Waverider Expedition - Amazireth
The palace of Amazireth rose like a mirage above the jungle, its domes and spires glittering in the heavy sunlight. Gold caught every breeze, and the scent of incense drifted through the air so thick it clung to the lungs. The Waverider’s crew had seen wealth before, but never this kind; it didn’t gleam, it smothered.
Inside, the throne hall was a garden of stone and flesh. Slaves fanned the air with plumes, musicians plucked strings of silver, and perfumed courtiers lounged like ornaments. Upon the dais sat the Queen of Amazireth, radiant and terrible, her skin oiled, her jewels bright as blood. She regarded Captain Virellus the way a collector might examine a fine animal.
“So,” she purred, “this is your male?” Her gaze slid toward Venera. “A fine specimen. I will buy him.”
The hall fell silent.
Venera straightened. “He is not for sale, your Majesty.”
The queen tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “Not for sale? Then you prefer trade?” She gestured lazily, and a male slave was brought forward, tall, muscular, only wearing a minimal loincloth, his body marked in gold paint. “This one has been good between my legs. I will trade him for your man.”
A murmur rippled through the court. Virellus said nothing, though the muscle in his jaw twitched.
Severin Valerius stepped forward, his voice smooth and practiced. “Your Majesty, I fear there is a misunderstanding. The captain...”
He didn’t finish. One of the queen’s guards struck him across the face with the butt of a spear, sending him sprawling across the marble.
“You will not speak for a woman,” the queen said, her tone gentle like a cobra waiting to strike.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air. Venera’s hand hovered near her blade. Eira took a step forward, then stopped when Virellus raised one hand, not in command, but in warning.
Venera smiled. Calm. Controlled. “Your Majesty honors me beyond measure,” she said. “But if you would accept a gift instead, a token of goodwill from one sovereign to another, we would be deeply grateful.”
The queen leaned back, amused. “A gift?”
“Rare spices,” she continued, “and a chest of Olydrian glass. Even the Empire hasn’t seen either in a generation.”
There was a pause, then laughter. The queen clapped her hands once, sharply. “Fine. I will take your gift, Captain Not-For-Sale. Your woman may keep you.”
The audience ended in polite ceremony. Severin limped out under Selene’s arm, muttering oaths through a split lip. The guards returned their weapons to their shoulders. The queen’s laughter followed them down the marble steps.
By nightfall, the Waverider had left Amazireth behind, her sails dark against the moonlight. On deck, the crew said little. The jungle coast was already a shadow.
Venera stood beside the captain at the helm. “So,” she said at last, her voice dry, “if I’d sold you, would I have become captain?”
Virellus didn’t look at her. “Only for a day.”
“Why only a day?”
“Because Ulfar would have killed you by morning.”
Venera grinned faintly, the tension breaking at last. “Fair enough.”
The Waverider sailed on through the dark, leaving the golden towers of Amazireth to gleam unseen beyond the horizon.