The moon watches us
From between white autumn clouds.
So silent and serene is she,
That I hold you close my lover,
Lest you fall beneath her spell.

– The Canticle of Menkeret

Jaano’s smile is deliciously charming and the merest hint of it gives me great joy. He is like a boy who has suddenly found himself tall enough to pluck a choice summer pomegranate. But perhaps that smile of his has become just a little too self assured and too self satisfied. Still, I cannot blame him; he has pleased me greatly and should feel some measure of pride. He turns now to look at me and his muscles ripple like the ocean when it is touched by the morning breeze. I gaze at him. My face is composed and serene as always, but it is a mask beneath which intense emotions lurk; emotions which flicker across my eyes when I am distracted. I am ever thus and would not be otherwise. Resignation and acceptance of a slave’s lot are death; the death of the soul and the defeat of the spirit. The Darrakhai might enslave my body but, with each passing day, they unwittingly embolden my spirit. I place two fingers into my pussy; wetting them well with Jaano’s abundant man-seed, which now drips freely from me like honey from a sundered bee hive. Without warning, I smear some on each of his cheeks and laugh at him. He replies with a quizzical look and asks,

“Is this some venerable old Mentrassan custom Kayla?”

“No, I just wanted to see you with zhen on your face.”

“Zhen?”

“Yes, that’s what we of Mentrassanae call man-seed.”

“Oh, and I thought you were anointing me in some holy rite to Menkeret.”

“I have already done that. I dedicated our love to Menkeret, the Lord of Elision, when I traced his name upon your back.”

“I am honoured,” he says seriously.

“But now I am checking your pride, O lowly dilruba player and marking you as a penitent before the Great Goddess, the all – mother yonder; holy, yet nameless as she is.”

Though I jest, I am stern voiced; only my eyes tell him that I am still in a playful mood.

The lamps burn low now in the Lapis Chamber. I could fetch oil to replenish them but I find the gloom most pleasing. The flames flicker occasionally; disturbed by an eddy in the air, the origin of which is unknown to me. The lamplight illuminates Jaano’s dark features, lending a mysterious obscurity to his handsomeness and giving the whites of his eyes an otherworldly look. He bears the cast of a hero of the ancient sagas; a semi-divine champion of destiny. Ill-fated though most of these heroes are; their prowess in love-craft is proverbial. I smile at him as he abruptly shifts his weight now from one buttock to the other. In the process, his thick cock slaps against his thigh, leaving a small wet imprint. It is still long and shapely I notice, and hardly recovered from our recent lovemaking. We have been here some three hours, talking, eating, relaxing and making love. Weary of my own company, who better than a beautiful man to share such delights. Delights that the Lady Itelyssia has seen fit to grant me. Indeed, they are my due for having served her these many months with my mind and my body. Who better than Jaano; player on the dilruba with his most engaging smile? Jaano, that robber of the heart!

“Jaano.”

“Aye, Kayla.”

“I wish to know about the land of Zonovon.”

“Speak not of it, I pray you. It is a shattered, smoking ruin my lady sorceress.”

“Be that as it may, you once had a royal family, did you not?”

“Aye, what of them? They are all dead. Only jackals reign in the lofty palaces and hallowed courts of Zonovon now.”

“There was a king and his queen, I know, but how many children did they have?”

“Eight; five princes and three princesses. I performed occasionally for Crown Prince Vindrakka and his household. He was a great music lover and a most generous patron indeed. I always aspired to join his retinue.”

Jaano says this with such cheerless resignation that I am touched and then, my mind intuitively makes a connection to something else I have recently been told.

“Five boys and three girls you say. What were the names of the princesses?”

He thinks for a moment and shakes his head as though dislodging cobwebs from his memory.

“Veneeta, Haarl-Asha and Raia.”

“And which of those three was the youngest?”

“Raia…but why does this interest you?”

“We of Mentrassanae are a curious folk.”

“Aye, a curious race indeed,” he says dryly.

I ignore his attempt at wit and press on.

“Tell me Jaano, was one of the princes known as…… Haron?”

“Not Haron, Haruun.”

“Is Haruun a common name in Zonovon?”

“No, I would say not.