The Slave World Abductions Ch. 09

The Slave World Abductions

A Fanfiction

Part Nine

Sara's Dance

by The Preve

Based upon characters and concepts created by Roxy Rex.

The author wishes to express his deepest thanks to Roxy Rex for his permission in writing this story.

Sara danced, twirled, twisted, and gyrated before the Sharif's throne. It was her best work.

The folks on Broadway would cream their pants if they saw me like this.

A few of the throne room guests looked to be doing so already. Not all of them were male.

The Sharif watched from his throne, but his face held a detached mien.

No tent in his pantaloons, but he probably has a shielding tatt on him. Sara had learned a few things during her captivity on Slave World.

As it stood, the Sharif's guests were not the audience. Her performance was for a single person. The dance she performed was the Seven Veils. The client was the nude, wide-eyed young man, standing at the entrance to the throne room, with a giant erection jutting from his groin.

****

The days, weeks, months of captivity in the harem were a period of adjustment.

Sara learned the politics quickly and well. Evanna, while not too close, proved an excellent teacher. Charla, after her own fashion, was a good instructor as well.

Outwitting the tiefling, and keeping her kind at bay, helped with handling the lower-ranked slaves, often sycophants of Charla, if not her directly.

A point of interest, and jealousy, to the other women was Sara's status as the Sharif's favorite... apparently.

He certainly called her to his chambers often, to Charla's smoldering envy. The others were curious, except for Evanna. Gossip, rumor mongering, and speculation saturated the atmosphere.

Sara told the women nothing, nor would she even if permitted. The Sharif did not want sex, but information, mostly about Earth.

"Midgard here," she thought.

His curiosity was intense, about where she came from, events on Midgard before her abduction, her earlier youth.

She was curt and suspicious those first few months. What's he up to? Why these questions?

She warmed, gradually, as the months passed. The Sharif made no other moves towards her. If any, it seemed as if he was studying her, making an assessment. His demeanor softened over the following months, and Sara responded to that.

One day he asked, "How good of a dancer were you?"

"I was very good."

"Can you still do it?"

"I think so."

"Can you demonstrate?"

Sara performed the moves she created for her last audition, before her abduction. She was out of practice, and it showed, but she did well enough.

The Sharif's face wore a pensive look, but he nodded. "Thank you, Sara Sundstrom."

At their next meeting he had her sit. He was very to the point.

"I have a task for you, and it will most likely involve those things I inferred at our first meeting."

Sara kept her face straight, in spite the chill racing through her body. Oboy, it's happening.

The Sharif continued, "A very important personage will be visiting the city in a few months. She is in possession of an item I need, and is willing to trade. She has requested the services of a skilled dancer for the meeting. Her specific wish is that the dancer perform the Seven Veils. There is another service implied. The personage informed me further information on that will be sent ahead of her arrival.

Whereas it will be several months until then, that will be plenty of time to prepare. I have engaged the services of a former professional dancer and teacher. She was a legend in her day. You will attend daily sessions with her beginning tomorrow."

Tersicia Caleron was a dark elf from the Aelin-dor (Lake Province) in Surtur. In her youth she'd danced for the best, and taken even more to bed. She'd forgotten more about sensual and erotic dance than any in the harem could never hope to learn.

Definitely not a stripper pole dancer, Sara would quickly find.

Caleron immediately put Sara on an exercise regimen to get her back to dancing fitness.

"Yeah, it's been awhile," thought Sara, nursing her aching muscles after the first day. She'd looked great, yes, but between the dungeons and the harem, she lost some of her athleticism and tone. I'm a bit out of shape.

Caleron's sessions brought her back to the energy she'd displayed on the stage. The lessons began shortly after.

It was easy to learn the moves of the Seven Veils, but the sensual and erotic nuances proved challenging.

"Imagine yourself as a succulent fruit," Caleron said. "Something so tempting, so sweet, so deep in color, your watcher would sell his very soul to have you. Then, make it clear with your dance that, however much he wants, he cannot have. You are unattainable, unapproachable."

The lessons continued in the months leading to the visit. Caleron was critical, but not in such fashion as to destroy her confidence. She pointed out the many moves she did wrong, and the few she did right.

As the time approached, the balance shifted, gradually, until Sara performed more right moves than not.

"How is she coming along?" asked the Sharif at a meeting.

"She is... adequate," replied Caleron. "How adequate for your purposes is questionable."

Farid smiled. Adequate, to Svartalfheim's greatest dancer, was better than good by other standards.

Two days before the guest's arrival, Sara was called to the Sharif.

"There is news," he said. "The guest has sent a courier with further instructions. I will get to the point. The service is sexual, as you have guessed, obviously.

The name of the guest is Amara Zayn. You have not heard of her, I assume. She is one of the wealthiest traders across the realms, and an extraordinarily powerful sorceress.

I shall not tell you of the object I wish to acquire from her. It is an item of great value, and of important use to me.

Part of her price is that she requires the services of one of my dancers, to initiate her son into adulthood."

"Oh!" Sara realized. "She wants me to take her son's virginity."

"The difficulty of the task set before you cannot be understated. Amara Zayn is a particular woman, unimpressed by most things. Your performance will help the transaction immensely.

I have taken the liberty of sending notes on the music to be played, to your instructor. Minor spells, mostly related to love and copulation, will be embedded. You will have the use of my bed chambers for that evening.

I would be remiss if I didn't inform you, this whole exercise is not simply about the object. The fate of another depends on it. I won't tell you who. You will have to dance through your worries."

Sara and Tersicia studied the notes intensely, over the next two days. They traded and tried ideas for the music.

Eventually, they came up with a choreography which worked with the embedded spells. Sara could utilize her erotic energy to present a sensual image to the audience.

The day of the presentation arrived. Sara was nervous. Evanna could see it.

"Calm it, girl," she said. "You need to slay them in the throne room. It won't do to dance with other emotions clouding your head."

"I'm always nervous before auditions and shows, Evanna. It'll go away. I'll be fine. I've played larger crowds."

****

Samir Zayn scratched, uncomfortably, at his tunic. It itched; his mother picked it out. He sighed. His mother was letting him choose his dress these days, but still...

At present, he was waiting with his mother, and their entourage, in the throne room of Avarakan's Golden Palace; soon to be presented before the Sharif. He'd rather be at home, in the Rose Mansion, playing stickball with the boys.

His mother never said why she wanted him on this trip. She rarely took him on her trade circuits. Sure, those occasions were fun in his younger days but now... collegium was looming, his friends were drifting away, assuming manly duties... and he hadn't started his tally with a girl yet. Not that they would notice his skinny self.

His school friends did not include many girls. The boys who interested them were bigger, brawnier, more daring, more forthcoming.

His friend Jahi, was candid. "Face it Sam, you're kind of dull, and shy. You have to assert yourself some more, and get that stick out of your ass."

His mother grew worried as well.

"You are getting to be a man, Samir. It's time you thought of your future after Wisdom House. I shall look at marriage prospects for you."

As if anyone could meet her exacting standards, he sighed.

Looking on his young life, Samir knew he should consider himself lucky. A mother as wealthy and powerful as her helped discourage bullying at school. No one wanted to cross the son of Amara Zayn. Samir never had to worry about bullies, only his mother.

His mother never said it but he knew he was a disappointment. He had no magic, like his father. She loved him in her own way, even placing wardings on him to protect against other sorcerers but she dominated so many other aspects of his life. The pressure was starting to get to him. Now she's even picking out my wife.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a dark elf, dressed prominently.

"Probably a majordomo," thought Samir.

"Sharif Farid ibn Hassan ibn Kassir," the elf proclaimed.

The entourage and other guests assumed an attentive posture.

The Sharif strode into the throne room.

Samir's mother, the entourage, guests, and Samir bowed. The Sharif bowed back, a gesture of mutual respect and welcome.

"I am most honored that you have graced my home with your presence, my Lady Zayn. Such a personage as you shines above all the previous guests received in this palace."

"I most graciously express my gratitude for the reception, Your Excellency. I express my sincere wish these few days will result in mutual benefit for the both of us."

"I'm sure they will," Sharif Kassir looked at Amara Zayn. A most remarkable woman.

She was tall and beautiful, exuding a regal image, even though she had no royal blood. Minor New Lemurian nobility, actually. Her hair was straight, glossy black, her skin golden olive, her eyes like brown almonds.

The tattoo on the left side of her neck denoted the mage order to which she belonged, including her ranking, The highest, and power, The most in recent memory, I heard. She was a prodigy in her day.

Her dress, however, was that of a wealthy merchant, the colors and adornments denoting her house, and the merchant guild she led.

Overall, Amara Zayn was not a person with whom to be trifled. The Sharif was glad their respective interests did not conflict. Her face was impassive, but the Sharif read some hints of interest in him, beyond business.

She's one of the Realms' most powerful sorceresses. Few things get by her. I wonder if she knows?

The Sharif held no worry in that aspect. Amara Zayn had a reputation of extreme discretion. She never gave away secrets, in herself or others, But she knows a lot of them.

The Sharif's gaze turned to Samir. "So this is the young Samir. You favor your mother, young lad."

Samir tried, but failed, to keep from blushing, in part embarrassment, in part annoyance. People always told him he looked more like his mother than his father. He wished it were the opposite. His father had been much more strapping, and masculine, in appearance.

"And in character," he reminded himself. "And reckless too, which is how he wound up in a manticore's belly... parts of him."

"Yes, he does reflect his mother," Sharif Kassir thought. I see something of his father in him as well.

Samir's slight figure and delicate looks echoed his mother, along with his glossy, inky black curls.

His larger, wider, brown eyes, and browner skin came from his father.

Heard his father was brave, maybe overly so. Shouldn't have gone manticore hunting without the proper equipment, or a guide. "My seneschal has prepared guest quarters for you, your son, and entourage. We have servants to attend to your every need while you rest, and prepare for the official reception tonight."

Amara smiled, "Most gracious, Your Excellency. The other issue we discussed earlier...?"

"Has been prepared, as well. I believe it will go quite well, my Lady."

Amara smiled and nodded.

"What was that about?" thought Samir.

Clerik ushered the group to the guest quarters. The rooms for the lower-ranked were well-furnished, with one or two servants to assist with unpacking, baths, small refreshments, and other complements.

Amara and Samir's quarters were larger and more sumptuous. Samir's rooms sat across from his mother's. He was happy about that. Some distance at least.

He was not happy when his mother accompanied him.

"I want to inspect your quarters, and interview the servants."

Samir sighed again, Oh Mother.

The two servants were plain, middle-aged, utilitarian rather than completely complementary.

"Greetings Lady Zayn, Master Zayn," the elder of the two curtsied. "I am Zena and this is my younger sister, Lulan. We are here to provide assistance to your son and serve his needs for the duration of his stay."

"I am sure you are diligent in your duties," said Amara, a look of assessment on her face. "It is very important my son be presentable for the reception."

Zena nodded, "We have received your instructions to that effect by way of the Sharif. Rest assured all is in preparation."

"I am most grateful."

"Mother?" Samir's look bore many questions.

"The Sharif is an extremely important man, my son. I do not want to leave anything to chance which might cause... complications." She turned to the sisters. "I leave him in your care. Make sure he is comfortable."

"Yes, your Ladyship," the sisters chorused.

Samir was slightly nervous when his mother left. He'd heard of complementary services but, as it turned out, he needed not worry. The sisters were not for that type of service.

It was mostly about attending to his hygienic needs: drawing his bath, sending his clothes to the laundries, setting out the perfumes and scented oils to adorn his body for the evening, and arranging an afternoon repast to tide him over until dinner; charcuterie and fruit juice mostly.

"Your evening clothes shall be ready for you, pressed and cleaned, in a few hours," said the younger sister, Lulan. "You may rest in the private courtyard until that time."

The sisters left. Samir bathed and went out into the courtyard to dry off. There were no towels to wait in, or robes to wear, but it was not uncommon in these regions for people to air dry.

Once dried, Samir went back inside and utilized the oils and perfumes. He ate some of the charcuterie, and drank some of the fruit juice. The meat and cheese were a bit spicy for his taste, and the fruit juice contained a mild tinge, but overall it was delicious.

He sat on the pillows and cushions to await the return of his clothes.

"They'll pull the bell," he thought. "It'll give me time to conceal myself."

The afternoon wore on. Samir felt his eyelids getting heavy. It was warm, and the room somewhat stuffy.

I'll take a small nap. The reception itself will be a snoozer. I should be alert for that.

Samir thought the pillows would conceal enough of his body to the sisters. There shouldn't be any trouble, and he'd have clean clothes waiting.

He woke to the sound of flutes. The light in the room was dimmer than before. Samir would take note of his oversleep, if not for the distracting music.

It was soft, faint, cloying, drifting through the palace, like a seductive young woman searching for her lover.

Strings soon accompanied the flowing sound; sitars, followed by drums. The music flowed through his body, like water from a brook. The vibrations of the strings reverberated in his groin. The tom tom of the drums matched the throbbing in his veins.

The music beckoned, the young woman drawing him from the pillows, outside the quarters, into the warm evening air.

He walked among the pillars, feeling the heat. He was unmindful of the swell in his cock, or his nudity. The music drew him on, the unseen woman beckoned.

The further the music drew him, the more pronounced it grew. It swirled around and within his body, pulling him into the chamber from which it flowed.

He ignored the bodies within the room. The vision in gossamer white and blue was all that mattered.

Her hair shone like gold, her eyes like emeralds. Blue and white silk covered her body, but not by far, revealing so much more promise underneath.

She danced and wove sinuously, at once a seductive snake, at another, a beckoning whirlwind. The dancer whirled towards him, shedding veils the closer she approached.

He stood still and waited, hard, with wide brown eyes, and stunned open mouth, for this vision of beauty to dance to him.

It was a dream of course, so the rational, back part of his mind told him. It mattered not. The less rational, dominant, part commanded him to embrace this vision, to bring her nude body to his, to pluck that wet, pink, succulent flower betwixt her legs.

He wrapped his arms around her. She wrapped her veils around him. Her body, her breasts were firm. The heat she emitted not just attributed to the dance.

Samir's cock strained against her groin as she danced him out of the chamber, and into the pleasures of her flesh which awaited him.

Sharif Kassir watched from his throne, pleased, as Sara led young Samir out of the room.

"She has worked out much better than expected," he smiled. "Let's see if her performance in bed produces profitable results."

The shielding spells placed around the throne room were effective, but aspects of Sara's dance did break through.

Good to see the musicians came through okay. It wouldn't do to have them overwhelmed by their own music.

Still, the varied degrees of lust on everyone's faces were testaments to the power of Sara's performance. Amara herself, displayed a mild arousal, but she was known to take an occasional lass to bed now and then.

No comments were made on young Samir. It wasn't uncommon for these dances to serve as initiation points for young men.

Ah well, time to get down to business. "So, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed tonight's entertainment. I wish to convey my appreciation for the musicians' excellent work. I shall instruct my seneschal to give each of you an extra gold piece. In the meantime, I am very famished, as I'm sure you are all. My cooks have prepared an excellent repast in the dining hall. If you may follow my seneschal."

****

"I must admit, this kid has potential," thought Sara as she lay on her back.

Her legs were wrapped around the young man's hips, and she held him as he pumped her.

It had been remarkably easy to guide him inside her, but that was to be expected. The music worked on her too.

"The spells worked into the notes are designed as much for the dancer as the client," the Sharif had informed her. "It should make it easier for you to perform this task."

"Use it, lean into it," Tersicia instructed. "Let it inform your dance."

Sara, in performances past, had danced to evocative music, creating a huge array of emotions she'd used in her act. Never before had music made her so horny; by the time they'd danced into the Sharif's bedchamber, she was as horny for this young man (young to her at least, he looked barely out of his teens) as he was obviously for her.

The young man's cock slid in and out of a pussy as wet as she'd never felt before.

Sara couldn't tell whether her lust sprang from a lingering effect of the music, or actual interest in the kid.

He was cute after all.

His olive-brown skin, large brown eyes, and glossy black curls evoked a young Arab prince.

He might well be.

He exuded a certain sweet innocence, even as he fucked her.

"I've never taken someone's virginity," Sara thought. "I'd have ignored someone like this back home, no matter how cute."

It told her many things, that she would willingly fuck someone so young. Well, maybe not so willingly. The music has something to do with it, I think.

The kid's face wore the look of someone acting out his young life's wildest dreams.

Maybe he is, but Sara thought it sounded arrogant. Confident she may be as a dancer, her blue collar origins disdained putting on airs.

She encouraged him in his efforts, a new and uncharacteristic turn for herself. Most of her previous sexual partners were already experienced, and she never goaded the less capable performers. Sara was tough but never mean.

"You're doing fine kid. Keep it up," she grunted.

She whispered and gasped other carnal encouragements, even as his groin slammed against hers.

"There are other parts of my body too, you know. Not just my pussy." Even though his cock does feel good.

"Th-Thank you, Miss," the young man gasped.

"Call me Sara, I work for a living." Only at dancing, not this.

"Thank you, Sarai. I am Samir."

"Pleased to meet you Samir."

Sara's assessment of Samir's "wildest dreams" was a correct one, to an extent.

The lewd speculations of his friends, the overheard conversations of the men, never prepared him for a dream such as this.

The woman's body was firm, her legs and thighs strong. She guided his almost painfully hard cock, into a flower which enclosed it like a warm silk purse.

The expression on her face was warm, inviting, not cold or business-like as he'd often heard of harem workers.

She encouraged; she did not tease or coax. She offered and gave him her body.

Her skin tasted of roses and honey. Her melons and teats were firm under his tongue.

Her croons and moans, sighs and grunts, drifted into the incense-scented air.

She taught him so many lessons on the pleasures of a woman's body. The couplers' orgasms lasted well into the night.

At the end, they settled into an exhausted sleep. Samir woke a short time later. He stared at the silken canopy above him, then turned and lay on his side, admiring the nude, sleeping curves of this... Sarai... her body is like the sand dunes on a moonlit night.

He was in love with this woman. He drifted to sleep, vowing to ask his mother to purchase her in the morning.

Sara woke; the night was still, the palace complex, quiet.

The night guards are on the job, probably.

She turned to look at Samir's sleeping form. He looked even more innocent asleep than he did awake.

I hope he's not going to be a problem.

She'd done it. The kid was initiated. But what was it for?

It was important, obviously. I hope it's worth it.

This thing could get messy in the morning, she realized. Her first time had been, Okay. It wasn't bad but, Tom "The Bruge" Bruglio was definitely not the stud he claimed to be. He certainly oversold himself.

Something had told her, while it went on then, there was better out there, and some of her later hook ups proved it.

Still, she knew how these young kids with their first time could be.

I know the stories. I'm going to have to break his heart in the morning.

The problem was the mess to clean up. And he's from privilege while I'm a slave. No telling how he's going to react.

A few of her exes, of the entitled kind, didn't react well to the breakups.

Sara went back over another fact of the night. This is the first time I've actually fucked someone voluntarily in this place. Someone male at least.

The earlier incidences were definitely not voluntary. Dungeon gang rapes never are.

It might be argued the circumstances requiring her to fuck this young man, Samir, couldn't exactly be called voluntary either. Something told Sara, though, if she'd refused, the penalty would not be as severe as she feared. She couldn't quite grasp it. Performer's instinct, maybe, but something about the Sharif felt as if he were an actor playing a role.

A good actor, with every action he performs just for show.

She certainly wasn't going to show her feelings. Give nothing away. First rule of the harem, but the thought a larger game was in play couldn't leave her mind. I'm going to think about it later. I need to sleep.

Several hours earlier.

"So this is it. Will it do the job?"

"It is guaranteed," said Amara, answering the Sharif's question. "Much coin was spent acquiring it. I'm sure it will suit your purpose."

"You don't know my purpose."

"The reason you would want such an item is obvious, given the present situation. I have a stake in this venture as well. He convinced my husband to hunt the manticore after all."

"I had not known you had such great affection for your husband," said the Sharif. "My impression was your marriage was more an alliance."

"He was a good man. Reckless and foolish, yes, but he did his best to make me happy, and be a good father to Samir. That... dog 'patooie!', played on his flaws, convinced him into that mad quest, all for his own amusement. I would have let it go, were it not for my contacts informing me how he laughed and jested about it to his guests. My wish is for your stratagem to sour his humor."

"I'm sure it shall."

"Do you have a plan how to deliver it?"

"I shall think of something. There is someone at the other end with a great use for this item."

"I am not surprised. You have plans within plans within plans, obviously. I must take my leave of you for the evening, Your Excellency. I offer my thanks for the services of your dancer. She strikes me as most unique... and exquisite."

"You are most welcome, my Lady Zayn. May the gods always shine favor upon your endeavors," the Sharif bowed.

"And upon your ventures as well most excellent 'Sharif'," Amara smiled, with a cocked eyebrow.

Sharif Kassir's eyebrow cocked back. Nothing really gets past this woman, he admired.

Amara Zayn left for her chambers. Sharif Kassir turned to examine the item.

"I shall have to take care with this," he thought, "and I shall need someone trustworthy and reliable, to deliver it."

****

Sara woke to a hand brushing her forehead. She opened her eyes. The woman gazing down on her she recognized.

Amara placed a finger to Sara's lips, silencing her startled gasp. She motioned the dancer to leave the bed, and not disturb Samir as she did so.

Sara took a last look at Samir. He was still asleep.

It was early dawn, the morning light still dim, and quiet. Sara gathered her clothes and followed Lady Zayn.

"I won't see him again," she thought.

Amara led the younger dancer to her guest quarters. The night watch ignored the two women. It was not uncommon for guests of the Sharif to move between quarters for discreet assignations.

The sorceress' chambers were lit, albeit softly. A warm tub of rose water, and assorted soaps lay waiting.

Sara hesitated, Is this...?

Amara, perceptive, assured her. "No it is not that. It would be somewhat odd, given the service you performed for my son. It is more a courtesy on my part. You will be able to return to your harem in a freshened state. I must admit, candidly, that I am tempted. You are of most comely bearing, and you look strong. The Sharif has chosen well of you."

"Thank you," Sara settled into the bath. Amara's face was stoic.

"My son, he did well?"

Sara paused. Questions such as this, on Earth, were considered awkward at the least, outrageous at most. But this is Slave World. The customs are different. "He was hesitant, but good. I think he's a natural. He's better than he thinks."

Amara smiled, pleased. "It has been... difficult for him since his father passed. I am not sure I was helpful. He will be attending the House of Wisdom Collegium soon, and after that assume his manly duties. I am happy that you have given him some instruction on that aspect."

"Maybe, I'm hoping he hasn't grown attached to me."

"Heh!" Amara chuckled. "He most likely has. I took a few young men's innocence in my youth. A few women as well. Some were good about it, others not. A few fell in love. It happens often with the first person. I brought you here, in part, to relieve you of having to break his heart. That task is for me."

"I was not looking forward to that moment." Sara smiled.

"I would think you broke many hearts."

"Back home, yes, but not as many as you might think. Your son is the first one I've done here... at least voluntarily."

"Ah, so you are new then."

"Relatively, I think. I don't know how long I've been here. I don't know how time works compared to back home. Maybe a year or two."

"Ah, most interesting. What was your purchase price?"

"I don't know exactly. Someone told me it was pretty high. Somewhere between 2500 and 3000 sovereigns."

"Ah hmmm. A high price. Could she be one of the exotics I've been hearing rumors about? Only highborn would rate such high prices, or an exotic. You do not strike me as nobility, albeit I see something of the Aesir in you. Your speech is too plain. Nor, however comely, do I perceive anything exotic. Your body and performance tell me you were a trained dancer. A good one."

"I was. I am, damn good. I was going to be on Broadway."

Anger and sadness in her tone. I do not know of this "Broadway". I've not heard of it among the Realms. She just might be. "So then, you are not an Aesir."

"Nope," the dancer frowned, "I'm just a Swede-Finn working class stiff from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Earth, who was going to be the world's greatest dancer, until some tieflings snatched me and brought me here."

Amara had not heard of Pennsylvania either, but it didn't matter. The word "Earth" was what set her mind ablaze. Sara, washing, didn't notice, as Amara was a woman not given to displays of emotion. She might have received a headache, had she been a trained mind reader, though.

The word wasn't used often among the Realms. Its proper name was more common.

Earth! Midgard! What the bloody hells is the Sharif up to?! It could draw in the Magistrates! His stratagem could be endang... wait.

Amara thought, and then smiled and nodded. Of course. A Magistrate is what he is counting on. And who better to deliver the package? "Well, young dancer. Perhaps you should not despair. Something tells me your sojourn might not last much longer."

Sara looked at the woman. Does she know something? Hope flared for a moment but Sara tamped it down. I can't afford it. I have to trust the Sharif's "path", or at least try.

Amara rose, left, and returned with a towel.

"Thank you, Lady Zayn," Sara said, taking the towel.

"You are very welcome. You know, I just realized I have not gotten your name."

"Sara, Sara Sunstrom."

"I have been very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sara Sunstrom."

"The same for me, Lady Zayn."

Amara watched Sara get dressed and escorted her out. A most remarkable woman. I hope Farid knows what he is doing.

Sara made her way back to the harem. She found her couch, stripped her clothes, and settled in for a morning nap. She only got an hour.

She woke to the sound of a flute. The Grey Women were by her couch. They used the flute, often, to wake one of the slaves on some business or another.

"The Sharif wishes to speak with you," said one.

They led her to Clerik, who brought her to the Sharif's office, where she stood in front of him, waiting.

She noticed an object behind him, on his desk.

It was a small box, silver, and inscribed with calligraphic writing. She recognized some Elvish, but also Arabic, and other writings in languages unfamiliar to her.

The Item?

The Sharif noticed her looking and spoke.

"Lady Zayn has informed me she is most pleased with your performance, and wishes once again to convey her deepest thanks. I add my thanks to hers as well." The Sharif glanced back at the object. "I can assure you, your actions last night have brought you closer to your goal."

Sara didn't speak, but the Sharif noticed a brightness in her eyes.

"If you wish to ask a question, you may do so."

Sara thought for a moment, then asked, "The young man I was with, Samir, um, will there be trouble?"

"Doubtful. Amara assured me any infatuation will remain a passing fancy. You will, however, receive a bonus, at her request, for your services. I concur. You performed spectacularly."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Sara permitted herself a small smile. Praise for her skills as a dancer, Among others, was well-gratifying.

"You may make your way back to the harem. I doubt I shall have need of your services in the near future. Do you have any other questions?"

Sara thought some more. "Um, is there any way I can take more lessons with Tersicia Caleron? I would like to keep in shape."

"I shall arrange for regular sessions."

"Thank you," Sara bowed and backed out of the office.

Remarkable woman. The Sharif went to his desk and picked up the box. And a valuable investment. Now to see if I can get a good courier.

Sara walked through the palace, thinking about the box.

Such a small thing for so much trouble, but something told her the box represented a far larger game. And I'm a part of it.

She had much to ponder on her way back.

End Part Nine.