A Lotus for the Regent

by Adonis Devereux

  “The greatest of all Tamari and founder of their nation, Ellon,” Tivanel said, “was sword-brother and best friend with Faltari Seranimesti, a name without equal among my kin. What I am trying to say is this: the Seranimesti have always been there, always supported the King, whether it be the line of Kelvirith, God-King, or the line that followed him when the Tamari returned to be reunited with us, their Larenai brethren.”

  So for friendship's sake alone Kamen should take up their cause? Still, it was stronger than any claim the Kimereth or Losiengare made. Kamen turned around and gave Jahen the look he always gave him when he had heard enough, that prompt the King knew so well.

  “Thank you for your offer,” Jahen said to the Seranimesti. “We shall consider your words.”

  The two Ausir warriors bowed and departed.

  Jahen walked down the steps of his dais. “Are we going to make an alliance with them? They seemed honorable to me.”

  “I don't doubt their honor nor their claim,” Kamen said, “but we aren't making any alliances with any of the factions.”

  Jahen just looked at him with eyes full of questions. He was ready and willing to learn, a quality Kamen knew would make him a great King someday.

  “We must ultimately refuse all offers of alliance. We cannot afford to yoke our nation to a fractious people.”

  “So we wait for the Ausir to be united again.”

  “Exactly.” Kamen smoothed back his dreadlocks, happy that one delegation was taken care of, conscious of the fact that two more awaited a decision on a completely unrelated matter. “I must see to the Fihdal and Vadal border dispute.”

  “We must play catch ball later,” Jahen said, his expression hopeful.

  “Of course.”

  Jahen left, and Kamen turned to Ajalira only to find her still staring at Saerileth. The Lotus's presence seemed to upset her deeply.

  “My lady,” Kamen said, drawing her attention. He wanted to ask her why she had suddenly wept during her interpretation, but now was not the right time. “Thank you for interpreting so smoothly.”

  “My pleasure.” Ajalira ran her hands down the sides of her translucent gown. “Is this appropriate in front of everybody?”

  Kamen smiled and felt his cock swell beneath his skirt. Her pink nipples poked through the fabric. “It's Sunjaa fashion, and you wear it well. But you still have your Zenji pallav and skirt, don't you?”

  Ajalira's eyes hardened, and her lips formed a thin line. She glared at Saerileth as she spoke. “I will never wear that again. It is a slave's dress.”

  “It is not.” Saerileth's voice surprised Kamen, for she was right behind him. “I wear my native clothing with pride. I am a Lotus, and no one calls me whore or slave.”

  “Yes, but you had a choice. I did not.” Ajalira's voice trembled with barely checked rage.

  “I was sold to the guild when I was five,” Saerileth said, “after my whole family was massacred. I had no choice at all.”

  Ajalira's mouth closed, having no ready response.

  “Very few of us have choices in our lives.” Saerileth placed a hand on Kamen's shoulder, and Ajalira's eyes flashed. “Take Lord Itenu, the Regent, for example. He did not want to be Regent. I suggested he be made so, and the people agreed. He did not want this, and yet he leads well. He rules over the greatest kingdom of Men as any captain might command his crew.”

  “He is the best of men,” Ajalira said with tenderness.

  Saerileth nodded slightly and smiled. “Indeed.”

  Kamen's heart raced. They talked about him as if he were not there, but it was Ajalira's praise that excited him. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. He wanted her to know that he had fallen in love with her the moment she had had the courage to step up and tell him of the Ausir's double dealing. He wanted to put her shattered self-worth back together and hold her in his arms, kiss her neck, and bring out the sensual woman he knew languished just beneath her facade.

  Saerileth was gone. She had vanished while Kamen's thoughts blinded him to his surroundings. Only Ajalira stood before him, and before he could do something foolish like force another kiss on her, he said, “I must see to the Fihdal and Vadal. Meet later for supper?”

  Ajalira nodded and smiled. “I would like that.”

  ****

  The ballroom was packed, and though every noble and important person in Arinport was present, Kamen could not take his eyes from Ajalira. She moved freely among the people, and she had grown in the past week more comfortable with the translucent Sunjaa fashions. Men turned their heads and watched her with admiration as she passed, but she paid them no more heed than politeness required. She had decorated her horns with some kind of blue ink, a color that brought out the loveliness of her eyes. She looked at Kamen often, and every time she did, Kamen smiled. She returned his smiles. They had breakfasted every morning together for the past week, and though he had learned much of her history, he still sensed that she hid some great mystery from him. Though they had grown closer, Kamen still felt like she held him at arm's length. Try as he might, he could get no nearer. He had flowers delivered to her apartments every morning, and every morning she thanked him for them. Was it mere courtesy that she spent so much time with him, or could it be that she, too, felt something growing between them? Kamen was willing to take his time. She was worth waiting for, and he was confident that, given time, she would open up to him in more ways than one.

  Darien shocked Kamen by his sudden appearance. “Darien!”

  “Well, Regent, how are things?” Darien towered over Kamen and smiled broadly, his manner as open and easy as ever.

  Kamen clasped his old friend by the forearm in a rough sailor's greeting. “Things are going well. It's nice to see you.”

  Darien half turned and eyed the crowd. “So, how'd you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get the Vadal and Fihdal to stop whining at you.”

  Kamen laughed. Darien's straightforward talk, so different from the innuendos of court, was refreshing. It reminded him of Ajalira's extreme forthrightness. “The Vadal have been trying to push through some uninhabited southern areas of the Fihdal empire to reach the sea.”

  “They want a port.”

  “Exactly. They were willing to go to war over it, so that's why they came to me.”

  “The great arbiter, Kamen Itenu. I never would have thought.”

  Kamen looked into his friend's eyes and saw the memories of their days sailing together. “It suits me now. Anyway, the Fihdal didn't want to give the Vadal anything, of course. So I listened to them bicker until I couldn't stand it anymore. I locked myself in a room with old maps and studied the ancient borders of our lands. When I found crumbling maps of the Sunjaa nation pre-dating the arrival of the Fihdal and Vadal, I was able to trace the growth of their empires.”

  Darien snorted. “Empires!”

  “I know,” Kamen said, “but let them have their little vanities.” The Sunjaa were greater than their northern neighbors could ever be, and they did not fancy themselves an empire. “I gave the Vadal the land they wanted.”

  “And the Fihdal just accepted that?”

  “They asked me to arbitrate, but I said I'd only do so if they promised to abide by my decision. I gave the Fihdal some Vadal lands in exchange. I used an older division of the land, one before the Vadal spread themselves too thin in the north, one when they still had a port. So now, the land the Vadal are getting is on our northern border, right next to Masnaport.”

  “So the Fihdal will think twice about trying to take it back in the future.”

  Kamen looked Darien over, admiring his muscular bare chest and winding water serpent tattoo. “So, what are you doing here? This is the first time you have met me socially in six years. Six years. Why now?”

  Darien's ever-present smile evaporated, and he dropped his voice. “Saeri told me that it wouldn't hurt you anymore to see me. You're my best friend, and I don't want to hurt you.”

  Kam
en understood. Darien could not love Kamen the way Kamen had wanted him to, so to keep from daily torturing his friend with his presence, Darien had stayed away. “Thank you.”

  The sound of flutes and harps cut short the low hum of conversation, and the people cleared the floor, setting down their cups and readying themselves for the first number. Kamen looked past Darien and beckoned to Ajalira. He wondered if she might honor him with a dance.

  Chapter Seven

  Ajalira smiled as she looked out across the Sunjaa King's hall. She had been here for over a week, and she found it lovelier than any place she had ever known, even fairer than her childhood home on her father's estate.

  “Interpreter.” One of the Fihdal ambassadors bowed to her.

  Ajalira returned his bow with a slight one of her own. She knew that these men found her desirable, particularly in these Sunjaa garments that left nothing to the imagination, but she did not care. She was a free woman now, and their attraction could not touch her. She was, of course, sullied, but that did not mean that she had to lower herself further. She was utterly cold to all of them.

  “Interpreter.” This time the greeting was in Ausir, and Ajalira felt the blood in her cheeks as one of her own kind boldly appraised her body.

  “Lord Seranimesti.” Ajalira nodded, but she did not stay to speak with him. Though it might seem strange to her, these garments were not immodest by the standards of the Sunjaa realm where she found herself. By the standards of the Regent.

  Ajalira could not help herself. Her eyes sought him out, but she already knew where he was. She always knew. She could feel him, feel his nobility blazing into her soul. He was tall and proud and wise, and her flesh burned when she looked on him. He stood, clad in the simple finery of a Sunjaa lord, the translucent linen skirt with the fine cotton loincloth beneath, the soft leather sandals, and the gold shawl-necklace resting on his scarred chest. Broad gold bands hugged his biceps, and a gold cord held back the thick dreadlocks she so much wanted to touch. He moved with a leonine grace, and she loved how everyone in the room acknowledged his superiority.

  A smile played over her lips as she swept her gaze over all three of the Ausir ambassadors. The Kimereth and Losiengare had sent ambassadors, though not the lords themselves, to sue for Kamen's favor. He was courted by even the Ausir, and she knew that not even their ancient eyes could find fault with the Sunjaa custom. The Fihdal and Vadal had come to him for arbitration, and no one questioned the Sunjaa right to decide. Kamen's right to decide. He held the fate of nations in his hands, and the weight of more peoples even than his own rested on his shoulders.

  His world was larger than hers. His problems were greater than her own. What did she have to concern her beyond personal shame? No danger touched her here. Kamen's hand covered her, and no one in all the west would dare try to dishonor her. And yet she saw no one on whom Kamen could lean, no one to whom he could turn ... except for the Lotus.

  Ajalira swallowed all the wine in her cup. She did not recall when she had taken the cup, and she did not taste the liquid as she swallowed it. The Lotus. Saerileth Kesandrahn. Concubine to the Lord Admiral. The court interpreter until Ajalira had taken up the post.

  Fire burned in Ajalira's belly. Why should the Regent depend on this Lotus? This slave-whore?

  But her mind answered her as quickly as the tears pricked her eyes. The Sunjaa—the Regent—did not view the Lotuses as whores. Saerileth was an honored woman in Arinport. Kamen respected her. Was that all there was to it? Was there no more between them than respect?

  “Will you dance, Interpreter?” The Seranimesti lord was at her side once more, and he bowed in Ausir fashion to her. “I would be pleased to learn more of you.”

  Ajalira's mouth twisted wryly. If this lord knew her true history, he would never lower himself to speak with her. “No, thank you. I have no mind to dance.”

  The Seranimesti swallowed his shock well, but Ajalira noticed it. He had probably never been refused before.

  As soon as the Ausir lord had gone, Ajalira permitted herself the indulgence of looking at the Regent again. This time he was talking with the Lord Admiral, and she observed the pair closely. The Lord Admiral was Saerileth's master, and Ajalira wondered how Kamen felt about that. She saw nothing beyond warm friendship in their looks, however, and suddenly she understood.

  Kamen must have loved Saerileth. It made perfect sense. He had loved that perfect, full-blown Lotus. Her human gorgeousness had captured the Regent, and he had lost her to the Lord Admiral.

  Ajalira shook her head. The Lord Admiral, Darien Kesandrahn, was a good-looking man, massive out of all proportion, with an open look to his face that Ajalira could appreciate. But he was nothing like the Regent. Kamen had a lithe grace that pleased Ajalira's Ausir eyes more than the laughing, gigantic Admiral ever could.

  Suddenly Ajalira realized that the Regent was not with the Admiral any longer.

  “My lady?” Kamen bowed, Sunjaa fashion, and he held out his hand to her.

  My lady. It was her proper title, one she had never thought to hear again, and on Kamen's lips it was sweeter than any other word, excepting only her own name.

  Ajalira laid her hand in Kamen's, only then realizing that he meant to direct her to the open floor where dancers were already gathering. She did not allow herself to hesitate. The Regent honored her above all other women here, for she had not seen him dance even once.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Ajalira murmured the words as she took up her place two paces in front of him. The music filled the hall, and her eyes widened. She knew this music. It was traditional Sunjaa music, but the dance was a sensual one.

  “Only 'Your Grace'”? The Regent's black eyes were darker than night. He put one hand on each of her hips and pulled her toward him with an animal grace that made Ajalira's heart pound in her breast.

  As her body was pulled flush with his, Ajalira went up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “Kamen.” She laid her hands on his shoulders and, as the dance required, slid her hands down his arms. When she reached his hands, she pushed them away and stepped forward, turning her back to him.

  Once more his hands, rougher than she would have expected of a nobleman's hands, were on her hips, pulling her toward him. She was leaning against him, his chest to her back, and she could feel the raised scars on his skin. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and he turned his lips toward her mouth, and, as the dance required, they both turned their faces away before their lips touched. She slid to the left, he to the right, and then it was her turn to touch. As he stood with his back to her, she went to him and pressed her breasts against him, following his steps as he took two long strides forward and three back.

  When he whirled her back to face him, her chest heaved. His face was so near her own, and his lissome movements, light as a fencer's, were unbearably beautiful. He held her against him as they strode forward three times and back twice. His phallus had risen beneath his loincloth, and Ajalira could feel it sliding along her mound as they danced. Its thickness was between her thighs as he lifted her off her feet for three steps, and Ajalira loved the feel of it. She wanted more. She wanted the Regent.

  “Kamen.” She said his name like a prayer, and he smiled at her, a smile so sweet and yet so sad that she wanted to kiss away every pain he had ever known.

  He set her on her feet, and as they went through all the steps again, she felt an ache begin low in her belly, a desire for the Regent, a longing for him to claim her as his own.

  The second movement of the song began, and Ajalira held herself motionless as Kamen stood before her, pressing his body against hers. Then, just as the music rose in its crescendo, he leaned to the left as Ajalira leaned right, each facing away from the other, even as their waists pressed together. Again she felt Kamen's thick phallus pushing against her, and she almost lost her place in the dance. In three quick beats, she and Kamen switched sides, and then they whirled and stood back to back.

  Three steps forward, th
ree back. She felt the Regent's taut buttocks pressing against her back, and she dropped, as the dance required, to her knees. As she bowed her head, Kamen stepped around her, then stopped, leaning her head to his waist. She saw the stiff, dark rod tenting his loin-cloth, and her hands on his thighs trembled.

  Then she was pulled to her feet and pressed against Kamen once more, his arms locked around her waist as the music faded.

  But when the dance was finished, Ajalira turned around in Kamen's arms, staring at the tattered remains of the coiling water serpent on his breast. He deserved better.

  “Your Grace,” she said, and, extricating herself, she fled the hall.

  Tears blinded her as she ran. She had dared to raise her eyes to the Sunjaa Regent. She, a whore and slave for years, had looked upon the mightiest man in the west with desire. How could that shame ever be redressed? He had been kind to her, good to her, shown her as much courtesy as if she were a Queen, and she had repaid him with such forward arrogance as to want him?

  She slammed the door of her chambers tight behind her and went to her bed. She sat in the center of it, rocking backward and forth, clutching her knees. She hated her old life, and she wanted only to see Kamen's face. But how could she? She had been a Lotus.

  A Lotus.

  Ajalira looked at the tattoo on her forearm, and she hated it. Her precious Tamari knife had been taken from her when she was on the block, but the Regent had seen to it that she had been given another blade. It was slim and elegant, sharp as even Ausir steel, and in its handle were set two gleaming aquamarines.

  Ajalira slashed at the tattoo, sobbing, wishing that she could obliterate her shame as easily as she could the mark of it.

  “He used to wear that blade aboard ship.”

  The voice shocked Ajalira from her mutilation, and she looked up to see Saerileth standing in her doorway.

  “Go away.” Ajalira rose, heedless of her still-streaming tears, and brandished her bloody blade. “Now.”