David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

The beast itself rolled over through the air, dropping slowly, till it landed with a thud on a worm vine.

Aaw dived to feed. Cooharah followed.

They tore flesh from the creature and gobbled it as the last rays of sunlight illuminated the upper brush of the tangle. They did not speak as they ate. Their hunger was too great; besides, Cooharah feared that predators from the lower reaches of the tangle would be making their journey up for the nightly hunt. He wanted to be away, winging over the plains in the starlight, before they arrived.

In a few moments, they finished feeding on the strange beast. Cooharah and Aaw flew off, heavy from their meal.

They did not speak for a while, but eventually Aaw’s sanity returned enough so she managed to trill, “That was a beast from the world of oomas. Will the oomas be angry with us for killing their beast?”

Cooharah did not know. It was said that the oomas kept some animals for food. Cooharah suspected they had just stolen food from the oomas, but he did not know. If he had stolen food, he owed the oomas a debt; that would be a bad thing. Still, Cooharah could not be certain. The Qualeewoohs did not keep flocks and herds in this way, so there was no correlation between the two species, no way for Cooharah to categorize such a debt.

On the other hand, he and Aaw were not responsible. Aaw had been suffering from acrahas. In ancient times, his people had eaten chicks from one another’s nests when driven by such need. Such things were understandable, though disappointing. All things must be forgiven one who suffers acrahas.

“Perhaps the oomas will be angry,” Cooharah said, “but we must be forgiven if we have killed their beast. Still, it would not be wise to tell them what we have done. We do not know these oomas. They have no souls. Perhaps they would use this as an excuse to try to steal ours. We must leave.”

“Agreement to the third level,” Aaw trilled.

The Qualeewoohs winged their way beyond the palace, heading south, back toward the great desert.

Zeus decided he couldn’t meet Maggie for dinner in the nude. He had to wear something. So he colored himself with golden pigments, and had his service droids paint to vivid blue lightning bolts across his broad chest, meeting just below his navel. Then he had his droids braid his long hair in tight knots, weaving metallic blue beads into it.

When he finished, he put on his eye shadow and mascara, painted his lips, sprayed his hair with lightly scented pheromones, and put on his only article of clothing-a bracelet for his right thigh, which emitted a soft pink, pulsating light. In the darkness, it would draw Maggie’s eyes downward, focusing them in regions of delight.

At last he checked himself in the mirror, just as the serving druids arrived with dinner. For the evening’s repast, he’d chosen a number of dishes that could be eaten lukewarm-one pudding to be eaten on the chest, one saucy meat dish to be eaten on the navel, and a sticky compote of fruit to be eaten … elsewhere.

Zeus selected three potent wines from Felph’s own vineyards, began spiking each with a capsule of Delight, a drug to lift the mood, alleviate fears, leave one giddy and euphoric. It was simply a concoction of natural amino acids found in the human body-a distillation guaranteed to make a woman feel as if she were living the best and brightest moment of her life.

Yet Zeus frowned as he dropped two capsules into the first bottle of wine. Maggie hadn’t reacted as strongly to the drugs last night as other women did. Perhaps it had to do with her pregnancy. The hormones in a woman’s body at such times might dilute the natural effects of the Delight. Zeus was not sure. He doubled the dose, putting it in a delicious pink wine. If Maggie didn’t react to one of the weaker wines, he’d bring out this bottle as a last resort.

For music, he ordered the players-a set of twelve portable droids that each had speakers mounted inside-to set the mood for the evening by playing Asplund’s Symphony to Erotica in D-minor, a magnificent arrangement composed around the different stages of foreplay, leading to a musical climax most women found enormously arousing, whether they were with a sex partner or not.

Once the feast, the drinks, and the music were chosen, he sent the service droids ahead to arrange things. He ordered them to hide in various parts of the garden, so the music would float ethereally from the distance, while food droids appeared one by one, wheeling in from different directions.

Last of all, he sent a droid out with a simple mat, something to let him and Maggie make love in a warm, dry environment, should she want it that way. If not, there was always the pond.

Zeus checked himself in the mirror one last time, then strode through the corridors of the palace out to the North Garden.

The pebbles on the garden path crunched softly beneath his bare feet. Air perfumed by a million roses stroked the hairs of his bare chest, hardening his nipples, playing between his legs.

Already, the strains of Symphony Erotique began rising from the garden-a stirring serenade of violins and violas over bassoons, a sound of flowers opening, of release.

As usual with Zeus, when a passionate mood took him, his focus narrowed. He’d been daydreaming about this tryst all afternoon. As he strode along in the starlight he did not notice the towering columns of roses along his path, the magnificent draping flowers, larger than plates, nodding from perfect vines.

He did not even hear the symphony, or the sound of the gravel crackling under his feet. Instead, his mind filled with images of Maggie in the starlight, her tender lips, his hands stroking her red hair, the full mounds of her breasts.

Only barely did he keep from breaking into a run. Eagerly he rounded a corner among the high hedgerows, following the scent of spiced meats, came in full view of the peacock fountains.

Things were not as he’d expected.

A table sat beside the pool, a circular table large enough for ten. Above it stood a wooden gazebo, with soft dark netting. In the netting hung tiny lights, like dozens of fireflies.

Maggie sat at the table-along with Gallen, a young stranger, Hera, Arachne, Athena, and the bears. Only Herm was not at the table. They all spoke softly, enjoying a sumptuous meal. None of them seemed to have noticed him.

Zeus turned, creeping to run back for some clothes, when Hera called, “Oh, My Sweet, we’ve been waiting for you!”

Zeus was trapped under the gaze of them all, naked. He could not hide his arousal, dared not put his hand in front of him to cover himself, lest it draw more attention to his state.

“I… uh,” Zeus stammered.

“Come back here. I know, you thought we would dine alone,” Hera called, her voice muted from under the gazebo. “But Father arrived early, so I invited everyone.”

Zeus found that his arousal had ceased, so he turned slowly. Zeus was more embarrassed by the presence of Gallen than of the young stranger. Then Zeus understood. All this was planned to humiliate him. The cloth over the gazebo was a sound-muting net, so he would not have heard their voices on approach. The tiny lights, no brighter than starlight glimmering off the dim pools, worked as camouflage.

From the exultant grin on Hera’s face, from the cruel smile Arachne bore, he knew Hera had contrived this. She’d lured him here, naked and aroused, before the others. Herm, Arachne, Maggie, Hera-all of them played the Game against him.

Arachne flashed two fingers. Two points, then. They’d played the Game. Hera won.

Zeus smiled, even as he fumed. Well done, my love. You played me like a puppet, and I danced to your tune . In spite of his chagrin, Zeus could not help but be proud of his wife.