The Lotus Ascension

by Adonis Devereux

  “Sillara—”

  “We should go over these histories anyway.” Sillara picked up the first parchment. “We have perhaps two hours before the light will dim enough to remove your bandages.”

  Konas nodded, still groaning slightly, and Sillara began to read aloud to him from a parchment. It was easy, for it was written in ancient Sunjaa.

  Two hours later, Sillara laid aside the last one. “Abrexa have mercy.”

  “From your mouth to the goddess's ears.” Konas reached out for Sillara and pulled her onto his lap once again. “I could not understand all of what you read, for though my grasp of ancient Fihdal is sufficient, ancient Sunjaa is not something I have studied much.”

  Sillara smiled, thinking how strange it was that she should know more than her tutor, but then, it was not so strange. Ancient Sunjaa had been assigned to Soren to study, and she had learned it by copying his lessons.

  “It is clear enough that Tambril was a half-Ausir from the uttermost east, and he was the guide of a group of men who fled that original birthplace of Men. Those people became the Fihdal and Vadal nations, but some small number of them continued farther south until they reached the Sunjaa—”

  “Who were already an ancient nation then.” Konas pressed his lips to her hair. “I remember reading of the arrival of the Fihdal and Vadal in the west, and it was before I was born. It was in the days of Lord Kan-Terak Seranimesti, the husband of the first Sillara.”

  Sillara, glad not to think of their predicament, asked, “And who was she, for you have never mentioned her in all your histories of the Seranimesti House?”

  “She did not have any children,” said Konas. “She was the young bride of Lord Kan-Terak Seranimesti, and she was murdered within two years of their wedding. She spoke in defense of a wild stranger who had thrown himself on her mercy, but she spoke unknowingly for the son of the greatest traitor the Ausir have ever known. For her speech, she was cut down by one who had been present at the battle.”

  Sillara kissed Konas's lips. “So she was a sweet memory to her lord, but not the mother of his children.”

  “Exactly.” Konas returned her kiss with fervor. “But I hope for more from my own Sillara.”

  She laughed then, enjoying the feel of Konas's hands roving over her body. “And this Tambril, he was apparently the son of that same wild man, descended of the Traitor, and he led the ones who would one day be the Desertmasters down past where the Fihdal and Vadal founded their 'empires', to the Sunjaa. And they were cast out.”

  Konas, despite not being able to see, began untying Sillara's breast-covering by touch alone. “Of course they were. They were obviously cast out for interbreeding. The Sunjaa have grown somewhat accustomed to mixed blood due to King Jahen, but they still do not accept it.”

  Sillara pressed her hungry pussy down on the hard ridge of Konas's arousal. “They are less accustomed to it than you think, Konas. A King's choice of wife is limited by what is best for his people. His Grace was not permitted to take to wife—or as concubine—anyone other than a full-blooded Sunjaa. He would have liked to wed Merieke, or doubtless even myself, but we were not permissible brides. Furthermore, his mother's name was recorded, not as Aramina, but as Aramineke.”

  “They wrote her down as Sunjaa?” Konas's shock was so great that he paused in his untying.

  “For the Sunjaa, as a thing is written, so it is. For history, His Grace's mother will have been Sunjaa.”

  “And they cast out the Desertmasters, along with any Sunjaa who had interbred with them, and sent them west.”

  “To die,” said Sillara. “For west there is nothing.”

  “But they made a life here.”

  “Thanks to Tambril's skills, yes.”

  “And these Desertmasters have twisted the Sunjaa pride of blood into a pride of half-blood, and as Tambril was half-Ausir—”

  “He took to wife a Sunjaa woman,” said Sillara. “And their son ruled until his death. He died without issue, however, and there is no Ausir blood left among the Desertmasters.”

  “They will never let us go.” It was a statement, not a question, and Konas's voice was low.

  “But Soren will come for me,” said Sillara. “We must just be patient.”

  Konas captured Sillara's nipple in his mouth then, and Sillara pushed all thoughts of the Desertmasters from her. Instead she thought only of the exquisite pleasure Konas's skilled tongue was giving her. When he moved to the other breast, she reached up and loosed his blindfold.

  And Konas stopped still, staring up at her face as though he had never seen it before.

  “Goddess,” he whispered. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling over the shape of it, kissing her brow, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. “My love, my wife.”

  Sillara responded in kind, for some deep hunger in her seemed about to be fulfilled. She took in Konas's face, his fair skin, his glowing green eyes, his long, golden locks. He was beautiful, she knew, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, apart from Soren. And comparing a man to Soren is hardly fair. She pushed a wayward lock back from his brow, untangling it from his high, black horn.

  “I love you,” said Konas. “So very much.”

  Sillara did not speak; she acted. She brought her mouth crashing down on his, tasting his sweetness. Without breaking their kiss, she pulled up the loincloth he wore, Desertmaster-fashion, and grabbed hold of his throbbing cock. Konas moaned into her mouth, and Sillara adjusted herself over him. Then, with a swiftness that seemed to shock even her orgy-master husband, Sillara sat down on his hard shaft, taking it all the way inside her.

  Once seated, she released Konas's lips and began to rock back and forth, feasting her eyes on his face.

  “My love, my love,” said Konas. His hands wandered from her breasts, sliding between their bodies to be dipped in her overflowing wetness. When his fingers were coated in her cum, he moved around to her ass.

  And still she rode him, still gazing into his adoring and beautiful face, still kissing his face as he had kissed hers. Her pussy she tightened around his shaft, holding his cock as though she held it in her fist. She had, she knew, much control of her body, and she used it to please Konas.

  Konas's finger, his middle one, the longest, slipped into her ass, filling that hole as well, and Sillara spasmed in her pleasure. White stars of delight burst behind her eyes, and she bucked against Konas, pressing both his cock and his hand deeper inside her.

  “My sweet,” she said, kissing his lips once more. She gave into the kiss, letting her tongue seek out the nectar hidden in his mouth.

  Konas kept his gaze fixed on hers even as his cock thrust up with the pace of her downward motions.

  Sillara knew then that what Konas was seeking, he could not find, not in this slow, gentle sex, and as for herself, she knew that same longing she had hoped would be fulfilled had not been. Konas's sex was magnificent, but still Sillara was left wanting, wanting something for which she had no name. She closed her eyes. Soren would know. When he came for her, she would ask him. But in the meantime, she would make certain that Konas did not miss a single pleasure.

  “Fuck my ass.” Sillara bent her head to whisper in Konas's ear. She followed her words by slowly, teasingly nibbling on his earlobe, tracing the skin all the way up to the hypersensitive tip. As she nipped at the top of Konas's ear, he shoved her off him, his chest heaving.

  “Abrexa in flesh.” Konas's words were a growl, and he stood, his cock dripping with her cum, and swept Sillara up into his arms.

  Sillara promptly began to wriggle away, and the saucy look she threw Konas affected him just as she had hoped it would. Konas grabbed her by the hips and held her. He sat back down, lifting her up over his lap. Her legs were kept open by being on either side of Konas's lap. He held her, however, up high enough over him that her feet could find no purchase on the floor. He looked up into her face, and the love she saw there cut her to the quick. She resolved to give him all the pleasure he could accept.

/>   Teasingly, she reached up and cupped her own breasts, kneading them in her hands for Konas's enjoyment.

  “Abrexa.”

  Sillara caught Konas's murmur, and she howled as he slammed her down onto his lap, shoving his cock into her ass. The burning pain of his cum-slick cock penetrating her, deeply, deeply, sent the shivers of orgasm all through Sillara, and she rocked back and forth in his lap, leaning forward and burying his face in her breasts. Konas roared then and began to thrust upward. Sillara locked her heels around his back and pushed against him with all her strength. Sweat dripped from her brow onto Konas's golden hair, and Sillara knew he was close.

  “My goddess.” Konas looked up from her breasts into her eyes. He was still looking into her face when at last she felt his cock surging in his climax. As his hot seed shot deep inside her ass, Sillara felt her orgasm gripping her once again.

  But when she lay on his shoulder, sweating and dripping with both his cum and her own, she knew that when he slept she would be vainly attempting to satisfy herself again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sillara’s impatience woke Soren before dawn. Or was it his own? Sillara was his first thought as he lay wrapped in his wool blanket; she had been his last thought before ever-elusive sleep at last had claimed him. Soren stepped out of his tent in the chill of the dark morning and stretched to his full height, wiggling his fingers at the stars as they winked out one by one, outshone by the spreading glowworm. He turned east and let the grey light wash over him. The sun could not rise fast enough. Today Soren would take a balloon and steer it west, and he would find Sillara, hold her in his arms, and bring her home.

  The ruffling of a tent flap caused Soren to turn around. Nathen, too, emerged from the tent, yawned and stretched. Soren had hoped for a few minutes of peace where he might luxuriate in his thoughts of the day, of a journey that would bring him closer to his beloved sister. No, Nathen was up, too, and his bright smile and eager eyes told Soren that he would be going as well.

  “We’re going to find her.” Nathen’s white teeth shone in the pre-dawn gloom. “She’ll be so happy to finally be rescued.”

  And Nathen fancied himself the rescuer, like some hero in a story saving the damsel in distress. Truly, he was more enamored of her than any man Soren had ever seen enamored of a woman. It would have been better if she had not sung that song at his welcome party. Soren cast his memory back further and realized that all the song had done was give Nathen love’s boldness. He had always fancied her, for when they were boys, before they went to sea, Soren remembered how Nathen would hang around Sillara in the garden any chance he could get.

  Soren kept his gaze fixed on the flat eastern horizon. Beyond the desert was the sea, and beyond that the Silbrios, home of the Ausir people and Sillara’s future husband. Suddenly, Soren did not want to see the ocean ever again. He loved the freedom of sailing and the smell of the sea, but his time in the navy had always been colored by his separation from his sister. They were twins, and they shared their feelings through some inexplicable link. How could Soren enjoy anything without his beloved sister by his side?

  Nathen, probably waiting for his friend to speak, said nothing while Soren sank back into thought. Finally, after a long pause, Nathen continued. “You have to help me get her.”

  Soren shifted his gaze to Nathen’s face, who now watched the sunrise. “Who?”

  The sun broke the horizon and flooded Nathen’s face with light. His eyes shone and watered at the brilliance. “Sillara.” Her name was a reverent whisper in his mouth.

  Soren missed the sunrise, so shocked was he by Nathen’s bold admission. He just stared at his friend as the air heated up. Sillara? The presumption of the demand stole Soren’s speech. His heart burned at Nathen’s words, and Soren was glad he did not have to say what he really thought. Nathen was nowhere near good enough for Sillara. As a gnat flies before the sun and is swallowed up in that distant orb’s radiance, so would Nathen be if he stood by Sillara’s side as her husband. It would be laughable. There could be no equality between them. Nathen would fly before her for only the briefest of moments before she consumed him with the fires of her resplendent soul.

  “What’s so funny?” Nathen asked.

  Soren wiped from his face the smile he had not known he was making. “Nothing. It’s just that she’s betrothed to King Tivanel.” For some reason, this thought annoyed him as much as the idea of Nathen marrying Sillara. No man was good enough for his illimitable sister, because no one understood her the way Soren did. “She’s belonged to him since the day we were born.”

  Nathen shrugged. “I heard he wooed your mother before.”

  “Wooed, but he failed to win her.”

  “Still, it seems he was more interested in her than in a baby that wasn’t even born yet.”

  “But now she’s a woman.” Soren struggled to keep annoyance out of his voice. “Babies grow up.”

  “But they’ve never met.”

  Soren could not win against a man so blindly in love. “I’ve got to get my balloon ready.” He walked off.

  As Soren attached the thin, supple ropes of the silk balloon to the basket, the camp came alive around him. Soon slaves scurried here and there, the splashing sounds of people bathing reached Soren’s ears, and Ausir worked grim-faced on readying their balloons. Their displeasure was clear. They did not want to be here, but they had not been given a choice. Kamen brought them whether they wanted to come or not. Soren found it strange that these Ausir did not want to help in finding their future Queen, but he said nothing to them. When they looked at him with their cold, hard eyes, he merely bowed and smiled back at them. They just stared and returned to their work. Perhaps they were angry that Soren commandeered one of their balloons, but Soren was determined to find Sillara first. He would not let anyone take that glory from him.

  “I want to go with you.” Merieke’s voice startled Soren, and he hit his head against the side of the basket.

  Soren popped up from inside the basket, amazed afresh at how silent Merieke could be. She and Nathen were both like their mother in many ways—sneaky and cunning. “What?”

  “I’m going with you. I won’t let the boys have all the fun.” Merieke leaned over the edge of the basket so that her tits pressed against the handle. Her thin, translucent linen gown hugged every curve of her body, a body Soren was getting to know quite well.

  “There’s room for three.” Soren stepped back against the far side to let Merieke see just how big the basket was.

  Merieke reached out and grabbed Soren by the belt. She pulled him toward her, and she reached up under his skirt. “Is there enough room in here to have some fun?” She stroked his fast-hardening cock with skill that surpassed any pleasure slave’s.

  Soren chuckled and bit her upper lip as he kissed her playfully. “I’m sure we can make room.”

  Merieke looked up at Soren with twinkling eyes. She wanted to fuck. Now. But she was prevented. Soren’s cock would find no purchase this morning.

  A slave came over and bowed before Merieke.

  “What do you want?” Her annoyance was clear.

  The slave bowed again. “Your father wants to see you.”

  Merieke turned back to Soren and pouted. “All right, young Itenu.” She kissed the end of his nose. “We’ll get back to this later.”

  Soren smiled as she walked off, swaying her hips one at a time. He liked her playfulness, but he was on a mission, and nothing would distract him.

  Just as Soren put the finishing touches on his balloon, Darien’s body slave rushed up to him. Between pants, he said, “My master requires your presence.”

  “Now?”

  The slave nodded. “At once, if you be at leisure.”

  What did Darien want to see him about? What could be so urgent? Soren dropped the ropes and secured the silk balloon against the desert floor with large rocks. Then he followed the slave into Darien’s tent.

  Nathen, Merieke, Orien, and Darien were all s
tanding there. Nathen wore a mischievous smirk, Merieke smiled, and Darien fumed. Soren almost did not step into the tent, so hostile was Darien’s attitude. And a hostile Darien was not someone anyone wanted to be around. Darien might be near sixty years of age, but Soren did not want to test his strength against the dragon of the sea, the living legend of Arinport’s pride. Darien could probably crush him with one arm.

  Behind Soren stepped in Kamen and Ajalira. Something serious had happened or was going to happen, but all Soren could think about was Sillara. The sun was up, and he wanted to fly, but what with everyone assembled, they were all going to have some long-winded conference or something.

  “What’s up?” Soren’s question shattered the pregnant silence.

  “Son,” Darien said with a growl in his voice.

  Nathen stepped up and presented everyone in the tent with a wax tablet.

  “You dared take my daughter as your concubine without asking my permission?” Darien asked through gritted teeth. His clenched hands rested against his thighs.

  “What?” Soren looked from Darien to Nathen. He even looked over his shoulder at his parents. “What?”

  Darien took a threatening step forward. “Don’t act the fool, whelp.”

  Merieke took her father’s elbow and pulled him back. “Peace, father. He is the noble scion of the Itenu House, a good and brave man.” Her voice worked like an enchantment over Darien’s rage, and he calmed. Merieke’s eyes twinkled again, and her eyebrows shot up as she locked gazes with Soren.

  Soren took the tablet and scrutinized it. It was a contract of concubinage, and it bore Soren’s signature in his own hand. Nathen was listed as witness.

  “Why have you not openly taken my daughter?” Darien asked. “To sign a contract and not make it public? Are you not Sunjaa?”

  Soren considered himself more Sunjaa than Ausir, for though he loved craft and mechanical devices like the Ausir, his heart was Sunjaa. Confusion still clouded Soren’s thoughts, and he needed a minute to think. The wax tablet bore his signature—in his own hand—but he had never signed a contract of concubinage for Merieke. What was going on? And then it hit him. Soren stared at Nathen, and Nathen only nodded back with a slight smile on his face. The game of senet. Nathen had asked Soren to keep score. Soren had written his and Nathen’s name into a wax tablet, no doubt the same signature Nathen had later copied to make this forgery. Soren glanced over at Merieke. She was the cat who had gotten into the cream.