A Lotus for the Regent

by Adonis Devereux

  “I know.” Darien sighed and put his hands on his hips, still smiling.

  “And how are Saerileth and the children?”

  “All thriving, gods be praised. The little ones would like to see their papa more often, of course, but one day, when they're strong lads, I'll take them to sea with me.” Darien's smile vanished as he paused. “And Saerileth is well, of course.”

  Saerileth, the point of uneasiness between them. Saerileth, the woman who had stolen Darien away from Kamen. No, not stolen. Kamen needed to stop thinking that way. Though he and Darien had fucked each other after the fashion of Sunjaa sailors, there was nothing more to it on Darien's part than recreation and naval tradition. He loved Kamen as a friend and brother-in-arms, but nothing more than that, and Kamen could not fault him for the way he felt. He could not make his heart love him.

  “And you, my friend,” Darien said with a cheerful smile, drawing Kamen out of his dark thoughts. “I hear you're having to deal with those damned horned Ausir now.”

  Kamen nodded. “But they're already planning to betray us.”

  Darien bristled, reminding Kamen that a dangerous warrior lurked just beneath his merry exterior. “How so?”

  “They want to steal our ships to resupply their depleted navy.”

  Darien punched the palm of his hand. “Abrexa's chain! They can't win their own war in six years with all their technology, so now they want to steal our ships?”

  Kamen laid a hand on Darien's muscular shoulder, right where his tattoo, which matched Kamen's own tattered one, snaked up across his chest. “Don't worry. I've got a plan. They don't know I know, so they'll never see it coming.”

  Darien's anger evaporated like rain on the mountain. “But how did you find out?”

  “One of the Guildmaster's own servants told me.” Kamen whistled. “I want you to meet her.”

  Ruben escorted Ajalira down the gangplank, and Kamen was struck afresh by her beauty. Every time he saw her, her effortless grace and pride surprised him. When she deigned to bend her gaze on Kamen, he forgot all about his old feelings for Darien.

  Ajalira stopped right before Darien and Kamen and bowed low in the Zenji fashion. She still wore the outfit of a Lotus.

  “Admiral,” Kamen said, taking Ajalira's delicate hand, “I want you to meet Ajalira.”

  Chapter Five

  “Ajalira” he had called her. Not “Lotus”, not “slave”. He had called her by her name. Ajalira risked a glance at the Regent. He had avoided her throughout the voyage, and she had wondered if he were angry with her. His face, however, showed nothing but pleasure as he introduced her.

  “Lord Admiral.” Ajalira bowed slightly to the enormous Sunjaa before her. His rank she had at once detected from the large gold shawl-necklace that rested on his bare chest, but even had she not seen it, she would have recognized him. She had seen him through the window at the guildhouse—was it only four days ago?

  The Admiral bowed in acknowledgement of the introduction. “I am pleased to meet any friend of Kamen's.” He smiled at her, an open, friendly smile such as Ajalira could not remember seeing since coming to the Dimadan. “But I'm afraid I can't stay.” The Admiral nodded to the Regent.

  “I had assumed so.” The Regent's eyes were blacker than she had seen them get before, and Ajalira noticed the slightest alteration in the pressure of his hand on hers.

  Once the Admiral had gone, the Regent turned to look full on her again. “Ajalira, if you would accompany me to the King's palace, I will have your writ of liberty drawn up.”

  Ajalira's eyes grew wide. Her mouth opened, and she tried futilely to speak. No sounds would come out. She moved her lips, but all she could hear was the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. He was giving her freedom. He had come back to the Dimadan to purchase her—only to set her free?

  “Ajalira?” The Regent's voice reached her as through layers of wool. “Are you all right?”

  Ajalira licked her lips, forcing some strength into her limbs. “Regent, I—thank you.”

  The Regent's mouth curved upward in a slight smile. The sunlight caught the gleam of silver on his nose ring, and Ajalira clasped her hands together to keep from touching him. “Then will you ride in my litter to the palace?”

  Ajalira nodded. Her mouth was dry, and when the Regent pulled the curtains of the litter shut around her without getting in himself, she let herself go. She could still hear his even tread walking alongside the litter, so she kept her tears quiet. But she let herself cry. Since her mother's death she had not known one instance of kindness, one expression of generosity. The Regent, with his soft, black eyes and scarred chest, had shown her both. There was no benefit to him in this. He had saved her life and brought her from the guildhouse solely to set her at liberty.

  Of course, no Tamari could let the saving of her life go unrepaid. But the Regent did not even yet know she was Ausir. She would, naturally, have to tell him. She owed him her life. She smiled through her tears. At least this debt was to an honorable man. He had had no idea when he saved her of what she would then owe him.

  Ajalira was grateful for the curtains hiding her from the Regent's sight. She had expected that he would have her pass the voyage in his company, but instead she had been left alone and told to rest. So now she was still unused to seeing him. He was not so tall or broad as the Admiral, but Ajalira did not find the Admiral half so beautiful. The Regent's long, black dreadlocks fascinated her. She wanted to touch them, just as she wanted to touch the gleaming silver hoop in his nose—and the ones on his nipples.

  Ajalira sat up and wiped her face. She wronged the Regent to think of him so. She was a sullied woman, and though she knew enough of Sunjaa politics to know that the Regent was unmarried, she could not believe that so beautiful a man did not have a lover. She would be a long while yet in Arinport, and just because she was free of the guildhouse, it did not mean that her shame was covered or wiped away.

  When the litter stopped, Ajalira's eyes were dry, her jaw set. She was already running through the words in her mind.

  “Ajalira?” The Regent himself reached up to help her down from the litter, and as his hand touched her skin, all the words vanished. She was silent as he set her down. She looked up at him, and the sorrow in his eyes struck her like the Lotus's blow to the mouth.

  Ajalira was not, she knew, particularly short. She was a Tamari, born of a line of soldiers, and she was not accustomed to having to look fully up to see a man's eyes. Evix had been nearly the same height as she. But the Regent was more than a full head taller than Ajalira, and she could not help her admiration of his lithe warrior's grace.

  “Please, follow me.” The Regent moved through the palace like a ship through the water, and Ajalira was pleased to notice that the servants seemed genuinely happy to see his return.

  “An official scroll,” said the Regent to the serving-boy who opened the door for him. “And sealing wax.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The boy scampered off, and Ajalira was left alone with the Regent again.

  “I'm sorry that your journey was so overwhelming.” The Regent gestured to a high-backed wooden chair. “Will you not sit?”

  “No, thank you, Your Grace.” Though she had not given him his title in the Dimadan, here it seemed impossible not to. Lord Kamen Itenu was the Sunjaa Regent, and in any other nation, Ajalira suspected he would have already been made King due to the wisdom and skill of his rule.

  “You have nothing to fear here, Ajalira.” The Regent moved around a carved desk to sit behind it. “I wish to thank you for what you did for me.”

  Ajalira shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I did only what anyone of honor must.”

  The Regent's eyes flashed with sorrow, and Ajalira could not understand. Why would those words cause him pain? “Not just anyone would risk injury,” he gestured to her bruised mouth, “or death for a stranger.”

  Ajalira furrowed her brow. “That does not affect duty.”

  The Regent laughed th
en, a sound as sorrowful as his eyes had been. “I've only ever heard one other person talk like you.”

  “The scroll, Your Grace.” The serving-boy was back, carrying a scroll, an unlit candle, and a cylinder of red wax.

  “Thank you.” The Regent dismissed the boy with a wave. “Can you read Sunjaa as well as speak it?” he asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Ajalira stepped nearer, assuming he wanted her to read what he wrote.

  “Then read.” The Regent wrote—and Ajalira noticed that he had the graceful, flowing hand of a born artist—and every word was balm to her aching spirit.

  “I, Kamen Itenu, Regent of the Sunjaa nation, Lord of the House Itenu, Bearer of the Serpent-Seal, do hereby declare that Ajalira is a free woman, and no one may lay claim to her labor or her person without her leave.” In short order, he had affixed his seal to the base of the scroll.

  “We Sunjaa,” he said, “are people of the Word. When a thing is written, it is. You are a free woman, Ajalira.”

  Ajalira closed her eyes, not wanting the Regent to see the tears that burned there. “Thank you.” It was still incredible to her that this powerful and important man had gone to such trouble for her. “But, Your Grace, I am not so free as this paper declares.”

  “What?” The Regent actually laughed. “There is no nation in all the west that will dare defy the Sunjaa.”

  “No nation, true, but one girl.” Ajalira opened her eyes. This part was easy, for her duty was clear. She reached up into the mass of her hair and pulled out the bone she had managed to hide there. She knelt beside the Regent's chair and held out the bone to him. “This is the spoil of my first battle. I lay it at your feet, for you have saved my life. My life is yours, sir, and all the spoils of every battle I fight shall belong to you, for without you, I would have fought no battles more.”

  The Regent stared at her. For the first time since she had seen him, there was no sorrow in the depths of his eyes. There was no emotion at all that she could see, none, that is, apart from shock.

  “Abrexa's chain! What are you doing?”

  Ajalira smiled. “You saved my life, Your Grace.”

  “When? How?” The Regent pushed away from her and rose from his chair.

  “When you returned to the Dimadan and carried me away from the guildhouse,” she said. “For I was to have been executed.”

  “Why?” The word seemed forced from the Regent.

  “When I spoke to you, Your Grace, the Guildmaster said it showed my incorrigible defiance. He sent a Lotus-trainer to kill me, but I slew him first.” She held out the bone again. “So he set the Lotuses upon me, and I was actually on the block when your ship returned.”

  “For me.” The Regent scarcely seemed to have heard her words about Evix's death.

  “So I owe my life to you.” Ajalira took the Regent's hand and pressed the bone into it. “This battle is yours, and all my battles are yours.”

  “Battles? What in the Four Hells are you talking about?” The Regent's shock had not lessened, but he did not cast the bone aside. He gripped it tightly, and he did not loose his hold on her hand, either.

  “I am not Zenji,” said Ajalira. “I am not even human. I am an Ausir, a Tamari.”

  “Tamari?” The Regent's dark eyes narrowed. “What faction do they follow?”

  “I do not know,” said Ajalira, and shame suffused her cheeks that that should be so. “I have been six years in the Dimadan. My mother fled the upheaval that started the civil war. We ended in the Dimadan, and I have dwelt there ever since.”

  “Ah.” The Regent nodded.

  “It is the Tamari way,” said Ajalira. “You have saved my life, and thus my battles and all their glory belong to you. I will lift my blade at your will from now until my death.”

  “But you're just a girl.” The Regent shook his head. “And anyone who would send you into the battlefield should be gutted. You deserve better than that.”

  Ajalira smiled. “I am, I freely admit, no more than a girl. But I am a Tamari, and we do not ever forget our debts.”

  “I do not acknowledge this debt,” said the Regent. He raised her hand to his lips. “I do not account you to owe me anything at all. Rather, I am grateful for your warnings in the guildhouse. What?” He interrupted himself, and Ajalira knew he must have seen the look of disgust cross her face.

  “The Guildmaster knew, sir! I mean, Your Grace. He heard no less than I did. He and his Lotuses knew.”

  “I suspected as much.” The Regent's smile was wry. “No wonder he was angry with you. Doubtless he would have offered me the information later … for a price.”

  “Despicable.” Ajalira could not help herself. “He was your host.”

  The Regent only then seemed to realize that he still held her hand, and he released her. Ajalira's skin went cold without his warmth.

  “Will you do me the honor, Ajalira of the Tamari, of dining with me this evening?” The Regent fixed her face with his eyes, and Ajalira dropped her gaze. She could not continue to look into those burning black eyes.

  “I am your shield-maid, sir,” said Ajalira. “I will be there.”

  “No,” said the Regent clearly. “If that is your reason, then I dismiss you altogether. I will see to it that you are given whatever you might require and sent back to your Tamari.” He turned away from her and resumed his seat at the desk. He dropped the bone onto the wood of the table, and Ajalira caught the upwelling of sorrow in his eyes.

  “Please,” said Ajalira. “I would like to dine with you.”

  “Then I will be glad to see you. Unfortunately, I have much business just now.” He gestured to the desk, and Ajalira noticed that there were stacks of maps on it, mostly naval maps. “I have to set a trap for the Losiengare near Masnaport.” He smiled. “In the meantime, you will be given quarters and whatever you might need.”

  Ajalira bowed, Zenji-fashion. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  ****

  Ajalira shook out her hair before the mirror. For the first time in six years she did not have to hide her horns, and she intended to make the most of the opportunity. Alone among the Lotuses, she had always dressed her hair herself, and she smiled as she piled and twisted the heavy, golden locks. She brushed the hair away from her horns, and she allowed her ears to peek through the braid. She had cast aside the Zenji clothing the Guildmaster had sent with her. She would never again wear the garments that, for her, meant only slavery and whoring. Instead, she wore the gown the serving-girl had laid out. It was a simple dress of white linen, and the smooth, flowing lines pleased Ajalira.

  The translucency of the gown, however, was a shock.

  “Is this … all there is?” asked Ajalira, turning to the girl.

  “Yes, mistress.” The girl was smiling broadly.

  “But...” Ajalira looked back at the long mirror. She could see the pink of her nipples. Of course, as a Lotus, she had had no pubic hair. It had been painstakingly removed, and it would not now grow back. But had there been any left, Ajalira was sure it would have been visible, too. Every inch of her skin, including the purple bruises left behind by the Lotuses' fists, was as clear as if she were naked. Yet aside from that, the gown was beautiful. The sheer white linen was finely woven, and it was cool in the sweltering Arinport heat. The gold straps contrasted with the white of her skin and the white of the gown, and the gold belt hugged her hips. Small sandals had been provided, and Ajalira laced them over her ankles and up her calves. Even the sandal laces were visible through the gown.

  “Do you require anything else, mistress?”

  “No, thank you.” Ajalira backed away from the mirror. Without the pallav, her left forearm was bare. Her Lotus tattoo was visible. “Yes, please. Are there any bangles I could borrow?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  A quarter of an hour later Ajalira was ushered into the private dining chamber of the Regent. She did not know what she had expected, but seeing the Regent standing in the archway overlooking the palace gardens w
as not it. His back was to her, and she had a moment to observe him unnoticed. His long, black hair was tied back with a gold cord, and the white linen of his skirt came down to his mid-calf. The linen was as translucent as her own, but he wore a little loin-cloth beneath. The linen hugged the lines of his buttocks, and the ripple of his muscles beneath his flesh reminded Ajalira of Tamari poetry. Broad gold bands ornamented his biceps, and as he turned to face her, she saw the gold shawl-necklaces resting on his chest. He had worn official court garments to receive her, and Ajalira felt the blood burning in her cheeks.

  “Your Grace.” She bowed, Zenji-fashion, and he held out his hand to her.

  “Please,” he said. “Call me 'Kamen'.”

  “Kamen, sir.” Ajalira went to him and laid her hand in his waiting one. “Why did you avoid me on the ship?”

  Kamen laughed. “Because I intended to set you free as soon as we reached Arinport, and I did not trust myself with you. I might have liberated you at once, and then, I assumed, you would have asked for a lifeboat and left.” He raised her hand to his lips. “And I could not have given you all the things your beauty deserves.”

  Ajalira felt a dart of shame. The Regent was looking at her with such softness, such tenderness, that he must assume her a maid. She was not a maid, not any longer, and she did not deserve his gentle looks.

  “I would not have left, sir. I owe you all my battles, all my glory.”

  “But I didn't know that.” Kamen's smile did not quite touch his eyes. He escorted her to the table, and she sat down. He sat across from her, and Ajalira could not taste any of the food. She listened as Kamen spoke to her. He did not discuss politics, whether Ausir or Sunjaa. Rather he spoke of Sunjaa poetry and Ausir music, of sailing across the Meshkenet Sea, and Ajalira could have listened to him forever. In answer to his queries, she told him her opinions on the merits of the ancient Sunjaa poet Aren in contrast with the more modern verse of Urilen.