Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

fascinated and insulted all at once. Not only a plain-faced female out in public without a veil, but even more unthinkable, aping a soldier. A woman in a position of authority, giving orders and bearing weapons with casual confidence. Anathema!

The members of the delegation had prepared themselves for the barbarism of Caracole, for a queen, for the Trimagistos’ sake! They’d had innumerable serious discussions, studied the culture of the Queendom, readied themselves for the shock. Giral was clever; he’d selected men with flexible minds, no one too hidebound or conservative.

But a female Guard was something way beyond their experience. For a wonderful

moment, Amae had thought Sethril might vomit on the Queen’s fine gilt dinnerware. His mouth had worked, but the vicious little shit had managed not to disgrace himself. Pity.

Giral’s pet was a complication she could do without.

Her belly tightened with apprehension. The slippery bastard had her corset. She’d seen him scoop it from the floor, forgotten in the confusion. How he’d relish having a hold on her. To survive in the service of a high-ranking pasha meant navigating a murky world of intrigue and treachery, where the ground shifted beneath your feet without warning. What would Sethril do? Force her to play a part in his schemes? Have her whipped for

carelessness? Or—a shudder ran down her spine, icing the blood in her veins—send her to the Slave Master and his demon?

One thing at a time, one day at a time. The wisdom of the Ancestors. Amae regulated her breathing, distracting herself by dwelling on the Captain’s powerful legs, nicely displayed beneath the leather kilt of his uniform.

Rhio gave a respectful nod. “You sent for us, Majesty?”

The Queen set aside the elderly maid fussing with her outer robes. “Indeed, I did. Our guests are settled for the night?”

Rhio glanced at his companion. “Report.”

Yachi’s broad face creased in a grim smile. “Yes, Majesty. All present and accounted for.

I double-checked.”

“Good,” said the Queen. “I want you to take”—glancing around, she broke off. A long forefinger beckoned Amae closer—“this one for a security check. And find her

accommodation. What’s your name, girl?”

Amae sank to her knees, keeping a decorous clutch on the cloak. “Dancer, Great Lady.”

The royal brows drew together. “I know what you do. I asked your name.”

“It is also how I am called, Great Lady. Dancer.” Amae risked an upward glance.

“Trinitarian slaves are named for their principal duty.”

The Queen arched a brow. “Really? For example?”

“Drummer, Groom, Cook.” Amae shrugged. “Dancer.”

A pause. “I see. What’s your real name? And for the Sister’s sake, stand up.”

Amae rose. “I am Dancer, Great Lady,” she lied.

“Hmpf.” Amae was aware of an uncomfortably shrewd gaze. “I thought Giral said you were some kind of healer.”

“I have been trained in healing massage, yes, but I am no physician.”

Yachi stepped forward to poke Amae’s shoulder with a hard forefinger. “Majesty,” she hissed.

“Majesty,” added Amae obediently.

“Hmm. Look at me, girl.”

Amae raised her eyes.

Sikara displayed her hands, every knuckle knobby, distorted by the jointache. “He promised you could help me with the pain. Do you think you can?”

’Cestors’ bones, it must hurt like a bitch in the cold weather. Automatically, Amae reached out to take the Queen’s hands in hers.

Iron fingers clamped over her wrist. “Not so fast,” growled Rhio. “No one touches the Queen without my permission.”

Amae turned her head to snag his gaze with hers. “Really?” she murmured and watched his gray eyes turn storm dark.

Rhio released her and stepped back. “Majesty, I’ll process this woman immediately. If she’s safe, I’ll send word tomorrow.”

Sikara sighed. “Very well.” She waved a hand in dismissal, already turning to speak with a small woman in purple velvet.

The dancer had lied.

Rhio glanced at her unresponsive profile as they walked with Yachi through the

shadowed colonnade. She was a cool one, but she’d lied just the same.

“Dancer?”

“Yes?” She drew the cloak close.

If she’d played fast and loose with something as straightforward as her name, it was up to him to discover what else she concealed. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

She must make a habit of falsehood. He had every reason to know she was naked under the cloak. The image still seared—her lithe body bowed back, spread for him, offered like a pagan sacrifice. Only to him. All that sleek, hot skin, the sweet little furrow between her thighs. Gods! Rhio gritted his teeth.

“Where are your . . .” Hell, he had no idea what a slave was permitted to own, if anything. He started over. “You must have other clothes, uh, possessions.”

He caught the flash of teeth in the moonslight. “Of course.” A sideways glance. “I do not go naked all the time.”

Yachi snorted. “You’d frighten the children.”

Dancer stopped dead. “But no,” she said seriously. “That I would not wish. I like children.”

Rhio’s heart gave the strangest twist. “It was a joke.” Lightly, he touched her arm.

“Dancer, you come with me. Yachi, see what food you can scrounge from the mess. Then collect her things from the guest wing and meet us in my quarters.”

But the dancer blocked Yachi’s path. Rhio’s brows rose. This should be good.

“You will have to go to the Slave Master.” Dancer hesitated for a moment, her knuckles shining white where she gripped the cloak. “Do you know what a diabloman is?”

The Sergeant cursed. Metal rang in the quiet garden as she loosened her sword in the scabbard. “Aye.”

“Good.” Releasing a breath, Dancer stepped back. “Be careful, yes? Very careful.”

Rhio met Yachi’s eyes. “Take Kano with you and tell him to look menacing.”

“But Cap’n—”

“That’s an order, Yachi.”

A grunt. “Aye, Cap’n.” She strode away.

Dancer said, “Who’s Kano?”

“This way.” Rhio allowed himself a grim smile. “He’s the nearest thing to a mountain I have under my command. Huge.”

Another of those sidelong, flirtatious glances. “Bigger than you, Captain?”

“Much,” he said repressively.

The rest of the short walk was accomplished in silence.

“In here.” Rhio unlocked the door to his quarters, a small freestanding building at the Palace end of the Guards’ barracks. It wasn’t much, an office with a desk, a fireplace and a battered couch.