and I can get dressed.” Ivan slung an arm over Feodor’s shoulders and pulled him toward the door. “Come on. You too, Viktor. We’ll give them a few minutes.” He shot a hard look at the heir. “Don’t make us wait too long.” As soon as they were gone his wife turned to him. “I’m so sorry, Jaka-den. I didn’t think they would come– Well, no, I knew they would come, I just didn’t expect them so soon. Are you alright? Let me look at your shoulder.” He let her remove the blood stained pillowcase. The skin under it was bruising, the halfdozen small cuts already scabbing over. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, helplessly. “It’s not bad, beloved.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s find some clothes and talk to your brothers.” Finding clothes was easier said than done. Portia had the outfit she had worn when she had been escorted to him and the clothing she had been given after her bath and massage this evening. She had no idea where the first was. The second was scattered over the

garden. Jaka-den was no better off. The maids always brought him his clothes. He did not know where to find them. So they went out to the garden to collect their dew damp tunics and put them on. Wearing their creased and damp tunics they went down the hallway to the heir’s private receiving room. Along the way they found six body guards sitting drunkenly against the wall, unconscious but apparently unharmed. The heir gave no physical sign of ire, but Portia knew he was furious. Several lamps had been lit in the room and the heir got a clear look at his brothers-in-law. They remained bare-chested, lined up in a row like accusers. The heir thought they looked almost identical. Ivan had a slightly broader face, and he was an inch or so taller. Feodor was wider in the shoulders and had a belligerent expression on his face. Viktor had prominent scars streaking his chest. In fact all three brothers had scars. Werewolves no doubt fought frequently. The heir bowed to his brothers-in-law. “Let us begin again. I am the Chirikan-Heir-men. I am honored to meet the worthy brothers of my beloved wife, the Chirikan-Lady-men.” None of the brothers returned his bow. Last night his wife had called them angels. He did not agree. Rude, belligerent and uncivilized, yes. Angelic, no. It took effort to keep his face smooth and courteous. Viktor looked at his sister with something like a sneer. “So how long did you know him before jumping into bed with him? An hour?” Ivan cuffed him. “She’s our sister. Be polite.” His voice gentled a little when he spoke to Portia. “We thought he took you captive. Now you’re his wife? How did that happen, Porsh?” His wife fidgeted a moment. “Well, uh… We –uh- It’s kinda hard to explain.” Ivan directed a hard stare at the heir. “Maybe you could explain?” he suggested in a tone so reasonable that Jaka was sure that he was on the edge of violence. The heir bowed. “It is not so difficult a tale, only a trifle long. When I was a boy of twelve years, I began to dream of a woman. In my dreams we did things that—“ Feodor snorted impatiently. “We all had those dreams when we were twelve. What in the hell does that have to do with you marrying our sister?” “She was the woman in my dreams,” Jaka-den answered simply. Feodor roared. Did wolves roar, Jaka wondered. Apparently they did. Or maybe that was a howl? Ivan clenched his fists at his side. “You married Portia because she reminded you of someone you dreamt about when you were a kid?”

“I married her because my grandfather commanded it.” Jaka turned to look at his wife, standing by his side. “I was most pleased to obey.” “Porsh,” growled Feodor, “why the hell did you say yes?” Viktor cut in before his wife could decide how to answer that. “Did he even propose?” Ivan held up a scarred hand, looking steadily at the heir. “Did anyone think of consulting any of Portia’s menfolk? I know you don’t usually use modern communications but Svin is only 50 leagues away. Since Brita didn’t know anything about a marriage I’m guessing not.” Ivan was still steady, but his voice roughened. “Do you have any idea how terrified my sister-in-law was when we found her? You took Portia away. You are the reason Brita was alone and undefended in a strange city. You!” His voice dropped to a growl now. “How would you feel if your sisters were treated like that? What would you do to the man who stole one sister and left another undefended in a strange place full of men you didn’t know?” He thought of Rudi, Elku and Luki. The answer came automatically. “Kill him.” Viktor smiled, a weirdly happy smile. “Can I gut him now?” he asked eagerly. Black claws sprouted from the tips of Feodor’s fingers. “No,” he snarled. “Me.” A new voice spoke from the other side of the room. “I don’t think so, Wolf. This is a Cat job.” The newcomer was beautiful for a man. His hair was long and tawny, his face finely sculpted, his bare body long and lean. He was flanked by two large predatory cats that slunk across the floor to crowd their bodies between the heir and his wife. They separated them and herded Portia toward the newcomer. She went without protest, running her hands through their thick gold fur. The new man hugged her. “Are you alright, Porsh?” “Sure. I’m fine. Honest. This is Jaka-den. The heir to the Chirikan Clan. My husband.” She raised her voice. “And just in case anyone is interested in hearing what I have to say, I’m happy about it. I like him. I dreamed about him too.” Viktor looked horrified. “Women have those dreams too?” “Shut up,” said Ivan, disgusted. He raised a brow at the new man. “Brita and the boys?” “All safe with Svin. What have I missed? It looks like he’s still alive so far. Good of you to save him for us.” One of the big cats smiled at the heir, his muzzle wrinkling back to show very large sharp teeth. The heir turned so he could watch both the cats and the wolf brothers. He bitterly missed his sword. His wife had stooped to put an arm around each cat, murmuring to

them. More brothers, he assumed. She gave them a final pat and stood up. They tried to block her way but she cowed them with a single glare. She came back to his side. “Jaka-den, this is my brother Duran and the cats are Gerard and Raymond.” The heir bowed to the man and cats. Then he bowed to the other brothers. “Your words have made me see that our actions were unthinkingly cruel to Brita-men and disrespectful to you. Permit me to explain further how I came to marry your sister. My honored grandfather’s First Ranked man is gifted with foresight. He can sometimes See the future. He Saw that Portia-den would be my wife and that she had entered the city the day before. My grandfather gave orders that she should be found and brought to him. It shames me,” he bowed again, “that I did not even consider the safety of Brita-men until my honored wife reminded me that she was alone. I immediately sent out men to take her to my grandfather’s house but she could not be found.” Duran inclined his tawny gold head. “She’ll never make a warrior, but she did a good job hiding,” he said approvingly. “So when did this so-called wedding take place?” “Last night, before the ranking men of the clan, the Chirikan-Chief-men bound us in marriage. It is far too late for it to be undone.” Feodor took a few threatening steps toward him. “Don’t be so sure.” “There is no divorce,” the heir told him calmly. “The union has been consummated. The bride was virgin. It is done.” The transformation to wolf was beginning. There were too many too large teeth in Feodor’s mouth to let him speak clearly. “She can be a widow,” he spat, reaching clawed hands towards the heir’s throat. Portia-den stepped fearlessly close and laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “Fe, he’s my husband. I like him being my husband.” Her hand rubbed his forearm soothingly. “But you’re still my brother. You’re still the one that curled around me when I cried. You’re the one who bit Donkey when he did what the Count made him do to me. You protected me. I love you.” The change from part-human to wolf was instant. The wolf was steel gray with a black patch over his shoulders. The short drawers he had been wearing were shreds around his hips. The heir thought he saw the sheen of tears before the gold eyes closed and the wolf pressed close to his sister and whined. Then, just as instantly, a man stood there again, the light drawers torn from the change, an arm around his sister. “Do you really love him, Porsh?” She put her head against his chest. “I’m getting there. I’ve dreamt about him since I was fourteen. About him, not just some guy. He’s dreamt about me the same way. It’s fate.”

The feral wolf-man pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her head. “OK, then, I’ll let him live.” Viktor made a wolf-like whining sound. “Oh, c’mon!” The tenderness was gone when Feodor stalked back to his brothers. He glared at the heir. “Make her cry just once and I’ll tear your throat out.” One of the cats roared agreement. The heir bowed. “I will treat her at all times with love and respect.” Ivan nodded at Feodor with a small smile. Approval? “So are we allowed to come back and visit some time?” Portia-den opened her mouth to answer, but stopped and looked at him with a plea only half concealed by pride. “You and any of your kin are welcome at any time.” He was careful to not look at the still naked man with the cats. “Clothing would make my people feel more comfortable.” Viktor smirked. “Then they should wear some.” “Vik!” yelled Portia. “Don’t be such a pain. Please. I want you guys to visit.” The heir bowed again and hid his reluctance behind a smoothly polite face. “Come today to the family midday meal. It is traditional for the bride and groom’s families to eat together several times during the first week of the marriage. Thus far Portia-den has had no family to represent her. Please come.” The brothers, cats and wolves seemed to silently confer. Then the man cat bowed gracefully. “We will be there, all that we can gather by mid day. I will be sure that all of us are clothed appropriately.” The moment he finished speaking, the room was empty except for he and his wife. The heir turned to her with astonishment blending with awe and trepidation on his face. “You have a very—unusual family.” She grinned at him. “Tell me about it.” She hugged him. “Oh, Jaka-den, thank you for inviting them.” He smoothed a finger over his gold wrapped hair at her throat. “They are your kin and they spoke the truth. We did slight them and you by not allowing them to witness your marriage. You should at least have had your sister with you.” “Copper? Oh, you mean Brita.” “What is copper?”

“My sister. The only other girl in our brood.” “How many of you are there exactly?” Her eyes flicked away evasively before she seemed to steel herself and look back at him. “We’re not actually positive. Every now and then we come across another brother. Seventeen boys so far and us two girls.” He stared at her broodingly. “Someday, my wife, you will explain to me about this strange family of yours.” Her face closed. “Yeah. Someday. But first let’s wake up the guards and the maids and get a doctor to look at your shoulder. I guess Feodor could’ve done worse, but it’s bad enough.” He took a minute to kiss her. “Yes, my wife.” And then he would have to send a message to his grandfather to prepare him for the barbarians that would be invading the midday meal.

13 Portia was relieved that the first meeting between her husband and some of her brothers had gone as well as it had. There had been only a minimum of bloodshed. No one had died. No unforgivable insults had been given. Her husband had even invited them to come back. All in all, Portia would say the meeting had been a success. Now she just had to get the mid day meal to go as smoothly. Or even more smoothly. The wolves were crude and hard to control but they were honest. The cats, on the other hand, appeared civilized, but they hid their killer natures behind that urbane façade. But they were slower to anger, so perhaps nothing would go wrong. She and Jaka-den had returned to bed after waking the guards and dealing with their reaction to being put to sleep while on duty. Portia was horrified by their instant willingness to commit suicide to show the depth of their remorse at what they called their failure to ensure the Heir and the Lady’s safety. Her husband’s instant willingness to accept this show of remorse had horrified her even more. It took all her tact to persuade them that there was no shame in falling to a wolf shifter, since their powers were beyond human. Tact was not something she had a lot of. Growing up with a bunch of wolves and other gifted brothers had not taught her tact. So when her tact seemed to be failing she ordered them to not kill themselves and bent all her gift of persuasion on them. Apparently a command from the Lady of the Clan was to be obeyed, especially when it was backed up with magic persuasion, because they bowed mournfully and murmured that they would obey. The next morning the maids came in unaware of their unnatural sleep. One gave the heir a scrap of paper with a bow. After reading it her husband kissed her cheek. “My cousins would like to join us in the garden for sword practice and then breakfast, if you are agreeable?” Sword practice? Were the three women a cheering section for him? She struggled out of the low bed. “Sure.” A maid was there by her side, like magic. holding out a sleeveless tunic and calf-length trousers. “Thanks. Hey, show me where all this stuff is kept.” If this confused the maids they didn’t show it on their sweet doll-like faces. They took her to another room through a door she hadn’t noticed in the bedroom. That room had shelves and racks that were filled with clothing. Most of it was men’s clothes but several shelves had tunics cut for a woman. “Forgive us, Chirikan-Lady-men,” bowed one of the maids. “We have only just begun your wardrobe.” Good heavens! Those four shelves held more tunics than she had ever owned before. One whole shelf was just plain white under tunics. Another whole shelf was full of folded robes like the one she was wearing now. She thanked the maids and headed back to the

bedroom. Only two bodyguards were there, and they bowed and indicated the garden. She stepped out and followed the gravel path to a grassy area. Her husband was there, looking striking in just pair of loose trousers so that his leanly muscled chest was on full display as he stretched. She went towards him with a wicked smile, but halted with slight embarrassment when she saw the three other women standing half hidden on one side of the open area. They were dressed in loose trousers and a sleeveless tunic like hers and had lengths of bamboo in their hands. They greeted her with bows and then affectionate hugs. “You fight?” Portia asked in amazement. “We began training with Jaka-den eight years ago,’ Luki told her enthusiastically. “You can try too if you want.” Portia soon found out that for all her training with various weapons a sword was very different. The balance was different than that needed for knife work and her arms burned all too soon from the weight. A bamboo stick was lighter, she was told, than a real sword. The three dainty ladies moved incredibly well. Portia envied them their swift, smooth movements and the control they had over their weapons.