The Lotus Ascension

by Adonis Devereux

  Danger. Danger of being carried off by her husband. Tears welled up in Sillara's eyes.

  “Don't worry, my love.” Konas wiped her tears, and his complete inability to understand her stabbed Sillara to the quick. “I thought of everything. You don't have to worry about me.”

  Sillara bowed her head. “Then do with me as seems good to you.”

  Konas hugged her close again, and she could feel his arousal pressing against her belly. “Oh, I will, you little minx. A proper orgy-master's wife.” But Konas did not strip her clothes from her. Instead he simply kissed her once more. “But we must wait until we are out of the city. Time is crucial.”

  Sillara noticed, of course, that Konas did not confide his plans to her. He did not fear her treachery; she was sure of that. He loved her, with as much love as he was capable of giving—which was far less than Soren could give. No, it was that Konas considered her too high and fine a being to be saddled with the ordinary affairs of life, even her own. Soren loved her far more than Konas ever could, but Soren would never keep anything from her.

  “I stand ready to obey.” Sillara lifted her chin. Ajalira had gone to her death clear-eyed and unafraid. This was worse than death, for it was separation from Soren, but Sillara would not show fear.

  “That's my brave wife.” Konas bent his head down, sampling her lips. He dropped a kiss between her horns on the top of her head, and Sillara bit her lip to keep from weeping. “But what I have in mind will be difficult and frightening, and I am not sure you can endure it.”

  “You have no idea what I am capable of,” said Sillara. “I am the daughter of Ajalira Tamar and Kamen Itenu. You saw them die. You were their mountain. It was your sword that spilled their blood in offering to Alaxton Battlebringer. What duty can you think I would fail in?”

  “True enough.” Konas's low laugh rumbled with desire, but Sillara did not flinch. She was her parents' daughter. She was Soren's sister. She would not disgrace him, even if it broke her heart to splinters.

  “You must crawl into my pack.” Konas rolled out a leather pack onto the floor. It was large, reinforced on the inside with thick rope, and it could hold Sillara if she curled up into a ball and bent her head between her knees. “I will carry you out of the city, and we will be able to return to Arinport.”

  Sillara could almost believe it. This plan was daring, bold, and devious, very like Konas's plan to have an orgy and keep her out of the way in a balloon, only to purposely crash it. Hate filled her heart, but she crawled into the pack and curled up. It was an uncomfortable position, and Sillara was not sure how long she could hold it.

  “Now, I know that this will be hard, but remember, once we are out of the city, I will be able to discipline you just the way you like.” Konas tilted her face up once more, lifting her head above the edge of the pack for a moment. “It might be too hard to keep silent, so I will bind your mouth.” His eyes glittered, and Sillara knew that he thought this would please her, arouse her. But there was a touch of fear in his eyes, and she wished him dead in that instant. He distrusted her. But she said nothing, for had she not sworn herself his? So Konas gagged her, and then he pushed her face back down between her knees, back below the edge of the pack. He pressed his lips to the back of Sillara's head, all that he could see from her position, and then the lid of the pack closed over her.

  Sillara was in darkness, and she felt Konas picking up the bag and strapping it to his back. Sillara was, she knew, small and slender, and carrying her on his back should not be difficult for Konas. Of course, if the weight of her broken heart were added, no force in Gilalion could lift her.

  Sillara had already spent most of the day weeping for the loss of her parents, and now she had no tears left. She heard Konas opening the door, and she felt the sway of his hips against her through the leather of the bag. The irony of what was happening was not lost on her. Konas was about to leave the Desertmasters' city, carrying away their Queen, and she was gagged and unable to call for the help any Desertmaster would give.

  Soren, my love, my brother, my soul.

  Konas was humming an Ausir love song, and Sillara wished she were dead. But his plan was too good, and with Merieke's aid, he would soon have her out of the city.

  Merieke's aid? But she wanted me to be married to Nathen, to be her lover, to be her advocate with Soren—why would she help Konas?

  And then Sillara understood, understood what Konas, blinded by his jealousy and love could not grasp.

  At that very moment Sillara heard the cries of the Desertmasters.

  “There he is! Just as the lady said!”

  She felt Konas pick up his pace. He must be running now, and then suddenly all was tumbling confusion. Sillara hit the ground hard, but though she knew she would have bruises along her right side, she did not feel any broken bones.

  “Sillara!” Konas's cry was half a groan, and she felt dampness along her left side.

  Blood.

  “Treason!” Sillara knew that, though Konas probably did not know the word, he would understand the Desertmasters' animosity.

  Then she heard Merieke's voice. “Konas steal Queen!”

  Merieke had been here quite long enough to have learned a good bit of the Desertmaster vocabulary. Lotuses were always trained in languages, and doubtless Merieke had heard the word “Queen” often enough to remember it.

  Sillara felt hands jerking on the bag, felt herself being lifted and pulled, and then the purple moonslight poured in on her.

  “Your Grace!” She saw the horrified face of one of the Desertmasters, and she remembered him, remembered touching him at Vaelus's request. He had then been fevered and near to death with the water-sickness. Now he was patrolling the city, well, strong—and furious.

  Then everything was a blur. Before Sillara could take another breath, blood splattered all over her. She saw Merieke running toward her, felt the Desertmasters trying to free her from the bag, and she saw Konas, falling, bloody and battered, to the sand.

  Splattered with the blood of her husband, Sillara stood at the edge of her city, and she looked on Merieke with revulsion. Treachery and deceit and lies—Merieke was a true Lotus. Konas had obviously believed that Merieke was jealous of Sillara and wanted her out of the way. It made sense from an Ausir point of view.

  But Merieke was not an Ausir. She was the Sunjaa daughter of a Lotus, and though she loved Soren obsessively, she wanted to have him in conjunction with Nathen and Sillara. She wanted Konas dead for Nathen's sake more than she wanted Sillara gone, if she even wanted that at all.

  “Sister!” Merieke threw her arms around Sillara. “Thank the gods!”

  Sillara stared at Merieke. “You betrayed him.” Sillara could not seem to think. She was surrounded by lies on every side, and suddenly she was glad that Soren was here among the Desertmasters. They were a wild, savage people, but they were at least honest.

  “How could you think I would betray you by letting that monster carry you off?” Sillara heard just the faintest hint of Lotus-trickery in Merieke's voice. She was not as skilled as Nathen.

  Sillara pulled away from her brother's concubine, turning to order Konas's body taken up and treated with respect.

  But there was nothing left of it. The Desertmasters had hacked him to pieces, and even his horns were broken.

  Sillara sank down to the bloody sand.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Soren?” Nathen's voice called across the room.

  Soren had his back to the door and had not heard him come in. He stared at the wall as he lay on his stomach hugging his pillow. Nathen was here; the moment was at hand. Sorrows revolved around Soren. His parents were dead, murdered by his friend, and his sister was forever lost to him, tricked by a devious Seranimesti.

  “I heard you wanted to see me.”

  “Come in.” Soren did not roll over to look at his erstwhile friend.

  Nathen misunderstood Soren's dejection. “Oh, Soren. I remember what it was like to lose my moth
er.” He rubbed his back. “Your friends are here for you and Sillara. I'm here for you. We love you.”

  Soren ground his teeth at the unspoken profession of love for Sillara. He inhaled deeply in his pillow to calm himself. It was Sillara's pillow.

  Nathen massaged Soren's shoulders with a skill borne of long practice giving back-rubs after common quarters. “It'll be all right.”

  Soren turned over on his back, and Nathen looked in his eyes as he offered a half smile of pity.

  “My parents are dead,” Soren said, his voice dead, “but that's not my chief anguish.”

  Nathen rubbed his hands across Soren's smooth chest. “What's the matter?”

  Soren reached up and tousled Nathen's hair. “I think I love Sillara.”

  Nathen laughed. “Of course you do, she's your sister.” But as soon as he said it, understanding dawned in his eyes. He knew what Soren meant.

  Soren nodded. “I've always been in love with her.”

  Nathen sat back on his feet. He gripped his knees and stared at Soren.

  Soren reached out and ran his finger down Nathen's chest. It was time to lay the trap. “I know you love her, too. That's why I asked you here tonight.”

  Nathen watched Soren's finger trail past his navel and farther down to hook in the belt of his skirt. “If you love her, then you know what torment I've endured.”

  “It's that bastard, Konas.” Soren watched Nathen closely, who took a deep breath and kept his gaze from Soren's own.

  “She doesn't love him.”

  That was true, and Soren silently rejoiced to know that her lack of feelings for her kidnapping husband was plain to all. “He's popped in between us and the woman we love. Sillara would've been happier with one of us, either marrying me in Sunjaa fashion or being given in marriage to my dear friend.” He squeezed Nathen's hand. “The very flower of the Kesandrahn House.”

  Nathen's genuine smile lit up his dark eyes. “That's just what I thought. How can Konas think he deserves her? He'll never appreciate her the way we do; he'll never love her the way we do. He can't.”

  And neither could Nathen, of that Soren was sure. Soren knew Sillara best, and so he loved her best. The idea of he and Nathen being equal suitors for her hand sickened Soren, but he hid his disgust by kissing his friend. Nathen fell into Soren's passionate kiss at once, opening his mouth to let his tongue slip through. Soren sighed into Nathen's mouth and tackled his friend back onto the soft bed.

  Nathen laughed and looked down at Soren's mouth, the way old lovers do. “I missed this.”

  “Me, too.” Soren lay between Nathen's strong legs and pressed his groin against his buttocks. He forced himself to grow hard. “I need to feel someone's love, to know that someone loves me.”

  “Your father and mother loved you very much,” Nathen whispered, caressing Soren's golden horns. “And I love you. How could anyone not? There's something special about you and your sister, something I can't quite put my finger on.”

  Soren and Sillara were brother- and sister-souls, eminently mateable, a quality everyone must have instinctively sensed. That explained so many people's sudden, unreasonable, and incurable attraction toward the twins.

  Soren leaned forward and kissed Nathen's mouth again, tugging playfully at his bottom lip with his teeth. Nathen reached down and undid Soren's skirt as Soren rubbed his chest and lightly pinched his nipples. Soren felt his cock rubbing against Nathen's hardening shaft. He tore Nathen's skirt from beneath him, causing Nathen to laugh and wrestle Soren the other direction. Soren let himself be handled, and Nathen pinned his arms down over his head. He glanced down at Soren's cock.

  “I want a nibble.”

  Soren wrapped his legs around Nathen's waist, pulling him closer by pressing his heels into his back. Their cocks touched again. “It's missed your lips.”

  Nathen went down on him, and Soren reached back to pull Sillara's pillow under his head. From that angle, he could watch as his cock disappeared into Nathen's mouth. Nathen played around Soren's bare, hard penis, kissing down on one side until he reached the balls, which he licked. Then he kissed up the other side. Soren flexed his cock and tapped Nathen on the chin with the head. Nathen looked up and smiled, and then he kissed the tip. Soren groaned and reached down, forcing Nathen's mouth onto his cock. He slipped past his tongue and into the back of his throat. Nathen excelled at sucking cock, having learned on Soren years ago. Although Soren could take a cock in his mouth and even work it to climax, he preferred to be in the position of dominance. Nathen had always loved to lay Soren back and pleasure him, so they had grown up as well-suited lovers.

  Nathen worked the cock with his hand and lips, coming off the tip only long enough to rub his spittle around the head, then plunging back down the shaft. It felt good, but Soren was not exactly aroused. He was forcing this, to put Nathen at ease, and though he kept himself hard, he did not feel himself getting close to coming the way he often did when Nathen sucked his cock. Nathen looked away from Soren's face and concentrated on his cock. Soren lay back and looked at the ceiling. He blinked quickly to keep the welling tears from rolling down his face and into his hair. This friend who pleasured him would soon die by his hand.

  Soren stretched out to the side of the bed and grabbed the vial of oil that stood on the low table. He touched Nathen's cheek to get his attention, and once his friend disengaged, he poured the oil over his cock. “I want to be inside you.”

  Nathen crawled up, kissing his stomach and chest along the way. “I want you inside me.”

  Soren sat halfway up and poured the rest of the oil into the palm of his right hand. He reached back and lubricated Nathen's ass, slipping his forefinger into his eager back passage.

  Nathen moaned and hunched forward, positioning himself on Soren's cock. But he did not lower himself yet, instead licking and scraping his teeth down Soren's neck. A chill of pleasure ran across Soren's skin, and he slapped Nathen's ass. He lay back on the pillow and guided Nathen down on his cock. The head popped into Nathen's back passage, and his cock slid home inside him.

  “Soren.” Nathen closed his eyes and licked his lips. He sat up and braced himself by laying his hands flat against Soren's chest, pressing on the Itenu falcon tattooed there. He rocked his hips forward and back, taking Soren deep within him and pulling forward to bring his cock to the edge of his anal wall.

  Soren grasped him by the hips and held him steady as he thrust up into Nathen, filling him with his long, thick shaft. Nathen succumbed to Soren's lovemaking and fucked in a gentle, closed-eye trance. Soren stroked Nathen's cock, running his thumb over the hot, damp tip. Nathen was never able to last as long as Soren in bed, and a few tugs of the cock would have Nathen spraying his cum all over both of them. But Soren did not let it get that far. With his left hand, he reached up and tweaked Nathen's nipple. Then he caressed his neck and cheek. Nathen rocked against Soren's cock and turned his head to the side to kiss the palm of Soren's hand. That was the moment Soren had been waiting for, when Nathen was most vulnerable, most captivated by Soren's feigned passion.

  “Oh, Nathen.” Soren reached back with his right hand under his pillow and grasped the cool metal of the dagger hilt.

  “Soren,” Nathen said between his kisses.

  Soren's heart thudded against his chest in anticipation. With all his strength, Soren brought the dagger up and plunged it into Nathen's neck. Hot blood splashed down onto Soren's naked body, and Nathen sputtered and futilely seized the dagger. Its blade stuck out the other side of his neck. He would be dead in moments.

  Soren pushed him off and rose to his knees.

  Nathen mouthed opened and closed. “Merieke … have … mercy … on … her.” And his eyes closed, never to open again.

  The world fell silent, and only the roaring of Soren's blood in his head filled his ears. Nathen's blood soaked the sheets red and spread through the bed. Nathen was dead. Justice was done. Kamen and Ajalira were avenged. Soren had proof of Merieke's involvement. His plan had
worked perfectly. And yet he wept. Soren collapsed on Nathen's chest and rained hot tears on his dead friend. Not only for the death of Nathen did he weep; he lamented his love for a woman he knew he could never have. Sillara, his twin, his sister-soul, the only woman denied him was the only woman he wanted—the only woman he could ever love.

  Soren looked down on Nathen in envy, for he wished he were dead. Itenu lord and King—what did these matter if he could not have Sillara? Centuries of torment lay before him, daily living beside Sillara, daily seeing her, but forever forced to endure Konas's pompous smile and haughty eyes. Soren fell back into a hopeless stupor. Sillara. Sillara.

  Cries of alarm outside restored Soren's wits. He snatched his bloody dagger, jumped to his feet, threw on a cloak, and ran out into the night. One of the guards yelled out about the Queen. When Soren arrived at the scene, he saw what was left of Konas's body. The Tamari had hacked it to bits. Sillara swayed on her feet, clearly stunned by the grisly death of her hated husband.

  Merieke ran to Soren, but he tossed her aside as one would swat a fly. Soren took Sillara to his breast and held her there as if he would hold her against all the gathered secret strength of the world. Konas was dead. Nathen was dead.

  Soren kept Sillara's head against his chest as he looked around in anger. “What happened? What's going on here?”

  “The Ausir tried to carry the Queen off.” One guard pointed with his sword point to the gore-soaked bag. “He had her bound and gagged.”

  Soren realized that he still held his dagger. He passed it off to the nearest guard and nestled his chin against the top of Sillara's head between her horns. Sillara's silent sobs wracked her body, shaking Soren's, too.