Lady Fortis opened the festivities by thanking her neighbors for sending the flower of their manhood into Ammam's service. One by one, the representatives of each country filed up the steps and set an offering at her feet. The offering was not grudged. Many love guards went on to hold high posts after their year of service. Vizier himself had been her mother's slave and none save the Lady wielded more power. His native country was guaranteed fair hearing on any issue.

Lily listened to the speeches with half an ear. I will choose the biggest, meanest slaves I can find, she vowed, and I will master them. They will tremble in awe at my air of command. Her face twisted with a grimace. More likely they'd die laughing. Perhaps she'd be better off with a few medium-sized, moderately mean slaves. Surely mastering those would be challenge enough. Squirming in her demi-throne, she gazed around the courtyard in search of likely candidates.

Six gilded cages had been erected on the lawn, each holding a score of slaves. Clearly the cages were more symbol than reality. Any of the young men could have squeezed between the bars, had they chosen to do so. Lily eyed them. They were not the peasants she'd expected. Though clad in kalisaris, the plain white skirts of quarry workers, the sheen of their skin and hair proclaimed them the sons of good homes. It was impossible to tell which ones might be mean, or even moderately mean. To a man, they stood calmly.

She wondered if she could have borne the prospect of slavery so well.

Finally, the flowery speeches ended. The scryer glided up the dais, bowed to her mother and handed Lily a small golden key.

"Come, Princess," she said in a melodious, carrying tone. "Come choose your guard."

Lily followed her graceful figure across the springy coastal grass. She hoped she didn't look as awkward as she felt. This was what came of being late! If she'd met the scryer ahead of time, she'd have been instructed on what was to come.

When they reached the first cage, the scryer directed her to unlock the door, then called a candidate to the entrance. He looked as nervous as Lily felt. She ventured a reassuring smile.

"Hast thou lain with a woman?" asked the scryer.

Lily's eyes widened at the question, but the candidate did not flinch.

"I have not," he said in a voice that barely shook.

"Lift your skirt," ordered the scryer.

The candidate did so. Lily tried not to choke. He was naked beneath the clean white linen. His sex dangled, thick and pink, between strong, hairy thighs.

"Cup him from beneath," said the scryer.

A subtle nudge broke Lily's paralysis. Her mother would be horrified to discover she had never handled a man's naked organ. Hesitantly, she curled her fingers beneath the swaying shaft. It was smooth, like silk.

"The sac as well," corrected the scryer.

As gently as she could, she gathered the joggling bundle and lifted it toward the scryer's view. A sound broke in the candidate's throat. Within her hand his cool, soft flesh began to swell. The candidate flushed, but it seemed he could not curb his body's reaction. When his organ had risen beyond the horizontal, the scryer positioned her hand above it and gazed into the man's eyes. After a moment's silence, she said, "This candidate speaks true. He is worthy of service."

Then she called the next young man to the door.

Goodness, Lily thought, anticipation and alarm shivering in unison down her spine. Surely they couldn't mean for her to touch them all?