Talla's Fallen Temple Ch. 18

"Six, Highness?" he asked.

"As always."

This was her punishment.

Though she was following the law, sheet and line, there was no doubt that she was violating the spirit of the Protocol. In her mind, there was a part of her that rationalized calling this man to her bed again and again as the privilege of her rank. Was she not a Queen? Did her plethora of toggles not grant her some bonus? Was her life not shortened by the weight of so many Perfections on her body? Even on her soul? Did that responsibility not bear down on her shoulders so massively that she deserved a little breathing room here and there?

That was what she told herself when she sent off the scroll to schedule him for Service in her bed.

But when he was here, and she was enjoying the person he was, it felt different. Theirs was an odd -

An odd what? Her brain had stopped, trying to find a word for how she felt about him. There was a kind of bond between them, the two great warriors male and female. It meant something to her and yet her lengthy education in the vocabulary of the Temple had left her without a word to describe the association she had with this man who now gently rested the tail of a whip across her rear.

The word was no matter, was it?

Of course not. The point was that once he was in her bed, she began to feel that she was abusing the system, that she was taking advantage of her rank to do what women should not be doing. As the Queen of Form, she knew well the problems an outbreak of Monogamous sentiment could cause.

Consequently, the Queen of Form felt guilt. And as there was no one in a position to judge her -- or at least no one who would adjudicate her as guilty given the evidence - she called herself guilty based on what she knew in her heart to be true: this man was one she brought to her bed repeatedly for she desired to Serve him more than any other.

"Begin," she said. "And do not go easy."

"Of course not, Highness," he rolled.

She inhaled, tightening the muscles of her legs and thighs as the whip sang through the air. Given her many upgrades, it would take a whip of a considerably thicker grade to cause her serious pain. One with barbs might do it. It would be hard to convince the Master Fighter that this was sex play, however, if she started bleeding. Blood, the Temple had long made it understood, was entirely inappropriate in such a setting.

But without either a barbed whip or something of a higher grade, there was little chance to inflict the pain that she deserved. The best she could do was what she had already done by tensing up every muscle from her waist down.

The whip cracked off her rear and a thrilling shiver of pain went up her spine as she felt sweat fleck off her flesh to land upon her back and run down her legs.

"Again!" she ordered.

Kendrick was true to his word, slashing with the might one expected of man who had built his body to be a killing machine.

She let out a moan. It wasn't really pain she felt, not yet. These punishments, at least for the magically toughened skin of the women of Form, had always been more about the humiliation than the pain. That consideration went through her mind as the third strike kissed her flesh. What could be more shame inducing to a Queen than to be whipped like this? And by a man of all things?

Stretching out her arms and writhing in the blankets, she called for the whip again and again.

'It's nothing but what I deserve,' she thought. 'For I have found a way to skirt the rules to have what other women can not be trusted to have.'

"Last one," she said, inhaling deeply to savour the moment. "Give me everything."

Despite his exhaustion, and the concentration of his blood below his waist, Kendrick managed to deliver one last blow.

Mortification complete, the Queen rolled over on her tender rear as quickly as he could and pulled her man to her. His erection was still strong, as she knew it would be -- the work of a Queen easily stood the test of such a short period of time. There was no need to wait, either, for she also held near Perfection in Within and Lips, and could make herself wet at will. Not that such effort was required this night.

For her guilt was expunged, in advance of her crime, and she took this great man inside her, and meshed with him, her clouded conscience clear until the next time she called for him.

Without hesitation, therefore, she could enjoy the feeling of him inside her, the way she'd wished to feel him since the day she'd first laid eyes on him.

'Come inside me, Master Fighter, Saviour of our army, sword arm of the Temple. Plunge your sword inside my temple, and fill it to the hilt. There isn't a single word for how I feel about you. I don't know that I could find a way to describe it even if I had nine hundred words. But somewhere, I think, you know there is something strange and fragile between us, and I will not break it by thinking too much on it, or breathing a word of it aloud.'

Even having that thought in her head did not deter her when all was done and Kendrick lay dead asleep with his head at her breast. That face, worn down with the abrasion of his life's work, was suddenly peaceful and relaxed. So still was he that he had become his own statue, save the telling clue that he didn't shimmer with a coating of bronze.

By all rights, she should have gone to her private bed, for men and women came together for Service and did not share sleeping space. That way lay terrible levels of familiarity and a path towards the destruction of the rule of women.

As it was, there was no one to see them and no reason for anyone to know that they were done having sex. Not even Kendrick himself would be aware how long he slept in her powerful arms.

Half a bell she held him tightly to her chest, listening to the great man's gentle breathing and treasuring the moment of contentment, the time for which she yearned against the laws of the Temple that were her job to uphold.

She pondered whether she ought to wake him for that last gift that she wished to bestow upon him, the one act that a Queen with her many Facial upgrades could make more fantastic than any similar experience in his life.

Only one fact stayed her. For contrary to the confusion and worry he had shown throughout the night, he was now so placid that she could not bring herself to wake him, lest that disturbed aura take over his stern countenance once more. There would be another time for such things and it was better to enjoy this moment as the opportunity it was.

Time passed and there came a point, even with the strength of her illicit desires, that she knew she had to leave or else exceed even her considerable penchant for rationalization.

So the Queen of Form lay a last kiss on the brow of the Master Fighter and retired to her private sleeping quarters.

Alone.

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As the little slot in the Offices of Endowment had been empty today, Talla had the night off. She lay awake, her eyes closed against even the faint flickering of torchlight that snuck around the door frame and window shades.

With her body as relaxed as she could make it, she took a deep breath, held herself still and reached out with her mind.

'Zhair'lo?' she called, softly plucking at the thread that held them together.

Deep down, she no longer worried about breaking that thread, but chilling memories of the times they had torn themselves apart forced her to be gentle.

'Zhair'lo?' she called, more strongly now.

The thread disappeared off in the distance, as a road might. And just as any traveller on a road knew where the road was taking her, no matter the depth of night, Talla knew that her thread would lead to Zhair'lo, though she could not see all the way to the end.

'Are you there?'

He was there, alright, but in a curious state of passiveness and mental alertness. Images flitted in and out of his mind and through to hers. There were arrows. She saw lots of arrows, sinking into straw targets ... and the straw targets became men with faces of straw ... and the men bled and fell, their heads tumbling off. There was a mix of dread and curiosity as Zhair'lo observed them dying.

These were his dreams, she quickly realized.

Or, rather, she was experiencing his nightmares.

'Wake up!' she demanded.

Startled out of his recurring madness, Zhair'lo awoke quite suddenly. There was a foggy sense of disconnection for a moment as he seemed to be looking around the darkness of his room for whatever had woken him up.

'It's me.'

'Oh, Talla. I was sleeping.'

'You were having a nightmare. So I shook you out of it.'

'Thanks.'

There was a pause as he collected himself. She sensed that he was taking a breath or two, trying to calm his nerves.

'What was that?'

'Dead men. It's what Master Lyric warned me about.'

Talla learned then, of what Zhair'lo had been told, of the dangers that would come to him and the horrors that were due to follow.

'Looks hard,' she observed with chagrin, and choked back the instructions she wanted to send.

Don't do it, she would have said. Stay where you're safe

'I don't see another way,' he told her.

'No. Me neither.'

Zhair'lo wasn't a fool, even if she measured him by the standards of the well educated women of the Temple. He saw what was coming, knew it would be difficult and accepted it.

'You've had it worse,' he reminded her.

There again, from her own nightmares, that awful day when he'd been forced to whip her.

'No. We made that go away,' she insisted, pushing over top of her nightmares their last meeting in the clearing at the Hunter's camp.

'Oh, shit. About that ...'

'What?'

'We knocked everyone unconscious.'

'How!?'

'I don't know. That wave of energy we sent out. It took out everyone at the camp. The Temple women have been investigating.'

'What did you tell them?'

'They only talked to Master Lyric. He talked to me.'

'Did you stick to the story?'

'Of course,' Zhair'lo seemed slightly offended. 'I think Jenni must have, too.'

'She will. They're really serious about that bit.'

'Lyric seemed more worried about me joining the Fighters than anything else. He thinks investigating poisonous gases is a woman's job.'

'So we got away with it?'

'Far as I can tell.'

Zhair'lo drifted out for a bit. Maybe there was a noise where he was. Maybe he was just tired. Talla couldn't be sure.

'You still want to join the Fighters?'

'Yes.'

Unequivocal, that response was.

'How do you do it?'

'I'll find out in the morning.'

He drifted out again.

'What's wrong?'

'Falling asleep.'

She realized, at that point, how overworked he was. Hunting wasn't a leisurely trade, as so many were, and he was having to work all the harder for being new at it. He really did need his sleep.

'Good night, man of mine.'

There was faint sense of him wishing her well before she lost him for good. The thread was still there, no doubt, but there was no one answering at the end of it.

Talla sighed.

She needed her sleep, too. They were still teaching her how to loose a bow, weren't they? If there was one art she wanted to learn from Form, that was it.