CHAPTER TEN

Palace of the First, Yoyette, Coroleas

S tarDrifter existed in a state of hope for the first time in years. That hope was fourfold: the chance that he would soon see Axis again; the hope that he would be once more able to touch the Star Dance; the hope that he would finally manage to free one of the lost souls trapped within the Corolean deities; and the hope that in the doing he would destroy a woman he loathed. He could not wait for that moment when he would begin his seduction of Salome. StarDrifter was beginning to see in Salome, in her cruelty and selfishness, all the women he’d hated—most notably StarLaughter, the ancient Enchantress who had come back from the dead and murdered the one birdwoman StarDrifter loved before any other: Zenith.

In doing what Ba’al’uz asked of him, StarDrifter saw redemption for himself. Revenge for Zenith, for all the slaves and children who were entrapped in their bronze deities, and for everyone who suffered at the hands of the Coroleans.

A revenge for five years of insults and sniggers at the Corolean court.

A revenge for the loss of his wings, and for his life of sheer, damned futility.

StarDrifter was determined not to fail, and he was arrogant enough to believe that he could not fail.

After all, who better than he to know the best way to seduce a woman?

StarDrifter pushed aside all sympathy for Salome. She was the worst of a corrupt society. She had murdered, indulged her love for cruelty, and trampled all who stood in her way. He was only doing to Salome what she’d done to countless thousands.

Tonight was Moonlit Night Court. StarDrifter might loathe much about Corolean society, but he always looked forward to the thirteen Moonlit Night Courts of the year. The emperor held court in the gardens of the Palace of the First on the night of full moon. While murder and intrigue and corruption still pervaded every moment of the evening, somehow the beauty of the gardens and the moonlight negated the pervasive cruelty of the Corolean court and made it, for just one night, something to be enjoyed rather than endured.

Moonlit Night Court did not get under way until a full two hours after dark. People filtered into the extensive topiary gardens of the Palace of the First in small groups, murmuring among themselves, accepting glasses of minted alcoholic julep and squares of sugared confections from servants, and wandering slowly among the fantastic topiary creations that stood over three paces high. Tens of thousands of topiaries dotted an area the size of a small town, created a mazelike tangle of paths and unexpected glades. Overhead drifted a galaxy of round paper lanterns, each lit from within by a small candle. StarDrifter had heard that there was an entire department of slaves within the palace devoted entirely to their production and deployment, and that throughout the night they would scurry about, launching fresh lanterns, retrieving those that had become caught among the tops of the topiary creations, and dampening any unfortunate fires.

StarDrifter arrived when the gardens were already humming with people and conspiracy. He’d spent the early part of the evening pacing the confines of his tiny room, not wanting to appear too early, and putting up with Ba’al’uz’ murmured fretting about what might go wrong. StarDrifter had finally been forced to snarl at the man, and send him back to his own chamber, simply to get some peace.

But now he was here. StarDrifter had taken particular care with his appearance, using Ba’al’uz’ coin to purchase an outfit that would, he hoped, be enough to make him stand out.

In a court renowned for its gaudy excess, StarDrifter had chosen well. Heads turned as he wandered slowly through the topiary maze, whispers trailing in his path.

StarDrifter wore a virtually skintight black ensemble that was remarkable for its subtlety and understatement. The material was of a fine matte silk, with a delicate, raised pattern woven into it that made the material shimmer very slightly in the moonlight. It covered StarDrifter from neck to toe, and even had gloves and shoes made of matching material. Its subtlety and color complemented his silvery-golden coloring perfectly, but it was StarDrifter’s innate grace and elegance that turned an otherwise beautiful costume into the extraordinary.

StarDrifter only had to stroll through the garden, hands loosely clasped behind his back, for the entire court to become aware of his presence. He spoke to no one, inclined his head only very occasionally at someone, and refused all refreshment pressed on him by openmouthed servants.

Tonight, for the very first time since he’d arrived in Coroleas, StarDrifter felt truly like a prince of the Icarii.

Confidence and unavailability oozed from his every pore, and StarDrifter knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that every woman and half the men present desired him.

But only one woman mattered, only the one for whom this extraordinary showing was staged—and even if Salome managed to resist this display, StarDrifter had one trick left up his sleeve.

Something he was sure she would never resist.

It took StarDrifter almost an hour before he came across her, but he knew that she must have been aware of his approach for some minutes beforehand. The whispers he generated were spreading ahead of him like a wave.

He turned a corner, and there she was, the Duchess of Sidon, already staring at the gap in the topiary from which he emerged. Remarkably, Salome was dressed in black as well, although her costume revealed far more flesh than StarDrifter’s. There were several other people standing with Salome, and they all stared wordlessly at him.

StarDrifter knew he had only two options, to nod at her and then continue on his sinuous way and hope she was intrigued enough to send a sycophant scurrying after him, or to approach her directly, and reveal his interest.

He decided to take no chances.

StarDrifter approached her directly.

This was a risk, for as one of the most lowly members of the court, and one generally the butt of sarcasm and ill-meant humor, StarDrifter broke every rule of etiquette by so doing. But tonight he was not the bitter, hopeless man the court had become used to seeing skulking about in the shadows.

Tonight StarDrifter felt in every manner a prince, and one used to getting his own way.

Tonight Salome was his.

He stopped two paces away from her, his hands still loosely clasped behind his back, and nodded politely.

Then he looked up at the sky filled with myriad glowing lanterns and said very softly, “Do you know what this night reminds me of, Salome?”

One of her sycophants took a step forward. “Hold your tongue! No one approaches the great Duchess of—”

“And no one speaks to a prince of the Icarii in such a manner!” StarDrifter snapped back, wrapping himself in all the full arrogance and majesty of his birth. He moved slightly toward the man, as graceful and dangerous as a striking panther, then slid his eyes to Salome.

“Why surround yourself with such fools, Salome? Surely they are a detriment to your life.”

“You are taking a huge risk,” she said, her eyes brilliant as they watched him. “No one speaks to me like that.”

“Do you know what this night reminds me of, Salome?”

She continued to stare at him, unreadable, and remained silent.

“In my land of Tencendor,” StarDrifter continued, his attention now exclusively on Salome, “there was one special night every year. Beltide night. It was the celebration of spring, of the regeneration of the earth, of the great mother, of life and regeneration.”

StarDrifter turned very slowly on his heel—making everyone in Salome’s group, save Salome herself, shuffle slightly in alarm—and then moved in a small circle, his gloved hands floating out a little from his sides, one shoulder dipping.

It was the movement of a dancer.

He came to a halt, catching Salome’s flat unreadable eyes again.

“The Icarii and the Avar peoples gathered in the groves of the mysterious Avarinheim,” StarDrifter said, his voice so low all had to strain forward to hear it. “We danced, and drank, and we spent the night making love under the stars. It was a night of great power.”

“And this pathetic little gathering reminds you of that?” Salome said, her voice heavy with disbelief.

“Not this gathering,” said StarDrifter. “You remind me of Beltide’s mystery and power.”

Then he turned on his heel and left, feeling Salome’s eyes boring into his back the entire way.

Hours passed. StarDrifter kept moving through the crowds, taking a glass of wine now and again, and sometimes drifting into a small clearing and dancing under the stars. When he did this his movements were very slow and deliberate, heavy with sorrow and memory, incalculably sweet.

Even among the Icarii, all of whom had exquisite grace and elegance, StarDrifter was renowned for the sheer beauty and power of his dancing. He might no longer command the power of the Star Dance, but StarDrifter nevertheless exuded such mystery, such sexuality, and imbued every single one of his movements, no matter how slight, with such extraordinary loveliness and bittersweetness that he reduced to tears most who paused to watch him.

People would gather at the edges of the clearing, silent, awestruck.

Most were Coroleans.

A few were Icarii, come to watch with tears in their eyes as the legendary StarDrifter danced.

Once the emperor and his wife stood there, openmouthed.

On two occasions that StarDrifter was aware of, Salome watched as he danced.

He was careful not to look at her.

The entire evening, and his display, was meant for one purpose—to seduce Salome. But as the hours went by, StarDrifter discovered that he was enjoying the night for a very different reason.

Tonight he had returned to being a prince. Tonight he had once more embraced his full Icarii glory, even though he lacked his wings. When all the thousands went home to their beds, there was only one thing they would ever remember of this night.

StarDrifter, incalculably beautiful and full of grace, dancing under the drifting paper lanterns.

Toward dawn, when people were starting to return to their chambers and apartments, StarDrifter emerged from the shadows of a huge topiary tree.

Salome was standing across the clearing, talking in low tones with her son, Ezra, and one of the other nobles of the First.

She turned, intuiting his presence.

StarDrifter raised his hand in one of the most ancient and magical of Icarii gestures, and one designed to call to any of Icarii blood. He held his arm out at full length, his hand toward Salome, imperious, demanding. Slowly his fingers curled, one, twice, a third time, beckoning, commanding, in the traditional Icarii gesture of seduction.

Salome rocked on her feet, and StarDrifter knew he had won her.

Icarii blood would always out.

“I have rules in here,” Salome said. “You will obey them.”

StarDrifter did not answer. He wandered about her bedchamber, hands once again loosely clasped behind his back, inspecting the many objects of antiquity and beauty.

He stopped before the Weeper, staring at it. For all its value and power, it was only a small thing, standing about half a pace in height. It had been carefully fashioned by an ancient craftsman of great worth, for every detail of the deity’s face was carefully and lovingly picked out, and even the weave of the cloth was apparent in its robe.

There was a faint trail of moisture down one cheek.

“You do not touch that,” Salome said.

StarDrifter turned about. “One of your ‘rules’?”

“You shall not speak to me. I have no interest in your thoughts. I shall use your body and then require you to leave.”

StarDrifter gave her a cynical smile, then resumed his slow inspection of the room.

“I said—” Salome began.

“I heard what you said,” StarDrifter said, now leaning over a collection of gems set into velvet and displayed on a low table. “I discover you have a hitherto unsuspected sense of humor.”

Salome flushed. “I can destroy you,” she said.

StarDrifter stood up and smiled at her, now with apparent genuine humor. “You cannot say that to a man who has lost everything he has ever held dear, and who longs only for death, and think to scare him with it. In fact, my dear”—he took a step closer to her—“you only entice him with such promises.”

He drew off his gloves and tossed them back onto the gem-laden table. Then he walked forward and cupped her cheek in his hand.

She jerked away. “You do only what I—”

“Your skin is very soft,” StarDrifter said.” Strange, for somehow I thought it would have a reptilian cast to it.”

Her eyes glittered. “Leave.”

“No.”

She turned toward the door.

“You’ve never had an Icarii lover, have you?” said StarDrifter.

She turned back to him. “I’ve had thousands.”

“Liar.”

She stared at him, her breathing rapid. StarDrifter could see she wanted to order him to leave, or to order in the guards to force him to leave, but he could also see that she wanted him.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, moving forward and again cupping her face in his hand.

She tensed, but before she could move away StarDrifter leaned down and kissed her.

What stunned him was not her response, but his own. The instant he felt her mouth open beneath his, he grabbed her to him, pressing her the length of his body, burying his hands in her hair, dragging his mouth to her jaw, and sinking in his teeth.

Then it was all movement. The tearing away of clothes, the grabbing of flesh, the hoarse breathing, the grunts, the sheer, unashamed arousal.

It wasn’t pretty, or elegant, or clothed in any manner of regard or warmth. It was sheer, primitive sex, accomplished even before they managed the bed. When it was done, when StarDrifter managed to bring his breathing back from the fevered pitch of orgasm to something vaguely approaching normal, he rose from Salome’s body, picked her up, carried her to the bed, flung her down, and began all over again.

He’d never felt this way when making love before. Not with his wife, Rivkah, not with any other of the many Icarii women he’d bedded, not with any other of his human lovers, such as Embeth, the woman he’d taken when first he’d arrived in the city of Carlon.

It was as if Salome was a drug, instantly addictive.

He hated the woman, but, oh, stars, his entire being screamed at him to take her just one more time, one more time…