The Soldier's Lotus

by Adonis Devereux

  “Lotus?”

  Saerileth looked up to see Aneke, flanked by the other two younger concubines, come out onto the balcony.

  “Yes, Aneke?” Saerileth’s smile lost its mirth as she looked at the concubine. This woman had coupled with her Darien.

  “I came to tell you that I am on my menses.” Aneke twisted her fingers together. “So I cannot go to the master’s bed tonight.”

  “I had no intention of sending you.” Saerileth rose from the low chair and reentered the harem wing. She went to the cabinet where the concubines’ records were kept. In this only, it seemed, had Lia behaved properly, and Saerileth knew exactly why.

  “And why wouldn’t you send her?” As if Saerileth’s thought had conjured her, Lia entered the common area of the harem wing. “Why not send me?”

  “I am chief concubine.” Saerileth’s voice was ice. “It is my decision – and mine alone – who shall go to please the master.”

  “You’re a selfish little cunt!” Lia’s accented Sunjaa speech echoed through the room, and the other three concubines stared at her.

  Saerileth tilted her head slightly. “Kneel and beg my pardon, Lia.” Then Saerileth switched to the Vadal tongue. “If you do not, I shall tell the others exactly what you have done.”

  Lia’s eyes, small and grey, widened at the threat. “You can’t—”

  “Beg my pardon.” Saerileth reverted to Sunjaa.

  Lia knelt before Saerileth, and her hatred radiated from her like sunlight off the sea. “Forgive me.”

  “Lotus,” said Saerileth.

  “Forgive me, Lotus.”

  “You may rise, Lia.” Saerileth had been writing while Lia had knelt, and now Saerileth turned with a bright smile to Aneke. “Your menses have been entered into the record. Do not forget to tell me when they end.”

  Aneke nodded, and Saerileth saw at once that the woman wished to speak. Fear, however, stopped her tongue.

  “Ask what you will, Aneke.” Saerileth was aware of Lia glowering in the corner but gave no outward sign.

  “Lia says that you won’t let the master have any of us anymore.” Aneke’s eyes glowed with the last emotion Saerileth would have expected – hope.

  “That is correct.” Saerileth judged it best that they should know how matters stood. “He wishes to have me only.”

  “Thank you, Lotus!” Aneke smiled.

  “Why?” Saerileth knew what Aneke would say but needed to hear it. Otherwise, how could Saerileth believe that anyone would willingly be apart from Darien?

  “Because … because he’s too big. He tries to be gentle, but it hurts.” Aneke’s gaze rested on Saerileth’s waist, and she knew that the bruise in the shape of Darien’s hand was visible through the translucent linen.

  “Lotuses have training to handle such things. Now you three should go to your studies. I must speak with Lia alone.”

  As the others disappeared, giggling, Saerileth turned back to Lia.

  “You are a little cunt,” said Lia again. “A vicious, poisonous little whore.”

  “Be careful of the accusation of poison.” Saerileth patted the book wherein she had just entered Aneke’s menses. “You, after all, are the poisoner.”

  Lia’s mouth worked. “You can’t prove anything!”

  “Please, behave yourself.” Saerileth flipped over the pages. “You have kept this for eight years only, that is, only since another concubine joined you. You did not keep track yourself during the four years you had the master to yourself.”

  “There was no need.” Lia shrugged, but she made a slight movement toward the book.

  “You are correct. There was no need because you cannot bear a child.” Saerileth gestured to the other woman’s abdomen. “I have seen such scars before, and I have seen, too, the records you have kept for yourself. After the first year, your menses became absolutely regular, without a day’s variance, and they have been that way for the past seven years.”

  “So?”

  “So that is impossible. Aside from the fact that no one’s menses are so perfect, you have marked yourself and two of the others ill with influenza, and their menses were affected. Yours were not – because yours are imaginary. You have pretended, but you have not bled in seven years. You are only forty now, are you not?”

  Lia nodded, seemingly more from shock than from any other motive.

  “Three and thirty is early to lose your blood, but not uncommon when the womb has been so badly injured as yours was.”

  “Kanfiran eat your eyes!” Lia spat the curse. “How did you know?”

  “I have seen such scars before,” said Saerileth again. “You had a child who ripped your womb, did you not?”

  Lia’s hands shook, and she reached for the book. Saerileth stepped lightly away from the older woman.

  “If you could not give the master a child, you resolved that no one should.” Saerileth appraised Lia. There was no love in her, only anger and fear. “You feared losing your place as chief concubine. If Darien should have a child, that child’s mother would have first place in his house.”

  Lia went perfectly still, and terror filled her eyes. “You’re a witch.”

  “No, only observant.” Saerileth tapped the book again. “You were careful to send them to the master’s bed only when their wombs were dry, only when they could not conceive. Why did you fail with Aneke?”

  “The master had returned unexpectedly, and he was drunk. He did not leave me to choose; he simply grabbed the hand of the first girl to pass him by.”

  “And how did you hide what you had done afterward?”

  “He wasn’t here, and Aneke herself didn’t know.” Lia made a desperate lunge for the book, but Saerileth caught Lia’s arm and twisted it behind her back.

  “She thought only that she bled early.” Saerileth understood. Lia had given Aneke tea like the kind Saerileth had poured out onto the floor her first day here, an abortifacient tea, and Aneke had lost the child Darien had given her.

  “You are leaving,” said Saerileth. “All of you. I am sending you to the Master’s upriver property. There you will be able to live as you did here before I came.”

  “I won’t go.” Lia set her jaw, despite the hold Saerileth had on her arm.

  “If you argue or make any sort of fuss, I shall tell the master exactly what you have done.” Saerileth released Lia. “Now go. I will have Aben tell the others.”

  Lia did not turn back to face Saerileth, but the Lotus knew that Lia would obey.

  Saerileth closed her eyes and sat down gingerly. If it were up to her, she would sell all four of the concubines. The very sight of them made her sick with jealousy. But that would make Darien unhappy. He had rescued these women to give them a better life, and what better life could there be than belonging to Darien? But they would not be suitable concubines. She knew that, and she was glad of it. They would never be sufficiently polished to do him credit, but if they were safely placed on his upriver property, they could live in peace. They would be spoiled as Darien had always spoiled them, with too much liberty and not enough responsibility, but there they could not bring him discredit. Nor, Saerileth admitted to herself, could they couple with him.

  She permitted herself to fidget. The anal plug she was wearing was larger than she was comfortable with, but it was the necessary first step. She had noticed the way Darien had touched her ass, and she recognized it. He wanted to penetrate her ass, but it was impossible. There was no way that she could bear his entry. He was simply far too large. But there were ways around everything, and Saerileth was not a full-blown Red Lotus for nothing. With sufficient practice and a gradual increase in the size of the plugs, she would be able to take him. She could hardly wait to give him that gift of herself.

  In the meantime, she would send for Aben. Darien would need a proper household staff, but she respected his wishes not to purchase slaves. She had much to do before Darien returned, bringing with him the results of his investigations on her behalf.


  Chapter Eight

  Darien ducked to pass beneath the shade of the sycamore trees that dotted the royal gardens. The day’s blistering heat lay still across the city, and the insects whirred from their hidden homes in the branches. Two men, a tutor and his rich pupil, stared at him as he strode by, and Darien suddenly felt out of place. Everywhere he looked he saw people walking quietly, chatting to one another, taking casual strolls among the cool groves. Students hung on every word of their instructors, answering questions when asked, and rolling up their scrolls so they might recite their lessons from memory. The Sunjaa prized learning above almost all things, especially for the sons of nobility. Only martial skill was held in equally high esteem.

  Darien stepped from the lush green lawn onto a wide covered walkway that connected the royal gardens to the library. Tutors and pupils walked up and down this path, engaged in the day’s instruction. Darien watched with fascination, for although the library was open to the public, he had never had a reason to come here. He had grown up poor, so he lacked the education that was so readily offered to those wealthy, privileged few; and he had spent his adult life in the service of the nation, wielding a sword instead of a quill. As he was clearly rich from the manner of his dress, the guards at the gate had not denied him entrance. They had eyed him curiously, certainly, but no one had accosted him. Still, he felt out of place, as if he might end up breaking something delicate.

  The walkway terminated at a flight of wide steps made of fine, white stone. An artist with canvas sat three steps up beneath a large umbrella and painted the scene before him. Darien came to stand beside him and turned to see what the artist saw. Beyond the sycamore trees stood the high wall that separated the gardens from the royal palace itself. The flat roof of the central structure beyond the castle’s fortifications demonstrated its Sunjaa architectural design, quite different from the library that rose up into the clear sky behind Darien. The library’s roof was the only building in Arinport that was slanted, and Darien wondered to himself from what people this style had been imported. The Ausir across the ocean, perhaps? Or maybe the Vadal to the north? He did not know, but he had a curious mind, not content to live in ignorance. He resolved to flag down the first official he ran across and ask.

  Darien climbed the steps, and the mid-morning sun beat down upon his dark skin. He did not have the ocean breezes to relieve him, and he was reminded of his days sweating under the desert sun as he made forays into Vadal territory during the last war. He did not miss his time in the infantry. Guards stood at the open double doors of the library and regarded Darien silently. He had made it into the gardens, so he did not expect anyone to bar his way now. They did not, and he passed inside.

  The library held a curious concoction of smells – something akin to oils, cleansers, and incense all mixed together. And of course the strong odor of papyrus hung in the air. The sight before Darien compelled him to stop and marvel at what he saw: a slanted roof held up by rows of mighty stone columns descending on their respective levels into the depths of the library. The structure was multi-tiered, and Darien stood at its top level. From his vantage point, he judged that most of the library was actually underground, and again he wondered where the architecture had come from. Rows of tables dominated the first level, and high desks with stools occupied by scribbling scribes stood along the north wall. The honeycombed roof of concrete was open enough to admit sunlight inside, though the scribes wrote by torchlight, their desks equipped with sconces. Darien strolled by, curiosity getting the better of him. He prided himself on his ability to read Sunjaa – he had taught himself before entering the military. But these books were all written in tongues he could not comprehend. He guessed that the flowing script was Ausir, while another less graceful text must have been Fihdal or Vadal. The scribes copied these foreign books onto new scrolls, and Darien saw the reed baskets at their feet full of more histories and literature to copy.

  Darien descended each level, passing reading rooms, lecture halls, and even dining rooms. Inscriptions on the walls of each section told Darien where he was, and other plaques directed him to where he wanted to go. ROYAL RECORDS →. He followed the signs until he stood before a locked door. A guard stood on duty. Darien considered offering the soldier a bribe, but he was almost sure that the man would not have accepted any amount of coin. Such a position as this man held was one of trust and responsibility that was earned only through exemplary service. This man drew an excellent salary, enjoyed the favor of the crown, and was in little to no danger of being killed in battle. It was a dream job, and he would probably not risk it by taking a bribe. Darien knew he would not, had he been in the man’s position. But he needed to get inside, and he racked his brain trying to come up with a way. He studied the man, Had they ever met? In the infantry? At sea? Just as Darien opened his mouth to strike up a conversation with the guard, a voice interrupted his forming thought.

  “Captain?”

  Darien spun around to find himself face to face with a man he knew he should know but could neither place his face nor remember his name. The not-so-stranger wore a white, knee-length Sunjaa skirt, and though his chest was bare, upon it lay a wide gold necklace into which was inlaid the crest of the royal house: a serpent eating its tail, symbolizing every loyal Sunjaa’s belief that the family was eternal. Darien could safely assume that the man was not royalty himself but some official in the palace. Not wanting to offend, he proceeded with caution.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a cold beer,” Darien said and then smiled widely. “It’s a scorcher today.”

  The man smiled back, his dark eyes twinkling. “To taste your fine drink again, Darien, I would give anything.”

  So this man had come to the party. “And did you enjoy yourself so entirely, then?”

  “More than you know. Your Lotus was the most enchanting creature I’ve ever seen.” The official had a frail, woman’s frame, and his hands were thin and delicate.

  “She graces my home with her presence.”

  The official leaned in. “You complement each other well, she being so fine, like porcelain, and you no doubt having to restrain yourself from breaking so fragile a vessel as she.” His gaze traveled over Darien’s muscular shoulders, swept across his broad, muscular chest, and settled on his abs.

  Darien needed no heightened sense of empathy to detect the man’s thoughts; he had heard of the orgies held in the palace, where painted prostitutes both male and female fucked the partygoers from evening until sunrise. Doubtless this man indulged himself on a regular basis, so forward were his innuendos.

  “I’m afraid I drank too much wine that night, sir,” Darien said. “Remind me. What’s your name?”

  “Oren, king’s chamberlain.” He bowed low and kept his gaze fixed on Darien’s cock, its mass visible as a bulge inside the fabric of his skirt.

  Darien would use this man’s attraction to him. “Chamberlain, I wonder if you might do me a favor.”

  Oren straightened up and spread his hands out before him. “Anything for a mighty captain of our mighty navy.”

  Darien indicated the door behind him with a thrust of his thumb over his shoulder. “I need to get in there. I’ve forgotten some of the details of our glorious campaigns against the Vadal, and I was hoping to take a walk down memory lane.” Sunjaa recorded every deed of note; if it was not written down, it never happened.

  Oren wasted no time in gaining Darien the access he desired. He was a weak, delicate man who clearly admired the military and, Darien suspected, much more about the strong men who served in it. They walked the narrow aisles of the restricted chamber for some time, Darien making as much small talk as he could stomach, until Oren was called away on business at last.

  “We’ll talk again soon,” Oren said, waving as he went.

  “Can’t wait.” Darien hoped soon would never come.

  Oren turned to leave, and Darien remembered. “One more thing, Chamberlain.”

  “Yes?” Oren turned back with alacr
ity.

  “What is the origin of the architecture of this building? Whose style is it in?”

  “It’s Ausir design,” said Oren. “I don’t know exactly how it works, of course, not being Ausir, but it’s designed to keep the place cool.”

  “Thanks.” Then Oren really did go, and finally alone, Darien was able to set to work. The Sunjaa kept very good records, the scrolls divided by date, campaign, and decree. He searched for hours but never found any mention of the mission to the Dimadan, the strike that had wiped out Saerileth’s clan. The mission did not exist. Every other military maneuver or task was documented with meticulous detail, but Ulen’s mission alone was missing. Darien decided to pursue a different route then, turning his investigation to Ulen himself. Darien remembered the date of the secret mission, and he discovered that it was from that time that Ulen’s wealth had increased dramatically. The tax records showed this. As the king’s cousin, Ulen had lived comfortably, but he had not enjoyed the lavish extremes of wealth until a few months after Saerileth’s clan had been exterminated. Darien did not know yet what it meant, but he committed the information to memory. He thought he might stay a while longer and continue searching for any more clues, but hunger drove him out.

  The sun dipped like a large red fireball in the west, and soon twilight would fall over the city. Darien was ravenous, and he bounded up the steps, ready to leave the library behind and find the nearest hot-food stall. What he found instead was Kamen.

  “What are you doing here, Kamen?”

  Kamen, who stood near the door with a sealed scroll in his hand, jumped at the sudden address. “Darien! What are you doing here?”

  “Going over some old military records.”

  Kamen nodded and looked around. “This is the last place I ever thought to see you.”

  “Can’t picture me anywhere but the rolling deck of a warship?”

  Kamen laughed. “The wild beauty of nature suits your unmatched strength.”

  Too much praise! “I was just leaving. Walk with me?”