A Lotus for the Regent (12 page)

“
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.

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.”