Now it was Dillon who chuckled. “To hear Hetarians being called liberal thinkers is most amusing,” he said. “They are even worse in their stubborn behavior than Belmairans but for a few differences. We do not eschew passion or pleasures in Hetar. The Hetarians, whose deity is called the Celestial Actuary, have actually made a very profitable enterprise of our mortal lusts and behaviors.”
“They are not spoken of except in hushed whispers of disapproval, and the simple folk know little of them except as a threat to bad children,” Alban said with a smile. “What are they really like, Majesty, if I might ask?”
“Hetarians are an orderly people with rules and customs. Like Belmairans. They are a people for whom profit and status are everything. My mother’s father was a farmer’s lad from the Midlands province. One summer’s night my grandmother, Ilona, lured him into the woods, and he was not seen again for some months. When he returned he had an infant, my mother, with him. His father had died in his absence, and his elder brother did not want my grandfather, or my mother in what was now his house. So my grandfather took his child into The City, and his mother went with them. My grandfather became a member of the Mercenaries Guild. He was a famous swordsman. Eventually he was allowed admittance into the Crusader Knights. With each step he took he rose socially, and gained in both stature and importance, which is, as I have said, paramount to Hetarians. He was killed in the great battle between darkness and light that was fought over ten years ago before the gates of The City. My mother killed one of the Dark Army’s top commanders herself. Like her sire, she is a famous warrior, and a great swordswoman. My stepfather is very proud of her.”
“Hetarians allow their women to fight?” Alban was not certain if he should be shocked. Women warriors? He shook his head.
“Nay, Hetarians do not allow their women to fight, but my mother’s destiny was to become, among other things, a famed swordswoman. The women of the Outlands clans fought with her. And now in Terah there are small brigades of women who train in the martial arts. If war should ever come again to Hetar, the females of the Outlands and Terah will not suffer the fate of the women of Hetar,” Dillon told his friend.
“I had heard that in Hetar women were now involving themselves in the business of government,” Alban said.
Dillon nodded. “Women are intelligent, my friend. Their talents should be utilized, and not just in the Pleasure Houses of The City.”
Duke Alban was fascinated by all his king was telling him. He did not know if he himself was ready yet to embrace quite so much change. But Dillon was certainly giving him food for thought. His dukedom being the smallest, he was more aware than most of the decrease in population in recent years. Changes were going to have to be made if Belmair was to survive. Now if he could only convince Duke Tullio to understand this and stand with him and the king. Dreng was a hopeless case, he knew. They would never be able to bring him to reason until the crisis was upon them, and then only very reluctantly.
The king called for a Summer Court, and from all of Belmair the noble families and those with wealth came to fill the royal castle. They brought their young daughters, granddaughters, nieces and other female relations. They were not great in number, however. Dreng’s granddaughters, Lina and Panya, were there along with Tullio’s niece, Sapphira. Duke Alban had two nieces, Alpina and Carling, his brother’s daughters. His granddaughters were too young to be considered.
The Summer Court was lively with games and contests the day long, with feasting and dancing late into the night. The king put in an appearance each evening, and was always surrounded by pretty young women eager to attract his attention. His Shadow and faerie blood was beginning to boil with the warm nights, the sweet wine and the fact that since his wife had disappeared he hadn’t had a woman in his bed.
Their long hair, some straight, and some with masses of curls; golden, chestnut, black as night, as red as the sunset; and always perfumed, blew in the light summer breeze as they danced the evenings away. Ripe young bodies brushed against him teasingly. Blushes and soft voices assailed him. Eyes of blue, hazel, brown, black and gray met his, some boldy, some shyly with fluttering lashes that brushed their cheeks like dancing butterflies. Some spoke with intelligence to him. Others, younger and less sophisticated, marveled to him more times than not on Nidhug’s prodigious appetite as she sat at the high board devouring whole roasted boars, platters of cream cakes, and drinking down huge goblets of wine. He managed to avoid these fair creatures during the day, but the nights were becoming most difficult.
“What am I to do?” he asked Nidhug one evening when he had escaped to her castle seeking refuge from the gaiety. “I cannot betray Cinnia.”
Nidhug sighed. “You love her, I know,” she said, “but it is not healthy for a man to be without a woman. Cinnia is certainly in Ahura Mazda’s bed, and has been since he took her. He takes pleasures with her, and she with him. But he can only possess her body, Majesty. He will never have her heart. There is no sin, therefore, in you taking a mistress until your queen returns. Just do not give her a child.”
“Who?” Dillon said. “The daughters of the noble and those of wealth have been brought to me to choose another queen. I only called a Summer Court in order to silence Dreng and his constant bleating.”
“The summer is almost at an end,” Nidhug said. “Among those females is one who will give herself to you in hopes of becoming your queen. Seek her out, Majesty.”
Dillon nodded, and then he said, “If I take that woman to my bed, is there any law in Belmair that would force me to wed her?”
“Nay, my lord. Not if there is an agreement,” the dragon answered. “I would not betray my child. Oh, the parents or the guardians of she you choose will be at first hopeful, and then when they realize you have no intention of wedding anyone they will become angry. But if there is no child, there can be nothing to hold over you.”
“You have been with my uncle too long,” Dillon said. “You are beginning to speak with the cold heart of a faerie.”
“There is much wisdom in your uncle,” Nidhug replied.
“Where is he?” Dillon asked her. “I have not seen him of late.”
“He was not needed here in Belmair. Queen Ilona called him home,” Nidhug said in a tight voice. “It is better.”
Dillon reached out and patted the dainty clawed paw. “Do not love him, I beg you,” he told the dragon. “A faerie love will break your heart.”
“It is too late,” Nidhug answered the king softly. “But he will be back, Majesty, for you see while he has my heart in his keeping, I have his in mine. Now go and find a nubile young mistress for yourself,” she advised him.
Dillon announced that the king’s Summer Court would be coming to an end in several days. A great feast was planned. Now Dillon prowled among the young women, who were delighted to preen and flirt with the handsome young king. They knew that sooner or later he must take a new wife, a new queen. And they also knew it would probably be one of them. Each did her best to attract Dillon’s attention.
Alban’s two nieces, Alpina and Carling, were intelligent young women with much charm, but he had too much respect for his friend to consider them seriously. Dreng’s granddaughters, Lina and Panya were a pair of delightful minxes who kept him constantly amused with their antics. But Dreng, he knew, would not countenance his taking either of them for a mistress. The other young women were for the most part typical Belmairan virgins, and they bored him although he never showed it.
Only one woman attracted both his attention and his lust, and that was Sapphira, Duke Tullio’s niece. Was it, he wondered, because she was Cinnia’s twin in appearance? Or was it because of the slight air of danger that surrounded her? His wife exuded light. Sapphira was darkness, and the truth was he was fascinated by her. He wondered if Cinnia were here if that would be so.
On the night of the last great feast of the Summer Court they danced together, and Dillon asked bluntly as he twirled her about, “Are you a virgin?”
Sapphira never missed a step, nor did she show any sign of shock or fear. “Why?” she demanded of him. And she smiled into his eyes.
“Because I want to take pleasures with you,” he replied low.
“When?” she wanted to know.
“Tonight. After the feast has ended,” he told her.
“Will you wed me, Majesty?” she inquired coolly of him.
“Nay,” he responded without any hesitation. “I am not ready to remarry. I want a mistress for my bed.”
