Chapter Four
“Beware the untamed Fa’loom. He is more dangerous than one thousand strikes of lightening, each igniting its own raging fire—for unlike the fire, he knows exactly what he does.”
— Sacred Ethos, Verse Fifty-Three, Line Seven
Amaz follows Sai through the trade market of Hagate, the northernmost Mamlakah in Nuama—well, except for Gehkan, though that is on the western coast, caught between mountains, the Wildlands, and endless sea.
As a boy, he’d been confused as to why their world was called Nuama, because while some islands have their own names, the largest landmass—home to Corestone, Hagate, Gehkan, and many other Mamlakahs—is also called Nuama.
During lessons once, he’d asked why. The instructor had simply recommended using context to figure out which was meant.
The central island landmass of Nuama is so large, it takes even the strongest Cloudweaver several days to fly from one end to the other, and at least four to fly the width, assuming winds are favorable.
And that doesn’t include traversing the Wildlands, of course.
Amaz glances to his left, where the Kopu Range and Dar’kat Mounts beyond them rise so far up, he has to crane his neck to see their entire height.
Thousands of annums ago, The Awakeners raised these formidable behemoths. No one remembers why. Maybe they had reasons—keeping people out of the Wildlands, perhaps. Or maybe they just wanted to create for the sake of creation.
Whatever their reasons, beyond those innumerable peaks, the Wildlands stretch on—vast, unknowable, untouched.
No one has seen what is beyond the mountains. Not for annums upon annums.
Perhaps not ever.
Amaz sighs, dragging his gaze over the shifting tide of bodies, winged and not. The sun slants through the silk awnings and cedar boughs above, casting patterns of gold and deep red on the packed dirt pathways. Women haggle in voices as smooth as honey, hands and throats adorned with gems that sparkle and flame in the dappled light.
He would ask Sai to slow her pace for him—he is already loaded down with several of her trades—but he knows exactly what she would say.
The one time he asked, she simply said, “This is my natural pace,” and seemed annoyed he had even suggested it. As she had every right to be. As a mere man, he shouldn’t have asked to begin with. Why should she slow herself to move at his pace?
The air is thick with the sharp tang of imported citrus and the richer undercurrent of roasting root vegetables. Incense curls from a distant brazier, heady and sweet—beeswax, cedar of course, and something floral that he can’t quite place.
Sai spots one of her favorite traders—a woman named Samara—and her steps quicken. From somewhere in the crowd, a trader calls out in a lilting rhythm: “Bedcoverings, handclothes and shawls from Gehkan! Dyes as deep as midnight, purple as the ripest byostea!” A soft sound, like waves rushing over rocks follows—the weight of gemstones offered for barter falling into the trader’s palm.
Although he can’t see her face, Amaz knows Sai is beaming, happy to see her friend. He hasn’t had a real friend—someone he sees more than a few times an annum—in so long.
Not since they left Corestone all those annums ago.
But that doesn’t bear thinking about.
His heart softens a bit, remembering her face when she’d said, “You need to be protected.”
The words had been warm as spiced tea on his tongue. She’s meant it. He still believes that. At the time, he thought it was because she loved him.
He was sought after at Corestone. Sestras whispered his name in the baths, private alcoves, between silken bedclothes. He was desired for what he could offer—his beauty, his devotion, his skill. His clear adoration of sensuality. Of the taste of a woman.
Until.
One sunny morning on a stream bank far from anyone but the two of them, the Sestra he was fucking from behind pulled away, her gaze sharpening with a look he had never seen on a Sestra before.
They returned to Corestone with no further intimate contact. He hadn’t asked why—it wasn’t his place. He was confused, though. He thought she had been enjoying herself, and of course she had given consent before they began.
A few days later, the rumors started.
“You frightened her,” Sai had explained. “You know you cannot ever even think about dominating a woman. The moment a woman wonders if you are carrying any malice toward her, your role as a Fa’loom is in danger of coming to an end.” Her voice was soft but firm, fingers trailing through his hair.
“I understand,” Amaz replied, remembering the Bloodletting and shuddering. “How can I fix this?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I need to think about it.”
She had been his Keeper for almost two annums when that happened. He felt proud to belong to her. She was one of the Ensheduana teaching the Empress’s family’s daughters. Every girl-child born to any Sestra related to the Empress had been taught earthshaping by her since she assumed her post at Afrid—the learning chambers near Corestone—several annums prior.
She was beloved by her pupils. She was intelligent, humorous, good-natured, and had a wide tolerance for the antics of younglings, who often did silly things like shaping one of the practice mounds into a giant pair of breasts—one smaller and lower than the other.
Yet, as glad as he was to have a Keeper like her, he sometimes wished she wouldn’t lend him out so casually. Since her role kept her busy, she sometimes sent him to be with one Sestra or another for a few days, especially if no well-trained Fa’loom with a similar skill set was readily available.
After all, back then, both he and Sai were in their third decade already. That meant he had been a Fa’loom for almost fifteen annums. His reputation was well-established, meaning Sestras often sought Sai’s permission to borrow him for a few days—sometimes longer.
Amaz sighs again, drawing his attention back to the trade market.
Samara’s eyes meet his, then flicker over him like she is assessing a piece of fruit or meat. She smiles, offering him the welcoming gesture to draw near.
The smell of roasting spices, fresh flowers, and drying herbs drifts through the air, mixing with the scent of massive cedars and the salt-tinged breeze of the sea to the east. He inhales deeply—one thing that is similar to Corestone is how wonderful it smells here, though the scents are not exactly the same.
He’s alive, he is here in this moment, and that matters.
He owes Sai his life. His knees should be pressed to the ground in thanks, forehead grazing the dust, but Sai has never demanded it. Instead, he shows his thanks and devotion by following a step behind her, hands folded neatly over her trades.
Years ago, when they first came to Hagate, Sai often turned to make sure he was following close behind, sometimes smiling at him when she did. But now, she does what she needs to, expecting he will always be there.
Sai chats with Samara, who shows her lengths of richly dyed fabrics with which to make various sorts of garments. Samara’s long, earthen-built table is shaped just as needed to display her wares. Since their last visit, she has replaced the slahel vines with lilacs in white, fuchsia, and deep purple. They spring from the ground in thick clusters, their scent bathing the fabrics in perfume that will linger for weeks to come.
Almost all Sestras love the scent of lilacs—they are a better choice than the slahel vines Samara used before. Slahel flowers are stunning, but their scent is nowhere near as intoxicating as the blooms now surrounding her table.
Amaz lingers a few paces back. His voluminous robes chafe, the stiff fabric clinging to his skin in the heat. He longs to strip them off, feel the air on his body. Instead, he watches as Sai and Samara converse. The fabric they discuss is clearly for a new day tunic for Te’ire, though of course Samara won’t know that.
Amaz’s jaw clenches.
Te’ire. That abomination to the Goddesses—
But he should trust Sai. She chose to keep the boy alive—
His eyes suddenly catch a familiar face. Before he can stop himself, he speaks.
“Bahlir? My Goddess, it’s been—” He doesn’t even know how long.
“Amaz? Goddesses, is this where you ended up?!” Bahlir catches himself, then smooths his tone. “How fortunate! A stunning location, to be sure.”
Bahlir’s Keeper is draped in a sheer, gold-threaded gown, her wings tied loosely back with soft cloth ribbons, each one adorned with dozens of tassels lined with tiny, sparkling gemstones.
Around her waist, she wears a wide, embroidered sash, shot through with miniature crystals and shimmering threads. It travels from her back to Bahlir’s waist, where it wraps around him like a tether.
She looks to be two—perhaps three—decades younger than him. She is intelligent, then. Often, younger Sestras ignore the advice of their Mothers, Aunts, and Ensheduana, who almost always recommend choosing a Fa’loom with many annums of experience.
Clearly, she is one who listened.
She peruses the wing adornments under the adjoining canopy, completely ignoring both him and Bahlir.
The other man notices Amaz’s gaze flick to the sash tying him to his Keeper.
“Many Sestras have adopted this lately,” he says with a light yawn, motioning to the soft fabric connecting them. “This way, your Keeper doesn’t even have to glance back to know you’re there.”
He smiles, utterly content.
Amaz’s chest clenches—envy, pity, both at once.
Just look at Bahlir.
In his fifth decade, leashed to a woman half his age like a panther who might devour the hand that feeds him.
As if any man would be that self-destructive.
But Amaz can’t help but notice that Bahlir’s robes are stunning, nearly new. The crystals and gemstones on his garments are fewer than those of his Keeper, yet his very presence is thrice as powerful as what Amaz’s has been in many annums.
“That seems… handy,” Amaz acknowledges, suddenly exceedingly aware of how long it has been since Sai traded for new garments for him.
He hasn’t seen another Fa’loom from Corestone in quite some time. Though he and Bahlir are the same age, the other man has clearly been pampered for the entirety of the decades since they last saw one another. His skin is soft, his hands well-kept. Though his head is mostly obscured by his covering, several shining curls peek from underneath.
Amaz nearly winces, realizing how long it has been since he gave himself a full and proper grooming. Luckily, his robes hide most of his body. He resists the urge to tuck his hands—which he now remembers are not up to Corestone standards—into his sleeves. But if Bahlir is still as good a Fa’loom as he used to be, he has already noticed Amaz’s ragged fingernails. Hiding them would only amplify his embarrassment.
He thanks the Goddesses he at least shaved that morning.
Bahlir’s wrists are adorned with hammered copper cuffs, twisted into curlicues. He even wears a small sunstone ring on one finger.
“Are you still at Corestone, then?” Amaz asks, aiming for politeness while fighting the immense surge of jealousy threatening to rip him apart.
Suddenly, it is difficult to see. His vision reddens at the edges.
Bahlir hesitates, his gaze flickering over Amaz’s worn garments, his unadorned hands.
“Yes. My Keeper is one of Empress Thelyrah’s many nieces.”
Thelyrah. Daughter of Ahurewah, the Empress who’d exiled him. Who had given Sai a choice—Amaz or Corestone.
“It has been many annums since you left Corestone,” Bahlir adds, his voice measured. “I—and others—have thought of you often.”
It is more than he should say. More than Amaz could have hoped for.
“Yes,” Amaz nods, and a silent understanding passes between them.
A certain sort of exhaustion that perhaps only Fa’loom of their age can grasp.
“Change suits some better than others,” Bahlir says at last, his words gentle. “I hope your journey has brought you fulfillment?”
Sai turns, speaking before Amaz can reply.
“It has been an adjustment. But every path has its purpose, and we are well.”
Her tone is even and composed, yet her words signal it is time for them to move on.
Bahlir nods. His Keeper, done with her trade, turns and walks away, her sheer golden gem-laden gown catching the light as she moves. A passing merchant calls out, the scent of incense and spiced honey wine still thickens the air.
Bahlir gives Amaz a brief—but genuine—smile before following his Keeper, the length of cloth between them shifting with his steps. He steps into the crowd, vanishing between the ever-shifting bodies.
Amaz hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.
~
The tide is low. It has been every morning since they’d returned from Hagate, a sign summer is nearing.
Amaz crouches on the rocks, the sea stretching endlessly before him, a vast and empty thing he cannot traverse on his own. He’s dependent upon Sai to get him off the island.
The waves lap against the stones at his feet, their rhythm steady.
His wingroots ache. A cruel trick of the body, as if some part of him still believes they are there. In his dreams, sometimes they are. But even in his dreams he can’t fly.
His jaw clenches. He knows why he’s upset, and it’s not just because of the interaction with Bahlir a few days prior.
Sai has preferred to spend her time at the market trading for things for Te’ire from the moment the boy appeared, practically inside their dwelling entry, just a few days old. That had been nearly nineteen annums ago.
Amaz has always been jealous of Te’ire, even when the boy was an infant. And not just because Sai dotes on him.
Te’ire still has his wings.
Unheard of. Quite literally.
Amaz rubs at the scar where his right wing once was, fingers pressing into the uneven skin. His wings were cut off at birth, of course. Like every boy born in Nuama.
Except Te’ire.
Amaz shifts on the rocks, restless. He has caught nothing that morning. He feels like throwing his rod into the sea, but resists the urge.
He misses fishing from their boat.
But as soon as Te’ire’s wings had gotten strong enough to help Sai carry Amaz to the mainland, she’d destroyed it. She’d assured him it wasn’t because she was worried about him leaving. She just wanted him safe, and the ocean was, after all, unpredictable.
Especially in such a small boat.
And since he didn’t need it to get back and forth to the mainland anymore, why keep it around?
A few annums back, ego a little wounded by being carried around by a boy less than a third his age, Amaz had spoken with Nivbe, a Fa’loom he’d gotten to know over the annums since they’d moved to the island near Hagate.
Sai had gone off to get herself some refreshment in an establishment that didn’t allow males. Nivbe had been trading alone that day, as his Keeper had remained at their dwelling to be serviced by the mouth and fingers of a servant.
Nivbe seemed a bit put-out about this, so Amaz, thinking perhaps the other Fa’loom would have empathy for his own situation, told Nivbe about Te’ire still having his wings. Amaz would never forget the way Nivbe had thrown his head back in laughter at such a thought.
After all, it was unbelievable that any boy child would be allowed to keep his wings. When Amaz insisted it was true, Nivbe had become angry and accused him of lying.
In fear of being severely punished by Cloudweavers for telling an untruth, knowing Sai had told no one of Te’ire’s existence, and realizing Nivbe wasn’t going to believe him, Amaz apologized and said he had indeed been making a jest.
He never brought it up to anyone ever again, and luckily, Sai hadn’t found out he’d been gossiping about Te’ire. A small favor from the Goddesses, perhaps.
Though Amaz sometimes wondered if they actually existed.
But they must. Otherwise, how would life have come about?
Amaz exhales sharply and stands, setting his rod aside. He needs to focus on something else. If he can find some gemstones, next time Sai takes him to market, he can trade for his own fabric and make himself new robes.
Amaz scowls again, his mood truly growing foul. If he can’t find any gems, he’ll have to trade with Te’ire again. He can sometimes be talked out of the smaller or less-attractive crystals and gems he finds on his solo flights to nearby locales, but he usually wants something exorbitant in trade for them.
Last time they traded, Te’ire had requested that Amaz wash his garments for an entire moon cycle as his end of their barter.
As the day warms, Amaz begins to think about taking a dip in the stream. There is only one on their little island, but it does have a deep, wide pool suitable for swimming. Sai had formed that when they’d moved to this island, though she rarely visited it with him anymore.
Amaz thinks longingly of the multitude of hot-and-warm spring-fed pools scattered throughout the lush forest gardens and Groveholds of Corestone.
At Corestone, they had always been well-fed, and without much effort. There was so much abundance in that place.
And the women… he had been with many, of course, before meeting Sai and being claimed by her. In fact, she was his fifth Keeper. His fourth, a Sestra named Gihindra, had returned him to the duug to be of general service about an annum before he’d been officially introduced to Sai.
His duties as a Fa’loom had granted him access to some of the most beautiful Sestras in Nuama. And until his penchant for passionate lovemaking had been questioned as being something else entirely, he had been quite sought-after, too.
“Sai saved me, though,” he mumbles, sweat gathering between his legs as the day continues to warm.
Which is true. If not for her singular affection for him… well. He shudders to think of it. Being here is certainly better than being on Ga’hueal—or dead.
And at least here, he gets to go to market sometimes. In all the years he’d lived in the men’s dwellings just outside Corestone, he’d only had the chance to go twice.
There were servants there who did that sort of thing. And anyway, in Corestone he’d had to wear his full garments anytime he left the men’s dwelling, unless a Sestra or Keeper directed him not to, which made the prospect of going to market less appealing.
At the market in Hagate, however, he could at least loosen his headcovering if there were no Cloudweavers nearby. And of course, it’s much cooler here than in Corestone.
But even better than that, here on the island where he lives with Sai and Te’ire, he doesn’t have to wear any garments at all. At least Sai doesn’t care about that.
A few more hours passed as he sat on the rocks, tossing his line, pulling it in. Tossing, pulling. Pulling, tossing.
Ugh. He really is sick of this.
The gemstones, though. They are nicer to think about.
He’d found a few small pieces of violet-speckled larkivite and sunset-tinged jacintha near the stream a couple annums back. Surely there were more precious stones he’d missed.
Tossing his rod aside to retrieve later, he walks toward the center of the island, kicking loose rocks as he goes. Barren except for small, scraggly trees and bushes, and bitter herbs that Sai adores in both drink and food, the island isn’t often a cozy place.
He supposes that was the point of being sent here.
But Sai saved him from a much worse fate. He really should try harder to please her. He knows he owes her his life.
When Amaz reaches the stream, he walks right in, the water soon covering him to his chest. When they’d first arrived here all those annums ago, Sai had shaped benches of sorts along the banks, and moved several large, flat rocks from the shoreline to the edges of the stream to sit or lay upon.
Several small trees drape their heavy branches into the water. It really is quite peaceful here.
After a while, Amaz begins thinking about the gemstones he’d found along these banks. There have to be more…
He wades to shallower water, shaking droplets from his hair as he pushes his way through the stream. Hands on his hips, he gazes around the area, mentally noting where he has searched most recently.
Then, he walks back and forth across the sandy banks, a different direction each time. The afternoon shadows grow long as he continues to search the surface.
No luck. Nothing he’d missed. Perhaps in the decades since they’d arrived, he really had found all the gems and precious stones on the island.
But… surely there were more under the ground. There have to be. It is known that when parts of hills or mountains crumble apart after a big rain, gemstones and crystals previously hidden beneath are revealed.
Amaz digs his big toe into the ground, just a bit. His feet are tough since he refuses to wear foot coverings unless they’re in Hagate.
He really did deserve a new over-robe, at least. Perhaps then Bahlir would have managed to find a moment to continue speaking with him. It would have been nice to talk to someone he used to know.
He wiggles his toe a little deeper into the ground. If Sai were to find out he’d defiled the earth by digging into it, he truly would be sent to Ga’hueal.
Or worse.
But who is here to see? No one. And who will guess where he’d found the crystals and gems? No one, since no one ever dug for them.
So he’ll just keep that little secret to himself. He can do that.
He kneels on the ground. Small, sharp rocks cut into his skin, making him bleed.
With rough and calloused hands, he begins to dig.
~
The memories are so fresh, so real, Amaz blinks as he returns to his actual reality—on a different island.
Ga’hueal stretches out in front of him, it’s endless wind-swept barrens making mockery of how desolate he’d perceived his life with Sai to be.
How long has he been here now?
Half an annum? Less? More?
Hard to say.
Sand blows into his eyes, and he shields them with one hand, peering off to the horizon.
He’s been told—as have all the servants and Fa’loom who live here, enduring their lifelong punishments—no ships ever come to Ga’hueal.
Which was almost certainly true.
Why would ships need to come here, when Cloudweavers can carry anything they need in skypods?
He’s seen Weavers arriving with goods of all sorts—food and various sundries from Nuama, Isïn, Danuē and Kitsua.
They even received supplies from The Expanse Of The Deep, the northernmost waters. Seldom traversed, but rich in fatty, easily-carried sources of nourishment.
Amaz wasn’t a fool. He knew ships likely carried everything that eventually made its way to Ga’hueal. Their supplies hadn’t all been transported by Cloudweavers in skypods all the way from The Expanse and other far-flung locales.
Most likely, there was a trade outpost somewhere, an island of Katsua perhaps, from where the Cloudweavers brought supplies.
But.
Just in case they actually were sending ships here.
He had to be sure.
He’d left the encampment a few days prior, with plans to walk the entire circumference of Ga’hueal. He’d filched three water flasks, two small containers of fiera, and enough food to last him at least three weeks.
While Amaz had no idea how large the island actually was, he was hoping that sooner or later, he’d reach another encampment.
He’d simply tell them he’d wanted to search for gems and crystals in new areas, hoping to find something beyond what they’d been digging for in his previous camp.
The Cloudweavers didn’t seem to care what he and the other Fa’loom and servants did. There were more of them, fewer of them, some died, others arrived, it didn’t really matter.
After all, this is Nuama. Males are expendable.
But the most shocking thing he’d learned since arriving in this dust-ridden, Goddess-forsaken place—it turns out that it is okay to dig for gems.
But only on Ga’hueal.
Amaz scowled, his brow twisted with consternation.
It hadn’t escaped him that the same things that could have gotten him sent here—if he’d been caught—was what he’d been allowed to live so he could do.
They only knew what had happened in Hagate, and that he’d stolen a set of garments.
They had no idea what he was actually capable of.
~
After—
Well.
After the events in Hagate, Amaz knew he had to leave.
He’d escaped quite easily. Easily enough it annoyed him.
He should have left sooner.
As he made his way south, sometimes he slept near a Mamlakah, more often in Groveholds or the wildness beyond them.
He never stayed more than a night in one place.
The last thing he needed was to be seen by an Ensheduana, or worse—a Cloudweaver.
Finally, after he’d been traveling for a few weeks, he managed to barter for passage to Shivet, a small island between the mainland of Nuama and the Isle of Danuē.
He’d hoped to start anew there.
Though, how he would convince the local Ensheduana he’d been sent by another Conven, he had no idea, no matter how long he thought about it.
The Fa’loom who’d accepted the large chunk of Obsidianite Amaz had found a few days prior in a remote corner of a small Grovehold to give him passage eyed him the whole crossing. His story of having been left behind by his Keeper, and following after her, clearly hadn’t been fully believed.
After disembarking from the small boat as quickly as possible, Amaz had endeavored to lose himself in the crowds near the dock.
And then, the idiot who that had completely changed the course of his life—again.
Navherae.
The Goddesses had made a mistake creating that man, he was sure.
Amaz’s teeth clenched as he remembered the moment they’d met.
Navherae was a Fa’loom who had been trained at the smallest, most northern duug in all of Nuama. Endlessly sweet and accommodating. Not incredibly bright.
He’d been at the docks making trades for his Keeper, and had taken a moment to step inside a provisions hall for refreshments. Amaz saw him the moment he entered. He’d been staring at the entryway, keeping an eye out for Cloudweavers.
Navherae was well-kept, though immediately and obviously naive. He glanced around the large, airy with a face so open it was like a gate that had fallen from its crystal hinges. He couldn’t have been much over twenty annums. Not much past the age of consent.
Amaz, remembering Bahlir’s fine garments, the sash, his Keeper’s extraordinary beauty—had instantly realized Navherae could be his passage to safety.
It took him less than five minutes to get the information he sought.
“Ah—wait! Your Keeper is Solongahe? The Sestra currently managing the Mamlakah of Neppi? That is whom Ensheduana Vikkarousa sent me to belong to!”
Amaz had never known an Ensheduana by that name. And he’d only heard of Solongahe because of course he’d heard of her—she had charge of a Mamlakah along the route he’d been following. One that took him far from Sai, Te’ire, and—
The younger man hesitated.
“But—Ensheduana Vikkarousa didn’t accompany you?”
“No, no. Of course not! She’s one of the Ensheduana who have charge over our duug. She knows I know my way around Nuama by now,” he grinned, using his age as a weapon.
The younger man assessed him, but since lies weren’t part of his reality, he was immediately trusting.
“Well then! It is fortunate we stumbled upon one another. We can travel back to Danuē together, where I can introduce you to Solongahe!”
His passage assured, Amaz bit back the panic threatening to consume him.
He just had to get to Danuē, then he could disappear into the crowds and Navherae would simply have an awkward, confused conversation with his Keeper.
They’d likely assume there’d been some simple mistake and never follow up on it.
But that wasn’t what happened.
Solongahe was there to greet them.
Well, to greet Navherae.
Her eyes narrowed as her Fa’loom enthusiastically introduced her to Amaz.
“You say you were sent here from Duug Simplasa?” She said, voice smooth, giving nothing away.
Nothing to do but keep on with the lie until he could escape, so—
“Yes, Ensheduana Vikkarousa said you require a new Fa’loom. One with—” he cleared his throat—“experience.”
He didn’t dare make eye contact with Navherae, though the young man was sweet enough he’d likely miss the insult even if Amaz had been trying to convey one.
Which he hadn’t.
He’d grown fond of the younger man during their three day crossing, and felt oddly protective of him. His wingroot scars had healed well, but Amaz had seen Navherae absently scratching them.
As if they itched.
Like his own.
Amaz fought the urge to look behind him, back towards Nuama
“Hmm,” Solongahe said, her eyes flickering over him, assessing. “Well. It’s about time they sent someone. I’ve been asking for over an annum.”
“I—“ Amaz was at a loss.
“I manage a small trade operation as part of my duties for this Mamlakah, which Navherae and several servants assist me with,” she began. “Navherae does his best, but he is quite young, and I need someone who can manage the more complex trades throughout the islands between here and Nuama.”
“Yes, Keeper—”
He was already falling back into his habits from Corestone, and a grin flashed across his face.
This felt good. This felt right.
Finally, a Keeper who would admire and value him! He thought briefly of Sai and Te’ire, and a bubble of bitterness formed in his chest.
But then, Solongahe glanced back at him with a smile of her own—one that promised delights to come. He shivered. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Sai had—
“You’ll have an entire room of your own, including bathing facilities, with a door adjoining my bedchamber. My dwelling is rather large and has been without someone of your expertise for several annums. There is much work to do—” here she stopped talking and turned to him, fixing her sensuous gaze upon him. “And I have not been fully satiated in far too long. Navherae does his best, and he’s quite good, but he’s still learning not to be so timid,” she gave the younger man an indulgent look, patting his head.
Amaz’s varapos rose to the occasion, but his new robes—stolen from a small dwelling that housed Fa’loom for trade in a tiny Mamlakah a week or two ago—covered him.
But Solongahe was much more shrewd than her young Fa’loom. She’d reached between Amaz’s legs, testing his girth and readiness through the fabric.
Her eyes grew hot, impatient.
“Let us return to my dwelling, Amaz,” she continued, taking his hand and leading him onward. “You’re clearly ready, as am I. Your—expertise—will be handy in more ways than one.”
“Keeper, you honor me—”
“You mustn’t think of proper protocol here. We simply manage the Groveholds and grasslands, brew Fiera, eat and fuck. That is the fullness of our existence,” Solongahe declared, then— “Navherae, visit the trade market. Aquire a completely new wardrobe for Amaz—”
He’d fallen almost instantly in love.
If only he’d known.
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