A Lotus for the Regent

by Adonis Devereux

  “I hadn't expected you to have heard of Aren,” said Kamen, laughing. “He is my private hobby, but no one reads him anymore.”

  “I cannot think why,” said Ajalira. “His work is very patriotic, and he praises the Sunjaa unity, even as they had to sail from their birthplace. Is that not a popular sentiment among the Sunjaa, sir?”

  “Kamen,” he said. “And the sentiment is popular. His dialect—not so much.”

  Ajalira smiled. “For an Ausir, there is little difference in dialect between now and the first Ausir who awoke in the farthest west.”

  “Will you take a turn about the garden with me, Ajalira?” Kamen rose, leaving his empty plate, and held out his arm to her.

  Ajalira took it. She could not remember if she had eaten anything. She hoped so, for she did not wish to insult the Regent's hospitality.

  The sun had already set, and the cool of the evening was over Arinport. The royal gardens were green and quiet, despite the bustling city beyond the gates. It was Ajalira's first time to see a human city, but she did not even try to look beyond the garden walls. She walked leaning on Kamen's arm, and the feel of his hand on her skin, even so innocently as on her forearm as they walked, was a comfort.

  “Look.” The Regent stopped and pointed up to where the two moons, both full, poured their mingled light down through a fountain. The moonslight touched the fountain with purple, and Ajalira smiled. It was a vista worthy of Ausir aesthetics, and she looked up at Kamen.

  “Thank you.”

  Kamen responded by leaning his mouth to hers. His lips pressed against hers, and Ajalira closed her eyes. The Regent's lips were soft, and when his tongue pressed against the seam of her mouth, she opened to him without thinking. His tongue was in her mouth before she recollected herself. The last man to kiss her so had then immediately tried to murder her. And she was not worthy of such a man as the Regent.

  She pulled away, and her tears flowed down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Your Grace. You—I should not—I am—I—”

  “Kamen,” he said. “And I apologize, Ajalira. I did not intend offense. I thought that you—never mind. I will not oppress you further.” He dropped her arm and stepped back, bowing.

  “No!” Ajalira grabbed his hand. He deserved to know the truth of why she must keep her distance. “It is not that you have wronged me, sir—Kamen. It is that I am … sullied.”

  “What?” Kamen, whose eyes had seemed to be blacker than the night sky above them, now stepped forward again. “What do you mean? Who has hurt you?” He glanced down at the purple bruises visible through her gown.

  “I mean this.” Ajalira pulled off the bangles on her left arm. “I was a Lotus once.”

  “A Lotus?” Kamen caught her hand, looking at the tattoo.

  “But not a very skillful one.” Ajalira traced the outline of her lotus-bud. “I achieved nothing beyond the first petal in anything but translation.”

  Kamen shook his head. “But you were a kitchen maid.”

  “Yes.” Ajalira hung her head. “I was twelve when I first came to the Dimadan. I dwelt among the Lotuses because I had a debt to repay. I was to be a Lotus. A slave and whore.” Ajalira disengaged her arm from Kamen's clasp.

  “Lotuses are not slaves or whores.” Kamen's brow furrowed.

  “When I realized that I no longer owed the Guildmaster anything, I tried to run.” Ajalira ignored the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “He said no one had ever done such a thing.”

  “I can believe it.” Kamen took her hand once more. “To be a Lotus is accounted a high honor.”

  “But it is not.” Ajalira looked down at where Kamen's dark hand was closed over her white one. “It is shame. It is slavery, for a Lotus belongs to the guild. It is prostitution, for the Lotus must give her body to men not her husband.”

  “But a man must woo a Lotus,” said Kamen. “Always. No Lotus can be forced.”

  “But these men are never legally bound to the Lotus.” Ajalira was trembling, but she could not stop herself. “And the Lotus-trainers take the Lotuses, too.”

  Kamen cocked his head to the side. “So you considered yourself a slave?”

  “And a whore.” Ajalira pulled free of Kamen to cover her face. “So you see, sir, you ought not to kiss me.”

  “I can see that I ought not,” said Kamen gravely. “But not because you are … what you called yourself. Rather, because you are too freshly injured to endure me.”

  Ajalira felt her shame rising like bile in her throat. She wanted to run from Arinport, run from the Regent, because she wanted him. Because his kiss was sweet like wine. Because his heart was noble. Because his eyes held all the sorrow of the world.

  “Good night, Ajalira. Everything you require will be given you when you depart tomorrow.” He turned and started back toward the palace, but he stopped some three paces from the weeping Ajalira. “But I hope that you will not go. Please.”

  Ajalira wanted nothing more than to take hold of Kamen and cling to him, but she would not sully him with her touch. Still, she would stay with him as long as he wished it. Her life-debt required no less, and for the first time, her duty was pleasure.

  Chapter Six

  Kamen swept out of his room and down the narrow corridor. The morning was already sweltering. Slaves scurried behind him, two trying to clasp gold bands around his biceps, another fussing with his swaying dreadlocks. His body slave trotted beside him clinching a scroll in his fist.

  “Where are they?”

  “The Seranimesti await Your Grace in the throne room antechamber.”

  The Ausir were fast as a dying man's last breath. Already in port, already clamoring to see the King. What would these Seranimesti be like? Would they seek an advantage through treachery as the Losiengare had? What of this third faction? Kamen shook his head as the implications of this sudden visit whirled around his mind. He would rather wrestle a lion than get dragged into the Ausir civil war.

  Kamen bounded down the steps three at a time. His servants, overprotective of his safety, gasped as he leaped. If only they knew what mischief he had gotten himself into when he was Darien's first-mate. Darien. The face of his old lover and friend dissolved away as Ajalira's image dominated his thoughts. He had wanted to have breakfast with her, had wanted to break hot bread with her, pop grapes into each other's mouths, and watch her suck on the juiciness of a peach. Pears and almonds and figs. River onions, both raw and slightly grilled, and beer. Kamen's belly rumbled. He slapped his sculpted abs and hurried on. Breakfast would have to wait.

  When he rounded the corner that connected the corridor with the main hall just outside the throne room, Kamen ran right into the Fihdal ambassador.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” The Fihdal man's wet hair stuck to his flushed face. The pale northerners could not take the heat. “I was wondering if perhaps today King Jahen might see to our dispute. I don't know how much longer we can tolerate these Vadal incursions. You know—”

  Kamen held up a hand and smiled. “Yes, I know. I will speak to the King. Patience, ambassador.” He rushed on. He would have to deal with the Vadal-Fihdal border dispute soon. All he needed was a war on his northern border while he was trying to keep his country out of the Ausir civil war.

  Kamen stopped in front of a door and knocked. Ajalira opened the door, and Kamen sucked in his breath to keep her sudden beauty from stealing it. Her golden horns swept back over her head, crowning her braided hair in loveliness. She wore a translucent white Sunjaa gown, and Kamen could not keep his eyes from her peeking, pink nipples. His gaze traveled lower to her hairless mound, though it was hidden in the folds of her dress. He considered kissing her, but he did not want her to react the way she had before. She had thought herself a whore and a slave; Kamen hoped to disabuse her of that notion. Lotuses were highly honored among both the Zenji and the Sunjaa. He would make her see her worth. He would never accept the shame she imposed upon herself.

  “Good morning, Ajalira.” He bowed.

&nbs
p; Ajalira returned the bow in deep Zenji fashion. “Good morning, Your Grace.” Her eyes were more green than blue this morning, and in them Kamen sensed apprehension.

  Kamen glanced back in annoyance at his servants. Ajalira would not be familiar with him in front of the slaves, and he longed to hear her say his name. On her lips, “Kamen” was a blessing. He looked her up and down. “You've been awake for some time?”

  “Just reading.”

  “What were you reading?”

  “Brushing up on Aren.”

  Kamen chuckled and looked down at her beautiful, sandaled feet. Her pale skin was lovely against the dark, stained leather. “In the original Sunjaa dialect, of course?”

  Ajalira's lips turned up in a smile, though her manner was still guarded. Kamen wanted more than anything to break through that barrier and get to the woman he knew wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “I have need of you.” He would conjure her sense of duty to keep her by his side.

  The anxiety in Ajalira's eyes vanished. “What do you require?” She had told him she owed him a life-debt. She would serve him however she could. Was that a Tamari thing?

  “The Seranimesti are here.”

  Ajalira's blonde eyebrows shot up. “So soon?”

  “What can you tell me of them?” He extended his hand, and she took it. He guided her from her apartments.

  “Little more than you probably already know, Sire.” Ajalira expertly extricated her hand from his. She folded her hands behind her as she walked. “They lead one of the three factions. As you know, the other two are led by the Kimereth and the Losiengare.”

  “This damn war! Why not find the one most capable to lead and crown him?”

  Ajalira did not reply immediately. In fact, she was silent so long that Kamen had to bend forward to look past her flowing hair to see her face. A dark look had crept into her eyes.

  “That is the problem,” she said at last. “There is no rightful heir.”

  “Surely there is a next in line.”

  Ajalira shook her head. “The assassins made sure there was no one left. Now those who fight vie for power on equal political footing.”

  “Whom do you favor?” Kamen trusted her instincts already.

  Ajalira looked into Kamen's eyes. “It is not my place to say.”

  “Of course it is.” Kamen stopped, placed a hand on each of Ajalira's shoulders, and turned her toward him. “I need you to be my interpreter with the Seranimesti. Your insight would be invaluable to me right now.”

  Ajalira bowed slightly, though not enough to break his hold on her. She smelled like ginger, a strong, arousing scent. Kamen looked her over again, appreciating all he saw. She was tall—taller than Sunjaa women—fair, and proud.

  “I serve you.” Ajalira bowed again, but she would not look at Kamen.

  Kamen released her. “I don't want a servant. I want a friend.”

  These words brought Ajalira's searching gaze back to his face. He watched the war within her, one he knew she would have to conquer if there was to be any hope between them. Kamen wanted to ask her so many things, about her arrival on the Dimadan and about her years there, but he was out of time.

  “Will you interpret for me?” It was deliberately phrased as a request.

  “Yes.”

  They entered the throne room together. King Jahen was already seated on his ebony throne, his hands tapping the tops of the images of his father's and grandfather's heads. Three slaves stood nearby, and the boy looked bored. Once he saw Kamen, however, his eyes lit up, and he ran to his Regent.

  “Tell me all about it!” The boy-king leaped into Kamen's strong arms.

  Kamen laughed. “Behavior hardly befitting a King.”

  Jahen smiled. “But fitting for a boy going to his guardian. It’s why I had your symbol changed to a falcon.”

  “True enough. A cat would hardly suffice in my current role.” Kamen put Jahen down and snapped his fingers. The slaves scurried over and saw to readjusting Jahen's skirt, necklace, and wig. “Your finest ship—”

  “The Aramina, my mother.” Jahen glanced at Ajalira, and he must have seen her horns, for he continued to stare.

  “Yes, and just as proud and lovely as she,” Kamen said. “The Aramina forced the Ausir to stand down, and we rounded them all up and took them to the Dimadan. They've promised not to disturb your waters again.”

  “You gave them a thrashing, then? Good.” Jahen pointed at Ajalira. “Who's she?”

  “Your court interpreter.” Kamen indicated her with a bow and a flourish.

  Jahen studied her. “But I've already got one. Saerileth.”

  “Yes, but she is often gone with her master out to sea.”

  “Not now. She's already here.” Jahen pointed over to the recessed area where he liked to play when not sitting on his throne. Saerileth sat on the couch in her dark blue Lotus skirt and pallav watching them all. She scrutinized Kamen as she always did, and though Kamen could not read her—she had consummate impassivity—he no longer feared her silent analyses. He was no longer in love with Darien. Saerileth's piercing gaze would only find his growing affection for Ajalira. He wanted to reach over and take his lovely Ausir's hand, but he dared not in the present situation.

  Saerileth stood and glided over, and Kamen noticed how Ajalira's eyes shifted from green to blue, hard as flint and cold as the heart of the sea. Doubtless the full-blown Lotus tattoo, the traditional Lotus garb, and the fact that Saerileth was Zenji angered Ajalira.

  “Greetings, Your Grace.” Saerileth bowed to Kamen.

  “It's been many months,” Kamen said.

  “I see you have a new interpreter.” Saerileth looked past Kamen to where Ajalira stood.

  Kamen extended his arm toward the Ausir. “Ajalira—” He did not know her last name. Did she have a last name?

  “From the Red Lotus Guild.” Saerileth stared at Ajalira's unfinished tattoo on her forearm.

  “That place no longer has any hold over my body,” Ajalira said in accented but correct Zenji. Her tone cut glass.

  “I see.” Saerileth's gaze flitted up to Ajalira's horns.

  Before any words could be said that either of the women might have regretted, Kamen broke in. “The Seranimesti await. Your Majesty.” He indicated the throne.

  Jahen walked over to the dais, climbed the steps, and sat down. Kamen took his seat on the chair at the base of the stairs. Saerileth retreated to the sofa, but she kept her eyes on Ajalira. Ajalira stood behind and to the right of Kamen's chair.

  “Show in the Seranimesti delegation,” Kamen said in a loud, clear voice. His order was repeated by a herald, and the guards obeyed.

  The doors were thrown open, and into the throne room strode two tall Ausir, their blond hair long and straight and tied back, their eyes green like the Bay of Kartalon. They wore white tabards with a red rose over their chain hauberks. Ausir longswords hung from their belts. They approached the throne, removed their helmets, and bowed their necks to Jahen.

  “We thank you for receiving us,” one said in Ausir, and Ajalira simultaneously interpreted. “I am Tivanel Seranimesti, lord of my house. This is my younger brother, Konas.” He looked over at Ajalira, his eyes full of surprise.

  What did he think about the Sunjaa having their own Ausir interpreter? Impressed, no doubt.

  “You are most welcome to Arinport, Jewel of the Sunjaa nation,” Kamen said, and Ajalira interpreted. He made no mention of Ajalira's presence. Let the Ausir think what they would, but if nothing else, they would know that the Sunjaa were ready for anything, always one move ahead of those who would threaten them. “What can his divinity, King Jahen, do for you today?”

  Tivanel's eyebrows shot up, and he smirked as if the answer were obvious. Still, Kamen would make him ask.

  “You know of our civil war?”

  Kamen nodded.

  “And of the pretenders who would claim a throne they have no right to.”

  “You speak of the Kimereth
and Losiengare factions.” Kamen placed his hands on his knees and leaned slightly forward.

  The corner of Tivanel's mouth turned up. “We heard how you mastered those dogs and brought them to heel. Let me extend to you my congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Kamen said. “So, our knowledge of your civil war has been established.”

  Tivanel's smirk vanished. “We seek an alliance. The Sunjaa are the mightiest race of Men, and your navy is unmatched by any who sail the Aras Arlluvia.”

  Including you, Kamen thought but did not say. “The Seranimesti are legends of the sea.”

  Tivanel placed his right hand over his chest in acknowledgment of the praise. “With King Jahen's support, we could bring a swift end to this destructive war and reestablish peace.”

  Kamen glanced back at the boy-king, who sat gravely and listened with furrowed brow. Kamen was so proud of him, and he knew Jahen would grow into a great King.

  Tivanel continued, drawing Kamen's attention back to him. “There would be no further disruption to trade. The Sunjaa, along with all nations, might trade once again with the northern cities, like Godswatch, or even our coastal city of Tendol.”

  “But,” Kamen said, “the Kimereth and Losiengare would not long honor the peace I negotiated at the Dimadan if they learned that King Jahen had pledged his ships to the Seranimesti cause. From what I know, none of you have a rightful claim.”

  “We have the best claim,” Tivanel yelled, his voice a sharp bark. He took a deep breath through his nose before he said anything more. “My kinsman, Faloth, was best friend to Kiltarin, son of the God-King. He helped put Kiltarin on the throne. And if that were not enough, we can go back to before the founding of the Tamari nation.”

  Ajalira stumbled in her interpretation at that moment, her voice overcome with emotion. Kamen turned in his chair to look at her.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” he whispered.

  “I am fine,” she said, and she quickly blinked away tears.

  Kamen gave her time to recover before he asked the Seranimesti lord to proceed giving his reasons why the Sunjaa should support them. He wanted to banish the Ausir and ask Ajalira what upset her so.