Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,49
tongue. By the time I had piled enough food on my plate to quell the storm of hunger, tantalizing flute notes pierced through the conversation.
Captain Nasso rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Is this the entertainment you promised?”
Orturio nodded once, a twinkle in his eye.
In the corner, musicians had taken up instruments: a goatskin tambourine with brass cymbals, a goblet-shaped drum, and an eastern lute. After a few bars, the music changed, its dynamic turning dark and persuasive. A sensual shadow appeared in the doorway, softly gyrating her hipbones. It was Lucrez, wearing a traditional Erdemese folk dance costume of black and flame-red fabric. The cropped vest chimed with disc ornaments, and chains of silver fangs encircled her bare belly—a tribute to Orturio’s honored guests.
The provocative drumbeat guided her articulations of chest and hips. A few of the men whistled as she entered and whirled around the table, pausing to strike poses and shimmy her ornaments in their faces. Normally, I would be too fascinated to tear my eyes away. One of my most vivid memories from Erdem was watching folk dancers perform in King Agmur’s court, and afterward, telling my father I wanted to be a dancer someday. He chuckled and said I was meant for greater things, and I never spoke of it again. Of course, I eventually realized I didn’t want to be one of them so much as wanted to kiss one of them. I also enjoyed the spectacle of Erdemese folk dance for its own sake, but not right now; I took the opportunity to continue appeasing my appetite.
When Lucrez reached the man sitting next to me, I dropped the handful of olives I held. The fragrance of jasmine and nerumia flowers washed over me again, and suddenly I wanted to weep. I missed home—all of my homes. Nissera, Erdem, Wenryn. But here I was, under a stranger’s roof, unsure of my status, splitting the difference between captive and guest, elicromancer and mortal, queen and inconsequential victim.
Lucrez stroked the face of the man beside me before moving on, sliding her hand along the back of my chair on her way to the next mercenary.
“Don’t pass her up,” Orturio called over the music, and Lucrez looked at him, her come-hither mask carefully held in place. I clenched the arms of the chair in fear. Did he know something I would rather have kept secret from him, something he might use against me?
“She’s a guest,” he added to justify the request. Or was it an order?
Lucrez smiled obligingly and slid next to me, continuing her skilled dance of alternating percussive and fluid movements. A piercing whistle of appreciation hurt my ears, and the others erupted into cheers. Lucrez responded to their encouragement by posting one hand on the back of my chair and pressing closer to me, closer than she had with any of the men, but not close enough to touch. She slid her free hand through her hair, opening up so the audience could see her movements. My breath hitched—she was the best dancer I’d ever seen, and also terribly beautiful. But sudden, hot tears stung the bridge of my nose.
No, you can’t, I scolded myself.
But I felt so lost, so far from everything familiar and yet, in the presence of this Erdemese beauty who smelled of memory and simpler days, somehow closer than ever.
I tried to swallow the tears. Lucrez met my eyes, her expression the same as it had been with the others—an emotional performance I found unconvincing while the men ate it up and yearned for more. A realization registered in her painted brown eyes, and with an assertive punch of her hip, she glided away from me as gracefully as she had come. She moved on to the next guest and drew his sword, dancing skillfully with the weapon.
I breathed deeply until the tears subsided.
By the end of the meal, I wished only to climb into a soft bed and sleep so that I could approach my captivity with a clear head tomorrow. It dragged until exhaustion weighed down my eyelids, but no one dismissed me.
“Kadri Lillis,” Orturio said as I began to nod off. I remembered where I was with a clench of panic.
“Come with me to the wine cellar,” he said, beckoning me. “Where only my guests of honor go.”
FIFTEEN
KADRI
A PRICKLE crawled down my nape as I reluctantly followed my host and captor.
The music dimmed. I was alone with the master of the house, and I did not like