A Lotus for the Regent

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2012 Adonis Devereux

 
ISBN:
978-1-77130-133-6

Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor:
Marie Medina

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
 
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To JMJ

A LOTUS FOR THE REGENT

The
Lotus Trilogy, 2

Adonis Devereux

Copyright © 2012

Prologue

Kaelmoro's gaze
followed the raindrops racing down the window. The water droplets ran in starts
and stops, some following older tracks, others making new paths only to merge
with faster rivulets. One by one they dropped until they fell beyond the sill
and out of sight. The stuffy, cinnamon-filled air of his bedchamber clung to
his skin. He rose from where he sat before the window, crawled up into the
large, flat seat of the bay window, and threw open the glass. A gust of stormy
night winds rustled his long, golden hair, tangling it up in the nubs that grew
out from his skull, just above his hairline. Kaelmoro reached up and ran his
fingers like a comb through his tresses, extricating his hair from his Ausir
horns. His fingers continued their descent until they brushed along the pointed
tips of his ears. And he sighed.

Pink cherry
blossoms scattered by the storm blew in the open portal. Rain-soaked, they
adhered to his cheeks and forearms. Kaelmoro picked at and discarded them out
the window, watching them flutter away into the darkness of the garden below.
The rain, the cherry blossoms, the night storm—anything to keep his mind off
what he knew was coming. Silent lightning lit the world for an instant and plunged
everything back into darkness. For a moment, the dancing trees looked like
white clouds anchored to the earth. Kaelmoro counted until the thunder rolled
over the guild grounds and rumbled off across the sea. How many more moments
would it be before he heard his name called?

Tomorrow the
blossoms would all be gone. This storm would strip the branches bare.

Kaelmoro drew
his knees up to his chest and began to hum. Rain blew in and stung his face,
but he did not shy away. He stared off into the night, for the darkness could
hide nothing from his Ausir eyes. The trees bent and swayed with the rising
ferocity of the storm, and in the midst of the tempest, far off, Kaelmoro heard
the wild music of the sea clashing with the squall. Kaelmoro began to hum, bringing
melody to the cacophony, singing alongside the fierce dissonance of nature.

The rain is
dead rain

Naught will
grow from it

I drink and I
drink but

I thirst like
bowed maples

Rain drops on
my head and

Hangs
glistening falsely

From my
eyelashes like some

Proud beacon
of the glorious

Otherworld—

“
Kaelmoro!” The Guildmaster's voice shattered the sad beauty of
Kaelmoro's extemporaneous song.

The boy popped
to his feet, a motion of habit when he heard his master's voice. He slipped his
bare toes into his warm slippers and ran down the hall. When he reached the
stairs, he skipped two at a time, finding his way into the Guildmaster's
chambers in moments. Kaelmoro's heart raced.

“
Here I am,” the boy said between deep breaths.

The Guildmaster,
clad in a black, silk housecoat, gestured to the divan. “Lie down, Kaelmoro.”
In his hand he held a small handsaw.

Kaelmoro lay
down, but his little heart thudded even more strongly in his chest. How could
he tell his master that he did not want his horns sawed off again? How could he
express his shame? Though the boy felt it, he did not know how to put it into
words. The rain. The rain sang his anguish better than he ever could.

The Guildmaster
pulled up a stool and sat at Kaelmoro's head. “Relax, boy. We've done this
before. It'll be over soon enough.”

Tears rolled out
of the corners of Kaelmoro's eyes and into his hair.

“
Remember, you live among the Lotuses and will one day grow into a
mighty tree, granting them all shade and protection. You will be the center of
this garden's beauty, and all will look to you when I am gone. But for now, no
one must know what you are.”

The Guildmaster
gave this speech every time he sawed off Kaelmoro's horns, but confusion held
the boy in silence. His instincts told him there was something terribly wrong
with this. Why would the Guildmaster cut his horns off if he was supposed to be
beautiful? Kaelmoro knew he was the only Ausir in the compound. Were the horns
that ugly? Was it so important that he look like everyone else? What did it
matter? The Guildmaster kept him a secret anyway, never letting him leave the
house. No, there must have been something wrong with Kaelmoro, because if the
horns were beautiful and good, the Guildmaster would not cut them off.

Kaelmoro was
still a child, but he had enough natural aesthetic taste to tell him that his
horns were beautiful, that they enhanced his Ausir facial symmetry. Since he
could walk and talk, Kaelmoro had been trained every day in art, music, and
poetry. He had the finest tutors. The Guildmaster spared no expense. Kaelmoro
had heard these things over and over again.

The Guildmaster
pulled a leather strap through a steel ring mounted on the side of the divan.
He stretched it across Kaelmoro's forehead, and as he secured and tied it off
on the other side, Kaelmoro felt the strap tighten far enough to hold his head
in place. Though there was no pain, the pressure of the back and forth sawing
only deepened Kaelmoro's sorrow. He wept silently as the Guildmaster,
grim-faced, removed the horns. The sawing stopped, and Kaelmoro heard the thud
of the horn-nub as it hit the floor.

Kaelmoro hummed
the song of the rain he had just composed in his mind, but it brought him no
relief. The Guildmaster started in on the second horn. All the boy could think
about was how this whole process would be repeated a half a year from now. The
second horn hit the floor, and the Guildmaster released Kaelmoro.

The boy jumped
from the divan and started to run from the room, but his master stopped him.
“Stay, Kaelmoro.”

The child
obeyed, but he turned around with an ill grace. “I just want to be alone.”

The Guildmaster
nodded and took a seat in his ornately-carved armchair near the fireplace. “I
know you do, and that's precisely why you must stay.” The back of the chair
rose like bird wings above his head. “Come over here.”

Kaelmoro obeyed.

“
Sing me a cheerful song.”

The boy balked
at the order. “But, Master. I don't feel like singing a cheerful song.”

The Guildmaster
leaned forward and took the boy's hands in his. “Exactly. And that is why you
must. You will one day rule this guild, and you need to know how to make others
happy, even when you're not. You must be able to portray an emotion you don't
feel."

Rage blinded
Kaelmoro with tears. His little fists clenched into balls. He had never run
from his master before, but he was sorely tempted to do so now.

“
Kaelmoro,” the Guildmaster said, his voice a stern edge, “take up
that dulcimer and sit down.”

The boy grit his
teeth, took the instrument, and positioned it on his lap. “What song?” His
voice dripped venom.

The Guildmaster
smiled indulgently. “You are the master now. This is your party. You must
choose the song, but make it a cheerful one. Your customers are in no mood for
melancholy caterwauling.”

Kaelmoro's
childlike pride pricked at the insinuation, but he swallowed his anger, dried
his eyes, and put on his best false smile. The Guildmaster nestled back into
his armchair and waited.

Kaelmoro's rapid
strumming evoked the high, clear, clean voice of the instrument, and as the fingers
of his left hand ran up and down the neck, tapping at frets as quickly as the
raindrops pattered on the windows, the boy lifted up his high voice in song.

If ever the
scop on his lyre did play

In warm
mead-halls tunes of love

If ever the
angels of song bonded

The blood of
men in harmony

And made
pleasant a savage kind

And if ever
did the stars warm the night

These also do
I hear and feel

As the west
wind blows in leaves

Crisp red and
brown on the fading sun—

“
Stop.” The Guildmaster stood up and shook his head. “I said
cheerful.”