The Lotus Ascension (13 page)

The Ausir smiled to himself, and
the happy thought put a spring in his step. Yes, there were parts of Sillara
that only Konas knew. He would get her alone, and all would be well. He would
unfold his heart to her, for Tivanel had no love for her. If she would have
him, Konas would promise his entire life in the service of her love.

Konas’s steward met him at the door
and bowed.

“
Go into the garden,”
Konas said as he stopped to wash his hands in a basin. “You’ll find a tarp near
the southwest corner of the wall. Under it is a large folded piece of black …
fabric.” He knew the slave would not understand what it precisely was, and he
was not inclined to explain. “Bring it, with a few hands to help, onto the
front porch, and load it on my camel. I’m taking it with me tomorrow.”

The steward nodded, bowed, and
walked away, snapping her fingers to summon help.

Konas had no fear for that part of
his balloon, for the slaves could not damage it by mishandling it. But the
rest—the basket and the torch—Konas would see to himself. It had been years
since Konas had used the device, and he found the torch covered in dust, buried
in some obscure spot in a back room. He brushed off the tall, perforated metal
cylinder and inspected it. The torch—his own private invention—was rarely used,
except for in case of dire emergency, for it heated up to dangerous intensity
and would easily burn the occupants of the basket if they drew too close.
Instead, Ausir balloons rose and fell by the sun’s rays alone, for the black
surface absorbed the heat and caused the balloon to fly. To vary speed and
altitude, Konas could raise the black panels, exposing swaths of white surface
to the sun, thus lowering the balloon. With pride Konas thought of the device,
for he knew how impressed Sillara would be to ride in it and see how
masterfully he piloted it. In his mind’s eye, he already saw Sillara’s
amazement at its lift-off. He saw how the sun illuminated her face, how the
wind tousled her black hair around her golden horns. The chilly air above the
clouds would bring a bloom to her cheeks, and Konas would kiss the tip of her
cold nose.

Konas had everything packed into a mule-drawn
cart and prepared for the morrow’s departure. Then he hand-picked four pleasure
slaves, two male and two female, choosing the best his house had to offer. He
instructed them to pack trunks for a four-week journey. They were to bring
clothes, toys, instruments, candles, and every good thing that facilitated
their work. He dismissed his own attendants, saying he was content with the
pleasure slaves attending to him.

The steward raised her eyebrows but
gave no voice to her objections. She was a level-headed woman and knew, just as
Konas knew, that pleasure slaves were terrible body slaves and cooks.

Finally, before returning to the
Itenu house, Konas packed away his traveling statue of Abrexa, a third the size
of the original, though cast as an exact copy of Faloth’s masterpiece. Again,
pride filled Konas as he looked on the work of his own hands. He hoped Sillara
liked it, and he hoped even more than she liked the pleasure he would give her
before the goddess.

Chapter Eight

Sweat dripped
into Sillara's eyes, and she wiped her brow. The sun was hotter than it ever
got in Arinport, for here there were no sea breezes to soften the unbearable
heat. She wished that Ileke were here to attend her. Her current body-slave was
not very good at knowing when and how to see to her mistress's wants. At least,
to her non-sexual wants. Sillara's mouth curved wryly. She remembered she had
laughed when she had seen the two attendants Konas had chosen for her.

“
Why, Lord Konas, have you replaced my body-slaves with pleasure-slaves
from your household?” she had asked.

And Konas had
winked at her. “These wurm-hunting expeditions can, or so I have heard, take
several weeks. No one else planned ahead, Sillara.”

She recalled
having been surprised, for a moment, that Konas had not given her any title at
all, but she was rather glad than otherwise. Konas was always familiar with
Soren, and she wished that he would be the same with her. “Planned ahead?”

“
What happens when these sailors freshly come ashore grow … bored?”
Konas had said. “I replaced your two body-slaves with female pleasure-slaves
and my own attendants with male pleasure-slaves.”

Sillara took a
sip of water from the flask at her saddle-horn. She had, of course, ridden
camels on occasion but never for more than a day or so. They were now five days
out of Arinport and had left all sight of the River two days earlier.

“
I apologize, Sillara.” Konas was at her side, his own camel loping
alongside hers. “Perhaps I should have left you one proper attendant.” He
handed her a silk scarf, with which she wiped her brow and then used to tie
back her hair.

“
It is no matter.” Sillara smiled at her tutor. “The Tamari kept no
servants at all, and if I am to lay claim to my royal birthright, ought I not
to live as a Tamari Princess—keeping no servants and tending to all my own
needs?”

Konas chuckled.
“You are never out of sorts, are you?”

Sillara waved
her hand at the assorted collection of people and animals making up their
caravan. “Why should I be? Is this not sufficient company? What could I lack?”

Konas followed
her gesturing hand. “There is nowhere I would rather be. And we can even keep
up with your lessons.”

As Konas spoke
to her of Tamari traditions that were still kept by the Tamari in Duildal, the
new capital city of the Ausir, Sillara calculated the maximum distance it could
be to the first oasis. Starting with the speed of the camels, factoring the
rate of water consumption—and the four horses that the men would ride when once
the wurms were sighted required a great deal—and the margin of error that Soren
would have insisted upon for her sake, she figured that, at most, the oasis
could be four days off, but she tended to think that Soren would not cut it so
fine. Perhaps two days.

“
So will you insist upon a Tamari nuptial?” Konas's voice was low.

Sillara's
thoughts jerked back from her pleasant mathematical calculations to the man to
whom she been promised the day she was born. She had no face to put with the
name of Tivanel Seranimesti, and her face fell. “I have not thought of it,” she
said truthfully.

Konas's eyes
brightened,
and she caught the ghost of a smile on his face.

“
How could I think of it?” asked Sillara. “For I am to be wedded to a
man whom I do not know, and not only that, but a man whom I have never even
seen.” Sillara's eyes wandered along the column of riders. “His Grace has never
sent me his likeness, though our betrothal has now lasted eighteen years.”

“
And you have never asked for it.” Konas did not phrase it as a
question.

Sillara watched
Soren showing Nathen some intricacy of the winch he held in his lap. They were
both laughing. “He was the one who sought this betrothal,” she said. “He sought
my hand the day I was born. It should have been his place to make certain his
bride-to-be knew his face.”

Konas's smile
faded. “I apologize for my brother's callousness.” There was a deeper feeling
in Konas's voice than Sillara would have expected over something, to her, so
trivial, and she reached over to lay her hand over his on his saddle-horn.

“
You had nothing to do with it, Konas.” She smiled at him. “You have
never behaved with anything other than kindness toward us.” She nodded toward
Soren. “Thank you again for arranging the after-party.”

Konas's renewed
cheer was obvious, and Sillara was relieved. She did not want her teacher and
best friend, aside from Soren, to feel any guilt over his brother's behavior.
Sillara did not expect the King to love her. How could he? They had never met.
Their marriage was a political thing, a necessity for King Tivanel to cement his
claim on the throne.

Before this dark
train of thought could dampen her spirits, however, Nathen brought his camel up
alongside hers on the opposite side from Konas's.

“
How like you the desert?” Nathen's smile flashed brilliantly in his
dark face, and Sillara glanced from him to where Soren now rode at Merieke's
side.

“
What is not to like?” Sillara laughed. “The air is fresh and clear,
and at night the sky is so full of stars that it seems as if the gods had been
playing at senet with them—”

“—
and spilled the pieces.” Soren was nearer her than she had realized,
and he finished her thought.

“
Exactly.”
Sillara disengaged her hand from where Konas still held it, and she
looked over at Soren.

“
And the dunes roll away, white in the sun, purple under the moons,
smooth and soft like—”

“—
like the snows of Icedeep, lost city of the Tamari.” Sillara
finished Soren's sentence this time.

Konas shifted on
his camel, and Sillara could not understand the flash of pain across his face.
She did not speak of it, however, and Merieke broke the silence.

“
Where are these famous wurms?”

The knot around
Sillara broke up, too, and only Nathen remained beside her. He answered
Merieke, though he did not leave his place. “We are still too near civilized
lands, still too near the River.”

“
We left the Sweetwater two days ago,” said Sillara.

“
That is still too near. We have not reached the first oasis yet, and
it is only after the second oasis we could hope to find wurms.”

“
And how far is this oasis?” Merieke's next question was spoken lower,
whispered really, to Soren who was beside her, but Sillara heard it.

“
Two days,” said Soren.

****

The second oasis
was a welcome sight to Sillara. A fortnight out of Arinport, she was farther
than she had ever been from the city of her birth, and she found she did not
miss it. She had grown accustomed to caring for herself, and it was easier than
she had expected. Merieke, on the other hand, had brought a proper body-slave,
her old nurse, in fact, and she seemed to be having a more difficult time. But
no one, not even Merieke, was otherwise than delighted at the sight of the lush
green of the oasis.

“
It is like a jewel dropped from Abrexa's own crown,” murmured
Sillara.

“
And let us take it like the treasure it is!” Soren helped Sillara
down from her camel. “As soon as we have watered the camels, we should bathe.”

Sillara nodded,
but Merieke spoke.

“
That is a wonderful idea. I cannot bear this chafing sand one more
moment!” Merieke tossed her head, sending bits of sand scattering from her
hair.

Sillara did not
understand why Merieke's words, perfectly accurate and spoken with a levity
that robbed them of any whining, should still irk her. She forced all
irritation from her thoughts and moved to help with the camels. Watering them,
as well as the horses, was of primary importance. However, there were enough
people, including the pleasure-slaves and Merieke's nurse, to have the tents
set up by the time the animals were watered. There was a large tent for the
noblemen, a smaller one for the noblewomen, and a third for the slaves.
Merieke's nurse shared the tent with Sillara and Merieke, and she went to it as
soon as it was set up. Sillara felt a twinge of concern for the older woman,
who seemed overcome by the heat and the day's ride. It was growing close to sunset,
but Sillara doubted that the nurse would want to stay awake at all.

Sillara filled a
flask of water and brought it to the tent where she would be sleeping.

“
Here,” said Sillara, kneeling by the pallet where the nurse was
already lying down.

“
Thank you, Your Grace.” The nurse gratefully took the proffered
water and drank half of it at once.

“
Do you need anything more?” Sillara could hear the pleasure slaves
making up their beds—the only beds that had been shared on this journey—and the
sounds of Soren and the rest gathering by largest of the oasis pools.

“
Please.” The older woman fixed Sillara with fever-bright eyes.
“Touch me.”

A chill settled
on Sillara's breast, but she smiled.
“Of course.”
She
pressed her lips to the nurse's brow, and the flesh was hot to the touch.

“
Thank you.” The nurse sipped some more water, and then she lay down
to sleep. Sillara stood, waiting, until sleep had claimed the older woman. It
was only moments, and the rise and fall of the nurse's breast was even and
steady.

“
Sillara!”
Konas's voice called her, but it was Soren who stood at the edge of
the tent and beckoned her silently.

“
She is ill?” he asked.