Lady Lure (19 page)

“No.” Perri gasped.

“Well, then, since you are not particularly
interested, perhaps we should imitate the Styxians another time.
While you have a beautiful back and alluring buttocks, I do think I
would prefer to look at your face while we make love.”

“The Styxians do what?” Perri became aware of
Halvo’s hands at the waist of her trousers, pulling them downward.
She welcomed what he was doing, but before she completely lost her
wits to passion, she had a question or two to ask. “From behind?
How?”

“You know, don’t you, that Styxians are
descended from reptiles? I am told their reproductive processes are
fascinating to anthropologists.” Halvo’s hands caressed the bare
skin of Pern’s flanks, which he had just exposed to the cool cavern
air. “Then there are the Famorat, a mysterious Race living on the
tangential border of the Jurisdiction. They cannot mate unless
there are three Famorati present.”

“Halvo, stop talking! Oh, please, I want you
– yes, I want you there!” Their legs were tangled together and
Halvo’s skillful fingers were arranging their bodies just as Perri
desired. They were lying face-to-face, with Perri braced against
the cavern wall. Halvo’s hands were on her hips so he could pull
her closer to meet his vigorous thrusts.

Behind Perri’s closed lids strange images
swam, the result of the shocking things Halvo had just told her.
And as he must have expected, numerous questions tumbled through
her mind.

While still living on Regula, she had seen on
her telscan a visiting delegation of Jugarian diplomats. They were
humanoid in shape, with pale gray skin and twin antennae on their
hairless heads. The antennae had changed color with their moods.
What color would their antennae be while a Jugarian was in the
transports of sexual passion?

What did a Styxian female feel when, her
scales glowing, she was mounted from behind? Did it hurt? Or did
she find as much joy in her peculiar mating as Perri was finding
with Halvo? And how could the Famorati combine three at once? How
did they all fit together?

Did the females of other Races love, as she
loved Halvo? And she did love him. She had known love in her
earlier life, for her parents and for Melri. What she felt for
Halvo was similar, yet with the added dimensions of an intense
physical attraction and a sense of equality with him that she had
never experienced with anyone else.

These wisps of thought, floating through her
mind, did not distract her in the least from what Halvo was doing
or from her own body’s response to him. In fact, the new
information enhanced her reactions, which she suspected was just as
Halvo had intended. Nor did her thoughts or questions last for very
long. Soon Perri was completely caught up in Halvo’s love-making
and thinking of nothing else. Then she was incapable of thinking of
anything at all.

Once more Halvo pulled her hips forward while
he thrust hard into her. He stayed there, buried deep, until Perri
had found complete release for all discomfort and Halvo had
followed her into a similar, male state of contentment.

“It is always so satisfying to be able to
bring negotiations to a happy conclusion,” he murmured a short time
later.

“Is it a Demarian custom to tease your women
into compliance?” she asked in mock irritation. “Or to torment them
with stories of how the other Races mate?”

“I thought you would find the knowledge
interesting and, perhaps, useful.” There was an undertone of
amusement in his response.

“Thank you for your efforts to advance my
education. I am aware that I was sadly deficient in certain areas
until you undertook to enlighten me.”

“If you have any further questions, do not
hesitate to ask.”

“About the Famorat,” she said.

“I knew you would be intrigued by that
particular piece of information. Oh, Perri, the quirks of your mind
will never cease to delight me.” Halvo began to laugh. Lying back
on the blanket he pulled Perri into his arms again. She rested her
head against his heaving chest while his laughter rang through the
cavern, echoing off the walls. Halvo laughed until his cheeks were
wet with tears.

When he was calmer, he told her what she
wanted to know. By the time he was finished with his explanations
they were both fully ready to undertake their own two-person
variation on Famorat custom. As Halvo demonstrated for her, Perri
wondered why any couple would want to add a third, possibly
disruptive, personality to the equation when two was so obviously
the perfect number required for complete happiness.

“Lady Kalina, you are magnificent.” Jyrit
gazed in admiration at the wine-red robes the First Lady of the
Jurisdiction was wearing. The high-necked, long-sleeved gown fell
to Kalina’s feet in dignified folds. The enveloping cloak was the
same color as the dress, but it was transparent. Both garments were
perfectly plain.

However, Kalina was not without adornment.
The thin gold diadem of a Demarian noblewoman circled her brow.
Gold spirals curled about her ears, and her heavy gold necklace was
studded with red-gold Styxian sunstones, the rarest and most
valuable jewels in the galaxy. The wide bracelets on either wrist
were also set with sunstones.

Behind Kalina stood her two aides, both
dark-haired, middle-aged Demarian women robed alike in gowns of
deepest green.

“Whenever I don state robes, I feel as if I
have been prepared for my own funeral,” Kalina said, responding to
Jyrit’s compliment with self-mocking humor.

“In this particular case, perhaps you ought
to think of those garments as a costume suiting the role you must
play on this day,” Jyrit said.

“So I shall.” Kalina smiled warmly at the
captain of the
Krontar
. A firm comradeship had grown between
them during the voyage from Capital to Regula, a relationship based
upon a mutual determination to discover what had happened to Halvo.
Kalina understood that, for Jyrit, the search was a matter of deep
personal honor.

“Sorry to be late, sir. I was instructing the
security team.” Armaments Officer Dysia appeared in the captain’s
reception room. Like Jyrit, she was clad in the silver-trimmed,
dark blue dress uniform of the Jurisdiction Service. Both officers
wore short, red-lined formal capes over their jackets and trousers
and carried the anachronistic silver dress helmets that were seldom
actually worn. Behind Dysia six members of the ship’s security
guard, also in full dress uniform, filed in and stood waiting
patiently.

“Jyrit, you have arranged a splendid
retinue,” Kalina said, giving those in the room a quick inspection.
“We ought to impress the Regulan Hierarchy. Don’t you think
so?”

“Madam, were you to descend to Regula alone
and in everyday clothing, you would still impress the Hierarchy by
your honesty and by the force of your character,” Jyrit said.
Turning to his armaments officer he added, “Dysia, you have made an
intensive study of Regulan society during our journey here. Have
you any last-minute advice for us before we disembark?”

“Only to remind each member of our party not
to say anything we would not want overheard,” Dysia said. “We all
know the Regulans are masters of intrigue and they are certain to
have listening devices planted in anticipation of any unguarded
remarks we might make. Unless there is a clear and urgent need to
do otherwise while we are on the planet’s surface, I suggest that
we confine our conversation to polite trivialities and to questions
phrased to elicit information while not giving away anything. After
we return to the
Krontar
and can talk freely again, we can
put together what each of us has been able to learn. Our watchword
on Regula should be caution.”

“Agreed.” Kalina nodded her approval of
Dysia’s warnings.

“Lady Kalina,” one of her aides said somewhat
nervously, “won’t this be a dangerous visit? Shouldn’t we wear
sheer body armor? We will be in full range of the entire Regulan
Hierarchy.”

“Amalla, I am surprised at you.” Kalina
frowned.

“It is not for myself I am concerned, but for
you,” Amalla cried. “I am sure Leader Almaric is worried about your
safety, too.”

“If you fear treachery, walk in the most
public places,”“ Kalina said, quoting an old Demarian proverb.

“No one would dare to harm Lady Kalina, nor
any member of her retinue, lest the full force of the Jurisdiction
be turned against Regula,” Jyrit said. “No, our greatest caution
should not be for our physical safety, but for the misspoken word.
As of this moment, guard everything you say.”

Kalina had insisted that her visit to Regula
must be a brief and informal one. Nevertheless, the ceremonies
arranged to greet the First Lady of the Jurisdiction proved to be
long and tedious. The day was well into its second half before the
honored guests were led away from the Great Plaza, out of the too
bright, coppery sunshine and into the shade of the reception hall
of the main government building, where a banquet was to take place.
The hall was open on three sides, allowing a fine view of the
governmental gardens, which included an artificial lake and beds of
multicolored flowers. To Kalina’s relief a pleasant breeze, scented
by the flowers, blew through the hall. However, she was not pleased
when she beheld the long table set with silver dishes and utensils.
The number of chairs lined up at the table was enough to alarm
her.

“My dear friend,” Kalina said to the Chief
Hierarch, who was her escort for the occasion, “it was my hope that
we might enjoy a private conversation.”

“Dear lady, I must protest your wish for
privacy.” The Chief Hierarch smiled upon Kalina with great
benevolence. His silvery robes glinted as he walked, his white hair
and beard and even his thick, white eyebrows were perfectly trimmed
and combed. He was the very image of a pure-minded, openhearted
ruler welcoming a long-awaited guest. “We could not deny our
beloved people a glimpse of the first government representative
sent to us from Capital. Perhaps you do not fully comprehend how
deeply honored we Regulans are by your presence among us.”

“As I explained to you before we arrived, my
dear Chief Hierarch, this is not an official visit. I come to you
in great urgency, hoping that you will be able to provide some clue
to help me solve the mystery of my son’s disappearance.”

“Since our first conversation while you were
still days away from us, dearest Lady Kalina, the entire resources
of the Regulan Hierarchy have been devoted to discovering just such
a clue.” The Chief Hierarch spoke with such sympathy and sweet
sincerity that Kalina, experienced as she was in diplomacy, was
certain he was lying.

Guarding her tongue and hiding her
reluctance, Kalina allowed the Chief Hierarch to lead her to the
head of the elaborately set banquet table. As her first sight of
the complicated place settings had led her to fear would be the
case, the feast consisted of many courses and much wine. The
service was almost painfully slow. Kalina knew why. The Regulan
Hierarchy was going to keep its guests in the banquet hall for as
long as possible. There, Kalina and the others would be unable to
talk with anyone but carefully selected people who were no doubt as
firmly cautioned to be discreet as were the members of Kalina’s own
party. Nothing was to be left to chance, not a single hint of
uncontrolled information was to be leaked to the folk from the
Krontar.
And it was all done with such generosity, such
hospitality, and so many promises of help that any protest would
seem to be the height of rudeness.

Kalina could only hope that, despite the
precautions the Hierarchy had taken, Jyrit, Dysia, and the rest of
her group would be able to gather a crumb of information here, or a
vague hint there, so that, when the little they had learned was put
together, it would provide a bit of hope that Halvo still survived
and some idea as to where he was.

Kalina was seated between the Chief Hierarch
and his fair-haired, solemn-faced son-in-law. The rest of her
people were scattered along the table in descending order of rank,
each of them surrounded by the Regulan Hierarchs and their
families. When the Chief Hierarch turned to speak to the woman on
his left side and to Jyrit, who sat next to the woman, Kalina gave
her full attention to her youthful companion.

“I have met so many people today,” Kalina
said with a self-deprecating laugh, “that I regret I cannot recall
your name, sir.”

“I am not surprised.” Though the actual
eating and drinking had barely begun, the young man swallowed the
entire contents of his large wine goblet and held it out to a
servant to be refilled. “I am Elyr. This lady beside me is my wife,
Thori. Since we are but newly wed, we were seated together.”

“Congratulations to you both,” Kalina said,
smiling.

“I have never been to a state banquet
before.” Thori leaned forward toward Kalina, but her eyes were on
Elyr’s face. There was adoration in her gaze and – was that a hint
of fear?

“How long have you been married?” Kalina
asked, her interest in the pair sharpened by what she thought she
perceived in Thori’s face.

“Only six days.” Thori blushed. She was a
pretty girl with reddish brown hair worn in braids and a bright
blue gown.

“Now, as I understand Regulan custom,” Kalina
said in a friendly way, “you have been betrothed since your ninth
birthday and living in Elyr’s household since that day. I consider
that a very sensible arrangement. Boys and girls should know each
other well before they marry.”

“Oh, no,” Thori cried. “I hardly know Elyr at
all. We were only betrothed for ten days before the marriage
ceremony.”

“I beg your pardon for my mistake.” Kalina
extended her smile from Thori to Elyr. She did not miss the fact
that he looked decidedly pale and was on his third goblet of wine.
“Obviously, I am not as conversant with Regulan customs as I
imagined.”