The Dreaming Void (68 page)

The classic little black dress had never fallen out of style, and looking at the one the fitting room's apprentice sorceresses had conjured up for her, Araminta could see why. She felt randy just slipping into it, so Ozzie alone knew what effect it would have on any male who crossed her path. It clung disgracefully yet allowed her breasts complete freedom of movement. She blushed the first time she walked in it. Somehow the high hem and silk-gloss microfabric sprayed on her legs made her calves and thighs slim down to that same nineteen-year-old ideal Helenna's spell had blessed her face with for the night.

Predinner cocktails were served to the household and Likan's guests in the music room, which had claimed his office's lake view. Araminta walked in with her head held high, knowing how great she looked. Likan's double take, the smiles from the harem, and Clemance's little bounce as she clapped her hands excitedly were simply the accolades she was due. It all helped buoy her confidence close to levels of arrogance. When Likan introduced her to the Prime Minister and her husband, she was perfectly civil and treated them as if they were almost her equals.

All the while, as she made small talk and sampled weird-tasting canapés, she kept wondering how Bovey would behave if he were there. He enjoyed his culture and could be as snobbish about food and wine as anyone. But the company she mingled with—the world's powerful and wealthy and a few merely famous—she just couldn't get away from the idea of how he would turn his nose up at them.

Yet here I am, holding my own.

The evening did have a downside. The Prime Minister's husband, whom she was seated next to at the dinner table, was fantastically boring. Thankfully, Eridal, one of Likan's older sons, sat on her other side. As smart and charming as Likan, he ran a finance house in Ludor, but he lacked that bullish determination that drove his father. She dutifully tried to not spend the whole evening chatting to him.

When it was all over, after the dining hall had descended to ground level so the guests could walk to their capsules, there was just Likan and eight of his harem left. The door contracted, and the walls resumed their sparkle; everyone gave a spontaneous laugh of release that Araminta joined in wholeheartedly.

Likan gave her a congratulatory kiss. “Damnit, I'd forgotten how awful that dickhead was,” he told her. “I wanted to smack him one, and he wasn't even talking to me. Thanks for putting up with him.”

Doors were opening into various bedrooms around the dining hall. The harem was vanishing through them. Of all the women at the dinner, they were undeniably the most beautiful, most of them astonishingly so. Despite all Helenna's efforts, Araminta could not help but feel like the poor relation in their presence.

“Go and get ready,” Likan told her. “We'll be waiting.”

He turned and left through a door into a small darkened room. Araminta stared after him for a moment, then summoned her bedroom. That whole alpha male issuing orders thing just didn't do it for her. For one, he didn't have the charisma to pull it off, not with his dress sense and throwback physical appearance. On the other hand, to have accomplished so much was darkly compelling. She grinned at her own inner argument.
What the hell; at least Clemance will be fun.

“Dress me the way he'll enjoy,” she told the waiting Helenna. It was a process that turned out to be more elaborate than she had anticipated. For a start it involved Nifran again, who chided her about lack of proper exercise and how he could not relax her enough. What he did with her legs was virtually sex in itself.

Helenna applied some fabulously scented oil that acted in conjunction with Nifran's pummeling to make her flesh glow.

“He's not into sadism or anything, is he?” Araminta asked. The preparations were all very detailed. Her usual idea of getting ready for a hot night was to wear something a man could remove quickly.

“Not to worry, sweetie. He enjoys sex the way he enjoys his women: tasteful.”

Pondering that, Araminta allowed Helenna to dress her. The white negligee was mostly straps yet perversely managed to cover more of her body than the black dress had. She checked herself out in the mirror.
So his idea of tasteful is a slut princess? How very male.

Her bedroom whisked her away to Likan's boudoir—no other word for it; vast bed in the middle, naughty-shaped furniture, low rose-gold lighting. The harem was in attendance and, yes, dressed elegantly in silk and satin, with open gowns swirling, lounging on couches sipping champagne as they watched two of their number make love on the bed.

Araminta strolled in, trying not to appear too apprehensive. Likan greeted her, wearing a black robe. “Champagne?” he offered.

“Thank you.” She took a crystal flute from Marakata, who gave her a detailed appraisal. There was something alarmingly erotic about the way the aloof woman seemed able to look right through the negligee.

“You two should kiss,” Likan said.

Araminta pressed herself against the statuesque woman, enjoying the sensual touch. Marakata certainly knew how to kiss.

When they had finished, Araminta took a sip of the champagne as Likan took her hand and led her slowly over to the couch where Alsena was waiting. Araminta knelt down and began the kiss.

As she went on to kiss all the other women as he instructed, Araminta decided the experience was not so much tasteful as formulaic. Likan had ritualized his lovemaking. Finally she kissed him. After that she was taken over to the bed. There was a specific way of kneeling he wanted her to assume, very sex kittenish. One of the harem women helped arrange her hair decoratively over her shoulder.

Clemance removed Likan's gown. Araminta stared at his huge erection.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I see that.”

“A program.”

“Huh?”

“A mélange I've composed myself over several years. It allows you deeper access to your own mind, opening levels that verge on the subconscious in the way the old yogis achieved through meditation.”

“Right,” she said dubiously. Talk about killing the mood.

He smiled fondly and stroked her cheek. “I use it myself to focus. It helps clean your mind of extraneous thought. You can revert to the animal basics which form our core identity.” His face came close to hers. “There are no inhibitions to be had in such a state. Whatever you pursue is unashamedly pure.”

“No inhibitions?”

“Clarity is a helpful tool for business. But also for lovemaking. You can concentrate on the sensations of your body to the exclusion of anything else. It helps amplify even the smallest nerve signal.”

“You mean I can make a climax stronger?” It sounded like an electronic version of the sex aerosols she and Bovey used.

“Yes. There are also adapted biofeedback routines which can influence your physical self. Once you determine the origin of your body's pleasure, you can repeat it.” His voice became softer, tempting. “As many times as you have the physical strength for.”

Her u-shadow told her he was offering the program. Suddenly, she was feeling very hot in the negligee. “Scan it for infiltrators and trojans,” she told her u-shadow as she held his level gaze.

“It's clean.”

“Load and run.” Through her exovision she watched the program expand into one of her lacunae. It had many similarities with a learning program, and she allowed it to mushroom into her gray matter. Instinctive knowledge bubbled away in her mind.

“Don't be afraid,” Likan said softly. “I'll use it with you. It will make our first time spectacular.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Now that she considered it, clearing her mind was a simple process, following the rising sleep cycles yet never accepting them. Her breathing steadied, and she grew aware of the body's rhythms, the flow of nervous energy, heart-beat. Peripheral thoughts fell away, allowing her to center herself in the boudoir, on the bed. Her awareness grew of the light touch of fabric against her skin. Tiny beads of perspiration clung to her. She heard the sound of bubbles fizzing in the crystal flutes, Likan's breathing. She saw his arm move out, a finger beckon.

Marakata answered the summons, sliding sinuously over the mattress. Her fingers stroked Araminta's skin. The sensations her nerves experienced flowed like a tidal wave into her brain. She gasped at the impact and pulled her attention to the sensations that were most pleasurable, wallowing in them.

Under Likan's direction, Marakata plucked the negligee straps off Araminta's shoulders. Air flowed over her exposed breasts, followed by warm fingers. Araminta shuddered fiercely at the touch, smiling as she centered her mind on the feeling. Blood was loud and hot as it rushed into her nipples, swelling the buds.

“There,” she told the owner of the fingers.

The caress was repeated, the ecstasy replicated. Then many hands were gliding over her. Warm eager mouths kissed. She wailed with helpless delight at the symphony of sensation the harem kindled. The negligee was removed completely. Instinctively she arched her back. Likan's cock slid inside her. The experience was close to unbearable; it was all there was. Still her mind remained steadfast on the torrent of physical joy. Araminta promised herself that no matter what, she would not faint away as she had with Bovey. This time there were no chemicals fogging her mind; this time she was free to experience its incredible conclusion. She laughed and wept simultaneously as Likan started to move in a powerful rhythm. Then the harem recommenced its virtuoso performance.

The Skylord glided across the outer atmosphere of the solid planet, its vacuum wings long since retracted. Thick turbulent streams of the ionosphere swept across its forward section, creating lengthy vibrations across its giant bulk. Energy stirred in specific patterns within it, thoughts mingling with its body's elemental power, manipulating the fabric of the universe outside. Its speed began to slow as it imposed its wishes on reality. Gently it started to lower itself into the atmosphere. Far below, the minds of the sentient entities sang out in welcome.

“Now!” Cleric Conservator Ethan commanded the obedient waiting minds of the dream masters.

Their thoughts flared out into the gaiafield in a single stream, pushing at the dream fabric, seeking entry. Tendrils of raw will prodded and poked at the stubbornly resistant image emanating from the Second Dreamer. As the Skylord began to focus its attention on the ancient coastal city below, they felt its perception turn outward, toward them. It felt them! It knew they were there!

“My lord,” Ethan called with profound respect. “We need your help.”

The Skylord's descent halted. Those dreaming the Skylord felt the mass of the planet press against the magnificent creature's perception. In that way they
knew
the winds that blew across the Iguru plain, experienced the waves rolling lazily over the Lyot Sea toward the coast. And there, right underneath them, so tantalizingly close, the physical form of Makkathran's buildings brushed against their consciousness, each one exactly as it was in Inigo's dreams.

Adoration and gratitude swelled out into the gaiafield, buoying Ethan's thoughts. “We seek to reach you. Show us the way to you, my lord. Receive us.”

The dream shattered into a glorious pinnacle of agony. The Skylord's magisterial thoughts were wrenched away by a terrible power.

“NO!” the Second Dreamer commanded amid the ruined bliss. “I am me.”

An infinite black surface swelled with malignant anger, sealing the gulf between the gaiafield and the Skylord.

Blinding pain seared deep into Ethan's mind as the blackness snapped at him. He screamed, every muscle contorting to fling him out of his chair to fall into merciful unconsciousness.

Araminta woke with a gasp, shooting upright on the bed, heart racing and breath coming in shudders. She instinctively applied the program's knowledge again, settling her racing mind and quelling her body's distress. It worked perfectly.

What the fuck is it with that dream?

It had been quite pleasant to start with, drifting gently above a strange planet, warm sun on her back, mysterious continents rolling by underneath. Then something happened, a smothering sensation that triggered an adrenaline rush, and she had to thrash about, trying to wake herself, push herself clear from that oppressive constriction. It was as if someone were trying to steal her soul. She yelled defiance at the dark force and finally managed to wake up.

She was kicking and writhing as she shouted. Surely? Yet actually all she seemed to have done was shuffle around a bit and sit up.

She looked about in confusion. Likan's boudoir still was illuminated by the same warm light. Nobody else was awake. Clemance was curled up beside her, one arm draped over her legs. The girl was stirring, blinking in confusion as Araminta moved. Araminta stroked her tangled hair and cheek, soothing her as she would a troubled child. A drowsy Clemance smiled worshipfully and then closed her eyes again.