"This is the housekeeper," yea art so engrossed in yea thoughts, that, for several seconds yea give no indication that yea hath heard the Castellan. Then yea throw an idle glance at the female being presented, and suddenly yea eyes widen. Yea turn yea full attention on the woman.
"Her name tis Sukeena." There tis something in the Castellan's tone that yea cannae immediately fathom.
"She tis young for such an important position,"yea say to gain time in which to allow yea instincts to hath play. In an entirely different manner, yea find this woman as enthralling as the executioner, Stadige Jan. She tis exquisitely small and dainty as to seem an artist's creation and nae flesh and blood.
"Tis a characteristic of her race to appear much younger than their years. They hath such small childlike bodies---thou wilt observe her tiny waist and her hands and feet, like those of a doll." The Castellan,Isembold, breaks off abruptly.
Yea expression doth nae change to reveal the amusement that yea feel. The old goats' lust for her, yea think! And yea study the jewel-like qualities to which Isembold hath drawn yea attention.
The girl wore a high collar but the stuff of her blouse tis sheer and light as gossamer. Like the rest of her, her breasts art tiny but perfect. Yea can see the shape and colour of her nipples through the silk. They art like a pair of imperial rubies wrapped in gossamer. The dress, although simple and of classical design, must hath cost fifty golden crownes at the very least. Her sandals art gold-embroidered, rich rainment for a house-slave. At her throat she wears an ornament of carved jade, a jewel fit for a king's favourite. The girl must certainly be one of the Wizards' pretty bauble, yea decide.
Sukeena's gaze smoulders like the lavas of the volcanos of her native southern Folcuth near Castle Fyre. These art nae the eyes of a subservenient child slave, but those of a proud, defiant woman. Yea fell yeaself challenged and aroused. To subdue her, and have her, and then to break her. Yea feel yea pulse quicken and yea breath comes short as yea picture it happening.
"Follow me, Sukeena,"yea command. "I want thee to show me the _________."
Sukeena places the palms of her hands together and touches her fingertips to her lips as she bows, but her eyes hold yours with the same, dark furious expression. Was it hatred? Yea wonder, and the idea increases yea excitement.
Sukeena hath intrigued the visitor as I knew she must! She wilt buy her form the Sorcerers! Isembold thinks to himself. The Preserve wilt be rid of the witch at last! The Castellan hath been aware of that interplay of passions and emotions between the visitor and Sukeena. Although he didst nae fathom the slave girl's mind, she hath been his chattle for almost five years and he hath learned many of the nuances of her moods. Isembold thought of their Master...Nuquernahriv� ...he knew that the thought of parting with her fills the Sorcerer with dismay but for his own peace and sanity he knows he must do it. She twas destroying him. Their Master could nae remember what twas to hath a quiet mind, nae to be plagued and tormented by passions and unfulfilled desires, nae to be in the witch's thrall. Because of her, their Master hath lost his health. His stomach twas eaten away by the hot acids of dyspepsia, and he could nae remember a night of unbroken sleep in all those five long years that the girl hadst been with them in Aobsil.
At least they were rid of her brother, who hadst been almost as great a torment to him. Now,she, too, must go. He couldst no longer endure this blight on his Master's existence.
Sukeena steps out of the line of servants of Aobsil, and falls in dutifully behind the visitors and the loathsome Castellan, and this beautiful golden lady guest, who she sensed somehow, already held her destiny in those slim, white hands.
I wilt rest it from her, Sukeena thought. This vile old man and the Wizard could nae own me, although for the last five years they hath dreamt of nothing else. Neither wilt this golden tiger woman e'er own me. This strange woman who hath come to Aobsil. I swear it on mine Sire's sacred memory!!
They pass in a group through the high airy rooms of the residence. Through the green-painted shutters spills the mellow sunshine, casting sttark zebra shadows on the tiled floors. Yea feel a lightness of spirit in these Northern colonies. Yea feel a recklessness in thyself, an eagerness for strange adventures and for unfathomed excitements.
In every room yea encounter a subtle, delicate feminine influence. Tis nae only the lingering parfum of flowers and incense, but some other living presence that yea know couldst ne'er hath emanated from the Castellan or from the sad and sick old man at yea side. Yea doth nae hath to glance behind yea to be aware of the girl who hadst created this aura, her silk clothing whispering and the susurrati on the golden sandals on her tiny feet,the scent of jasmine blossom in her coal-dark hair and the sweet musk of her skin.
In counterpoint, there tis the crisp staccato click of Quelleancaion 's heels on the tiles, the creak of his leather and the clink of his scabbard as it swings at his side. His scent tis more powerful than that of the slave girl. Tis masculine and rank, sweat and leather and animal, like a stallion pushed hard, bounding between yea thighs. In this emotional hothouse in which yea find yeaself, every one of yea senses art fully engaged.