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chapter
one
The Byzantine slave market buzzed like a swarm of drones in search
of a new queen. The fresh shipment of potentials docked at the
Imperial Shipyard in the sheltered crotch of the Golden Horn. The
women were driven off the relative safety of the caique that
had borne them to Constantinople, to be pinched and prodded up the
winding alleys toward a pristine marble colonnade. Mindful that even
drones have stingers, Valdis Ivorsdottir resisted the urge to scream
when a bystander’s inquisitive fingers brushed her body as she
walked the narrow way.
The Frankish girl in front of her wobbled on her feet. Valdis
reached out a hand to steady her. Last night the Frank’s twin sister
had died, whether from sickness or merely from willing herself to
leave their floating Hel, Valdis could not be certain.
When their Moorish captors consigned the dead body to the deeps of
Middle Earth’s great inland sea, the living twin had to be
physically restrained from following her sister into the water. One
of the traders seemed content to let her go, Valdis surmised from
his animated speech, since her value as half of a matched set was
severely diminished. Cooler heads prevailed and the girl was kept
from harming herself.
Now the Frankish maiden stumbled toward the auction block, pale and
drawn, obviously wishing for death, the poor remainder of a pair of
pretty playthings. Valdis pitied her, but though she shared the
girl’s fate, she would not emulate her.
Valdis wanted her freedom and to win that, she had to live.
“Courage,” she whispered, knowing the girl couldn’t understand her.
The Moorish traders had purchased Valdis on the wharf at Birka in
the far North, and then wound their way along the continental coast,
cherry-picking other pale blossoms as they traveled south. Her
captors forcefully discouraged conversation among their prisoners.
Still, a silent bond was forged. Tremulous smiles and small
kindnesses knit the band of women together in their captivity.
After the first degrading intimate inspection to determine her
purity, no one molested Valdis. Her captors provided an opportunity
for her to wash herself regularly and offered abundant food and
drink. In fact, several women noticeably gained flesh during the
long passage to Miklagard.
Valdis did not.
When she realized they were trying to round her sharp angles, she
refused any more than necessary to retain her health. If they
compelled her to eat, later she slid a finger down her throat and
emptied her stomach into the waves, letting her captors blame her
illness on the pitching sea. As a daughter of the seafaring Norse
race, she suffered no such infirmity, but she would not allow
herself the burden of excess.
The leanest runner travels swiftest.
But there was no place to run. All her life, she’d heard of the
glories of Miklagard, the fabulously wealthy city in the sybaritic
south. Now she saw only its squalor. Strange scents from the cramped
streets of the Byzantine capital suffocated her, the cloying
sweetness of a decaying corpse mixed with the spicy pungency of
Asiatic cooking. Bewildering sounds pierced her ear, the cacophony
of endless tongues wagging in a babble of languages and the braying
of Imperial horns.
Worst of all was the press of people.
She never imagined so many existed in all the nine worlds, let alone
within the confines of this fortress city. Men of every imaginable
color, black as jet, pale as moonstone, and every hue in between,
be-turbaned, shaved bald as a brown egg, dark eyes overhung by brows
that met in the middle, jaws fringed with curly beards dyed
impossibly scarlet, or male faces as smooth and hairless as her
own—there were too many to count. She confined her gaze to the
slender back of the Frankish girl in front of her, but the bizarre
images wormed their way into her mind through the corners of her
eyes.
Valdis was hemmed in on all sides, kept in weary line with the
others.
There will come a
time to run, she promised herself. Valdis
let her eyelids sink briefly and imagined she was back in the
Northlands, a fresh breath of snow from the mountaintop washing over
her and the blue fjord shimmering in the land’s deep green embrace.
Perhaps Ragnvald’s dragonship would be sliding into the harbor . . .
Her toe caught on a paving stone and she stumbled. Valdis snapped
her eyes open. No more dreaming. It might bring on another fit,
another nightmarish interlude when she knew not where she was or who
she was. She dared not risk a repeat. By the Thunderer, the last one
upended her life.
Ragnvald would never come for her again.
She took the Frank’s icy hand and squeezed. The girl smiled thinly
at her, gripping her as if Valdis were her only tenuous hold on this
world. Valdis gained strength from bearing up her weaker companion
and slid an arm around the girl’s shoulders as they neared their
destination. The women were bundled into the colonnade, separated
into groups and penned like beasts with females from other vessels.
Fat, smooth-faced keepers with curved blades dangling from their
hips stood silent watch over them.
The Frankish girl was forced to the block first. Valdis hoped she
wouldn’t faint dead away. The trader rattled off a stream of words
in praise of her charms, but he had to shout to be heard over the
din. One after another, the women were sold like prize heifers at
market.
Valdis couldn’t watch. She sank in a heap and let the cool marble
seep into her bones. If she allowed herself, she would weep for days
at the shame of it.
No,
she told herself with sternness. When her captor motioned her to the
dais, Valdis straightened her spine. Whatever happened, she must be
strong. She must not let anyone see. Her strange weakness had
expelled her from her home.
If it was discovered here . . . she didn’t think there was much
farther a body could fall.
***
| "The lush smell of
spices, the soft silk of the harem and the intrigue
of court life combines as Groe sweeps readers into
her novel through picturesque descriptions of
medival Constantinople. She crafts a lavish love
story that's as entertaining as it is epic."
~ RT BOOKReviews
“The colorful and
captivating world of ancient Byzantium provides the
intriguing setting for Diana Groe's lushly sensual,
sumptuously written historical romance.”
—John
Charles, Chicago Tribune
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Leisure Books
ISBN-13:
978-0-8439-5869-0
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silk
dreams