Providence of the white sun, I never thought that someone could do such a thing, let alone would, but…there are no words for that moment in time, moment of nirvana.The Journal of Solomon.
Place: Dabba Fiws, Roost of Subole
Solomon found himself sitting in Symone’s living chamber. They were still at the Fiws, waiting for Subole to send word back to them about the coins. They were waiting until the group had all the coins in their possession before they sent Solomon and Symone to Kisinger. It was a month after their discussion with the rest of the group about the memo. Subole had brought in all but three of the remaining coins. Rumor had it though that McAlister had the three in a hidden safe in his compound. Subole was working to get men in there to get the coins.
Symone had found many ways to avoid having a conversation with Solomon about the Kisinger case. Now he sat in her chamber, forcing her to talk to him finally.
She had permanently given up wearing her shirt in the Fiws, showing her scales proudly. She still packed herself out with her pants, but she had laid down most of the arms that she kept in her shirt. Solomon stared at the shimmering black that covered her from waist to shoulder and lined her collarbone. Lines ran down the tops of her shoulders and over her biceps to her forearms, ending at her wrists. The scales had not fully encircled her arms yet. She sat cross-legged on her sleeping mat, looking embarrassedly at the half man-half horse form of Solomon. He could be imposing with his size when he wanted to be. “Symone,” he began, trying to break the awkward silence that hung heavily in the air. “I know, I know, Solomon, this isn’t really something you want to do. Most men don’t want to see a co-worker having sex with a random guy…it just makes a work relationship difficult,” she said, pushing hair out of her face. She crossed her arms over her midsection. Her tells of embarrassed shame and guilt through body language showing readily.
“That…it’s not, well it sort of is, but…I don’t see you as a coworker” Solomon sighed. He wasn’t sure where he was going. “Togoya found out who my dad is,” he started on a different tract. Maybe he could get to the conversation he wanted to have without having to backtrack to much.
“Yeah?” she asked, throwing as much curiosity into her voice as she could muster. She remembered the conversation she had eavesdropped on, but she wanted Solomon to tell her anyway.
“I’m the illegitimate son of King Zern…bastard son at that, but still, he has no other heirs, so, I’m in line for the throne,” he sounded vaguely hopeful, but this wasn’t the conversation that he was wanting to have with Symone.
“That’s great, Solomon. When I can get my brother on the throne, I’ll see that I get you sent back to the Canto court to claim your birthright, if that’s what you’re wanting,” she told him. It wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have either. It looked like they might end up beating around the bush for a while to get to the point they both wanted to make.
“Togoya informed me that the royal household, when an heir is found, can only marry a human. Can they not marry royalty of another species?” Solomon asked her, trying to find a loophole.
“As far as I know, no. The dragons dictated that the empire should be ruled by humans. They are, as I can vouch, much more susceptible to the telepathic communication of the creatures, and there by much easier to manipulate than the other humanoids. We had a queen try it several generations in the past. She married an Elivik, it was not until she…” Symone went a startling shade of crimson in embarrassment, “it was not until she copulated with the Elivik that her scales fell out and a new queen was marked in her place.” She tried to use a more scientific word for it to try to regain her composure, but she still had reservations.
“That’s what Togoya meant then,” Solomon said to himself. Symone nodded, not remembering that she was supposed to be pretending that she didn’t know what Togoya had told Solomon. “You said, before, that you loved me?” he asked her.
She sat on her mat, mute for a second. Solomon shifted uncomfortably, not sure if he should have broached the subject. “I do,” she guarded. He waited. “It’s not the Corianada is it?” he finally asked, trying to get some movement on the subject. “No, it’s not that. I will still hold the pact on my life. I’ve just…I don’t know, developed a fondness for you over the months,” she tried to explain.
“I too, have developed a fondness for you,” he used her word. “Symone, by the sun, I’ll be honest. I want you, body and mind, but…” he clammed up, realizing that he was probably being to forward.
“What did Togoya mean by the Canto’s biological imperative?” Symone tried to divert the subject.
“Canto’s marry once in their life – typically. The marriage is established during the Canto’s first mating. A bond is formed between the two that is nearly impossible to sever except due to death or severe mental degradation. Canto’s don’t have the natural ability to force another individual – it has to be mutual between the two parties. I thought that I was a deviant, following in my father’s footsteps in falling in love with a human…honestly I don’t know how the biologic imperative works if it’s not with another Canto,” he told her.
“Oh,” was all she said, unsure of how to respond.
“This thing with Kisinger…I don’t know how I’m going to handle it, honestly, Symone,” he finally came out with it. “The fact is, if I ever see Kail, I swear that I’ll murder him for what he did, and if I find any other individual who has touched you, I might just do the same to them. Canto’s jealousy is something to be rivaled. We can be extremely protective and possessive once a mate has been claimed. If I hadn’t been on death’s doorstep back in that ship, I don’t think I would have let you go alone,” he said.
“I wasn’t alone, Togoya was there,” she tried to defend.
“Yes, and he got beaten just as badly as you,” Solomon quarried.
Symone rose from her mat and went to stand at the window overlooking the stadium. A breeze ruffled her hair. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to Solomon. Maybe it would be better to have gone with a different person on the list, but she knew that this would be one of the few opportunities she would get that she could get away with her plan and still have someone that she could use as protection. She heard a clatter of hooves as Solomon rose from his spot and sauntered over to stand behind her.
“I don’t think I can watch this, Symone,” he said. Before she could think about what she was saying, it fell out of her mouth, “then why don’t you join in the fun?” Arms encircled her, startling her. Solomon’s hard human form pressed against her as he pulled her around to kiss her. A dart of desire drove right through Symone’s core. Her hands clenched at his back, digging into his shoulders. He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead on her shoulder as he tried to regain control of himself. “Togoya would have my head if I ‘join in the fun.’ Remember, we can’t do anything. It would be torment and torture,” he continued. Symone could feel electricity running through her arms and legs. Her hands actually hurt with the desire to touch him, but she held back for a second before allowing her body to take over. For once since that horrid day that Togoya was sent to destroy her lover, so many years ago, she was going to take the reins and have her moment of physical desire. She was going to take control for herself for once.
“Is there anything in that biological imperative that says other forms of…’entertainment’…lead to the Canto marriage?” she asked, as she leaned forward to nip at his neck. It felt foreign to her, yet so right to finally look to please a man of her own choosing. Her hands trailed down to his waist where her thumbs feathered across the creases of his abs and the tuck of his hip bone. They hadn’t been this close since the party after the jousting tournament. She remembered that fire, when she had been bent enough to have gone overboard. Solomon could feel his skin ripple beneath her touch, electricity racing through his blood stream. As far as he had ever heard, “No, just real…gah…” his breath hitched in his throat as her warm lips trailed across his chest and her teeth gently scraped across his nipple, “real…sex…intercourse… whatever is what consummates the…you’re going to kill me, angel,” he pleaded with her as her hands kneaded their way down his hips and upper thighs, her thumbs trailing close to his hard manhood. He was a hair-trigger. “Would this form of fun help keep you sane for the plan to go off?” she asked as her warm breath settled at the head of his shaft. Sane…go off…those could be words, but his brain was no longer working properly.
“Sin ga tosan dishlan, Symone,” he fell into Canton without realizing. Her lips, just the slightest of hot touch were magic and a curse. She knelt down in front of him. He could die now and not even care. “Your culture doesn’t have anything against this, does it?” she asked as the tip of her tongue traced its way from base to ridge. Well, being Canto did leave him quintessentially hung like a horse. “Gozmala ting…” he breathed heavily before having to work at translating himself, “This isn’t even in my culture…I didn’t know…tagga…asbeta nin, angel, you’re…” his legs were beginning to shake. She took his hand and pulled him until he knelt in front of her. That gave him a second to regain his composure, but not for long. She pushed him back, his back resting on the floor, his head on the sleeping mat. He found himself sprawled, Symone between his legs, his cock rock hard and his heart racing. Her hands traced the lines of his abs once more and worked their way down. “You’ll be telling me what you’ve said after this,” she said as one of her hands descended below his shaft to his balls. Fire burned through him at the touch, her finger tracing the soft spot just below that area, rubbing at the sensitive base most part of the shaft.
She bent over him, nipping at his lower abs and the crease in his hips. Her hand gently rolled his balls back and forth as she found the tip of his shaft once more and traced it. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing…he had never heard of this being done before. He had only been provided with the basic summary of what to do when he found his mate, and this was so many levels beyond that. Symone listened to his breathing pattern, keeping him on the edge. When she had him panting for release she slowed her onslaught, moving back to nipping at his inner thigh. Her tongue swirled around his ball sack, gently sucking on them. By the suns both did he want her. She could feel it in the shift of his body that she was treading a fine line. She re-centered herself between his knees, catching his eyes. She picked up his clenched hands, uncurling the fingers, never losing his eye contact. She settled one on her shoulder and the other on the back of her head as she bent over him once more. He was confused at her action for all of half a second before her mouth pulled his length in. His hand clenched in her hair, his other tightening at her shoulder. His hips rose off the floor involuntarily. The scales bit at his hand, but he did not even notice. Air escaped his lungs as he felt flashes of pleasure rack through his body. One of her hands settled again to rolling and massaging as she started a slow in and out motion with her mouth.
Solomon kept one hand clenched in her hair, feeling like if he let go he would disappear into oblivion. His other hand, though, explored the scaled landscape of her body, finding though the armor plating was cool to the touch her breasts were still pliant. He felt the catch in her throat when he touched her and the moan against his shaft when he squeezed gently. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer and wasn’t sure if it was disgraceful to cum at such a critical point. His hands thumbed her neck and her jaw as he tried to indicate to her to raise her head. She looked up at him, quizzically, “am I supposed to…?” he went to ask as her mouth settled back around him, drawing his full length deep. His hands came back to find their grips in her hair and at her shoulder.
He felt the sky shatter around him, the suction pulling at his seed. His mouth went dry as his skin sizzled. His toes curled as he felt the pressure break free. He throbbed and she drank him in, his hips involuntarily, shallowly thrusting.
Exhausted, his hands trailed down her neck and over her arms to lie limply at his side. The drive in him gone, he stared at his temptress sedately. She licked him once more, catching the last drops before settling back on her haunches smugly. Solomon’s heartbeat was slowly regaining its normal rhythm. “By the red sun, angel…” he tried to speak. She smiled at him knowingly. “How’s that for working around some things?” she asked as she crawled over to cuddle into his side. “I think I can join in the fun, then,” he mumbled, sated. His hand went back to her neck, to rub a spot that did not feel quite right. Behind her left ear was something hard and smooth, tiny, about the circumference of a small thumbtack. Symone stiffened; she could feel his touch, and a dead nerve spot. Her hand went up to feel under his. This was the first time she had become aware of what he had found. “What is that, Symone?”
“I’m not really sure,” she said as she dodged to her pack to try and find a small hand mirror. Solomon got up and walked over to her, brushing the hair from her ear. It was a small, metallic green circle. He brushed it again, testing the edge with his fingernail. A sharp bite of pain ran through Symone’s arm. “Eh, don’t mess with it, Solomon. It’s attached,” she told him as she threw on her clothes. “Might go back to your middle form, I’m heading out to talk to Subole and you don’t have clothes in my room,” she said as she ducked out of the room. Like that, Solomon found himself standing naked in Symone’s room, both relieved and confused.
Symone found Subole in the mess chambers. He had found a quiet table to himself, finally, after too many council meeting that entire week. He was looking forward to the possibility of a nap after lunch. Then the girl sat down next to him. He groaned. “Isis…?” He greeted her. She leaned over and brushed the hair from her ear to show him the little green dot. “And that is?” He asked, aloof. All he wanted to do was eat in peace and quiet. “Do you have anyone trained in medical-cybernetics?” she asked him. His eyebrows shot up. “We have one, and a lab in the neighboring Fiws. If you give me time to get done eating, I’ll find a ward to take you there. Isis, what is that thing?” He asked again.
“It’s how we’re going to break Kisinger and get into the Emperor’s court,” she replied.
Word came to Symone and Solomon that they would be sent out to Kisinger when a messenger came back bearing the last three coins. Subole’s men had been able to finally break in to his compound and crack the safe during a masquerade party celebrating the Emperor’s first decade of power.
Symone was able to gain council with her cousin before leaving the safety of the Fiws. They utilized Subole’s meeting chamber for the short moment that they talked with one another. “Togoya, I need for you to do me one more favor before I go to Kisinger,” she was pacing the room, still running her idea around in her head. “What do you need?” he asked, curious. “Uncle probably has surveillance on my house. I need for you to get in without them noticing if you can,” she smiled at him. He looked at her, indignant that she would even suggest that he couldn’t. “In the library are several books on dragons – ancient works. I need for you to get those out and bring them back to the Fiws. I need to find out what I can about my scales, it’s a Code of the Dragon-born that I need to review, and some other discrepancies that I’m going to see if I can exploit, if what I’m remembering is correct. Can you do that for me?” she asked Togoya. “Your wish, my dear,” he bid goodbye to her as he ducked out of the meeting room.
She was sitting, eating dinner with the rest of the group the next evening when Togoya came in bearing three heavy leather manuscripts. “Your texts?” he smiled at her as he laid them on the table in front of her. The group looked at the books curiously. “What are those for?” Honfu asked. Fado reached over and picked up the top most manuscript. The papers, about six hundred, were enfolded in an oiled leather envelop. The illuminations around the borders revealed their age. The script, handwritten in quill, could only be from the monks brought over on the Subgalaxia. “What language is this?” he asked, confused at the foreign letters. “Latin,” she said as she got up and took her plate to the washers. She returned to find Otly and Solomon also looking over the other manuscripts. The Ipty brothers crowded around Fado and Wain, Rue, and Patch were peering over Otly and Solomon’s shoulders. “Thank you, Togoya,” she hugged her cousin. “Was it difficult getting them out?” she asked as she sat back down, motioning for Otly to hand her the manuscript he had in his hands. “No, not really. There’s a minimal patrol on your house currently. Uncle seems to realize for once that you’re not stupid,” Togoya grabbed a bowl of stew and sat down with the rest of the group. Otly scooted over on the bench at the table to look at Fado’s manuscript.
“What are these?” Penen asked. “These are three of the first texts written by the tribes from the Subgalaxia. They are the Code of the Dragon-born. There is only one other set of these manuscripts, retained in the royal archive,” she answered vaguely.
“How did you get these?” Gotre asked. She looked up at him, the slightest raise to her eyebrow. She returned to her readings, ignoring the question. Maybe it was better that he didn’t know how she came to do some of the things she did, Gotre considered.
“What do you need them for though?” Honfu pressed again. What curious and persistent creatures these Ipties were.
“These texts are the dictates of the dragons upon the royal family. The laws must be lived by for the royal house and the galaxy to function as the dragons’ desire. There has to be a way to over throw it. Uncle has been able to bypass the laws so far by appeasing the dragons through his ruthlessness. I have to know what kind of turmoil this state might be put into if I go and overthrow him,” she said as she flipped through page after page of text. Solomon and she were the only two able to read through the old scripts, and not easily at that. They sat in the mess hall for hours as dinner was put away and entertainment came and went. The group slowly thinned. The night drew on through the early morning.
Solomon, too tired to continue finally put his manuscript back in its leather pouch and tied it up. Symone still sat intently over her script. He could read weariness in her frame, but he left her to it, knowing that she would not leave until she had found exactly what she was looking for.
He was amazed at the amazement of information in the texts. He had found the section on colors and meanings of the dragon scales that he was surprised to learn about. The five dragons – green, blue, brown, black, and white provided a variety of uses to the empire. The green and blue were the most docile, bringers of good fortune, fertility to the land and the inhabitants, plenty of rain. Looking back on the current empress – a bearer of green scales, the land had been drying up and food shortages were the norm. Browns tended to promote the rapid advancement of knowledge. Symone’s mother had been a brown bearer. Transpoplanes, holomaps, galatrons could all be attributed to her time on the throne. Blacks were rare – rebels. They were non-communicative as dragons and often brought about war, strife, and rebellion. They were the representation of change and a shift in power from one royal to the next. Only three times in the books were there listings of a black bearer. Symone made the fourth. Blacks cropped up only when the royal household was moving too far away from the Code and needed to be brought back in to the fold. Whites, there were no listings. Not a single empress had been marked with the white scales. The only name listed was Arly. Solomon found this to be curious, that would make Arly, the white dragon they had encountered near the beginning of their journey, at least as old as the landing of the Subgalaxia. No one knew where the dragons came from. A clutch of eggs had never been found. It was theorized that they might be born live, but even at that, a young dragonling had never been found.
In the beginning, when the first population of humans began inhabiting the Colga Galaxy, the dragons were the most devastating creatures. They would come in through the villages, killing and eating humans and humanoids left and right. They never ate more than the population could sustain, but it was still discouraging to many. Avanyon Hurstein was the first one to communicate with the white dragon and made a deal with her. His daughter was brought to the Dragon’s Back where caves housed the dragons. He offered her as a virgin sacrifice to Arly, to calm the dragons. Arly laughed at the bravado of the man. Instead, a green implanted scales on her, establishing the first telepathic bond with between the dragons and humans. It was found, up her death and the dissection of a dead dragon years later that Hurstein’s daughter and the dragon shared a similar small organ between the frontal lobes of the brain. This was theorized to be where the link came from. Greens, blues, and browns all shared this same formation. Blacks did not. Symone had no ability to link into the dragon network.
It was established early on that the humans of the royal household could not marry into the humanoid race, in order to keep the line pure and to make implantation feasible. They believed the formation of the organ in the empresses and emperors to be a genetic trait that needed to be carried on at as best as possible.
Solomon crawled into his sleeping mat, pondering over the history as his eyelids closed on the dawn of the morning.
Symone and Solomon left out of the Fiws on a cool dawn. The dry months were drawing to a close on Chima and what little water could be expected in the draughted wet months would be appreciated. The skies were clear that morning and the sand hissed across the desert. Togoya had arranged a puddle-jumper transpoplane to take Symone and Solomon into the Capital. From there they would find their way to Kisinger’s house where Solomon would play the epic hero, having retained the escapee for the emperor. If the plan worked, Kisinger would welcome Solomon into his house for an evening of “festivities.” In so doing, Symone would hopefully be able to drug and brainwash Kisinger. She would need more than just a bluff to get into the Emperor’s compound, an ace or three up her sleeve would be necessary. The group was to make their way to the capital that evening with the twelve coins and await Symone’s signal. Arrangements had already been made to get them access to the compound too. They would join up in the Emperor’s court, if everything went according to plan. Subole had troops from the militia moving into the vacant Fiws that were closer to the capital. It was hoped that there would not be too much of an issue, but knowing that at least 360 leaders in the solar system were loyal to the current emperor did not bode well. They needed to transfer the power irrefutably, and quickly to contain the bloodshed.
On the transpoplane flight over, Symone went through Solomon’s act with him. On her lap was a heavy black cloak and large hood, a collar and chain leash, a set of ankle chains and a wooden handcuff box. Solomon stared at the implements uncomfortably. “Are those really necessary?” he asked her. She fingered the metal collar and the lock. She held a key out to him as she moved to set the collar about her neck. A rather ornate lock, that of a lion head – the key inserted into the mouth to lock and unlock the mechanism, clipped around the hold ring. It was snug, and would rub, but for this to go smoothly, it would have to be believable. “Don’t lose that. This is high grade stuff and bolt cutters won’t do the trick, k?” she said as she took her boots off. “Symone?” he asked her again as he watched her put the ankle cuffs and chains on. This was just too weird. “Look, who’s going to believe that you captured the top assassin, the Ravenspy of the Emperor, if she just walks next to you all the way to the person who’s supposed to hand her over to her uncle, hmm?” she asked him. He shrugged. She threw on a lightweight, long sleeved slavwool shirt to hide her scales.
Her hand came up to his face, her thumb brushing across his cheek. “Lucky for us you don’t have your Canto facial markings. As long as you keep your shirt on Kisinger shouldn’t suspect you to be anything other than human,” she told him.
He gripped her wrist, turning her hand to place a kiss in the middle of it. “Is he humanoidist?” he asked her, finally curious about the man he was going to be meeting.
“He is. He would no sooner look at you than run you through with a sword if he found out his perversion was witnessed by anything other than human,” she answered.
“These’ll come off when we get to Kisinger’s though right?” He asked as he helped her into the handcuffs. “Do you really want to know?” she asked as she stood up. He lifted the thick black cape onto her shoulders and fastened the top three buttons that ran from neck to chest. The folds hid her shape well and the hood, when pulled over her head left a few inches open, hiding her face entirely. He lifted it to look her in the eyes, “You ever walk in one of these? It’s a death trap. You’ll trip,” he said. She lifted one leg out from the cloak “At least once or twice,” she smiled. “You’re sure you want to do this? We can go back,” he asked her once more. “I trust you,” she said as she stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. “Do you want this thing on now, or after we get off the trans?” he asked her, holding up the hook end of the leash. “Meh, might as well put it on now so we don’t forget it later. His fingers trembling, he lifted the lion head lock up and clipped the leash to under it to the hold ring. His thumb brushed the flesh of her neck. It was odd, and just a bit exhilarating. He used the leash to gently pull her to him to kiss. She giggled. “You seem to be taking to this a lot faster than I expected,” she crooned as she sat back down. He sat down next to her, his hand still holding the end of her leash absent mindedly.
They landed on one of the transpads on a skyscraper in the capital. Solomon drew in and held a breath and caught Symone’s eye. She nodded to him. They rose together. He adjusted the hood on her cape to hide her face and checked to make sure that he still had hold of the key to her collar. He took the lead and walked off the trans, Symone treading behind him with a practiced melancholy gate. He followed a map that Symone had drawn to get to Kisinger’s house. She had told him that she would need to remain silent on their walk, so that they would not give away their plan accidentally, in case one of her uncle’s spies were out.
He had many more questions to ask her about Kisinger, but figured that he would end up just having to answer them for himself when the time came. They wandered through the bazaar and through a series of progressively more affluent neighborhoods until they found themselves at an immense white wall and bronze gate. A matching lion head to the lock on Symone’s collar was mounted on the gate’s crest. “Did we just go through all of that so that you’d be seen?” Solomon whispered as they waited to be let in. “Just a bit,” she answered as the gate swung open and she waited for Solomon to lead. He found himself in an opulent courtyard of polished stone, water fountains, large seating arrangements, and lavish flowering plants.
A lean man in a brocade dressing robe and little else was lounging on a chair, a servant girl minding a large shade umbrella behind him. “I hear tell that you’re the man that caught a big one,” the man smiled as he stood up and walked over to his guest and prize. He was in his early thirties, long brown hair clasped at his neck. He was what could be considered handsome to the point of god-like in his appearance. Sparkling cold blue eyes took in the human form of Solomon and the hooded figure.
“And I hear tell that you’re willing to part with a nice reward for her turn over,” Solomon said slyly.
“You, my friend, heard right; if she’s who I’m looking for. May I,” he asked, indicating Symone’s hood.
“By all means,” he waved the man over. Symone was surprised at how easily Solomon was slipping into character. She was blinded when her hood was lifted. “My, my, good sir, this is exactly what I was looking for,” he smiled at Solomon. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Isis?” he slithered.
“Bite me,” Symone replied belligerently. Kisinger ran a finger along her cheek, “all in good time, my dear. I wonder,” Kisinger waited for Solomon’s name. He responded, “Horas.” He needed to make sure that Kisinger didn’t link him with McAlister if they didn’t want their cover blown. Kisinger smiled. “I wonder, Horas,” he paused as he walked around behind the two, analyzing them both, his hand gently hefting the weight of Solomon’s ponytail before running his fingers along Isis’s shoulders. Solomon tried not to flinch at the blatant intimacy. “I wonder, if you would be willing to join me for dinner, and maybe a bit of light entertainment afterwards before I send you home with your reward?” he asked as he lead the way into the cool veranda.
“That sounds lovely,” Solomon said lightly. He lead Symone behind him to the veranda where Kisinger pulled up a seat at a table and motioned for Solomon to sit. A sweating pitcher of water and sparkling crystal glasses stood on the table. Kisinger poured a glass for Solomon and himself. “Kneel, Isis, you’re brooding,” Kisinger said dismissively. Without missing a beat, Symone sank gracefully into seiza, her cuffed hands in her lap. She could feel the ankle cuffs bite into her legs and knew that when she stood up next she would be feeling pins and needles in the pads of her feet. “Well, you have her trained rather well,” Solomon chuckled. Symone blushed. She hadn’t expected Solomon to play along so well, she had feared Kisinger would have to prod too much and lose interest in the game. “Oh, she’s taken time. She can be rather headstrong when she wants to be,” Kisinger smiled over his glass.
“I take it she’s a favored pet that got away?” Solomon brushed away perspiration that was accumulating on his glass before drinking from it.
“Oh, no, actually the emperor is looking for her, he just loans her to me on occasion when I have parties here. I have one in a week, and would be completely lost without my entertainment,” he said as he rang a little silver bell he pulled from his pocket. Within seconds a maid appeared, waiting on his order. “Would you be a dear and prepare dinner for Mr. Horas and myself? We’ll be eating in my quarters this evening, if that’s alright with you?” he asked Solomon.
Solomon shrugged, “whatever will make you happy for me to get the reward.”
“Excellent,” Kisinger smiled as he rose from his seat. “Come, you must be dusty from the city. If you would like, I can show you to a guest room you can use to tidy up before dinner,” he sauntered into the house.
Solomon rose, and Symone rose with him, feeling the bite in her feet she was expecting. “Oh, I wouldn’t want my catch to disappear from my site just yet,” Solomon said, following Kisinger to a rather large powder room. “Oh, no need to worry, there’s a latch in there that you can set her leash on. She’s rather obedient though, she shouldn’t run away,” Kisinger reassured, indicating a locking loop on a wall of the room. There were several. Solomon acted like it was entirely normal to have such things in a wash room. “She might be obedient with you, but I don’t trust her,” he said as he linked the chain in the loop at a tight notch that kept her back against the wall. Kisinger smirked, “oh, we could remedy that for you later if you would like – just think of it as part of your reward for finding her for me,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Solomon turned on the faucets so that there was a loud enough sound that he thought he might not be overheard as he talked with Symone. He reached up to unhook the locking loop. “Don’t worry about it, the release is on the outside of the room. Wash for now,” Symone told him. “This guy is…” Solomon looked at Symone, concerned. Symone shrugged, “he’s what he is. He’s opulent, arrogant, and sadistic. You’re doing fine. Play along,” she cooed.
He ran his hand through his ponytail, “Is he going to do something to me?” he asked, just a bit worried. Symone frowned, looking Solomon up and down. “Not unless you give him good reason too,” she said. She heard a double click, that of the board in the hall giving away to a tell tale groan of weight being applied to it. “Kiss me, hard,” she said, her eyes darting to the door. Without hesitation or thought to the invitation, he crowded in on her, pinning her to the wall with his body, his hand clutching her hair, drawing her head back as his mouth dominated her’s. His other hand bit into her hip. The door opened swiftly. “Oh my,” Kisinger tittered, “she would be much better saved for dessert, Mr. Horas.” He pressed a button on the outside of the wall and the leash came loose. Solomon released Symone, grabbing for the leash. Gruffly he said, “you might be right, she was saying a few things that I thought I should silence her on,” turned off the faucet and followed Kisinger down a corridor and into a large, dim room.
Upon entering the room, he could tell the trouble he might just have gotten himself into. The windows were hung with heavy velvet drapes. Plush dark carpets and rugs lined the floors. A heavy, large gogo oak table took up the center of the room. On it was a two person dinner with candle light and wine. The fireplace, for being in the middle of the dry season was lit. A gigantic four poster bed down near the end of the room was strewn with heavy, ornate blankets. There was a seating arrangement of opulent arm chairs and a couch. A writing desk took up another spot. For all of the large furniture, the room didn’t feel crowded in the least. A large series of doors along one wall could only be closets, Solomon surmised.
“My private chambers,” Kisinger smiled as he took the leash from Solomon. He lead Symone over to one of the doors and locked her leash into another loop while he opened the door. Solomon could feel his face pale for a second. Inside the door were shelves of various implements. Kisinger pulled out several pieces. “Do you mind?” Kisinger held up a ball gag for Solomon’s inspections, “huh?” Solomon looked concerned. “Oh, no, not for you, for her,” he smiled reassuringly. He glanced at Symone, acting like he was analyzing her, but he was really looking for any sign of unease she would indicate to him. There was just the ever so slight of a nod that he was waiting for. He shrugged and waved Kisinger on, “If you think it necessary.”
Kisinger fitted the gag in her mouth and buckled it. “I don’t like my dinner interrupted when I’m talking with guests,” he smiled. He unlocked the leash and took her over to the seating arrangement. With the tap of a button hidden on the floor a loop popped out of the floor. The man sure had quite the set up going for him. He linked a new chain to the handcuffs and the loop in the floor before unhooking the leash and returning to the table where Solomon had already seated himself. Kisinger handed the leash back to the black haired man.
Symone eased herself to a sitting position, watching the men carefully. Solomon was playing his part well. With any luck he would somehow distract Kisinger and get the drug in Kisinger’s drink. In theory, once Kisinger conked out, she could start the wash process and pull Kisinger to her side.
“So, Mr. Kisinger, how did you come to have such lavish arrangements at hand?” Solomon swirled his fork in the general direction of the widows and the seating arrangement. “Honestly, Mr. Horus, I’m from old blood. I live like Caligula of Rome because my ancestors knew how to invest properly. The emperor is an old friend from childhood, so we’re on good terms,” he smiled as he bit into a dainty piece of steak. “I think I could get used to these arrangements” Solomon complemented Kisinger. “Oh, you should see the parties, now that’s living,” Kisinger replied. “Oh?” Solomon asked. “Yes, oh, they’re beautiful. Men wandering about the party, frolicking with the pets,” Kisinger smirked. Solomon raised an eyebrow, indicating his desire for elaboration. “Oh, I keep a full staff of beautiful women, the pets of the manner. Typically, the emperor sends his problems to me and I train them to be obedient little pets. I’m the best there is,” Kisinger looked back at Symone.
“So how did Isis come into this?” Solomon asked, tasting the steak he had been served. It was delicious, beyond what he had ever tried. Kisinger rose at the question, his eyes still analyzing Symone. His smile was gone, a contemplative look replacing it. “The emperor was having issues getting her to obey in her training sessions with the Ravenspy. I got her for the better part of a year to train. She still seems to believe she can just go running off whenever the urge pleases her,” he mumbled. He stood behind Symone for a second before unclasping her cape. This was the moment Symone was waiting for, when Kisinger was distracted. Solomon pulled a small vial from his pocket. He poured a clear liquid from it into Kisinger’s red wine and hid the vial once more in his pocket. She felt Kisinger’s fingers trail from the hollow spot behind her left ear where a green metallic dot lay, down the line of her neck to trace gently around her metal collar. She could feel Kisinger entering his element. He enjoyed being watched during these processes. It might be a bit before he returned to his guest. Solomon, sensing that he might be losing his chance at getting Kisinger drugged went to say something before he caught Symone’s sharp eye. She flipped her hair, allowing easier access to the line that Kisinger was spending time on and indicating to Solomon to come over to the seating arrangement.
Solomon picked up his wine glass and Kisinger’s and walked over to the seating arrangement. He raised a glass to Kisinger, who looked up and smiled, pleased to have found someone willing to join him. He nodded when Solomon set the glass on the table. Solomon seated himself in one of the armchairs, finding it to be rather low to the ground. A year, no wonder Symone wanted to specifically take this guy down. He watched Kisinger’s fingers massage at Symone’s neck, and like that, a switch was flipped. She became pliant to his touch, her eyes slightly glassing over. Her back arched as his fingers traveled down her spin, her butt involuntarily lifting to rub against his hand. “Neat trick,” Solomon said, his eyes half closed. He was trying to act aloof, doing his best to bide his time for Kisinger to drink his wine, which from the looks of things, might take a while. “As I said, it took the better part of a year to get her trained. A hair trigger if I might call it that,” he smiled as his fingers tugged at the edge of her pants, revealing a thin black line. “Oh, what do we have here?” his hands crawled up under the back of her shirt. “Hmmm, well this is something. Mr. Horus, have you ever seen dragon scales before?” Kisinger asked as he pulled Symone’s shirt over her head to bunch at her handcuffs. “Not that I can say, sir. Doesn’t that make her empress?” he feigned. “Well, if they were real, maybe, but the emperor’s wife is still alive and quite well, I can tell you that much. Isis must have had these put on for some reason. I should probably forewarn the emperor. Meh, it doesn’t really matter now or later. He’ll have her tomorrow anyways.”
Kisinger slowly stripped her of her clothing. Solomon shifted uncomfortably, wondering what he was supposed to be doing. Symone had seemed to have checked out in a manner. She was receptive to touch, but she was no longer sending signals to Solomon. He was fighting his urges of possession and protection. He slid out of the chair to kneel in front of her, his hand cupping her face. “Oohhoo, not often do I get a participant in these events, how nice,” Kisinger giggled, more than pleased at the turn of events. His hand cupped Symone’s firm butt, rubbing from the lower back to the crease where her rump met her thighs.
Solomon brushed back Symone’s hair. He unbuckled the gag and pulled it from her mouth. His mouth found hers, seeking, searching for her fire. He had to find a way to snap her out of the spell without raising Kisinger’s suspicions. So this was the other reason why she brought him along. She knew that she ran the risk of being entranced and needed someone to watch out for her. She seemed to have been programmed to respond to being kissed. She reached up for him, only to find herself caught short by her cuffs. She moaned lightly, indicating her displeasure at not being able to continue unimpeded. “She should be safe to uncuff now, Mr. Horus,” Kisinger told him, indicating the dials of a small switch pad on the side table. Kisinger picked up the glass Solomon had so kindly brought over with him and took a sip, watching the black haired man. Solomon’s hand drifted from Symone slowly, sensually as he got up to contemplate the dials. He found the switches for the cuffs and turned them off.
He heard a feint gurgle and the thud of a body hitting the lavishly carpeted floor. The glass of wine had spilled across the red rug and Kisinger was sprawled in a rather unnatural position. “Well that didn’t take long,” Symone said as she pulled her pants back on. Solomon looked up from the switchboard, surprised. “You’re alright?” he asked her. “Never better,” she answered as she dug out a small box from an internal cloak pocket. “Weren’t you just…?” he was now a little more than confused. True, he hadn’t understood how she was going to brainwash Kisinger, or the whole ending to the plan at large, but she had been entranced, or so he thought. “You remember that thing you found on my neck a while back,” she asked as she took from the small box a small, strange looking instrument. It was a small vial with a leech shaped metallic mouth at one end and a plunger at the other. Inside of the vial was a nest of silver wires and electrodes. Solomon nodded mutely as he watched her place the mouth behind Kisinger’s ear and press the plunger. There was a slight squeak as the mouth bore into the hollow spot and he watched, slightly nauseated as the nest of wires eased themselves out of the vile to disappear through the mouth and into Kisinger’s neck. “That thing that you found,” she said, as she put the vile back and extracted an intricate ring from Kisinger’s hand, “is a cerebral control switch, controlled by this ring,” she held it up for him to see. He picked it from her hand to look it over. It was pressure sensitive on either side, where the fingers lay, the white stone in it was actually a small chip, and a signal was sent through the base of the ring when it was set over the control switch. He handed it back to her. She walked over to the fireplace, dropped the ring on the tile, and smashed it with her boot. “I’ve put a new switch in Kisinger, run off of this,” she pointed at the lock on her collar. Solomon sat down on the armchair, finally realizing this might take a bit for her to explain. Symone finished getting her clothes back on. “So, is that the switch Kisinger put in you?” Solomon ventured as he watched her fiddle with a wire she connected to a hidden port on the lock and the connection on a holodeck she had brought with her. A small screen popped up and she started pocking at tabs as she talked to him.
“Subole had a ward take me over to see Yazar, an old cyber-medic in the Grefer Fiws. Yazar was able to get a readout of the code in the on board unit in this thing,” she scratched at the dot. “I had him wipe the data and scramble it so that it couldn’t be used again. He said the thing has a deadman’s switch on it. There’s a connection the wires make to a spot in the brain that, if the switch is removed, will kill the host instantly. So, yeah, the things stuck there, but now I know what happened to me for the better part of my life,” she grumbled. “So all that, back there, the…the entrancement, that was all an act?” Solomon was flustered.
“Yep, the read out Yazar found was one sided. It was a list of reactions that I was supposed to have. He backtracked it to conjecture what the input probably was to warrant which reaction. So, I just pretended that Kisinger’s ring was still working,” she told him as she finished out her screen. “How long would you have continued with that charade before doing something about it?” he asked, concerned that she had absolutely no sense of self preservation any more. “As long as it took for one of you to get me out of those stupid cuffs. I was stuck by the red sun and would have had to play along until someone let me out,” she answered as she dragged Kisinger’s body out of it’s unnatural position to lay on the rug where she cuffed him to the floor loop. Solomon paled. He was glad he had somehow had the foresight to get things moving, then.
“Now what?” he asked her.
“Now, we wait for the drug to wear off and to test if Yazar got the program right for this thing,” she answered.
RT @ThorntonGibsonK: I can’t wait to read what happens next in The Kavordian Library! – #scifi, #fantasy, #webseries #booksTweet