“What's this?” Nathen grinned as he removed his skirt and joined them in the pool.
“Soren made a winch for wurm hunting,” Konas said before he dunked his head under water. When he came up, his black horns streamed.
“A what?” Nathen asked Soren while Konas was still under.
“A spool, much like the way a woman keeps thread, though this one rotates over a stationary drum.”
Nathen's puzzled look was eloquent.
“It'll hold three times the rope you use now,” Soren said. “It keeps the horse from getting strangled to death.”
Nathen smiled and shook his head. “You Ausir are frightening. And you're not even full Ausir!”
Konas wiped the water from his eyes. “Yes, but he thinks like one, and has as much love for the work of his own hands as I have ever seen even in the proudest of my race.”
“Thanks, Konas,” was Soren's unequal reply.
All three laughed and played, though there was no time for fucking. Soren was distracted with thoughts of a chassis that would slip between the blanket and the saddle. The weight of a full-grown man should hold the winch in place, though he should have no other baggage. As it was made of nothing but metal, and as it would hold a spool of rope, Soren thought any extra bags might overburden the horse.
Evening came so fast that Soren jumped from the pool in surprise. “I must get back home, but I have to forge the chassis first.”
Konas grabbed a towel that a nearby slave offered. “I'll go ahead. I want to talk to Lord Itenu about some things, and you don't need my help with a simple bit of metal bending, do you?” He winked at Soren.
Indeed, compared to the construction of the winch and all its fine moving parts, the construction of the chassis was child's work.
“Go ahead.” Soren waved Konas off. “I'll see you there.”
Soren worked until the moons rose, and once he had the winch mounted to the chassis, he washed his face and hands, mounted his horse, and sped through the city. What a perfect day—he had gotten to make something new in the world, and now he would spend the evening in the perfect company of his sister. All the way home, he thought of how nice it would be to have these weeks with Sillara before she went to the Silbrios to live among a foreign people as their foreign Queen. The thought of her leaving was the only thing that could mar the day's happiness, and though a shadow passed over his mind, he resolved not to dwell on the inevitable but think rather on Sillara's beautiful face. That always cheered him, no matter what circumstance he found himself in. He could be happy in the stinging rain of a nasty sea squall, as long as he held the memory of Sillara close to his heart. Soren's friends had always teased him growing up that he was inseparable from his sister, but he had not begrudged them their sport, for not only was the accusation true, he admitted it proudly. Whose company could be better? Soren and Sillara understood each other completely, communicated so perfectly that often they completed each other's sentences, and held each other in such esteem and easiness that they were, together, as gay as in company, as free as in solitude. They had never been separated until his required military service thrust him from home and out onto the wide sea two years ago. And he had not had the chance to spend any private time with her yet since his return. He kicked his horse's flanks, daring to gallop through Arinport's streets.
Soren reached his father's house with not a few near misses and cries of alarm, but safely he did arrive. He threw the reins of his steed into the stable slave's hand, washed his face once more, and headed inside. Kamen stood in his path.
“Is everything ready?” he asked.
Soren pulled up to keep from slamming into his father in his haste. “Yes, father. Wait until you see what I made.”
Kamen's eyes darkened. “I'm sure it's wonderful.” Soren knew his father loved to hear about his inventions, but he suspected he did so only out of politeness. Kamen was an intelligent man, but he did not have an Ausir mind. “Son,” Kamen continued, “you are two years past your Sunjaa coming of age, and you have reached your Ausir manhood. You need to get married.”
Soren was shocked at the suddenness of the topic. “Why?”
“You have a duty to the Itenu clan to marry and carry on our line.” Kamen's manner was grave, all his looks as serious as Soren had ever seen him. “We thought you were dead—”
“Sillara didn't.” Soren wanted to see his sister, to talk to her, to tell her everything and hear everything from her.
“That's beside the point.” Kamen laid a hand on Soren's shoulder, and his voice softened. “Had you died, our line would have ended.”
Soren could not deny that truth. No more Itenu.
“Your sister will be leaving to marry any day now, and you should do the same, probably before your ship puts to sea again. Why don't you use this trip to see if you could like Merieke? She is the best match for you in Arinport. Besides, it's not as if Darien is going to marry her to Nathen.”
“Darien sees sibling marriage as a vanity of the nobility.”
Kamen smiled fondly. “Yes, that'd be like Darien.”
Soren responded as an obedient son to his father on the subject of marriage. “I will like Merieke if I can, but don't hold your breath. There is no one like Sillara, so how can I settle for second best?”
Kamen snorted. “Must you compare every woman to Sillara?”
“Who is the most perfect woman in the world?” Soren asked.
“Your mother, of course.”
Soren smiled, having expected that answer. “So you are right to say, and so you compare every woman to her.”
A slow smile of understanding crept across Kamen's face.
“Sillara is the most perfect woman in the world to me, and as I am yet unmarried, all potential mates must pass through her lens and suffer from the comparison.”
Kamen threw up his hands. “Just try! If not Merieke, a concubine then.”
Soren presented his father with a low, mocking bow, and Kamen slapped him on his horns. With a shrug, Soren sped off to find his sister. He found her in the garden, on the bench by the western wall. The night was clear, and the moons that rose in the east shone on her face, illuminating it in commingled purple light highlighting her beauty in such a way that Soren was unsure if the brightness of day could discover her natural loveliness more.
The fountain of the Sunjaa fisherman with hand harpoon poised to strike—Ajalira's design, so the figure bore more than a passing resemblance to Kamen—spouted clear water that rained down over the statue's head, across his chest, and down his outstretched arm. Sillara sat on the far side of the fountain, and her white gown, glowing in the moonslight, was obscured from his sight. It was not until he came around the pool that he stopped in his tread, dumbstruck by what he saw. Sillara wore the translucent Sunjaa gown, and all her charms lay only half-concealed beneath the thin fabric. To Soren, who had always seen her in constrictive Ausir fashions, she was naked before him.
Though he said nothing but only stood and stared, Sillara was soon aware of his presence, and she ran to him. She threw her arms around him, and Soren hugged her back, vividly aware of the press of her breasts, the curve of her back, and the warmth of her stomach against him. Soren, being clad only in a thin Sunjaa skirt, dwelt on just how little separated his cock from her pussy. He stared at her falcon tattoo over her heart, diving as if it would snatch her heart from her breast.
Sillara was flushed and excited, but Soren also detected a bit of embarrassment coming from her.
“What happened?” he asked. “I noticed earlier today that you were excited. So what happened to excite you?”
Sillara bowed her head shyly and took Soren by the hand. “Sit, brother, and let me tell you.” She led him on, and Soren seized the moment of her turning away toward the bench to reach up in his under cloth and adjust the angle of his stiffening cock. Of course Sillara was beautiful. Of course her sexual charms outstripped any woman's in the kingdom—in the world. Why should Soren be therefore s
o flustered?
“First tell me of your day,” Sillara said, placing her hands in Soren's lap.
Soren nonchalantly took her hands, held them, and moved them to her own lap before she felt the rising of his cock. He held her hands there as he told her all about his day, about his new winch design, and about how fun it was to work side by side with Konas on such an exciting project.
“I'm glad he's here in Arinport,” Soren said, “for besides you, there is no one with whom I can share my Ausir ideas. But Nathen...”
“What about him?” Sillara's voice cracked in consternation.
“Well,” Soren said, chuckling, “if he'd had his way, I would've gotten no work done today. He started sucking my cock and didn't want to leave off even when Konas arrived.”
Sillara hummed to herself and lowered her eyes. When she looked up again, they shone with mischief.
“All right,” Soren said. “Out with it.”
“Merieke ate my pussy today.”
That was not what Soren expected her to say, and the image of Merieke lying between Sillara's legs licking her pussy inflamed every inch of his body. His nipples hardened as fast as his cock, and as his short skirt tented, he knew there would be no way to hide his erection.
“It was my first time,” Sillara said, “and it was incredible.”
“Give me the details. Who approached whom? How did it start? Merieke eating your pussy...”
Sillara filled Soren's imagination with every erotic thought imaginable. She gave him every detail, and when her story was complete, he knew she had hidden nothing from him. He could almost taste Sillara's nipples. He could smell her arousal on the chilly night air.
“That is so hot, sister.” Soren could not wait until she tried cock. He knew she would love it, and he wanted her to feel every pleasure the world had to offer. He just hoped King Tivanel was good in bed.
Sillara's gaze shifted to the bulge in Soren's skirt, and she smiled.
“Sorry,” Soren said, standing and adjusting his skirt to hide his erection. “It's just that your story was so sexy.”
Sillara rose and hugged Soren, pressing her near-naked body against his. “There is nothing to apologize for, brother. There is no embarrassment between us. Your cock is beautiful, so why should you hide it?”
Chapter Seven
Konas swam in the sea of Sillara’s music. He did not know where she was, but her voice filled every room, and in every room, she sang at a different pitch, so that no matter where you stood in the house, all her voices blended in harmony. The Ausir had told Soren that he had come ahead to speak to Kamen, but the real reason was to sit with Sillara and chat a while. He could not find her, though, but that did not bother him. He was happy to find a bench to sit on in some corridor and just listen. Sillara sang again the song of Elemia and Abbas, and Konas swelled with pride to know that he had taught her their history. For a woman who had never loved and known a man, she sang their story with such truth that Konas sat entranced. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the music and did not realize until long after it had stopped that Sillara’s voice no longer sang in house. It echoed only in his mind, and there it had left its indelible mark. Truly Melara, goddess of song, blessed Sillara. Low talking had replaced the song, and with a sinking feeling Konas recognized Soren’s voice. He was in the garden with Sillara.
Konas watched the entire sibling exchange from the balcony. With a pained realization, he looked down upon their private conversation, their perfect accord into which no one else could be admitted. Sillara and Soren were twins, but there was more to them than that. If anyone knew about this special connection, it was Konas, who had witnessed their birth, had seen how they shared not only one womb but one water, had marveled that only when lying next to each other could their bawling be soothed, something not effected by even their mother’s touch.
Konas leaned forward to get a better view of them, but not so far as to be noticed. Soren was in love with his sister; he desired her, and both of them were oblivious to the attraction. Their mutual connection was so innocent and familiar that Soren did not understand his feelings, and Sillara could not detect them. The Ausir tutor, who believed he loved Sillara more than any brother could, sighed and pulled out Tivanel’s letter. Konas had written to him to know his mind regarding Sillara, whether he wished to alter his will and take the young half-Ausir for his bride.
“Is Kamen Itenu dead?” the letter read. “No? Then by Abrexa's cunt why are you writing me?”
The King still held to his designs to woo and win Ajalira once Kamen, whose lifespan as a man was nothing to an Ausir, was dead and forgotten. Konas was in the unique position of knowing two very important pieces of information, information that he had conveyed to no one, but if he did, the understanding of it would profoundly affect the hearers.
First, he knew that his brother had no intention of marrying Sillara. If he were to tell Sillara’s parents this news, it would have devastating political consequences, since Tivanel’s claim to the throne was not as good as either Soren’s or Sillara’s, ironically. Tivanel promised to marry the daughter of Ajalira and therefore legitimize his throne by creating an heir with Tamari—that is, royal—blood.
The second bit of knowledge Konas held close to his heart was the fact that Tivanel would never have a chance to marry Ajalira, for she would die with Kamen, just as Kamen would die with her. Konas remembered back to the twins’ birth and how Kamen and Ajalira said to one another, “Not you without me, nor I without you.” This was something they must have resolved on years before, and it made sense. Ajalira was practically a full-blooded Ausir, but Kamen would enjoy a mere candle’s breath of life compared to hers. Their life-spans were so different that Ajalira, who Konas could see loved Kamen more than her own life, would waste away through centuries of grief after Kamen’s early and inevitable death. She would have nothing to do but wait for the Burning.
The siblings’ light laughter pulled Konas back from his reverie. Soren loved Sillara, and it would not be long until he realized it himself. If that happened, any chance Konas could have with Sillara would be ruined. How, once she knew, could Sillara deny her brother, whom she loved more than her own life? It sickened Konas to think that under Sunjaa law, Soren could actually marry Sillara. He wished they were in the Silbrios, where brother-sister marriage was unthinkable. Konas set his jaw, folded the letter, and turned on his heel. He fled the Itenu estate without ever talking with Kamen. He had come to see Sillara, just to see her, but Soren had spoiled his view. The memory of the good time Konas had spent with Soren today turned bitter in his jealousy. He resolved on a desperate gamble and made for his own house.
Along the way, his confrontational thoughts turned from Soren and softened as Sillara came into focus. Konas had been by her side her entire life, teaching her everything she knew, sharing with her more than anyone else, save her brother. And when Soren had left, Konas had been alone with Sillara for two years. They had grown as close as they ever had been during that time, but Soren’s sudden and victorious return seemed to make her forget her teacher altogether. What Konas needed was to get her alone, just as they had been when Soren was at sea. He needed her undivided attention, and then she would open up to him again. Soren had been back only a day, and already Konas missed Sillara. He missed walking with her in the garden debating philosophy. He missed the meeting of their minds, and although Konas admitted to himself that she was cleverer than he, he did not mind. He loved the way she spoke and the way she thought. Sillara had a peculiar way of looking at the world that charmed him, and this Sillara—the one who excelled at her studies—was the one only Konas saw.
The Ausir smiled to himself, and the happy thought put a spring in his step. Yes, there were parts of Sillara that only Konas knew. He would get her alone, and all would be well. He would unfold his heart to her, for Tivanel had no love for her. If she would have him, Konas would promise his entire life in the service of her love.
Konas’s steward
met him at the door and bowed.
“Go into the garden,” Konas said as he stopped to wash his hands in a basin. “You’ll find a tarp near the southwest corner of the wall. Under it is a large folded piece of black … fabric.” He knew the slave would not understand what it precisely was, and he was not inclined to explain. “Bring it, with a few hands to help, onto the front porch, and load it on my camel. I’m taking it with me tomorrow.”
The steward nodded, bowed, and walked away, snapping her fingers to summon help.
Konas had no fear for that part of his balloon, for the slaves could not damage it by mishandling it. But the rest—the basket and the torch—Konas would see to himself. It had been years since Konas had used the device, and he found the torch covered in dust, buried in some obscure spot in a back room. He brushed off the tall, perforated metal cylinder and inspected it. The torch—his own private invention—was rarely used, except for in case of dire emergency, for it heated up to dangerous intensity and would easily burn the occupants of the basket if they drew too close. Instead, Ausir balloons rose and fell by the sun’s rays alone, for the black surface absorbed the heat and caused the balloon to fly. To vary speed and altitude, Konas could raise the black panels, exposing swaths of white surface to the sun, thus lowering the balloon. With pride Konas thought of the device, for he knew how impressed Sillara would be to ride in it and see how masterfully he piloted it. In his mind’s eye, he already saw Sillara’s amazement at its lift-off. He saw how the sun illuminated her face, how the wind tousled her black hair around her golden horns. The chilly air above the clouds would bring a bloom to her cheeks, and Konas would kiss the tip of her cold nose.
Konas had everything packed into a mule-drawn cart and prepared for the morrow’s departure. Then he hand-picked four pleasure slaves, two male and two female, choosing the best his house had to offer. He instructed them to pack trunks for a four-week journey. They were to bring clothes, toys, instruments, candles, and every good thing that facilitated their work. He dismissed his own attendants, saying he was content with the pleasure slaves attending to him.
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