The Lotus Ascension

by Adonis Devereux

  ****

  “Are you really going through with this coronation, Soren?”

  Sillara was so shocked by the fear in Merieke's voice that she nearly spilled the juice she was pouring out.

  “If I were not, I would certainly have told them before the day of the ceremony.” Soren took his mug from Sillara's hand, and he smiled at her.

  Sillara returned the smile. These past five days had been, though in some ways painful, in others very like their childhood days, except with more chores. “They say it is the will of the gods, of Abrexa in particular, that Soren be their King. And I must say that they show excellent judgment, for who could be a better King?”

  Merieke stroked Soren's thigh. “Who indeed? But why would you want to be the King of such a backward, ignorant, poor people?”

  “They are not backward,” said Sillara.

  “Or ignorant or even poor.” Soren finished her thought.

  “They have an old culture of their own, old as the Fihdal and Vadal and older than the Zenji.”

  Merieke gestured from her own fine linen gown to the Desertmaster garments Sillara wore. “Primitive.”

  “Not really.” Sillara ran her fingers along the embroidery of her loincloth. “They have little in the way of fabric, to be sure, but during the day the temperature requires no more. And their cloaks are lovely.”

  “The poorest girl in Tambril's City has jewelry of wurm's-teeth,” said Soren. “And only the Sunjaa Queen could match them.”

  “They don't even know how to fix their own technology,” said Merieke. “Konas said so himself.”

  “But they have it.” Sillara pointed to the kitchen. “I have water that pours into my basins with the turn of a handle. The Sunjaa do not even have so much.”

  “So you would be willing to leave Arinport forever?” Merieke took both of Soren's hands in hers, and Sillara flinched.

  “Yes,” said Soren.

  “Why?”

  “Because I am not purely Sunjaa.” Soren shook his head. “You, Merieke, can only partly understand. To be sure, you are not pure-blooded like your father, but your mother was a Zenji Lotus. If you had married some purely Sunjaa nobleman, your beauty would more than make up for your lack of Sunjaa blood. Your children would be more Sunjaa than yourself, and you would be able to move among the Sunjaa as an honored, if exotic, woman.”

  Merieke laughed, and to Sillara's shock transferred her clasp from Soren's hands to hers. “And every word he spoke applies to you as well as to me, applies to him as well as to me.”

  “Not really,” said Sillara. She understood Soren's thoughts and shared them. “My brother is not considered merely as a handsome Sunjaa nobleman, nor even as a lovely half-blood. He is not considered a person, no more than I am. We are curiosities, desirable in the same way a gladiator is desirable, but not loveable. We are not people.”

  Merieke's fingers strayed up Sillara's arm, caressing her, and Sillara knew at once that Merieke had some stratagem in mind. “And to the Desertmasters you are people?”

  “We are necessary to them,” said Soren. “It is enough, and it is better than Arinport.”

  Sillara caught Soren's eye, and she knew that he understood. Their location did not matter, so long as they were together.

  “Your Graces!” Chief Priest Vaelus knocked on their door. “The hour is right. May Abrexa's blessing, as well as Veirakai's, well up in you like fountains.”

  Merieke's mouth twisted. “What did he say, sister?”

  “It is time for the coronation.” Sillara detached her hand from Merieke's as she turned to Vaelus. “The King and I are ready.”

  Vaelus bowed and turned to lead them to the great temple-tomb.

  “And what of me?” asked Merieke. “Where am I to stand? What is my place?”

  “You may go with the rest of the crowd to see us crowned, or you may stay here if you like.” Soren smiled at Merieke kindly. “Whichever you prefer.”

  Sillara saw the flicker of Merieke's fury, but it died away almost at once. “Now how could I not be present when my husband is crowned King, even if of a barbaric, savage race?”

  “Master,” said Sillara. “Not husband. You are a concubine.”

  Merieke shrugged, but Sillara knew her words must have stung. “Still, they are mere savages, and their ceremonies are not like the Sunjaa ones.”

  Soren's eyes told Sillara that he felt the same ironic pleasure she did, for were they not Tamari? A race of Ausir who had called themselves “The Savage Ones”?

  Vaelus smiled at Merieke, though Sillara knew he could not speak to be understood. She saw both lust and admiration in Vaelus's looks, and she could have wished Vaelus would speak of love to her former friend. “Please, Your Grace, tell the lovely Merieke that if it pleases her, I can have her seated with the nobles of my house.”

  Sillara relayed his offer, and Merieke nodded.

  The sun was dazzling as Soren and Sillara walked, side by side, behind Chief Priest Vaelus. Merieke trailed behind them, clearly unwilling be left back at the house, but yet not wanting to take a place so obviously inferior to Soren's. When they reached the square, Merieke was escorted to a covered bench on the north side of the square.

  Sillara and Soren were the center of every eye, and Soren took her hand.

  “Sister, did you ever think that when you were crowned Queen, it would be at my side, as my Queen?”

  “No, but no more did I ever think that when I left Arinport, it would be west rather than east.” Sillara pressed Soren's fingers. “I am glad to be your Queen, even if I cannot be all to you that I wish.”

  “I have heard Chief Priest Vaelus speaking of their prophecy, and, Sillara, it fits us.”

  “I know.” Sillara felt a pain in her heart, like a thorn lodged inside her. “And were it not for Konas's deceptions, the goddess's will would have been done.”

  “These Desertmasters have been waiting for us since their founding, and yet one arrogant Ausir can bring the gods' plans to nothing.”

  Vaelus entered the temple-tomb, and Sillara and Soren followed. The door closed behind them, and Sillara welcomed the cool dimness. Ahead of her rose the high stairway leading to Tambril's sarcophagus, and at the foot of the stairs stood two acolytes, each holding a wurm's-tooth crown, white like ivory and strong and glittering like gold.

  “You are the gold-horned Queen promised by the goddess Abrexa, and you are her King come down from the sky.” Vaelus bowed to Sillara first, then to Soren.

  Sillara remembered the words to speak, for she and Soren had both read over the ceremony the day before. “I am your Queen, gold-horned as Abrexa is gold-chained, with the craft of Veirakai in my hand and the passion of his Abrexa in my heart. I swear that I will rule you and serve you as befits a Queen.”

  “I am her King, come down from the sky with law in my right hand and justice in my left, and I swear I will distribute both to you.”

  “I, Chief Priest Vaelus, do accept your oaths on behalf of all the Desertmasters.” He bowed low before them. “And equally on their behalf I do swear to you our fealty from now until your crown passes to your heirs.” Then he straightened up and went to the sarcophagus at the top of the stairs. “Tambril, you were our founder, and we honored you with our city's name. But we have now a King and Queen, and they will now give this city a name of their choosing.” Vaelus bowed to the sarcophagus and returned to Soren and Sillara.

  “What does it please Your Graces to name this your city?”

  Soren did not even have to look at Sillara. He spoke their shared thought. “This city is Tamar.”

  “It means 'Savage',” said Sillara, for Vaelus stared at them blankly. “And it was the name of our mother's clan.”

  “We are the Desertmasters of Tamar,” said Vaelus. “And we serve you.” Then he went to the acolyte on Soren's side. From the acolyte Vaelus took the wurm's-tooth crown, and Sillara smiled at its beauty. It was a light, elegant thing, and it rested on Soren's brow as though it had been
made for him.

  When Chief Priest Vaelus then placed the crown on Sillara's head, she smelled the rich scent of roses and shalar, and she darted a glance at Soren. His wide eyes showed her that he, too, could smell it.

  “Now, Your Graces, we are in your hand. Lead us aright.”

  “We shall.” Soren and Sillara spoke together, and then Vaelus led them up to the high balcony where Sillara had sung in joy at Soren's return.

  “Roses?” whispered Soren as they went. “But there are none in the city.”

  “They have always followed us.” Sillara pressed Soren's hand. “But the shalar?”

  “I have smelled it since I first coupled,” said Soren. “Whenever I smelled roses.”

  They stepped out into the brilliant sunlight, and Soren raised his hand in blessing over their new people.

  Sillara felt tears pricking her eyes. “Oh, brother, I wish I could be your true Queen.”

  “You are my Queen.” Soren turned and pressed his lips to her brow. “The only one I have or ever shall.”

  ****

  “That was tedious,” said Merieke, lounging on a chair as Sillara put the kettle over the fire.

  “I enjoyed the dancing,” said Sillara.

  “Their instruments are unusual.” Soren stretched. “But, sister, before I settle down for supper, I think I will bathe.”

  “I can help—” said Merieke, but Soren interrupted her.

  “No, help Sillara with the supper.” He smiled at Sillara and went upstairs.

  “He's beautiful, isn't he?” Merieke admired Soren's legs as he disappeared. “And he makes even these Desertmaster clothes look good.”

  “He is the most beautiful man in the world.” Sillara had put bread out to rise before breakfast, and it was now ready to be baked. She sprinkled saffron over the dough.

  “Nathen is just as good-looking in a human sort of way,” said Merieke, pouring out mead. “I'm sure that you would like to have him, too.”

  Sillara stared. “What?”

  “I know that you could be happy with Nathen,” said Merieke. “And once he's back, we could all four play together.” Merieke took a slow sip of the mead. “They're both incredible lovers, and you, well, you're great fun, too.”

  Sillara understood then, and she turned quickly, putting the bread into the pan over the fire so that Merieke would not see her face. Even though Sillara doubted Merieke knew of her marriage to Konas, why should Merieke think that Sillara would favor Nathen? Nathen and Merieke had conspired to trap Soren into taking Merieke as his concubine, and Nathen had already begun to use his Lotus-tricks on her. Doubtless that was the reason. They planned to coerce or convince her into accepting Nathen. Merieke's feelings toward Sillara, too, fell into place with that realization. Merieke was not precisely jealous of her. Sillara knew too well what jealousy was to think she saw it in Merieke. No, in Merieke there was wounded pride. She wanted to be Soren's wife and his Queen—Sillara could have laughed at the presumption were it not for her own predicament, her own situation of being Soren's Queen and not his wife. Merieke could sense that Soren desired Sillara, but why should that bother Merieke when she hoped to have both of her favorite lovers, Soren and Nathen, at the same time as Sillara?

  “Mead?” Merieke offered Sillara a mug.

  Sillara took it and drank deeply. She understood Merieke's idea, but she could not grasp why Merieke had such a thought. If Sillara had been the one who had Soren, she would never want to share him or to have any other lover.

  But the memory of Konas's brilliant green eyes sent a shiver of fear up Sillara's spine. He had the rights to her that she wished Soren to have, and when Nathen returned, so, too, would Konas.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A great cry went up in the town, and Soren, who sat in the inner garden with Sillara, ran to the door and looked out. Men and women pointed to the sky. A black balloon was landing just outside town. With his Ausir gift of sight, Soren could see that not only had Konas and Nathen returned, they brought with them broad-shouldered Darien. But his mother and father were not with them. Soren scanned the bright blue sky, but he saw no other balloon, not even to the horizon. Perhaps they were delayed. Could they have been blown off course?

  Sillara joined Soren at the door and hugged him from behind. “What is it?”

  Soren pointed, but he could not speak in his growing annoyance. Now that Konas was back, the Ausir would be pestering Sillara, hanging around her, acting like her wronged husband.

  Sillara encircled his waist and squeezed. “Do not worry, brother. He will never share my bed again.”

  Soren spun around and held Sillara in his arms. Their lips were so close. “But how can you stop him? He’s got marital rights to your body.”

  Sillara smiled. “Am I not Queen? Will not the guards keep him from being alone with me?”

  Soren understood. “So you do not precisely deny him, instead letting the Desertmasters achieve what you want.”

  Sillara nodded, still smiling, her beautiful lips against her white teeth. Soren’s arousal threatened to overwhelm him, so he turned away. He sensed his sister’s frustration, but what could they do? She had given her oath to another man; to break it would be to dishonor themselves, and they loved each other too much to debase each other.

  “I suppose we should go out and meet them.” Sillara’s breath caught. “Wait. I do not see a second balloon. Surely they would need two to get everyone back here.”

  “I didn’t see mother and father. Maybe they got blown off course.” Soren placed Sillara’s wurm-tooth crown of gold on her head, shifting her lovely black ringlets around to situate it perfectly between her horns.

  Sillara fit Soren’s crown into place on his head, though it sat nearer his brow than Sillara’s did. “Konas piloted the other one?”

  Soren nodded. “But mother should have been able to handle her balloon just fine.” He took Sillara by the hand and led her from the house. Though no servants lived within the walls—for the twins enjoyed their privacy and could claim Tamari tradition—guards flanked them immediately when they stepped into the street.

  “You shall be courteous to the newcomer,” Soren said, and the guards bowed their silent obedience.

  Merieke met them near the city square. She broke her run only long enough to jump on Soren. She hung on him and kissed his lips, beaming like a little girl. “Father’s here. All will be well.”

  Once Merieke had run ahead, Soren shook his head. He was not sure how Darien’s presence would get him to marry her, for that, doubtless, was what Merieke wanted above all things. Soren would not be intimidated by his concubine’s father, living legend or no. Here, in this city, Soren was King.

  When they reached the edge of town, they found Darien hugging Merieke. His daughter kissed his cheek repeatedly, and then squeezed him, and then kissed him some more.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, father,” she said.

  Darien stroked her hair. “I’ve missed you, baby girl. They’ve treated you well here?” He set Merieke down and gazed into her eyes, seeming to drink up her image. Everyone knew how the old Admiral felt about his daughter, almost the copy of his dead wife.

  “Tolerably.” Merieke pouted. “But I’d hoped to be Soren’s bride by now. Instead, these savages have made him King of this hellhole, and he’s more concerned with that right now.”

  “Now’s not the best time to press Soren on the topic of marriage.”

  “Why not?”

  Darien looked off toward the gathered buildings and locked eyes with Soren. “Greet your brother.”

  Merieke did so with a long, lingering kiss.

  Soren and Sillara, still hand in hand and surrounded by Desertmasters, came upon the visitors. “It’s good to see you, Admiral,” Soren said.

  Darien stepped forward, and all the Tamari—as Sillara had renamed them in honor of her people—fell back in astonishment. Soren chuckled, for surely they had never seen any man stand as tall as Darien Kesandrahn.r />
  “What’s this?” Darien asked. “You wear a crown?”

  Soren touched the crown. “I have no subjects elsewhere, so I’ve taken these proud people as my own.” He directed his speech to Konas. “But what of my father and mother? I thought you were going to get them, to tell them what was going on.”

  Konas’s face was grave, his lips drawn into a thin line. “We need to talk.”

  Soren looked at Sillara, and he read in her eyes what he already knew. With that look on Konas’s face, and the fact that they were not there, something terrible had happened.

  “Come,” Sillara said. “The King’s house awaits. Come, take your ease and rest from your journey.”

  Soren gripped his sister’s hand. Even with such a weight upon her spirit, she was a gracious Queen. Tears stood in her eyes, but she did not cry either before her subjects in public. The walk home was long, but they waited to hear what their hearts burned to know until they were behind closed doors.

  “Tell us,” Soren said, when at last the doors were closed. “Where are our parents?”

  Konas took a deep breath. “Your father is dead.”

  The memories of Soren’s entire childhood rushed through his mind in a moment, and the world seemed new and strange to him, for there had never been a time that his parents had not been in the world. Dead. How?

  “How?” The floor swam before Soren’s eyes, and he sat down on the same bench in the garden where he had been talking with Sillara just minutes before. Sillara sat beside him and took her hands in his lap.

  “Poisoned.” Konas stood with his hands clasped before him.

  Sillara wept on Soren’s shoulder, and when he felt her hot tears on his skin, he turned to her and crushed her against his chest. He cast his crown away from him and cried into her hair.

  “And what of our mother?” Sillara asked.

  “When she saw that Kamen was past help, she asked me to be their mountain.”

  Ajalira had met death on her own terms, with her eyes open and her mind clear.