Merieke’s love for Soren was as clear as the sun which rose over their heads outside. She wanted him, and so she must have worked together with Nathen to ensnare Soren in their little scheme. They forged the contract to force Soren to take her. How could he refuse? If he denied the validity of the document, Darien would doubtless find out that Soren had fucked Merieke. She had escaped that night and returned to the orgy. Darien would accuse Soren of having made defeat of her virginity—which he had not, Nathen had had it—and the enraged father might kill Soren for defiling his daughter. All Arinport knew how Darien protected Merieke, the very image of her dead mother. The existence of the contract was the only thing keeping Soren unkilled.
Nathen and Merieke had played this beautifully, and Soren had to accept it. He did not mind so much. After all, Merieke was the best lover he had ever had. She was funny, interesting, and sexy. He just wished she had asked him first. Did she fear his rejection so much that she had to resort to such tactics? Perhaps her love was that strong, like the way Nathen obsessed over Sillara. There was nothing to be done except claim the contract as his own.
“I didn’t make it public yet, Admiral, sir,” Soren said, “because of my sister’s predicament. I thought to unveil our joy after the rescue and therefore celebrate it properly.”
Darien’s fury cooled, and the murder that had been burning in his eyes faded. “Very well.” He clenched his jaw several times. “You shall marry her, of course.”
Soren’s gut reaction was to cry out that he would do nothing of the sort, but he held his tongue. “I’ll consider it.”
“Consider it?” Darien’s roar filled the tent, and everyone fell back. The old Admiral was a giant among men.
But Soren was undaunted. “Yes, sir. Right now I just want to get my sister back home safely. Then I can think about marrying your daughter. I don’t want to rush things. You can appreciate that, sir.”
Darien narrowed his eyes. “I guess. Was this contract legally drafted?”
If Soren said yes, Darien would ask for details of time and place. Soren could lie, but if he were later discovered, Darien would be enraged. Soren could not say anything about the orgies, because Darien would murder him, son of a friend or no. Itenu or no. So Soren decided on the safe bet.
“No, sir. Nathen signed it, but there were no witnesses.”
“Then get to it, boy.” Darien held his long arms out in a gesture to move everyone out of the tent.
Soren could not understand his own feelings. Why did he not want to marry Merieke? Why make the excuses? She was the only daughter of the Kesandrahn House. She was noble, beautiful, witty, great in bed, and their parents were best friends. She was great for him, but something held him back. Every instinct told him that he would be making a mistake.
“Witness penetration and then leave,” Darien said to Nathen. “I want to talk to you before you go.”
Once everyone save Soren, Merieke, and Nathen were out of the tent, Merieke pressed herself against Soren and laid her hands on his chest. “Don’t mind my father. He’s a pain in the ass sometimes. After all, your mother is a concubine, and my mother was, too.”
“Yes,” Soren said, looking down into Merieke’s eyes, “but why the elaborate trap?”
Merieke’s lips pouted, though her eyes danced. “Don’t think of it as a trap. Think of it more like a catapult.” She licked and nibbled his nipple. “I’ve propelled you forward into something you would’ve done eventually anyway. We’ve fucked. I was already your concubine in here.” She traced a circle around his heart.
To Soren, it had been sex—great sex—but just sex. Merieke wanted more. Soren looked over his shoulder at Nathen. “And you?” What was his excuse?
“As I’ve helped you get your beautiful desert flower, I hoped you’d help me get mine.”
Blood rushed through the channels of Soren’s ears, and his anger tore through him like a wild beast seeking escape. He ripped Merieke’s dress from her body, leaving her standing suddenly naked in the middle of the tent. Merieke squealed in delight, mistaking Soren’s wrath for unbridled desire. He would fuck Merieke; he would take her for his concubine, but he would never help Nathen get Sillara. He would kill him first.
Soren roughly kissed Merieke’s mouth, swallowing her moans. He reached down between her legs and felt her spreading warm wetness. He lubricated his forefingers and thumbs on both hands, then reached up and pinched her nipples. She cried out, and he growled. He rolled her hard nipples around with his slick digits, priming her for a savage fucking. This was one time he would not be attentive; he would not live up to his reputation. Merieke wanted him this bad? Well, she was going to get him—and more.
Soren bent down and thrust his arms between Merieke’s legs, turning his elbows out to hook behind her knees. With one swift movement, he lifted her off her feet and held her before him, her legs over his arms, her arms around his neck. Merieke’s brown eyes shone in anticipation. She licked her lips and whined.
Soren crushed her against his muscular body and slammed her down on his cock. The rock-hard head of his penis smashed against her cervix, and she howled her pleasure. Soren thrust up into her as far as he could go, and with growls he bit her throat and shoulders. Merieke’s legs flailed, and Soren felt her vagina grow hot. Her cum flowed down his shaft and coated his balls. It was good she liked it rough, because that was the only way she was going to get it.
Merieke hugged Soren’s neck and held on for the ride. Soren fucked her until his heart burned hot within him and he thought it might burst. He walked over to a pallet and fell onto it without taking himself out of Merieke. One fluid movement brought them down face to face. Soren put his shoulders behind her thighs and forced her knees up to her ears. He pounded into her bare, wet pussy with renewed vigor until she came again and again. And he did not stop to give her time to recover. She wept so much that the kohl which darkened her eyes ran like black streams into her black hair.
“What do you want from me?” Soren asked, sweat dripping onto her forehead from the end of his nose.
Merieke reached up and tweaked his nipples. “I want your cum.”
Was that all? She had misinterpreted the question, but Soren gave her what she wanted. He stopped mid-thrust, groaned, and emptied his seed into her. He noticed Nathen still stood in the corner, jacking off.
“Get out,” Soren said, his voice low and dangerous.
Nathen dropped his skirt over his erection and fled.
Chapter Seventeen
Konas rose from bed and dressed while Sillara still slept. She had stayed up much later than he, for at one point when he turned over and awoke for a moment, he heard Sillara moaning through her closed lips. The bed shook slightly as she masturbated. Konas had fucked her thoroughly, collapsing his sweaty body atop hers. She had been panting, and when she looked up at him, her eyes had glowed with satisfaction. So Konas had bathed and fallen into bed, ready for sleep. He thought Sillara had been ready, too, and she acted as if she would go to sleep. But she was insatiable—she was searching for something. As an orgy master, Konas had seen plenty of couples with problems, but with a little help from him, they had gotten on just fine. He had helped many customers realize what they liked, and they left his parties as better lovers. Sillara ached for something more, something different, and Konas thought he had discovered it with their close fucking and their intimate face time with whispers of love in her ear. She had come multiple times, and she had hugged him against her breasts as she squeezed his sides with her thighs. Konas had never felt closer to anyone, and he had nearly wept with the joy of knowing he could give his wife such pleasure. But now he was not so sure. Some need within Sillara still went unsatisfied.
Konas sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling strands from his branching horns. Sillara lay like a vision, her black hair splayed out like a dark sunrise on her pillow, her golden horns crowning her dark beauty with an exotic touch. There were no black Ausir,
yet another thing that Konas loved about her distinctiveness. Not as distinct as he thought, however, for Soren looked just like her. There was one other in Gilalion who shared the graces of her birth.
Standing and stretching, Konas was determined to put Soren from his mind. He would not let that young sailor poison another of his days. He seemed to be dwelling on Soren recently, a subject that upset him as much as any he knew. He looked back; Sillara's eyes were still closed against the morning light that weakly streamed through the heavy curtains. The shower was against the far wall, and Konas availed himself of the running water, a luxury Arinport did not have. Konas took a proprietary pride in Tambril's City, for it was built on Ausir principles of design and engineering. It was a nice prison, but a prison nonetheless.
Konas let Sillara sleep. He had business in town, and he thought it best to see Vaelus away from Sillara. So far these people did not realize that Konas and Sillara were married. Maybe they thought he was her steward or her escort. Maybe they thought he was her father. After all, she was not as dark as a full-blooded Sunjaa, so she had to have one light-skinned parent. And she was half Ausir. Whatever the Desertmasters thought, Konas was not about to disabuse them of their mistaken notions. They displayed an uncomfortable possessiveness of Sillara, so Konas did not want to awaken their jealousy. Who knew what they might do?
A bright, hot morning greeted Konas when he stepped into the street. Two guards stood on his doorstep. They wore the typical loincloth and cloak combination, which Konas rolled his eyes at. All this Ausir technology, and they wore animal skins. Tambril dying without issue was the worst thing that could have happened to the Desertmasters, for they worshiped the idea of the Ausir, benefited from their technology, but knew nothing about them or how to care for what was left behind. Without Sillara's help, they would have still been drinking poisoned water.
The guards bowed to Konas, showing him the same respect he received all over the city. Though he was a pure-blood, the fact that he was Ausir went far with the Desertmasters. Had he been of mixed blood and yet still Ausir, doubtless they would fawn and scrape before him they way they did with Sillara. They were a most unfortunate people, for they had retained their ideas of racial purity which they had inherited from their Sunjaa ancestors, yet they had perverted it to apply to those of mixed blood.
“I wish to speak to Vaelus,” Konas said, squinting against the morning glare.
The guards cocked their heads in confusion. Konas wished he had the mastery of tongues that Sillara had, or at the very least had studied ancient Sunjaa.
“Vaelus.” Konas pointed at his chest and then made walking fingers.
The guards smiled and nodded. They led the way. Every street Konas walked down was filled with people who stared at him, his high horns, his pale skin. Some bowed before him as he passed, but mostly people just gawked. Konas was used to the attention, being as he was one of only a few Ausir in Arinport, but this attention was somehow different. It was not hostile, but it was not disinterested like the onlookers of Arinport.
Konas was escorted to the town square where the well stood within a ring of palm trees. He had been here two weeks, but he still could not get used to an unused well. In Arinport, wells were places where people loitered, spoke, did business, or just relaxed, because people always came to the wells to draw water. But here in Tambril's City, water was pumped directly to everyone's homes, so the well was nothing more than a large, subterranean container. Vaelus stood over the well lowering a chain into it. He was checking the depth, something he did every day.
Konas cleared his throat. His vocabulary was limited, but he had to try to get his point across to Vaelus. “Good morning.”
Vaelus looked up. When he saw Konas, he held up his hand. Konas waited until the depth of the well was ascertained.
Vaelus handed off the chain to a nearby helper, sprang off the well which he straddled, and walked over to Konas. He said something long and complicated, but the only words Konas could understand were “city”, “Queen”, and “sleep”.
“Yes, Queen.” Konas turned his head and put his hands flat against the side of his face. He closed his eyes.
Another string of words.
Konas did not have the patience. He found it infuriating that he had to deal with these savages at all. “Queen, I, go.” He pointed east.
“Go?” Vaelus shook his head.
The guards grumbled.
“Go,” Konas repeated. “Others come, east.” He pointed again. “Big swords. Queen family.”
A one-word interrogative. Konas did not understand.
“Mean?” Konas asked.
Vaelus repeated the word and ran his finger across his neck.
Konas repeated the word. “Kill?”
Vaelus nodded.
“Yes. Queen family. Angry. Kill. Queen, I, go.”
“No!” Vaelus shouted. Konas then pieced together that Vaelus did not care if Konas left, but he would not let Sillara go.
“Why?”
She was the Queen. To the Desertmasters, that explanation was clear and as unassailable as the blazing sun. Konas wished a fleet of Ausir balloons would sail in and annihilate these people.
Through another bout of hand waving and new vocabulary, Konas was shocked to learn that the Desertmasters would fight to keep her here and would kill her themselves rather than let her go. And Konas learned a new word: daughter. Konas's suspicions were confirmed; they did not know Sillara and Konas were married, instead believing he was her father. Though this mistake pleased Konas on one hand, on the other, it saddened him to realize that her wifely love was not clear enough for a stranger to see. She was affectionate, but those feelings had been misinterpreted as the love of a daughter for her father.
Konas loved Sillara with a passion he could not hide. Why could she not love him the same? But what could he say to her? How could he upbraid the goddess of his idolatry? She was everything he wanted, and the mere affection she showed him could sustain him through the long centuries of life like an ever-flowing fountain in the desert. Sillara was life to him.
Konas tried one last tack. “Queen angry.”
Vaelus shrugged.
Konas clenched his fists by his side. He so wanted to punch Vaelus in the face. Instead he stormed off back to the house the Desertmasters had given them.
When he reached home, he found Sillara singing in the shower. Konas stripped off his clothes and joined her, taking the soap from her and lathering up her body himself. Her skin glowed darkly in the dusty light of the room; the curve of her ass was perfect; her wet lips were made for kissing.
Konas hugged her from behind, pressing her wet, soapy body against his. His cock rose against her buttocks. She smelled like ginger, and the water was warm. The hypocaust beneath the floor that regulated the temperature of the water was not of Ausir design, and Konas decided he would later crawl underneath and see how it worked.
“Where did you go?” Sillara asked, pressing back into him. She reached back and stroked his hair.
“To see Vaelus. I thought I might prevail upon his good sense to let us go. I should've remembered that he doesn't have any.” Konas did not mention that he was already allowed to leave anytime he wanted.
Sillara did not laugh at the joke. She said nothing but cupped water in her hands to splash on her face.
Konas turned her around and held her in his arms. “It's possible they'll never let us go.”
Sillara's eyes were already red. She had been crying. At this news, her tears flowed from her eyes, joining with the water already standing in beads on her skin. She fell against Konas's chest, and he rubbed his hands up and down her soapy back.
Konas sensed why she cried: she would never see Soren again, and she missed him more than she was saying. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as he could, bending even his shoulders over her to envelop her. He wished he could hug her until she disappeared, and then he, too, could go to that secret place where it was only her
and him forever. Sillara was not in love with Soren the way Soren was in love with her—of that Konas was sure. But if Soren asked Sillara, she would fall in love with him, and Konas would know only despair. That he feared above all things, even being trapped in this city for the rest of his life.
“Don't cry, my wife.” Konas titled her face up to his and kissed her lips. “I will make you forget your captivity.” He stepped off the flat, cemented stones and dried off. “Finish your shower, my love. I'll set things up for a day you won't forget.”
Sillara smiled through her tears and turned back to face the showerhead, a circular depression in the wall from which thin jets of warm water sprayed. She sang a wordless melody that nearly broke Konas's heart, but Konas rallied and went to fetch the centerpiece of his plan.
A few moments later, he wheeled in his traveling statue of Abrexa, flanked by her lovers Kiltarin and Faloth. He set a brazier before it and filled it with shards and splinters of dry wood. Once the fire burned low in the copper basin of the brazier, Konas crushed shalar blossoms in his hand and sprinkled them in the fire. Their scent would fill the room soon, and once Sillara breathed deep of their fragrance, she would forget her sadness. She would forget Soren.
Konas's scalp tingled, and he waved Sillara over to him. She came to him dripping, and he pulled her warm body against him. She nibbled at his neck and rubbed his buttocks. Suddenly her shoulders stiffened as she took a deep breath. Then her entire body relaxed into his, and she let out a long, low moan. The shalar flower was working. Konas felt its influence coursing through his body, too. He wanted to stretch; he wanted to touch every part of Sillara. Colors were brighter and in greater contrast, so Sillara's dark eyes had never been more beautiful. Her horns had never shone so brightly against the black, wet masses of her hair. As he hugged her, he rubbed her back up and down. She did the same, and they fell to kissing. Not just on the mouth, but around the mouth, down the chin and neck, across each other's shoulders and chests.
The Lotus Ascension Page 18