Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) by Veronica Scott Page B

obedience, indeed, anything other than sheer terror and repugnance. The soldiers must have an ironclad assurance the military ranks would never be culled, never die at the priestesses’ hands. The guards took him at last through a hall filled with small knots of chattering, laughing priestesses, all dressed in variations of basic black. They ranged in age from young girls to wizened old crones, but all displayed the same haughty manner. The sight of them made Nate’s skin crawl, and his stomach turned. Like being in the middle of a large flock of birds of prey. How could people who commit atrocities on a daily basis be so lighthearted?  
    Murrax brought him to a halt in front of a double door. Two of the unusually tall and muscular temple guards stood on either side of the burnished wooden panels.
    “We’re expected,” Murrax said, licking his lips nervously, addressing first one guard, then the other.
    Not even loyal soldiers enjoy proximity to the priestesses. Nate wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here, surrounded by Huitlani’s devoted servants.
    One guard knocked lightly on the left door. It cracked open, and the man offered a rapid explanation to the priestess peering out at them. The woman nodded.
    “She’s waiting for this one. Bring him inside.”
    Nate did a quick scan of his surroundings as he stepped past the guards and into the room. A fountain played in the center of an intricately tiled floor. Off to the right side was a row of fanciful birdcages made from cunningly woven black twigs, sitting on an immense black wood table. The gaily colored avian residents of these cages flapped iridescent wings and chattered as he walked past. Across the room, beyond the fountain, was a low-slung, leather couch piled high with silver and black silk cushions. The walls were blessedly free of any decoration—no more gory frescoes to assault the mind.
    The quick impression of his new surroundings was all Nate had time to absorb before the guards pushed him to his knees on a striped red rug. He didn’t see any immediate menace. He waited, conserving his energy.
    The sensual spice, smoke and floral perfume hit him as the queen sauntered into the room from the right. He swiveled his head to watch her warily. At first, she pretended to ignore his presence, standing idly and feeding small bits of bread to a particularly large green bird. It cooed at her and rubbed its head on her hand. The artificially sweet scene annoyed Nate.
    He cleared his throat. “Does your adoring pet know what you do for a living? Does he suspect you’re probably planning to have him for dinner?”
    Unhurriedly, she fed the last of the bread to the bird, stroking its brilliantly crimson feather crest. Then, dusting crumbs from her hands, she pivoted gracefully.  
    Lolanta stood, hands on hips, staring at him. Her long, straight, ebony hair was held from her cruelly beautiful face by an elaborate gemmed clip. Her dress today was the usual black, a tightly woven skirt with a long slit and two small pieces of fabric that barely contained her ample breasts. This garment was held together by one continuous loop of embroidered black cord. Two intricate, crystal pendants hung from heavy gold chains at her neck, drawing the eye inexorably to her cleavage. Equally impressive gemmed earrings dangled from elongated earlobes to brush her shoulders. Heeled snakeskin sandals showed off her shapely feet. Her toenails were revoltingly long and curved, to Nate’s eyes, and polished with the same gray purple lacquer as her talonlike fingernails.  
    A proud, confident woman used to getting her own way . He and the queen continued to regard each other for a long moment as if no one else existed in the room, locked in a silent battle of wills.
    Then she raised her eyes from contemplation of Nate’s face to direct a chilling look at Murrax. “Leave us,” she commanded, waving the young officer and his men off duty with a careless flick of those