Chronicles of Ylandre 02 - Hallowed Bond(2)
Autor: Neni Burelli | Publicado: 2016-11-20T09:45:00-08:00


…

“And,
of course, you’re already acquainted with Guyon Barath,” Riodan
said in a barely audible voice.





Dylen
briefly nodded to Guyon then turned his attention back to the youths.
“I trust you’re enjoying yourselves?” he politely said.

“Oh
indeed, Your Grace! It’s not every day we get to witness a royal
binding!” enthused one.

“Not
to mention see so many notable Deira gathered in one place,” chimed
in the other.

“Then
I take it you deem it worth travelling all the way here from southern
Sidona.” The pair gaped at him in awe. “Oh, how did you know we
hail from the south of the





fief,
Dyhar?”
the first Deir asked.





“Your
accent,” Dylen explained. “It’s similar to Rio’s.”





To
his embarrassment, Riodan felt his cheeks heat up in a blush. He
strove to dampen the surge of pleasure brought about by Dylen’s
implied acknowledgement of their previous closeness. But it must have
shown in his face nevertheless, for Guyon suddenly scowled. He looked
at Dylen, eyes gleaming unpleasantly.





“I
was going to show my friends around after the reception,” he
announced with a sly grin. “I thought they might appreciate the
more sophisticated diversions our city has to offer. A visit to a
hethare
club for instance.”

“Guyon!”





“Oh
come now, Rio,” Guyon snidely said. “I’m sure Essendri-dyhar
can recommend a decent club considering his intimate knowledge of
such places.” He smirked at Dylen, his tone just this side of a
sneer. “Or perhaps you would care to join us for a night of
debauchery—I mean indulgence, Your Grace.”





There
was a concerted gasp at his insolence. The Sidonans glanced nervously
at Dylen, wondering how he would retaliate. But, while Riodan elbowed
Guyon in the ribs and furiously glared at him, Dylen remained
virtually expressionless.





As
if only just realizing the severity of his offense, Guyon’s eyes
widened, and he gestured apologetically. “I beg your pardon,” he
said, seemingly abashed. “What was I thinking, assuming Your Grace
would wish to revisit your old haunts or mingle with former
associates?”





Dylen’s
answering smile was frosty yet ever so polite. “On the contrary, I
frequently return to my old haunts and keep in touch with my former
associates,” he coolly said. “I don’t care to lose the
affection of folk who stay loyal to me come what may. It’s more
than I can say for others who forsake their friends as soon as
there’s naught to be gained from them.” He looked pointedly at
Guyon. “But you know all about that, don’t you, Barath-tyar?”





The
sudden crimsoning of Guyon’s cheeks told of Dylen’s sure aim. He
took leave of the now hushed group and disappeared into the crowd.

Forgetting
all tact, Riodan growled, “Dolt! That was beyond the pale! You
should be thankful Dylen never brings such matters to Rohyr’s
attention.” He recoiled when a smug

smile
curved Guyon’s mouth. “And you knew that!” he exclaimed in
disgust. “Saints above, Guyon! You’re little better than dog
excrement! Excuse me while I get some fresh air to rid my nostrils of
your stench.”





Guyon
found himself protesting to thin air when Riodan angrily turned his
back on him and stalked off.

He
was still fuming when he wandered onto one of the balconies. Taking
in the balmy night breeze, he struggled to bring his temper under
control.





Deity’s
blood,
he thought,
Guyon’s conduct is inexcusable! If
word were to reach
Rohyr,
Guyon would be barred from court. Indeed, all the Baraths could be
subject to royal censure just for being related to him. Really, what
had that imbecile thought to achieve? The humiliation of a perceived
adversary? Well, Dylen had certainly put paid to that attempt and
neatly turned the tables on him. Now all Riodan could hope was for
Dylen to be magnanimous enough not to report Guyon’s behavior to
Rohyr.





He
rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. If he were truly honest with
himself, it would be a blessed relief were Guyon banned from the
Citadel. Then there would be one place at least where he could be
confident of not encountering him. He closed his eyes and sighed. How
had his relationship with Guyon deteriorated in so short a time? They
were friends—or supposed to be friends. He would not have consented
to the betrothal otherwise.

Someone
stepped out onto the adjacent balcony. It was Dylen.

Riodan
saw him turn briefly to gaze at something inside the great hall. He
looked in the direction of Dylen’s gaze and realized he was
watching his brother and law-brother. Lassen stood in the circle of
Rohyr’s arms, leaning back against him while Rohyr spoke to his
counsellor uncle Yovan Seydon and his spouse Mered. The royal
couple’s easy intimacy was wonderful to behold. But
it can be painful for some,
Riodan thought, when Dylen’s face took on a wistful expression.





He
impulsively headed over to the other balcony.





Dylen
had turned back to look up at the star-flecked sky and did not notice
his arrival. But when Riodan came up alongside him, Dylen visibly
stiffened before training an inquiring stare on him. Riodan wondered
not for the first time how Dylen usually managed to sense his
presence.





He
hesitated, unsure what to say. But, slightly unnerved by Dylen’s
steady gaze, he said rather inanely, “I see you needed some fresh
air as well.”

Dylen
regarded him frowningly then nodded. “Why did you join me?” he
abruptly asked. He glanced at the balcony Riodan had vacated. “The
air is just as fresh yonder.”

Riodan
flushed. “I wished to speak to you,” he admitted. “So—speak.”





Damn
it all, Dylen made it so hard! Riodan exhaled and said, “I want to
apologize for Guyon’s behavior.”

Dylen
scowled. “Why are you apologizing for that thickhead? It’s a
useless exercise and not worth the words or effort wasted on it. Or
are you expressing remorse for the motives that led you to accept
wedlock with someone like him?” he taunted. “In which case, I’ll
thank you not to foist your self-inflicted troubles on me.”





Riodan
stared at him, shocked by Dylen’s open rancor. “Can’t you let
the past be?” he blurted. “Must you always have it stand between
us? What in Aisen will it take to soften your heart, Dy?”

He
fell back a step when Dylen visibly bridled.





“You
dare say that to me?” Dylen scathingly said. “You call me
hard-hearted for refusing your overtures? You who would have rather
let my father die a wretched death than forego a proper match and a
plum assignment. Why in the name of all that’s holy should I forget
the past and risk putting myself through that misery once more? And
at your so very capable hands may I add.”

Riodan
averted his face as if struck. His throat tight from Dylen’s
crushing disdain, he could not muster a reply.

“It
took me years to recover from your treachery, Ambassador,” Dylen
continued, his voice dripping with pain and scorn. “And now you
think I can just set that aside and take you back as if my heart
never broke and my soul didn’t wither from your denial of our
friendship and your refusal to help Adda.”
He smiled bitterly. “I think not.”





With
a curt nod, he departed the balcony. Riodan listlessly turned around
and, resting his elbows on the balustrade, buried his face in his
hands. He wondered if he would ever manage to win Dylen’s
friendship anew.





That
would suffice. It would have to. He had forfeited his right to regain
what had once been his alone and lost it for the least of reasons.

“Must
I intervene, Rio?”





Startled,
Riodan whirled about to find Rohyr at his side. The Ardan was
regarding him with open compassion.

“I
mean no offense, Rohyr, but why would you want to?” Riodan dully
asked. Rohyr’s eyes followed his brother as he made his way among
the guests. “I wouldn’t

bother
if there was naught to work with,” he admitted. “But there is
a spark of something and it’s high time Dylen knew some happiness.”

“I
betrayed him,” Riodan raggedly said. “Wounded him terribly. He
wants nothing to do with me.”

“So
he claims,” Rohyr replied. “But, were that true, would he still
keep the wristlet you gave him?” When Riodan responded with obvious
disbelief, he added, “Beaten gold and woven leather with a
heartstfire clasp.”

Riodan
gaped at the accurate description. “You-you’ve seen it?”





The
Ardan raised his left hand. “He never exposes his wrist when you
are present. What think you does he conceal from you?”





Hope
flared in Riodan’s heart. But, a moment later, it dimmed, and he
sighed and shook his head. “Dylen deserves far better than the
likes of me,” he morosely said. “I let fear and ambition rule me
and my choices.”





Rohyr
shrugged. “An error in judgment.”





“An
unforgivable one,” Riodan insisted. “It’s not a thing to take
lightly.”





“It’s
not,” Rohyr agreed. “But neither is it irredeemable. After all,
are there any amongst us who have never made a like mistake?”

Riodan
shrugged. “I would think you for one.”

Rohyr
snorted. “You would think wrong. I allowed my choices to be
dictated by what I thought was proper rather than what was right. Had
I abided my own judgment I would have bound myself to Lassen long ago
and not left the door open to a forced marriage that led me to shed
the blood of my own kin.”





Riodan
grimaced at the reminder of Rohyr’s first brush with matrimony. One
that had nigh ended in disaster for king and country and led to death
in the royal family.

“I
didn’t fear the unrest that might have occurred had I wed him
then,” Rohyr grimly admitted. “But I disliked having to deal with
the unpleasantness I expected would follow. And I thought that if I
did my duty, it would ensure the peace and Ylandre would be safe.”
His grey eyes glittered with pained remembrance.” Well, that
certainly wasn’t how it turned out, was it? And the irony of it all
is that Lassen had acquitted himself so well as my leman that few
would have opposed his becoming my consort after all. Even amongst
the nobility.” Rohyr sighed regretfully. “Think of the misery and
rancor that could have been averted had I read the people’s
sentiments correctly. Not to mention spared Uncle Imcael the grief of
losing a son.”





The
Ardan clapped an encouraging hand on Riodan’s shoulder. “You made
a mistake, that’s true, but you can make amends for it. As for
Dylen, he can claim all he wants that he no longer holds affection
for you; his actions say otherwise. Fear rules him as well. But, as I
said, it’s time he was happy. And you can make it so, Rio. If
you are willing to fight for him.”

Riodan
considered the suggestion. He turned his head to search for Dylen.
Catching sight of his quarry at the other side of the hall, he
regarded him for a long while. He looked back at Rohyr, his eyes
agleam with renewed determination.

“I
will fight for us.”









Chapter
Sixteen









Intervention









Lassen
braced himself against the bath stall wall as Rohyr repeatedly drove
into him from behind, filling his arse to the brim with every inward
slide of his shaft. As if to further remind him of his ownership,
Rohyr reached around and down between his legs to caress his thighs,
smearing them with the semen that trickled out of Lassen’s sheath.
A breath-stealing moment later he proceeded to stroke the delicate
passage, his fingers easily sliding along and into the copiously
lubricated opening.





Lassen
gasped as the exquisite sensations mounted. But, just as he thought
he would unravel, something dampened the sensual tension just enough
to keep his impending orgasm from erupting. That sudden tempering
intensified his need for release to an almost excruciating degree.
Lassen wondered not for the last time at the way his inordinately
gifted spouse could enter his consciousness and control his reaction
to pleasuring and even delay the onset of sexual completion. Rohyr
did not do it all the time but even once in a very long while was an
experience of unparalleled bodily bliss.





“Roh,
please!” he begged. “Finish this!”





“Not
yet,” Rohyr demurred. “I want to stay in you a while longer.”
Lassen shakily chuckled. “You’ve been in me all night!”

Rohyr
sealed his mouth to the side of Lassen’s throat and sucked hard on
the sweet flesh. “Forgive me then, ariad,
but nothing can compare with the bliss of being inside you. I find it
addictive.”





Lassen
cried out when Rohyr gripped his shaft and stroked it as well. The
inability to come undone became even more acute.

Every
thrust into him impelled his hips forward and drove his shaft into
Rohyr’s possessive grip. And, all the while, Rohyr continued to
finger him as well, tripling Lassen’s pleasure. In happy
retaliation, Lassen pushed back as well as he could to take Rohyr’s
shaft in as deeply as possible, deliberately clenching his muscles
around the hard flesh to caress it from within.

So
pleasurable a rhythm could be sustained only for so long even with
the control imposed by one as iron-willed as Rohyr, and he finally
released Lassen to the demands of his tightly wound body. Sobbing
helplessly, Lassen climaxed, overwhelmed by nigh shattering pleasure
coming at him from three different points. He struggled against the
overwhelming rapture, refusing to be alone in it, and ground his
buttocks backwards, thereby wrenched Rohyr’s mastery away. The
Ardan smothered his cries against his consort’s back, holding
Lassen’s bottom flush against his groin until he was done spending
inside him.





With
a satisfied groan, Rohyr uncoupled their bodies. He turned on the
taps and warm water gushed from the bathing chute above them.
Smirking at each other, they finally got on with the reason they were
in the bath stall in the first place.





Snickering,
Lassen lazily lathered Rohyr’s body, paying particular attention to
the Ardan’s shaft.

“What
is there to laugh about?” Rohyr mildly inquired as he likewise
washed Lassen, cleansing him of the leavings of their previous
exertions.

“’Tis
just I find it amusing that, when it comes to us, bathing doesn’t
always signal the end of a night’s rutting.” Lassen tugged
suggestively on Rohyr’s shaft while he rinsed it. “I wager you’ve
still got enough in you for another bout or two.”





Rohyr
did not reply but leaned forward and nuzzled the side of Lassen’s
neck before kissing his way to his throat. Lassen responded by
tossing back his head, giving the Ardan full access to the smooth
flesh. Rohyr chuckled against his throat.





“And
who makes certain that I’ll be up for another bout or two?” he
teased. When they were done, they retreated to the bed once more.
Rohyr drew the bed

curtains
then pulled Lassen down beside him to lie within his embrace.
Snuggled against his king, Lassen contentedly sighed.

“Prudent
of you to let Vyren sleep alone tonight,” Rohyr murmured.





Lassen
snorted. “I seem to recall the suggestion came from you.” He
raised his head and eyed Rohyr with mock severity. “Indeed, you
insisted on it and scarcely gave me time to tuck him in.”





Rohyr
shrugged. “I was tired of having to hold back for fear of waking
him up. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you scream loud enough
to awaken the entire Citadel.”





“I
don’t scream—”





“And
even longer since you’ve thrown discretion to the four winds and
pleasured me as ardently as a wanton strung out on a love philter.”

“I
beg your pardon—”

“And,
Veres almighty, you can’t imagine how much I missed it.”

That
effectively brought Lassen up short. He gazed anxiously at Rohyr.





“Why
didn’t you say so? I would’ve seen to your needs forthwith had
you told me.” Rohyr grinned. “You have
been seeing to my needs, Las. Don’t think you’ve

neglected
me. I only meant that I missed making love with you as riotously as
we did before you birthed Vyren.”

Lassen
regarded him thoughtfully. “You restrained yourself because you
could see how caught up I was in his care,” he murmured. “I’m
sorry, Roh.”

“For
what? For being a doting father to our son?” Rohyr shook his head.
“I’ve been as obsessed with Vyren’s care as you.”





“That’s
not surprising given that he’s your heir as well as your
firstborn.” Lassen gazed contritely at his spouse. “Perhaps there
is naught to apologize for, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try
to improve on what we do have.” He pressed tender kisses to Rohyr’s
mouth. “I’m glad Vyren is old enough to leave in Josel’s care
most nights. Now I can attend to you as much as you wish.” He
brought their lips together in a longer, more heated kiss. “And you
needn’t restrain yourself any longer, my love. Tonight or any other
night.”

“I
shall hold you to that,” Rohyr said, breaking into a rakish grin.

Lassen
softly laughed and laid his head on Rohyr’s shoulder again. “I
didn’t think it possible for anyone to be so happy as we are. How I
wish others could also know such joy.”





Rohyr
ran his fingers through Lassen’s hair. “Are you thinking of
anyone in particular?”

“You
know I am,” came the muffled reply as Lassen nuzzled his shoulder.

“Dylen.”





“Don’t
you wish that as well?”





“Of
course.” Rohyr sighed. “But so long as he nurses his anger
towards Riodan, I fear he will never have joy or peace. Much as he
still despises what Riodan did, he hasn’t stopped caring for him
either. I warrant he’s furious with himself for feeling thusly, and
that only serves to deepen his resentment.”





“He
wants to hate Riodan but finds that he can’t?”

“Worse.
He feels himself forced to love against his very will.”

“And
so his anger is further stoked.” Lassen blew his breath out. “To
be so torn… How terrible for him.” He frowned and looked at
Rohyr. “What did
Riodan do? Or are you forbidden to talk about it?”





Rohyr
hesitated. “If there’s anyone to whom Dylen confides his deepest
secrets other than myself, I think it’s you,” he slowly said.
“But this strikes at his pride as much as it wounds his heart, and
he is loathe to expose what he deems a weakness. You see, he’s
ashamed of his failure to realize that Riodan probably couldn’t
have acted otherwise and that if he’d had his wits about him at the
time, he wouldn’t have been so surprised by Riodan’s duplicity.
Or as disillusioned. And so he keeps the hurt to himself and holds
the one person who has the greatest chance of healing it at bay.
Ironically that person inflicted the hurt in the first place.”
Rohyr exhaled in frustration. “It’s like a festering sore from
which he can find no relief. And Riodan is faring no better. Each
time Dylen refuses his overtures, he shrivels up a little more
inside. If Dylen’s anger hardens his heart, Riodan’s guilt
corrodes his soul.”





Lassen
stared at him. “Tell me what you can,” he finally said. “You
needn’t go into details if you don’t wish to betray Dylen’s
confidence but tell me the bare bones at least. I want to help them.
Veres knows they need some and soonest.”





He
listened carefully to Rohyr’s spare account of his brother’s
history with the young diplomat. When Rohyr was done, Lassen was
rendered quite speechless.





“I
knew something had gone wrong between them, but nothing so
devastating,” he said at length. “Saints! I can’t imagine
Riodan doing something as reprehensible as that. And then for Dylen
to blame himself for not anticipating so great a change in Riodan…”
He laughed mirthlessly. “You really are
brothers. Only the two of you would hold yourselves responsible for
what is beyond anyone’s ability to control!”

Rohyr
looked away in some embarrassment. Lassen guessed he was remembering
that terrible day when he’d blamed himself for not foreseeing the
unforeseeable. It had nigh cost Lassen his life and all but
guaranteed that the rest of Rohyr’s would be spent in misery.
Lassen cupped his face and kissed him.





“Don’t,
Roh,” he gently chided. “Dwelling on what might have been is
fruitless. We won that fight and reaped the spoils of it. And now
that we have secured our happiness, we can ensure the same for
others.”





Rohyr
smiled faintly. “Ensure? Are we deities to grant wishes and answer
prayers?” “Nay, but you have the power to set circumstances in
motion that might bring them





together
once more. If not as lovers, then at least as friends.” “You have
so much confidence in me.”

“I
have perfect reason to.” “Why thank you, ariad.”

Lassen
placed his clasped hands on Rohyr’s chest and rested his chin on
them. He

looked
hopefully at his spouse. Rohyr laughed and shook his head.





“Why
do I feel that I must come up with a plan right now or lose your high
esteem of my abilities?” he rhetorically asked.

Lassen
huffed a chuckle. “But you do have something in mind, don’t you?
Else you wouldn’t have delayed so long in deciding who to send to
Asmara.”

Rohyr’s
eyes widened then softened as he gazed at Lassen. He raised his hand
and caressed Lassen’s cheek.





“How
well you know me,” he murmured. “Small wonder I feel I can
accomplish anything with you at my side. Yes, I did delay my decision
for that reason. I was debating whether their having to work together
on a mission might help things along. Dylen would never allow his
personal prejudices to interfere with the performance of his
obligations. He would force himself to be accommodating with Riodan
for duty’s sake. And, Veres willing, he just might make a habit of
it.”





“Thereby
opening himself to Riodan’s attempts to reconcile with him,”
Lassen mused out loud. “Yes, ’twould be a point from which they
could start anew. Provided Riodan takes advantage of the opportunity.
But think you he’ll stay the course?”





Rohyr
nodded. “To the bitter end. I think the outcome will lie in Dylen’s
hands. In whether he can forgive Riodan or not.”

Lassen
bit his lip. ”Saints, I hope he can,” he whispered.





They
lay in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lassen shifted a
slender limb and laid it across Rohyr’s lap. Within seconds, he
felt Rohyr’s shaft stir and firm up against his thigh. Before he
could tease his mate, Rohyr rolled him over and lodged his hips
between his splayed legs. Lassen moaned as his throat was nibbled and
sucked and his nipples thumbed to tiny peaks while down yonder, Rohyr
thrust against him, sliding their hardened shafts against each other.





Rohyr
reached down and gingerly stroked Lassen’s sheath until his body
was ready for reproductive intercourse once more. He slid a finger
into the slippery passage, caressing it from within.





Lassen
let out a shuddery exhalation. “Yes,” he whispered.





Rohyr
withdrew his finger and pressed the tip of his shaft against the
glistening entrance.

“I
won’t restrain myself,” he huskily promised. “And neither will
you.”





Aflame
with anticipation, Lassen raised his legs and wrapped them around
Rohyr’s waist. He gasped Rohyr’s name as he was deeply penetrated
then braced himself for a nice hard ride.





*
* * *





Rohyr
watched Dylen and Riodan’s faces as they listened to Gilmael
explain the current situation in Asmara.





The
country spanned the main route between Ylandre and the South
Vihandran nations. All travellers passing through Asmara had to gain
permission to do so from its government first. Ruled by the powerful
Halvan clan, the wealthy and influential South Vihandran kingdom had
become a cause for some worry thanks to the marriage of the reigning
Asmaran king’s son to the heir of the current Varadani pretender
Jubal Ferrenda.





It
was an ongoing thorn in the Ylandrin monarchy’s figurative side,
this constant cropping up of Ferrenda claimants to the rulership of
the defunct nation of Varadan.

Despite
having lost both crown and country in the war of conquest they
instigated centuries ago, there seemed no end to rebellious Deira who
clamored for the restoration of the Ferrendas to the Varadani throne.





They
abided for the most part in the northwest of the Autonomous Province
of Tenerith, which, along with the royal fief of Vireshe, had been
carved out of Varadan. Though few, and largely lacking cohesiveness
in method and purpose, the separatists tended toward violent means of
achieving their goals. So every few years, the royal armies were sent
to crush them before they had a chance to swell to less manageable
numbers.





Rohyr
had led more than one campaign to “clean house” as his forebears
had put it and never lowered his guard against them no matter how few
remained after. But neither he nor his predecessors had yet managed
to eradicate them completely for they fled into the bordering hills
and mountains after every defeat, and it was all but impossible to
rout them out of the subterranean labyrinth of tunnels in which they
hid themselves until the next attempt at insurrection.





So
the Ferrendas remained without kingdom or throne, but not resources
or prestige. Though stripped of a physical realm, they had managed to
retain extensive properties in other lands whence they derived much
income. And they were still of the blood royal and therefore remained
respected in some countries, particularly in the south. After all,
their former aggression had never touched the South Vihandrans. Thus
to this day wedlock with House Ferrenda was still deemed acceptable
by not a few southern clans, especially those whose ranks the
Ferrendas entered in the days before Varadan’s conquest by Ylandre.
The Halvans were among the royals who counted Ferrendas among their
ancestors. And still wed with them as evidenced by Prince Sivar’s
marriage to Jubal’s son Malkon.

Now
that had not made Asmara unfriendly to Ylandre. On the contrary,
relations between the two countries remained stable and lucrative.
But no Essendri worth his salt would ever discount the possibility of
a hostile in-law meddling in the kingdom’s affairs and influencing
Asmara against Ylandre.





At
present, Asmara had not put an embargo on Ylandrin goods or
restricted passage through the realm between Ylandre and the
countries down south. Nor had there been any hint of animosity on the
Shaja Amir Halvan’s part. But there were signs that Jubal was
trying to gain influence through his son’s entry into the royal
family.





“There
is a possible indication of interference,” Gilmael said. “The
approval of contract renewals between several Ylandrin and Asmaran
corporations and guilds has been considerably delayed. There’s a
great chance that some may not be renewed at all even after years of
smooth relations and fruitful cooperation. And it’s rumored that
Malkon is cultivating close ties with various heads of government.
The Asmaran Minister of Trade is oft seen in his company.”

Riodan
asked, “What does our ambassador to Asmara say?”

Gilmael
shook his head. “He was recalled last month after Foreign Affairs
received reports of too much carousing in the stews and not enough
attention to duty. Another will be posted to Asmara when his current
assignment is done. In the meantime, we can make do with an interim
consular team.”





“And
may I presume that I will be part of that team?” Riodan ventured.
“You may,” Gilmael confirmed. “You and Dylen.”

Silence
met his statement. Dylen and Riodan looked at each other in surprise
then stared at Gilmael.

“You
approve of my inclusion in the team?” Dylen asked disbelievingly.
Gilmael nodded. “It’s a judicious choice.”

“Judicious?
Just how did you come to that conclusion?” “Gil didn’t make the
decision,” Rohyr interrupted. “I did.”

He
glanced ruefully at Gilmael. He was not really surprised by Dylen or
Riodan’s respective reactions. Dylen was glaring at him with
incredulity coupled with suspicion while Riodan’s expression
revealed a jumble of emotions, astonishment and the faintest tinge of
hope among them. Nay, he was not surprised and neither was he
sanguine that Dylen would accept the mission unquestioningly.

Sure
enough, Dylen eyed him with barely concealed displeasure. “So you
want to find out if Malkon is behind the recent problems in trade
relations between Ylandre and Asmara,” he said.

“That
is correct.”





“And
we must tread carefully because he is wed to Amir’s son.” “Yes.”





“But
why me?” Dylen asked. “It makes sense to send Riodan—he’s
proved his mettle as a diplomat. But I’m untried whereas Gil has
any number of seasoned agents at his beck and call. Not to mention
far more competent than I.”





“Hardly
more competent,” Rohyr demurred. “It was you who helped uncover
no less than three instances of burgeoning disaffection amongst the
least suspected of the nobility.”





“Minor
achievements,” Dylen said dismissively.





“On
the contrary,” Rohyr countered. “Disaffection can easily evolve
into insurrection if not nipped in the bud. Besides, you displayed a
knack for discerning the beginnings of the problems before they
developed into serious threats. And you have a great talent for
getting people to open up. Pardon the term, Dy, but you virtually
seduced them into talking.”

“Those
were local cases,” Dylen protested. “This involves international
relations best left in a diplomat’s hands.”

“But
a diplomat’s hands can be tied in ways an agent’s are not,”
Gilmael interjected. “Rio will be constrained by his position
insofar as discovering what Malkon is about. But he’ll be the
shield behind which you can act as you see fit.”





“Which
doesn’t explain why you want me to accompany him,” Dylen
retorted. “Besides, how do you propose to explain to the Halvans
why your adjutant is part of a supposedly diplomatic mission?
Wouldn’t it be better to covertly seed Rio’s team with agents
rather than openly have someone from Intelligence in it?”





Rohyr
raised a hand to forestall the spate of questions.





“It’s
my prerogative to send who I want where I want, and no one can
question my reasons,” he reminded Dylen. “But, if you feel a need
for one, it’s because you are
largely untried. Why shouldn’t I desire my only brother to gain
more experience abroad? And wouldn’t that allay suspicions on
Malkon’s part about the real intent of this mission? Save for your
kinship to me, little is known about you even in Rikara itself. Not
your stealth or your skill at extracting information or your talent
in the mind-arts. Malkon won’t be on his guard and Amir will be
flattered that I esteem him highly enough to send

my
own brother to his kingdom for his very first mission abroad.” He
locked gazes with Dylen. “Any more objections?”

Dylen
glared back but only shook his head. Rohyr smiled faintly then looked
at the others. “We are agreed on this then,” he declared. “When
can they leave, Gil?”

“No
later than a sennight,” Gilmael promptly replied. “Very good,”
Rohyr said. “You may go. Except you, Dy.”

Dylen
seated himself once more, eyeing Rohyr warily as he did. The Ardan
waited until the others had left the chamber. He looked at Dylen,
studying him until the latter began to scowl.





“Why
did you ask me to stay, Ardan-tyar?”
he stiffly asked. Rohyr sighed at the use of his title. “You’re
displeased.”

“I
have no right to be.” “Dy, please…”

Dylen
leaned forward, eyes flashing with hurt. “Why did you do this? You
know what came of our previous association. Rohyr, I trusted you!”

“And
I haven’t broken your trust.” “Haven’t you?” Dylen
challenged.

“Do
you hate him that much?” Rohyr said instead.





The
question rendered Dylen speechless. He abruptly stood and walked to
the windows. For a long while, he stared out, viewing stately Mount
Sarak in the distance. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and
rough.





“Nay,
I don’t hate him,” he admitted. “But it smites my very soul to
be in the same room with him.” He blinked his eyes as if the bright
sunlight dazzled him. “Bad enough to meet him now and then and
perforce act civil to keep gossip at bay. But to work closely and
keep company with him for most of a day for Veres knows how long…“
His voice trailed away to a pained murmur.

Rohyr
rose and went to him. He put a protective arm around Dylen’s
shoulders and pulled him close.

“Do
you love him?” he softly asked.





“Love?”
Dylen shook his head. “I no longer know what I feel. But I do know
I can’t trust him.”

“Can’t?
Or don’t wish to?” “Does it matter?”

“If
it affects you so much then, yes, it does.” Rohyr gently made Dylen
face him. “He’s suffering, too.”

Dylen
grimaced. “I know.”





“And
he repents of his sin against you. Even that benighted intended of
his knows it, and that’s saying a lot considering what an obtuse
wantwit Guyon Barath can be.” That elicited a fleeting smile from
Dylen. Rohyr forged on. “Can you not give him a chance to make
amends for what he did? He’s humbled himself before you more times
than I can count. Doesn’t that move you?”

“And
how hard can it be to humble one’s self before a king’s brother?”
Bitterness shadowed Dylen’s eyes once more. “Were I still a
hethar
with antecedents of no particular importance, think you he would try
to win my regard anew?”

“Dy—”





“It
was because I was nobody that he refused me his help!” Dylen pulled
away,

anguish
limning his words. “Deity’s blood, Roh, he denied even our
friendship! Made me out to be a one-night tumble and a liar for
claiming to be more than that! Tell me, why should I trust him now?
And why are you so bent on pushing us together when you know how
deeply he hurt me?”

Rohyr
pulled Dylen into his arms, holding him tightly and saying, “I’m
sorry, Dy, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to cause you more pain. I
hope you know that.”

Fighting
for calm, Dylen tried to relax in his brother’s soothing embrace.
“Tell me why,” he whispered.

Rohyr
took a deep breath. “Because you still care for him though you
fight it,” he softly said. “If you would only admit your
feelings—”

“And
give him the chance to break my heart anew?” Dylen bleakly said.





“Nay,
to relieve you of the strain of denying what it still yearns for,”
Rohyr asserted. “It will calm the turmoil in your soul. Believe me,
it’s far more difficult to keep stoking one’s anger than it is to
forgive and move on.”





“Ah,
so that’s how you manage to keep sane with Uncle Imcael,” Dylen
murmured with a watery smile.

Rohyr
smiled back, heartened by the stab at humor. “Now you know my
secret.” He reached up and cupped Dylen’s face in his hands.
“Riodan despairs of ever regaining your love, but I see how much he
hopes for your forgiveness. Surely you have it in you to grant him
that at the very least. And perhaps restore something of what you
once shared with him. Friendship, if not love.”

Dylen
shuddered ever so slightly. “You don’t say it but verily you
would have me try for more,” he said, his voice catching.

“Nay,
I would have you take one step forward, no more, no less.” Rohyr
touched his forehead to Dylen’s. “I would have you happy,
brother.”









Chapter
Seventeen









Truce









Asmara,
South Vihandra





A
land of contradictions,
Dylen thought as he gazed out at Asmara’s capital of
Shenze
from the wide windows of the east gallery of the royal palace.





In
the north and central regions of the kingdom, the climate was
pleasant with none of the seasonal extremes found in most of Ylandre
save in the east where a massive mountain range, its craggy windswept
peaks more forbidding than any battlement, protected Asmara from its
sometimes contentious neighbors. Toward the south, the climate became
progressively warmer and the seasons less numerous and varied—wet,
dry and cold. The southwest was lush with swamps and rainforests, the
arid southeast rife with barren rocky plains and small deserts.

Shenze
itself, or at least its architecture, seemed to follow the pattern.
Massive domed buildings competed with thin, spire-topped edifices so
delicate in appearance one almost expected them to crack and crumble
at the slightest gust of the strong easterly winds. There was no
homogeneity in the materials of which the city was wrought. Red
brick, blue slate and moss green stone meshed and clashed in glorious
profusion. The result was a vibrant metropolis alive with color,
shape and texture.





Its
citizens were more alike to each other than the structures they had
built. They were little different from the people of the North
Continent in physical appearance. But evolution had taken the sunnier
climes of South Vihandra into consideration and consequently its folk
were slightly darker in complexion with skin tones ranging from olive
to coppery.

He’d
felt the charm of this gateway city and its environs almost as soon
as he and Riodan came out of translocation three days ago on the
wide, gently undulating plain that lay before Shenze. If he now
strove to keep Asmara allied to Ylandre, it was no longer out of duty
alone, but also because he genuinely appreciated the land and its
people.





At
length he sauntered into the long open gallery that overlooked the
open-air, mosaic-floored courtyard that was the center around which
the palace had been built. The Halvan residence was as different from
the Citadel as could be. Golden in hue and quite decadent in
appearance, it sprawled rather than soared, with the main audience
chamber housed under a massive dome that formed most of the north
wing of the palace. Keeping the warmer climate in mind, its builders
had provided many open courtyards and terraces within the complex, as
well as numerous doors and windows to allow for maximum air
circulation.





Like
all royal keeps, the palace was enclosed within thick nigh
impregnable stone walls. But an extra defense and a most effective
one was the sheer drop in back of it. From the ramparts on the
palace’s rear wall, one gazed down into a deep jagged chasm too
wide to bridge and too long to skirt. It was a dizzying sight and a
frightening one as well.

From
his vantage point, Dylen spotted Riodan down below talking with the
Minister of Trade by one of the three fountains that adorned the
courtyard. Riodan had earlier told him that he intended to corner the
Deir and put not so subtle pressure on him to get on with the
business of approving the contract renewals that were the purported
reason for their presence in Asmara. The Minister seemed rather
red-faced at the moment and was mopping his face with a kerchief.
What in Aisen was Riodan saying to the Deir to make him so
uncomfortable?

He
recalled the bit of gossip he had come across the night before after
he and Riodan had parted for the evening. It had come to his ears by
way of the loosened tongue of his drinking partner, one of the palace
officials. Perhaps he should communicate it to Riodan now while he
had the Minister’s full attention. After all, what good was all his
training under Rohyr and Tenryon if he did not put it to practical
use? He focused on Riodan and, taking a deep breath, reached out and
connected with him, mind to mind.





*
* * *





Ask
him how he did at the gaming tables last night.





Riodan
did not so much as bat an eyelash at the unbidden message. He only
nodded his head slightly to let Dylen know he had heard. He looked at
his companion, Thael Dimas, Asmara’s Minister of Trade.





“I’ve
heard quite a lot about the gaming halls of Shenze,” he casually
said. “Is it true the stakes are higher here than in most other
cities?”

Dimas
glanced at him, obviously startled by the sudden change in topic.
“Yes, it’s true,” he admitted. “You can win a lifelong
fortune with one roll of the dice in our halls.”

“Or
lose everything but the shirt on one’s back I imagine.” “Well,
that is a risk of gaming,” Dimas said with a shrug.





Riodan
looked him straight in the eye. “And how did you
do last night, Minister? Did you win a fortune or lose one?”

The
Deir started. He grew pale. “A little of each,” he grudgingly
admitted.





“Then
it must be very reassuring that you have ample resources to pay off
any debts you incur,” Riodan murmured.

Dimas
grew red-faced all over again. “I assure you there have never been
defalcations at my Ministry!”

Riodan
softly chuckled. “Ah, I never implied that. What I meant was that
you must have friends in high places who are generous enough to lend
you what is needed.”

The
Minister seemed taken aback. “I—that is, I have been fortunate,
yes,” he stammered slightly. “But I, er, pride myself in paying
back all I owe.”

“In
kind as well as coin, I suppose,” Riodan said.





“On
occa—” Dimas stopped mid word, his eyes widening. Riodan clearly
saw fear in them. “What-what are you suggesting, Your Excellency?”

“Nothing
at all,” Riodan replied with wide-eyed innocence. “A fair
exchange does not always involve money after all. Now, about those
trade contracts—may I expect progress on them very soon? Within the
week perhaps?”





“I—yes,
yes, I will work on them at once,” Dimas nervously assured him.
“That is, they are being, ah, processed even as we speak.”

“That
is good to hear.”

“Yes.”
Dimas’ kerchief was out again, and he wiped his face as before.
Except now

his
hands visibly trembled. “If you will excuse me, Ambassador, I have
an appointment to keep,” he mumbled.

“Oh,
with Lord Malkon perhaps?” Riodan was gratified to see the other
Deir turn deathly white. There were times a calculated guess could be
as effective as an investigation of the facts. “Why, Minister, are
you unwell?” he solicitously asked. “Perhaps you should get some
rest.”





Dimas
was by now sweating profusely. “Yes, I-I think I must,” he
stuttered. “Good-good day, Your Excellency.”

“Good
day, Minister. Expect me at your office this afternoon.” “What?
Oh, but I—Yes, of course,” Dimas finished incoherently.





He
hurried away as if a pack of hunting hounds was after him. Riodan
watched him go then looked up to where Dylen waited. Their gazes met
for an instant, and then Dylen stepped back out of sight while Riodan
headed for his first official audience with the Shaja Amir and his
nephew and heir Laral.





*
* * *





Riodan’s
meeting with the Asmaran monarch proved illuminating and confusing at
the same time in one particular capacity. Amir’s only son Sivar
also attended and spoke with as much authority as his sire and
cousin. Riodan noted Sivar’s demeanor with Laral. There was little
deference toward a higher-ranking personage either in his speech or
behavior. Understandable had the situation been a familial one; not
so much when it was an official occasion where protocol was expected
to be strictly observed even among members of the same family.

He
soon realized he wasn’t the only one affected by their behavior.
Amir’s head counsellor and the scribe and attendants present looked
discomfited by Sivar’s apparent lack of propriety. Amir, however,
was not, and tellingly, neither was Laral. Indeed, not only did the
crown prince not seem affronted by his cousin’s behavior, he even
appeared to encourage it. Riodan tucked the intriguing discrepancy
away for examination at a later date.





“I
regret the anxiety caused by the new policy implemented by Minister
Dimas,” Amir said toward the end of the meeting. “He’s not to
blame since I did approve his revision of the process of contract
renewals, but he was very remiss in not informing you of it. Rest
assured I shall have a word with him on that, Ambassador. And I give
you leave to discuss the matter with him directly as well.”

“Thank
you, Your Majesty,” Riodan replied, choosing not to reveal that he
had already done so.

Amir
left the audience chamber ahead with his chief advisor while Laral
and Sivar lingered a while to chat with Riodan.





They
were a handsome pair and very much alike in height and facial
features. This was not surprising given that they were first-degree
kin. But Sivar’s hair was dark brown while Laral’s was a deep
honey shade.





Laral
asked, “Are the Ylandrins truly accepting of Rohyr’s binding to
his leman?” Riodan refrained from raising his eyebrows. “For the
most part, Your Highness,” he

said.
“There will always be those who resist the crossing of lines
between social classes.” “I understand his uncle of Qimaras is of
that thinking.”

“The
Herun is retired from court,” Riodan informed them. “His opinion
on the matter

no
longer carries much weight.”





Laral
chuckled. “You certainly don’t mince words, Ambassador. Or have
you a particular dislike for Imcael Essendri?”

Riodan
lightly said, “I only find such close-mindedness tiresome.”





“Ah,
then you don’t oppose the blurring of lines between the well-born
and the rabble?”

Riodan
hesitated. “I would not advise wedlock between a blueblood and a
peasant,” he cautiously clarified. “The disparities on just about
every level would almost inevitably doom such a marriage. But I see
nothing wrong with, say, a well-mannered commoner marrying into a
noble family or an educated working class Deir wedding someone from
the gentry.”

“And,
in any case, you don’t face that choice,” Sivar murmured. “Royal
blood is royal blood even if it flows in the veins of a by-blow.”
He smiled when Riodan stared at him, startled. “You hide it well,
but every now and then, you can’t help but betray your attraction
to Lord Dylen.”





Riodan
reddened under their knowing regard. “I’m not alone in finding
him attractive,” he said as blandly as he could manage.





“He
is very comely,” Laral agreed. “Essendri blood runs true in him.”
He eyed Riodan curiously. “You didn’t wait for my uncle to give
you leave to speak to Minister Dimas. I saw you talking with him
earlier. And he looked most uncomfortable with what you were
discussing.”





“I
only alluded to his fondness for gaming,” Riodan evenly replied.





“So
you’ve heard tales of his frequent visits to the halls,” Sivar
said. He shook his head. “I have cautioned him oft enough to be
more prudent with his wagers. His family is well off but not so much
that he can afford to make a habit of such a ruinous sport.”





“I
hear Lord Malkon also enjoys the occasional evening trying his luck
at the tables,” Riodan idly mentioned.





“Does
he?” Sivar shrugged. “Perhaps he does. I don’t keep track of
Malkon’s activities. He has his own pursuits, and I have mine.”

Riodan
said no more, but he did not miss the furtive glance Laral sent his
cousin’s way.





*
* * *





He
and Dylen compared notes during the midday meal back at the Ylandrin
embassy. They fell into the habit without ever saying a word,
something Riodan hopefully thought was a sign that their affinity of
long ago was still intact.





Riodan
watched with fond indulgence as Dylen attacked his meal with delight.
Despite all the pressures and tension of fulfilling their mission,
Dylen was enjoying what he could of Asmara to the hilt. It was a
conscious decision born of the twin reasonings that the experience
might not come his way again, and though it had been against his
will, he might as well make the most of it now that he was here.

Perhaps
nothing had made it as easy for Dylen to appreciate the culture of
the southern lands as the cuisine. And, having been exposed to
sophisticated dishes for years, he was quick to enjoy the differences
in flavor preferences. Slightly spicier than most North Continent
fare and given to more adventurous combinations of ingredients and
seasonings, the food south of the continental divide was pleasingly
exotic for a Deir who

had
not sojourned abroad before.





Today,
they dined on fillets of whitefish poached in a surprisingly tart and
piquant broth followed by peppery herb-encrusted roehart medallions
roasted to a rare turn with mashed purple tubers garnished with
sweet-tangy garnet plum puree on the side. And to end the meal, there
was a rich cake of sweetened curd cheese in a biscuit crust topped
with a mélange of fruits cooked in syrup.

They
proceeded to discuss what they had learned thus far as they sipped
the southerners’ favorite post-prandial beverage. Kahvi
was a hot aromatic brew with a rich, slightly bitter flavor and was
equally delicious taken with or without the sweetened condensed milk
the Asmarans were fond of using in their various desserts and
confectionery. Riodan grinned when Dylen displayed his predilection
for the sweet version, adding the milk to his kahvi
with a lavish hand.

“What
did Amir have to say?” Dylen asked after taking a sip.

“He’s
aware of the problem,” Riodan reported. “And he did question
Dimas about it after we lodged our complaint. But apparently Dimas’
explanation for his actions satisfied Amir, and so he didn’t press
the issue further.”





Dylen
pursed his lips. “What explanation did Dimas give?”





“Officially?
That it would be in Asmara’s best interests to periodically
reassess such agreements, and rather than do a shoddy job of it, he
thought it wisest to take as much time as needed to study each and
every contract.”





“How
very patriotic of him.”





“And
so very reasonable sounding, too.”





“Except
that it shouldn’t take forever to go over those contracts,” Dylen
commented. “Unless he’s taken it upon himself to personally study
each and every one without any help whatsoever.”





Riodan
smiled mirthlessly. “That is probably what he’s doing to slow
down the process. And it appears your source was right about Dimas’
gaming habit. Sivar mentioned that he’s talked to Dimas about it as
well. But he didn’t seem aware of a possible connection between him
and Malkon. Either that or he’s a very good actor,” Riodan wryly
posited. “Though I can’t imagine why the pretense at ignorance if
that is so. I’m inclined to believe he really doesn’t know. Or
care.”





“He
doesn’t appear to take much interest in Malkon’s affairs,”
Dylen agreed. “Which says a great deal about the state of their
marriage.”

It
said a lot as well about the Deir they had come to Asmara to keep an
eye on. Malkon Ferrenda had proved far from impressive. Glib and
often pompous, he was given to preening himself on even the most
minor of accomplishments. Not least of these self-proclaimed
achievements was his binding to Sivar Halvan. That this had come
about after careful negotiations between his sire and
Sivar’s—negotiations he’d had close to no part in—he blithely
ignored. Indeed he had gained a not so charming reputation for
embellishing stories about himself if by doing so he could further
puff up his already swollen head.





Dylen
summed him up within minutes of meeting him as shallow and vain and
too clever by half. A thoroughly untrustworthy character who needed
close watching as much for his propensity for harassing any Deir
unlucky enough to catch his eye as for his suspected meddling in
Asmaran politics. Both Dylen and Riodan heartily sympathized with
Prince Sivar for having to bear with so unlikable a spouse.

Riodan
put down his cup and sat back. “In any case, let’s assume that
Malkon encourages his debtors to gamble away their fortunes and
therefore borrow far more than they can ever repay within the time he
stipulates. He would then threaten them with a stint in paupers’
prison if they don’t do as he says. I warrant he used that against
Dimas to force him to delay the approval of those trade agreements.
But what the Ferrendas have to gain from the delay, I don’t know.”





“Profit,
of course,” Dylen said. “And not always in the short-term. I
studied the information Gilmael sent regarding the contracts in
question and checked who the competitors of the corporations and
guilds concerned are. Well, surprise, surprise, they’re either
owned by the Ferrendas or Jubal and Malkon have considerable
interests in them. I warrant Malkon is trying to get a foot in so to
speak by slowly dislodging rivals and supplanting them eventually
with Ferrenda-backed companies. If he’s successful with Asmara,
he’ll probably try to do the same with other southern nations. The
prejudice against the Ferrendas isn’t as strong down here as it is
in the north.”





“That’s
very sound reasoning,” Riodan conceded. “I should have thought of
that. Gilmael and our Trade Minister, too.”

Dylen
shrugged. “They’ve got more on their plates than just this one
problem. And you’ve been busy with your own investigations as
well.” After a pregnant pause, he said, “I also learned something
that is unknown outside of the immediate royal circle. There was an
attempt on Laral’s life late last year.”





Riodan
sat up straight. “On Laral? That is news indeed. But why did the
Halvans suppress it?”





“Partly
because they feared it would encourage other attempts but also
because too many questions would be asked, and the answer to who
instigated it might lead to an open rift with Ylandre if not outright
war.”





“Why
would it—?” Riodan sharply drew in his breath. “Sweet Veres,
they think Ylandre was behind the attempt?”





“They’re
not sure,” Dylen said. “The would-be assassins escaped, but one
left behind evidence
of
their affiliation—a cloak pin bearing the insignia of an Ylandrin
foot soldier.”

“Rather
too obvious for credibility I should think,” Riodan scoffed.

“But
with lack of proof to the contrary, the Halvans can’t simply
absolve us, can they?” Dylen countered.





“I
suppose not. Where did you get this information?” “Captain
Talvas.”

Riodan
frowned. “But if Amir ordered that the attempt be suppressed, why
did he tell you?”

“Likely
because we’re kindred spirits,” Dylen replied. “Talvas is a
bastard, too.” “That’s no secret. The son of one of Amir’s
cousins they say.”

“Nay,
he was sired on a Shenzen minstrel by Amir himself.”





Riodan’s
eyebrows rose in surprise. “So Talvas is Sivar’s half-brother?
Small wonder he’s fanatically loyal to the family. He’s actually
one of them.”

“Precisely.
And therefore he knows just about all there is to know about the
Halvans’ history.” Dylen took a long sheet of parchment from the
sheaf at his elbow and pushed it toward Riodan. “He helped me draw
this up.”





Riodan
scanned the document. “This is the Halvan ancestral tree.” He
looked at Dylen questioningly. “What did you hope to find?”

“A
possible motive for Malkon to do away with Laral.” “And did you
find it?”

“I
believe so. And it might also explain what you observed of Sivar’s
demeanor toward Laral,” Dylen added thoughtfully. “Do you recall
the inheritance law Imcael concealed from Rohyr when he forced him to
marry Tyrde?” Riodan nodded, grimacing at the memory of the Ardan’s
unhappy first marriage. “Well, that law originated here, in South
Vihandra. But we discovered the Southerners don’t abide the law of
primogeniture only after extensive research. Now, if even Rohyr’s
scholars and lawyers didn’t know that the line of descent around
here is through a monarch’s brother, it stands to reason the
Ferrendas weren’t aware of it either.”





Riodan
fell silent for a space. When he spoke again, his eyes gleamed with
excitement. “Then Malkon was betrothed and wed to Sivar on the
assumption that Sivar is the heir to the Asmaran throne.”





“Exactly.
Imagine his dismay when he discovered it is Laral who is crown
prince. Since he married Sivar in fane rites, he can’t dissolve
their union and go after Laral instead. Neither dare he do away with
Sivar since he would likely be the first suspect, especially if he
proceeds to court Laral afterward.” Dylen grimly said, “What
think you might he do to win himself the rule of Asmara?”

Riodan
pursed his lips. “But how could Laral’s death achieve that?”





Dylen
glanced down once more at the sheet of parchment. “Laral is an only
child like Sivar. His heir would have been Arfen Halvan, the ranking
member of the most senior cadet line of the Halvan clan. But Arfen
died after a sudden illness. So the next in line to the throne was
his nephew, Gavan, who was conveniently killed in a hunting accident
a few months later.”

“Conveniently?”





“Gavan’s
only brother died in childhood so, with his own death, the line of
succession shifted once more—to the eldest son of the next
highest-ranking royal descendant after Arfen.”





Riodan
quickly perused the pertinent information. He looked up with a jerk,
his eyes wide with consternation.

“Saints
above!” he softly exclaimed. “Amir’s late consort, Sivar’s
adda.
Then Sivar is now Laral’s heir!”





“Yes.
Quite an interesting family tree I must say,” Dylen wryly remarked.
“Convoluted is more like it,” Riodan retorted. “Thank Veres
mine is more

straightforward.”





“You
think this is convoluted?” Dylen scoffed. “It doesn’t even come
close to the Essendris’ ancestral lines. I only lately discovered
that most of our cousins are related to Rohyr and me twice or thrice
over. Even Reijir and Keiran whom I thought were kin to us only
through their sire are cousins through their adda
as well.”





“How
is that possible? He was a noble from Qindala in western Khitaira,
wasn’t he?” “Yes, but it turns out that his
grandfather was the half-brother of our grandsire, the





Ardan
Joren through their
father the Ardis Levare’s first marriage.”





Riodan
closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead vexedly. “This is giving me
a headache,” he muttered. After a while, he took a deep breath and
looked at Dylen again. “So you suspect Malkon of engineering
Gavan’s accident?”





“Gavan
was reportedly gored by a swylboar after he was thrown from his
steed. He

and
Malkon had ridden ahead in pursuit of the beast. They were virtually
alone when the accident occurred. Easy enough for Malkon to push
Gavan off his steed into the swylboar’s path. And if the boar
didn’t kill him, he could have finished off Gavan with his hunting
pike, which is very similar in size and shape to a swylboar tusk.”
Dylen paused and frowned thoughtfully. “If you think about it, why
couldn’t Arfen’s death have been helped along as well?”





Riodan
stared. “He had a seizure,” he mused aloud. “He died before the
royal physician arrived. You think Malkon poisoned him?”

Dylen
shrugged. “Perhaps, but that would have been an extremely big risk
to take. The physician might have recognized the symptoms. The
Asmarans are probably the most knowledgeable about poisons in the two
continents. Besides, Arfen was known to have seizures on occasion
though nothing fatal. Nay, I think it was simpler. The story goes
that he was drinking with Sivar and Malkon in his apartment the night
the attack happened.”





“That
isn’t common knowledge,” Riodan said, shaking his head. “Where
you get your information…”

“The
old fashioned way,” Dylen replied. “I engage people in
conversation. Sooner or later, they talk more freely than is prudent.
As I was saying, the three were having a round of drinks when Arfen
had his seizure. Sivar and Malkon carried him to his bed and then
Sivar went out to the hall to instruct the servants to fetch the
physician and also to inform Gavan of the incident. Since the attack
didn’t appear serious, he didn’t go back at once but waited for
the physician to arrive. So it was a shock when they entered the
bedroom and found Arfen dead and Malkon attempting to revive him. Or
so he claimed. What could have prevented him from smothering Arfen
while he was alone with him?”

“And
no one suspected anything?”





“Arfen
was already having some difficulty breathing during the seizure. If
he was suffocated, his appearance would have been in keeping with
someone who’d been fighting for breath.”





“Didn’t
they wonder why Malkon failed to call for help?” Riodan wondered.





“He
said he knew the physician was on his way so he decided to exert his
energy in trying to revive Arfen.”

“Hmm,
it sounds logical enough if
one isn’t suspicious in the first place.”





“He
probably counted on that,” Dylen agreed. “It was likely a spur of
the moment decision. The opportunity presented itself, and he
snatched it.”

“It
must have encouraged him,” Riodan guessed. “Hence Gavan’s
accident
and the attempt on Laral’s life.”

“But
he has to be very careful now lest suspicion does fall on him,”
Dylen said. “Talvas dislikes him and, I dare say, so does Laral.
Have you noticed how cold he is toward Malkon? They seem barely on
speaking terms.”





Riodan
nodded. “Some of our consular staff were present at the time of
Sivar’s binding to Malkon. They say Laral opposed the marriage so
much that he absented himself from the ceremony and only briefly
showed up at the nuptial dinner afterward.”

“So
there’s already a precedent for their distance,” Dylen remarked.
“Well then, under the circumstances, Malkon will likely bide his
time until he feels it’s safe to strike again.”









Chapter
Eighteen









Overtures









The
initial spate of educated conjectures and enlightening discoveries
was followed by the business of following up on everything from the
Trade Minister’s promises to the various intrigues of the Asmaran
court that might have some effect on the country’s relations with
Ylandre. It was tedious going for the most part for neither Dylen nor
Riodan wished to offend their hosts by being too open in their
investigations of Malkon Ferrenda.





Dylen
and Riodan did not believe the Halvans completely trusted Malkon
either, but the Deir was wed to one of their own and thus had to be
treated with due respect. And so all inquiries about him had to be
conducted as discreetly as possible, and that meant a lack of
directness and therefore speed.





Fortunately,
there was the exploration of a land new to both of them to alleviate
some of their frustration at the slow pace if their investigation.
And, if their occasional absences from the capital served to
alleviate any suspicions regarding their inquisitiveness, so much the
better. Not to mention it allowed them the freedom to lower their
guard just that tiniest bit and thus relax enough to enjoy whatever
discoveries came their way.





Such
was the case during their brief sojourn in the mountaintop lakeside
town of Varthe. The lake was unique in that it was the crater of an
ancient extinct volcano. Looking at the tranquil deep blue basin, one
found it hard to imagine that once upon a very long time ago, it had
been a seething cauldron pockmarked with pools of steaming water,
boiling mud and molten rock. Now the cold depths of the lake teemed
with a dizzying variety of aquatic life and the slopes of the former
volcano were thick with trees and other vegetation.





Varthe
was a bucolic town—a perfect getaway from the frenetic rhythm of
life in the cities of Asmara. It was also close enough to Shenze that
one did not have to plan weeks in advance for a trip to the town.
And, if one was gifted with the skill of translocating, the journey
thence took no more than a few minutes.





*
* * *





Riodan
grinned at the sight of Dylen standing knee-deep in the murkier
waters along the lakefront as he examined a fat silvery fish. Fishing
was a major livelihood in Varthe, and if one came down to the lake
right after daybreak, one could buy directly from the fisherfolk.
Interestingly, not all the fish for sale were caught. The hardier,
more prolific species were cultivated in fish pens that dotted the
deeper portions of the lakeshore.





His
smile widened when his companion proceeded to haggle with the
fishmonger then charmed the latter into cleaning his purchases as
well. Before long, he came back with a basketful of assorted fish all
ready for the pot or spit as the case may be.





“Are
you planning to invite all the guests at the inn to lunch?” Riodan
mildly inquired.

Dylen
shook his head. “Nay, only two will be cooked for our meal. I shall
ask the kitchen staff to cure or smoke the rest and send them to Adda
and Tarqin.”

“They’ll
be greatly pleased. But will these keep?” “The kitchen staff said
they would.”

They
walked up the stone path to the inn where they were billeted. It was
a small and charming establishment that overlooked the lake on one
side and offered a breathtaking view on the other of the valley and
mountains behind.

*





After
leaving the fish in the capable hands of the head cook, Dylen went
for a quick wash in the common bathing room on the ground floor of
the premises. It was the one feature of the inn he particularly
disliked, having become accustomed to the more advanced plumbing
systems of the big cities where, if one was willing to spend for it,
one could install modern facilities in one’s home complete with hot
and cold running water and indoor commodes.





Dylen
first came across the luxury when he started working at the Seralye.
Having experienced the comforts and convenience of these modern
baths, he had insisted on having one at home as soon as he and his
father had earned enough to afford it.

He
was quite spoiled for rougher living, Dylen ruefully conceded. Oh, he
could get by with the most rudimentary of accommodations, but he had
to admit, it would take much effort on his part to bear with them and
that would considerably lessen his enjoyment of such a place.





Not
so Riodan,
he mused. His former lover had borne his share of more primitive
living
conditions in the course of his travels abroad during the years
before he was appointed a full-fledged ambassador. Strange how they
had started their acquaintance with Dylen the more travelled and less
sheltered of the two.





Riodan
had long left his naïveté behind. He was not as open as he used to
be and indeed was inclined to reticence where once he had been quite
talkative and cheerfully so. Of course, such changes came with
maturity and the tempering force of experience. Dylen tried not to
think about the other possible reason for Riodan’s less than sunny
outlook these days—especially when a faint sense of guilt nagged at
him.

He
angrily shoved the thought aside, indignant that he should feel
guilty about anything. But when he joined Riodan on the veranda at
the back of the inn, he found it difficult to sustain his irritation.





Riodan’s
face lit up with pleasure as soon as Dylen appeared. It always did.
And fast on its heels came a diffidence that was uncharacteristic of
a Deir who had a reputation for speaking and acting with confidence
even in the presence of powerful foreign rulers.





When
he was with Dylen, Riodan tended to walk on eggshells, his unspoken
fear of resurrecting the past and triggering Dylen’s resentment
over it shadowing his every word and deed. Though he had not admitted
it to anyone, it left Dylen feeling uncomfortable and not a little
wistful for the expressive plainspoken Riodan of old.





It
was their last full day in Varthe. The following afternoon would find
them back in Shenze, ready to be embroiled once more in the
intricacies of Asmaran politics and the difficulties of a clandestine
investigation of a royal in-law. They lounged on the veranda, their
conversation desultory for the most part, until the innkeeper brought
them the day’s mail, forwarded to them by the embassy in Shenze.

These
were personal correspondence—official communications were conveyed
by

embassy
couriers. Nonetheless, Riodan’s sire affixed his diplomatic
insignia to his missive. And Guyon Barath was not above stamping his
family’s crest into the wax seal of his letter. Riodan’s lips
curled in displeasure at such petty posturing.





Meanwhile,
Dylen read his four letters. One was from his father, another from
Rohyr by way of Lassen and a third was from Gilmael updating him on
minor changes he had made among personnel in their Ministry. The
fourth letter caused him to stiffen and abruptly sit up.

The
sudden movement attracted Riodan’s attention.

*





Riodan
surreptitiously observed Dylen’s expression then dropped his eyes
to the topmost envelope on the low table between them. The sender’s
name was clearly visible, and he easily read it. He looked up to meet
Dylen’s watchful gaze. Riodan stole a peek at the adjoining sitting
room, wary of eavesdroppers.





“You
can speak freely,” Dylen said.





Riodan
sensed the sudden presence of invisible walls around them. He
wondered once more about the extent of Dylen’s abilities. But now
was not the time or the place to probe.





“What
has Sereth written that bothers you?” he asked as casually as he
could muster. Dylen looked pensive. “Not bothersome exactly,” he
murmured. “I am only at a loss

as
to how to respond to him as kindly and inoffensively as possible.”
“Why? Did he ask a favor of you?”

“Nay,
not a favor.” Dylen suddenly rose and stood at the balustrade
enclosing the veranda. He stared somewhat broodingly at the nearby
mountains. Finally, he turned around and somberly regarded Riodan.
“He wants a definite answer to his offer.”

Riodan
felt a stab of apprehension. “What offer?” he cautiously asked.





“Sereth
asked me to bind to him just before we left Ylandre,” Dylen quietly
said. Riodan drew in his breath sharply. He turned his face away,
swallowing hard as he

did.
When he looked at Dylen once more, his eyes were moist and slightly
reddened, but he managed a crooked smile.

“Congratulations
are in order then,” he ventured.

Dylen
shook his head. “I didn’t accept his proposal.” After a
moment’s hesitation, he whispered, “I don’t think I can.”





Riodan
stared at him. “Why do you say that?” “I’m afraid,” was the
unexpected answer. “Afraid of what?”





“Of
entrapping myself.” Dylen fell silent for a fraught while. At
length, he said, “I was right all those years ago. I shouldn’t
have allowed myself to fall in love.”





My
doing,
Riodan bleakly thought. He stood up and approached Dylen. “Don’t
let
what
I did ruin love for you,” he softly entreated. “If taking a mate
will make you happy, grab the chance and hold on.”





Dylen
laughed mirthlessly. “But it won’t make me happy.” “Why not?”





“I
don’t love him.” Dylen squarely faced Riodan. “I took the
chance once before against all good sense and…” A sad smile
curved his lips. “I’m not sure I have it in me to risk it again.”





Riodan
could only mutely gaze at him. Dylen’s smile faded.

“Your
sire was right though,” he said. “You were better off leaving
me.” Riodan‘s brow furrowed. He asked, “What did he say?”

Dylen’s
eyes glazed over a bit in recollection. “That if I loved you, I’d
let you go,” he tonelessly said. “Your future was at stake, and a
hethar
couldn’t have given you much of one.”





An
anguished groan escaped Riodan. He grabbed Dylen by the arms and gave
him a little shake. “He was wrong, Dy,” he hoarsely said. “When
he took me away from you, I lost the most beautiful—nay, the one
perfect thing I could ever hope to know in my whole life. I lost your
love.”





“Yet
when we met again, it was plain you were unhappy I had sought you
out,” Dylen snapped. “Deity’s blood, none of my patrons ever
demeaned me the way you did that night, Rio!” He jerked back,
compelling Riodan to let go. “I have reproached myself all these
years for being such a fool to believe that you loved me. And an even
greater fool for returning what was so obviously false.”

“It
wasn’t false!” Riodan protested.





“Then
why, Rio?” Dylen harshly asked. “Why did you pretend that I was
no more than a mere whore you’d bought to pass the night?”





It
was not Dylen’s anger or contempt that nearly broke Riodan’s
resolve. Rather it was the grief and disillusionment in Dylen’s
earth green eyes that almost wrenched Riodan’s courage from him.
But Dylen had lived with the torment of his betrayal for far too
long. Riodan owed him the truth at the very least. Even if the truth
destroyed all chances of rapprochement between them.

Riodan
drew a shaky breath. “It is as you accused me,” he softly
explained. “Public knowledge of our affair would have seriously
compromised my reputation in some circles. You know full well Aba
is not alone in his disapproval of liaisons between well-born Deira
and members of your fraternity.”





“I
had no intention of revealing our affair,” Dylen bitterly retorted.
“I held no hope for anything more between us save our friendship
which you
swore to uphold evermore. And I dared to trust you, Rio. I believed
you. And you betrayed that trust without a second thought.”





Riodan
swallowed hard. “Out of fear,” he admitted, shame roughening his
voice. “I had learned to be as ambitious as Aba.
Guyon is over proud. He would have broken our betrothal forthwith had
he learned the truth.”





Dylen
abruptly turned his gaze away. “You esteem him so greatly,” he
muttered, unable to keep his hurt from limning his voice. “I
suppose you love him as much.”





Guilt-stricken
at Dylen’s obvious pain, Riodan placed a hand on his back in an
awkward attempt to soothe him. Dylen stiffened but did not move away.





“I
have loved only one Deir with all my heart, and he isn’t Guyon,”
Riodan whispered. When Dylen glanced at him skeptically, he sadly
smiled. “I did place much importance on my family’s connection to
the Baraths. You probably don’t know, let alone care, but the
Barath baronetcy goes back many generations. And a serl’s
son is considered a very good catch amongst the gentry. More to the
point, it was due to Guyon’s grandparents that my sire came to the
Ardan Joren’s attention when he was fresh out of university.”





“Is
that why he tried to betroth you to Guyon’s uncle? To pay a debt of
gratitude?” “You might say that.”

“So
you declined the older but accepted the younger.” Dylen’s voice
dripped with scorn. “He is more to your taste I take it.”

Riodan
shook his head. “Guyon is not cruel like his uncle. When we came to
be friends, I found it easy to get along with him. And I’m not
proud to admit it but I chose to ignore his less admirable traits for
the sake of keeping the peace.” He bit his lip then murmured, “I
held some affection for Guyon, but I never loved him as I love you.”





Dylen
narrowed his eyes. “Why do you speak of him in the past tense?”





“Because
my regard for him vanished when he belittled you,” Riodan admitted.
“I’ve realized that he isn’t worth the cost of losing you. And
neither is rank nor reputation. What good is acclaim if the price for
it is loneliness and a loveless union?”





“You
were once more than willing to pay that price,” Dylen reminded him.
Riodan pulled his hand away as if scorched. “And you would have me
pay it.” He

sighed.
“But, after all, what more fitting punishment could you mete one as
contemptible as I?”

Dylen
grimaced. “That is not—” he began to say.

But
Riodan cut in. “I’ve troubled you enough. I won’t do so again.
You have my word, Your Grace.”





He
turned to go, shoulders drooping, his head bowed. But Dylen caught
him by the elbow and drew him back. Riodan’s eyes widened in
surprise.

Dylen
released his arm and looked away, his cheeks coloring. Riodan’s
worry gave way to wonder.

“Dy?”
he murmured.





“I’m
sorry, Rio,” Dylen unexpectedly said. He met Riodan’s gaze. “That
was uncalled for. You took the risk and humbled yourself before me.
And I would never…” He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t take
the burden of such a marriage upon myself. How could I wish it on
anyone else? Least of all you.”





Giving
Riodan no time to ponder his words, he hurried on. “And contrary to
what I have led you to believe, I don’t seek to avenge myself on
you. Indeed, I weary of our rift.” He reached out a conciliatory
hand. “I would put the past behind us. I would that we called each
other friend again.”





Riodan
stared at him in speechless amazement for several moments. Then a
faint smile curved his mouth. He eagerly grasped Dylen’s hand and
the possible reconciliation it signified.





“Yes!”
he said, his voice light with hope. “Yes, I would like that very
much.”









Chapter
Nineteen









Gambit









Dylen
studied Riodan curiously as the diplomat sat down to breakfast the
first morning after their return from Varthe. He seemed more
light-hearted than was his wont. From the moment he entered the
dining hall, he exchanged unusually cheerful greetings with everyone
he encountered, even reducing a newly bound aide to blushes with a
bawdy quip. A quick look around told Dylen he was not the only one to
notice.





Furtive
glances in their direction there were aplenty for Riodan had not been
seen to smile so openly or indulge in mischievous remarks since his
arrival in Shenze. For that matter, his reputation in diplomatic
circles was that of a witty, tactful Deir who seldom, if ever, let
others see any side of him but the one carefully crafted for duty.
The one exception to the rule, Dylen knew, was when a situation had
to do with him, something he had heard a few observant Deira comment
on before now. But obviously most assumed it was a matter of two
personalities not quite getting along and therefore even fewer
appeared to suspect there was more to their oft fractious encounters
than that.





Riodan
blithely piled his plate with glazed gammon and steamed spicy
sausages, poached egg topped with a delicately seasoned sauce, richly
buttered toast, sweet nut rolls and assorted South Vihandran fruit
such as flavorsome golden manga, fleshy finger-shaped sunfruit, and a
verdant variety of melon. Dylen’s eyes widened at the rather
gargantuan meal. Whence Riodan’s hearty appetite this morning?

He
continued to watch the ambassador over his cup of kahvi.
He had started breakfast much earlier and could now observe his
companion at his leisure. Halfway through his meal, Riodan finally
noticed his intent regard. He glanced up, smiling inquiringly around
a mouthful of sausage.





Dylen
put his cup down and gestured to Riodan’s plate. “I thought only
adolescents and breeding Deira ate so much.”

Riodan
glanced down at his food and let out an amused huff. He took a swig
of honey sweetened citrus juice then shyly beamed at Dylen.

“I
do seem to have overdone it,” Riodan conceded. “But if you
recall, I always had a hearty appetite. Your adda
used to warn me to slow down if I didn’t want to grow to the size
of a barge.”





That
further lifted Dylen’s already raised eyebrows. Riodan avoided
reminiscing about the past lest the memories stirred Dylen’s
volatile temper where he was concerned.

“Yes,
I do recall those days,” Dylen cautiously agreed. “But surely you
haven’t been eating thusly since then. You’d be as large as a
battleship if you have.”

Riodan
chortled. “You’re right. I haven’t eaten like this in ages. I
just woke up with a keen appetite, and I don’t know why.” He
paused, his smile faltering slightly. “Or at least I do know why
though it seems wicked to take pleasure in it,” he murmured.





“Take
pleasure in what?”





Dylen
wondered as color rose in Riodan’s face. The ambassador bit his lip
then looked almost self-consciously around the hall before turning
back to answer.

“I
sent a letter to Guyon yestereve,” he quietly said. “I ended our
betrothal.” Dylen stared at him. “But it was for the sake of that
betrothal that you—” He broke

off
and just looked at Riodan incredulously.





Riodan
shook his head. “It isn’t worth it. It never was. Why should I
maintain an arrangement that isn’t right for him or me?” He gazed
at Dylen, his heart in his eyes. The sight nearly stole the breath
from Dylen’s breast. “And it barred the way for me to ever fully
make amends for the wrong I did you.”





“But
what of his parents? Your
parents? Rio, I…” Dylen trailed away, unsure just what he wanted
to say.

“I
haven’t felt so light and free in a long time as when I sent that
letter,” Riodan said with a small smile. “It seemed the weight of
all Aisen had been lifted off me. I’m just… For the first time in
years, I’m actually happy, Dy.” His gaze turned earnest, almost
pleading. “Won’t you, can’t you be happy for me?”





Dylen
blew his breath out. After a tense moment, he reached across and
covered Riodan’s hand with his own. He looked warmly at Riodan and
the corners of his mouth turned up.





“I
am,” he gently said. “More than you can possibly imagine.”
Riodan’s smile grew brighter, and he tightly clasped Dylen’s
hand.





*
* * *





A
sennight later, they were invited to dinner at the palace with the
Deir they suspected of being behind the recent deaths in the royal
family. Malkon’s invitation came as a surprise given that the
Ferrenda heir had shown no interest whatsoever in being around Dylen
or Riodan, much less socializing with them. Far more worrying for
Riodan was that the invitation had been initially addressed to Dylen
alone. Thus, he was relieved when Dylen very politely requested that
Riodan be permitted to accompany him, claiming it was an Ylandrin
custom that a member of the royal family never attended a formal
dinner by himself. Riodan was fairly sure no such custom existed, but
he prudently kept his mouth shut.





“By
the way, why did you insist I join you?” he later asked Dylen when
they arrived at the palace. “Do you think something is afoot?”

“Don’t
you?” Dylen countered.





Riodan
nodded. “He looked at you differently during our meeting with Amir
this morning.”

“As
if he were amused by something.”





“Would
that were the case.” Riodan frowned. “Nay, there was something
more to it. One doesn’t openly look a guest over as if he were
inspecting him. It wasn’t merely impolitic of him. He was
disrespectful to you, Dy. I didn’t like it.”





“Neither
did I,” Dylen soberly admitted. “Why think you did I invent a
ridiculous custom just so you could come with me?”

They
ceased talking when a palace attendant came to escort them to the
dinner venue. It was one of the small dining chambers reserved for
occasions when the Asmaran royals wished to entertain guests in
private. Riodan was more relieved than ever that he was with Dylen
when they entered the room and found Malkon not alone as they’d
been led to believe but in the company of three other Deira. Somehow,
he felt uncomfortable at the thought of Dylen having to deal with
more than just the Ferrenda lord’s attentions.

The
others were friends of his from the Terazan embassy, Malkon told
them. He duly apologized for not informing them in advance that there
would be other guests present. Riodan believed neither statement.





These
Deira did not comport themselves like diplomats nor did they behave
like upper crust folk who alone would pass as suitable company for
someone as class conscious as Malkon. It was possible they really
were from Teraz, but as that country had once been old Varadan’s
staunchest ally—its ruling family was closely related by blood and
marriage to the Ferrendas to this day—he deduced that these were
sympathizers of the deposed royal house of the defunct nation. He
also suspected Malkon had not felt confident about meeting with them
alone and thus had provided security for himself accordingly. As for
the apology, Riodan set it aside for the obvious insincerity that it
was.





The
meal started out pleasantly enough. Conversation ran along strictly
conventional lines. As Riodan expected, Malkon’s so-called
“friends” contributed little in the way of sparkling repartee and
let him do most of the talking.





The
food was surprisingly lavish for such a small dinner. Malkon
obviously wanted to impress his guests with his wealth and
sophistication. Riodan had to refrain from rolling his eyes several
times during the course of the evening as their host took it upon
himself to regale them with stories of his extensive trips abroad,
conveniently forgetting that Riodan was far more travelled than he
and therefore knew when his recollections were no more than tall
tales.





They
were just finishing the sweet course, a spiced fruit ice served with
a splash of sparkling wine, when Malkon turned his full attention to
Dylen. He was a handsome Deir, Riodan grudgingly admitted to himself.
If one favored small blue eyes, mousy brown hair and somewhat spotty
skin, he uncharitably concluded.





“I
heard a most interesting rumor, Essendri-tyar,”
Malkon all but purred. “Is it true that you were once one of the
most sought after hethare
in Rikara?”

Riodan
felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Quickly collecting
himself, he managed to remain expressionless. He glanced at Dylen. If
he was startled by the less than delicate allusion to his past, the
Ardan’s brother did not show it either.

“It
is true,” he coolly said, ignoring the leers of Malkon’s cohorts.





Malkon
smirked. “How fascinating. And I imagine you haven’t forgotten
your skills. Unless, of course, you haven’t put them into practice
lately.”





“Why
this interest in Essendri-tyar’s
former profession?” Riodan cut in. Malkon shrugged. “Oh, I’m
merely intrigued. I’ve never availed of the hethare’s

services.”





“Never?”
Riodan repeated in obvious disbelief.





“I
have no need for paid companionship,” Malkon smugly said. “Deira
freely seek my bed.”

“Is
that what they tell you?” Dylen said, amusement limning his voice.





Malkon
could not conceal the hint of annoyance in the sudden downward curve
of his mouth. “But perhaps I have missed something in foregoing the
company of the hethare,”
he allowed. He let his eyes rake Dylen’s sleek frame more blatantly
than he had
earlier
that morning. “And perhaps you would not be averse to educating me,
eh?”





“Educating
you?”





Spreading
his hands expansively, Malkon smiled and said, “You are a beauty. I
can see why many desired your company. I wouldn’t forego a chance
to benefit from your

talents.”





Before
an indignant Riodan could speak, Dylen responded with a bland smile.
“You enjoy being fucked within an inch of your life then?” he
crudely asked.

While
Riodan stared at him, Malkon gaped in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
he managed to say after collecting himself.

Dylen
leaned back in his chair. “Didn’t your source inform you that I
was most known for that particular service? There are many Deira
whose partners aren’t as endowed as they would like or who play the
sword out of duty but would prefer sheathing it in truth. Which one
are you?”





Riodan
dabbed his lips with his napkin to cover a grin. Malkon’s
expression was priceless.

“I
am neither,” the Deir finally replied after an awkward silence. He
recovered his composure somewhat and slyly smiled. “And surely you
cultivated other skills for those like myself. I have never yet heard
of a hethar
who didn’t spread himself for his patrons’ pleasure.”





Dylen
shrugged. “It is part of the profession,” he agreed.





“Sweet
Veres, but you’re a cool one,” Malkon remarked admiringly. The
desire in his eyes intensified to Riodan’s dismay. “So, what say
you to my proposal?”

“May
I remind you that Essendri-tyar
retired years ago,” Riodan pointed out, barely keeping the ire out
of his voice.

Malkon
chuckled. “Well, surely he would consider briefly un-retiring for
the sake of international goodwill.”





“Are
you suggesting that our Ardan’s brother service you?” Riodan shot
back, no longer troubling to hide his anger.

“Service?”
Malkon said in mock horror. “Nay, I was merely inviting him for,
shall we say, a night of mutual pleasure.”

About
to retort, Riodan stopped when Dylen flashed him a warning look. He
gritted his teeth and sat back, folding his arms in patent
disapproval.

Dylen
gazed at Malkon from under half-lowered lids, his mouth curving ever
so slightly upward with just a trace of a pout emphasizing the
lushness of his lips. It was a look that very rarely failed to
beguile whoever it was bestowed on. Malkon did not prove the
exception. He caught his breath and licked his lips, his eyes
sweeping over Dylen’s body with even more blatant lust than before.
Riodan bristled inwardly, wondering what in heyas
Dylen thought he was doing.





Of
a sudden, Dylen sweetly smiled. “I dare say you’ll have need of
Prince Sivar’s attention tonight, judging from the state of your
nether parts.”

His
smile widened as the others all but spat out their drinks. Malkon
stared incredulously at him. Dylen smoothly rose to his feet,
prompting Riodan to do the same.





“Leyhar-tyar
and I must retire for the night,” he said apologetically. “It’s
been a long day, and we face an even longer one tomorrow.” He
suddenly leaned over Malkon as he passed him, preempting whatever
vituperative words the Deir might have uttered with a huskily
murmured, “I will think on your suggestion. It has been a while
since I last educated
anyone.”

He
swept out of the room. Riodan followed him, chancing a backward
glance at Malkon as he exited the chamber. The Ferrenda heir was
red-faced and looked fit to burst, as much from sexual excitement as
fury if the painfully prominent bulge in his

crotch
was indication of his wretched state.





Riodan
hurried to catch up with Dylen. They did not talk until their
carriage left the palace grounds. Riodan could not help grinning at
the memory of Malkon’s discomfiture.





“Malkon
was on the verge of a bout of conniptions,” he commented. “You’ve
probably put him off from importuning you again.”

Dylen
shrugged. “Perhaps. It will depend on whether he wants my backside
more than he hates my guts. No matter. I can always seduce him if
necessary.”

“Seduce—”
Riodan’s grin vanished.





“And
I confess to some curiosity as to whether his arse is as untried as
he claims.” “Dy! How can you jest about such a thing?” Riodan
protested.

“But
I’m not jesting,” Dylen replied. “Sivar doesn’t strike me as
submissive in bed even if he’s generally soft-spoken in public.
Verily, I believe it’s Malkon who plays the mare in their marriage,
his claim to the contrary notwithstanding.”





“Well,
surely you’re not serious about finding that out for yourself.”
“And why shouldn’t I be? It isn’t something I haven’t done
before.” Riodan stared at him. “You’re actually considering
it?”

Dylen
nodded. “We need to know what he knows. It’s very easy to plumb
someone’s mind when he’s lost in sexual pleasure. Were it not for
the possibility of offending Sivar beyond repair, I would have
propositioned Malkon long before this. In any case, it may still come
to that if we want to discover the truth soonest.”





“Saints,
I hope not!” “Here we are.”

Riodan
started when he realized they were at the embassy. They both alighted
and entered the building. They did not speak again until they reached
their quarters. Dylen courteously opened Riodan’s door for him and
gestured to him to enter.





“I’ll
see you in the morning.” “Dy—”

“Good
night, Rio.”





He
strode off, seemingly oblivious of Riodan’s anxious gaze.









Chapter
Twenty









Atonement









Three-quarters
of an hour later, Dylen answered the insistent knocking on his door.
He had been wrestling with indecision since he returned to his room
and had just determinedly snatched up his tunic again when someone
rapped loudly on his door. Slinging the garment over his arm, he
strode to the door and opened it. He looked in surprise at a slightly
red-faced Riodan.

“May
I come in?” the ambassador asked.





Dylen
stepped aside to let him in, taking note that Riodan was dressed for
bed in a loose shirt and drawstring trousers. He wondered why the
latter had come to his room when he had never done so before. Riodan
strode past him, his manner somewhat distracted. Dylen closed the
door and turned to silently wait out Riodan’s restless pacing.





At
last, Riodan came to a stop and faced him, his expression slightly
irate yet entreating at the same time.

“You
were serious?” he asked. “About tupping Malkon for information?”

Dylen
regarded him cautiously. “If it will make him talk,” he replied.
He approached Riodan and caught him by the shoulder. “You’re
angry. Why?”





Riodan
started to pull away then stopped and looked at Dylen pleadingly. “I
just can’t believe that you would go so far as to use your body.
You left that life behind when Rohyr recognized you. Why resort to it
once more?”





“We
came here for a reason,” Dylen reminded him. “If taking Malkon to
bed will help us find out what we need to know, then I have no qualms
about doing so.”





“Oh
Veres…” Riodan put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it
agitatedly then ran his fingers carelessly through his hair. He
looked at Dylen with pain-filled eyes. “Is it so easy for you?
Deity’s blood, Dy, it was years before I bedded anyone after you!
And even then it didn’t feel right.” He swallowed and lowered his
eyes. “It never felt right again.”





Dylen
could not stop himself from asking, “What about Guyon?”

*

Riodan
looked up quickly. Had there been displeasure in Dylen’s voice? “It
never felt right again,” he repeated. “You spoiled me for others,
Dy.” Dylen gazed at him then nodded. “I suppose I should be
flattered,” he softly





remarked.
He smiled a little crookedly. “Ah, why deny it? I am
flattered, Rio.”

Riodan
suddenly drew his breath in sharply, his gaze riveted on the tunic on
Dylen’s

arm.





“I
was going to—” Dylen started to say. He broke off when Riodan
grabbed the garment and flung it aside.

“Please
don’t bed anyone out of some ridiculous sense of obligation,”
Riodan almost angrily begged.

Dylen
looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed. “And what if I want
to?” Riodan dumbly stared at him. At last he muttered, “I won’t
object if you truly want

to-to…”
He sighed with resignation. “Very well, I’d best leave you to it
then.”

He
headed for the door. But, when he reached it, he suddenly turned
around, his eyes blazing with wounded disbelief, and blurted, “It’s
not for me to question your taste, but I never imagined you would
care for the likes of Malkon Ferrenda! It beggars belief that you
should want—” Riodan abruptly stopped, his cheeks flaming. “I’m
sorry, I have no right to—No right at all…”





Again,
he turned and started to open the door. A hand shoved it closed once
more then grasped him by the shoulder, swung him around and pressed
him against the cool wood. He found himself staring into Dylen’s
terre verte eyes.





“Did
I say I wanted Malkon tonight?” Dylen asked, his voice warm and
smooth as newly drawn milk.

Riodan
almost stopped breathing. “Don’t you?”





Dylen’s
eyes gleamed. “Do I want to pound someone into the mattress right
now? Oh yes. But not offal such as that pathetic excuse for a Deir.
Besides, his arse is nowhere near as enticing as yours. As I was
about to say before you interrupted me, I was going to your
room.”





“My
room—! But the tunic? I thought you were going back to the palace.”





“My
intentions would have been less obvious had anyone seen me knocking
at your door at this hour. But you seem to care little for discretion
coming to me dressed as you are.”





Before
Riodan could respond, Dylen caught him in a sweet, enticing kiss that
was all about taking that first exploratory step. Riodan moaned and
promptly melted into Dylen’s embrace with a fervor that bespoke
desire and anxiety at the same time. When Dylen gently ended their
kiss, Riodan refused to end their embrace as well.





Dylen
lightly licked his lips then looked closely at Riodan. “You took
mirash,”
he murmured.

Riodan
faintly blushed. “Just before I came here,” he admitted. Dylen
regarded him intently. “Are you certain?”





“All
those years ago, I asked to be wholly yours,” Riodan softly
reminded him. “I never stopped wanting that. Don’t deny me again,
Dy.”

The
gleam in Dylen’s eyes gave way to a purposeful glitter. In answer,
he pulled Riodan back into another kiss, this one as hard and
demanding, as the first had been gentle and inviting. He reached
between them and roughly tugged Riodan’s shirt open. Elated, Riodan
returned the favor. Quickly shedding their shirts, they resumed the
molten seal of their mouths, Dylen raising his hands to cup Riodan’s
face possessively.

Through
the corner of his eyes, Riodan saw the gleam of metal on Dylen’s
left wrist. He broke their kiss and stared at the woven leather and
beaten gold wristlet on Dylen’s arm. He gripped Dylen’s hand and
turned it over. A small but perfect hearstfire adorned the clasp of
the wristlet. Almost reverently, Riodan pressed a kiss to Dylen’s
wrist, savoring the feel of the gem against his lips.

Dylen
cupped his face once more and pulled him into another long kiss. He
began to walk Riodan backward to the bed, completely undressing him
along the way. Riodan hastily followed suit.





The
back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he fell back onto it.
Dylen followed him down, purposely fitting his slim hips between
Riodan’s outspread thighs. Riodan gasped as their shafts slid
against each other. He lifted his hips to further press their groins
together.

“So
eager,” Dylen murmured as he trailed kisses down Riodan’s throat.
“It’s been like a famine,” Riodan said, arching up eagerly.

Dylen
chuckled. Apparently addressing Riodan’s need, he wrought a sensual
path down the length of his body, leaving crimson bruises wherever he
plied his lips and teeth. Riodan moaned and trembled under the
onslaught but did naught to hinder him. But when Dylen nibbled the
tender skin where leg met groin, he reflexively tried to turn away,
so acute were the sensations.

Laughing
softly, Dylen held his hips down, saying, “I see you’re still
sensitive here. What about here?”

He
ran his tongue down Riodan’s shaft to the tender sac beneath.
Riodan bit back a cry as Dylen plied his tongue on the soft pouch.

“Dy,
please—!”





He
sighed with relief when Dylen ceased the maddening caress only to cry
out once more when Dylen took his shaft into his mouth. This time
there was to be no respite for Dylen held his legs firmly apart while
he sucked Riodan to ecstasy with a fierce possessiveness that left
Riodan dizzy with shocked joy.





The
tight coil of pressure in Riodan’s belly threatened to unravel. He
frantically clutched Dylen’s shoulders. “Not like this,” he
panted. “Please—inside me.”





Dylen
released him and the pressure subsided somewhat. Riodan closed his
eyes and breathed deeply to reduce it further. He became dimly aware
of Dylen reaching for the bedside table and heard the slide of a
drawer opening followed by the sound of a stopper being eased out. He
opened his eyes quickly and stared as Dylen poured oil into his palm.
Riodan raised his knees in tacit submission.

He
watched Dylen generously anoint his shaft, licking his lips in
anticipation of finally sheathing this Deir he adored once more. But
Dylen did not simply shove his length into him as he expected.
Instead, he reached between Riodan’s legs and caressed the cleft
between his buttocks before slipping a slippery finger into him.





Riodan
willed himself to relax. He let out a shaky breath as Dylen’s
finger pressed deep into him, stroking the satiny walls within.
Arousal mounted again, and he found himself even more sensitive to
sensation—almost excruciatingly so. The feeling grew sharper when
Dylen inserted more fingers into him.





“Ah,
don’t make me wait,” he breathlessly said.





Dylen
hesitated. Riodan felt inexplicably untried. “How long?” Riodan
smiled. “Since you last had me.”

“But
I thought you—“ Dylen stared at him. “Not even Guyon?” He
exhaled disbelievingly when Riodan shook his head. “I must ready
you more then,” he murmured.





He
repeatedly pushed his fingers in, gingerly twisting them to loosen up
the snug passage. Riodan gasped at the exquisite incursions.

“Nay!”
he moaned, parting his upraised knees in wanton invitation. “Have
me now!” Riodan saw Dylen force himself not to look down, obviously
fearing the sight of his

fingers
steadily breaching Riodan would wrench all restraint from him. Riodan
deliberately contracted his muscles around Dylen’s fingers. Dylen
shuddered and fought for control.





“Please,
Dy,” Riodan begged. “I want you inside me.” “I don’t want
to hurt you,” Dylen protested.

“I
don’t care,” Riodan insisted. Raising himself up on an elbow, he
reached down for

Dylen’s
hand and pulled his fingers out. Lying back, he wrapped his legs
around Dylen’s waist and insistently drew him down until Dylen’s
straining length slid into the cleft of his backside and nudged the
snug opening between. “I just want to feel you again!”





*





“Sweet
Veres!” Dylen groaned as the head of his shaft slipped into
intoxicating softness and warmth.

Even
for a Deir of his experience, the sensation was tempting beyond
resistance, especially after his lengthy bout of abstinence from
copulation. Trembling with the effort to master himself just that one
bit longer, he slowly eased in until he was fully seated inside
Riodan. Drawing a shaky breath, he began to thrust into him, gently
at first lest he unwittingly abraded long untouched flesh.

Riodan
hissed with each inward stroke. He raised shining eyes to Dylen.
“It’s been too long,” he whispered. “I missed this so much.”

Dylen
gazed at him in wonder. “I can’t believe Guyon did not demand
that you yield to him,” he said, every thrust further confirmation
of Riodan’s long abstention from playing the mare.





“He
did,” Riodan said, half sobbing with delight with each thrust. “But
I refused. I told him I wouldn’t yield to anyone outside of the
marriage bed.” He tightened his legs around Dylen’s waist.
“Except you, Dy. I am yours when you want me, however you want me,
whether you want me or not.”





His
control already under siege from the sheer bliss of being inside
Riodan once more, Dylen felt it shatter completely at the other’s
admission. Restraint and method were abruptly abandoned, and he gave
himself over to his desire.





He
kept his promise and, quickening the forward lunge of his hips, drove
forcefully into Riodan until the bed for all its size and sturdiness
was virtually shaking beneath them. Trying to keep his release back
longer, he saw Riodan’s hand creep down to touch his shaft as it
repeatedly entered him. Joy and gratitude glowed in Riodan’s eyes
as he felt the evidence of their bodies’ first union after so many
years.

Feeling
his control wear thin, Dylen growled, “Touch yourself.”





Riodan
obeyed and grasping his shaft, started to pump it. He gasped when
Dylen wrapped his fingers around his hand so that they stroked
Riodan’s shaft together. The intimacy of it all proved too much for
Riodan. Milky semen covered their fingers and stippled his belly as
nigh shattering pleasure ran amuck within him.





An
instant later, Dylen drove hard and deep into him, gasping harshly as
he spent himself.

*





Riodan
caught his breath at the no longer familiar sensation of warm seed
spilling inside him. Tears threatened to flow, and he pulled Dylen
down into a rough kiss before he made a maudlin spectacle of himself.





Dylen
lingered a while inside him before gently withdrawing. Glancing down
at the pearlescent streaks on Riodan’s rippled abdomen, he leaned
down and licked the taut flesh clean. Riodan moaned at the sensual
gesture.





When
Dylen lay down beside him, he hurried into his embrace and nestled
his head on a hard shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Dylen,
savoring the closeness as intensely as he had their bodies’
coupling.





At
length, he lazily draped a leg across Dylen’s thighs. Feeling the
nudge of Dylen’s

stirring
shaft against his limb, he felt his lust swell once more. One
coupling was utterly inadequate to make up for the long years of
loneliness. He lifted his head and looked at Dylen.





When
Dylen met his gaze he hopefully asked, “Has the mirash
taken effect yet?” Dylen chuckled. “Let me wash up,” he huskily
said, sliding out of Riodan’s arms and





off
the bed.





Riodan
watched him enter the bathing chamber. Of a sudden, impatience struck
him hard and he lay on his back, spread his legs and reached behind
his seed sac to finger the tiny orifice it concealed. Images of Dylen
taking him thusly spurred him on, and he continued to caress himself,
initiating the process that would enable him to receive Dylen
genitally. So rapt was he in the pleasurable exercise of turning
himself that he did not notice when Dylen came out of the other room.

*

Dylen
paused to watch Riodan. The young ambassador made a spectacularly
sensual sight as, head thrown back and legs splayed, he stroked
himself to readiness. Dylen clenched his hands and willed his lust to
abate lest he went and sank himself into Riodan with little preamble.





He
walked to the bed and, without a word, drew Riodan’s hand away.
Riodan opened his eyes and stared up at him, eyes dazed with desire
but questioning nonetheless. Dylen did not respond.





Still
silent he pushed Riodan’s thighs up and spread them farther. For a
moment, he locked gazes with Riodan. He dropped his eyes to the
earthy delights before him. Riodan’s seed pouch had contracted,
exposing his sheath completely. He dipped his head and sealed his
mouth to the moist lips of the rosy opening.





Riodan’s
shocked gasp was soon followed by a spate of moans and soft cries as
Dylen plied his tongue on the tiny folds that guarded the sensitive
channel within, sucking the delicate flesh ever so gently now and
then. When the entrance was slick and ready for penetration, he
pressed his tongue inside to taste deeply of his lover’s sweetness.
Riodan almost reared then, but Dylen held him down and continued to
breach him thusly.





Dylen
felt Riodan’s fingers tangle distractedly in his hair. Judging from
his alternating attempts to push up and pull away, it seemed Riodan
was torn between the instinct to escape the much too intense
sensation and the desire for more of it. Desire apparently won out,
and Dylen smirked when Riodan urgently pressed himself against the
tongue that speared him. When Riodan’s moans evolved into helpless
sobs, Dylen rose above him and wedged his hips between his thighs.
Leaning down, he kissed Riodan as he pushed into him, tearing the
vestigial membrane inside in one smooth slide.





He
heard Riodan’s startled whimper as he was thoroughly filled, and it
seemed the sweetest sound to him, heady proof that Riodan had truly
saved the taking of every vestige of his innocence for Dylen. He
almost brusquely dipped his tongue into Riodan’s mouth in
possessive mimicry of his shaft’s repeated ingress into Riodan’s
body.





Riodan
held tight to him, curling one leg behind Dylen’s thighs to urge
him ever more deeply into him. He moaned Dylen’s name in between
kisses, sometimes crying out as he was steadily cleaved, visibly
overcome by the exquisite frictional contact between hard invading
flesh and soft sensitized skin. And still Dylen maintained a measured
pace, keeping them both just on the edge of completion, and thus
heightened every rapturous

sensation
between them.





“Dy,
Dy, finish it,” Riodan shamelessly begged. “Please, ariad,
no more, no more. Ah, I’ll scream the embassy down if you don’t!”

Dylen
cut him off with a hard kiss, relishing Riodan’s strangled cry as
he was lifted up to straddle Dylen’s lap, deepening his impalement.
Hardly giving Riodan time to adjust to the new position, Dylen
wrapped his fingers around the column of flesh trapped between them.





“You’ll
scream anyway,” he roughly said as he boldly stroked Riodan’s
shaft and bucked up into him. “And I don’t care if the entire
city knows I’m the reason for it. Now ride me, Rio. Ride me hard.”





Instinct
overriding all thought and any remaining reservations, Riodan obeyed.
They moved together in an act as ancient as Aisen itself, and the
world without seemed to lose substance as they focused entirely on
achieving ultimate bodily union and the incomparable ecstasy that
came with it.





Riodan
shattered first, his whole body shuddering with the force of his
orgasm. His sobbing cries resounded in the chamber. Dylen watched him
keenly, mesmerized by his utter collapse.





The
sight of Riodan’s undoing wrecked his own self-control, and he
finally gave in to his body’s plea for release. It was no less
explosive, and he ground himself upward into Riodan and spilled his
seed into him in what felt like an endless stream. He rasped out
Riodan’s name with the last of his spending, holding Riodan in an
embrace so hot and tight, one would have thought he was trying to
fuse their very bodies together.

Long
minutes passed before Riodan lifted his head from Dylen’s shoulder
to look at him with gleaming eyes.

“I
felt it,” he whispered. “The heat in my belly—had I not taken
mirash…”
“Yes, a child,” Dylen murmured.

“Your
child,” Riodan said with wonder. “And mine. I almost wish—”





“Don’t
say it,” Dylen interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s not the
time or place. Not yet.”

Riodan
gazed at him searchingly. At length, he cupped Dylen’s face in his
hands with reverence and softly said, “I love you. While I have
life and breath, I will always love you.”





Dylen
sealed his mouth to Riodan’s in as tender a kiss as he could
muster, savoring the taste and texture of his lover’s lips as if he
had never known them before. Without breaking the kiss, Dylen turned
them over and eased him down beside him, slipping from Riodan’s
body as he did. For several minutes more, they simply held each
other, their lips never parting for long.

“Have
me again,” Riodan pleaded. “Have me all night.”





Dylen
smoothed his hand possessively down Riodan’s back. “With
pleasure.”





*
* * *





He
would be unable to sit down for long tomorrow, even on the softest of
cushions, Riodan thought as hard flesh plowed into him over and
again. His sheath was deliciously raw from its repeated ravaging,
which explained why he was on his knees and his face half buried in a
pillow while Dylen made good use of his upraised arse. Saints, but
Dylen was indefatigable!

Not
that Riodan wanted a reprieve from his ravishment. Not when it was
Dylen who ravished him with a concupiscence that hinted at
deep-rooted affection the former hethar
had not yet admitted harboring for him still. If Dylen would not say
the words, Riodan would happily settle for what his body communicated
to him.

He
cried out hoarsely when completion overtook him once more then
groaned with pleasure as liquid warmth filled him. Fighting for
breath, he swiftly reached behind to stop Dylen from withdrawing from
him.





“Stay,”
he breathlessly said, peering over his shoulder at Dylen. Saints, but
how beautiful he looked with his raven locks tousled just so, his
cheeks flushed, and lips enticingly swollen. And his eyes agleam with
appreciation and—dare he hope?— affection.





“You’ll
be sore,” Dylen quietly warned him as he carefully eased them both
down on their sides. He pulled Riodan closer into the curve of his
body to keep his shaft securely embedded up Riodan’s backside.





Riodan
wriggled back, relishing the continued presence of Dylen’s flesh
inside him. “I don’t particularly care,” he said, tiredly
taking Dylen’s arm and wrapping it around his waist. Much as he
yearned for them to continue making love, his body refused to
cooperate. “I just want to feel you… after so long,” he
drowsily added.





“You
weren’t jesting when you said all night,” Dylen murmured, kissing
Riodan’s shoulder.

Riodan
shivered at the sweet caress, but sleep beckoned more insistently.
“All morning, too, if you like,” he mumbled, exhaustion finally
blunting the sharp edge of desire.





“I’ll
take your word for it,” was the last thing he heard before he
drifted into slumber.









Chapter
Twenty-One









Setback









Riodan
studied the coffered ceiling as he lay amidst the stained and
crumpled sheets of Dylen’s bed. Saints above, but his body ached.
As did his sheath. And as for his arse… He closed his eyes as he
remembered the reasons for his present discomfort. And his deep
felicity.

He
had awakened ever so slowly to the sensation of flesh sliding into
him from behind. Full awareness came when his stirring shaft was
clasped and stroked until it was hard and throbbing with need. He
opened his mouth, but nothing intelligible came out, and he could
only gasp and moan as Dylen slowly and maddeningly wrung another
climax out of him.

This
time, he winced when Dylen pulled out of him afterward. Like it or
not, there was a limit to what his body could take, and he had
finally reached it.

He
listened to the gush of water from the bathing chamber. From the
sound of it, the tub was almost full. He turned his head to see Dylen
emerge from the other room.

Dylen
reached a hand to him, saying, “Come, a hot bath will do you good.”





Riodan
grasped his hand and, groaning, sat up. “Only if you join me.” He
did not let go of Dylen’s hand as he slipped off the bed. “I dare
say it would do you good as well after riding me all night.”





A
smiled curved Dylen’s lips. “I do hope I didn’t wear you out
overmuch. It would be a pity.”

Riodan’s
eyes widened. “A pity? Why?”





Dylen
only chuckled and pulled him toward the bathing room. Chafing a
little at the lack of an answer, Riodan promptly set it aside when
Dylen settled in the large tub of steaming water and motioned to him
to join him. He quickly did so, settling between Dylen’s legs and
leaning back against him.





Memories
of their first bath together assailed him, and he closed his eyes in
regret. How many lazy morning soaks would they have shared all these
years if he had only been braver and true to his heart’s wishes? He
turned around and kissed Dylen briefly before reaching for the soap.
Determined to make the most of this intimate interlude, he lathered
Dylen’s body, relishing the feel of every plane and contour of his
lover’s body under his palms and fingers.





Perhaps
Dylen understood what drove him for he did not question him but
returned the favor, massaging the aches and kinks out of Riodan’s
body even as he soaped him. Riodan closed his eyes when Dylen gently
cleansed him of all remnants of his semen. He was sore, but the
intimacy of the gesture more than offset his discomfort.





He
returned to his apartment afterward to dress for the day, taking care
to avoid being observed leaving Dylen’s rooms by any embassy
personnel. He might not mind being romantically linked to Dylen in
staff gossip, but the same could not be said for Dylen. Not at the
moment. It simply was too soon to define just what it was they were
to each other.

They
met in the dining hall, studiously ignoring the curiosity of the
other diners as to why they were rather late this morning, and
proceeded to discuss their respective schedules over breakfast.





“I
was promised the contract renewals would be approved today,” Riodan
said. “I think I’ll stay close to Dimas to ensure he keeps to our
agreement. What about you?”

“I
shall visit the craftworkers market this morning,” Dylen replied.
“The chair I ordered for Adda
is ready to be picked up. Afterwards…” He pushed a note across
the table to Riodan. “This arrived while I was waiting for you.
Malkon invited me to have lunch with him. In his apartment. It seems
his interest in me got the better of his pique over last night.”

Riodan
stared at him in consternation. “Dy, you can’t mean to—”





Dylen
shook his head. “We’ll do no more than talk and dine. It isn’t
easy for me either, Rio,” he somberly said. “It never was even
when it was part of my duties as a hethar.
And
it became harder after I met you.”

Riodan
was abashed. “I’m sorry. What I said was uncalled for.”





“Perhaps,”
Dylen said. He reached for Riodan’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“But the reason for saying it was not.”





*
* * *





Dylen
returned to the embassy after his visit to the craftworkers market to
change into more proper attire for his lunch appointment. As he
entered the lobby on his way out once more, he saw a Deir in royal
livery talking to one of the embassy aides. When the aide saw him, he
informed the messenger of Dylen’s arrival. The Deir hastened over
and, after uttering the usual courtesies, handed Dylen a folded sheet
of parchment, the insignia of the crown prince stamped on its wax
seal.





“His
Highness Prince Laral desires that you and Ambassador Leyhar join him
for high tea,” the messenger said as Dylen broke the seal and
unfolded the sheet. “He said it is very important that you come.”

“Did
he say why?” Dylen asked, swiftly reading the short note.





The
messenger shook his head. And then he hesitantly said, “But he
seemed quite perturbed when he gave me this letter to deliver.”

Dylen
frowned then handed the invitation to the waiting aide. “Please
make sure that Ambassador Leyhar is informed of this. Tell him I will
return for him.”





He
walked out of the building and boarded the waiting carriage outside.
He arrived at the palace just as the midday chimes sounded.

Dylen
proceeded to the visitors’ audience hall whence he would be fetched
and conducted to Malkon’s apartment. To his annoyance, several
minutes passed by, and no attendant came for him. Trust
that pompous ass not to be considerate of other folks’
schedules,
he
sourly thought.





A
rather large group of Deira entered the hall—diplomatic folk it
appeared from the clasps on their mantles. Dylen recognized three of
them from the dinner last night. Terazan embassy people then. He idly
wondered who they were meeting with and why. He could not help
feeling indignant, however, when they were met by an attendant just
minutes after their arrival. Dylen watched them leave the hall then
decided he had waited long enough.

Just
as he started for one of the stewards to inquire about Malkon’s
tardiness, a Deir

seemed
to appear out of nowhere and fell in step with him. Dylen stopped and
looked inquiringly at Talvas Halvan il
Moran, Captain of the Guard. Amir’s bastard son carried himself
with the dignity of a scion of the Royal House and the martial grace
of a seasoned warrior.

“You
have an appointment with Lord Malkon, Dyhar?”
Talvas ventured. “At his invitation, yes,” Dylen replied.

“Ah!
Well then, I hope you enjoy yourself. That is, if Lord Malkon is fit
to entertain anyone.”

Dylen
regarded Talvas more closely. “Is there anything I should be aware
of, Captain?” he asked.

Talvas’s
smile was faint and humorless. “Only that little more than an hour
ago, Prince Laral visited Lord Malkon in his quarters and they
appeared to argue about something.”





“I
see. Do you know what it was they argued about?”





“I
only gathered that they did because they raised their voices enough
to be audible in the hallway outside. But His Highness was obviously
displeased about something when he came out of Lord Malkon’s
apartment. And, as for His Grace, I have not seen him so white of
face and shaking quite badly to boot.”





“I
wonder what could have frightened him so,” Dylen mused out loud.
Unexpectedly, Talvas said, “Then you haven’t spoken yet with
Ambassador





Leyhar?”





“About
what?”





“This
morning’s events at the Ministry of Trade.” Talvas’ expression
turned grim. “Minister Dimas killed himself.” Dylen stared at him
in shock. “He was discovered by Leyhar-tyar,”
the captain added.





“Holy
Veres,” Dylen murmured. “Why? Do you know why?”





“He
left a letter for Prince Laral. I don’t know its contents, but
judging from Laral’s reaction afterward, I have my suspicions.”

Dylen
pursed his lips, deeply disturbed by Talvas’ news. “What do you
suspect, Talvas? Or is it who?”

“I’d
rather not say until I have more information. But I think you know
this touches quite closely on the royal family.” Talvas paused.
“And surely you can guess Laral’s reasons for wishing to meet
with you this afternoon.”





An
attendant suddenly approached Dylen. He was breathless and looked
quite harried. “Essendri-dyhar?”
he addressed Dylen. “His Grace Lord Malkon begs your pardon for
keeping you waiting.” He paused and glanced at Talvas somewhat
nervously.

“A
good day to you, Dyhar,”
Talvas courteously murmured. With a slight bow, he strode away.

Dylen
turned his full attention to the attendant. After a short while, he
murmured an appropriate reply to the Deir. As the latter hurried off,
he quickly looked around the hall for Talvas. Finding the Captain, he
briefly dipped his chin to him then turned on his heel and left the
hall.





*
* * *





Riodan
was tempted to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining
things. He frowned at the embassy staffer who was his acting aide.
The young Deir paled, aware he

had
displeased the ambassador but not quite sure how.





“Why
did you bring him here?” Riodan softly demanded, briefly eyeing the
visitor who was currently ensconced on the couch in his bedroom
sitting area. “You know our private quarters are off limits to
non-embassy personnel.”





The
aide nodded. “Yes, Your Excellency, but I thought it was
permissible to let him in since he’s your intended.”

“Was
my intended,” Riodan corrected him. “And just how did you know
who he is? Are you acquainted with Barath-tyar?”

The
aide gulped. “Nay, I have never met him. But he showed me your
latest letter to him. And-and you wear matching earrings.” He
stopped abruptly upon noticing that Riodan no longer bore his
betrothal earring but had reverted to the plain milkstone set in
ley-silver that had identified his standing in society before his
betrothal. “That is, you used to wear…” The Deir said
anxiously, “I’m so sorry, Dyhar!
I—I didn’t realize— Shall I show him out?”





Riodan
sighed. Taking pity on the hapless aide, he said, “Nay, I might as
well speak with him and find out why he has come. Fetch me some
food—bread and cheese will do and a cup of kahvi,
no milk. I’ve had naught to eat since breakfast. Then stay close
by. I expect I will need you to escort him out of here before too
long.”





“Yes,
Dyhar.”





Riodan
scowled then entered his suite. He had arrived back at the embassy
following a most distressful day at the Ministry of Trade. After
spending the past few days alternately cajoling and bullying Dimas
into promising that the trade contracts would finally be ready, the
last thing he’d expected when he arrived at the Minister’s office
was to find Dimas hanging from one of the rafters. No one at the
Ministry, not even his adjutant, had had any inkling of tragedy in
the offing. Dimas’ mood had seemed as usual that morn, they
informed him.





Adding
to the bewilderment over his suicide had been the promised contract
approvals all signed and neatly stacked on his desk. It appeared
Dimas had hanged himself after preparing the documents.





Riodan
had found a sealed letter addressed to Prince Laral between two of
the documents. Suspecting Dimas had wanted to ensure that it would
reach its intended recipient, Riodan ordered several ministry guards
to escort the adjutant he’d charged with delivering the missive to
Laral. Having done what he could, Riodan took the documents he had
come for and returned to the embassy, shaken by Dimas’ death and
angered at whatever had driven the Deir to end his life.





His
mood could hardly be improved by the unexpected and unwelcome
appearance of his former fiancé. Even more annoying, Guyon had used
their betrothal—the betrothal Riodan had broken just a week past—to
get the embassy staffers to give him special treatment. Riodan
decided the entire staff would need a severe lecture on the
impropriety not to mention dangers of laxness with visitors to the
embassy.

Guyon
stood up, an expectant smile curving his mouth. But Riodan evaded his
attempt to pull him into a hug. He faced his erstwhile intended with
a discouraging scowl.

“Why
are you here?” he tersely asked.





Taken
aback by Riodan’s curtness, Guyon gaped at him for several seconds.
Riodan rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t have much time, Guyon.
I repeat, why are you here?”





Guyon
recovered himself and answered, “I received your letter regarding
our

betrothal.”





“Well,
what about it? Was there anything that wasn’t clear to you?”





“Oh,
it was clear enough. Which is why I came here soonest. To ask you to
reconsider. I shouldn’t want your recklessness to be cause for
regret later on.”

“I
beg your pardon?” Riodan slowly said.

“You
should know better, Rio,” Guyon chided. “It isn’t wise to make
such an important decision in haste.”





Riodan
stared at him incredulously. Had this Deir he had almost bound
himself to always been such a thickhead? He shook his head in
exasperation. “Guyon—”

Guyon
quickly cut him off. “Look, I understand your fascination with
Dylen Essendri. He was the first Deir you’d ever bedded. And he’s
certainly an exotic creature even to this day. But, Rio, you deserve
a mate who is your equal in all ways.”

“My
equal,” Riodan repeated.





“But
of course! You need someone who can match you in name, education and
social standing,” Guyon asserted. “Someone with an unblemished
background whom you can openly and proudly talk about.”





“Meaning
you,” Dylen wryly said.





Guyon
made a deprecating gesture. “Well, you have to admit, you won’t
ever have to worry about being dished scandal-broth with me. And you
need never fear stumbling across who knows how many Deira who’ve
been on intimate terms with your mate or, worse, by-blows coming out
of the woodwork to beg financial support of him.”





Riodan
scowled at the all too obvious allusions to Dylen. About to make a
scathing retort, he noticed the quick sidelong glance Guyon directed
toward the door. The corners of his mouth then quirked upward in the
beginnings of a smile. Riodan apprehensively turned his head and saw
Dylen leaning slightly against the doorframe with his arms folded,
his face devoid of all expression. But there was no doubt that he had
heard Guyon’s every word. As Guyon had intended him to hear, Riodan
knew from the satisfied smirk on Guyon’s face.





Forcing
down the impulse to punch his former betrothed, he gestured to Dylen
to enter. Dylen complied.

“You
heard about Dimas?” Riodan asked.





Dylen
grimly nodded. “Talvas told me when I arrived at the palace.” He
regarded Riodan with some concern. “I hope you weren’t overly
upset at being the one to discover him.





Riodan
swallowed. “It was unpleasant,” he muttered. “What about your
meeting with Malkon? Did you learn anything?”

“Nay,
he suddenly begged off.”

“But
he’s the one who asked you to join him,” Riodan said in surprise.

Guyon
snidely suggested, “Perhaps he realized he preferred the company of
Deira more alike to him in station.”

Riodan
opened his mouth to rebuke him, but Dylen acted as if he had not
heard and interposed himself between Riodan and Guyon, deliberately
turning his back on the latter. He dropped his voice to a
confidential murmur, making it clear that Guyon was not privy to what
he had to say to Riodan. Following his lead, Riodan ignored Guyon’s
aggrieved reaction and drew Dylen a little farther away.

Dylen
said, “Talvas told me Malkon had a heated argument with Laral just
before

midday.”





Riodan
frowned. “Not Sivar?”





“Nay,
Laral went to Malkon’s apartment and demanded they talk. Those
outside heard raised voices after a while, and when Laral came out,
he was obviously angry. As for Malkon, he was ashen and all
a-tremble. He started to come after Laral but retreated back into his
quarters when he saw there were other folk outside.”





“Saints,
what did they quarrel about, I wonder?” Riodan’s eyes narrowed.
“Think you it had to do with Dimas’ death?”

“I
wouldn’t be surprised.” Dylen added in a normal voice, “In any
case, we mustn’t keep the prince waiting. I shall meet you at the
palace.” He briefly tilted his head in Guyon’s direction. “You’d
best finish your business soonest.”





He
strode out of the room without so much as a glance at Guyon. The Deir
stared after him in self-righteous dudgeon then swung around to
confront Riodan. But Riodan busied himself dressing more formally,
donning his court tunic and pulling on his dress boots. Guyon
stubbornly sought his attention nonetheless.





“You
can’t let him get away with—”





“I
have no time to talk,” Riodan curtly said. “Prince Laral awaits
us.” Guyon tried again. “But, Rio, he—”

Riodan
cut him off with a brusque, “You must return to Ylandre at once.
I’m on official business and can’t entertain you.”

“Not
until that insolent cur has been put in his place!” Guyon shrilly
declared. “Watch your tongue, Guyon,” Riodan snarled. “It is
the Ardan’s brother you

slander.”





Stunned
by Riodan’s reaction, Guyon whined, “But he insulted me!”
“How?”

“He
didn’t greet me!”





“You’re
not a part of the consular team and furthermore got in here on a
falsehood,” Riodan icily pointed out. “Dylen is under no
obligation to acknowledge you, speak to you or even look at you.”

“You
defend him?” Guyon said disbelievingly.





“Yes.
Oh, and by the way,” Riodan maliciously added. “I slept with
him.” Stupefaction rendered Guyon speechless for several seconds.
“You-you what?” he

sputtered.





“He’s
as potent and well-endowed as I remember,” Riodan remarked with a
pleased grin. “I can still feel him inside me. Indeed, I haven’t
been able to sit down properly all day. But that’s not surprising
given that he had me several times last night and again this morn.”

“You
gave him what should have been mine?” Guyon shouted.

“Nay,
I gave him what has always been his,” Riodan retorted. “I was his
leman, Guyon.” He smiled broadly at Guyon’s horrified expression.
“It was he who deflowered me and taught me all there is to know
about coupling.”





Before
Guyon could muster a reply. Riodan turned on his heel and left him
standing in the middle of the room, pop-eyed and mouth agape. He saw
his aide coming down the hallway bearing a tray of his requested
food.





“Make
certain Barath-tyar
leaves Shenze forthwith,” he instructed the Deir, taking the tray
from him. “Oh, and inform the necessary parties that we are no
longer betrothed.

I
don’t want him using that excuse to show up here again.”





Riodan
reentered the apartment, stalking past Guyon with nary a glance or
word. He settled himself at the small dining table in one corner of
the sitting area and set to consuming his simple meal. Biting deeply
into a warm slice of thickly buttered bread, he listened to Guyon’s
protests as he was politely but firmly ushered out. The corners of
his mouth tilted slightly upward at this small blessing in the midst
of tragedy, uncertainty and potential peril.









Chapter
Twenty-Two









Offensive









He
found Dylen waiting at the main terrace from which several stone
paths branched out to various sections of the palace gardens. Laral’s
personal pavilion was at the far end of the east section, and they
would take the right most path to reach it. Riodan dismissed the
attendant who had conducted him thence, briefly explaining that he
needed to discuss something with Dylen in private.





But,
almost as soon as Riodan approached him, Dylen turned to step off the
terrace and onto the path. Riodan caught him by the wrist and pulled
him back.

“We
have to talk,” he said.

Dylen’s
face was unreadable. “There is nothing to talk about.” “Guyon—”

“Was
right.”





“Nay!”
Riodan protested. “Nothing he has, not even all the wealth and
power in Aisen, did he possess them, could make him right. It’s you
I want, Dylen. It’s you I love.”





“Being
a king’s brother does not erase my past, Rio,” Dylen pointed out.





“Your
past?” Riodan huffed in frustration. “Veres almighty, Dy, I lived
with you for a year, waiting for you to come home to me, knowing you
might have taken one or all of your guests to bed before you returned
to ours! It didn’t bother me then, so why should it bother me now?”





A
glimmer of emotion showed in Dylen’s eyes. “You turned your back
on me because of it,” he dryly reminded Riodan.

“In
my idiocy, I feared it would hinder me in my profession, but I never
felt repugnance for what you did.” Riodan spoke earnestly. “You
likely don’t believe me but even were you not Rohyr’s brother, I
still would have sought you when I returned from Tehara, Aba’s
will be damned,” He gripped Dylen’s wrist pleadingly. “I
regretted what I did as soon as you left that night, but I was still
ruled by ambition, and so I let you go. But the contempt you showed
me then—it haunted me all my years in Tehara. Yet I couldn’t
forget you; couldn’t stop wanting you. I would have asked your
forgiveness on bended knee and begged you to give me a second
chance.”





“But
you didn’t,” Dylen countered. “Not when we met again and not in
all the time since. You didn’t even break your betrothal to Guyon.”

Riodan
looked down, his cheeks flushing. “I would have done it had there
been even the faintest hope of reconciling with you,” he said, his
voice hushed. “But you were so distant, so cold. Even when you
dealt kindly with me, there was no warmth in you. I tried so hard,
Dy. But you put a wall between us that I couldn’t scale or breach.
I came to believe that you loathed me. Worse, that you no longer
cared. Without the certitude of your love, I had neither the courage
nor the strength to cope with the consequences of breaking the
engagement.” He looked up shamefaced. “There, I said it. I’m a
coward and a weakling. You have every right to detest me after all.”

He
held his breath when Dylen did not reply but looked at him
uncertainly. At length, Dylen’s lips tightened, and he averted his
gaze.

“I
tried to stop,” he whispered. “I failed.”





Riodan
swallowed hard. His grip on Dylen’s wrist turned into a caress as
he slid his hand into Dylen’s and laced their fingers together.

“Tried
to stop…?” he anxiously probed.





Dylen
opened his mouth to reply. But the palace chimes suddenly tolled the
time, startling them into awareness of their surroundings. Riodan
swore under his breath at the untimely interruption.





“We
have to hurry,” Dylen said. “We’re late.” “Very late,”
Riodan reluctantly agreed.

They
hastened down the garden path and walked as rapidly as they could
toward Laral’s pavilion.





*
* * *





“Strange,”
Riodan murmured as they neared the fairly ornate structure. “Where
are the guards, the servants?”

“Perhaps
Laral ordered them to be discreet and—” Dylen started to say. He
stopped when the sounds of clashing metal reached them. They glanced
at each other then raced for the entrance.

“Holy
Veres!” Riodan blurted. He stared in shock at the sight before
them.





Bodies
littered the floor and slumped against the walls, some feebly moving,
others deathly still. All were garbed in royal livery. Their
assailants however were attired in Ylandrin uniform. Unaware of the
newcomers, they stood around watching the last Asmaran standing,
their faces smug.





Laral
still battled on, fending off two attackers. But he clutched his side
and blood seeped between his fingers. Before either Dylen or Riodan
could act, Laral uttered a curse as his sword was struck from his
hand. The Deir behind him lashed out at his legs, and

the
prince fell heavily to his knees.





The
soldier in front of him laughed and jeered, “Tired so soon, O
Prince? And here I thought we’d get more sport out of you!” He
raised his sword and started to bring it down on his helpless victim.





The
Deir stopped in mid swing. He dropped his sword, his mouth open in a
soundless cry. He toppled over, a carving knife embedded in his back.
His comrades whirled around in shock just in time to bear the brunt
of Dylen and Riodan’s charge. Once more, the sound of swords
meeting in combat rang through the pavilion.





Taking
advantage of his guard’s momentary inattention, Laral grabbed the
sword that would have decapitated him and swung it across the Deir’s
legs, hewing them from under him. He staggered to his feet and
rejoined the fray.





Riodan
caught sight of a large dinner gong at one side of the room.
Realizing they were seriously outnumbered and Laral badly wounded at
that, he slew his opponent and dashed toward the gong. But more
assassins blocked his way. Riodan grabbed a metal pitcher from atop a
nearby table and flung it with all his might at the gong. The
resulting clang was deafening and discordant, startling the other
combatants into brief immobility. Riodan barged past his distracted
adversaries and reached the gong. He managed to strike it a second
time before he was forced to engage the enemy once more.

His
effort was not in vain. In a matter of minutes, a commotion outside
heralded the arrival of more palace guards. Talvas burst into the
pavilion, his warriors right behind him. For a moment, they stared in
some confusion at the sight of the Ylandrin king’s brother and the
Ylandrin ambassador defending their crown prince from Ylandrin
soldiers. Then Dylen ran his opponent through, and all confusion
evaporated. Talvas led his people into the fray.





With
the arrival of reinforcements, the tide swiftly turned. The ambush
turned into a rout for its initiators save that there was no
disorderly retreat for them. The would-be assassins fought tooth and
nail to escape or die in the trying. Talvas obliged them and led his
people in their slaughter. By the time the fighting ended, only one
assassin remained to tell the tale of his people’s defeat. He was
subdued and taken aside to await questioning.

*

Before
too long, the royal physician arrived with his assistants. Dylen
helped Laral to one of the benches and made him sit down. He summoned
the physician and waited while the Deir examined and then bound the
prince’s wound.





“Your
tardiness saved the day,” Laral told him with a pinched smile when
the physician was done. “Had you arrived on time, you would have
been caught in the ambush.”





“Yet
it astounds me that they didn’t realize you were waiting for
others. It was quite obvious that you had guests.” Dylen gestured
toward the dining table and the shambles of what had been place
settings for three Deira.





Laral
gingerly shifted his position to a more comfortable one. “Let’s
just be grateful for their limited powers of observation.”

Dylen
nodded then looked about the pavilion for Riodan. He saw him several
paces away helping check for survivors from the first attack. Judging
from his expression, there were not that many, especially among the
defenseless servants. His mouth tightening in anger, Dylen did not
wait for permission from Laral but stalked up to the sole prisoner
and grabbed him by the collar. He slammed the Deir against one of the
wrought iron posts from which lanterns hung.





“You’re
not Ylandrin,” he growled. “Speak! Who do you serve, dog?”





The
Deir struggled at first, clawing at the hand at his throat. But,
after several seconds, he began to breathe harshly. His eyes bulged
with terror, and a ragged whimper soon escalated into a strangled
wail.

“Get
out of my head!” he shrieked. “Ah, save me!”





“Who
sent you?” Dylen’s voice, low but commanding, overrode the
prisoner’s cries. “Who is your master? Tell me or I swear by all
the saints, I’ll leave you a gibbering wreck!”





The
Deir closed his eyes in an apparent attempt to fight Dylen’s
incursion into his thoughts. But there was no ejecting Dylen’s
presence from his mind, and after an agonizing while in which he
wheezed and wept, the Deir broke down.





Slumping
against the post, he blubbered, “His M-Majesty… J-Jubal
Ferrenda.”

*

Hearing
the Deir’s confession, Riodan felt a surge of elation at this first
solid evidence of Ferrenda treachery. He started to walk toward Dylen
when, through the corner of his eye, he spotted someone just outside
a narrow side entryway a short distance

from
where Laral was seated. The stranger was hefting something in his
hand.





It
was a bottle filled with a liquid that gleamed with a reddish hue. A
burning cloth wick protruded from the stopper in the bottle’s
narrow mouth.

For
an instant, Riodan froze, shocked that anyone would use an incendiary
weapon within the palace grounds. Such devices were forbidden in all
Aisen for they were indiscriminate in the damage they caused.
Innocent bystanders were injured or killed alongside intended
targets.





The
Deir flung the explosive at Laral. Racing forward, Riodan called out
a warning to Talvas who stood nearby. The captain lunged forward and
instinctively used his arm to bat the bottle away from the prince.
The bottle’s trajectory changed. As if in a nightmare, Riodan
watched it tumble through the air. It would land on the floor near
Dylen.





Without
a moment’s hesitation, Riodan swerved toward his lover and threw
himself at Dylen, bringing him down beneath him just as the bottle
smashed on the floor.





Riodan
cried out as searing heat suffused his back. He dimly heard Dylen’s
savage imprecations as the latter scrambled out from under him.
Riodan blacked out momentarily. When he became aware of his
surroundings once more, all he could make out was a confusing welter
of noise and motion. Someone was screaming in agony. Another was
shouting for help.

A
length of cloth had been thrown over him and hands beat down on it.
In the midst of his pain, he realized his back from his nape and
shoulders to his thighs were aflame. The smell of singed hair added
to his fear when he thought for a moment that his head had also been
set on fire. The blistering heat diminished somewhat as the flames
were put out, but the pain did not, and his breath came in agonized
gasps.

There
was the sound of running feet and then someone dropped down beside
Dylen. He cried out once more as the charred ruins of his tunic were
hurriedly peeled from his burnt flesh. A cool hand touched his cheek,
and he turned his head and looked blearily into Dylen’s anxious
eyes.

“Hold
on, Rio,” Dylen whispered. “The physician is here.”

Something
was smeared on his back, and he moaned from the initial contact with
his overly tender skin. But very quickly, the pain receded to
something more bearable, and he sighed with a little relief. He could
feel the physician’s hands on his back, slowly and thoroughly
stroking the damaged flesh. Wherever his fingers lightly pressed
down, there was a tingling sensation followed by sparks of feeling
alike to the maddening jabs of a needle. But in their wake was a
further lessening of pain.





“Why,
Rio?” Dylen said, his voice catching. “You would have avoided the
worst of it had you stayed where you were. Yet you—” He paused
and let out a frustrated exhalation. “Why did you do it?”





Riodan
managed a small, tired smile. “Why else?” he murmured. At Dylen’s
stricken expression, he reached for his hand and squeezed. “Don’t
worry about me, Dy. You’re alive and well; that’s all that
matters.”





“Deity’s
blood, Rio…”





Riodan
did not hear the rest of Dylen’s anguished response for he finally
slipped into blessed oblivion.









Chapter
Twenty-Three









Inquiry









The
physician’s healing touch brought him some relief. But in between
visits he endured the incessant aches and relentless discomfort of
mending flesh and knitting bones. Only after they had seen to his
burnt flesh did the healers discover that one shoulder had been
dislocated and an ankle broken. Small wonder it felt like pain would
be his constant companion from now on.





Riodan
turned his head from the stifling softness of his pillow seeking one
thing alone. He exhaled in relief when he found Dylen seated beside
his bed, watching with concern and not a little fear. He reached out
a shaky hand and feebly smiled when it was immediately caught in a
strong, comforting grip.





“Don’t
leave me alone,” he whispered, forgetting that he had pleaded
thusly a number of times since regaining consciousness in the palace
infirmary.

Dylen
quietly said, “I’ll be here, I promise.”





Riodan
slid back into slumber, keeping his face turned toward Dylen that the
first thing he would see when he awakened would be his beloved face.





*
* * *





It
was only on the fourth day since the incident that Dylen deemed it
permissible to leave Riodan’s side. The ambassador had finally
fallen into a deep, restful sleep unlike the previous days when the
slightest movements or faintest sounds disturbed his fragile slumber.

Dylen
gazed long at him, relieved that Riodan would have some respite from
the almost interminable pain of his injuries. He grimaced as he
recalled the prior evening’s ghastly proceedings and Riodan’s
suffering. True, Amir’s physicians had prevented more serious
damage. But even they could not alleviate the excruciating discomfort
wrought by the process of healing from severe burns.

Last
night, the healers had tended to an infection in Riodan’s lower
back, perforce cutting away flesh that threatened to turn gangrenous.
They gave him a sleeping draught beforehand. But even the strongest
dose could not completely render him oblivious to the pain of the
procedure, and he’d awakened several times before the physicians
were done. Dylen flexed his fingers in involuntarily response to the
memory of how tightly Riodan had held on to his hand, gripping his
fingers so hard that Dylen thought his bones would break. Yet despite
the pain, Riodan had not cried out.





Tears
streamed down his cheeks, and at one point, he’d been reduced to
gasping sobs and whispered imprecations. But he did not shout or bawl
as might be expected of a Deir in his situation. And all the while he
stared at Dylen, as if drawing strength and courage from him. It was
all Dylen could do to keep from lashing out at the physicians for
doing what they had to do.

He
ran his fingers through Riodan’s hair. The bronze locks were lank
from oil and sweat and the strands at Riodan’s nape were dark and
uneven where the singed ends had

broken
off. Dylen stroked Riodan’s cheek. Thank Veres the burns went no
further and the ambassador’s face was unmarred.

Not
that Dylen would have found him less beautiful had his face been
burned. If anything, Riodan seemed more exquisite in Dylen’s eyes,
even to his ruined back.

Dylen
sighed. Riodan had saved his life and deemed the consequences of that
act worth it. Dylen would never forget their conversation after the
healers had finished their task.





“I
wish I could take your pain away, Rio,” Dylen said, guilt
underlining his voice. Riodan weakly smiled and murmured, “You
already did.” He briefly placed his hand





on
Dylen’s chest. “It’s gone—the ache I’ve borne these many
years. When you let me in again, you took away my pain, Dy.”

“Oh,
Veres…” was all Dylen could say. He pulled Riodan’s hand to his
lips and reverently kissed the knuckles. Riodan’s smile turned even
more luminous before he slid into exhausted slumber.





Dylen
bent and dropped a kiss on Riodan’s cheek. Then, after getting the
reassurance of the physician on duty all over again, he left the room
and went to keep his appointment with Laral Halvan.





*
* * *





He
met Laral in the sitting room of the latter’s apartment. The prince
was almost recovered from his injury. The only indication of it was
the occasional wince when a sudden movement pulled at the wound.





Laral
ordered everyone out of the apartment and took it upon himself to
pour Dylen some wine and serve him salty roasted nuts and crisp
cracklings dipped in spiced vinegar, a snack of which the Asmarans
were inordinately fond.

“I
hear Leyhar-tyar
is mending well,” Laral said as he sipped his wine.





“He
is mending but not without suffering for it,” Dylen replied a
little bitterly. “Yes, that’s to be expected.” Laral shook his
head. “He highly esteems you to have

exposed
himself to such peril.”





Dylen
looked away, eyes suddenly veiled. Laral sighed.





“And
you feel the same way though you deny it to yourself. Ah well, that
is none of my business, as you undoubtedly would say.” He helped
himself to a handful of nuts. “Still, I do hope you resolve
whatever it is that divides you. You work so well together, and it
would be a pity were such an enviable partnership be riven by past
grievances.”





After
a moment, Dylen returned his gaze to Laral. “It will be resolved,”
he said. Laral smiled faintly. “Good. Now, on to more urgent
matters.” Laral’s mouth





tightened.
“Malkon.”





Dylen
sat up, immediately alert.





“Talvas’
people caught him outside the pavilion,” Laral told him. “Did he
throw the explosive?”

“There
was no one else around.”

“Then
he must have arranged for the ambush as well.”





“Probably.
Though it must have been an impulse on his part. Set off most likely
by our confrontation earlier that day.”

“About
that—” Dylen regarded the prince wonderingly. “What did you
confront him about, Dyhar?”

Laral
refilled their cups. “It seems your ambassador succeeded in
convincing Dimas to do his duty,” he said. “Dimas admitted the
extent of his gaming debts in his letter to me as well as his
inability to repay them. He named Malkon as his creditor.”





Dylen
caught his breath. “Did he mention what Malkon had demanded of him
in lieu of coin?”

Laral
shook his head. “Unfortunately, he only said Malkon had threatened
his family with harm, his children in particular, if Dimas did not do
as he bid.”

“And
that’s what you argued about?”





“Yes.
It’s one thing to threaten someone with exposure or debtor’s
prison in order to force him to pay what he owes. That is but right
and lawful. But to endanger the lives of his family—” Laral’s
eyes narrowed in anger. “That is beyond the pale. None of Dimas’
children have reached their majority yet. I know what you’re
thinking—that he demanded Dimas reject as many of those contract
approvals as possible. Well, I have had my suspicions as well. But
Dimas didn’t outright say what it was Malkon had asked in repayment
and so I can hardly accuse him of that.”





“But
he tried to have you killed,” Dylen pointed out. “You believe
that he did even if he hasn’t confessed to it.”





“Yes
and yes,” Laral agreed. “And that is telling. Methinks he feared
I knew the full truth and would expose him to my uncle as soon as I
had more evidence of it.”

“Then
you are aware of his ambitions and how he had to revise his plans to
fulfill them.”

“That
Sivar is my heir and therefore will come to the throne if I am
removed?” Laral smiled mirthlessly. “Oh yes, I have long
suspected. Ever since Uncle Arfen and then Gavan died so
conveniently. And with Malkon always on the spot. But there was no
proof, you understand?”





“Completely.
But that last assassin named Jubal as the instigator of the plot
against you,” Dylen reminded him.





Laral
softly said, “Malkon denies he knew what his sire planned.” Dylen
scoffed. “A likely claim!”

“But
there is no concrete evidence linking him to Jubal’s scheme beyond
their kinship,” Laral said. “And the one Deir who might have been
able to reveal the truth is dead. Killed by an explosive Malkon may
or may not have thrown.” Laral huffed in exasperation. “He denied
he threw that device by the way, and once again, the evidence against
him is circumstantial. He was the only Deir in sight, but no one
actually saw him do the deed. Even Ambassador Leyhar only glimpsed
the figure of someone, but he won’t be able to identify Malkon as
the culprit, will he?”





Dylen
shook his head. “So there is no way to charge him with this?”





“Only
if we can force him to talk. And this is where things get
interesting.” Laral leaned forward, his eyes aglitter with
interest. “We tried to read him, Uncle and I. But his mind is
protected by layer upon layer of shields.”





“Saints,
is he so powerful then?” Dylen asked with consternation.





“Nay,
we don’t think they are of his making. They were likely placed
there by a skillful adept, if not a templar.”

Dylen
was taken aback. “That is troubling. No templar would involve
himself in murder and the sowing of mayhem.”

“Unless
his loyalty to his sovereign exceeded his oaths of fidelity to the
brotherhood

and
its laws,” Laral pointed out. “We can’t discount that
possibility. Even templars have their weaknesses.”

“I
suppose that’s possible,” Dylen reluctantly conceded. “I shall
have to report this to Tenryon Hadrana. He will want to discover him
whoever this Deir is. The templars won’t risk harboring a renegade
in their ranks.”





Laral
nodded. “Do as you must. But in the meantime, we have Malkon to
contend with. Unless he talks, the most we can charge him with is
misconduct with regards to his dealings with Dimas. As for colluding
with Jubal, all we have are suspicions. That isn’t enough cause to
bring him to justice. And he is of royal lineage even if the
Ferrendas no longer rule a realm.”

Dylen
brought a clenched hand down hard on the tabletop. “Then we must
get confirmation of those suspicions,” he growled. “Tell me what
you can about these shields.”





“Uncle
Amir believes that together we could breach them eventually,” Laral
related. “But he fears that the force of our attempt could break
Malkon’s mind and render him useless for our purpose, which is to
gain information. Furthermore, even if we managed to keep Malkon from
losing his sanity, we would have to stay in his consciousness longer
than is safe for us. We did consider asking one of the physicians to
try for they can remain in Malkon’s mind long enough to extract the
information. But none of them have the strength to take down the
shields. They are different from anything I have encountered.”





Dylen
fell silent for a space as he considered the risks and possibilities.
“Perhaps I can be of help, Your Highness,” he softly said.





*
* * *





Despite
his current straits, Malkon had lost none of his bombast or
arrogance. But
why
should he when he’s obviously banking on the more lenient treatment
accorded a prince of the blood to save his pitiful hide, Dylen
thought with disgust





Even
if evidence against him was found, he could claim immunity from
punishment by execution by dint of his royal heritage. Except in war,
royalty did not kill fellow royalty as much from fear of setting a
precedent that might prove fatal in the future as from an inherent
reluctance to treat a peer like a common criminal. So the worst
Malkon could expect even if found guilty of the charges brought
against him was comfortable imprisonment or possibly exile from
Asmara.





He
and Laral had walked in on an interrogation conducted by Malkon’s
own mate Sivar with the Shaja Amir and Captain Talvas in attendance.
The interrogation seemed likely to go nowhere as all the other
sessions had.





Malkon
fumed, protested his treatment and refuted every accusation against
him save one. And that one—his threats of reprisal against the
unfortunate Dimas—he claimed to be no crime at all. He had been
within his rights to regain what was owed him by whatever means
necessary.





When
Dylen came to Sivar’s side, the Ferrenda lord scowled and said,
“What, is he going to question me, too? Sivar, you should know
better than to allow some bastard half-breed the privilege!”





“Lord
Dylen has every right to question you,” Sivar snapped. “His
colleague is a victim of your family’s perfidy.”

Malkon
sniggered. “You mean his lover,” he sneered. “Oh, I saw
Leyhar’s face that night at dinner. He looked most murderous when
Lord Dylen started to try and seduce me.”





Dylen
lifted his eyebrows contemptuously. “I
tried to seduce you?”





“And
why not when you undoubtedly have the skill to loosen a Deir’s
tongue by way of bedding him,” Malkon retorted, sidestepping the
improbability of his earlier statement. “Doubtless had the
Ambassador not been present, you would have lured me between your
sheets forthwith.”





Eyes
narrowing, Dylen took a step forward. Malkon flashed him an insolent
grin. Dylen looked at him as a merlion might regard a flea. And then
he suddenly smiled. But the smile was far from pleasant and did not
reach his eyes





“I
won’t deny it,” he said unexpectedly. “I would have buggered
you senseless that night if it would have gained me the information I
sought.” Ignoring Malkon’s startled expression, he bowed briefly
to Sivar. “My apologies for such crude language, Your Highness,”
he said. “But truth be told, I would have used every means at my
disposal to get what was needed. Even if it meant bedding a Deir of
little charm and even less beauty.”





“There!
You see? He admits it!” Malkon bellowed, whether out of
self-righteous rage or piqued pride it was difficult to say. “It is
the Ylandrins who were contemplating treachery, not I!” he
declared. “He would have had me cuckold you, Sivar, for his own
purposes. If not for my great love for you—”





“Oh,
do shut up, Mal!” Sivar sharply ordered. “You have the gall to
play the innocent when we all know so well how you chased after every
shapely arse you took a fancy to in Shenze!”

He
turned to Dylen, uncaring of Malkon’s incredulous gape.





“You
have my full consent to bugger him to death if need be,” Sivar
said. “That is if you have the stomach for it.”





“Previously
I did,” Dylen replied. “But not anymore. I would rather use other
methods.” He looked at the Shaja. “I understand he is resistant
to normal modes of interrogation, Dyhar.”





Amir
inclined his head. “I’ve never personally encountered multiple
shields before,” he said. “But I do know what is needed to
circumvent them. Force is out of the question. Each time we break
through one layer, we run the risk of damaging his mind bit by bit.”

“Making
it impossible to retrieve information at all.”





“Exactly.
The only way to get past such a defense is to locate each layer’s
weakness and ease one’s self past them. But none among us possess
the skill to do so. It is wholly the province of templars.”





Dylen
eyed Malkon thoughtfully. The Ferrenda heir was smiling smugly once
more. It was his overweening demeanor that decided Dylen on his
course of action once and for all.





“Perhaps
not templars alone,” he softly said. “The Essendris of the direct
line of descent are known to possess gifts beyond the ordinary.”





“Of
the direct line,” Laral echoed. “Do you mean to say you have the
skill for this?” “I might,” Dylen averred. “And I may as well
find out now.”

“Then
you have our permission to test your skills on him,” Amir declared.
“What!” Malkon sprang to his feet. “Nay! I won’t allow this.
You have no right—”

Talvas
shoved him back onto his seat. “You have no say in the matter,”
the captain told him, his voice hard and threatening. “I suggest
you make it easier on yourself and be still!”





Dylen
silently approached Malkon. In the instant before he placed his hands
on either side of the Deir’s head, he saw fear spark in his eyes.
Buoyed by that evidence of knowledge worth uncovering, he took a deep
centering breath and took the plunge into the realm of another
being’s consciousness.





Between
one heartbeat and the next, he found himself in a wide hazy tunnel.
Darkness loomed before him, and he cautiously walked toward it.
Several steps forward and he suddenly came up against a barrier the
likes of which he had not seen before. It had no concrete form but
was like an impenetrable black fog that shifted in every direction.
It soared up to the apparent nothingness above and extended from one
side of the tunnel to the other. There was no apparent opening in it.
Dylen thrust a hand into the fog and touched something hard within.
The barrier looked like a thick inky mist but felt like a solid
unyielding wall.





He
studied it closely. He knew he was seeing what either Malkon or
whoever had created the shielding wished him to see. That made sense
for how could anyone discover a way through this amorphous yet
impermeable mass? But that it was confined to a space of definite
dimensions indicated a limit to its creator’s skill.





Dylen
hearkened back to his training under Rohyr and Tenryon. He would not
abide the rules of this world. He would change them to suit his needs
instead.

He
focused on altering the very nature of the barrier, ridding it of its
foggy exterior and turning it into something recognizable and
therefore comprehensible.

At
once he felt resistance. Malkon fought him fiercely, the strength of
his desperation making up for what he lacked in talent and power.

Their
battle for control manifested itself in a series of convulsions in
the barrier. The entire mass trembled and shifted this way and that
as if subject to the whims of a mighty wind. And from lightless
black, the fog lightened to dark grey and then to storm blue only to
darken once more to indigo.





Back
and forth the barrier changed. Dylen wondered how much longer he
could sustain his assault on it. And then, of a sudden, he heard an
angry wail in the distance.





The
fog shivered horrifically then seemed to collapse into itself.
Suddenly, the violent heaving stopped, and the barrier solidified
into a stone wall of an indeterminate shade of grey.





Dylen
exhaled in relief. Malkon had given way. The barrier now appeared as
Dylen desired it. For there was no wall in existence that could not
be breached. And this wall would be no exception if he had anything
to say about it.





He
scanned it thoroughly, searching for any sign of weakness. He
suddenly smiled. Forcing the wall’s coloration to lighten further,
he took a closer look at a section of it.





Tiny
fissures had become visible thanks to the paler hue of the structure.
Dylen reached out with his senses and swiftly deduced that he had
found a spot in the wall that was not as solid as it appeared. It
felt—hollow was the closest he could come to describing it. Indeed,
he now discerned numerous areas that were as vulnerable. Small wonder
the barrier had been cloaked in fog. The misty covering had made it
harder to perceive its weaknesses.





Dylen
placed a hand on the center of the network of fissures and firmly
pushed

against
it. The wall slowly gave way before the pressure. And then the whole
section cracked and crumbled on its own accord. A gap opened in the
wall large enough for Dylen to slip through.





As
he stepped past the opening, the wall shuddered and groaned to eerie
effect. Though a cold shiver snaked its way up his spine, Dylen
ignored the frightening sounds and forged on.





Another
barrier soon loomed before him. Armed with the knowledge of his
subduing of the first barrier, Dylen set to defeating this one as
well. It did not prove as difficult nor did it take as long to locate
its weak points. Dylen quickly selected one and soon passed through
into the space beyond. And again he heard a howl of protest in his
mind.





He
did not bother to count the number of barriers he passed but
concentrated on getting closer to his goal. Besides, he was beginning
to tire. He could not afford to waste his strength on needless
exercises.





The
next barrier he confronted had a different feel to it. Not only did
it transform fairly quickly, he sensed something like despair beyond
it. He felt a jolt of elation. He knew he had reached his quarry.





To
his surprise, he had hardly touched the wall when it gave way before
him. He quickly clambered over the resulting rubble.

Several
paces away, Malkon cowered like a cornered rodent. He stared at Dylen
with a mixture of disbelief and terror. As Dylen got to his feet, the
Ferrenda lord bleated out a frightened cry and turned on his heel to
flee. Dylen raced after him. He caught up with Malkon, grabbed him by
the collar and threw him down to the ground. He rolled Malkon onto
his back and punched him hard enough to nigh break his nose. Dylen
straddled the dazed Deir, hooking his ankles over his splayed legs
and pinning his hands to the ground with a brutal grip on each wrist.





“Talk,
treacherous dog,” he growled. “Did you force Dimas to delay
approval of Ylandrin contracts?”





“I
only suggested he pay me another way,” Malkon whimpered. “It’s
no crime to ensure that he did.”

“By
threatening the lives of his children?” Dylen scornfully said. “It
was my right! He owed me!”

“And
so you drove that poor wretch to his death. You are truly vile,
Malkon Ferrenda!”

“I’m
not to blame for his actions. I’m no—!”





Dylen
grabbed Malkon by the hair of his crown and slammed his head down
hard enough to stop the latter’s blubbering.

“Who
set those assassins on Laral?” he brusquely asked. “You heard,”
Malkon croaked. “My sire ordered it,” “And you abetted it.”

“Nay!
I had naught to do with it!”





“Liar!
How did those knaves enter the palace grounds? Someone let them in
and guided them to the pavilion!”





“It
wasn’t I!” Malkon shook his head frantically. “I tell you I had
naught to do with that!”

Amidst
Malkon’s attempts to evade meeting his gaze, Dylen caught a glimpse
of something in the Ferrenda lord’s eyes. It was enough.

“Of
course!” he exclaimed. “They came in the guise of Terazan
delegates!” Malkon’s eyes bulged in shock.

“How
did you kno—?” He gasped, horrified by his slip.





“If
I investigate the visit of a rather large delegation from the Terazan
embassy that day, what will I find, Malkon?” Dylen closed a hand
around Malkon’s throat menacingly. “That they never left the
palace afterward? Indeed, will I find their discarded clothing hidden
in your room?”

“You
are insane! I hid nothing in—”

Dylen
backhanded him into shutting up. He reached down and, ripping the
crotch of Malkon’s trousers open, clenched his fingers cruelly
around the Deir’s seed sac.

“They
came to the palace at your summons, didn’t they?” he snarled.
“Now tell me. Where did you hide their clothes? Speak or by Veres I
will geld you bit by bit and feed the pieces to the palace hounds!”
He tightened his grip.





Malkon
screamed, “Under my bed! Beneath the floor boards!” “And where
did you have them pass to get to the gardens?” “Servants’
hall—”





Dylen
caught his breath. The passages to and from the servants’ hall
wended their way along the back of the palace. The hall itself
overlooked the chasm.

“How?”
he pressed. “Did no one notice a whole contingent of Deira in
Ylandrin livery?”

“Only
a few at that hour,” Malkon wheezed painfully. “Killed them—”
Dylen swore. “The bodies?”

“Threw-threw
them down the chasm.”





“Heyas!”
Dylen muttered. “Heartless scum!” he said through gritted teeth.
His eyes narrowed. “That explosive—did you throw it?”

Malkon’s
eyes suddenly blazed with malevolence. “Yes!” he spat. “A pity
your fool of a lover got in the way!”





Dylen
smashed Malkon’s head down. He rose to his feet, feeling as if he
had just wallowed in a pit of miasmic filth. He could not get away
from the cesspool that was Malkon’s mind fast enough.





He
staggered as he came to. Laral caught him and led him to a chair. The
Shaja Amir thrust a cup of strong brandy into his hand. Dylen quickly
drank it, welcoming the invigorating burn of its descent down his
throat.





He
looked across at Malkon. The Deir was slumped in his chair, moaning
softly. Dylen noted that the latter’s throat was mottled and the
crotch of his trousers rent. It seemed his threats had not wholly
been undertaken in the realm of Malkon’s mind.

Sivar
burst into the room, followed by some of Talvas’ soldiers. They
carried bundles of clothing. The prince viciously flung a handful of
mantle clasps at Malkon. The Deir yelped and opened bleary eyes to
stare at his furious spouse.





Dylen
glanced at the scattered clasps. All bore the delphinid engraving of
the diplomatic corps. And inscribed above each delphinid image was
the insignia of the House of Havare, the ruling family of Teraz.

“You
heard?” he asked Amir.





“Every
word,” the Shaja grimly confirmed. He nudged a clasp with his foot.
“We should have suspected given the blood ties between the
Ferrendas and the Havares.”





“Yes,”
Laral somberly agreed. “Shall we have the rest of their consular
team

arrested,
Uncle?”





“Immediately,”
Amir grimly said. He addressed Talvas. “Question them well. I want
to know what else they’ve been up to. Meanwhile, we have this
dungworm to deal with.”





“I
say we quarter him alive and send the parts to his sire!” Sivar
snarled. He was trembling with rage and looked quite ready to carry
out his choice of sentence then and there.





Malkon
lurched to his feet with a fearful gasp, staring at his mate in
shock. He had apparently never seen this side of the normally quiet
and reserved prince. Dylen observed that Talvas did not force him
down again but instead stepped to one side.





The
captain silently yanked out his long knife from its sheath on his
leg. He nodded at Laral. The crown prince dipped his head once in
answer then placed his hands on his cousin’s shoulders.





“You
know we can’t just dismember him much as we would like to,” he
said. “As that craven cur pointed out, and he is right
unfortunately, it won’t serve us to set a precedent of openly
torturing and killing a fellow royal. So do calm down, Siv.”





“Calm
down?” Sivar angrily said. “He nearly killed you! How can you
expect me to remain calm about that?”





Catching
the undercurrents of something other than cousinly concern in his
tirade, Dylen carefully studied Sivar. He caught his breath as
comprehension struck him. Here was the true explanation for Sivar’s
lack of obeisance toward Laral.





“But
I wasn’t killed, thanks to Lord Dylen and Ambassador Leyhar,”
Laral said soothingly, reaching up to run his knuckles down Sivar’s
cheek. “And, if we are agreed on our course, there will be no more
threats to my life.” He glanced over his shoulder at Malkon with
chilly disdain. “At least from some quarters.”





That
Malkon was puzzled by Sivar and Laral’s behavior showed in the
frown that creased his brow. Seeing his expression, Sivar promptly
forgot his rage and suddenly smiled, albeit derisively.





“You
never suspected? Yet I can tell Lord Dylen has already guessed our
secret.” Sivar regarded his mate mockingly. “The reason I stopped
inviting you to my bed was because I’d been frequenting his.” He
let his eyes run up and down Laral’s body in covetous fashion. At
Malkon’s shocked expression, he laughed. “I didn’t particularly
care to wed you, my dear Mal. But you brought with you not only a
considerable marriage settlement but also your shares in several
Ferrenda companies. Shares that are now conjugal property and will
come to me after your death.”





He
raised his eyebrows in amusement when a horrified Malkon gaped at
him. “And you didn’t suspect that either, I gather. Really, Mal,
such an obtuse fool you’ve turned out to be! Well, no matter.
Verily, we weren’t going to allow you to live long enough to
interfere with Aba’s
rule or Laral’s. But we would have waited a decent while before
arranging for your demise. Your actions however have forced us to do
it much sooner. We do have to put our interests first after all.”





As
he listened to Sivar’s discourse, Dylen saw Laral slip behind
Malkon next to Talvas. The Ferrenda heir noticed his stare and
half-turned with a jerk. Dylen caught a glimpse of Talvas’ knife
blade as he passed it to Laral. He jerked his attention back to
Malkon as the Deir tried to back away from Laral. There was the sound
of another blade sliding out of its sheath behind him. Malkon
whirled.

Fine
metal flashed. Dylen could only stand by as Malkon screamed.

His
scream ended in a gurgle as he was skewered front and back. Sivar and
Laral held him there between them, uncaring of the blood that stained
their garments.





Laral
chuckled. “Goodbye, Malkon,” he murmured into the mortally
wounded Deir’s ear. “Rest assured we shall accord you all the
burial honors of a member of the family.”





With
that, he yanked his blade out and rammed it up and into the base of
Malkon’s skull. The cousins withdrew their knives and stepped back.
Malkon slumped to the floor in a heap amidst the pooling crimson of
his blood.





Amir
grunted approvingly and said, “Well done.” He gestured to his
guard-captain son and instructed, “He died from a fall. See to it,
my good Talvas.”

Talvas
obeyed with grim satisfaction. Two of his soldiers dragged the corpse
out of the chamber. Another was tasked with quickly mopping up the
blood, erasing all signs of Malkon’s execution.





Amir
laid a steady gaze on Dylen. “A walk along the cliff wall when one
is in his cups is very reckless, don’t you think, Essendr-tyar?”

Dylen
looked from the Shaja to Sivar and Laral. He let out his breath and,
addressing Sivar, said, “You have my deepest condolences, Your
Highness.”









Chapter
Twenty-Four









Aftershocks









Riodan
listened intently as Dylen related the events that occurred while he
was unconscious. He grimaced ever so often as more of the Ferrendas’
perfidy came to light and stared wide-eyed when Dylen described his
battle to gain entry into Malkon’s consciousness. Finally, he
winced at the tale of Malkon’s slaying.

A
day and a half had passed since Riodan fell into a deep refreshing
sleep. He’d awakened to find Dylen drowsing in his chair by the
bed. When Riodan attempted to turn on his side to face Dylen, the
motion pulled on his still tender back, forcing a sharp hiss out of
him. The sound, soft as it was, roused Dylen at once and prompted him
to call a physician to Riodan’s bedside.

With
most of his discomfort alleviated, Riodan had demanded a detailed
account of what he had missed or been too distracted by his injuries
to notice. Dylen obliged, and when he was done, Riodan half-closed
his eyes and fell silent while he mulled over everything he had
learned. At length, he sighed and looked at Dylen.





“Laral
and Sivar,” he murmured. “To kill anyone with such cold-blooded
efficiency… I confess I don’t know whether I’m impressed or
horrified.”

“They
will make a most formidable pair when Laral comes to the throne,”
Dylen concurred.

“And
they were lovers all this time,” Riodan said with some wonder. He
chuckled wryly. “I truly did not see that.”

“Neither
did I until that very moment.”





Riodan’s
brow furrowed. “But Amir’s counsellor, his scribe, the
servants—do you think they know?”

“Most
likely.”

“Yet
Malkon didn’t. Why did no one tell him, I wonder?”





“Do
you really? Malkon was generally disliked even by his own retainers,”
Dylen reminded him. “The only folk who were loyal to him were his
family’s supporters.”





“Then
it wasn’t disapproval of Sivar’s demeanor I witnessed that day
but rather discomfort that they were being so open in front of me.”
Riodan frowned. “Did they worry that I
might carry the tale to Malkon myself?”





“Possibly,”
Dylen replied. “They didn’t know your intentions yet. But Sivar
and Laral must have believed you could be trusted else they would
have been discreet. And Amir apparently agreed with them.”





“I
suppose you’re right,” Riodan conceded. “But how very foolish
of Malkon not to cultivate affection for himself amongst the royal
household at least.”

Dylen
shrugged. “Foolish and overly conceited. I wager he thought himself
much too high to care for the sensibilities of common folk.”

“He
was beyond stupid then,” Riodan dryly concluded. “Will the
Ferrendas believe the official story of his death?”

“I
highly doubt it. Several Terazan delegates gone missing in the space
of one night

will
definitely raise suspicions,” Dylen pointed out. “But they will
have no grounds to protest. Or rather they’re in no position to do
so given Malkon’s role in the murders of two Halvans and the
attempted assassination of Laral.”





Riodan
nodded. “Who will you inform of the truth? Aside from Rohyr that
is.” “Gilmael, of course, as my superior,” Dylen answered. “And
Tenryon will have to





know
if it can aid him in searching for the templar who shielded Malkon.
As for Lassen, well, Rohyr tells him everything in any case.”





That
made Riodan grin. “He trusts Lassen completely.” Dylen sighed.
“Because he loves him utterly,” he softly said. Their eyes met.
Riodan’s grin turned wistful.





“Despite
everything, I enjoyed our stay in Asmara very much,” he whispered.
“So did I,” Dylen agreed. “Against my better judgment.”





Riodan’s
eyes widened as he recalled the same words spoken just so more than
twenty years ago. And then they twinkled.

“Perhaps
your better judgment isn’t all you’ve touted it to be,” he
teased. Dylen tried not to smile and, failing quite miserably, huffed
a chuckle instead. “You’re probably right,” he lightly said.





*
* * *





The
Shaja summoned Dylen a few days later.





He
sat with Amir in the long trellis-shaded terrace adjacent to the
royal apartments. Dylen looked about him appreciatively. There were
many such airy spaces built into the upper levels of the palace. And
the view of Shenze from this particular spot was spectacular to say
the least.





After
the usual preliminary courtesies, Amir immediately broached the
reason for his summons.

“What
you did—that was extraordinary, Lord Dylen,” he remarked. “The
Essendris are indeed to be feared if they are all so gifted.”





“Rest
you, Dyhar,
not all the Royal House are as blessed,” Dylen assured him. “And
Rohyr was trained by Tenryon Hadrana himself.”

“Meaning
to say he has been imbued with a sense of honor and responsibility in
the owning of such power. Thank Veres for that.” Amir nodded. “Yes,
Hadrana-tyar’s
reputation precedes him even here in the south. Would that the same
could be said of all adepts. The templar who aided the Ferrendas for
one.”





“I
have already sent word to Tenryon regarding that matter.” “That
is good.”

They
quietly viewed the city for several minutes. Dylen could easily
imagine the extent of the Shaja’s relief that his country had been
spared much turmoil and his House the threat of internal strife, at
least for the moment. Eventually, Amir sighed with apparent
contentment and looked at him again.





“And
now, what will you do?” the Shaja asked. “Sivar tells me you wish
to take Ambassador Leyhar back to Ylandre soonest.”

Dylen
inclined his head. “He will recover faster amongst family and
friends. And besides, this posting was only temporary,” he added.
“The designated ambassador to your country will be here very
shortly.”

“I
see. Well, in any case, we are indebted to both of you. If you
require any

assistance,
you need only ask and we shall grant it.” The corners of Amir’s
eyes crinkled unexpectedly. Grinning quite suddenly, he added, “And
you may bring back as much kahvi
as
you wish. I hear you both took a great liking to it.”





Dylen
laughed. “Indeed, I would have missed it badly. Thank you, Your
Majesty.”





*
* * *





The
story that would come out of Asmara in later days was that Malkon had
gone for a late evening stroll along the cliff wall behind the
palace. He had apparently been inebriated—several palace sentries
as well as a number of servants testified that they had seen him
walking none too steadily close to the parapet edge. So sloshed had
he been that he had not even had the wits to scream when he slipped,
tumbled over the wall and plunged to his death in the rocky depths
below. It took almost a fortnight before they managed to retrieve his
corpse, and by then, it was badly decomposed, it being the height of
one of the hottest summers to afflict Asmara.





Teraz
cautiously inquired after their missing people, but Jubal Ferrenda
dared to insinuate that his son’s demise might have been no
accident. The Varadani pretender went so far as to say that it was
too much of a coincidence that Malkon had died so soon and suddenly
after the arrival of two prominent Ylandrins.





Asmara’s
response regarding the missing Terazans was that they did not know
anything about their fate save that last they were seen they were
being escorted by one of Malkon’s retainers to the late lord’s
apartment. Where they had gone thence was hardly Asmara’s
responsibility given that their visit had neither been official nor
expected by the palace stewards.

As
for Jubal’s veiled accusation, the Shaja himself responded with a
stern letter chastising the Ferrenda patriarch for even hinting that
the Halvans had not provided adequate protection for Malkon. For what
else could he glean from Jubal’s suggestion that someone had
somehow managed to penetrate or circumvent the more than ample
security provided all members of the royal family? Now murder from
within by a member of the royal household—that was more feasible.
But surely Jubal was not suggesting that the Halvans were capable of
such skullduggery!





Teraz
asked no further questions, and Jubal hastily backed off. After all,
it would not do to antagonize the Halvans and lose an ally in the
process. He very reluctantly however handed Malkon’s shares in
Ferrenda-backed corporations over to his widower. His misgivings
proved correct when Prince Sivar promptly sought and eventually
wrested considerable control of several of those corporations within
a few years of inheriting his late spouse’s estate.





When
Sivar wed his cousin Laral a mere eleven months after Malkon’s
death, Jubal was all but livid with fury. But already overthrown by
the canny Sivar as principal administrator of two of the richest of
his family’s holdings, he could do little other than vent his
spleen on his unfortunate underlings and stew in impotent rage.









Chapter
Twenty-Five









Mending









Rikara,
Ylandre





The
gentle creaking of a rocking chair broke the early morning quiet in
Hirlen Teris’ apartment. Dylen grinned at his father’s blissful
expression as he relaxed by the entrance to the small, sun-dappled
patio that adjoined his sitting room, comfortably tucked into the new
chair Dylen had purchased for him in Shenze.

Well
worth its price,
Dylen thought with satisfaction. The craftsmanship was
excellent,
the chair as beautiful as it was sturdy. Its armrests and rockers
were artistically inlaid with iridescent nacre and the woven cane
seat and back provided ventilation, a welcome feature during the
warmer days of summer. Hirlen had been most elated upon receiving
such a handsome present from his son.

It
was now a month and a half since his return from the south, and
autumn was coming to an end. He had brought Riodan home, snugly
bedded down in a converted coach. The Halvans’ personal physician
had accompanied them and ridden with Riodan throughout the short
journey. Prince Laral had also insisted on an armed escort whose
captain was gifted with the ability to translocate. This was so Dylen
would not be overly taxed generating a passage back to Ylandre. Now
Riodan was recuperating in his parents’ home.





Rohyr’s
physician cousin Eiren Sarvan had attended to him at once. His skill
and the considerable healing energy he wielded ensured an even
swifter recovery for the young ambassador. Last Dylen had heard,
Riodan was already up and about though Eiren had forbidden him to
return to work, as that would only sap his newly returned strength.





Dylen’s
contentment waned somewhat. Last he had seen Riodan was the week
right after their return when he visited him with Rohyr and Lassen.
Gilmael also joined them, and they had not been alone with each other
the whole visit. Thus, no personal talk beyond Riodan’s health had
ensued.





But
Riodan looked at him questioningly several times during the visit.
Almost pleadingly, truth be told. Dylen had been at a loss how to
respond.

Their
stab at reconciliation in Asmara felt unreal. It was almost as if the
entire affair had been one incredible dream. Their one torrid night
together was particularly disturbing to Dylen for he feared he had
reopened himself too much, too soon to Riodan. He simply was not sure
if he was ready to resume the deep, all-consuming relationship he’d
shared with him.

Dylen
sighed. There lay the rub. Would he ever be willing to be consumed by
love again? He had allowed it to happen once and look where it got
him. Nay, he scolded himself. He had to put the past behind him.
Otherwise, he would not know the peace of heart and mind and soul
that came with letting hurts and ill will go. Peace such as he had
known from the moment he agreed to call Riodan his friend once more.
That peace had lasted until he overheard Guyon Barath’s venomous
aspersions on his character and the

reasons
for his unsuitability as a friend to Riodan.





It
had hurt deeply though he refused to let Guyon see it. It hurt
because it was true, and much as Dylen loathed thinking about it
today, what he had once been was at the root of Riodan’s denial of
their relationship. For after all, had he not persuaded Riodan to
leave him and return to his parents for that very same reason?





But
Riodan had repented of his actions and ceaselessly humbled himself in
the hope of gaining Dylen’s forgiveness. More, he had taken the
unprecedented step of breaking a long-standing betrothal to prove his
intentions to Dylen. That could have adverse repercussions insofar as
Riodan’s reputation; the upper classes did not take kindly to one
of their own breaking faith with another of similar station in favor
of a Deir of dubious origins. For why would anyone do so unless it
was for mere gain?





King’s
brother he might be, but Dylen knew there were many Deira of good
name and family who would hesitate to align themselves by marriage
with a former hethar.
Such a liaison was not unheard of among the common folk—many
prostitutes supported partners and families by selling their bodies
after all. But such was not the case with the aristocracy and gentry
except if wedlock with one such as him would be politically
advantageous. A way of breaking into the Ardan’s close-knit circle
of trusted advisers and confidants.





That
was the main reason Dylen had been wary of every suitor since Rohyr
formalized his status as an Essendri. He did not want to be anyone’s
convenient stepping-stone to political elevation. But that was the
feeling he got with every Deir who wooed him, even gentle,
good-natured Sereth. Only Riodan did not make him feel like a mere
rung up the ladder for the politically ambitious.

It
always came back to Riodan. But if one thought about it, Riodan had
displayed his remorse only when he learned of Dylen’s entry into
House Essendri. Despite Riodan’s protestations to the contrary,
Dylen could not help wondering if he would have done so had their
circumstances remained the same. What guarantee did he have that
Riodan had really intended to look for him, make amends for the hurt
he’d dealt him and join himself to Dylen in wedlock, society’s
opinion of such a union be damned?





Yet
ambition alone could not have driven Riodan to nigh sacrifice himself
for Dylen’s sake. Only one force could impel anyone to offer his
life for another.

Dylen
shook his head vexedly. Why was it so hard to accept that one thing
had not changed between them?

Tarqin
entered the room, beaming brightly, and announced they had visitors.
The servant deferentially showed Rohyr and Lassen and their son Vyren
in.

Hirlen
brightened with pleasure, and he held out his arms to the infant
prince. Vyren happily crowed, “Oda!”
and eagerly leaned down from his father’s arms toward the closest
Deir he had to a resident grandparent.





Lassen
chuckled and planted his son on Hirlen’s lap whereupon the two
embarked on a conversation comprehensible only to a babbling babe and
a doting grandfather. Dylen shook his head in amusement and grinned
at Rohyr as the Ardan seated himself on the couch opposite Hirlen.

“I
wonder, did I make any sense at that age?” he remarked.

Hirlen
looked up and laughingly said, “Nay, but I managed to understand
you just the same. It’s a skill most fathers learn somehow.”

“Whether
they want to or not,” Lassen quipped. “But it’s learn the
language of babes

or
muddle one’s way through parenthood.”





He
yelped when Rohyr suddenly pulled him back by his belt. He landed
with a grunt on the Ardan’s lap. Lassen half turned and lightly
swatted his smirking spouse before settling himself more comfortably
between Rohyr’s hard thighs.





Dylen
observed them with a touch of melancholy. It was then he noticed
Rohyr regarding him sympathetically. He raised his eyebrows
quizzically at his brother.

Rohyr
asked, “Have you visited Riodan recently?”





Dylen
leaned back, shaking his head. “There’s been no pressing need,”
he blandly replied.

To
which Rohyr snorted. He nuzzled Lassen’s ear but kept his gaze on
Dylen. “Yet I wager certain needs were duly tended to in Asmara,”
he murmured.

Dylen
colored. “I thought you were against invading people’s thoughts,
Roh,” he chided.

“I
am, and I didn’t.”





Rohyr
moved lower to kiss the side of his now blushing consort’s neck.
Lassen would have elbowed him but his arms were snugly pinioned by
Rohyr’s embrace. Rohyr grinned when Dylen shifted uncomfortably in
his chair.





“I
glimpsed a few of Riodan’s thoughts when we visited him,” he
smugly informed Dylen. “As I’m sure you did, so strongly did he
project them as soon as he saw you. There was no need to plumb his
mind at all.” Rohyr slipped a hand down to lightly rest on Lassen’s
thigh, perilously close to his crotch. Lassen gasped and slapped his
hand away. Rohyr only snickered.

“The
images I saw were quite incendiary,” he continued. “If that’s
how you take care of a friend, I shudder to imagine what you would do
for a true love.”

“Roh!”
Dylen finally barked. He glanced at his father and was chagrined to
find Hirlen smirking at him. “One night of—of rutting does not a
love affair make!” he protested.





“Nay,
but it can be the start of one,” Rohyr countered. “Or a second
beginning.” Dylen scowled, but there was little ire behind it. “Did
you come to visit or to vex

me?”
he muttered.





He
groaned when Lassen looked at him keenly then. If Lassen was going to
start in on him, too, he would go and seek less inquisitive company.





“I
saw him the other day,” Lassen related. “He looks so much better
now. He had the ends of his hair trimmed, and he was hardly limping.”

Hirlen
dimpled. “Then he is truly on the mend. That is good to hear.”

“Yes.
And his burns have also healed though there is much scarring,”
Lassen said. “Eiren told him the scars will fade and become
smoother over time. But the skin on his back will always be a little
rough and patchy. I thought that of little consequence, but I fancy
Riodan does not.”

“What
do you mean?” Dylen sharply asked.

“He
was quite self-conscious about them,” Lassen explained. “He kept
tugging at his collar to hide his nape. And he said he would probably
give away all his collarless shirts since he would no longer have use
for them.”





“But
that’s absurd!” Hirlen exclaimed. “Someone should tell him so.
After all, it isn’t his face or form that makes him such a beauty
but his goodness of heart and fidelity to those he loves.”

“Fidelity?”
Dylen abruptly scoffed. “Much that you know, Adda.”





Hirlen
frowned at him. “What? That he hurt you terribly at one time or
another?” At Dylen’s stunned expression, he said, “Oh, I may
not know the specifics of your quarrel, but I’m not blind, Dy. I
felt your grief even when I was at my sickest, and I noticed how
assiduously you kept your distance from him when he returned. I also
saw how you dealt harshly with him when you couldn’t avoid him. And
one more thing I saw that you refuse to see,” Hirlen added. “He
loves you, Dy, and he blames himself without cease for your rift. You
told him he was unworthy of you, didn’t you? Well, behold! He has
come to believe it and contents himself with the crumbs you deign to
toss his way!”

“Adda,
please…”





“You
hurt him, but you also hurt yourself,” Hirlen plowed on implacably.
“For how can you ever be whole if you refuse to accept the other
half of your heart?”





Dylen
stared at his father speechlessly. Seldom had he heard Hirlen so
impassioned and even less had he ever raised his voice to his only
son. Hirlen must have noticed his stricken expression for his stern
demeanor promptly vanished and he gentled his voice when he spoke
once more.





“Forgive
me, Dy,” he contritely said. “I had no right to speak that way
and in front of others.” He glanced at Rohyr and Lassen in some
embarrassment then looked at his son once more, his eyes pleading. “I
just—I just want you to be happy,” he professed, frustration
tingeing his voice.





Dylen
swallowed. He looked at Rohyr. “You said the same thing,” he
whispered. He bowed his head, his eyes shut tight against impending
tears.





“I
told him,” he hoarsely murmured. “I said I was afraid. How do I
get past that? Tell me, how do I conquer this fear?”

He
heard a sob and realized with horror that it was his. He leapt to his
feet and stepped out onto the patio. Dylen stared up unseeingly at
the cloudless sky, his body trembling with the effort not to cry. It
proved a futile attempt when tears streaked down his face and his
throat tightened painfully.





Someone
tugged at his hair, and he turned with a start. Lassen stood behind
him, Vyren in his arms. The child was gazing curiously at him.

“Nunky!”
Vyren cooed. Dylen smiled through his tears and stroked his nephew’s
plump cheek. He looked at Lassen, a little ashamed that his
law-brother had seen him weep. Lassen looked back at him, his
aquamarine eyes aglow with compassion.

“It
isn’t easy to conquer fear, Dy,” he murmured. “But with a
little help, it is possible.”

“Whose
help?” Dylen asked though he already suspected Lassen’s answer.
“Whoever brings you peace,” was Lassen’s reply. “Of heart and
soul and mind.” Dylen sharply inhaled, startled by the mirroring of
his earlier musings. He glanced

sideways
and saw his father and brother watching him with concern. He faced
Lassen again.

“Such
as you have,” he said.





“Such
as you had,” Lassen pointed out. “For a while.”

“But
it can be longer than a while.” Lassen placed a fist against
Dylen’s chest. “Listen to your heart, Dy. What does it tell you?
What is its plea?”

Dylen
bit his lip. He noticed Vyren reaching for him demandingly. He took
his

nephew
into his arms and rubbed noses with him until Vyren shrieked with
glee.





“By
the way,” Rohyr said, coming to Lassen’s side. “He’s moved
out of his parents’ house.”

That
surprised Dylen. “He has? But whither did he go?” “A smaller
house up Marsden Way.”

Dylen
stared at his brother and law-brother. He caught his father’s
entreating gaze. He held Vyren closer, taking in his sweet baby
scent.

Drawing
a shaky breath, he said, “I want to be happy, too.”









Chapter
Twenty-Six









Restoration









Time
had never seemed to pass so slowly as it did this afternoon. Or so
Riodan groused to himself. And his sire’s presence did not improve
matters for Theron’s visit was most unwelcome at the moment.





He
only half listened to Theron’s account of some junior diplomat’s
mishaps in his first posting. Since
the young fool didn’t precipitate a war in that part of Aisen, why
bother
recounting every detail of his blunders? Riodan
thought with irritation.





Realizing
he was fidgeting, he stood up and walked to a window to stare at the
quiet street below. The traffic in this portion of the north
district, vehicular or pedestrian, was not as heavy as in the more
fashionable sections farther east. Long minutes ticked by before
passersby or carriages came into view. Riodan sighed, chiding himself
for his impatience. It was still early, and in any case, Dylen had
not specified the exact time of his visit.





Riodan
felt his heart start to race as it was prone to do each time he
recalled Dylen’s message. The note arrived just after he finished
his solitary breakfast, informing him that Dylen would come by later
in the day. He had not known a moment’s calm since then.

His
correspondence was neglected, lunch was left largely uneaten, an
appointment with Eiren was promptly cancelled, and his plan to drop
by his parents’ residence on his way back home was discarded.
Furthermore, all callers were told he was indisposed or not at home,
whichever excuse was deemed appropriate by his butler. Only Theron
was sufficiently thick-skinned to be oblivious of his son’s very
clear desire not to have company and had insisted on coming up to see
him.





He
sighed again. It was not charitable of him to resent his sire’s
wish to visit him. Now that he no longer resided with his parents,
the times they saw him were considerably reduced. And Theron had not
been at all pleased by his decision to move out of the family house
and away from the virtual battery of caregivers hired to attend him
during his convalescence. Riodan was grateful to his parents for that
and had often told them so.





But
gratitude could only go so far. Eventually all the fuss and attention
became stifling. And being immured in his sire’s residence hardly
encouraged a certain Deir to come and see him. Riodan was not so
naïve as to believe that was the only reason for Dylen’s failure
to visit again after that one time more than a month ago. But it was
still one reason too many.

Riodan
absent-mindedly scratched the back of his neck—it tended to itch
there as his skin continued to recover. The scrape of his fingers
against unevenly textured flesh gave him pause, and he pensively
caressed the rough patch of skin that peeked out from his collar.
What would Dylen make of his scars? A moment later, he bitterly
laughed to himself. What reason had he to hope that they would be
intimate enough once more for Dylen to see his blemishes, much less
touch them?





He
almost jumped when the parlor door opened and the butler appeared.
Theron stopped mid-story and looked at the servant questioningly. The
Deir proceeded to

announce
the arrival of His Grace, Dylen Essendri il
Teris.





Riodan
felt the color rise in his face as he gave the butler leave to usher
Dylen up to the parlor. He glanced at his sire. Theron’s mouth had
tightened, and he looked at Riodan reproachfully.





“Is
he the reason you cancelled your visit with us?” he inquired
peremptorily. “Yes,” Riodan tersely answered. Hearing the tread
of footsteps mounting the stairs

outside,
he added, “I have missed him so, Aba.
Don’t begrudge me this one small joy.” Whatever Theron would have
replied was preempted when the door opened again.

Dylen
entered, briefly hesitating when he espied the elder Leyhar. But,
though his eyes turned wary, he did not let the latter’s presence
deter him. He walked to Riodan who eagerly met him halfway.





For
an awkward moment, they looked at each other uncertainly. And then
Dylen held out his hand and said, “Am I welcome?”

Riodan
clasped his hand and firmly replied, “You always are, Dy.” He
turned his head and looked defiantly at his sire. “Aba
was just leaving,”

Theron’s
face reddened slightly, but he did not rebuke Riodan. He stood up,
stiffly saying, “Yes, I must be on my way.”





He
moved toward the door. But to Riodan’s dismay, he abruptly stopped
and turned around and headed back toward them. Riodan held his breath
as his sire faced Dylen, his mien worryingly stern. Theron’s throat
worked jerkily, as if he found it hard to speak.





The
senior diplomat said, “I hope you can forgive an old dog his bad
habits, Essendri-dyhar.
I wronged you, and for that, I am sorry.”





Riodan
gaped at him in shock. He quickly glanced at Dylen. His beloved was
visibly surprised as evinced by the startled lift of his eyebrows.
But Riodan thought he also glimpsed a flicker of respect in Dylen’s
eyes,





“Bad
habits are the hardest to break, Ambassador,” Dylen quietly
replied. “I won’t hold your errors against you if you don’t
hold my past against me.”

He
held Theron’s gaze. The ambassador was the first to waver.





“Fair
enough,” Theron gruffly agreed. He bade them both goodbye and
walked out of the room.

Riodan
blew his breath out. He glanced at Dylen, his eyes still wide with
amazement. “I didn’t expect that,” he admitted.





“Nor
did I,” Dylen said. “But it’s good to have that out of the
way.” He ran a searching gaze over Riodan. “You look very well.”

“I
am
well,” Riodan assured him. “And itching to get back to work.”

“Has
Eiren given you leave?” Dylen asked as Riodan led him to the
hearthside couch. They sat in cozy warmth before the crackling fire.





Riodan
shook his head. “He says another sennight or so. It better be for,
if he confines me any longer than that, I swear I shall start
climbing the walls.”

Dylen
smiled. “Why did you move here?” he curiously asked. “Did you
have a falling-out with your parents?”

“Nay.
But, saints above, Dy! You can’t imagine what it’s like to be
nigh smothered with care. They were all but coddling me to death,”
Riodan darkly muttered.

Dylen
chuckled. Even better, his earth green eyes danced with mirth.
Elated, Riodan said, “You will stay for dinner, yes?”

“I
would like that,” Dylen smilingly replied.

The
butler returned and served them a light afternoon repast—hard
cranapple cider, spiced haronuts, dainty blackgrape leaf rolls
stuffed with forcemeat and, to Dylen’s amusement, crunchy Asmaran
cracklings and bite-sized batter-coated quintail eggs fried to a
golden turn.

“You
seem to have developed a taste for southern cuisine,” he remarked
as he popped a quintail egg into his mouth.

“Not
all,” Riodan mildly demurred. “I don’t mind blood soup and
sautéed fish tongues too much—actually, they’re quite delicious.
But you will never get me to try roasted ram bollocks!”





“Nay?
But it’s considered a great delicacy,” Dylen said. “And
purported to do marvels for one’s potency.”

Riodan
wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m quite satisfied with my level
of potency, thank you. And, verily, were I forced to eat so repulsive
a dish, I would more likely shrivel than swell up down yonder.”

Dylen
burst out laughing. The sound of it thrilled Riodan to the core.





“Why,
Ambassador, I never knew you hid a salty tongue behind that demure
exterior of yours,” Dylen teased. “Who would have thought it?”





Riodan
snorted. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, it was you
who got me started down that road.”

“Ah,
by dint of my sterling example?”

“Hardly
sterling. Really, Dy, some of the terms I learned from you would
reduce a worldly-wise harlot to blushes.”





Dylen’s
eyebrows rose in tacit skepticism. “And you know this because
you’ve bandied lewd words with bawds?”

Riodan
hesitated. “Well, actually… yes…”

“You
did?” Dylen grinned with abject delight. “For shame, Riodan
Leyhar. How came you to keep company with such disreputable company?”





“It
was an accident!” Riodan protested. “There was this ball in
Qatare. The host actually brought in whores to entertain his guests,
but he didn’t inform us of their professions. I thought the Deir I
was talking to was only a particularly filthy-mouthed, questionably
dressed blueblood and so I matched him jest for bawdy jest. How was I
to know he was the premier attraction at the biggest brothel in the
city?”

After
they laughed over Riodan’s misadventure, Dylen suddenly said, “We
got along so well in Asmara, didn’t we?”

Riodan
felt his heart go thump.
He had not expected Dylen to speak so soon of their time together in
the southern kingdom.

“Yes.
Yes, we did,” he murmured, conscious of how breathless he sounded.
Dylen sat back, a faint smile curving his lips. “Thank you for
granting my belated





request
that we be friends again,” he said unexpectedly.





“You
thank me?” Riodan swallowed. “I’m the one who’s deeply
grateful. If you count me even as the least of your
friends, it will be enough for me and so much more than I deserve.”





He
nearly choked when Dylen reached across the small distance between
them and gripped his hand. Dylen gazed at the fire a while before
speaking again.

“Rohyr
told me it was more difficult to nurse my resentments than to forgive
you and move on,” he softly said. “He was right. I found it
easier not
to keep my distance from

you.
The effort it took to stoke my anger far outstripped being civil with
you. And I didn’t feel as lonely.” He drew a deep breath then
slowly released it.

Riodan
turned his hand over to weave their fingers together. When Dylen did
not balk, he tentatively asked, “Then… may I assume that you’ve
forgiven me?”

Dylen’s
smile warmed considerably. “You may.”

His
heart beating madly, Riodan assayed another question. “Could you
also learn to trust me again?”

“I
think I already do,” Dylen admitted.





“Merciful
Veres…” Riodan closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow down a
bit that he might think a little more clearly. He opened his eyes and
looked at Dylen, hope and fear and barely leashed wanting colliding
with each other inside him. “And…love?” he whispered
hesitantly. “What of love?”

Dylen
shook his head. “Nay. That I can’t do.”

Riodan
was crestfallen. Swallowing hard, he mumbled, “Of… Of course…
That was… presumptuous of me.”

He
started when Dylen pulled his hand to his mouth. He mutely stared as
Dylen pressed a kiss to his fingers.





“It
would be a waste of time learning something I already know.” Dylen
looked squarely at Riodan. “What I’ve always known. Don’t you
agree?”

Riodan
could not speak or move, so thunderstruck was he. But when Dylen’s
mouth quirked upward in an affectionate smirk, an irresistible urge
to kiss that mouth overtook him. He suited action to thought and,
leaning forward, caught Dylen in a kiss that was equal parts emotion
and bodily desire.





Dylen
suddenly pulled him astride his lap. Their lips met again, parting
and slanting against each other in a spate of blistering open-mouthed
kisses. The sounds of a coach passing by drifted in through the
window, abruptly reminding Riodan that they were in the parlor and
not the privacy of his bedchamber. He broke their kiss and touched
his forehead to Dylen’s, panting as he strove to catch his breath.

“Perhaps…”
he murmured thickly. “Perhaps we should continue in the bedroom.”
“And of course closeting ourselves this early in the afternoon
won’t give your butler





notions
about us,” Dylen remarked with a chuckle.





“Better
we leave that to his imagination than provide him with a full show!”
Riodan shot back. He kissed Dylen once more. “I wouldn’t care
were you someone else. I’ve had servants walk in on me before.”

“Well
then, why so shy with me now?”





“Not
shy,” Riodan demurred. “I just don’t want anyone else to get an
eyeful of your charms, much less a taste of them. I never want to
share you again, Dy.”





Dylen
blinked in surprise. He bit his lip then met Riodan’s gaze. “And
you haven’t,” he quietly assured him. “Not since the night I
revealed myself to Rohyr.”

Riodan
stared at him. “But I thought—When you spoke of seducing Malkon,
it gave me the impression that…”

“That
I’d been bedding others,” Dylen finished for him. He shook his
head. “Malkon wouldn’t have had the full benefit of my
experience. If it had come to that, I would have found other ways,
used other methods save for the coupling of our bodies, to get what
we needed from him. Once I no longer needed to sell my services, I
became so selective that no one could meet my standards. And then you
came back, and my desire awakened once

more.”
He reached up to run his thumb along Riodan’s lips. “Truth be
told, Rio, even when I tried to hate you, I still wanted you and
badly so.”

“Is
that why you kept your distance?” Riodan asked, his voice rough.





Dylen
sighed. “Among other things. I told you, I tried to hate you as
well. The mere sight of you was enough to undo all my efforts. What
more your scent, your voice, the mere brush of your hand against
mine?”





Riodan
gasped as he was suddenly stroked between his legs. He glanced down
and groaned at the sight of Dylen’s hand on his crotch, gently
kneading the hard bulge therein. With a shuddery exhalation, he
pulled away and got to his feet, drawing Dylen up as well.





“Bedroom,”
he hoarsely said. “Now.”





Dylen
softly laughed and let him conduct him thence. Almost as soon as he
kicked the door shut behind him, Riodan all but pounced on him,
kissing him hard as he started to undress him. He returned the favor.





But
when Dylen had him down to his shirt and had loosened its collar,
Riodan abruptly stiffened. A deep flush heated his cheeks.

Dylen
paused and looked searchingly at him. “Rio?”





Riodan
gulped. “I should have warned you,” he said, his throat tight.
“My back—“ “Yes, I know.”

“It’s
just that… It’s not a pretty sight.”

Riodan
knew a twinge of fear as Dylen thoughtfully studied him. He caught
his breath when Dylen resumed undoing his shirt, going behind him as
he drew the garment off his shoulders. Riodan closed his eyes,
agonizingly conscious of Dylen’s gaze on his blemished flesh. The
press of soft lips against his nape startled him, as did the
sensation of Dylen’s tongue ghosting a moist trail across the
uneven landscape of his back. Fingers caressed rough patchy skin
before smoothing around his torso and reaching down to fondle his
subsiding erection through his breaches into renewed firmness. Riodan
shakily exhaled, not quite certain what to make of Dylen’s
ministrations.





“Pretty
is an understatement,” he heard Dylen murmur. “You’re so
beautiful, Rio.” Riodan shook his head and turned around to face
Dylen. “I’m not—” he started to

protest.





Dylen
cut him off with a hard swift kiss. Pulling away, he slipped his own
shirt from his body.

“You
are beautiful,” he firmly repeated. “And to my eyes your scars
make you even more so. Now—are we going to make love or not?”

Riodan
slowly smiled.





They
swiftly undressed each other, nigh tearing off the rest of their
clothes in their haste to have naught but skin between them.

Sensing
that Dylen seemed inclined to let him take the lead, Riodan allowed
himself to be more aggressive. In light of their conversation, he
suspected that Dylen wished to be mastered that he might forget his
years of mastering others. Enflamed by the prospect, Riodan pressed
Dylen down to the bed with nigh indecent haste. He paused only long
enough to grab a bottle of oil from the topmost drawer of the bedside
table and place it within easy reach on the bed.





He
eagerly explored Dylen anew, thrilling to the sounds of his groans.
Steadily moving downwards, Riodan sucked at his neck, kissed his
chest and teased his nipples

while
his hands caressed every inch of skin within reach. He felt Dylen’s
fingers run through his hair; heard his breathing growing more uneven
with every ardent assault on his flesh. Reaching Dylen’s groin, he
eagerly enclosed Dylen’s hard length in his mouth, drawing upon it
as if he had just emerged from a lengthy fast and been served a
veritable feast.





“Turn
around, Rio!” Dylen suddenly demanded.





Grinning
widely, Riodan quickly changed his position. Dylen grabbed his hips
and made him straddle his face. Riodan yelped as he was engulfed in
Dylen’s talented mouth before he set to lavishing his attention
once more on the seductive flesh before him. To be steadily drawn
upon even as he likewise employed his lips, tongue and mouth on
Dylen’s shaft—the feeling beggared description.

It
turned into a sensual race as both strove to undo the other. Soon
they were both wracked by rapture. Riodan cried out around his
luscious mouthful when he felt the pulsing in his groin that rapidly
spiralled into an orgasm of explosive proportions. So ardent did his
suckling become as he rode out the waves of his spending that Dylen
soon climaxed as well, gasping raggedly as Riodan hungrily milked him
dry.

Still
panting from his release, Riodan crawled back up into Dylen’s arms.
He pressed their lips together at once, feeling the need to be in
constant intimate contact with his lover. He moaned in delight as his
mouth was pillaged and he was lured into a hedonistic duel of lips
and tongue and teeth.





Riodan
drew away slightly, his eyes pricking with grateful tears. Gazing at
his hard-earned prize, he whispered, “I love you, Dy.”





With
a sweet smile, Dylen snaked his hand behind Riodan’s nape and
pulled him back down into an even more voracious kiss. At once,
Riodan set to ravaging him anew. Dylen happily succumbed to his
desire.





Supple
fingers played with his nipples, pinching and tweaking them until he
was squirming with delight beneath Riodan’s withy form. As their
members surged back to life, Riodan thrust against him, sliding the
hardening columns against each other until they were both gasping in
ecstasy into each other’s mouths.





Riodan
snatched up the bottle of oil and poured a goodly amount onto his
palm. But Dylen stopped him just as he was about to smear Dylen’s
shaft with the unguent. Riodan stared at him, eyebrows lifting in
question.





“I
want you to take me,” Dylen whispered. He firmly guided Riodan’s
hand to his own member. “Anoint yourself, ariad.”

Riodan’s
hand shook as he lubricated his shaft. “Are you certain?” he
anxiously asked, remembering the former hethar’s
aversion to yielding thusly outside of his professional assignations.





“Very
certain,” Dylen huskily said. “Have all of me, Rio. Own me.” He
drew a shuddery inhalation. “I want to forget all the others. Make
me think only of you. Of us.”





Riodan
could have wept from being blessed with so precious a gift as Dylen’s
utter trust and complete surrender. Almost holding his breath, he
moved between Dylen’s thighs. Dylen lifted his legs and wrapped
them around his waist. Swallowing hard at the thought of berthing
himself inside Dylen once more, Riodan carefully pressed his aching
shaft home.

He
barely stifled a cry as he was sheathed to the hilt. He stared at
Dylen in joyous disbelief. He had ceased to entertain the thought of
taking Dylen thusly long ago and after

their
last union before their rift he had expected to never again have
Dylen at all. But now, here he was buried deep in Dylen’s heated
sweetness after so very long. He had not thought such bliss possible.





“Saints
above,” he whispered as rapture coursed through him like a molten
river. “Veres preserve me.”

He
waited for his lover to adjust to his embedded shaft. Dylen was as
tight as an untried innocent, evidence of his many years abstention
from playing the mare. Riodan watched him will himself to relax his
muscles further. He knew Dylen was ready when he curled a leg behind
Riodan’s thighs and pulled him closer.





Riodan
experienced a sharp surge of possessiveness. An urge to stake his
claim on his beloved overcame him, and he began to drive into Dylen,
thrusting into him as deeply as he could. Dylen’s moans and gasps
sent prickles of delight simmering along his skin, and he applied
himself to delivering them both into ecstasy.





It
was as glorious as it had been that one time more than two score
years ago when he’d had the pleasure and the honor of taking Dylen
in genital intercourse. With none of his subsequent partners had it
ever felt like that or as it did now. None had looked as exquisite as
Dylen did as he lay beneath him, lips parted invitingly, eyes gazing
up at him in open love and lust. And for all the others’
willingness to submit, only Dylen’s surrender meant the world to
him.





For
in yielding all that he was and had, Dylen had given him the greatest
gift of all. His hard-won devotion and trust.

This
knowledge sent Riodan’s lust soaring. Rough cries escaped him with
every lunge of his hips, the feel of wonderfully snug satin softness
making him near giddy with joy. Desiring to see Dylen lose himself
just as completely to pleasure, he grasped the shaft that pressed
against his belly and stroked it hardily.





Dylen
cried then shuddered helplessly, the sensations of being caressed
from within and without conspiring to unravel him. Coming completely
undone, he called out Riodan’s name and spent himself copiously
into his hand. So stunning were his features in rapture, the sight
finished Riodan as well.





Breathing
harshly with the force of his release, Riodan buried himself as
deeply as he could, his entire existence in that instant reduced to
the ecstasy of at last wholly claiming Dylen. As the last of his seed
filled his lover, he felt his limbs give way, and he collapsed onto
Dylen. Strong arms enclosed him, and with a happy sigh, Riodan
nestled his head on Dylen’s chest. He smiled broadly upon marking
the unsteady up and down of Dylen’s breast as he breathed, evidence
that his lover’s climax had been as powerful as his.





*





Riodan
waited for them both to calm down before he carefully pulled out of
Dylen. Snatching up a discarded shirt from the floor, he used it to
wipe their seed-stippled torsos. Tossing the shirt aside, he slipped
out of the bed.





Dylen
watched him head for the small liquor cabinet by his wardrobe. His
eyebrows rose when Riodan took out a bottle of mirash.
Riodan looked almost shyly at Dylen as he poured himself a glass of
the conception suppressor.





Seating
himself on the edge of the bed, Dylen grinned and said, “Curious
that you have mirash
on hand. Methinks you expected more than a simple visit from me.”

Riodan
chuckled with some embarrassment. “I didn’t expect anything,”
he corrected. “I only hoped.”

Holding
Dylen’s gaze, he downed the mirash
then returned to the bed and climbed onto Dylen’s lap, straddling
him. Dylen held his warm body close, kissing his throat and reaching
for his buttocks to knead the firm mounds suggestively. Riodan moaned
as an enterprising finger slipped into the crease of his arse and
nudged the tight entrance within. He wiggled his hips, caressing
Dylen’s slowly rousing shaft in turn.





Dylen
groaned then softly laughed. “You’ve learned much, ariad,”
he remarked, pulling Riodan into a plundering kiss.





“I
had a good teacher,” Riodan murmured against his lips. “The very
best in fact.” “Is that so?” Dylen chuckled. “Well then, what
say you demonstrate how well I’ve

taught
you?”

He
plucked the bottle of oil from its nest among the pillows. Keeping
his eyes on Riodan, he deftly eased some of the lubricant up his
backside, caressing him within until Riodan was arching sensuously
against him even as he bore down on Dylen’s embedded fingers. Dylen
latched onto a nipple, sucking it to a hard peak, which elicited a
litany of soft cries from Riodan.

“Dy,
please…” Riodan pleaded.





Dylen
cast the bottle aside and lazily coated his shaft with oil. “Do you
want me inside you so badly?” he huskily asked.

“Yes!”

“Then
ride me, my love. Let me in.”

He
lowered Riodan onto his shaft. The stretch and burn of his entry
fetched a slight wince from his lover. But it did not take long for
lingering groans and ecstatic whimpers to supplant it as discomfort
gave way to pleasure. Riodan began to move as bidden, riding the
flesh that cleaved him so fulsomely. Dylen gazed at him, completely
enraptured and consumed with love. He wrapped his hand around the
proud member that jutted up between them and stroked it with every
slide of his shaft into Riodan’s core.





For
several heartbeats, all that could be heard was the symphony of their
ragged breathing and drawn out moans.

They
climaxed nigh simultaneously. Semen dappled their chests and bellies
and flowed from one to fill the other. Sobbing his bliss against
Dylen’s mouth, Riodan wrapped his arms tightly around his lover’s
shoulders and held fast to him, yearning for emotional intimacy as
much as his body had been in need of sexual satiation. Dylen embraced
him tightly, lifting a gentle hand to smooth his tousled locks. With
the other he stroked Riodan’s back soothingly, tenderly rubbing his
fingers over the uneven flesh that was palpable testament to Riodan’s
great love for him.





They
bathed together afterward, washing semen and saliva from their
bodies. But Riodan did not expect to be tumbled back into bed as soon
as they came out of the bathing chamber.





“You-you’re
indefatigable!” he half stuttered, half laughed when Dylen promptly
reached down between his legs to begin the process of turning.

“What
can you expect when so splendid a feast has been spread before me?”
Dylen quipped as he fingered the tiny orifice hidden behind Riodan’s
seed pouch.





He
grinned salaciously when Riodan could only writhe in speechless
rapture. A glance down told him his lover’s body had turned

Dylen
pushed Riodan’s thighs up and spread them wide. His eyes homed in
purposefully on the glistening entrance that was Riodan’s sheath.
He locked his lips onto

the
sensitive flesh, laving Riodan with his tongue before penetrating him
in mimicry of what was to come. As soon as Riodan started to lift his
hips to press up against him, Dylen shifted above him and entered him
in one smooth thrust. Moaning wantonly, Riodan threw his head back,
enraptured by the sensation of thick, firm flesh sliding into him.





The
sight of Riodan abandoning himself to pleasure aroused Dylen even
further. But he restrained himself and initially delivered only slow,
shallow thrusts, refusing to let their rutting end too soon. Holding
Riodan’s hips steady, he bent low to kiss his lover’s throat,
occasionally teasing the hollow at its base with tantalizing dips of
his tongue. He moved lower to gently maraud Riodan’s dusky nipples
to hard nubs. Riodan pressed up, arching his body in willing
complicity in his ravishment. Dylen abandoned restraint and gave
himself over to mounting ecstasy.

It
was never less than wondrous whenever their bodies joined, a feeling
alien to Dylen for all his experience. It was not in any way like
this with all the Deira who had passed through his life, not even
those for whom he had held some affection. He could not think of a
logical explanation except that they had been made for each other.





*





Riodan
clutched at the beddings as Dylen steadily speared him. Everything
seemed reduced to the singular sensation of hard flesh repeatedly
plunging deep inside him.





He
pulled Dylen down to him to seal their mouths in scorching union. A
moment later, he was shuddering uncontrollably as rapture swept
through him in a nigh endless torrent of sensation. His sheath
contracted around the flesh that breached him, triggering Dylen’s
climax in turn. Riodan moaned joyfully when he felt Dylen’s semen
fill him to overflowing followed by the swift rush of heat in his
belly—Dylen’s love made tangible.





Neither
spoke for some time afterward. They were content to simply lie close
together, Dylen resting his head on Riodan’s shoulder. Riodan
gently wove his fingers through Dylen’s hair. When Dylen pressed
kisses to the shoulder beneath his cheek, Riodan’s body responded
with a faint tremor of delight.





Their
post-coital reverie was rudely interrupted when the door opened
suddenly, banging sharply against the wall as it did. Quickly pulling
the covers up higher over both of them, Riodan stared incredulously
as Guyon Barath barged in over the protestations of his butler. The
butler on the other hand gaped in horror when he realized what he and
the uninvited visitor had stumbled upon.

“I’m
so sorry, Dyhar!”
he anxiously told Riodan. “I told him you were indisposed, but he
wouldn’t heed me!”

“I
can see that,” Riodan grimly said. “You may go. I will tend to
Barath-tyar.”
He regarded Guyon with annoyance as the butler hurried out. “What
in heyas
are you doing here, Guyon?” he snapped. “You were told I wasn’t
available.”





Guyon
was staring at him and Dylen in turn, eyes bulging in disbelief.
“What am I
doing?” he blurted. “What about you?”

“What
about me?”





“I
came here to forgive you!”

Riodan
almost choked. “Forgive me?” he repeated.

Eyeing
Dylen with dudgeon, Guyon scrunched up his nose in disgust. “I was
ready to overlook your indiscretion and reinstate our betrothal,”
he huffed at Riodan. “And this is how you reward me?”

“Reward—”
Riodan glared at him. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with my
rumored elevation to ambassador-at-large, would it?” he
sarcastically suggested. “Verily, I find it hard to believe that
you want to renew our troth out of mere affection.”





“I
do hold affection for you!” Guyon cried. “That I am willing to
disregard your sordid affair with him
should be proof enough of that.”

Riodan
grabbed the heavy timepiece on his bedside table and hurled it
straight at Guyon’s head. Guyon yelped as it hit him squarely in
the face. He gingerly rubbed his bruised nose, wincing as he did.





“How
dare you!” Riodan shouted at him, indignation thrumming in every
word. “It wasn’t sordid, and it was no mere affair, I’ll have
you know! We loved each other and even more so now.” He snorted
disdainfully as Guyon continued to stare at him in apparent refusal
to believe his assertion. “And I seriously doubt you’d still be
willing to wed me were my appointment withheld.”

Guyon’s
mouth fell open. He looked like a fish out of water gasping for
breath. “Withheld?” he finally croaked. “Then it hasn’t been
confirmed?” He uttered an imprecation. “Confound your sire. He
assured me it was a sure thing and—” Guyon stopped in dismay,
realizing his error. “You misled me!”





Riodan
smiled. “And you wouldn’t be interested in binding to me any
longer were that true. How predictable.” He snuggled suggestively
against Dylen, turning his face into his lover’s neck to nuzzle it.
“Now would you mind?” he murmured. “Dylen was about to fuck me
again.”





*





The
slam of the door was deafening. Dylen listened to the petulant
stomping of feet outside until it was abruptly cut off by the closing
of the parlor door. He let out a relieved sigh then looked at Riodan.
He noticed his lover was shaking rather violently and kept his face
hidden against Dylen’s neck. Concerned, Dylen slipped a finger
under Riodan’s chin and lifted it to look closely at his face. He
burst into chuckles when he saw that Riodan was only snickering
helplessly.





“Again?”
he archly inquired.





Riodan
grinned impishly. “Why not? Unless you aren’t up for another
bout?” “You may rue your words, ariad,”
Dylen mildly warned him.

Dark
brown eyes gleaming with devotion met his gaze. “Nay, I will never
regret being yours,” Riodan softly said, his words punctuated with
tender kisses. “I love you, Dy. Veres knows how much I love you.”





Dylen
pulled him flush against him and crushed their mouths together.
“Don’t leave me again, Rio,” Dylen whispered against his
beloved’s lips. “Never,” Riodan promised.

And
he pulled Dylen once more into his body’s heated embrace.









Epilogue









Pledged









The
Citadel, in the 3010th Year of the Common Age





“Ah,
never have I seen capes so fine before!” “Can it be—? Hirlen,
is this Asmaran cashmere?”

“It
can’t be. It’s nigh unavailable north of the border.”





Hirlen
Teris smiled indulgently as his old friends oohed and aahed over the
dress capes displayed on his bed. One was of a rich burgundy shade,
another a sumptuous cobalt blue and the third an elegant terre verte.





“Actually
it can,” Hirlen said. “The Shaja of Asmara sent them to Dylen and
Riodan as binding gifts.”

“But
why three of them?” Eldran asked curiously. Hirlen grinned. “One
is for me.”

“What?”
Miqar exclaimed. “Whatever did you do to deserve such a gift?”





“I
birthed Dylen,” Hirlen smugly replied. “The Shaja was so grateful
for a service my son did for them, he rewarded me for bringing him
into the world!”

“Well,
I never!” Miqar huffed. “Why hasn’t anyone rewarded me for
birthing my children?”

“Because
neither of your sons have done anything extraordinary for a filthy
rich monarch,” Liave pointed out. “So which is yours, Hirlen?”

“I
haven’t decided,” Hirlen admitted. “Riodan insists that Dylen
have the green one because it matches his eyes so well. He left it to
me to choose between the others since either color will suit him
perfectly.”





“Choose
the burgundy then,” Miqar said. “It’s absolutely stunning!”





“Nay,
the blue,” Liave insisted. “It will contrast wonderfully with
your hair.” “When his hair was all chestnut, it would have,”
Miqar retorted. “Choose the





burgundy,
Hirlen.”





“Don’t
be daft, Miqar,” Eldran gibed. “Hirlen still has more brown than
grey on his head. Which is more than can be said of yours!”

Hirlen
laughed as the three good-naturedly squabbled among themselves. He
glanced up when Rohyr Essendri came to his side. Eldran, Miqar and
Liave promptly shushed up, awed and a little abashed to be in the
same room with their king. And in such close quarters at that.





“Don’t
mind me,” Rohyr affably told them. “I’m a little envious myself
over those capes.”

“Are
you?” Hirlen smilingly gestured to the garments. “Then have your
pick,





Dyhar.”





Rohyr
shook his head, grinning. “I was only jesting. And I think you
should take the green. Let Dylen wear another color for a change.”

Hirlen
chortled. His friends laughed as well albeit diffidently. At that
moment,

Tarqin
appeared at the door and announced he had brought in some
refreshments.





They
filed out of the bedroom, Rohyr wheeling Hirlen after them. A
delectable array of savory snacks and tempting pastries awaited them
along with fragrant freshly brewed kahvi.





A
child’s happy cry caught their attention, and they looked toward
the terrace where Rohyr’s son and heir Vyren gleefully rolled on
the ground with a trio of lively pups. A tongue in cheek wedding
present from the Princes Laral and Sivar, they were of a rare breed
of hounds exclusive to the royal families of the south.





His
father bent to wipe slobber from the baby prince’s face, but
otherwise Lassen did not interrupt his child’s play with the
puppies. Behind them, Dylen and Riodan stood side-by-side, arms
around each other, oft exchanging adoring looks and tender kisses in
the manner of newlyweds the world over.

We
wanted him to be happy. And now he is.

Hirlen
glanced at Rohyr, just a tad startled. Despite having been exposed to
Dylen’s abilities through the years, he was still awed when he
experienced mind-speech.





He
beamed at Rohyr, nodding in agreement. Looking at his son again, he
saw Dylen gazing back at his brother, his rare sweet smile gracing
his lips. He’d heard Rohyr’s message, the elder Teris realized
with even more wonder.





Hirlen
sighed with contentment and utmost felicity. His son was indeed
happy. For he and the Deir of his heart were finally one in an
inviolable union.

Theirs
was a bond that had withstood the test of trials and time. Their love
would prevail in this lifetime and beyond.









Glossary
of Terms









Aba
‘sire’
Parent who functions as the head of the family.





Adda
‘father’
Parent who functions as the principal caregiver of the family.

Ardan
North
Continent hereditary monarch or potentate of a large sovereign realm
or
ruling
overlord of an aggregate of internally autonomous states

Ardis
An
Ardan’s consort.
ariad ‘beloved’
An endearment.
by-blow An
illegitimate child





Deir
(pl. Deira) Member
of the race of hermaphrodites that populates the world of
Aisen.

dyhar
High
honorific applied to Deira of noble blood or high-ranking profession.
enyr (pl. enyra) ‘True
Blood’ A Deir whose antecedents kept their breeding with the





gelra
to the barest viable minimum and thus retained much of the physical
strength and endurance and most of the mind gifts of the Naere.

felka
(pl.
felkar)
Prostitute who works in a brothel or walks the streets for patrons.
Herun (pl. Herune) North
Continent ruling aristocrat. Herune may govern sovereign





principalities,
fiefdoms, city-states or great urban centers.





hethar
(pl. hethare) ‘companion’
Deir who provides sexual services and/or social
companionship
for a considerable fee. Unlike common prostitutes, hethare
are well-educated and highly cultured and, in most cities, generally
accepted in polite society.

heyas
A
common expletive.





il
Designates
the birthing parent’s surname when an illegitimate child carries
his
biological
sire’s name, e.g. Dylen Essendri il
Teris.

mirash
A
conception suppressor





min
Diminutive
form of address applied to a Deir of junior years or station. Usage
warrants
mutual familiarity whether familial, platonic or professional.

Naere
The
Deira’s hermaphroditic race of origin.

Oda
‘grandfather’
Grandparent who functioned as caregiver of his family.

sedyr
(pl. sedyra) ‘Half
Blood’ Deir whose antecedents bred indiscriminately with
the
gelra, which resulted in the diminishment or disappearance of many of
the characteristics of the Naere in succeeding generations.





serl
‘baronet’
Non-noble holder of the lowest hereditary North Continent title.
Shaja South
Vihandran hereditary ruler

templar
Extraordinarily
mentally gifted Deir.

thein
‘baron’
Non-ruling member of the North Continent nobility.

tyar
General
honorific for someone of higher years or station or whose profession
warrants
more than general courtesy.

 


 



 

The
 End


About
the Author:





As
far back as her college days, Eressë enjoyed writing stories set in
historical times or, even better, fantasy settings. A good number
turned into homoerotic romances because many of her male lead
characters wound up having more chemistry with each other than with
the female leads.





Whether
Eressë subconsciously wrote them that way even she does not know. In
any case, this penchant for fantasy M/M romance became the wellspring
of Ylandre, the world in which her seminal piece Sacred
Fate
and its sequel Hallowed
Bond
take place.





Eressë
lives in Southeast Asia with her husband, three sons and one dog. An
AB Journalism graduate, she started her writing career as an
advertising copywriter. She is now a freelance writer and a
contributor to a number of publications. She also enjoys cooking and
baking and tries her hand at everything from pasta to pastries. But
her first love is, and always will be, writing stories.









Meet
Lsb Authors At The House Of Sin





Lsbooks.Net









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invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books





LSbooks.com





for
other exciting erotic romances.









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Terran Realm





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