For the first time that day shock pierced Sillara. Soren and his captain had returned as masters of their enemy's vessel.
Chapter Two
Arinport's harbor had never smelled sweeter. After two years at sea, Soren was glad to be back home, especially as he sailed in his chief enemy's flagship. The brazen sailor—his breast full of Sunjaa pride, his head full of Ausir designs—stood bare-chested on the bowsprit, steadying himself against the jib's ropes. Soren savored the sight of Arinport, its mud-brick and limestone buildings at once familiar and foreign. This was his home, and he had grown up here, but the world he had seen in the past two years of His Grace's service was wide and varied, and no place resembled Arinport. He wondered where Sillara was amidst the jumble of streets and houses.
Soren breathed deeply, his chest expanding. The wide tattoo of the Itenu hawk across his pectorals looked as if it might take flight. From shoulder to shoulder the inked bird stretched, its stare intense, its fierce claws grasping at his upper abdomen. Soren let go of the rope and capered back down the narrow bowsprit without support. His legs were the surest of any sailor he knew. He leaped with both feet onto the forecastle deck and called out orders.
“To starboard. Take us home. And let those who slept peacefully in their beds these past two years stand amazed at our approach.”
The sailors and deckhands raised their voices in a single, triumphant cry. Beyond the main mast Captain Orien stood, and though he shook his head at Soren, his lips were turned up in an indulgent smile. As first mate, Soren had a way with his men—not only on deck but also in common quarters. Many of the sailors had told Soren that he was the best they had ever had. A soldier would die for a friend—how much more so for a peerless lover?
“Everyone's going to be shocked at our return.” Nathen, Soren's dearest friend, fell into step beside the first mate and descended the steps to the main deck beside him.
Soren pointed to a sailor climbing the foremast and barked out an order, then turned his attention to his friend. “Not everyone.”
“You think someone has predicted our return in the Scourge's own ship?”
Soren did not have to look at Nathen to know his friend would be wearing an eloquent look. “No, no one could have seen this.”
“Then who?”
“My sister.”
“Sillara.” Nathen's word was but a breath.
Now it was Soren's turn to smile wryly. “I have only one.”
Nathen blinked as he seemed, with some effort, to clear away a thought. “How can you be so sure you know her? You've always talked about your special connection or whatever, but how well can you know her at all? Sure, the two of you did everything together as children, but when her tutelage started, that damned Ausir stepped in and swept her off. Haven't you felt some sort of division?”
“No.” Soren slapped Nathen on the back and pulled his shirt over his bare flesh. “We still share everything.”
As the harbor came more into view, Soren could see the citizenry gathering at the wharf. With his keen Ausir eyes, he watched the docks fill up with spectators. The ship was fast for a galleon, and it cruised into the shallow waters.
“Drop main and fore topsails,” Soren called. “Bring in the jib and staysail.” He glanced back at Orien who steered the ship from the quarterdeck. It was strange to see him as pilot, but it was Sunjaa tradition for the Captain to dock his own ship. Soren could not help but smile at all they had accomplished, and Orien returned his smile with his own wide, toothy grin. As son of the richest nobleman in the kingdom, Soren had already been wealthy. But what with his prize money, he was also independent. Once he saw Sillara, everything would be right with the world.
The ship docked, and Soren ordered rope ladders to be fastened overboard. The rigging secured, all the sailors came to attention, and Orien walked ceremoniously among them, shaking hands with some, smiling at others, and in general both giving and receiving cheer. Soren stood closest to the dock side of the ship and greeted his captain.
“Welcome home, sir. A most triumphant return.”
Orien laid a hand on Soren's shoulder. “Thanks to you.”
Soren glanced over at Nathen, who winked at him. In honor of the solemnity of the moment of a victorious captain returning home, Soren kept himself from laughing, but he could not help but remember the shocked faces of the pirates when they realized they had been boarded.
As was proper, Orien was the first to descend the ladder, and when his feet struck the boards of the pier, the assembled crowd, until then caught in silent wonder, erupted in applause. Soren and Nathen joined in clapping, and many of the sailors whistled and called out. Movement beyond the pressing crowd caught Soren's eye. He saw his father astride a horse, and beside him rode Konas, the Seranimesti Ausir who lived in Arinport as his brother's watchdog.
If they were here, perhaps his mother and Sillara were, too. Soren leapt to the forecastle and climbed the foremast, ignoring Nathen's inquiry as to where he thought he was going. He searched the crowd and soon spotted his mother's litter. The crimson curtains bore hawks of embroidered gold. Soren leaned forward as far as he could, wishing and hoping that his mother might part the curtains so that he might glimpse whether his sister was inside. And they did part. But where Soren expected to see the golden horns of Ajalira, he instead saw his sister's own, set within her masses of lovely, black hair. She turned her face toward him, and the beauty of her countenance nearly toppled him from his perch.
She was changed. Translated. Magnified. Like Arinport, she was strange yet familiar to him. He knew her intimately, but there sat a woman whose exalted beauty rendered her alien.
“Soren,” Nathen called out to him over the cheering of the crowd, “get down here. You're next!”
Soren obeyed with alacrity. He sprang over the side of the ship, not even using the ladder, and he hit the dock running. The cheering turned to a communal gasp, and after a moment of shocked silence, the people yelled even louder. Even though the galleon lay low in the water, its hold stuffed full of plunder, what Soren did was risky. Another man might have broken his leg.
Soren split the crowd in his haste, and he left the onlookers with amazed expressions. Kamen turned his horse at his son's approach, and if his skin could bear a hue, Soren knew he would be blushing. His father's eyes flitted from Soren to Orien far away. Soren understood at once, but he did not care about any possible upstaging. He had to see Sillara.
“Welcome home, son,” Kamen called out. Konas reined in his horse beside Kamen's and smiled down at the brash, young sailor.
“Where is my sister?” Soren asked, jogging toward the litter. “Let her come out and greet me.”
Before anyone could object, Sillara leapt from the litter and ran into her brother's arms. The twins, separated not even by a womb, were reunited. Soren hugged her, picked her up, and spun her around, causing her to squeal in delight. When he put her down, he held her out at arm's length.
“You are Chiel come down to live with us. The radiance of day is on your brow, and the beauty of night shines in your dark eyes. You have become a woman. I feel I should hardly know you.”
Sillara looked Soren up and down, smiled, and kissed him on his cheek. “The years at sea have been good to you. No figure of manhood in all Arinport—indeed, in all the world—could compare with yours.”
They hugged again, and Soren caught sight of Konas out of the corner of his eye.
“I envy you, royal Ausir,” Soren said. “Closeted away with such beauty daily, tasked with the instruction of a mind as lovely as her form.”
Konas bowed forward in his saddle, and his eyes burned toward Sillara. “I'm the most fortunate of Ausir. Her tutelage has been my joy, and I know she will make a glorious Queen.”
“You shall have a party, brother.” Sillara took her brother's hand and led him toward her litter. People were gathering around to gawk at Sillara, who was rarely seen in public. “I know how you sailors need a diversion after so long at
sea.”
“That I long for. And you will sing for me?” Soren knew Sillara did not sing in company, but one of her melodies would suit him perfectly right now.
“Yes, brother. I would love to sing in honor of your return.”
Soren kissed her brow and then turned back to the crowd. Orien, like his own father head and shoulders taller than anyone else, waded through the crowd like an adult among clamoring children.
“You hear that, Captain?” Soren called out. “We're having a party.”
Orien struggled forward. “Great! Lead on.”
Ajalira did not step out of the litter, but Soren bent down to receive her embrace. Tears stood unshed in her bright eyes. “Mirsa be praised for bringing you back safe to me.”
Though Soren did not say anything, he thought about just how little the goddess of the seas was responsible for their triumph. He helped Sillara into the litter and closed the curtains and then hopped into the saddle of the horse his father had brought for him to ride home.
“How?” was all Kamen could ask.
Soren was itching to tell his story—he was quite proud of himself—but it was not his place. “The captain will tell you all about it at the party.”
The whole way back, Sillara peeked out repeatedly at Soren, and they talked much about what the other had been doing the past two years. Their conference was all ease and friendliness, no sense of forced closeness or false intimacy. Soren's worries of them having drifted apart because of her Ausir tutor and her queenly destiny were nothing. The past two years were as nothing. Their fellowship was as it always had been.
“It's good to have you back, boy,” Kamen said. “Everyone thought you were lost at sea. When we heard your ship went down...”
Sillara poked her head out. “Not everyone, father.”
“Yes, yes. Your sister alone knew you lived. She was lucky in her guess.”
Soren was not as sure of that as his father was. There had been times when he would lie in his bunk aboard ship and believe he felt Sillara. Not there in the room with him, but just an awareness.
When he got to his father's estate, Soren was whisked away by slaves to be bathed, groomed, and dressed for the party, which was to take place at Konas's house. Evening could not come fast enough. Not only did Soren want to relax and spend time with his sister, he knew there would be an after-party. And Konas's after-parties were famous. No one put on an orgy like that Ausir slut.
Soren was surprised to see the layout of Konas's reception, for though he was Ausir, the royal tutor had everything arranged according to Sunjaa custom. Soren's mouth watered at the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting out into the night air. The house was bright with lamps, its porch luminous with high torches. Near-naked female slaves wearing nothing more than thin linen gowns lined the garden path that led to the front door. It was well known among the denizens of Arinport that Konas employed only female servants. Even his groom and steward were women.
Every Sunjaa celebration had both a host and hostess, so an unmarried man would either employ his mother, his sister, or some other relative or close friend. Konas had no one in the city but Sillara, his only pupil, and she stood beside him, flanked by bright-burning copper braziers. She looked like a Queen already, clad as she was in long, flowing Ausir fashions. She wore forest green, high-necked and sleeveless, and her legs were hidden within the folds of her wide skirt. She stood modestly clothed among the sexy forms of Konas's slave girls, but none drew Soren's gaze as his sister's elegant and refined beauty did.
Orien and Nathen met Soren in the street.
“Well, my friends,” Orien said, gathering his mates on either side into his large, muscular arms, “shall we see what this Ausir has to offer in way of entertainment?” As they trod the garden path leading to the house, Orien said, “Nice party for something thrown together on three hours' notice.”
But as they drew closer, the sounds of harps, lyres, and lutes washed over them. Through the open windows, the trio could see musicians and entertainers, long banquet tables, and dancers and acrobats stretching their long, muscular limbs.
“This isn't thrown together,” Nathen said, pointing.
“Welcome, victors, to the feast of Her Grace, the Queen of the Ausir,” Konas said, bowing slightly to his guests.
Soren stepped forward as he said to his friends, “My sister knew I was coming home.”
Sillara smiled and draped a wreath of chamomiles and wild roses across her brother's shoulder. They kissed cheeks, and she proceeded to honor Orien and Nathen, too, with wreaths.
“Welcome, triumphant heroes,” she said. “Enter in, drink your fill, and rest from your travels.”
More guests came up the garden path, so the trio was obliged to cross the porch and enter the house.
Sillara's feast was magnificent, a banquet fit for King Jahen himself. Bright lamps admitted no shadows. Scantily-clad serving girls walked around the long tables carrying silver trays of duck and beef seasoned with a variety of herbs, from rosemary and garlic to cumin and cinnamon. Honey and figs and fruit everywhere. Two young slave women turned a whole pig over an open fire on the back porch. And of course there was bread and beer everywhere.
“Well,” Orien said with a stretch, “I don't know about you two, but I'm starving.”
The party proceeded apace, and the sailors were met with congratulatory remarks wherever they turned. Soren had hoped for more time to just sit and talk with Sillara—they had so much to catch up on—but no one would leave him be for even a moment. There was always some guest toasting his health. He had never drunk so much beer. His plate was never empty, always overflowing with boiled cabbage, onions, richly-seasoned meat, butter and cheese, and beans. Soren did not touch the beans. He wanted to be in good form for later.
Soren managed in time to tear himself away from his fans by feigning the need to urinate, and just as he found himself alone enough to sneak around to see Sillara, who also sat surrounded by curious guests, there came a commotion that stopped the party. Jugglers dropped their balls and acrobats tumbled at the rumor of Darien's approach.
“Where are they?” The retired Admiral, father of Orien and Nathen, and the largest man to ever stride the Sunjaa desert sand, burst into the party, surprising the guests as if they had been beset by a hungry lion. His voice was like thunder. The poor woman nearest the door threw her plate and cup into the air in fright. Their shattering on the floor only made Darien laugh. When he saw his sons, emotion worked his face, and tears filled his eyes. He bounded across the room, and anyone mindful of his own safety made way for him.
“My boys!” Darien caught his two sons up simultaneously, and though Orien was nearly as tall as he, and though Nathen, too, was a grown man, the Admiral lifted them as if they were still children.
Though all the partygoers stood amazed at the sight, Soren looked past Darien to spy the one he knew would be following. Merieke, his only daughter, and the very likeness of his dead wife. Darien's protection of Merieke was legendary, for though she was four years past her age of ascension, she was yet unmarried.
Unlike Sillara, Merieke was mostly unchanged. She was sexy as any woman Soren had ever seen, but she had always been so, having developed an early appeal. Soren could not help but appraise her, and his cock rose at what he saw. Good thing he was sitting down on a planter to hide his erection in his skirt. Merieke, being a half-breed herself, had skin of dark but not black hue. Her body, visible through her translucent gown, was fit and shapely, and the gold and jewels that decked her body augmented her unhidden charms. She wore nipple clasps that Soren wanted to get his hands on. He had had nothing but common quarters for two years, and though Nathen was a good fuck, the sight of Merieke reminded Soren just how much he wanted pussy. As if her sexiness was not enough, the saucy look she wore on her face—her bored, imperious eyes—only attracted him more. Women threw themselves at Soren and fawned over him; he knew she would do no such thing.
“You leave in a caravel and
return in a galleon,” Darien bellowed. “Come, tell us the story.” Someone timidly offered Darien a cup of beer, and he snatched it away. As he drained its contents, Orien looked over at Soren.
“We'd all be at the bottom of the sea if it weren't for my first mate. Soren, you tell everyone what happened.”
All eyes turned on Soren, and his lust for Merieke evaporated. The memory of the sea battle was thrust to the forefront of his mind. Sillara smiled at him, and he found comfort in her encouraging looks. He was no orator.
Soren cleared his throat in the expectant silence. “We were in our third day in a dead calm, and the Scourge was out there, caught in that same calm. With wind, we might fly before the dread galleon of our foe, but with nothing save our own rowing powers, we knew that the pirate's oars would eventually overtake us. We'd confounded all his lieutenants, sinking seven of his ships and laughing at his misfortunes. The Scourge knew there was only one way to stop us—to come face us himself. And he did. We had a brilliant trap laid for him. We'd act scared and flee to the far side of the island where the rest of our fleet lay in wait. But we never made it. Chiel quieted her winds, and we were stranded with nothing but water all around us. We remained vigilant, and in time, just as we knew she would, the black pirate ship loomed into view. She caught us, and there would be no escape. Her mighty ballistae punctured our hull and sent our ship spinning. She took on water at an alarming rate, and though we regretted the loss of a hold full of booty, we knew we had to abandon ship or die. But where could we go? The Scourge would pick us off swimming in the ocean. That's when I went to my captain.” Soren bowed his acknowledgment to Orien, who raised his cup and drank. “And I called in the second mate.” He turned to Nathen and smiled, and Nathen nodded back, clearly pleased at being included in the tale. “I told these courageous brothers that I had a stockpile of smoke bombs.” At the puzzled looks the partygoers wore, Soren waved his hands dismissively. Sillara and Konas, alone, listened without confusion. “Little Ausir contraptions that release a poisonous smoke that blinds people with their own tears. I learned about their existence from my father, who told me about the time his old Ausir enemies tried to use some against him. Well, I didn't have any of my own, so before this voyage, I made a batch and stored them in my quarters. I never thought I'd need them, but who knew? My father had always taught me to be prepared.” Soren turned to see his mother and father standing among the hushed crowd. They had arrived late, clearly not prepared for their daughter's party. “I passed out special hoods to every sailor and told them to put them on. Then I lit the bombs aboard our own ship to obscure what we had planned. The pirates must have thought our ship was on fire. We waited until our ship lurched in its final throes before going down to its watery death, and we cried out our feigned despair. The pirates thought we were sinking with the ship. That's when we all took to rope and swung over to their deck. Our sudden and unusual appearance so shocked the Scourge's men that two pirates were cut down before anyone could cry out. That's when Nathen, Orien, and I dropped more bombs. Once everyone was choking on hands and knees, it was easy enough to take their heads. Incidentally, the winds picked up that very night—our slaughter must have pleased Chiel. And we sailed until we hit Arinport.”
The Lotus Ascension Page 3
