Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 19 - Ornamental Flowers

395 B.C.E. - The Steps of Rune, Capital of the Tasuri, Center of the Tasurian Peninsula, Early Summer, Month of Quintilis

In her memory

Rune.

The city evoked feelings in Thania. Disgust, no small amount of fear, and a very begrudging admiration for the size and scale of the Tasuri metropolis.

It soared across the relatively flat landscape, with white and red turrets and spires touching the clouds in many places. Thania could see the city well before arriving at its doorstep, a legion of red-and-gold sashed warriors trailing behind them. A full day before they arrived, Thania watched the glinting city come closer and closer.

As Thania felt dread fill her mouth with a tainted metallic taste the afternoon they arrived, they settled into their encampment just past the city's boundaries.

"We'll enter the city tomorrow morning, Flammatia," the Warlord explained when he caught her bewildered expression.

Thania's first night in Rune was spent on the familiar pallet in the Warlord's tent. There, it was easy to pretend that the Warlord was not a highborn patrician son, that he was not the scion of one of the most prominent families of Rune. Thania was almost amused at her foolishness, comforted by the idea of the Warlord being merely a warrior.

That pretense fell apart in the morning. Marcus woke her bright and early to bathe her and brush her hair. Unlike other baths, even in the villa at Veii, the Warlord's body slave used oils and scented lotions Thania had never used before. Her gown was the color of Acera blood, edged with gold beading and so sheer that the shadows of the vee between her legs and her near-exposed nipple showed through. It fell to her thighs in the front, then dragged along the bottom of the tent in the back. Marcus draped one twist of fabric over her right breast, leaving the left exposed. Over that shoulder, he draped a necklace of a hundred golden strands that offered the scantest cover. On her wrists, he fastened even more strands. Thania felt like a sacrificial lamb, dressed in fancier and more expensive clothes than she had ever worn before.

"I thought that redheads looked garish wearing that color, but you prove the opposite." The Warlord's fancy friend, Lord Tems, strolled into the tent with a swagger. Reaching out, he ran his fingers down the twining golden necklace on her left shoulder until his fingertips brushed over her breast, hardening her nipple. He looked her up and down, his eyes darkened with lust and envy.

"Beautiful," he said in a hushed whisper. "You will awe the crowds."

"Crowds?" Thania blurted out before she could stop herself.

The Warlord entered the tent just at that moment. He was also dressed handsomely, Thania noted, in matching red and gold over gleaming bronze.

The fancy lord smiled at Thania. "For the tribute parade, beautiful."

"Master?" Marcus stepped forward. "The lady is ready."

Lady? Thania looked warily between the two Tasuri men. The Warlord was suspiciously eyeing his friend, but the fancy lord didn't back away from Thania. Instead, he grinned in challenge. "She is a beautiful symbol of your triumph, Falx."

"Shut it, Tems." The Warlord drew close to them and wasted no time in grasping Thania to his side. "Our chariot is ready, love," he murmured to Thania.

"Chariot?" Thania asked, alarmed. She had seen those awful contraptions in the encampment. Tasuri men often loved to race each other until one crashed.

Her alarm broke the rising tension between the two demon-shifters. The Warlord laughed. "Come." He guided Thania outside the tent. Dancing in the harnesses of a large, ornate chariot were two beautiful horses, tossing their heads and looking far from docile and calm. With a twinkle in his eyes, he tossed her gently into the shifting chariot.