Read Online Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) by Veronica Scott - Free Book Online
Authors: Veronica Scott
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talonlike nails.
Murrax unaccountably hesitated. “But the king commanded—”
“You question me in my own chambers?” Her voice was low, calm, with the lazy deceptiveness of a top predator luring the unwary into making a mistake. She tapped the bars of the birdcage, feeding one last tidbit from a bowl on the table to the favored pet. It cooed at her.
“Such impudence would be unthinkable,” the nervous officer said. He swallowed hard, stared at the floor, even glanced at Nate as if for help, amazingly enough.
On your own here, buddy.
Murrax took a hesitant step toward the birdcages. “But I’m charged with keeping this prisoner closely held.”
“Do you believe he can escape me? Or menace me? Think you so little of the powers I command?” Plainly, a trap lay in the simple questions.
Nate gave Murrax credit for not immediately agreeing to her demand contradicting his orders. The man wavered, clearly afraid of her, but equally reluctant to get crosswise with her husband’s instructions.
Nate filed away for future use the information that Sarbordon and Lolanta apparently had separate, loyal cadres, and their aims conflicted on occasion. Maybe he could use the diverging goals as a wedge to achieve his own purposes.
“I want him in the red chair.” Lolanta broke the impasse, gesturing at a pair of seats across the room. “I’ll show you it’s safe to leave him in my gentle care, and then you can go wait outside.”
At Murrax’s command, the two guards were all too pleased to haul Nate to his feet. With eager haste, they propelled him into the embrace of the wooden chair she’d indicated and hooked his chains onto protrusions designed for restraining prisoners. As the guards departed, Lolanta strolled across the floor. Pausing in front of Nate, she studied him from under heavily painted lids, her white-painted lips curved in a smile.
“I won’t feed your heart to Huitlani this day, nor have you thrown in the sacred well for the beasts to eat. Do you think I conduct blood sacrifices in my own chambers?” She winked at him. “I only wish to talk today, to garner understanding.” Lolanta paced away from the chair.
“Understand what?” Nate wanted her to stay where he could see her.
“What hold can a pitiful sleeping girl possibly have over such a warrior as yourself?” Lolanta moved into his limited field of vision. “I’ve been to the practice field and watched you play the game several times now. Fierce. Powerful. You’re suited to a war god’s service, which legend says her father is not. He prefers gifts of flowers and fruit. What kind of tribute is that for a god to sustain himself and his powers?” Scorn rippled in her voice. “No wonder the people who worshipped him were so easy to conquer.”
“Her father has powers beyond what you can dream of.” Nate concentrated hard, trying to hold his own in this bizarre conversation she was determined to have. After all, no one could contradict him, so he might as well slant the propaganda in his favor. “Her father doesn’t want blood and the needless slaughter of good men.”
Lolanta kicked the nearest stool closer to his chair and sat. “Sarbordon and I rule this nation equally under the law of Huitlani. I control the omens, the signs—Huitlani speaks to me and through me. My husband controls the armies, the temporal matters. So it has always been with our people. We have the required number of children together, strong heirs to succeed us both when the god decrees the time has come for us to step into the afterlife.” She shook her head. “Yet he’s been obsessed with your sleeping, ineffectual girl from the day we were first shown the secret by our parents. He seeks T’naritza’s counsel. He dreams of acquiring the miracle-working artifacts her father controlled.” She fell silent, brow furrowed, reviewing past insults, he surmised. “His father and grandfather before him were not so gullible. Those men had no
Murrax unaccountably hesitated. “But the king commanded—”
“You question me in my own chambers?” Her voice was low, calm, with the lazy deceptiveness of a top predator luring the unwary into making a mistake. She tapped the bars of the birdcage, feeding one last tidbit from a bowl on the table to the favored pet. It cooed at her.
“Such impudence would be unthinkable,” the nervous officer said. He swallowed hard, stared at the floor, even glanced at Nate as if for help, amazingly enough.
On your own here, buddy.
Murrax took a hesitant step toward the birdcages. “But I’m charged with keeping this prisoner closely held.”
“Do you believe he can escape me? Or menace me? Think you so little of the powers I command?” Plainly, a trap lay in the simple questions.
Nate gave Murrax credit for not immediately agreeing to her demand contradicting his orders. The man wavered, clearly afraid of her, but equally reluctant to get crosswise with her husband’s instructions.
Nate filed away for future use the information that Sarbordon and Lolanta apparently had separate, loyal cadres, and their aims conflicted on occasion. Maybe he could use the diverging goals as a wedge to achieve his own purposes.
“I want him in the red chair.” Lolanta broke the impasse, gesturing at a pair of seats across the room. “I’ll show you it’s safe to leave him in my gentle care, and then you can go wait outside.”
At Murrax’s command, the two guards were all too pleased to haul Nate to his feet. With eager haste, they propelled him into the embrace of the wooden chair she’d indicated and hooked his chains onto protrusions designed for restraining prisoners. As the guards departed, Lolanta strolled across the floor. Pausing in front of Nate, she studied him from under heavily painted lids, her white-painted lips curved in a smile.
“I won’t feed your heart to Huitlani this day, nor have you thrown in the sacred well for the beasts to eat. Do you think I conduct blood sacrifices in my own chambers?” She winked at him. “I only wish to talk today, to garner understanding.” Lolanta paced away from the chair.
“Understand what?” Nate wanted her to stay where he could see her.
“What hold can a pitiful sleeping girl possibly have over such a warrior as yourself?” Lolanta moved into his limited field of vision. “I’ve been to the practice field and watched you play the game several times now. Fierce. Powerful. You’re suited to a war god’s service, which legend says her father is not. He prefers gifts of flowers and fruit. What kind of tribute is that for a god to sustain himself and his powers?” Scorn rippled in her voice. “No wonder the people who worshipped him were so easy to conquer.”
“Her father has powers beyond what you can dream of.” Nate concentrated hard, trying to hold his own in this bizarre conversation she was determined to have. After all, no one could contradict him, so he might as well slant the propaganda in his favor. “Her father doesn’t want blood and the needless slaughter of good men.”
Lolanta kicked the nearest stool closer to his chair and sat. “Sarbordon and I rule this nation equally under the law of Huitlani. I control the omens, the signs—Huitlani speaks to me and through me. My husband controls the armies, the temporal matters. So it has always been with our people. We have the required number of children together, strong heirs to succeed us both when the god decrees the time has come for us to step into the afterlife.” She shook her head. “Yet he’s been obsessed with your sleeping, ineffectual girl from the day we were first shown the secret by our parents. He seeks T’naritza’s counsel. He dreams of acquiring the miracle-working artifacts her father controlled.” She fell silent, brow furrowed, reviewing past insults, he surmised. “His father and grandfather before him were not so gullible. Those men had no
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