Part III: Queen of the Terrordactyl Riders!

1.

Of all the tribes in the Last Jungle, the terrordactyl riders were the one Jace had the least contact with. They were more isolated than the rest, and also, crucially, the most advanced in many respects. The fortress they inhabited atop the Skyteeth, it was a magnificent construction. Actually she wasn't sure they had built it themselves. They may have taken it over from someone else. Another people who no longer existed. The terrordactyl riders may have wiped them out, or perhaps they didn't have to. Perhaps they'd found the fortress already empty. That had happened before, many times. There were more than a few other strange structures scattered across the jungle which were presently occupied by people who hadn't made them, and wouldn't have known how. All those others were generally in a far more ruinous state. Crumbling, overgrown, mournful. The fortress atop the Skyteeth was no ruin. It shined and sparkled in the sun, more crystal than stone. And more like a cathedral than a castle.

Most of it, however, stood empty. The terrordactyl riders were not numerous enough to fill it all. Less than half, by Jace's estimate. In fact they would have filled the place a great deal less, if not for the size of their monstrous steeds. Those damned things took up a lot of space, especially when they spread themselves out.

She had another name for the tribe, though for some reason she didn't use it as much. It was the Dreadswoops. They liked that name a lot, she'd been told. Maybe for that very reason, she usually stuck with the other one, the older one.

She called their flying creatures "terrordactyls" for two reasons. First, when she was a little child, it was how she thought the name of flying dinosaurs was really meant to be pronounced. It was what she'd heard the first time somebody said "pterodactyl" to her. An older cousin, as she recalled, pointing to the suspended skeleton in a museum, and Jace never knew if the other girl mispronounced it deliberately in a (successful) attempt to baffle and frighten her, or if she just heard her wrong.

Secondly, the creatures the Dreadswoops rode were not exactly pterodactyls, or not the same sort as that museum had displayed, back so long ago on Earth-as-she-knew-it. These beauties were much larger and much scarier. Not exactly dinosaurs, either, far as she could tell. Her classification was no joke—it was perfectly apt. They were black with red or yellow stripes in zigzag patterns. Jace wasn't sure if those colors were natural or painted on by their riders. Their long, toothy beaks opened sideways, like the mandibles of an ant, and they had extraordinarily stretchable, sticky tongues like frogs or chameleons which could shoot out great distances and latch on things to pull into their jaws with lightning speed. She'd seen one do that to a baby elephant, snatching it from beneath its mother's belly where it had been cowering. Far too bulky a victim to swallow right off, the terrordactyl had taken it to their nests, and the elephants' screams as it was carried away (not the screams of the infant alone, but of the whole entire herd from which it was stolen) still haunted Jace. Always would.

She loathed the things. It was probably unworthy and inappropriate for the Jungle Goddess to make such a sweeping and condemnatory judgment—nevertheless, Jace considered the terrordactyls to be the worst, foulest creatures in her realm. Except perhaps for the giant bog leeches, which looked like living turds with teeth, their bodies longer than crocodiles. You only had to contend with them in the swamps, though, while the terrordactyls were a threat anywhere.

It had occurred to her they would probably—no, certainly—be a far worse problem for her and for everyone else if the Dreadswoop tribe didn't exist. Thankfully they did, and they kept the creatures under control. Limited their feeding, limited their numbers.

They themselves were not quite human. Too thin and stringy, with blueish or greenish skin. Their eyes were too big, and they had pointy ears that resembled river reeds, very narrow and sharp-edged. They stuck up higher than the tops of their heads.

They were probably some variety or relation of elves, or faeries, if you preferred. They'd initially come to the Last Jungle as refugees from some other world, like so many others, while Jace was still quite young. Still developing her skills. Growing into her destiny.

Currently their leader was called Sly-Slash. (She wasn't sure if that really intentionally implied what it sounded like; probably not, for they had a language of their own. Probably it was an absurd coincidence.) He didn't like Jace, and Jace didn't like him. He had a grudge against her. His wife had gone missing and he went to Jace for help finding her. They had got along better back then. Jace was glad at the time to assist him. She'd done the best she could.

She'd found his wife among the centaur tribe. At first it looked like the woman had been kidnapped by them. But she didn't want to leave when Jace tried to rescue her. She didn't want to go back to Sly-Slash. Turned out the centaurs hadn't captured her, after all—she'd gone off with them of her accord. She had a thing for them. She had sought them out.

Sly-Slash had great difficulty accepting all of this. He'd wanted to go to war. When he said so, Jace told him she would have to side against him, with the centaurs. She would have to keep him from taking the woman back. "She's not your wife anymore," Jace had said, "She's now the wife of the centaur chief. She's picked him over you, and you must accept that. War won't change her mind. Even if you can win, you won't win her back. She'll just hate you worse."

Sly-Slash hadn't gone ahead with his useless war, but he hadn't spoken to Jace since then either.

Meeting him again, and on his own ground too, was going to be awkward for her, to say the very least. She wasn't looking forward to it.

Then when the leader of the Dreadswoops strode in, it wasn't the man she expected. In fact it wasn't a man at all. The tribe had a new leader? Apparently they did, and it was a female.

She had a helmet on when she entered. It was made from a skull of some sort; Jace wasn't sure of the species. Something fearsome, with horns and big teeth. The skull-helmet completely obscured the woman's face, until, with a theatrical flourish, she pulled it off.

And Jace gasped. She also stumbled backwards two or three steps as if she had been shoved. She couldn't help it.

"Hello, Jungle Goddess," said the Queen of Dreadswoops. This was no elf. She was as human as Jace was. A tall, lean blonde with icy eyes and an icier smile. Beautiful, yes, but it was the same sort of beauty as sunlight off a knife blade.

She'd first come to the Last Jungle as a scientist and an explorer. Also a treasure-seeker. She had established herself as one of the worst of Jace's adversaries, and she had done that very fast and, it had to be said, quite cheerfully. She had enjoyed being Jace's enemy. She had relished the role.

She was supposed to have died, though. Quite a while back. How in all hell had the bitch got herself up here? With a helmet like that, too—the helmet of a queen.

Her name was Ingrid Stronnohoff.

2.

At least Jace wasn't bound that time, and she was clothed. She was supposed to be a guest, not a prisoner. She wasn't at the other woman's mercy like almost all the other times she'd faced this awful bitch, not like she might have been, not like she would have expected. She had no weapons at hand, but neither did Ingrid. They stood alone in the vast chamber (though its many looming pillars, intricately carved with writhing serpents and a number of other less identifiable creatures, gave Jace the eerie sensation of being watched over). Of course Ingrid could have called in more soldiers whenever she chose, if Jace had tried assaulting her right off. Still, doing exactly that might have been Jace best move. Could have been her only decent chance.

Jace didn't take it. She held back. She hesitated. Why? Wasn't like her to do that. Second-guessing went against her nature, or at least she liked to believe that it did.

When they brought her to the castle, they had been courteous with her, even kind. Once they'd arrived, anyway. Once they'd set her on her feet again. They let her bathe and they'd brought her food and wine, and also new garments. The clothes weren't her usual animal skins, but neither were they the same sort of costumes the Dreadswoops wore themselves, leather leggings and shaggy vests, with long capes. It was like they'd made things specifically for Jace—the kind of outfit they knew she liked—but with their own techniques. So what they gave her was a two piece costume like she made for herself, only the leather was hairless on the outside, much smoother and thinner and more flexible, and yet the pieces fit her more securely, fastening together with little metallic clips instead of simple laces. The pieces were black and shiny. When she'd looked at herself in a mirror after putting the clothes on, she'd felt like she was seeing an evil version of herself because of the color and the over-polished, slick texture of the leather.

They'd also given her black boots. Jace had tried them on but taken them back off almost immediately. The boots had fit too snug and pinched her toes a little, and also they had high heels. Jace just couldn't walk in boots like that. She could barely stand in place without wobbling and feeling ludicrous. She preferred to stay barefoot, though the floors of the castle were painfully hard and chilly, and somehow so spotlessly clean that despite the bath she'd just taken, she felt like she was leaving tracks behind herself wherever she stepped, like a wild animal brought inside from the jungle. Which after all was the truth. Jace didn't belong in places like the castle. She didn't fit. She didn't want to.

Ingrid was wearing boots just like the pair Jace was offered. They looked dangerous. The sharp-pointed toes, the spiked heels—either of those could easily put out someone's eye. They turned Ingrid's feet into vicious weapons, so it wasn't accurate to think of her as unarmed. Not with boots like those.

Plus they made her taller, another advantage. More regal and, frankly, stylish. Dashing. Like an adventuress, a heroine from the movies of Earth that haunted Jace's memory. And Ingrid had no trouble balancing in the damn things.

What sort of game was Ingrid playing? Since she, somehow, had become the leader of the Dreadswoops, why hadn't Jace been hauled immediately before her in chains? Or were the chains about to come, now that Ingrid had revealed herself? Maybe the intention had been to lull Jace into false complacency, in order to make her surprise appearance that much more shocking. Well, if that had been her plan, it had worked.

Jace realized she was terrified. Also she really needed to piss, all the sudden. That was what this woman's presence did to her, thanks to the history between them. She didn't want to fight Ingrid again—she didn't want to take revenge on her. She mostly wanted to get away, to flee the room without a word or a backward glance. If it would have done her any good, she would have run. But that was a bad idea; it would have been pointless. Even if she could have outfought or just evaded all the Dreadswoop soldiers in the fortress, there was no way down off the Skyteeth if you weren't riding a terrordactyl. She couldn't control those creatures. The cliffs were absolutely sheer, impossible to climb. She could only get herself back to the jungle if she jumped, and that wouldn't turn out very nice when she landed.

"Where is Sly-Slash?" Jace demanded, folding her arms under her breasts and straightening her stance. She hoped this made her look appropriately stern, not merely defensive. "What has become of him? How could you, of all people, manage to usurp his position?"

Ingrid snorted and made a dismissive gesture. "There was no usurpation. I proved my worthiness for the crown. In combat. Sly-Slash himself endorsed the decision, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, it doesn't make a difference. Your opinion doesn't change the facts. I rule these people. Sly-Slash has become something of a philosopher. He keeps himself in seclusion, for the most part."

"I thought you had returned to your Fatherland."

"No. That wasn't possible. The boat was gone, by the time I made my way back to the lakeshore. The men must have abandoned me. Repugnant cowards. Not long afterward, I was taken captive again. There was a mechanical trap with a net—surprisingly well engineered for this world. Scooped me off my feet in a bundle. I've still no idea how it was triggered. Doesn't really matter. However it happened, once again I'd been made helpless."

"The terrordactyl riders, I assume?"

"No, it was another tribe that did it, actually. They crawled out from slimy holes between the tree roots. Loathsome little goblins. Their faces looked a lot like foxes, but they had hides like tree bark instead of fur, and monkey tails that could grab things. They all smelled like mushrooms, all the time."

"The Snatchers."

"Is that what you call them? Hmm. None of them stood taller than my knee. They didn't do much to me. Not like I expected when I saw them coming, considering the looks on their foxy faces and the sounds they were making. I was with them only a short time. They sold me to the Dreadswoops, you see. I suppose that's why they kept their grubby paws off my body, for the most part—to preserve my value. Of course when I was carried up here, I was meant to become a concubine. I don't suppose the chaps that purchased me had any other ideas on their minds. I don't mind telling you, I was very gratified to discover that they're a much more advanced and hygienic people than the goblins or those degenerate Blood Apes—nonetheless, they were every bit as filthy-minded, and wanted the same things from me. I didn't put up with it. I didn't let them boss me around. I didn't let them break me."

"How? How did you do that?" Jace had never managed so well in similar circumstances.

"The key was to show them that I was much more useful for other things. There was a significant amount of in-fighting going on, and trouble with trogres."

"Trogres?"

"Big spooky predators that lurk around up here with us on the Skyteeth. I guess you never have to deal with them down in your forests. Too steamy. They seem to be made out of rock and ice, believe it or not, which is fascinating, scientifically. Some sort of troll or ogre. I wasn't sure which, so I combined the two terms. The Dreadswoops were having a hard time with them, harder than usual. The trogres had grown too numerous, too aggressive, too determined, while the whole time the Dreadswoops couldn't agree on a strategy. Got so bad they killed more of each other than the trogres. I put a stop to all that idiocy. Showed them how to settle the question for good. Also at one point I saved a bunch of their children from the monsters all by myself when nobody else was available. After that, they initiated me into the tribe. Honor obligated it."

"And then you took over."

"Like I told you, I simply demonstrated that I was—that I am—the best of their fighters. The smartest. It's the most sensible thing, for the best and the smartest to lead. How can you argue against that?"

"What is it that makes you the best, in their view? Ferocity? Cruelty?"

"Not those attributes alone. But neither would I deny that they have value. Two of my principal strengths among several others."

"Humility certainly isn't one."

That got her to laugh. "I'll grant that it's not, if in turn you'll grant me that such a feature is of little utility for a warrior queen. Not in a world like this. Not in the Last Jungle."

Jace shrugged. "I take your point."

Ingrid seated herself on a throne. It was black marble and uncushioned. Didn't look at all comfortable, and yet Ingrid appeared perfectly at ease there. She crossed her legs, and her dangling foot flexed idly, and it attracted Jace's eye. It was easier to watch that foot kick around than meeting Ingrid's smug gaze. "I admit I'm curious," said the queen, "What happened to Catriona? I am informed she's never seen with you anymore. What became of the pitiful little bitch? Oh my, I can see from your face it's a sore subject. Did she die on you?"

"No, she didn't die. She's doing quite well, I believe."

"You had a falling out?"

One way to put it, perhaps. "She decided to join the ghost wolves."

"Ghost wolves? Are these actual wolves, or is it only a grandiose name for another group of shabby primitives, like those Blood Apes or the Snatchers?"

"Actual wolves. Well, actual ghost wolves."

"Ah. I see. How does that work?"

"I'm not certain. She ... she changed. They changed her, to make her part of their pack."

"You mean she transformed? Physically?"

"Yes. And spiritually too. I tried to get her to change back. She refused, when I tracked her down. She told me she preferred her new ... shape. That's the last I've seen of her."

"Fascinating. Much bolder direction than I would have thought her capable. But now what do you know about Marlene?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I know nothing specific, nothing certain. I heard things. There were ... things I heard."

"Yes? Me too, actually. I happened to have heard several different things."

"None of them might be true."

"Hmm. Most likely, one way or another, she's perished. Got herself gobbled up, poor thing."

"Most likely."

"Well, I wish I could have done more for her. Yet I have to admit, what I wish much more was that she'd been better capable of looking after herself. She should have been tougher. Marlene was supposed to be tougher. Turned out she wasn't quite the woman I'd imagined she was, when she chose to come to this place with me. Poor bitch let me down. She let herself down. She should have been able to do better. She was tested—we were both tested—and she failed."

"But not you."

"Not me, Jace. That's exactly right. Not me."

3.

"Tell me about the big monkey." There had been a lengthy silence lingering between them, and Jace—still watching Ingrid's foot, though it wasn't moving anymore—was startled by the question and jumped a little.

"It's not a monkey. It's an ape. Monkeys have tails."

"Yes, yes. Fine. Where did it come from?"

Jace took a breath, gathered herself, and then explained about the Bullheaded Men as best as she could, and what they used the kong for. She decided not to hide the fact, sad and embarrassing as it was, that the bullheads had soundly defeated her initial attempt to drive them away, thanks again to the kong. The little army of allies she'd hastily (over-hastily) assembled had got routed. Massacred. It would serve no purpose to hide the fact. Jace did not include in her summary, however, any mention of her brief captivity by the Bullheads' King Gronk ... "I believe they're the greatest threat the Last Jungle has ever faced. Because they threaten everyone. No previous invaders have come for the trees themselves. The entire forest might be destroyed," she finished, "if I can't find a way to overcome them."

Ingrid sighed and stroked her chin. "An invasion of lumberjacks. Wonderful. Barbarian lumberjacks with silly helmets and an enormous pet monster. What a place this is. But you're not wrong—lumberjacks, horned or not, are very likely the worst adversaries a magical jungle could have." Her dangling foot started kicking around again. "I wonder what they're using the wood for, what they're building with it. Do they realize the magic it contains? Dreadful waste if they don't."
"I don't care what they're making. It doesn't make a difference. It has to be stopped."

"Well, my men didn't have much difficulty taking you away from the monkey. And that was just a couple scouts. His height and bulk don't give the brute much advantage against our terrordactyls. If I lead our full force against the thing, we can slay him. I'm certain of it. We won't have to get too close. We'll circle above him out of his reach and rain down arrows and spears as long as it takes. He won't be able to fight back or get away. He won't be able to do anything. Once he's down, we'll give the lumberjacks the same treatment. We'll sweep their camp from the jungle. One or two passes will be more than enough to get the job done."

"Ingrid, that's—that's a good plan. That's what I was going to ask Sly-Slash to do, if he was still in charge."

"Well, you have to deal with me instead. If I do this for you—for the Last Jungle—what do I get in return?"

"You'll have ended the crisis—isn't that enough? The Bullheads and the kong are a danger to all of us."

"I'm afraid I don't agree. If they cleared every tree down there, what harm would that do to my tribe? The Skyteeth will still be standing. Nothing would change in this castle."

"You're wrong. The jungle provides you and your terrordactyls all your food. The jungle dies, so do you."

"All right, I admit you've got me there. Even so, are you willing to admit you couldn't save the jungle without my help?"

"Perfectly willing. It's credit you want? Fine. You can have all credit, Ingrid."

"When this is over with, I want you to make a declaration to all the other tribes. Either gather them together and tell everybody all at once, or if that won't work, rove around and spread the news tribe by tribe. Whichever way you want to go about it, what you will tell them is this: from now on, you are no longer the protector of this realm. You are passing that title to someone more worthy of it, and more capable. To me."

"But—but I could never do that. I could never agree to that! It's my sacred calling, Ingrid—you can't ask me to discard it or trade it away."

"I'm not asking, Jace, I am commanding. If you can't protect the Last Jungle, you can't be its protector. Do you follow the logic? If I can, and I do, then surely that means I am better fitted for the part than you are. I am stronger than you, and wiser, and better equipped. I lead a great host of soldiers on flying cavalry. We carry lances, crossbows and catapults. You fight with crude stone knives, and you usually fight alone. The spirits of the trees chose you and imbued you with magical strength, but not enough for the task they gave you. Never enough. How many times has it been demonstrated? How many times does it need to be?"

"I do the best I can! And I have always won through in the end, eventually."

"You were nude when my men found you, Jace. Your hands were bound, and you also wore what seemed to be a leash. They tell me you were in quite a state. Quite filthy, and with a profound aroma."

"I was captured. By the kong."

"Clearly. More than once, though. You left that detail out of your account, didn't you?"

Jace shrugged and nodded. "Yes, fine. That monster caught me twice. The first time was at the end of the battle."

"Obviously, Jace. Had you ordered a retreat before you were taken? Or was that an embellishment?"

"It was no lie. I gave that order. But I'm not sure anyone on my side got away. I was the only one taken prisoner. Most everyone with me was slain, far as I know. Maybe a few managed to slip away at the end. I hope so but I don't know."

"How long did they have you? What did they do to you?"

"What do you want me to say? It was exactly like you're imagining. Their leader set out to shame me and humble me. To punish me for attacking them. He made something of a ritual out of it, or a game. He humiliated me in front of his men. But even so in a short while I got myself away from them."

"And then they sent the big scary monkey chasing you, to fetch you back. A task at which he would have succeeded, if my scouts hadn't happened along. Yes?"

"What's your point?"

"You know my point, Jace."

"I've had many failures and I won't deny it. Many of my enemies have got the better of me. You were one of them. One of the worst. You nearly broke me for a time. I'm brave enough to admit it to you."

"'Nearly'? I 'nearly' broke you? I remember it a little differently, Jungle Goddess."

"What matters is that every time—every single time—I have recovered and redeemed myself, one way or another. I've always done whatever was required to fulfill my sacred duties."

"I know you have. And today, what you must do is accept my terms. It's the only way left for you to beat the Bullheads and this monkey of theirs. You must step aside for a better protector. You can still go on calling yourself the Jungle Goddess. There are other functions you will continue to perform. But you will no longer rule."

"I have never ruled! I am the servant of this realm, not its ruler! I serve the spirits of the trees!"

"Fine. No more argument. From now on, you will also serve me. And you will see to it that all the other tribes in the jungle understand I shall demand the same from them, every single one. Once I am the protector of this realm, it must accept my authority, my sovereignty. All of it and everyone in it. I shall be Queen of the Last Jungle. Queen of all its tribes. The Dreadswoops and all the rest. You included, Jace. You must accept this."

"You can't do this! You don't have the right!"

"I will. You, the chosen Jungle Goddess, are going to give it to me. If anyone has to right to do this, it's you. No one will dare to question it, once it's done."

"What if I won't? What if I refuse?"

"You're not going to refuse, Jace."

A great heaviness had settled over Jace's body, weighing down her limbs, pressing her toward the shining icy floor. Her shoulders slumped, and her knees sagged. It had become extraordinarily difficult to keep her head raised, or her eyes fully open. She wanted to let herself collapse, to fall forward like a chopped down tree, full length and flat on her face.

It was almost like a smothering wave of sleepiness, but not quite. Because when one is sleepy, the heaviness is inside your head as much as your body. Your thoughts grow sluggish and muddled. Concentration is impossible. Jace wasn't experiencing that—as heavy and clumsy and drained as her body had become, her mind had gone the other direction—her thoughts had accelerated. Inside her head she was as wide awake as it was possible to be. Trapped. Doomed.

Sub-space. That was what Carrie used to call it, half-joking. This state of being Jace would slip into or sink into when she lost control of herself, sexually. Carrie Brasin had been a scientist and an expert on inter-dimensional travel. Sub-space was originally a technical term she would use for another dimension, or the gap between all the different dimensions, or maybe it was both those things. But later when Carrie saw how Jace sometimes behaved if/when she got overwhelmed with lust, she started applying the term in a "psychological sense", whatever that meant. Submissive spaciness. As if Jace sunk into an entirely different reality when this happened to her, a reality with different laws.

Just then Jace realized she hadn't thought about Carrie in ages. Ages and ages. What had become of her? How long had she been gone, and how had it happened? Why couldn't Jace recall? Well, the answer to that was obvious—she didn't like to. She didn't let herself.

As quick as the name had popped up across her mind, it sunk away again. Or rather, Jace shoved it away. The swirling, stifling currents of subspace assisted the process.

"Do you accept my terms?" said Ingrid, "Do you understand your position? You know what you must do. Are you brave enough? Are you wise enough? What is your choice?"

What could she say? What was the countermove that would beat Ingrid's ploy? Nothing came to her. Nothing at all. Her mind was racing—and her heart, too, so she could feel her pulse thundering in her head—and it didn't do her any good. It was useless, hopeless. No solutions presented themselves. No clever plans. She couldn't come up with anything else to do except what Ingrid was telling her.

She was going to have to do it. Jace was going to have to give in. For the greater good of the jungle, she must yield. She must give Ingrid everything she wanted.

"I'm not going to force you to do this," Ingrid said. "I could, of course. I could call in some men to grab you and put chains on you and make you do this. But I'm not going to do that. It's not going to be that way. It doesn't have to be. Not this time. This is better, so much better. You're going to do it all on your own. Because you know it's for the best. It's the right choice. It's the only choice. Accept my terms, Jace. Swear fealty."

"I ... I don't know what that means. Feel-ty. I don't know that word."

"Fealty. It means you take an oath. It's how you demonstrate that you accept my authority. By swearing your obedience to me. Swear fealty to me as your queen. Queen of all the tribes, from henceforth. Queen of the Last Jungle."

"I ... I ..." Her throat had locked up. She had to swallow more than once (noisy straining gulps) before she was capable of speech again. "I promise. I give you my promise."

Ingrid smirked and shook her head. "Not quite good enough, Jungle Goddess. You have to do better. You have to say it properly. Make me believe it." She pointed to the floor between them. "You know how it has to be. You know what I want to see. Go on. Do it properly. Show me how well you can do it."

Jace sighed and sniffled. Then she lowered herself to her knees at the base of the throne. "I swear feel-ty to you."

"Fealty, Jace. Fee-al-tee."

"I swear feel-al-tee. You are queen, or you will be, once the Bullhead threat is dealt with. I kneel to you as my queen."

Ingrid stuck her foot toward Jace. "Kiss my boot."

Jace shuddered. "As you command." But as she bent to do it, Ingrid interrupted her.

"Wait. Before you do it, take those clothes off first. You should be naked before you do it. Don't you agree? Doesn't that feel more appropriate?"

It did, in fact. The hardest part, the most terrible part, was that Ingrid was right. Ingrid knew her well enough to know that. It was the right thing for Jace to do. It demonstrated that the oath she'd spoken was true. She'd meant the words she'd been forced to say. She would honor her pledge. She would obey Ingrid as her queen.

She had to. She'd taken the oath and now she had to honor it. Whimpering, shivering, Jace stripped herself.

"I always knew this would happen," Ingrid said, "I always knew the day would come when you would be kneeling for me again, naked. Exactly as you are doing now. You knew it too, didn't you? I bet you did. It was always just a matter of time. This is where you belong."

"Yes," Jace said, because it was what the queen wanted her to say. "Yes."

"I broke you before, when I first came to the Last Jungle with Marlene. When we captured you. I broke you and I tamed you. You got away from us—you turned the tables on us, and it was rather clever the way you went about it. But before, that first night, I broke you utterly. You and that treacherous bitch Catriona both at the same time. Didn't I?"

"Yes," Jace said. "You did. You broke me. You tamed me."

"I always remember you naked on your knees in that cell on the boat, weeping, begging me for my mercy. It was wonderful. You were beautiful to watch and to listen to."

"It aroused you. You made me suck one of your soldier's cocks. You made me take his disgusting come all over my body. Because it aroused you."

"It delighted me, Jace. That was what it did. Your shame. Your despair. It brought me delight. It did then and it does now."

"Oh Ingrid. Ohhoohh. My queen. You're so cruel. You are disgracing me. Again. Why can't I keep you from dominating me? You make me feel so ... dominated. Ohh. Ohhuuhhoohh."

After Jace had bared herself completely and then carefully kissed the queen's toes, Ingrid told her to lay back flat on the floor but still kneeling as she did so, with her knees spread as wide as she could stretch them. Then her naked body was arched backward atop her own upturned feet.

"Are you aroused now?" asked the queen, "You are, aren't you? It's arousing to present your body to me in that pose, isn't it? To display your cunt like that. You are very wet. Your cunt is dripping—I can see it. I can see your clit too. Swollen. Throbbing. Would you like to masturbate? Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come while I watch. Don't close your eyes like that. Keep looking directly at me while you do it, while I watch you. Watch me watching you. It's much more exciting and stimulating like this, isn't it?"

Jace hooked two fingers inside herself and tugged upwards and kept tugging ... tugging ... tugging ... It burned. Her fingers burned the opening, and the opening burned her fingers. Her body thrashed and she wrenched her spine and her hips and her knees, but she didn't stop what she'd started, none of that mattered. The pain was inconsequential in the face of the pleasure she was giving herself ... "Uhhgghh! Ugghhuuhh! Ugghhuuhhnnn!"

"Yes, quite so." Ingrid had shrugged off her furry vest and exposed her breasts. She tugged and pinched and twisted one of her nipples, while her other hand was crammed down the front of her leather leggings. "Oh! Oh my ... Jace! Soon I am going to spank you. I want you to know that. I want you to think about that while you're touching yourself down there. It's going to be harsh, Jungle Goddess. Your queen is going to indulge herself. I am going to make you lie across my lap sideways and I am going to spank you beautiful bare ass. I am going to paddle you 'til you scream and beg and kick and cry. It's going to be wonderful. I'm going to enjoy myself very much. But first I want to see you come. And when you do, I want your blessing. Give me your blessing, Jungle Goddess. These mythic blessings of yours that I've heard talked of. You never gave me one of those, back during our time together before. You hadn't learned how to do it yet, or perhaps you'd made yourself forget. But that's no longer the case. Now I want you show me what it's like. I am your queen and I command you. Show me what you can do. Give me your blessing. Please, Jace. Oh please I can't wait any longer. Oh please Jungle Goddess please!"

And screaming-screaming-screaming, Jace obeyed.