Free The Dawn Star by Catherine Asaro Page A

criers shouting and palace guards tromping along the alleys.
    Drummer sat on the retaining wall of the balcony. He wouldn’t fall; the brass railing on the wall was high enough to lean against. He sat in a corner, his arm resting on the rail, and settled the glittar against his body. When he plucked the strings, notes rippled through the air. It pleased him to have the means of his livelihood back, even if he had no one to play for.
    After warming up his voice and his fingers, he eased into a country song that many a fellow had asked him to play for his girl:
    On the slide of sweet night,
    In the time of drowsing,
    In the silvery light,
    And the stars carousing,
    Beneath a wistful moon,
    On the mosses sighing,
    O kiss me softly soon,
    Love is never dying.
    â€œSuch lovely words,” a woman said. “False, but pretty.”
    Drummer nearly jumped off the balcony. Only the rail kept him from plunging to his untimely death. He hopped down from the wall and held his glittar like a shield while he faced the invader who menaced him from the doorway.
    The queen of Taka Mal had come to visit.
    She wore a silk tunic and trousers the color of topaz. The outfit did nothing to hide her voluptuous curves. Her dark eyes tilted upward, and their lush fringe of lashes made her large eyes look even bigger. Black curls framed her face and tumbled to her shoulders. His jailor had arrived without her scowling generals—in breathtaking form.
    Drummer finally remembered himself and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
    â€œYou play well,” she said.
    He strummed an impromptu melody and sang. “She glides into the night, or actually my noon/She’s really quite a sight, I think I’ve met my doom.”
    Laughing, she winced. “That’s terrible poetry.”
    â€œThank you. I wrote it while you were standing there.”
    â€œI don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented.”
    He answered slow and lazy. “Take your pick.”
    Her lips curved upward. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
    â€œWhen are you going to let me go?”
    â€œI don’t know. It depends on your relatives.”
    At least she was honest about it. He held his glittar in one hand and stepped forward. Her subtle perfume distracted him. Lifting his hand, he almost touched her dark hair.
    â€œIf I have to be hostage,” he murmured, “I couldn’t ask for a more fascinating captor.” He was as incensed now as the day her men had abducted him, but when she came near him like this, his ire stirred him to do foolish things. He wasn’t sure how much was anger and how much came from a different passion altogether. With the audacity that had so often landed him in trouble, he said, “I’d die for one kiss from those wine-plum lips.”
    Her eyes closed slightly, giving her a sensually dangerous look. In a low voice, she said, “You most certainly would.”
    He lifted a curl of her silky hair and brushed his knuckles on her cheek. “Are you going to call the guards?”
    â€œTo protect who? Me?” She moved his hand away from her face, but she held on to it for several moments before she released him. “Or you?”
    â€œDo I need protection from you?”
    â€œI think you need it from yourself.”
    â€œI always have.” It was true.
    â€œYou could be locked in a cell for touching the queen.”
    â€œI’m already in a cell.”
    â€œA dungeon,” she said in a voice that was somehow sultry and menacing at the same time. “With chains.”
    He answered in a low voice. “Your chains are as sweet as they are brutal, desert queen.”
    â€œNever brutal. Not for you.” Her voice poured over him like thick, dark honey, and her eyes had a glossy look, though whether it was a challenge or an invitation, he was afraid to guess. He wondered if she even realized how she appeared to him.
    Softly, he said, “You chained me