The Soldier's Lotus by Adonis Devereux

pallav was
red and black. Her long black hair was twisted into a crown of braids that left
her neck exposed, and stray locks had been styled to purposely fall past her
ear and across her cheek. She was to Darien a queen, the most beautiful thing
to ever grace the world of Gilalion with her presence, and Darien accounted
himself the luckiest Sunjaa to have ever lived. He
wanted to kiss her just then, but he did not dare. He was afraid of smudging
her make-up or smearing her lipstick. When she returned his adoring gaze,
Darien wished the party were already done, though it had not yet begun.
    Darien stared at the front doors of his house that stood
open to the night. Torches burned on his front porch, a warm invitation to his
guests on a night which was quickly growing chilly. Such was the climate of the
desert, though the shifts in temperature were not so drastic near the river. In
the dunes, however, a man would either freeze or burn. Darien let his mind
wander to the past, to old campaigns against the war-like Vadal in the north, of crossing the desert, of hunting pirates at sea. Anything to keep his mind from his current situation. This
was to be his introduction into high society. Though he had left all the
invitations to Saerileth, trusting her to choose the right people, he dreaded
his guests’ arrival. What would he say to them? What if he blundered somehow?
He had hanged criminals from his yardarm; he had stood shoulder-to-shoulder
with men and watched them die pierced with arrows; he had taken the heads of
countless enemies. And yet he did not have the confidence to stand proud before
his betters?
    That was just the thing. Were they his betters? As a
commoner, Darien had grown up with a keen sense of inferiority, but he was
proud as the eagle that soars over the endless sands of the Sunjaa kingdom. He had resolved at a very young age to make a name for himself, to
earn his fortune and fame, and be beholden to no man. Darien drew himself up at
the thought. He had risen through the ranks solely on his merit; everything he
had he had earned. It was no accident of birth that gave him a fine house and
vast riches. He claimed what he wanted, and now he could reap the rewards of
his success. He grabbed Saerileth around her tiny waist with one arm and
crushed her to his side.
    Saerileth laughed, slipped away, and laid her arm on his,
assuming the stance of hostess. “Your first guests arrive.”
    Darien looked to the door. He heard nothing. But then, a
few moments later, he saw a long train of rich and important people
approaching. He did not recognize them, but they had decked their bodies in the
richest jewels, and they rode in slave-borne litters. They entered his house
and bowed, invoking the traditional blessing of Elendrie in Darien’s foyer. “The Earthmother share her wealth
with you.” The words were repeated endlessly, and each time the guest would
drop a few grains of wheat by the door. There would be a fair pile there by the
end of the night.
    Darien waited for the guests to approach him, and then he
listened to Saerileth as she rattled off their names. She held no paper; she
was not prompted in any way. She must have simply memorized the names and the
order in which the guests were to arrive. Darien offered a low bow to each of
his guests, honoring them as was Sunjaa custom,
bidding them to partake of all that was his. A guest in a Sunjaa house was like a god, and nothing within reason could be denied him. They might
eat and drink Darien out of house and home, but it would be his duty to make
sure the beer never stopped flowing, that the trays were always full of food.
These little concerns niggled at him, and he leaned down to whisper in
Saerileth’s ear.
    But she shook her head and shot Darien a grave look, even
though her smile never broke. “I have taken care of everything.”
    What more could Darien ask for? Saerileth was a Red Lotus,
skilled not only in love and seduction but also in entertainment,