The Lotus Ascension (37 page)

“Yes, he would. Almost any man can
kill if driven to it. You should’ve seen his face when I told your parents that
Sillara and I are married.” Konas gazed at Sillara, but she hid her face in
Soren’s chest. “He switched targets and tried to kill me.”

Soren’s voice shook in his
suppressed rage. “So why do my parents lie cold and you yet live?”

“Nathen knew your parents were
honoring me as their dinner guest. He poisoned the drink. I made a Seranimesti
toast to your father, and he drank first, as is the custom.”

“What custom?” Konas’s story was
not making any sense to Soren, and it only angered him further.

Konas waved away the question. “I
can explain that later. What’s important is that I know Nathen did it.”

“Did you see him do it?” Sillara
asked.

Konas’s features softened as he
looked on his wife. “No, dearest, but I know.”

Soren wanted to throttle Konas for
his familiarity. Konas had fucked Sillara, and the thought of that drove Soren
mad.

Sillara rose and pulled gently on
Soren’s elbow.
“How?”

“Merieke.”
Konas stared at the
twins’ point of contact. He worked his jaw muscles in clear frustration.

“Merieke is skilled with poison,”
Sillara said, and Soren hearkened to her. “She learned all manner of herbal
skills from her mother before she died. And there would have been no poison at
the oasis.”

“Could he have gotten it here?”
Soren asked.

“Doubtful,” Sillara said. “Our
Tamari are not like the Zenji. They are not poisoners.”

“And I saw Merieke give Nathen a
small bundle wrapped in linen on the day of our departure,” Konas said. “He
tucked it away in his belt, and I never got a chance to look at it. He guarded
it with his hands even as he slept in the balloon. It must’ve been the poison.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “How do
you know for sure it was poison?” He did not trust his pale Ausir rival.

“Your mother confirmed it.”

Soren pressed his forehead against
Sillara’s. “I’ll kill him. Our parents’ blood cries out for vengeance.”

“Kill him now,” Konas said. “He’s
too dangerous for any delay. You are King, Soren. Order him seized and executed
by your guard.”

Soren considered the idea.

“You must act now,” Konas said,
this time his voice louder, more frantic.
“If he finds out
you know, he might strike first.”

Konas was afraid. He—not Soren—had
been Nathen’s target. But there was something more to Konas’s stratagem. The
crafty Ausir was desperate for Soren to kill Nathen immediately.

“No.” Soren had other plans for
Nathen, his oldest friend save Sillara. They had been through danger on the
high seas together; he would not have him executed by strangers who could not
even speak his tongue.

“Why? You are King.” Konas stepped
closer. “Act like one.”

Soren came nose to nose with Konas.
“Nathen was my friend, and if he murdered my parents, he will pay, but by my
hand.” He raised his fist before his face. “He didn’t act against
King Soren of Tamar but against Soren Itenu, son of Kamen.
On those grounds will I
deal with
him.
” But there was more Soren thought that
he did not say. Kamen’s murder,
though foreseen, was
only collateral damage.
Soren wished Nathen had not been such a poor marksman. He looked
on Konas and hated him, blaming him for all his woes.

Konas stepped away from Soren’s
wrath.
“
And
what about Merieke?
”

Darien lived almost by her looks.
If Soren executed or killed her by his own hand, there was no telling what the
old Admiral would do. From the stories told about him, Darien might slaughter
Soren’s entire guard to get to him, to wreak vengeance on Soren for depriving
him of his only daughter.

Merieke, his concubine, and Nathen,
his dear friend, had betrayed Soren. Nathen was his friend and lover, and
though Soren was sad, this revelation did not surprise him. The siblings had
connived to trap him in a contract of concubinage, so this murder was not
beyond their obsession. Soren could not judge who wanted whom more, whether
Merieke wanted Soren or Nathen wanted Sillara.

“I’ll think on what’s best to be
done with Merieke.” Soren hugged Sillara with one arm and kissed her brow. “Go
to your chambers, sister. I must have Nathen summoned here. I will draw the
truth from
his own
lips and then send him to
Nistaran.”

Sillara snuggled against Soren’s
shoulder. “I go, but
be
careful.” And she left.

Soren and Konas both watched her
go, but once she was gone, all that was left between them was their rivalry.
Though sorely tempted to take up a sword and slay Konas, Soren mastered his
impulse.

“Leave me,” he said. “I’ll deal
with Nathen in my own way.”

Konas stood for many moments
gritting his teeth, but in the end he said nothing, turned on his heel, and
stomped away.

Soren sat alone with his thoughts.
What would he say to Nathen? How would he achieve his friend’s death? Thinking
about the act tore him apart, but Nathen had to die. Though he killed Soren’s
parents for love of Sillara, still he was a murderer. There would be no mercy.

A noise pulled Soren from his dark
musings, but Nathen was not the figure who appeared before him. Instead Darien
stood in the doorway, his massive build filling the frame.

“Your father was a good man.” The
old Admiral’s soft voice belied his monstrous size.

Soren nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Darien
walked nearer. “What he went through for your mother—
I mean,
it was war
. You should’ve seen him as a young man. A captain could not
have asked for a better first mate. A man could not have asked for a better
lover.”

Soren thought of Nathen, his lover,
his second mate. The times they had shared, the nights they had lain in bed
holding each other—Soren knew at that moment how he would kill Nathen.

“Will you build a memorial for my
parents in Arinport?” Soren asked.

Shock registered on Darien’s face.
“You’re really not going back?”

Soren shook his head. “There’s
nothing left for me.”

“Nothing left? Boy, are you daft?
Has grief stripped you of your good senses? Your father’s estate and the Itenu
name demand you return and claim what is yours by birthright. You have a duty!”
He pointed at Soren's falcon tattoo, the symbol of his house. “What's that for,
then?”

Soren sighed. Darien could never
understand that life apart from Sillara was meaningless.
A
noble title?
Lands?
They were nothing compared
to a mere afternoon spent in her company. This was precisely why Soren had
accepted the Tamari crown. He would never be parted from Sillara again, even
though her oath belonged to another man. Her heart, he knew, belonged to him.
Here in the city of Tamar, the Desertmasters would keep Sillara and Konas
apart, but back in Arinport, there would be no bar to Konas's lust.

“I can’t go back,” Soren said at
last. “They’ll never let Sillara go, and I cannot abandon her.”

“Then I’ll bring an army back and
liberate her.” Darien smashed his fist into his palm.

Soren could almost believe the old
man. “You’d never get an army across the desert, and there simply aren’t enough
balloons in Arinport.”

“There has to be something we can
do. You’re handy with a sword. Let’s stand back to back, with Sillara between
us, and cut our way to the balloon. We’ll be away with the dawn.”

If Soren were inclined to leave, he
might have agreed to the intrepid plan. He understood why Kamen had loved
Darien so much. The old Admiral still burned with an unquenchable fire that
drew people in.

“Let me think about it,” Soren
said, hoping to calm Darien down. It worked.

“Good night, then, Your Grace.” He
bowed with a smile. “My sword arm stands ready; just give me the word.”

And Soren was left alone with his
dark thoughts. His sword arm, too, was ready, and it would soon deprive Nathen
of his life.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Sillara sat in
her chamber, her head splitting. But there was still supper to make, and though
she doubted that either she or Soren would want to eat, she knew that they both
should. Furthermore, Soren, King of Tamar, was entertaining a guest, Lord
Admiral Darien.
But what of their father's murderer, Soren's
old shipmate, Nathen?

Soren's lover.

Sillara rose and
bathed her face, shaking back her curls. Yes, Nathen had been Soren's lover,
but it was common quarters, Sunjaa custom. Nathen was not her rival.

Murderer.
Nathen, a
murderer?
Nathen, who had spoken such words of love to her?

Why must any man
love her besides Soren? If she had been given to Soren, then her parents would
still be alive, and Nathen and Konas would be innocent of their crimes.

But their crimes
remained theirs.
Nathen a murderer and Konas a kidnapper.
They might have loved her even had she been given to Soren, and their guilt
would not be less. The love that she and Soren shared was like a rock, and
those who would stand against it could only break themselves on it.

The loss of her
parents was a weight on her, a heavy burden that she could not manage to escape
from. And yet she knew that it would have come eventually, and sooner rather
than later to her Ausir way of thinking. Kamen and Ajalira would have died
while Sillara and Soren were yet in the bloom of their youth, even if Kamen had
lived out the longest lifetime of Men. Her parents had died together, had been
true to the end. There was comfort in this, comfort of a hard, Tamari sort, but
comfort nonetheless. Sillara squared her shoulders and went back down the
stairs. The sunlight was fading fast, and evening would soon come. She was glad
that she had laid out bread to rise in the morning, for she would not have had
time now to mix it. As she sprinkled on the saffron and set it down to bake,
she heard a light footfall, so light that it could belong only to Merieke.

“Please fetch in
the root-vegetables,” said Sillara without looking up. “I am making stew for
Soren's guests.”

“Yes, sister.”
Merieke's voice was so
kind that Sillara started and looked up at her.

“What?”
Even the use of the word Sillara so hated to hear from Merieke,
“sister”, could not overcome the gentle tone.

“I am so, so
sorry about your parents.” Merieke's eyes were not red, but her words seemed
genuine. “I had wanted us to be like them, you know.
Your
parents and mine—me and Soren, you and Nathen.”

Sillara drew in
a shaky breath. Nathen had murdered her father, had gone back to the oasis with
the intention of murdering him. Even if Nathen had changed his intended target
from Sillara's father to her husband, still he had intended Kamen's death at
one point, and he had achieved it, regardless. And Merieke felt no guilt?
Sillara could not believe it, but there it was. Merieke felt no guilt at all
over the deaths of Kamen and Ajalira, and she could even mourn them as a loss
to Soren. “My father was poisoned, and my mother died for love of him.
Poisoned...”

“I am so sorry,”
said Merieke again. She hugged Sillara, who stiffened in the embrace. “No,
Sillara.” Merieke did not release her, instead placing a warm kiss on Sillara's
mouth. Her tongue teased the seam of Sillara's lips, but Sillara did not open
to Merieke. Instead, she pulled back and stared.

“I am Konas's
wife,” said Sillara at last.

“And I am
Soren's concubine.” Merieke shrugged her shoulders. “Why does that mean that we
cannot take comfort in each other's arms during this time of sorrow?” She
kissed Sillara again. “I, too, have lost my mother, Sillara, and I would be
glad to share my father with you.”

It was at that
moment that Sillara realized Merieke had no principles whatsoever. For Merieke,
as Sillara suspected it had been for her mother before her, principles were
something to be considered a weakness. Lady Saerileth Kesandrahn, Red Lotus,
had moderated her behavior only for the sake of the Admiral whom she had loved.
Merieke had no principles to hold her when her affections directed her.
Affection for Nathen would have prompted her to give him the poison, and
affection for Soren, and in a twisted way for Sillara herself, now prompted
this attempt at comfort. But nowhere was there a sense of responsibility or
guilt or shame.

“You cannot
think, Sillara,” said Merieke, holding her close, “that either my husband or
yours would be in the least upset at our fucking. They would love it. You know
they would.”

“Master,” said
Sillara. “Soren is not your husband.”

Merieke ran her
hand up Sillara's side, cupping Sillara's breast. “But you could ask him, and
he would marry me.” Merieke leaned down to kiss Sillara again, but she pulled
away.