A Lotus for the Regent

by Adonis Devereux

The woman's beautiful lips curved up into a smile, and she looked down at her feet. "Yes, I know who you are, sir."

  Her hair, her eyes. Her bare neck and shoulders. He wanted her like he had wanted no other woman. For the first time in years, he did not think of Darien. His gaze traced her contours, and when he looked back into her face, he found her staring at him.

  "Why do you tell me these things?" Kamen wondered how she even understood Ausir. Did the guildhouse teach its kitchen staff languages? Was that not the purview of the Lotuses?

  Ajalira straightened her shoulders. "They are deceiving you. You brought them here in good faith, and they are planning on lying to you. It is dishonorable, and I, too, would be dishonored if I said nothing of their treachery."

  Kamen leaned back in surprise. Uncommon beauty and uncommon courage. "Thank you for telling me and risking the Guildmaster's anger."

  Ajalira shook her head. "It was my duty to tell you. Besides..." She looked away and smoothed down her robe with the palms of her hands, clearly a nervous gesture.

  Kamen was bold and took her hands to steady them. "What?"

  Ajalira looked into his eyes. "It is not right that a man such as you should be so abused." She gently removed her hands from his, and Kamen did not press the matter. Perhaps she spoke of his position as Regent, not personally. "What are you going to do, sir?"

  "Nothing."

  Ajalira cocked her head. "Nothing?"

  Kamen flashed her a grin. "Nothing. I know what the Losiengare are planning. They don't know I know. It's perfect. Why say anything?"

  Ajalira's eyes moved back and forth, as if she did not know where to look.

  "Helping me brings you no benefit, and yet you have." A breeze blew across the porch, and Kamen looked toward the garden. Blossoms rained from the trees. "You live here in the guild compound surrounded by safety and beauty, and yet you risk much." Kamen bowed low to her in the Zenji fashion. "Thank you, Ajalira."

  Ajalira returned the bow, but she kept her hands folded behind her back. Kamen wanted to touch her, and though he sensed some desire from her, he did not pursue. Some deep conflict brewed within her, and he would not disturb her. Brittle strength. That was how Kamen thought of her. It did not make sense, yet there it was. Kamen bowed once more and re-entered the hall.

  ****

  Kamen did not think about what had transpired during the day's afternoon conference. At the moment, he did not care about the Losiengare's simpering promises. He did not care about the Kimereth's assurances. It did not matter that he had gotten the Ausir to agree to respect Sunjaa waters and not bring their war near his cities, borders, or coastlines. As Kamen lay in his bed aboard the Aramina returning home, he thought only of Ajalira. The mystery of her drew him in further. Who was she? She could not have been a mere kitchen slave. And how did she speak the Ausir tongue?

  Sleep eluded Kamen. Ajalira's lovely braid, her long slim neck, and those hints of curves under her simple robe seized his imagination and kept him from resting. He tossed and turned for hours before he finally jumped from bed. He went out to get some fresh air, and as the cool night air off the sea braced him, as the deck rocked gently beneath his bare feet, he looked to the ship's aft. He looked east. The Dimadan was back there. Ajalira was back there. Had she let her hair down to sleep? Did her golden locks lie as lovely on her pillow as they had lain piled on her head?

  "Deck hand," Kamen said, grabbing the nearest man walking by. "Go tell the pilot to turn the ship around."

  "Around, Sire?"

  "Yes." Kamen walked toward the quarter-deck, anticipating seeing the slopes of the Dimadan again. "We're going back."

  He had to see Ajalira again.

  Chapter Three

  Ajalira watched the Sunjaa ships sail away. They had not even waited for the evening tide, and their tall, proud ships were like large, black birds against the red and orange of the setting sun.

  “Ajalira!” The Guildmaster's voice pulled her back from her place at the edge of the compound.

  “Yes?” She refused to acknowledge any title he might hold or any claim over her that he might make.

  “You approached the Regent at board, and you spoke to him without leave.” The Guildmaster's quiet tone held no emotion. He was as icily immovable as any Lotus.

  Ajalira did not bother to reply. She had undeniably done this, and she would do it again were the situation the same. The Regent had been disadvantaged by his lack of knowledge of the Ausir tongue, and the actions of the Losiengare had been unforgivable.

  “I had hoped that I would be able to rehabilitate you.” The Guildmaster shook his head, and Ajalira could almost believe that his sorrow was genuine. “But you are incorrigible. There is no hope for you to return to the ranks of the Lotuses. Tomorrow, your tattoo will be burned, and you will be accounted a kitchen slave permanently.”

  Ajalira had never been any use as a Lotus, and she smiled at this. “I had no desire to be a Lotus.” She lifted her chin, resolving to try to escape again.

  “I see.” The Guildmaster had reverted to his utter placidity, and Ajalira felt a chill go through her. “Chains.”

  “Guildmaster?” A nearby Lotus was at his side at once.

  “Chain her ankles, for she is plotting her escape.” The Guildmaster did not look at Ajalira as he swept past, and she saw him pulling the abacus from the pouch at his waist. Doubtless he was calculating the profit he had made from entertaining the Sunjaa and Ausir guests.

  Ajalira eyed the Lotuses coming toward her. There were four, and she did not have her knife. Even if she had, though, she knew that at least one of the Lotuses coming toward her had mastered the paralyzing Katipo Form. Rather than suffer the humiliation of being shackled while paralyzed, Ajalira held herself motionless, watching the girls who had lived with her these past six years turn from her with alacrity.

  “Now return to your kitchens, girl.” The Lotus who spoke had the slightest of smiles. For a Lotus that was a great deal of expression, and Ajalira knew that the Lotuses were glad to see her cast down.

  Ajalira did not respond to the Lotuses. She walked, as well as the shackles would allow, back to the kitchen. As she began to wash up the plates from the tea served to the Sunjaa, she sighed. The kindness of the Regent's words still touched her. It was true that she had offered him information, but he had been kind to her first. He had taken her hand as though she were a fine lady, as though she were as worthy of his attentions as any true and honorable woman.

  The Regent carried himself like a King, and Ajalira could not help but smile as she remembered. She had never seen any man so beautiful, not even among the noble Ausir who had been present. The Regent's long, black hair, his eyes like the pools of darkness between stars—Ajalira flinched as a sudden blow landed on her shoulder.

  “You're too slow, girl.” The guildhouse cook, who had until now continued to treat her with respect, now struck her a second time. “You're no fine Lotus anymore, and you answer to me.”

  Ajalira whirled on the cook. “I am no slave, and I do not belong here. Strike me again, and I will break your arm.” It was not an idle boast. Though she had never mastered beyond the rudiments of the Lotus Forms, Ajalira was a good hand with a blade, and she had a raw strength that was belied by her fragile form.

  The cook backed away from her, and Ajalira returned to the plates. The image of the Regent haunted her. He was not, she judged, past thirty summers, and the lithe grace of a hunting cat was in his every movement. His broad, brown shoulders were muscular, and he had the alert look of a warrior. But his eyes, those soft, black eyes, held more sorrow than Ajalira had thought a human could accumulate in a lifetime. On the broad expanse of his chest were scars, cruel and many, and Ajalira felt a stir of pity in her heart. Who could have wanted to injure that nobility?

  ****

  When Ajalira retired to her pallet in the tiny chamber off from the kitchen, her thoughts were still on the Sunjaa Regent. His eyes, his scars, his unknown sorrows—they would not l
et her go. She slipped her hand beneath the straw of her pallet to feel the smooth chill of her knife. It was the only piece of her old life that she retained, a small, steel knife inlaid with onyx and emerald, the royal Tamari colors when the Tamari had been a nation. She closed her fingers around the blade and closed her eyes. Always before at this quiet hour, she would call up the image of her mother's body, burning and bloody on the pyre, and the image of her father, poisoned and dead at a bridal feast. She ran her finger along the cold metal, but when she closed her eyes, it was still the image of the Sunjaa Regent that she saw.

  “Why?” Ajalira murmured the word and let go of the knife.

  “Why what, pet?” Evix glided in through the open doorway.

  “Evix?” Ajalira sat up, fury filling her. “You betrayed me!”

  “No.” Evix hung his head, and his eyes grew soft. “I wouldn't do that, pet. You know how I love you.” In one graceful move, he was at her side on the pallet. “The Guildmaster caught me, and I—I was weak. I didn't want you to leave without me!”

  Ajalira stared into Evix's face, trying to discern his sincerity. “You thought I would leave you?”

  “You've never said you loved me, pet.” Evix tilted her face up to his. “I couldn't trust that you would stay for me, and I didn't want to lose you.”

  Ajalira shook her head. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I want us to escape. Together.” Evix slipped one hand around her waist. “I'm sure I can get the keys to your shackles. Then we can run, just as we planned to.”

  Liberty beckoned Ajalira, but it brought with it Evix. Still, in honor she was his if he would have her. He had had her body, and if he were willing to cover her shame with marriage, then her honor required it of her. She could not understand why the Regent's face flashed before her eyes as she spoke. After all, she was nothing to him, and she would never see him again.

  “How can I believe you?” asked Ajalira, even as her thoughts leapt ahead to the future.

  “Because I want to marry you. Right here. Right now.” Evix lifted her wrist to his lips. “I'm no Ausir, pet, but I know their culture well enough to know their marriage rite.”

  Ajalira's breath hitched. So Evix did care for her after all. “Then swear.” She had meant to speak strongly, as befit a Tamari noblewoman, but the words were the merest breath.

  “I am yours.” Evix leaned forward and kissed her brow.

  Ajalira closed her eyes and licked her lips. She did not want to marry Evix, but her honor required it. “I am yours.”

  It was enough. The Tamari added blood to the oath, but no other Ausir did. It was binding. She was wedded. She belonged to Evix.

  “My little pet.” Evix dropped his kiss from her brow to her lips. His tongue slipped between her lips, and Ajalira opened willingly to him. He was now her husband, and though a Lotus-trainer was the last husband she would have chosen for herself, at least he loved her.

  There was no shame in coupling with him.

  Evix seemed to taste her willingness, for he pressed against her further. His kiss grew more demanding, and Ajalira let him take what he would. His hand skimmed her flank to rest on her breast. The nipple was hard, and it poked out the thin cotton of her gown.

  “I haven't forgotten how you like to play.” Evix pulled off his silk sash and wound it around her wrists.

  Ajalira relaxed into Evix's clasp, and for the first time she felt no shame as his hands played over her. As he pulled her hands above her head and secured the knots Ajalira closed her eyes.

  “Yes, I know.” Evix produced a second sash, and Ajalira wondered for an instant if he had been so certain of her as to come prepared for this. But then the comforting darkness dropped into place with the blindfold, and Ajalira found that her heart was racing. When Evix's lips crushed hers once more, she opened her mouth of her own accord, drawing him in. Even the heavy weight of the chains on her ankles contributed to her desire. The blackness around her was soft, soft like the Regent's eyes, and Ajalira moaned through her kiss.

  “Now, pet, I shall taste what is mine.” Evix's mouth separated from Ajalira's, and she was in the dark. He was not touching her, and a sudden spike of fear darted through her. She was not entirely sure if she trusted Evix any longer, but then she resolutely pushed the doubt from her. He was her husband now by oath, and he had the rights to her flesh. Warm, soft lips pressed against the hollow of Ajalira's throat, and she shivered. The lips moved down, leaving damp spots in their wake, until they closed around her nipple. Just as the suckling became a stinging bite, two long, strong fingers slipped inside her.

  Ajalira bucked against Evix's hand, and she heard the same low chuckle that she knew as well as she knew her own face in the glass.

  “Good, pet.” The fingers thrust harder, and the mouth moved to her other breast. “I think we won't need oils tonight.”

  Ajalira felt the thick hardness of Evix's phallus pressing against her pussy, and for the first time she did not dread it. This was not shameful; it was right. She opened her legs as far as her chains would allow, and when Evix slid home inside her, Ajalira sighed. He filled her, stretched her, and she wanted more.

  As always, Evix must have noticed her desire and read it with the skill of a true Lotus-trainer. His fingers, those strong, skilled fingers, closed over her nipples with a stinging pressure. He pulled on them until she bucked her pelvis against his, again as far as her bonds would allow. That must have pleased Evix, though Ajalira, blindfolded as she was, could only infer his pleasure from his increased pace.

  “That's my pet.” The thrusting sparked a flame of pleasure in Ajalira's pussy, and the flame began to spread. His hands left her breasts and then closed over her throat. The pressure slowly increased, even as the power behind Evix's thrusts also increased. The flame grew, and just as she thought it might burst out, she felt the pressure on her throat alter. Evix was not playing with her; he was trying to kill her.

  Spots swam before her eyes, white spots against the blackness of her blindfold. Evix was still buried deep inside her, and he was on top of her. She had no leverage, and her hands were bound, her feet shackled.

  But Ajalira refused to die here, to die to a man she now at last realized had always lied. Though her hands were bound, they were not hooked anywhere, and with her last strength, Ajalira locked her hands together and brought them crashing against the side of Evix's head. She could not see him, of course, but she knew where he was by the position of his hands on her throat.

  She hit his ear, and Evix grunted, losing some of his grip on her throat. Ajalira brought her legs upward, and the heavy chain between her ankles struck the back of his head.

  Evix lost his hold on her throat altogether, and Ajalira twisted beneath him. His phallus slipped out of her, and she was on her hand and knees. She bent her head to her hands, pulling the blindfold from her eyes just as she felt Evix's hands closing over her throat again.

  “Die, you horned bitch. Die!”

  The raw hate in Evix's voice was no longer a shock to Ajalira, and she head-butted backward, smashing into his face. For the second time, his grip faltered, and Ajalira dropped to her belly, sliding both her bound hands beneath the pallet. Her fingers closed over the blade of her knife, and she slid her grip downward, ignoring the cuts that resulted. She did not want to risk losing hold of the steel. When she reached the handle, she flipped over onto her back. As she had hoped, Evix was still trying to keep hold of her throat, and he allowed the flip that he might more easily sit on her hips and keep his throttling grasp on her.

  Glad that she could at least see, Ajalira aimed for Evix's neck. She caught the slight flash of the steel, but Evix's eyes did not move from her face. The knife sliced through his flesh, through the muscle and sinew until the blade struck bone. Blood poured down Evix's side, down on to Ajalira, and she felt a surge of pride. He fell over and moved no more.

  “To Alaxton Battlebringer I offer this blood,” she said. She slid out from beneath Evix's corpse, a
nd, holding the knife between her knees, she sliced through the silk that bound her.

  As she looked down at the cooling body of her lover, Ajalira's mind whirled. Why? Why had he done this? His hatred was, she was sure, genuine, but then she had believed in his love, too. Why would he kill her?

  As her breathing calmed, a sliver of understanding broke across her darkened mind. Evix probably had hated her, true, but he would not have slain her without the Guildmaster's permission. It was doubtless the Guildmaster who desired her death.

  And then everything was clear. Keeping her as a kitchen slave had never made sense. She was, as the Guildmaster knew perfectly well, recalcitrant. But the Guildmaster had admitted to her earlier that he had hoped to rehabilitate her. Ajalira looked down at Evix's corpse and laughed bitterly. By rehabilitate the Guildmaster had meant break. He had hoped to break her pride and her spirit, making her grateful to be restored to the privileges of a Lotus. When her defiance before the Regent had ruined that plan, her death was all that remained. But with Ausir still within Zenji waters, the Guildmaster would not have wanted it commonly known that he had had an Ausir kept as what they would consider a slave. No, he would have wanted that knowledge to stay with Evix. Evix had been the only one in the guild aside from the Guildmaster himself who knew of Ajalira's true species.

  The battle had been short, but Ajalira did not doubt that someone, somewhere had heard it. In a compound full of Lotuses, all trained to listen as spies, someone would be coming for her. She stepped away from the corpse and stumbled out into the kitchen itself, almost tripping over her chains.

  She had never killed anyone before, and she leaned over the dish-washing tub. Her stomach heaved, but she did not vomit. She had slain her first enemy. Forcing her breathing into evenness once more, she went back to the corpse of the one man who had ever tasted her body. She knelt down and, with one swift move, severed his forefinger.

  She was boiling the flesh from the bone when the Guildmaster, flanked by four Lotuses, swept into the kitchen.