Dar climbed down from the throne, determined to take action before her reservations grew stronger. “Bend your neck.”
Kovok-mah solemnly sank to his knees, then lowered himself further so his hands rested on the floor. As Dar knelt beside him, he stared downward, not at her. She pushed his hair aside, to expose his neck, and the moment she touched him she felt overwhelmed with yearning. His scent evoked memories of the courtyard in Tarathank, when she lay naked atop him, experiencing his body with all her senses. Dar knew she was doing something that she was likely to regret and understood Kovok-mah’s struggle and misery.
Dar almost pulled away. Instead, she bent farther, until her lips rested on Kovok-mah’s neck. His skin felt warm and soft. Fragrance filled her nostrils. “I smell atur,” she whispered.
“Do you also smell my fear?”
Dar drew back and detected a sour note. Perhaps Fathma had sharpened her washavoki sense of smell, or perhaps the memories of the former queens caused her to recognize the scent. Either way, she knew Kovok-mah was afraid. Regardless, she pressed her lips against his neck again. She kissed it in the orcish fashion, rubbing her tongue over his skin, savoring the taste of it.
Kovok-mah spoke in a husky voice. “Bite, not kiss!”
With sudden anger, Dar bit down until she tasted blood. Then she drew back, horrified and perplexed by what she had done.
Kovok-mah stayed motionless, as blood welled from Dar’s teeth marks. “Now I’m marked,” he said with resignation in his voice. “My life is yours.”
After an awkward silence, Dar retreated to her throne. She told Kovok-mah to rise and he obeyed. Another awkward silence ensued. Eventually, Dar spoke again. “Now that you’re my mintari, you’ll stay in royal hanmuthi. You should place your things there.”
“Hai. It will be my home for as long as you’re queen.”
“So you know about that.”
“Everyone does.”
Dar glanced at the chamber’s entrance and noticed that Nir-yat was approaching. Her sister halted at the doorway and bowed. “Muth Mauk, your feast.”
Dar realized that the sun had set and the Great Chamber had grown dim. “Have my guests arrived?”
“Hai.”
Dar jumped off the throne and hurried from the room. Kovok-mah remained put, clearly confused. He regarded Nir-yat. “Cousin, what should I do?”
“Go to Muthuri’s. You’ll stay there.”
“But I’m to live in Muth Mauk’s hanmuthi.”
Nir-yat’s face fell. “She bit your neck?”
Eighteen
As a murdant, Kol had learned how to deal with those who considered themselves his superiors. He handled the nobles in the court as he had the officers in his regiment. Tolum Kol humored their presumptions, while exuding an air of polite competence. Both the royal steward and General Voltar nurtured his reputation as useful but unambitious, and Kol took care to make men easy in his company. He avoided close contact with the queen but ensured she saw him. All the while, he studied her and the prince.
Kol bided his time before he made his move. Formality always slackened as the court gathered for a banquet, and that was when Kol chose to act. He waited until courtiers pressed around the queen, then approached the prince. The boy was fidgeting as usual, ignored by the adults. Kol knelt down so he was at the child’s eye level. “That’s a big brute you got there,” he said, nodding at the orc guard. “Does it make a good pet?”
“It’s not a pet.”
“Oh, they’re just like dogs, only not as smart. Watch this.” Kol curled back his lips in an orcish smile and bowed to the guard. “Pahat tha pah pi urkwashavoki?” Speak you speech of washavokis?
“Thwa,” said the orc.
“Ma lo-tamav tha fleem washavoki,” said Kol. I will teach you washavoki courtesy. He bowed again, then standing tiptoe, whispered in the guard’s ear.
The guard bowed to the prince. “Ah eem Booger Nose.”
“Tha pahat grut,” said Kol. You speak good. He turned to the prince, who was beginning to smile. “Bow to it and say, ‘Shashav, Booger Nose.’”
Young Kregant III did so with a giggle.
The sound of the prince’s laughter caught Queen Girta’s attention. She ignored the wheedling count before her, and turned her gaze toward her child. He and the man kneeling before him seemed to be enjoying a private joke. She had seen the man in court, and though she couldn’t remember his name, she recalled his blue eyes. He seemed deferential but friendly to the prince, and her son appeared animated in his presence.
Queen Girta motioned to the royal steward, who hurried to her side. “Who is that man talking to the prince?”
Lokung curled his lips with disdain. “Tolum Kol. An officer of lowly birth. Shall I shoo him away?”
“No,” said Girta, disliking the steward’s haughtiness more than usual. “Seat him at the head table tonight. Next to the prince.”
Lokung rolled his eyes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Girta watched her steward perform his errand and noted her son’s delighted expression. Tolum Kol looked in her direction and graciously bowed before returning his attention to the prince.
The banquet began when Queen Girta and the prince were seated. Servants rushed food and drink to them before serving the other guests. Seats at the head table were coveted, with those closest to the queen deemed the most desirable because they provided access to her. Usually, whoever sat next to the prince ignored the boy and spoke with Girta. Tolum Kol acted differently. He entertained Girta’s son with tales of army life that were so amusing that the queen found herself straining to hear them also.
The banquet ended when Girta rose to depart. Usually, her son was asleep by then, but Tolum Kol’s attention had kept him wide awake. Kol had risen with the other guests, and the queen turned to speak to him. “Sir, the prince appears to enjoy your company.”
Kol bowed. “He’s a fine lad, Your Majesty.”
“The rest of the company has failed to notice that. He’s usually ignored.”
“Perhaps they overlook him. A boy’s easy to miss when the nose is held high.”
Girta smiled. “Sir, I think you’ve hit the mark. Yet you didn’t overlook him.”
“I’m but a rooster in a pen of peacocks, more fit for a boy’s company than the high and mighty.”
“Yet a rooster has more uses than a peacock. Do you ride, sir?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Then, if the weather’s fair tomorrow, come to the royal stables at noon. I take my air on horseback.”
Tolum Kol bowed. “You honor me.”
Kovok-mah needed no device or special clothing to mark him as a mintari. His presence in the royal hanmuthi did that. Throughout Dar’s feast he felt conspicuous. He ate silently and attempted not to stare overmuch at Dar. That was difficult, for her transformation awed him. She’s truly our Muth Mauk, he thought as she served her guests and spoke affably with them. He recalled the fierce, filthy washavoki he had forced to bathe and marveled at the change. This is Muth la’s work.
Dar had been reborn urkzimmuthi and Fathma had made her queen, yet Kovok-mah was aware that she lacked his senses. She seemed blithely unaware of how her scent betrayed her feelings. Everyone in the room was conscious of them, and while they wouldn’t speak of them to her, they would among themselves. How can Dargu not know this? Kovok-mah thought that she might but had chosen to defy convention. Her will was always strong. He worried where such defiance could lead.
Toward the end of the feast, the falfhissi urn made its rounds. By Kovok-mah’s third draught, he was unable to take his eyes from Dar. The scent of his longing filled the air, but he no longer cared. He was caught up in reliving that night in Tarathank when Dar chose to acknowledge his feelings. He recalled standing in the pool, his skin wet and cool, when she first touched him. Kovok-mah could almost feel the warmth of her hands. If she were to touch me again, could I deny her? He felt weak, and doubted he could.