Chronicles of Ylandre 01 - Sacred Fate(2)
Autor: Neni Burelli | Publicado: 2016-11-16T16:09:00-08:00


...



After
Rohyr wiped their stomachs clean with his discarded shirt, Lassen
kissed him with lavish tenderness, his sorrow at parting from him
muted for the moment by their sweet intimacy. With Rohyr’s arms
around him, he laid his head on one broad shoulder, knowing utter and
unblemished happiness for this brief moment in time.



Rohyr
dropped a kiss on his crown then murmured, “Had I known how well
you could play the cleaver, I would have yielded long before this.
Ah, why must you leave me now?”



For
an instant, Lassen was alarmed. He forced himself to relax. Not since
their first meeting had Rohyr purposely read his mind again and even
that first time he had not delved deeply but only did a swift probe.
Rohyr did pick up stray thoughts, particularly when strong emotions
underlined them. But unless he deemed the circumstances dire enough
to warrant the full invasion of another’s mind, Rohyr resisted the
temptation.



There
was no reason for him to suspect Lassen of planning to separate from
him. If Rohyr sensed Lassen’s grief, he would ascribe it to
Lassen’s unwillingness to part from him for a long period of time.
After all, that had been the case in Lassen’s past visits to his
hometown. And his reluctance was real in any case, as was his sorrow.



“If
it were possible, I wouldn’t go,” he whispered. “I wish I could
stay with you always.”

Rohyr
gently ran his fingers through Lassen’s hair. “What need is there
to wish for something that has already been granted? You belong here.
With me.”



To
this, Lassen dared make no reply even if he could speak past the lump
in his throat. He curled his arms around Rohyr, relishing his
nearness one last time.



*
* * *



Rohyr
did not accompany him when he left the Citadel nor did they make
their farewells in public. Some conventions had to be observed and
even the king acknowledged the imprudence of flouting them. But
neither did he permit Lassen to make the short trip out of the city
without company. Tenryon Hadrana and young Shino Essendri rode with
him to the Great Field.



Sensing
Lassen’s desolation, Shino steered the conversation toward Rohyr’s
decision to have him trained by Tenryon. Rohyr’s orphaned cousin
had started to show signs of possessing far more than the Essendri
potential, which could put him in the same stratum of ability as the
Ardan. Hence Rohyr’s desire that Tenryon teach Shino how to wield
his power not only proficiently but wisely as well.

They
rode out a fair distance from the city. The creation of a corridor
almost always took place in wide open spaces to reduce the chances of
a portal blossoming in the middle of a solid structure or object such
as a wall or tree or, Veres forbid, in the same space as an
unsuspecting passerby. The energy generated was strong enough to
shatter glass and stone, rip wood apart and bend steel. Anyone caught
in the midst of a blossoming would be instantly obliterated.



It
was not a problem with adepts like Rohyr or Tenryon or a gifted
physician like Eiren who could plot a route through space more
accurately than a navigator could guide a ship on the high seas. But
the greater number of enyra
could not be as precise. Thus, opening corridors within populated
locations was generally forbidden and only condoned

in
the direst of situations.



For
his previous trips, Lassen had always had the benefit of Vaeren
Henaz’s company and ability to travel via translocation. This time,
it was not necessary. Not when Tenryon could generate a corridor for
Lassen even if he did not enter it with him. For the Herun was a
templar whose mastery of the mind arts went beyond rigorous training
and was rooted in inborn power of a degree that surpassed the
ordinary.

Despite
having oft seen it done by now, Lassen could not help being awed as a
corridor began to open just a few paces away from their position. He
stared at it a little nervously. It would be the first time for him
to enter one unaccompanied by its creator. “Don’t be afraid,”
Tenryon assured him. “It will remain open until you exit it.”



Lassen
looked at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean
to impugn your skill.”

“Nor
did you.”



Lassen
faintly smiled at him. He glanced at Shino then looked at Tenryon
once more. “How many templars are there?” he curiously asked.

“In
the North Continent, there are ten of us, not including acolytes.”
“Ten. I wonder who the others are. Do you know them all?”



“Aye.
The birth of a templar resounds through the bond of our brotherhood
and we seek him out as soon as he reaches puberty that he may be
taught to harness his powers.”

“It
must be a frightening experience for a youngling.” Lassen remarked.
His expression turned rueful. “Forgive me, I am stalling and
keeping you overlong.”



“None
can blame you.” Tenryon regarded him with concern. “Lassen,
whatever it is that troubles you, don’t act rashly. Action without
due thought will breed ill consequences or worse.”



Act
rashly? Lassen had agonized over his decision the past several weeks.
But he only said, “I shall keep that in mind. Farewell,
Hadrana-dyhar.
Shin, luck be with you in your training.”

“Veres
keep you, Las,” Shino responded. “Until we meet again.”



Lassen
turned his steed toward the corridor and urged it forward. Just
before the beast entered the shadowed passageway, he placed a hand on
his belly, protective of the budding life within. And then he was
gone, swallowed by the swirling mists that shrouded the portal.





Chapter
Fifteen





Exile



Tal
Ereq, Eastern Velarus



Lassen
had not expected much change when he first returned home seven years
ago or even on his last visit three years back. But a decade on, Tal
Ereq still had not altered much. Not that he should have been
surprised, he conceded. Provincial towns seldom did.



The
homes and buildings and farmsteads remained much the same, as did the
daily routines of work and play. The population, however, tended to
fluctuate significantly of late in terms of births and temporary
residents. This was due in large part to the regional constabulary
base located a few leagues away.



Velarus’
constabulary headquarters had been built near Tal Ereq because of its
size and prosperity. It was from Tal Ereq that the base purchased the
majority of its supplies. The townsfolk also provided respectable
company for the soldiers that the inevitable camp followers could
not. Consequently, liaisons had sprung up between unmarried townsfolk
and the constabulary bachelors. When these soldiers were transferred
elsewhere, their new families went with them and Tal Ereq’s
population changed accordingly.

Lassen
smiled as Yuilan haggled with a draper over the price of a silk
brocade tunic for his mate’s upcoming begetting day. The eldest
Idana son had made a good match by espousing himself to the only
child of Symon Barash. Formerly apprenticed to the master jeweller
and now his assistant, Yuilan fell hard for Gelen Barash and wooed,
bedded and wed him in the span of a year. The kerfuffle over the
premarital impregnation of his employer’s son had been as explosive
as it had been brief.



Such
behavior had been expected of Fileg, who, as soon as he reached the
age of consent, made it clear that he was eager to learn his bed
manners and not necessarily from one teacher alone. None foresaw that
his first teacher would be one of the constabulary officers. Or that
Araen Mihar would refuse to share Fileg and claim him in wedlock
before Fileg could turn his eyes elsewhere.

Araen
was reassigned to the military base in Edessa two years ago.
Therefore, Fileg, like Lassen, no longer resided in Tal Ereq. But
Fileg, unlike Lassen, was married to the sire of his son.



Lassen
sighed, his gaze focused on nothing in particular. “Are you well,
Las?”

Yuilan
was looking at him with concern. “Yes,” Lassen quickly replied.
“I’m well.” His brother regarded him doubtfully. “If you say
so. ‘Tis just that you remind me of



the
way Gelen behaved when he was childing.” “Oh? How did he behave?”



“He
often seemed abstracted,” Yuilan said, tucking his package under
his arm. “As if his mind was miles away. It unnerved me enough to
badger Adda
about whether ‘twas normal or not.”



“And
I act as if I’m expecting?” Lassen asked lightly.

“What?
Oh, not at all! I only meant to say that your absent-mindedness is
much like Gelen’s. It comes over you at the oddest times. Not at
all like old Harod who would forget his own name if his mate didn’t
shout it at him several times a day.”



Lassen
faintly smiled. “If I’m abstracted, ‘tis only because I worry
over where I can settle down without fear of discovery.”

Yuilan
grimaced. “As to that, is it truly the right thing to do? Rohyr
will be furious when he discovers you’ve left him. Can’t you tell
him about Tyrde’s threat?”

“Must
I repeat myself?” Lassen snapped back.



He
abruptly turned away and began to walk down the aisle between stalls.
But as soon as Yuilan placed a hand on his arm and voiced an
apologetic plea for him to slow down, his irritation died away.
Saints!
He was so short-tempered these days. He had to control his moodiness
if he desired to keep his secret. He looked repentantly at his
brother.

“I’m
sorry, Yul, that was uncalled for,” he murmured.



Yuilan
threw his arm around his shoulders. “You are beset by the troubles
foisted on you by that pathetic excuse for an Ardis. And it pains you
greatly to leave Rohyr, doesn’t it?”



Lassen
forlornly nodded. “I would have happily lived out my life as his
leman,” he whispered.

“You
weren’t supposed to fall in love with him,” Yuilan commented.
“Only…” “Service him,” Lassen finished. “But much as I
tried, I couldn’t help myself any



more
than you could resist bedding Gelen when the chance presented
itself.” This last he said with a crooked grin and his brother did
not take offense.



“I
should have avoided being alone with him once I started having dreams
of him bent over my worktable with his breeches down around his
knees,” Yuilan remarked.



Lassen
pulled away with a snicker, his face screwed up. “Please, Yul, keep
those thoughts to yourself. Else I won’t be able to look Gelen in
the face again without imagining him thus displayed!”



*
* * *



Mithre
was the only one who knew he was with child. Lassen apprised Dael and
Yuilan of the situation with Tyrde that they might accept the need
for him to part from Rohyr and go into exile. But of his condition he
said nothing, fearing that, should Rohyr come after him and find his
family unwilling to divulge either his whereabouts or reasons for
fleeing, the king might resort to taking the information directly
from their thoughts.



He
did not know if Rohyr would deem finding him worth the
distastefulness of a forced mind probe but Lassen preferred not to
take the chance. However, he knew he could not carry out his plan
alone. He had to tell one of his parents. Needless to say, Mithre was
shocked and angered when told the truth.



“You
are below breeding age!” he exclaimed in dismay. “”How could
you imperil yourself this way?”

“I
had to, Adda,”
Lassen replied. “If I’m never to see Rohyr again, this is the
only way I’ll be able to endure it.”



“Do
you realize how closely you’ll need to be monitored?” Mithre
pointed out. “Even our choice of destination will be dependent on
the availability of an able physician. No mere birthing helper or
backwoods practitioner will do.”

“I
know,” Lassen meekly agreed. “Will you help me?”



Mithre
exhaled. “As if I can refuse you,” he said. He paced around his
workroom as he thought about their options.

There
were times Lassen thought Mithre was better suited to be an Elder
than Dael if all it took was the ability to keep one’s head in the
midst of turmoil. True, he was not adept at remaining objective about
issues that directly affected him nor could he remain civil with
anyone he came to dislike. But it was his birthing father’s
equanimity under fire that Lassen needed at present.

“Are
you aware that what you’ve done can be regarded as treason?”
Mithre sharply asked.

Lassen
nodded. “‘Tis why I must have this child where I am not known.”



“And
live in exile until Rohyr tires of looking for you,” Mithre said.
“If he ever does. He doesn’t strike me as one to take betrayal
lightly. I fear he will not cease to search for you. You may never be
able to return home, you or your child.”



He
softened when he saw Lassen’s stricken face. With a sigh, he went
to his son and gathered him into a hug. “Ah, pay my ravings no
mind. Let us determine where we can safely hide.”



“’Twill
have to be as far from here or Rikara as possible,” Lassen
murmured. “Which means we must head west,” Mithre decided. “And
we shall have to avoid the

fiefs
at all costs. Methinks Camara will be our best chance at concealment.
The Camarans are sedyra
for the most part and their speech not too different from ours.
‘Twill not be too difficult to adjust to living amongst them.”



“Camara
then.” Lassen looked at Mithre entreatingly. “We should keep this
to ourselves. Aba
and Yuilan mustn’t know.”

“You
think Rohyr might force it out of them?” Mithre asked with some
alarm. “He will not need to. If he chooses, he can simply pluck it
out of their minds.”



Lassen
smiled sadly. “What concerns me more is that they could unwittingly
provide him with the information. Best they know nothing at all.”

“Your
sire won’t be pleased when he learns the real reason for your need
to go into hiding,” Mithre warned.

“But
perhaps there will be a new grandchild to appease him by then.”



*
* * *



Lassen
and Mithre decided to leave as soon as the seasonal rains passed.
They did not disclose their destination to Dael much to his
bewilderment.

“If
something should befall you, I won’t even know where to start
searching,” he protested. “What then, Mithre? Saints above, why
such secrecy even with me?”

“Because
the less you know, the less you can reveal to Rohyr should he choose
to read your thoughts,” Mithre pointed out as he and Lassen folded
clothing and placed them in a large wooden trunk.

“Yet
he told you,” Dael bit out.



Lassen
left his packing and went to hug him. “Only because Adda
will be with me and can’t be questioned should Rohyr come
searching. Verily, if I thought I could do this alone, I wouldn’t
have asked him to accompany me either. I don’t want you to reap
Rohyr’s anger. This way, you can’t be accused of intentionally
hindering him. Please, Aba,
this is as much for your protection as mine.”

Dael
held him tightly. “I should have denied him,” he whispered. “I
should have told him he couldn’t have you.”

Lassen
shook his head. “’Twas never your choice. But even had it been
and you declined, I wouldn’t have known him then. I wouldn’t have
lived the last ten years in such joy had you refused to yield me to
him. Don’t grieve for me, Aba,”
he said with a sweet smile.



His
sire looked searchingly at him. “‘Twould have been better had you
not learned to love him,” he unhappily remarked.

“Mayhap,”
Lassen said. “But my life wouldn’t have been as enriched either.
I am content with my lot. I don’t regret a single day of my time
with him.”

Dael
sighed and let him get back to the business of packing. “What shall
we tell Commander Henaz?” he asked at length. “He’ll be
expecting your request that he escort you back to Rikara. And there’s
Rohyr. What if he comes looking for you?”



Mithre
straightened after locking the trunk. “We’ll tell Commander Henaz
that I intend to sell my wares in the northern markets this summer
and that Lassen decided to accompany me via our trade route that he
may see something of the land. And since Rohyr expects Lassen back no
earlier than midsummer, he won’t notice his absence until then.
Time enough for us to find ourselves a safe place to settle.”

He
went to his morose spouse and kissed him. “I’ll send you word of
our arrival that you may know we are safe,” he promised.

“But
what if Rohyr has your correspondence watched?” Dael said. “He
could trace your letters back to wherever you are.”



Mithre
frowned. “I didn’t consider that.” He looked at Lassen. “We’ll
think of some way to contact you without giving away our location.”

“Perhaps
we could pay messengers to take our letters and post them elsewhere,”
Lassen suggested.

“Yes,
that we could,” Mithre agreed. He looked at Dael again. “There,
you see? We’ll manage somehow.”

“You’ll
be so far away,” Dael muttered. “And with no surety of when you
can return.” He sighed. “If you ever do.”

“We
will return,” Mithre assured him. “And, Veres willing, we shan’t
be parted for far too long.”



Dael
gazed at his spouse, eyes bright with worry and sorrow. He caught
Mithre in a tight embrace and sealed their mouths together.

Lassen
quietly slipped out of the chamber and returned to his room. His
trunk was by the door, ready to be carried down to the wain come
early morning. Before the family retainer arrived and wondered why
they were taking so much clothing and other necessities with them.



Before
he changed into a nightshirt, he caught sight of his reflection in
the mirror. His eyes drifted down to his abdomen. There was no sign
as yet that he was breeding. That would not be obvious until the end
of the fourth month of the half-year gestation period. Only then
would his belly begin to swell enough to require looser clothing.



He
traced the faint horizontal line that ran under his navel, almost a
shade darker than his skin. The birthing seam began to show a
fortnight ago. It would continue to darken in color, its thickness
gradually diminishing as the time of birthing drew near before
finally and naturally splitting open to permit the babe to emerge.

There
would be pain, Mithre had warned. But swift recovery from birthing
was necessary to a warrior race. The wound would close within a day’s
span and the scar remain tender only for a sennight or so after.
Meanwhile, his body would produce sustenance for the newborn. Infants
were suckled for about five months before being weaned, the
nutrient-rich fluid called estra
speeding their physical growth and mental development considerably.



Lassen
smoothed a hand over his belly, hoping his child would resemble Rohyr
enough to be a reminder of his royal sire. A sound interrupted his
musings. A soft groan came through the wall from his parents’
bedchamber next door. Lassen pensively drew on the nightshirt,
clambered into bed and extinguished the oil lamp on his bedside
table. Lying in the dark, he listened to the muted sounds of
lovemaking.

He
would do his best to ensure that his parents would be reunited not
too distantly in the future. It saddened him that they had to suffer
through a lengthy separation for his sake. He only hoped they would
deem a new grandchild enough recompense for the pains they were
taking to see him safely through the consequences of his life
choices.



*
* * *



Lassen
and Mithre left the next morning with a wagonload of baskets and
other products from Mithre’s shop, their personal baggage concealed
underneath. At their behest, the soldiers of their escort accompanied
them only as far as Sanora, a bustling market town in which the first
major crossroad leading north was located. Lying little more than a
league from Anju’s borders, it was in this town that Tyrde had
implemented the blockade of eastern Velarus the previous year.



From
hereon, traffic was heavy and journeying was safe so long as one
remained in company with fellow travellers. Besides, Mithre knew how
to hold his own in a fight and Lassen had learned the bulk of his
martial skills from the Ardan himself. Thus, their escort could part
from them with confidence that they would reach Rikara safe and sound
on their own.

Father
and son stayed the night at one of the inns for it was late afternoon
when they arrived and there was no hope of reaching the next town or
village before daylight failed. But they left at dawn the following
day, Mithre turning their wain down the west road that would take
them to Camara.



The
traffic was lighter for the region between the southeastern
territories and the less prosperous lower lands in the west were only
sparsely settled. Furthermore, Camara, the smallest of Ylandre’s
autonomous provinces, was not as populous as Velarus and even less
progressive. Its folk were very insular and seldom strayed beyond
their borders.



“How
long before we reach Camara?” Lassen asked.



Mithre
shrugged. “Provided the highways were not heavily damaged last
winter, I think a fortnight at most.” He glanced at Lassen,
wondering how he would take the constant swaying once they hit the
sharply winding roads and rolling countryside that was characteristic
of Camara’s hilly interior. “I made a space for you in the back
should you need to lie down.”

Lassen
smiled. “Thank you, Adda.”

Mithre
smiled back and squeezed his son’s hand reassuringly.





Chapter
Sixteen





Pursuit



Dael
went over the accounts once more. Perhaps Mithre was confident that
he and Lassen had enough funds to tide them over until they could
return at some Veres only knew point in the future. But Dael had to
check for himself that his mate had calculated their needs
accurately. That it was his fourth pass through their banking
documents escaped him entirely.



It
was now almost two months since Mithre and Lassen left Tal Ereq. In
all that time, he’d had just one letter from Mithre and it did not
mention where they had finally settled. That was only to be expected
given the need for Dael to maintain real ignorance of their
whereabouts. And he welcomed the assurance that they were hale and
whole. But it did not make their absence any easier to bear.

He
heard the door to his small study open and half turned to see Yuilan
come in. Surprised that his jewel smith son should visit him so early
in the day, Dael started to ask why but stopped when he saw his
expression. Dread overcame him to mirror the fear on the Yuilan’s
face.



“What
is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Aba,
the Ardan is here.”

Dael
caught his breath. “Here? In Tal Ereq?” “In the front yard. He
looks positively furious.” “He asked about Lassen?”



“Yes.
And when I couldn’t tell him anything other than that Lassen and
Adda
left together, he ordered me to fetch you.” Yuilan frowned. “Aba,
is it true? He said you didn’t respond to his last letter.”



The
Elder combed his fingers through his hair distractedly. “I didn’t
know what to say,” he admitted. “He sent Lassen a letter
unexpectedly just three weeks after they left. I was forced to
respond and tell him that Lassen and Mithre were on their way to
Rikara and when they left town. He was terribly displeased that
Lassen didn’t inform him beforehand of his plans and he said so in
his next missive.”

Yuilan’s
eyes widened. “So if Rohyr knew when they left, he was expecting
them to arrive in Rikara by the end of last month at the latest.”

“Precisely.
And when they did not, he sent another letter. But all I could say
was that they had probably tarried along the way. After that, I
hadn’t the faintest notion how to explain Lassen’s continued
tardiness.”



“Perhaps
you should have just said you didn’t know. He might not be so angry
now.” Yuilan swallowed nervously. “The way he stared at me… Do
you think he read my mind?”

Dael’s
belly did a flip-flop. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Nor do I
want to.”



He
drew a deep breath and headed downstairs. He stepped out onto the
small porch where Yuilan’s spouse Gelen nervously waited.

The
sight of a yardful of restless zentyra and stern-countenanced riders
nearly unmanned him. Having his neighbors anxiously watching from
afar did little to steady his

nerves.
An instant later, he was confronted with a none too patient Rohyr,
the Ardan’s stance that of a saber-toothed fighting hound ready to
pounce at the slightest provocation.

“Where
is he?” Rohyr asked without preamble.



Dael
blanched. “I … That is—Welcome to Tal Ereq, Your Majesty,” he
stammered. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I
have no use for pleasantries, Elder,” Rohyr curtly said. “I
repeat. Where is Lassen?”

Dael
glanced at Yuilan then looked once more at Rohyr. “Isn’t he-isn’t
he in Rikara,



Dyhar?”



“Would
I be here if he were?” Rohyr snapped. “Not only did you fail to
respond to my inquiry, but for someone whose mate and son have
apparently gone missing, you are unnaturally calm. Verily, playing
the fool isn’t your vocation and I suggest you dispense with the
act.”



The
Elder gulped. He resisted the urge to flee and drew himself up to his
full height instead, which was not much higher than Rohyr’s chin.

“In
truth, I don’t know, Ardan-tyar,”
he shakily said. “Neither Mithre nor Lassen informed me of their
destination.”



Rohyr’s
eyes flashed. “Are you suggesting that Lassen has deliberately
hidden himself from me?” he demanded, his voice dangerously soft.

Dael
paled even further. “He had his reasons.” “What reasons?”

“I
can’t tell you, Dyhar,”
Dael desperately replied. “None of us may. Lassen made us swear to
this.”

He
cried out when Rohyr suddenly grabbed him by the collar and thrust
him hard against the porch wall. “Aba!”
he heard his son exclaim. But Rohyr paid Yuilan no mind and two
guards restrained the jewel smith.



“You
will tell me whether you wish it or not,” Rohyr snarled, his face
so close to Dael’s the Elder could make out little more than the
slate grey of his eyes.

A
wave of giddiness overcame Dael and his vision tunnelled until all he
could see was a spherical blur of light and color in front of him.
His chest tightened and his knees threatened to buckle as his limbs
seemed to lose all sensation. He grasped blindly at the king’s arm,
gasping frantically as if he were drowning. An expletive escaped
Rohyr’s lips.

As
suddenly as it started, the onslaught ended. Dael slumped against the
wall, greedily gulping down air. Yuilan hurriedly gathered him into
his arms while Gelen came to stand at his other side, a supportive
hand on the small of his back. When his trembling eased somewhat, he
blearily looked at Rohyr.



“What
did you do to him?” Yuilan demanded, his voice tinged with equal
parts outrage and terror.

Rohyr
glowered at them. “When did Tyrde speak with him?” he sharply
asked. Dael caught his breath. He stared imploringly at Rohyr but the
king gave no sign of



relenting.



“Tell
him, Aba,”
Yuilan urged him. “Lassen wouldn’t want you to suffer any further
on his account.”

The
Elder heaved a shuddery breath. “Lassen told us the Ardis visited
him the day of his return from his winter sojourn in Anju.”

“But
that was more than three months ago. Why didn’t he tell me?”



Dael
managed to straighten up. “Tyrde warned him not to tell anyone,
else he would carry out his threat forthwith.”

Rohyr’s
eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make sense. If all that was needed
to stave off Tyrde’s threat was to part from me, why did Lassen
deem it necessary to leave Tal Ereq? He could have simply informed me
that he wished to be released from service. I wouldn’t have kept
him against his will. There’s something far more amiss than Tyrde’s
threat.”



“If
there is, I swear we don’t know it,” Yuilan insisted. “Lassen
confided in Adda
Mithre only because he needed his aid. But the rest of us he told
nothing more than what you have learned.”



“To
keep me from getting the information out of you,” Rohyr shot back.
“How prudent of him. Or should I say sly?”



“There
isn’t a deceitful bone in my brother’s body!” Yuilan hotly
objected. “Nay?” Rohyr challenged. “Then how do you account for
his decision to vanish



without
so much as a by-your-leave? Wherefore the need for stealth and
secrecy?” When neither Dael nor Yuilan could muster a reply, he
smiled mirthlessly. “I lifted my imprint on him. Did he tell you?”
he bitterly asked.



The
Idanas stared at him. “He didn’t mention it,” Dael admitted. “I
trusted him,” Rohyr said under his breath.

Dael
heard the sorrow underlining the anger. “Lassen is devoted to you,
Dyhar,”
he softly insisted. “He would never do you wrong.”

“I
find that difficult to believe at the moment.”



Before
either Dael or Yuilan could speak, Rohyr turned away and strode to
his zentyr. Vaulting onto his steed, he spared the Idanas one last
glare.

“Pray
that I locate him soonest,” he said. “Before my temper sours
beyond hope and I can still bring myself to be merciful.” About to
turn his zentyr about, he paused and looked back at Dael. “When did
Mithre’s letter arrive?” he asked.

Dael
started. “Just the other day. How did you—?” He caught himself.



Rohyr
coolly nodded at him then led the way out of the Idana yard. The
family watched the company go, holding tight to each other. None
noticed the rider who glanced back at them, a thoughtful gleam in his
violet eyes.



He
urged his zentyr forward and caught up with Rohyr. “Shall I set a
watch on their correspondence?” Keosqe asked.

Rohyr
nodded. “Though I very much doubt that they will give away their
whereabouts in their letters,” he said with a scowl. “I saw the
missive Mithre sent to Dael. It was still fresh in his mind.”



“Ah,
then he was telling the truth that he had just received it.” “Yes.”

“What
did it say?”



“That
they had reached their destination and found a small comfortable
house and that Dael was not to worry about them. That was all.”

“Whence
did it come?” “Qimaras.”

“What?
Surely they wouldn’t go there of all places.” “It was dated a
month back.”

Keosqe
pursed his lips. “Postal delivery between Qimaras and eastern
Velarus takes

only
days, not weeks. They must have had a courier post from Qimaras for
them,” he hazarded a guess.

“I
believe that is the case. He’s doing his utmost to cover his
tracks, Kes.”



Rohyr’s
voice had lowered to a whisper as he finished speaking. Keosqe
regarded his cousin sympathetically.

“We
may still glean some clues from their letters and narrow down the
possible places he may be,” he said. “It’ll take patience and
some extrapolation, but it can be done.”



“True,”
Rohyr conceded. “And in any case, I’ll need to know where to
concentrate my efforts should I have to resort to a mind link.”

Keosqe
frowned. “Is that possible? You said you lifted your imprint on
him. Your link to him is gone.”



“It’s
not entirely gone,” Rohyr corrected. “Fading, but still there
nonetheless.” Keosqe considered the information doubtfully. Viratha
created a mental bond

between
its creator and recipient. Such a bond was dormant for the most part,
a function of the imprinting process. It only became active when
there was an attempt at intimacy with an imprinted Deir by someone
other than his patron lover. When Rohyr reversed viratha
on
Lassen, their immediate connection was broken. But there were
powerful
mental
adepts to whom even the weak traces of a former bond were visible.
Keosqe knew Rohyr was one of them.



He
wondered however if even his cousin had the power to read those
traces given the distance involved and the length of time from the
severance of their bond. What if it took more mental energy than
Rohyr possessed to uncover those traces?



“Have
you the strength for it?”

Rohyr’s
expression darkened. “That remains to be seen.”



*
* * *



They
were back in the capital by midday. While Keosqe proceeded to his
office to arrange for the interception of the Idanas’
correspondence, Rohyr returned to the Citadel. He did not confront
Tyrde but his demeanor toward his consort was distinctly chilly from
thereon.



It
was obvious his leman’s disappearance had much to do with Rohyr’s
dour mood. And going by his behavior toward Tyrde, it was also
apparent he had discovered the latter’s role in it. Given Rohyr’s
sometimes maverick disposition, there was no telling what he would do
about the situation. But Tyrde was fairly certain Rohyr would not be
above subtly venting his displeasure on him by marginalizing him at
court for instance or keeping him in cloistered, useless splendor.



Tyrde
had not anticipated such an adverse repercussion. Now that there was
no risk of being accused of favoring his paramour over his consort,
Rohyr could radically reduce Tyrde’s political visibility and
influence. And with his main bargaining chip gone, Tyrde had no
leverage to demand a greater say in the rule of the land. Nor could
he employ the threat he had held over Lassen’s head that he would
divorce Rohyr if his leman continued to hold more sway with him than
his legal spouse.



With
said leman out of the picture, neither could he demand dissolution of
their union due to almost non-existent relations. After all, nearly
half the arranged marriages in Ylandre languished in just such a
state. So long as Rohyr fulfilled his duty of tumbling

Tyrde
reasonably often enough, it mattered little if he spent next to no
time with him outside of their conjugal bed. Besides, if Rohyr were
to retaliate by letting it be known that it was Imcael who had
brokered the marriage and
that Tyrde had willfully entered into it fully aware that Rohyr’s
assent had been coerced out of him, the loss of face to Tyrde’s
family and his sire in particular would be enormous. Not to mention
the general outrage were he to contract a Cattanian marriage after
using so flimsy an excuse to force a divorce.

Still
and all, he had achieved his desire. His rival was gone. Rohyr’s
attention would no longer be divided. And Rohyr dared not divorce
Tyrde either since that would lead back to the original problem of a
Cattanian alliance.



Yes,
his relationship with Rohyr was badly fractured. But with Lassen out
of the way, Tyrde was confident he could woo his spouse and win his
esteem and trust if not his affection. As far as Tyrde was concerned,
with his path to more power nicely cleared of obstacles, love was of
little consequence.



*
* * *



Rohyr
perused the documents Keosqe placed on the table before him. They
were closeted in his sitting room. Rohyr had given strict orders to
Josel not to permit anyone to disturb them unless it was to report
that the country itself was in peril.



It
was almost three months since Lassen left Tal Ereq. Keosqe’s people
had secretly monitored the Idanas’ correspondence, intercepting
four letters from Mithre and one from Lassen. After all, far be it
from any letter carrier to challenge an agent from Internal Affairs
when asked to turn over his postal bag.



The
agents never permitted the carriers to see what it was they sought.
They did not open the pertinent documents in anyone else’s presence
nor did they keep them. Keosqe’s instructions had been to copy the
contents of the letters verbatim then seal them once more, replace
them in the bags and send the carriers on their way. Only one letter
did they keep and this was at Rohyr’s express order.

He
read that letter now, face devoid of expression as he took in the
familiar handwriting. Like his father, Lassen had been careful to
avoid including any specific references to his location. Basically,
it was a recounting of a day at a local festival with a few mentions
of certain activities and shows he had enjoyed.



Rohyr’s
mouth tightened. He could picture his leman’s face as he watched
the acrobats and listened to the minstrels. Lassen loved the earthy
music and lively entertainment of the common folk as much as he
admired the sublime compositions and witty plays that were the upper
class’ general preference.



It
had been his wont to mingle anonymously with the crowds whenever
itinerant bands of entertainers came to Rikara. On one memorable
occasion, he persuaded Rohyr to accompany him, both of them and their
guards dressed so simply it was only toward the end of the evening
that a player recognized them and excitedly announced to one and all
that the Ardan was in their midst. Rohyr found himself singing a
well-known folk ballad with the troupe, delighting the swiftly
swelling audience no end.



Rohyr
swept the memory aside. Now was not the time to indulge in maudlin
reminiscences. He looked at Keosqe expectantly.

Keosqe
indicated the copies of Mithre’s letters. “They are, as you
expected, most diligent in avoiding any specifics about places or
folk. But there are references that point

to
their general location.” He tapped one of the copies. “He
mentioned selling his wares to a trader who was going to dispose of
them up north. That indicates that they are in the south at the very
least. And as it’s unlikely that they would remain in proximity to
Tal Ereq or come as close to Rikara as the midlands, I would venture
to guess that they travelled west of Velarus. This seems to bear that
out.” Keosqe held up another copy. “Mithre reported that the
weather has been unusually cool and that this adversely affected the
locals’ summer crops. That tallies with recent reports of a dearth
of produce coming from the southwest.”



He
gestured toward the letter Rohyr still held. “Most revealing of all
is Lassen’s account of the festival. He described a competition
amongst the local sweets-makers, in particular the bakers of fruit
cream pasties. That is a rarity as pasty fillings are generally
savory. To my knowledge, there is only one place in Ylandre where
such sweet pasties are made—the low lands of southern Camara.”

“Camara,”
Rohyr breathed. He glanced down at Lassen’s letter. “The Camarans
are Half Bloods, am I right?”

“By
and large,” Keosqe affirmed. “They have rather similar mores and
traditions to the Velarusians. Even their speech isn’t too
different—the lilt in their accent and the vowel elongation are
just more pronounced. It wouldn’t be too difficult to adapt to
living amongst them.”



“And
their low country is a good distance from Rikara and Tal Ereq,”
Rohyr mused. He smiled at his cousin. “Well done, Kes.” His eyes
strayed to the map of Ylandre that covered half a wall of the
chamber. “Last I visited southern Camara was nigh fifteen years
ago. Methinks it’s time I reacquainted myself with the region.”



“I
can have my people scour the area,” Keosqe suggested.



Rohyr
shook his head. “I haven’t the patience for a protracted search.”
His gaze moved northward of Camara. “I shall leave for Ziana
tomorrow morn.”





Chapter
Seventeen





Measures



Serene,
mysterious Ziana.



If
Rikara was pristine white and Althia sun-warmed gold, Ziana was
shimmering silver. Or so it appeared from a distance. This was due to
the local quarries. The stone taken from the mountains surrounding
the city was actually a light grey but intermittently streaked with a
silver-hued ore that gleamed when struck by light.



A
wide highway led to the city where it lay in an immense fertile
valley cradled by the almost circular Sag Habron mountain range.
Snow-capped peaks and craggy cliffs overlooked Ziana, as if standing
guard over the place of worship for which the city was famous. The
oldest temple to Veres still open for public worship was located
here.



The
main highway to the city snaked through the undulating foothills of
lofty Mount Qarval then gently descended into the vale where the city
nestled. But Rohyr eschewed the traditional approach.



The
sentries who guarded the Hadrana manse were alarmed by the portal
that blossomed in the middle of the stone-paved courtyard. But their
surprise was nothing compared to the shock of seeing their king
suddenly emerge from the gateway ahead of the company of warriors who
formed his escort. Fortunately, one of them had the presence of mind
to dash into the house and inform the staff of the Ardan’s
unexpected arrival.



Rohyr
quickly dismounted and strode up the wide steps to the pillared
portico shading the front entrance.



“I
wish to speak with Hadrana-tyar,”
he crisply told the servant who met him at the door. Before the
awestruck lackey could respond, his lord appeared behind him.

“What
brings you here, Your Majesty?” Tenryon murmured, gesturing to the
servant to take Rohyr’s cloak and gloves.

“I
need your help to locate someone.”



They
walked to the main study in purposeful silence. Only when they
entered the room did Rohyr speak again. “I have a general idea of
his location and a fading imprint at my disposal.”



Tenryon
closed the door then turned to stare at him. “Lassen?” Rohyr
nodded with an air of such weariness, Tenryon bade him to take a
seat. “Show me.”



They
locked gazes and, in the span of a few minutes, Tenryon knew the toll
of Rohyr’s problem. He did not speak at once, surprise at Lassen’s
actions briefly forestalling all other thought. But at length, he
asked, “Are there enough traces of the link to work with?”



“I
managed to find them yestereve but they were not clear enough to
follow.” “That’s not surprising given the time that has passed
since you lifted your imprint.”



Tenryon
frowned. “I can’t promise anything, Rohyr-min.
Even my strength joined to yours may not be enough.”

“What
if I lend mine as well?”



They
both looked up as a tall dark-haired aristocrat with steel blue eyes
strode into

the
room, another younger Deir just behind him.



“Jareth!”
Tenryon softly exclaimed. The two met in a hearty embrace. “When
did you arrive?”

“About
an hour ago,” Jareth answered. He turned into Rohyr’s welcoming
hug, saying, “I thought to see how Adda
was faring before I reported to you in Rikara.”



Tenryon’s
half-brother and Rikara’s ambassador-at-large did not look it but
he had a number of years on Rohyr. Jareth’s youthful appearance
tricked many an unwary envoy into indiscreet talk or untimely
disclosure by leading them to believe that he was much too young and
callow to possess the guile needed for crafty business.



He
now looked searchingly at Rohyr when they drew apart. “It seems
I’ve been spared a wasted visit. What need have you of others’
strength?”

About
to speak, Rohyr remembered the presence of Jareth’s companion. He
glanced at him then smiled in recognition.

“And
what need have you of your aide for a family visit, Jath?” he
inquired, beckoning to the sedyr
to come closer. “It’s been a while, Yandro-min,”
he said as the latter bowed low. “Is he treating you well?”



“He
is, Ardan-tyar,”
Yandro Vaidon affirmed.



Rohyr
regarded him thoughtfully then glanced at Jareth. Can
we trust him?
Implicitly.
Jareth shed his cloak and handed it to Yandro. He motioned to the
latter to

stay
by the door to ensure no one attempted to eavesdrop.

“He
looks so much better than when he left university,” Rohyr commented
as they sat themselves around the card table at the far end of the
study. “Diplomatic work suits him.”



Jareth
nodded. “He’s the best of all my aides thus far. I’m inclined
to keep him on indefinitely.”

Another
glance at Yandro revealed him surreptitiously looking at Jareth.
Rohyr’s lips twitched.



It
was no surprise that Jareth’s adjutant thought him attractive.
Rohyr did not know of any of the ambassador’s staff who was not
half in love with him. Like Tenryon, Jareth was exceedingly handsome.
But whereas Tenryon maintained an aloof demeanor with all but his
trusted intimates, Jareth dissimulated his, exuding warmth and
amicability even when he was actively planning to bring about
someone’s ruin. Or rather, especially when he was doing so. It made
for a maddeningly enigmatic persona wrapped in irresistible beauty.
Was it any wonder that Jareth tended to leave hopelessly infatuated
admirers in his wake?



He
glanced at Yandro again. Merry eyes of purest teal met his and a
sweet, almost shy smile lit the face of the ambassador’s aide.
Veres help him, Rohyr thought. Jareth would eat him alive if he had
not done so already. He turned a severe look on his diplomat cousin.



“What
did I do wrong?” Jareth mildly inquired upon feeling the heat in
Rohyr’s stare.

“Have
you gotten him between your sheets yet?” Rohyr inquired, tilting
his head slightly in Yandro’s direction.

Jareth
sighed and leaned back in his chair. He ruefully said, “Not yet,
though it’s not for want of trying.” He scowled at a faintly
smirking Tenryon. “Can you blame me? He has brains as well as
beauty and enough brawn to hold his own besides.”

“An
admirable combination,” Tenryon agreed.



Rohyr
snorted. “It’s a relief to know that there are
Deira who can resist you.” Jareth turned a jaundiced eye on him.
“As if you
didn’t cut a wide swath through all



the
eligible lovelies who came your way before Lassen caught your eye,”
he retorted. Seeing pensiveness abruptly shadow Rohyr’s features,
he glanced wonderingly at Tenryon then back at Rohyr. “What has
this to do with your leman?”



He
did not flinch when Rohyr caught his gaze but met it and opened his
mind to the flood of thoughts and images sent his way. When it was
over, he quietly offered, “Let me help.”



Tenryon
rose and went to his desk. Unlocking the bottom side drawer, he drew
out a square leather case. He returned to his seat and opened the
case. From within, he lifted a rose-tinged piece of crystal,
irregularly triangular in shape, and set it on its flat base in the
middle of the table. Almost as soon as the three focused their
attention on the crystal, its center began to glow. The glow spread
until the muted radiance infused the entire piece.



The
ignorant and superstitious called it magic. Indeed, the crystal was
commonly known as a scrying stone even among those who knew better.
But it held no power to foretell the future. Rather it had the
singular property of amplifying mental energy. And when manipulated
by a skilled and powerful adept, it could be used to channel that
energy as precisely as a master carver wielded a knife.

It
was not native to Aisen but came from the Deira’s long vanished
homeworld. With the help of these crystals, the ancient Naere had
raised great cities, waged destructive wars, healed the wounds of
those lamentable conflicts and driven a tunnel to salvation through
the very fabric of space. Once numerous and of much larger size,
there were only a few pieces left and all were now in the custody of
the templars who kept them under lock and key in their regional
strongholds. That Tenryon had one in his keeping outside of the
secret cache kept in the Ziana temple’s subterranean vaults bespoke
his standing among the Ylandrin templars.



Using
the crystal to sharpen his focus, Rohyr concentrated his thoughts on
the tenuous link that still remained between him and Lassen. The
knowledge of his quarry’s general location eliminated the need for
a diffuse and draining mental sweep of the country. Like the gossamer
strands of spider webbing, the link eluded capture and disintegrated
further with every attempt to take hold of it. But with the crystal
magnifying his mind’s vision, the fragile connection became clearly
visible to Rohyr.



He
resisted the urge to latch onto it but awaited the others’ entry
into his consciousness and the landscape he had wrought. It was the
first lesson taught to every student of the mind arts—to control
one’s gifts through the use of comprehensible or recognizable
images.



Suddenly,
Tenryon was beside him, keeping the outside world at bay and allowing
Rohyr to focus wholly on clearing the mists from the bridge he’d
created to span the perceived chasm that yawned before him. He sensed
a presence at his other side and felt power surge through him. Rohyr
reached out with his mind and drew more strength from Jareth while
honing in on the link that now shone bright on the bridge like a
glittering trail of precious stones in the dark.



He
followed it swiftly lest it faded any further until he saw a glimmer
of light in the distance. He pursued the light, speeding toward it
until, without warning, an image formed before him.

Mithre
Idana.



He
had found his quarry. He was seeing what Lassen saw.



Mithre
was conferring with someone. Rohyr noted that the latter was attired
in a physician’s tunic. But it did not matter. He did not need a
visual depiction of Lassen’s surroundings to pinpoint his location.
Instead, he planted a mental marker in his unsuspecting leman’s
mind. It would act like a beacon when he plotted the course for the
translocation corridor that would take him to the Camaran village
where Lassen presently resided.



His
vision blurred. The connection began to waver. Jareth’s store of
energy was fast approaching the point of severe depletion. He would
soon be forced to pull out of their link. Without the boost of
Jareth’s strength, even Tenryon would not be able to support
Rohyr’s psychic journey much longer.



It
was then, just as he was preparing to withdraw, that Rohyr sensed it.
A presence that was not apart from Lassen but part of him. How could
that be unless—?

The
connection broke. Abruptly yanked back into the blinding light of
reality, Rohyr emerged from his trance with a shuddery gasp. He
became aware of Tenryon’s hands rubbing his shoulders soothingly. A
glass of strong Sidona brandy appeared before him. He looked up into
Yandro’s concerned face.



Thanking
Yandro, he took the glass and swiftly downed its contents. The burn
of it seemed to clear his thoughts and crystallize his emotions. A
slow rage bubbled up inside him.



“I’m
going to Camara,” he suddenly announced and stood up.



Tenryon
shook his head. “I sensed what you sensed,” he cautioned. “Tread
with prudence. You don’t know for certain that—”

“That
he cuckolded me?” Rohyr all but spat. “Ample reason to flee and
hide, don’t you think?”

“Rohyr…”



But
the king brusquely pulled away and strode toward the door, his
suppressed fury palpable to the Hadranas and to Yandro as well. The
sedyr
turned dismayed eyes to his superior.



“If
he meets with Idana-tyar
in that mood—” he began to say.



Jareth
did not wait for him to finish. “We’ll go with him,” he told
Tenryon. “Come, Yandro.”

With
brief nods of farewell, they hastened after Rohyr.





Chapter
Eighteen





Reckoning



Southern
Camara



Mithre
frowned as he returned to his son’s room. The village physician’s
reassurances had not been convincing. How could they be when Falan
admitted that he’d never treated an over-young expectant Deir
before? Yet he had insisted that the mild pains Lassen was feeling in
his belly were not cause for too much concern. Mithre was of half a
mind to move elsewhere, preferably to a community with better-trained
healers of longer and wider experience.



Weilan
was prosperous for its size and its residents were sufficiently
hospitable but not inclined to mind each other’s business unless
invited to. However, as with most small, far-flung communities, the
village lacked in services oft taken for granted in the cities and
big towns. Formally trained enyran
physicians for instance.



Falan,
like many of his rural peers, was a Half Blood who possessed little,
if any, of the mind gifts native to True Blood healers and had
learned his profession by apprenticeship to his predecessor. That
meant he was proficient in the basics of the medical arts but
anything out of the ordinary was beyond his scope of knowledge and
skill. A childing Deir below breeding age was definitely out of the
ordinary and Mithre had little confidence in Falan’s ability to
cope should anything go wrong.



He
erased the frown from his face when Lassen looked his way as he
reentered the room. Half reclined on the small couch beneath the
window, Lassen was paler than Mithre liked. And the occasional wince
that crossed his features added to his father’s anxiety. Mithre
knew, however, that physical pain was not solely responsible for his
son’s low spirits. The strain of exile and the resulting separation
from the sire of the child he carried was wearing him down bit by
agonizing bit.



Too
often in the past month had Mithre come upon him lost in thought when
he was not preoccupied with his chores. Staring at nothing and no
one, his eyes would moisten and he would look lost and listless. He
had also not gained the requisite weight necessary for the last stage
of gestation. Consequently, he looked too thin, his now overly
prominent cheekbones and the dark shadows under his eyes making his
face seem almost gaunt.



“Are
you in pain again?” Mithre gently asked.

Lassen
shook his head. “A twinge now and then. What did he say?”

“That
we need not worry,” Mithre replied. “But we are to call him
forthwith should the pain worsen or the incidents become more
frequent.”

“You
don’t believe him, do you?”



Mithre
sighed. “He thinks he’s right.” He sat on the edge of the couch
and rubbed his son’s legs comfortingly. “Still, I’ve been
thinking that perhaps ‘twould be prudent for us to move somewhere
with better medical facilities or at least more experienced
physicians. We can return here once you’ve birthed.”



“Do
you think it that serious?”

“I
don’t know enough to make an informed opinion. Best we play it
safe.”



“I
shall abide whatever you decide,” Lassen replied. After a moment,
he added, “I’m so sorry for involving you, Adda.
‘Twas foolish of me not to consider all the repercussions of having
this child.”



“Nonsense,”
Mithre briskly said. “How could I ever resent caring for you?” He
watched as his son slid a lean hand down to his slightly distended
belly,



spreading
his fingers protectively over it. Pangs of apprehension smote Mithre.
If Lassen lost this last link to Rohyr… Mithre shoved his fears
aside and forced himself to speak cheerfully.



“Rest
whilst I go to the apothecary. Falan prescribed something for your
discomfort. Let us hope ‘tis more helpful than he is.”

He
hurried down the stairs and out the front door and almost barrelled
into the zentyr that had inexplicably planted itself in his way.
Cursing, he glanced up and froze.

“I
must commend you, Mithre Idana,” Rohyr sarcastically remarked. He
looked the small row house over, one of the dozen that lined the main
road. “Seldom have I had to give chase longer than a few days
before overtaking my prey.”



The
swirling dust kicked up by his company’s zentyra as they cantered
down the road was still in evidence. Mithre nervously looked the
Ardan’s entourage over. He immediately recognized their captain.
Vaeren Henaz nodded his acknowledgement with curt civility. Mithre
could not fault him given how he and Lassen had deceived the officer.
Beneath three of the five other riders’ cloaks, he descried
military livery. But the remaining two were attired similarly to
Rohyr, a subtle sophistication underlying the simplicity of their
clothing. The sympathetic look the older of the pair gave Mithre did
little to calm his suddenly strident nerves.



Meanwhile,
the neighbors began to gather a safe distance away, many gesturing in
curiosity toward Rohyr who had kept the hood of his cloak up to
obscure his identity. Nonetheless, Mithre did not wish to deal with
an irate king in full view of an audience.

“Dyhar,”
he managed to say without stammering too much. “You may prefer to
come inside.” He indicated the onlookers.

Rohyr
regarded the growing crowd disinterestedly but nodded in assent.
Dismounting, he motioned to the two riders Mithre had noticed to
accompany him.



Mithre
led the way up to the second floor and ushered them into the sitting
room then hurried to Lassen’s chamber. He barged in, saying nothing
to his startled son, but hastened to the couch and leaned over Lassen
to look out the window. He pulled back abruptly upon espying four
mounted warriors stationed in the narrow dirt lane running between
the houses and the buildings in back.

No
hope of flight now. Rohyr’s soldiers were watching every entryway
and window, cutting off all means of escape.

“Adda,
what’s wrong?” Lassen worriedly asked.



Mithre
exhaled in frustration. He knelt before his son and took his hands
between his own.

“Rohyr
has found us.”



Lassen
drew a sharp breath and his eyes widened. He looked almost wildly at
the door.

“Where—?”

“The
sitting room.”

“Can’t
we slip out?”



“Nay,
we’re surrounded. There’s no eluding him now.”



Lassen
stared dumbly at him for several seconds. “I can’t do this,” he
finally gasped. “He mustn’t see me! He will know and—”

A
soft knock on the door cut him off. They looked at each other
fearfully. Attempting to reassure Lassen with a smile, Mithre went to
the door and opened it. The younger of Rohyr’s two companions stood
there. He glanced from Mithre to Lassen apologetically.



“Please
forgive the interruption but ‘tis not wise to keep the Ardan
waiting much longer,” he quietly warned them. “His temper won’t
get any sweeter.”

Lassen
got to his feet. He flushed when he saw the Deir glance at his
abdomen then quickly avert his eyes. He self-consciously pulled at
his loose tunic to keep it from clinging to his slightly rounded
belly. Coming to the door, he paused.



“How
strange to meet you here again of all places, Vaidon-tyar,”
he murmured. “Last I saw you was two years ago when Rohyr named you
Jareth’s aide. He seems to have kept both of you very busy for
either of you to so seldom visit court since.”



Yandro
nodded respectfully. “We’ve been abroad more oft than home.”
Lassen remarked, “The Ardan underwrote your university education.”
At the

surprised
lift of Yandro’s eyebrows, he added, “He told me about you. He
said that Keiran Arthanna had recommended you for royal patronage.
I’m glad their faith in you has been well rewarded.”



Yandro
faintly smiled. “And I wish I could help you stall for more time,
Dyhar.
But, verily, you’d best meet the Ardan without further delay.”

Lassen
fell silent then nodded and made his way to the sitting room. He
tried to ignore the dull ache that flared once more inside him. When
he reached the room, Jareth stepped out as if on cue. He gestured to
Lassen to enter. But when Mithre attempted to follow, he smoothly
barred the way.

“Rohyr
wishes to speak to Lassen alone,” he softly informed Mithre.

Inside,
Lassen hesitated to move away from the door, his eyes riveted on the
Deir he had thought he would never see again. Starved for a glimpse
of his lover, he thought Rohyr more handsome than he remembered.
Rohyr, likewise, looked him over, his eyes growing colder by the
second.



When
Lassen finally noticed the icy appraisal, he reflexively folded his
arms to partially obscure his no longer taut belly. He timorously
approached Rohyr where he stood by the hearth, hands casually linked
behind him and head slightly tilted back as he watched Lassen near
him.



Standing
before Rohyr, he gazed entreatingly at the king, at a loss as to what
to say. Worsening matters was Rohyr’s glacial demeanor. This
disheartened Lassen as well as puzzled him. He’d expected anger and
distrust and perhaps disappointment. But more lurked in his lover’s
eyes. When had Rohyr ever looked at him with contempt?



“Dyhar…”
he started, floundering for words.



“How
long did he bide his time until you were free of the shackles of my
imprint?” The question took Lassen aback. ”He? What do you mean?”

Rohyr’s
eyes dropped to his abdomen. Lassen all but reeled at the implied
accusation. He shook his head vehemently and reached out a hand to
Rohyr.



“You
are mistaken!” he protested. “Let me explain—”

The
months of mounting fury mingled with fear born of not knowing and
culminating in a terrible instant of disillusionment overcame
whatever reason or calm were still left to Rohyr. Lassen staggered
back, his hand going to the scarlet patch on his cheek where Rohyr
had struck him.

He
kept his hand on the rapidly bruising flesh, dazedly thinking that in
all their time together, never had Rohyr raised a hand to him. And,
saints, the blow hurt. Though why he should be surprised was absurd
given Rohyr’s strength. But even more painful was the realization
that Rohyr believed him faithless. Only belatedly did Lassen make the
leap in reasoning that led Rohyr to make a connection between the
lifting of his imprint and the probability of infidelity on Lassen’s
part.



“If
you wanted a child, you could have asked it of me,” Rohyr spat.
“Have I ever denied you? I would only have bade you to wait until
Tyrde bore me an heir.” He raised his fist again. Lassen
instinctively fell back a step but Rohyr caught his arm in a cruel
grip and hauled him closer. “Or is this babe a mere accident?” he
sneered. “An unfortunate consequence of your deplorable
indiscretion.”

Lassen
suppressed a moan as the incessant throbbing in his belly gave way to
a sharp, unfamiliar pain. His reason clouded, he could think only of
gaining the king’s forgiveness. He gazed at Rohyr beseechingly.



“Have
mercy,” he pleaded. “I would have told you but I thought—I
just—I’m so sorry, Dyhar.
Please … please forgive me.”

Rohyr
flinched as if scorched by a brand. “You admit it!” he gasped.
“And I’d hoped—Deity’s blood, I am a fool thrice over!”



Lassen
inhaled sharply, shocked by the enormity of their misunderstanding.
He struggled to form words to allay Rohyr’s suspicions and soothe
his hurt and wounded pride. But none came to him. He closed his eyes,
unable to think when he ached terribly in body, heart and mind.



Rohyr
abruptly released him. Shorn of the king’s painful but steadying
hold, Lassen swayed as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Rohyr’s
tirade penetrated the haze nonetheless.



“Uncle
Imcael warned me at the very start. He told me I would find myself
saddled with someone else’s by-blow if I didn’t imprint you. Fool
that I am, I didn’t believe him. Heyas,
I even defended you. And, to compound my idiocy, I freed you. I
should have
known
better than to trust a common Half Blood plucked from obscurity!”



So
enraged was Rohyr that he did not notice how much Lassen’s face had
blanched until his features contorted in pain. Lassen looked down
almost in surprise. Rohyr did as well and caught his breath. A trail
of crimson seeped through the blue of Lassen’s breeches until it
formed a garish streak down his inner thigh.



Rohyr
heard a soft sigh—or was it a gasp? Lassen slumped down on his
side, his face deathly white, his pinched features slipping into the
blank serenity of unconsciousness. Rage forgotten, Rohyr dropped to
his knees and lifted Lassen to cradle him. He did not need to shout
for help. His frantic thoughts reached the three who waited just
outside the door.

Jareth
burst in followed by Mithre and Yandro. When Mithre would have gone
to Lassen, Yandro caught him and urged him to summon the village
physician at once. Mithre anxiously stared at his son then dashed out
the door.



Meanwhile,
Jareth knelt before Rohyr and, taking his hand, placed it on Lassen’s

abdomen.
“Lend him strength, Roh,” he murmured. “Protect the child.”



He
laid his own hand over Rohyr’s. Physical contact permitted a more
controlled and concentrated outpouring of power.

Rohyr
forced himself to focus their joint energy where it was needed.
Though neither could approximate the mending power of a trained
healer, what they expended could hold further decline and death in
abeyance a while longer, hopefully buying enough time until the
physician arrived.



Focusing
on the life within Lassen’s womb, Rohyr could not help making
contact with it. He gritted his teeth, refusing to allow his jealousy
and anger over the babe’s unknown sire to interfere with the need
to save and succor. When the babe responded, he opened himself to its
tentative touch, assured by this proof that it still lived.



Rohyr
paled. The infant knew him as surely as he knew it. “Veres forgive
me,” he groaned. “What have I done?”

Jareth
looked at him in alarm. “What is it?” he urgently asked. “What’s
happened?” Rohyr raised anguished eyes to him. “The child…”
he whispered. “Jath, this child is



mine.”





Chapter
Nineteen





Watershed



With
Rohyr distraught over Lassen, it fell to Jareth to summon Eiren. The
physician wasted no time travelling from outside the village but
opened a portal right on the street fronting the Idana residence. The
blossoming shocked the various onlookers gathered in small pockets
before it, as did his sudden emergence on steedback. In all its years
of placid existence, never had Weilan been witness to so many
eye-opening events as had occurred in the space of one day.



He
was met by Yandro who swiftly apprised him of the situation.



“Of
course he’s in danger of losing the babe,” Eiren said as they
hurried into the house and up the stairs. “His womb isn’t mature
enough to safely carry a child to term without proper supervision.”

“Can
nothing be done?” Yandro anxiously inquired.



“Let
us hope there is. Didn’t his physician recognize the signs of an
impending miscarriage?”

“Apparently
Idana-tyar
had been complaining of pain for several days now but the village
healer said ‘twas normal to feel some discomfort toward the end of
gestation.”



Eiren
scowled. “In the last month, yes. Earlier than that is always cause
for concern and with premature breeding, it’s the first sign that
something is very wrong. Ah, there’s truly a need for better
educated healers in these remote parts.”



Rohyr
had transferred Lassen back to his bedchamber and he now stood watch
over him with Mithre as Falan doggedly tried to stem the bleeding.
Eiren only spared enough time to courteously acknowledge his fellow
physician before taking over. He swiftly examined Lassen, frowning at
his paleness and lack of response to his probing.



The
sheet underneath was streaked with blood but Eiren noted that the
flow had slowed to a heavy trickle. He laid his hands on Lassen’s
belly. In what seemed like mere seconds, the bleeding ceased. Eiren
continued his ministrations, using his fingers to direct the healing
energy his mind generated.



“The
child lives,” he announced, smiling a little when Rohyr exhaled
with blatant relief. “They’ll both survive if I can heal and
reinforce Lassen’s womb. Roh, Jath, share your strength with me.”



He
heard Falan catch his breath and sharply glanced at him. The healer
was gawking at Rohyr with curiosity and suspicion. Eiren shook his
head. It would not do for the Deir to guess their identities.

“We
thank you for your help,” he told Falan. “You may leave.”



The
healer hesitated. Eiren sighed. Too quick for Falan to react, he
suddenly placed his fingers on the latter’s forehead. Falan’s
eyes widened then glazed over.



“Remember
only that all is well,” Eiren softly commanded. “Aught else you
will not recall.” He released the Deir. “Go now.”

As
soon as Falan departed, Yandro led Mithre aside while Rohyr and
Jareth gathered close around the bed. They opened themselves to
Eiren, allowing him to tap their strength and channel it. Mithre
gasped when Eiren’s dark eyes and slender hands glowed ever so

gently,
as if the physician were lit from within. Never had he yet seen a
healer wield such energy. It was a mesmerizing sight.

“Will
he be able to help Lassen?” he whispered.



“Eiren
Sarvan has saved many in far worse states,” Yandro murmured. Mithre
looked at him searchingly. Yandro steadfastly met his gaze.

“I
pray you’re right,” Mithre said. He turned his eyes back to his
son. “He meant no harm. He only wanted something of Rohyr to help
him endure parting from him. He didn’t realize just how dangerous
it could be to breed so soon.”



Yandro
stared at Mithre in dawning comprehension. “Was that your reason
for fleeing? You feared what could happen should it be discovered
that your son had conceived the Ardan’s child?”



Mithre
sighed and nodded. “He’ll be charged with treason for bearing
Rohyr’s firstborn. And Veres only knows what would happen to the
babe. Tyrde will do everything in his power to dispose of a rival to
his own get.”



“Rohyr
would never allow anyone to harm his son,” Yandro staunchly
declared. “Granted he would be discouraged from making an
illegitimate child his heir, but he would recognize him nonetheless.
Just as he recognized his father’s son and named him brother.”



“But
Lassen?” Mithre countered. “He won’t be allowed access to the
child, will he? Even if he escapes imprisonment, he’ll be banished;
forced into exile. He would never see his son again.”



Yandro
hesitated then said, “The main cause of Rohyr’s anger was not
that your son got with child but his assumption that the child wasn’t
his. He couldn’t stomach the thought that another had touched what
he deemed his or that his leman had taken someone else into his bed
as soon as he was free to do so.” He met Mithre’s stare. “Rohyr
cares deeply for him. I don’t believe that he will exile him or
deny him access to their son.”



Mithre
swallowed. “If only I could be as sure of that as you are. Even
Lassen couldn’t say with certainty whether Rohyr would dare to
flout law and tradition. Had he felt as you do, he wouldn’t have
run away. He wouldn’t have gone into hiding.” Mithre looked once
more at his son. “We would now still be back home, awaiting the
birth of this babe amidst our family and in peace.”

He
caught his breath when Eiren straightened and looked across the room
at him. The physician gestured to him to approach.

When
he came to Lassen’s bedside, Eiren said, “His womb is sound and
the babe is strong and active. But I sense a deeper trauma that is
responsible for his failure to regain consciousness.” He glanced at
Rohyr and Mithre was amazed to see the king actually flinch before
his cousin’s reproachful regard. Eiren briefly returned his
attention to Mithre. “Meanwhile you may wash him and change the
beddings.” Again, he looked at Rohyr. “A word with you, Cousin.”



Rohyr
gazed long at Lassen, taking heart that the sickly pallor was gone
from his flesh. He bent and gently kissed the bruise on Lassen’s
cheek then followed Eiren out of the room. On their way out, Eiren
asked Jareth and Yandro to join them.



They
moved to the sitting room down the hallway. Eiren addressed Yandro as
soon as the latter closed the door.

“You
spoke with Lassen’s father. What did you talk about?”

“He
revealed Idana-tyar’s
reasons for having the Ardan’s child and running away,” Yandro
replied.

Rohyr
blew out his breath. “Tell us.”



Yandro
recounted his conversation with Mithre. When he finished speaking,
Rohyr abruptly turned away and walked to the hearth. He stared down
at its blackened floor, the stiffness of his stance betraying just
how close he was to breaking.



Jareth
reached out with his mind to comfort him but came up against fiercely
defensive shields. Not about to force himself past those shields, he
glanced at Yandro and saw his aide wince in reaction to Rohyr’s
sorrow and self-recrimination. He quickly strode to Rohyr and tightly
embraced him. Rohyr curled his arms around him and buried his face in
Jareth’s shoulder.

Yandro
turned his attention elsewhere, uncomfortable at seeing his king
weep. Beside him, Eiren sighed. He went to Rohyr and placed an
apologetic hand on his shoulder.

“I’m
sorry, Roh,” he murmured.



Rohyr
shuddered as he fought to control himself. At length, he drew out of
Jareth’s embrace and faced them, his eyes still bright and slightly
reddened, but his demeanor calm and decisive once more. He looked at
Eiren.



“You
implied that my confrontation with Lassen is what hinders him from
waking up.” Eiren nodded. “Explain.”

“Lassen
has been under an inordinate amount of stress these past months,”
Eiren said. “Doing what he thought would be best for you, fearful
of discovery and the repercussions, lying, hiding, going into exile,
struggling to carry this child to term, trying to cope with a life
far removed from anything he’d ever imagined…” He grimaced.
“And then you accused him of faithlessness.”

Eiren
gestured in the general direction of Lassen’s sickroom. “I think
losing your trust proved too much for him to bear. And so to numb his
pain, he’s retreated inward. It’s akin to locking one’s self up
to keep trouble at bay. I tried to reach him; tried to tell him that
it was safe to awaken. That there was naught to fear or grieve. But
he blocked me and wouldn’t listen.”

Guilt-stricken,
Rohyr looked away but Jareth frowned and said, “How can he possibly
block you? He isn’t a True Blood.”



“Why
is Yandro an empath?” Eiren pointed out. He looked at the young
aide. “When did you first realize that you were thus gifted?”

Yandro
appeared abashed but replied. “My first year in university. There
was a group of students who didn’t believe I deserved a place
amongst them. I strongly felt it when their animosity toward me
turned dangerous.”



“You
sensed that they were about to express their hatred of you through
violence.” “Yes, Dyhar.”

“And
did they attempt to attack you?”

“They
did, but I’d confided my fears to Arthanna-tyar
and, consequently, he was with me when they made their attempt. They
stood no chance against him.”



“That
goes without saying,” Eiren murmured. When Keiran’s wrath was
aroused, he was a most fearsome opponent. “It’s a classic case of
self-preservation awakening a heretofore unknown ability. The mind
gifts may have diminished considerably amongst the sedyra,
almost to the point of extinction, but the ability to wield what is
still extant

hasn’t
altogether vanished. Admittedly, few know if they have any latent
abilities at all and even less how to use them. There simply aren’t
enough adequately gifted Half Bloods to warrant systematically
searching them out and training them. But every once in a while, a
situation arises where those abilities, if they exist, may be tapped
unknowingly. Especially when the need to protect one’s self is
stronger than usual. It’s an instinctive reaction.”



He
paused briefly to allow the others to digest the information. “Lassen
has thrown up shields against any attempt to contact him,” he
resumed. “I can breach those shields but, given his fragile state
of mind, that could destroy his reason.” He gazed urgently at
Rohyr. “He has to lower his shields willingly if he’s to be
persuaded to awaken. And awaken he must else his body will die from
lack of nourishment. We can’t force-feed him whilst he sleeps so
deeply. He would only choke on whatever we spooned into him and that
would likely kill him before starvation does. Furthermore, it must be
done soonest. The longer he remains thusly, the further will he
withdraw unto himself and the more difficult it will be to reach him
at all.”



“What
can I do?” Rohyr demanded.



“He’ll
listen to you. If you can make him realize that you’ve forgiven
him—” Rohyr snorted. “It is I who should ask for forgiveness.
Tell me what to do.”



Eiren
laid a cautionary hand on his arm. “Be warned, it can endanger you.
You are not a healer. You don’t have the natural safeguards that
prevent us from being stranded in our patients’ minds. To reach
Lassen, you’ll have to delve deep into his consciousness for a far
longer length of time than you’re accustomed to. And you’ll have
to cut yourself off from the outside world and become a part of his.”

Rohyr
frowned. “But how shall I find my way back?”



“I
can protect you to a certain extent. I shall enter with you and be
your link to the outside. If you are successful, Lassen will reveal
the way out. The danger lies in failure. If you stay with him too
long and he refuses to heed you, the stress of it all could break our
connection.”



“I
would be trapped with him,” Rohyr half whispered. “We could both
die.” Eiren hesitated then nodded. Rohyr’s eyes narrowed. “But
we’d be together.”

“You
can’t be serious!”



Rohyr
looked at Jareth in desperate appeal, forestalling further protest.
“If I don’t make it back, Uncle Imcael will be Ardan,” he
instructed. “Jath, I trust you to help ensure a peaceful
succession.”



Jareth
started to object again. But the look in Rohyr’s eyes stayed him.
He resignedly replied, “As you wish.”

Rohyr
said no more but returned to Lassen’s room with Eiren. Jareth
stared after them in dismay.

“Veres
help them,” he muttered.

“Else
Imcael will wear the crown,” Yandro murmured.

The
thought nearly turned Jareth’s stomach. “Veres help us all.”



*
* * *



Mithre
retreated to the couch where he was joined by Jareth and Yandro.
There was nothing they could do now save to watch and pray that Rohyr
would succeed where a renowned healer had not. Rohyr sat by Lassen
and stared at him.

“I
should have brought a scrying stone,” he commented.



“It
would do little good,” Eiren said as he pulled up a chair and sat
opposite Rohyr. “You have no need to amplify your power when what
is required is to subsume yourself in his consciousness.”

“But
our link? Might it not strengthen it and keep it from being severed?”



“It
might. Then again, Lassen could mistake it for an invasive force and
retreat even further behind his shields. And he will sense it. There
is no way to mask the presence of a scrying stone once it’s
activated. Do you wish to risk it?”



Rohyr
shook his head. Placing a hand on the side of Lassen’s forehead, he
drew a deep breath then slowly exhaled. The world dissolved into
shadow and silence.

He
was in.



Remembering
Eiren’s instructions, he forced himself to give up control and
accept Lassen’s perceptions of his surroundings as his own. Between
one moment and the next, he found himself in a dimly lit hallway with
pale stone walls and a cold grey floor. The ceiling receded into
complete darkness. He could not tell how high it was or what it
looked like.

Eiren?
I’m here.



Misliking
the stifling gloom, Rohyr looked about. There seemed to be no way
into or out of the corridor.

It’s
too dark to see anything clearly.



You
can introduce some light but not so bright as to alarm him.



Rohyr
conjured a small torch. By the light of its soft glow, he saw a
narrow opening in the wall. He passed through it and found himself in
another passageway with a gap about midway along its length. Taking a
deep breath, he proceeded down the corridor.

Several
twists and turns later, he cursed in frustration.



Is
there no end to this maze?



Eiren’s
answer was hardly encouraging. It
wasn’t as labyrinthine earlier. He’s doing
his
best to keep from being reached.

Rohyr
grew apprehensive. What
if he succeeds? What then?

I
don’t believe he will,
came the reply.
Not against you. Don’t lose hope, Roh.



The
king forged on. About to utter a scathing expletive after turning
into yet another seemingly endless tunnel, he saw what appeared to be
a room at the end of it.

There’s
a chamber. A barred one. Ah, that’s it! You’ve found him.

Rohyr
cautiously approached the chamber and peered into what seemed to be a
small cell. He heard a soft moan and glanced in the direction whence
the sound came. He almost dropped the torch when he saw Lassen
huddled in the far corner of the cell.



He
immediately searched for a way in but a close examination revealed
the lack of a discernable door. Rohyr tested the bars. They were made
of a hard substance he did not recognize. But that was to be expected
given that everything he saw was wholly the creation of Lassen’s
mind.



Rohyr
scowled in frustration. There was no entrance into the cell. Nor was
there an exit. Lassen had imprisoned himself.

He
sought Eiren once more for counsel but there was no answer. Rohyr
realized he was on his own. He determinedly shunted aside his fears.

“Lassen.”



Lassen
started at the utterance of his name. “Look up, Las.”

His
leman slowly did as he was bid. Their eyes met across the cell.
Lassen stared at him and paled. Uttering a low moan, he frantically
scrabbled back, head bowed and one hand flung up as if to ward off a
blow. It smote Rohyr to the quick.



“Las,
don’t!” he cried out. “I won’t hurt you!”



Lassen
did not answer but only hunched over, hugging his knees like a waif
quailing in fear.

“I’m
so sorry,” Rohyr repentantly said. “I had no right to strike you.
No right at all. Please, Las-min,
don’t shut me out.”

“Leave
me be,” came a muffled plea.



“I
can’t do that,” Rohyr replied, forcing calm on his voice. “Why
not?” Lassen mumbled. “It feels so safe.”

“But
it isn’t
safe. You’ll die if you remain here.” Lassen glanced up in
confusion. “Die?”

“Yes!
Your body will deteriorate if you don’t awaken and tend to its
needs.” “Oh…” Lassen seemed to consider it and for a moment
Rohyr thought that he would



acquiesce.
But Lassen shook his head and said, “‘Tis for the best then.”



An
imprecation escaped Rohyr. “How can you think that?” he demanded.
He stopped and spoke a little more gently. “Please come back with
me.”

Pained
eyes lifted to him. ”But you no longer trust me,” Lassen
plaintively whispered. “I betrayed you.”

“I
do trust you,” Rohyr insisted. “I know you were only trying to
protect me.” “…just a common Half Blood plucked from
obscurity…”

Rohyr
groaned. “Plague take my wayward tongue! I was wrong to slander you
thusly. Please, Las, give me another chance.”



When
Lassen did not reply, Rohyr’s anxiety sharpened. Exacerbating his
disquiet was the oppressive atmosphere about them. It enveloped him
and sank into his very pores. He almost felt like a parasite whose
host was doing its utmost to make it as inhospitable as possible for
him to want to stay.



Something
tugged at his consciousness. Rohyr realized Eiren was warning him
that he had already submerged himself too long in this otherworldly
realm of another’s mind. He desperately looked back at Lassen,
wondering what he could say to make his leman hearken to him. He
noticed Lassen’s slightly rounded abdomen.



“If
you won’t live for me, live for our son,” he suddenly said.



Lassen
looked up at him, startled. “You accept that he is yours?” he
warily asked. “As I should have as soon as I sensed him in your
womb,” Rohyr regretfully



answered.
“I’m sorry for doubting you at all. I should have known that you
had acted for my sake. As you always have. I pray you will forgive me
my idiocy.”

Lassen
gazed uncertainly at him. His hand dropped to his belly and he
caressed it protectively.



As
he waited for Lassen’s response, Rohyr noticed something about the
bar he still gripped. It felt less solid. He glanced at it. Veres
almighty, it was
less solid. But even as elation welled up in him, he felt the tug in
his mind again, painfully urgent now and feebler than before. As if
it were coming from a great distance.

Alarmed,
Rohyr dared to be forceful. “Come back to me now,” he demanded.
Lassen frowned. “But what of Tyrde and Cattania—?”

“Hang
them all! I love you!”



“You—Oh!”
Lassen looked at him, stunned. The bars continued to lose color and
substance.

Rohyr
pressed his advantage. “I would have you as my mate.”



A
sad smile curved Lassen’s lips. “There is naught I want more. But
we can’t wed. You’re already espoused.”

“Only
in name,” Rohyr pointed out. “My heart and spirit are free to
mate with yours. Bind to me, Las.”

Lassen
gaped. Had Rohyr just asked that they soul-mate to each other? Surely
not. Soul-mating could not be broken by death or the multiple cycles
of lifetimes Deira passed through before they finally entered the
hallowed halls of the Maker. The soul-bound were wed for eternity,
their vows blessed and affirmed by the Creator himself.



“B-but
our son—?” Lassen stammered. “I shall name him my heir.”

Lassen
shook his head. “Tyrde won’t allow it.”



“He
has no power to allow or disallow it. He’s merely my consort.
You’ll be my true mate. You are
my true mate. You always have been.” Rohyr gazed at Lassen, hiding
nothing from him. “I should have declared your place with me from
the start.”



After
what felt like an interminable while Lassen nodded. Rohyr held his
breath as the bars dissolved completely. He entered the chamber and
hastened to Lassen. Still wary of spooking him, he set the torch
aside then knelt before Lassen and gingerly took his hands between
his own. To his relief, Lassen did not pull away. Rohyr looked
imploringly at him.

“Bind
to me, ariad,”
he whispered.



Lassen
looked at him wide-eyed. Rohyr had called him his beloved. “This is
no illusion, is it?” he said in a hushed voice

Rohyr
adamantly shook his head. “It has been my heart’s desire for many
a year now and I deeply regret that I didn’t grant it.”

Lassen
bit his lip. “And even now you shouldn’t grant it,” he
reluctantly said. “You are Ardan and Ylandre’s welfare comes
first with you.”



“I
will serve Ylandre to my dying day,” Rohyr replied. “But it need
not be as Ardan. I’m done with making do with the paltry rewards of
a lonely soul and an empty heart. I will rule with you as my mate or
I won’t rule at all.”



Lassen
gaped at him. “You would abdicate? Nay, you can’t! You mustn’t!
The kingdom needs you, Rohyr.”



Rohyr
beamed at him. “Then stop me, my love,” he challenged. “Grant
my heart’s desire. Bind to me.”

He
opened his arms to Lassen. With a blinding smile that was equal parts
disbelief and joy, Lassen went into his embrace and laid his head on
Rohyr’s shoulder. Rohyr pressed a kiss to Lassen’s golden crown
and held him fast.



Suddenly,
he heard Eiren’s voice once more, clear and close at hand, urging
him to come back. Looking around, he saw that the cell had
disappeared and that they were in a brightly lit forest glade. A
stone-paved path lay to his left and he huffed a relieved chuckle
when he saw Eiren on it, hand lifted and beckoning to him.

“Come,”
Rohyr invited, and rising to his feet, pulled Lassen up with him.
Firmly placing his arm around his love, he led him down the path.

Rohyr
came to with a sigh, Eiren’s steadying hand on his back. Shaking
away the last of his trance-induced daze, he looked down at Lassen.

Golden-lashed
eyelids fluttered faintly. Rohyr bent to kiss him. He felt Lassen
smile against his lips and he drew back in anticipation. Lassen’s
eyes opened. Rohyr could have wept again from the utter devotion that
shone out of those aquamarine depths.



“I
will bind to you,” Lassen said, his voice thready but decided.
Rohyr grinned and leaned down once more to thoroughly kiss him.





Chapter
Twenty





Avowal



Lassen’s
eyes lit up as Dael handed him a bowl of honey sweetened spiced
porridge liberally laced with chopped nuts and roseberry slices and
doused with fresh cream. When he entered the sixth and last month of
gestation, his appetite had increased accordingly. He smiled
gratefully at his sire before happily tucking into the sumptuous
dish. Dael chuckled and sat down to his own less humongous serving of
porridge. Mithre soon joined them, setting down a platter of steaming
buns, mild curd cheese and assorted fruit and a pitcher of hot milk
tea. He sat beside his lately arrived spouse, weaving their fingers
together briefly before starting on his breakfast.



The
salty aroma that wafted up from the beach and the sound of water
softly crashing against rock and sand were soothing accompaniments to
the family’s meal. So was the sight of the vast expanse of
sapphire-hued sea dotted with ocean-borne vessels and seabirds
swooping down from their cliff-bound aeries to snatch fish and
terrapins from their watery haven and carry them back to their hungry
broods. It was here, within sight of the lush Samaran Sea, that
Lassen would birth his first child.



As
soon as Lassen was hale enough, Rohyr had moved him to the safety of
the seaward fief of Glanthar. Olriq Mithani was wed to a cousin of
Rohyr’s late parents, and he was loyal to his royal law-kin almost
to a fault. His sons were part of Rohyr’s faithful coterie and
served as his eyes and ears at court.



The
family looked up when the younger of the Mithani brothers stepped out
onto the covered terrace overlooking the sea. Ashrian merrily greeted
them before handing a large napkin-covered basket to Lassen.



“Compliments
of Aba
and Adda,”
he said with a grin.



Lassen
uncovered the basket then laughed. He showed the stack of fruit cream
pasties to Dael and Mithre. Mithre chortled while Dael curiously took
a bite out of one. The senior Mithanis had apparently gotten wind of
Lassen’s recently acquired taste for the Camaran sweets.



“Give
them my thanks, Ash,” Lassen smilingly said.



“I
shall,” Ashrian replied. “Though I don’t see the attraction.
They are too rich for my taste.”

“Mayhap
it’s because you’re not with child, brother.”



Aeldan
came up behind him, his head of striking red-black tresses
contrasting with Ashrian’s bright mahogany hair. Otherwise, their
resemblance was strong.

“Are
you suggesting Lassen’s liking for this is due to his condition?”
Ashrian asked, picking up a pasty and studying it with a dubious air.

Aeldan
shrugged. “Well, I do recall Adda
becoming a glutton for sweets when he carried you.” He looked at
Mithre. “What say you, Mithre-tyar?”

Mithre
murmured confirmation while Dael could only shake his head in
disbelief. Lassen’s parents were not used to being spoken to by
these nobles with such kindness and courtesy. They were nothing like
uppity Imcael. The Essendris were not all of a piece but it was still
surprising just how different Rohyr’s uncle was from the others.

Remembering
his manners, Dael asked the Mithanis to join them for breakfast. The
brothers assented and soon they were all engaged in lively
conversation. It was this homely tableau Rohyr came upon when he
joined them a half hour later, Rysander Seydon and Keiran Arthanna in
tow, the latter attended by the Arthannas’ household adjutant Ruomi
Garvas.



Lassen
suppressed a grin at his parents’ reaction to Keiran’s
appearance. Reijir’s brother shared his coal-black hair, high
cheekbones and verdant, almond-shaped eyes. But Keiran was not as
tall as Reijir and his features were sweeter; almost like the native
females of old. There was also the faintest trace of effeminacy in
his movements though he was neither weak nor soft.

“Are
you planning a reunion, Roh?” Aeldan inquired.



His
surprise was understandable. Keiran and Rysander were not the first
of Rohyr’s inner circle to journey to the estate. Zykriel had
arrived the night before saying Gilmael would follow while Eiren was
already a few days into his latest visit to check on Lassen’s
health.



Rohyr
smiled as he settled beside Lassen. “In a manner of speaking.
Ranael should arrive any moment now and Dylen, Keosqe and Uncle Yovan
will join us this afternoon at the latest.”



“Reijir
as well,” Keiran added, motioning to Ruomi to pull up a chair and
sit at his side. “He and Jareth will travel together. I expect
they’ll be here by midday.”

The
brethren glanced at each other then looked curiously at Rohyr. “Are
Tenryon and Shino joining us, too?” Ashrian asked. “Eventually.”



“What
about Riodan?”



Rohyr
shook his head. “He left a fortnight ago to take up his new posting
in Qatare. It would be imprudent to recall him so suddenly so soon.”

“And
Uncle Imcael?” Rysander inquired.



Keiran
snorted. “Since when have we longed for his company?” Aeldan
dryly smiled. “I presume Tyrde wasn’t invited either.”



“You
presume correctly, Dan,” Rohyr said. He curled a protective arm
around Lassen. “I shall explain my reasons when the others arrive.
Suffice to say it’s a matter of great import to me and therefore to
Ylandre as well.”



“How
intriguing,” Keiran declared. “You’re not planning to have
Tyrde assassinated, are you?”

While
Dael and Mithre nearly choked on their teas, Rysander threw a
cranapple at Keiran. Ruomi neatly fielded it.

“You’ll
scandalize Lassen’s parents if you don’t school your tongue,”
Rohyr mildly chided. “And, nay, I’m not about to commit parricide
and mariticide in one stroke.”



“Much
as you wish you could,” Keiran quipped. “What?” he asked when a
reproving Ruomi nudged him. “I was merely stating the truth.”

“Kei…”
Rohyr murmured in the long-suffering tone they all tended to use with
their irrepressible cousin.



Aeldan
chuckled and said, “Whatever it is you’re planning, you have our
support. May we tell Aba
and Adda?”

“But
of course. I can hardly leave them out when they’ve been so
hospitable and supportive.” Rohyr gestured toward the breathtaking
view. “This is just what Eiren

recommended
for Lassen’s recovery.”



Having
always travelled around his kingdom on a regular basis to ensure that
he knew firsthand much of the goings on among his subjects, Rohyr now
used that habit to his advantage. Only Vaeren Henaz and the
handpicked warriors of the Ardan’s personal guard accompanied him
on his sojourns abroad. No word escaped them regarding his side trips
to an unassuming coastal town in Glanthar’s southernmost reaches.

Pelmorth
was many leagues distant from Glanthar’s seaside capital of Evinor
and the estate in which Rohyr had secreted Lassen was the smallest of
the Mithani properties and also the most remote. But it was this
seclusion that made it a perfect retreat for Lassen as he awaited the
advent of Rohyr’s son and heir. So far down the rung in
geopolitical importance was Pelmorth that it was the last place Tyrde
or Imcael would think to look should they get it into their heads
that Rohyr was concealing something. Or someone.

Rohyr
feigned weariness of searching for his leman and gave the appearance
of having given up altogether. Only those whom he trusted utterly did
he take into his confidence. And if Tyrde harbored resentment of the
frequency of Rohyr’s absences, he did not voice it. To do so would
only call attention to the lack of rapport between them and feed the
speculations about the state of his fecundity.

The
Deiran reproductive cycle spanned the decades from the mid thirties
to the early eighties. But the peak conceiving period ran from the
forties to the sixties. Tyrde’s age of four and forty years was
when most wedded bearers had their firstborns. Yet, more than a year
into marriage, Tyrde had not conceived.



He
could not attribute it to a dearth of sexual contact with Rohyr for
his spouse did his duty and visited him frequently enough to ensure
no one could accuse him of negligence. Tyrde had considered shifting
the blame onto Rohyr by spreading rumors that he might not be the
fertile producer of seed most thought him. But he discarded the ploy
in the face of his sire’s indignant objections. Imcael remained
mindful of the Royal House’s reputation and would not countenance
the airing of such a detrimental piece of hearsay for personal gain.



You
are Ardis of the land,
he wrote Tyrde.
It is beneath you to besmirch the Essendri name and for no better
reason than to counter mere gossip. Remember, when you present Rohyr
with his heir, no one will dare demean or gainsay you again.



So
Tyrde stayed his hand and concentrated instead on promoting the
common belief that Rohyr left him in charge during his absences from
the capital. Never mind that the various government heads remained in
control of their ministries and consulted with Yovan and Keosqe when
a problem arose. Or that foreign correspondence meant for Rohyr’s
eyes alone was quietly redirected either to Jareth or Gilmael and
that the Citadel core staff and security officers, while always
careful to outwardly obey his orders, discreetly abided Dylen’s
instructions instead. Whatever the truth of his situation, Tyrde kept
up appearances.



The
ordinary citizenry knew nothing of this. Nor would they have
particularly cared so long as everything was in working order and
life could proceed with as few hitches as possible. But among the
growing faction of Tyrde’s supporters, such knowledge could
compromise his bid for power. They would abandon him if he did not
soon show more for their efforts beyond the occasional invitation to
court or the rare privilege of a private audience with the king.



*
* * *

By
late afternoon, the others arrived. Taking advantage of the fine
weather, a rarity during the wet season that came on the tail end of
summer, Rohyr summoned everyone to an outdoor supper in the long
open-sided hut the Mithanis had erected on one of the bluffs
overlooking the bay. A fair distance from the house, it was
completely out of earshot of anyone. Rohyr was not about to let his
plans go awry due to an inquisitive servant eavesdropping and
stripping away the secrecy that had thus far protected Lassen and
their unborn child.

Pelmorth
was so out of the way, the gossip about the disappearance of the
king’s leman had yet to reach it. No news of his arrival in an
advanced state of breeding had gotten back to the capital either.
Keosqe and Gilmael had seen to it that all communication with the
outside was restricted until such time that Rohyr lifted said
restrictions on the property’s residents.

They
gathered around the long wooden table, Rohyr at one end, Dylen seated
to his left, Lassen to his right, and at the opposite end, Yovan. The
sitting arrangement was telling for it assumed the appearance of a
royal council. In such a council, the chief advisor sat facing his
sovereign while the left-hand position was always held by the eldest
of the monarch’s brothers or, if he had no siblings, the most
senior of his first degree kin. The right-hand seat was reserved for
his spouse.



It
was customary for either of the latter positions to be left vacant in
the event of their respective occupants’ absences. Lassen’s
appropriation of the seat revealed something of Rohyr’s intentions.



He
waited until Vaeren signalled that it was safe to speak before
recounting the occurrences of the past several months to those who
did not know the full story of his brief separation from Lassen. As
soon as he was done, he broached the reason for their gathering.



“I
took Tyrde in wedlock to protect Ylandre and its people. All my life,
I have lived by the dictates of what will benefit this realm
regardless of the cost to myself. What joy I could snatch I took, but
always in readiness to relinquish it should it be required of me.”
He reached to his right and clasped Lassen’s hand. “I believed I
could endure any loss for the sake of the country and so I gave in to
Uncle Imcael’s proposition. That I did what I could to keep Lassen
with me gave the lie to my belief. And when I thought I had lost him,
I realized that this was one loss I couldn’t endure.”

Rohyr’s
eyes glittered darkly, warning them of the appearance of the nigh
adamantine streak of stubbornness inherent in almost all the
Essendris.

“I
intend to soul-bind to Lassen and I’m prepared to abdicate if any
should forbid me to do so,” he bluntly informed them. Ignoring
their shocked exclamations and expressions of incredulity, he
declared, “Try as I may, I can no longer ignore our bond. It
pre-dates my first meeting with him.” Rohyr sensed Lassen’s
surprise and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That was the reason I
made him my leman. I recognized him almost from the start.”



Silence
reigned for a while as they digested his words, some more taken aback
than others. Yovan was first to respond.



He
gently said, “I think we’ve long suspected that something far
deeper than mere attraction drew you to Lassen. Indeed, we grieved
for you that duty superseded your heart’s desire.” The others
readily concurred. “However, much as I am loath to point it out…
Roh-min,
it’s unheard of for a sovereign ruler to be wedded to one partner
and

soul-bound
to another.”



“There
is no precedent,” Rohyr agreed. “Therefore I shall set it. As I
should have from the moment Imcael forced me into damnable wedlock.”

Yovan
sighed. “Many will gainsay such a move. I mean no offense to Lassen
but he is a sedyr.
The last time a Half Blood married into the royal family, he was
blamed for the decline in talent in the generations that followed.”



“Bollocks,”
Eiren scoffed. “A single union between castes can’t dilute a
bloodline sufficiently to cause a marked decrease in the mind gifts.
In any case, that so-called decline occurred two generations down the
line. And the talent was
there but Syrdon Essendri was so fearful of being overthrown by his
rogue sons, he chose not to properly train them. No matter how gifted
one is, if one doesn’t receive proper tutelage, one’s full
potential can’t be realized. Witness Uncle Imcael’s situation.
Besides, Lassen isn’t completely without skills.”



“Well,
that should put that misconception to rest,” Ranael commented after
Eiren gave them a brief account of Lassen’s shielding ability.

But
Gilmael said, “It would still give Tyrde a valid reason to break
with Rohyr and wed himself to Lyam Dimari. That would bring us right
back to the original problem.”

“Then
I will step down,” Rohyr retorted. “Imcael can have the throne. I
very much doubt that he’ll permit such a union once the sceptre
lies heavy in his hands.”

“Veres
forbid that he should rule Ylandre,” Keiran objected with a
shudder. “Why, he would have the country up in arms against the
Crown by the time his reign was done! You can’t leave the land to
such a fate.”



“All
the more reason for us to discover a way for Rohyr to have Lassen as
his mate and
consort,”
Aeldan asserted. “It would be fatal to Ylandre were he to
relinquish the
crown
to Imcael.”



“But
more than that, we would see you happy, Cousin,” Rysander stressed.
He looked at the others, hands spread in appeal. “There must
be a good reason for him to divorce Tyrde.”



Keosqe
shook his head. “No matter what reason that may be and however
valid, Tyrde still holds the threat of a Cattanian marriage over
Rohyr.”

“Does
he?” Reijir unexpectedly said. “I’ve been wondering about that.
Consider that Tyrde could have gone straight to Rohyr and threatened
to divorce him if he didn’t send Lassen away. Why did he speak with
Lassen instead?”



Following
Reijir’s train of thought, Zykriel commented, “And why did he
warn him not to tell anyone of their talk? The potency of his threat
lies in Rohyr’s constant awareness of the repercussions to Ylandre
should he fail to uphold his end of their bargain. What need was
there for secrecy?”



The
exchange of questioning glances betrayed the others’ puzzlement.
“Because he didn’t want Rohyr to think too hard about it,”
Dylen suddenly

suggested.
When the others stared at him in bewilderment, he said, “When
something we loathe is pressed upon us repeatedly, there comes a
point when we may stop enduring it and start to look for a way to rid
ourselves of it instead.”



“But
that presupposes that there is
a way to be rid of this,” Ashrian pointed out. “And how do we
know that there is no way?” Dylen countered. “Everything stems

from
what they’ve revealed to us. How do we know that they told us
everything?”

“Or
that they told the complete truth,” Gilmael said, his brow furrowed
as he tried to

recall
the details of that fateful meeting with Imcael.



“I
concur,” Jareth spoke up. “Something about Imcael’s claims
bothered me when I heard the details of your negotiations with him,”
he said to Rohyr. “But you were already wed by then and I needed to
concentrate all my attention on the Treyana crisis.”

“What
in particular disturbed you?” Rysander asked.



“I’m
not altogether sure but it had to do with the Anjuin law of
succession. It reminded me of…” Jareth shook his head and looked
across the table at Keiran and Zykriel. “What say we do a little
digging in the archives as soon as we return from Ziana?”

Zykriel
blinked.

“Ziana?”
Keiran repeated.



“Neither
Tenryon nor Shino is here and Roh has stated his intention to bind to
Lassen forthwith,” Jareth reasoned. “Am I too far off the mark to
suggest that they will bind in Ziana?”



Rohyr
smiled. “They indeed await us in Ziana. I can think of no more
fitting place to soul-bind to Lassen than in the most ancient temple
in Aisen.” He swept them with a searching gaze. “You’ve
indicated that you would accept Lassen as Ardis rather than have me
abdicate. But what of the nation at large? Will the people be as
accepting?”



“I
believe so,” Ranael answered. “In all my travels around the
country, I’ve heard naught but praise for you. The people love you.
You’ve governed this realm so well that they would resist a change
in leadership. There is no surety that whoever replaces you would
rule Ylandre half as wisely as you do.”



Keosqe
agreed. “Perhaps in the early days of your reign it would have been
imprudent for you to do as you pleased if it meant flouting
tradition. But you’ve proved yourself more than worthy of the
people’s trust and they highly esteem you. I don’t think they’d
begrudge you this one indulgence of a personal desire. And I warrant
it will please the common folk that you are capable of loving one not
so high above them.”

“It
would hardly please the more hidebound amongst the nobility,”
Reijir dryly remarked. “But I doubt they’ll make much of a fuss
if they find themselves in the minority. Which I think they will
judging from what we know of the people’s sentiments.”



Rohyr
relaxed when the rest readily agreed. “I have your support in this
then?” “Was that ever in doubt?” Yovan said with a smile. “When
do we depart?” “Tomorrow morn that we may reach Ziana by midday,”
Rohyr replied. “The temple

is
closed to the public from noontide until the third bell after.”



As
they made their way back to the house afterward, Rohyr looked at
Lassen inquiringly. As was his wont, Lassen had not taken part in the
discussion. Long experience in the politics and intrigues of court
life had taught him to avoid being perceived as having overmuch
influence on Rohyr. It was usually better to keep his opinion to
himself in public.

Pulling
Lassen closer, Rohyr murmured, “What troubles you?” Lassen shook
his head. “I’m not troubled. Only curious.” “About what?”



“You
mentioned a bond between us and that it pre-dates our first meeting.
What did you mean by that?”

Rohyr
pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ll explain everything to you
when this is over.

Best
you know nothing that may be of use to Tyrde should he try to read
your thoughts.” “Would he dare?” Lassen wondered. “I’ve
never felt him attempt it.”

“Only
because of the imprint he believes you still bear. An invasion of the
mind counts as much a violation as bodily rape and that would trigger
a warning. But you are no longer in thrall to me though he doesn’t
know that. There’s no telling if desperation may push him to force
information out of you. Speaking of which…” Rohyr grimaced. “I’m
guilty of the same sin against your sire.”

Lassen
reached up and ran his knuckles down Rohyr’s cheek. “Aba
told me what happened,” he softly said. “Though you frightened
him at the time, he doesn’t hold your actions against you and
neither do I. We know you did it out of love for me.”



Rohyr
caught his hand and held it to his lips. Lassen felt his breath on
his knuckles as his lover released a sigh of relief.



*
* * *



They
arrived in Ziana the following day just as the noon chimes sounded,
emerging in the courtyard behind the monastery through which only the
clerics and Ziana’s ruling family could enter the temple grounds.
Tenryon and Shino welcomed them and ushered them inside the hallowed
sanctum.

The
temple formed the bulk and center of the entire compound. Longer than
it was wide with a soaring ceiling from which hung exquisite lamps of
gold and crystal, it was adorned with magnificent paintings,
sculptures, tapestries and stained-glass windows and panels. So
massive was the temple that the nave alone housed four rows of a
hundred pews each, all made from rare nahra. Marble pillars separated
the adjacent sections on either side, each with its own altar and set
of pews. Wide shallow steps led up from the nave to the gold leaf
adorned marble altar. On the wall above the altar, flanked by huge
stained-glass panels, hung a massive four-rayed star of Veres wrought
of white-silver and snow-sapphire.



Tenryon
had requested that the temple and its immediate vicinity be closed
off to everyone for the duration of the midday break. The request had
puzzled the temple Prelate but he acquiesced nonetheless. The ancient
complex’s well-being depended in large part on the goodwill of the
Hadranas who gave generously of their wealth toward the upkeep of the
temple. The Prelate was not about to refuse a request that broke no
laws nor violated sacred tradition.



They
closed the main door and side entrances then quickly shed their
cloaks. Tenryon led them down the main aisle to gather at the foot of
the steps fronting the altar. Eyes on the great star, the Herun knelt
down on one knee. The others followed and he led them in prayer.
Afterward, he rose and motioned to Rohyr and Lassen to ascend to the
altar.

Lassen
smoothed a hand down the front of his tunic as he and Rohyr climbed
the shallow steps to stand before the great star. They were clad in
nuptial cream and gold but Lassen’s formal tunic was sedyran
in design because he could belt it as loosely as he wished without
being obvious about it. He had tied the gold-embroidered belt a
little lower so that it rode on his upper hip, allowing the satiny
fabric of his tunic to drape softly around his waist and obscure the
swelling of his belly.



Both
wore the new earrings Lassen’s brother Yuilan had created for them.
They were similar in design to the white-silver leman’s earring
Lassen had worn since his coming of

age
but were edged with delicate gold braid and inlaid with crystalline
adamant and frosty snow-sapphire, the latter the emblematic gem of
the soul-bound. It had moved Lassen to tears when he discovered that
Rohyr intended to identify himself as his concubine’s binding-mate.

Rohyr
gently turned him to face the star then pulled him back against him.
He slid his palm down Lassen’s arm to take his right hand in his
and entwine their fingers. Lassen heard him begin the prayer of
invocation.



“Creator
Almighty, Sovereign Most Holy, we beseech You. Allow us to approach
Your holy presence.”

Lassen
shivered at the solemn words. How often had he heard members of the
clergy chant them during worship? Had seen them enter into a state of
such contentment and peace that their faces glowed with utmost
felicity. True, that sense of well-being, of oneness with something
powerful, almost always touched the congregation as well, which made
for the prayerful atmosphere desired in Veresian worship. The lack of
that sense of spiritual communion was a sure indication that an
officiating cleric was not fully absorbed in what he was doing.



Nonetheless,
there had been times Lassen had wondered if the congregation only
experienced the scant spillover of the total experience. Something
akin to tasting the dregs of a good wine but not ever imbibing the
wine itself. Devout as a child who believed because he had been
taught it was so, Lassen did not doubt the otherworldly nature of the
rite he was about to undertake. But neither did he have any
expectations of palpable divine intervention beyond what Rohyr
through his special abilities might sense.

He
realized Rohyr had finished the invocation and now waited silently
behind him for a sign. Lassen swallowed hard at his lover’s faith
that their plea would be visibly acknowledged. Several heartbeats
passed. A seeming eternity in the utter silence. How long would they
wait? How long were they supposed to wait? Lassen did not really know
what to expect. How could he when soul-binding was very rarely
practiced nowadays.



For
most, the infinite nature of such a bond was frightening, the fear
further exacerbated by the diminished sense of direct divine contact
that was instrumental in lending courage and inspiring conviction to
commit to so immutable a fate. The exigencies of racial survival had
taken its toll on what had once been a part of Deiran life: the
primal connection wrought by constant communion with the Creator that
had been a matter of course among the Naere in the early days
following the evolution of the belief in one supreme being and the
development of a universal creed.



Soul-binding
required no magistrate to validate the nuptial vows as in a
handfasting or a priest to solemnize the union as with a fane
marriage. Nor was there a need for witnesses to affix their
signatures to a document to guarantee legality. The transcendental
nature of the rite needed only the invocation of the Maker’s
presence and a tangible manifestation of his blessing.

A
collective inhalation of breath pulled Lassen out of his musings. He
glanced back and saw the others going down on their knees once more,
faces upraised in reverence. He followed their gazes and caught his
breath.



The
star was glowing with an unearthly, purest white light. It was not
reflected light but came from within. Even the metal seemed alive
with the gentle incandescence that suffused it.



“Holy
Veres…” he whispered as something washed over him. A feeling of
affection

and
concern so profound, so encompassing, he found himself blinking back
tears of gratitude and joy.

Tenryon
began to speak in the language of their Naeren foresires. The archaic
speech was used only for the most formal and solemn of religious and
state ceremonies such as a sovereign ruler’s coronation or a
ranking cleric’s investiture.



“Rohyr
Essendri, Lassen Idana, ye wouldst join thy selves in eternal and
sacred matrimony. Rohyr, dost thou pledge thyself to this?”



Lassen
glanced back at Rohyr. The king smiled at him with a tenderness that
almost snatched the breath from his breast. Lassen beamed and
returned his attention to the incandescent star.



“I
do,” Rohyr clearly answered.



Tenryon
asked the same of Lassen and received the same firm declaration.
“Then speak thy vows before the Creator.”

Rohyr
lifted their joined hands, slipping his under Lassen’s to partially
cup it. Lassen turned his head to meet his gaze.

“My
heart to thine, thy soul to mine,” Rohyr vowed. “I bind to thee
for all the days of this world and beyond. Naught and no one will
tear us asunder. This I pledge in the name of Veres All-Powerful,
Master of all that is seen and unseen.”



Lassen
took a deep breath before uttering a similar oath.



“Thy
heart to mine, my soul to thine,” he said in a hushed voice. “I
bind to thee for all the days of this world and beyond. Naught and no
one will tear us asunder. This I pledge in the name of Veres Most
Merciful. May He grant us our plea.”



Silence
fell as soon as he finished speaking. A silence so deep, it seemed
time had ground to a halt and everyone had stopped breathing. But
before doubt and worry could take root once more, Lassen heard what
sounded like the whisper of a zephyr.



The
sound gradually increased in volume until it recalled to him the wind
in Pelmorth as it swept across the pebble-strewn beach at night and
the cliff-bound meadows in the day. Yet the air within the temple was
balmy and still. Not a whiff of the faint breeze outside passed
through the open windows high above nigh to the vaulted ceiling.

“Look,”
Rohyr whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. Lassen glanced down.



A
silvery blue flame had flickered into existence in the cup of their
joined hands. It steadily grew yet it remained cool and gentle to the
touch and emitted not so much as a puff of smoke.



Lassen
had almost forgotten to breathe when the flame suddenly flared,
metallic tongues shooting up and out and curling in on themselves
until he realized they were spiralling around him and Rohyr. He
pressed back into Rohyr’s embrace, startled by the silvery blue
inferno that engulfed them.



Don’t
be afraid, Las. Rejoice in His presence.



Lassen
cast his fears aside and opened himself to the benevolent maelstrom.
At once, the near ecstasy he had previously felt swept through him
once more and he opened himself to it. He closed his eyes to stem his
tears but they forced their way past and streamed down his cheeks.



On
the heels of such glorious happiness, he felt another connection
slide into place. An embrace that was not physical. A joining that
was not of body parts but of the mind and soul. Much like when
Rohyr’s imprint had still lain on his mind. But this was more

encompassing.
It did not lurk in the recesses of his mind but boldly took up
residence in the forefront. Calling to him. Inviting him to say
something.

Rohyr?



I
am with you, ariad.



He
had never initiated mind-speech with Rohyr before. It had not been in
his power. He could only respond when Rohyr communicated with him
first.

A
sob burst from him and he turned his head and blindly sought Rohyr’s
lips. They crashed down on his and he was captured in an open-mouthed
kiss so molten, he thought it would begin another conflagration.



When
they drew apart, they were quite breathless. For a moment, they did
not move, their foreheads touching, their eyes closed. And about them
the inferno began to diminish. They opened their eyes to see the
flames slowly recede until one tongue flickered gently once more in
the cup of their joined hands. Rohyr reverently closed their fingers
over it, holding the silvery light within for one tender moment
before it was extinguished.



A
voice rose in song. A song that was both a hymn of praise and an ode
to love. The others swiftly joined in.



Pressing
closer into Rohyr’s arms, Lassen listened as the music echoed
thrillingly in the vast space and filled his already full heart to
overflowing.





Chapter
Twenty-One





Idylls



Tenryon
arranged for a celebratory tea at his manse. It was a cozy and casual
affair with just the newly bound pair, their trusted circle and
Lassen’s parents. Accustomed to Rohyr bringing his leman and
cousins with him to Ziana in years past, none of Tenryon’s servants
guessed at the nuptial nature of the occasion. The small group drew
ever closer together as each basked in the feeling of being a part of
something rare and momentous. Lassen decided then and there that he
would not exchange the simple manner of his binding to Rohyr for any
lavish ceremony bereft of the loving intimacy that had made the
former special beyond compare.



Only
Aeldan and Ashrian came back to Glanthar afterward. The others
returned to their own homes and duties before their absences were
noticed. Eiren gave Rohyr one piece of advice before they parted,
cautioning him to stick to anal intercourse until after Lassen
birthed.



“It’s
just a precautionary measure given that he nearly miscarried,” the
physician explained. “One of the properties of semen is to elevate
pleasurable sensation by inducing mild spasms in the womb. Which is
good and desirable with a healthy womb but not so fine when a
breeding Deir has a history of prenatal problems.”



They
returned to Pelmorth just as dusk was blanketing the countryside in
twilight. The Mithani brothers insisted on escorting their cousin and
his mate to their chamber, archly advising Rohyr to deal gently with
Lassen even if he had abstained for far longer than they had ever
known him to bear.



Once
within their room, however, it seemed Rohyr would ignore their
counsel. For he hauled Lassen into his arms and kissed him hungrily
as he swiftly rid him of his finery. Not to be outdone, Lassen
responded as avidly, frantically unfastening clasps, undoing buttons
and untying laces.



As
soon as Lassen was bared to the skin, Rohyr pulled him flush against
him and backed him toward the bed without breaking the seal of their
mouths. Lassen thought Rohyr would tumble him into bed and take him
without further ado. But Rohyr carefully lowered him onto the
mattress, following him down to cover him with his body, one hand
slipping between them to caress the slight mound of Lassen’s
abdomen.

His
gentleness did little to dampen Lassen’s ardor. If anything, it
roused his lust even further and he fervently wished Rohyr would just
ravish him senseless.

“As
you wish, my love,” Rohyr murmured with a rakish grin.



Lassen
gaped in surprise before he recalled that their binding allowed him
to impart his thoughts to Rohyr without the need for his mate to open
a channel between them. He smiled at Rohyr in joyful affirmation.



Rohyr’s
fingertips ghosted over his belly. “I envy our son lying so safe
and warm within you,” he whispered. “Would that I could do the
same.”

Lassen’s
eyes widened at this tender utterance. A moment later, he gasped as
he felt a faint kick from within right under Rohyr’s hand. He
quickly glanced at Rohyr and laughed when an expression of complete
delight lit up his handsome face.

“It
seems our child agrees,” he teased.



Rohyr
nodded and leaned down to kiss Lassen’s abdomen. Lassen raptly
watched

him.

Grey
eyes lifted to look at him. Lassen caught his breath at the love and
lust that blazed in their depths. He moaned softly as Rohyr caught
his lips in scalding union. In all their years together, one thing
had not changed. Rohyr’s kisses were still as potent as they had
been when he first introduced Lassen to bodily pleasure. He closed
his eyes and let himself drown in sensation.

His
lips were happily swollen by the time Rohyr released them to explore
the column of his neck, marking it with crimson bruises. He groaned
when Rohyr assiduously played with his nipples. They were more
sensitive than ever and visibly plumper than usual.

Small
wonder that Rohyr sucked them so vigorously. And then he was
following the faintly curving line of Lassen’s belly, his hands
mapping his flanks, his tongue teasing his navel and tracing the rose
brown birthing seam below.



His
senses swimming, Lassen dazedly gazed at him as his beloved moved
even lower. His dark head dipped between Lassen’s outspread thighs
and all coherence disappeared as Lassen was engulfed in wet and heady
warmth.



Rohyr
drew on him voraciously. It proved too much. The rapturous tension
mounted and pooled in Lassen’s groin until, finally, he spent
himself explosively in Rohyr’s demanding mouth.



He
fell back, winded by so intense a climax. When Rohyr’s arms slipped
around him, he quickly turned into his embrace and sealed their
mouths in hot-tongued urgency. He had denied himself this pleasure
for so long and now that he could indulge it, he craved union with
Rohyr. Soon, he was shuddering against him and his kisses had turned
almost frantic with want.

Lassen
broke away and whispered imploringly, “Fill me.”



“I
shall, my sweet,” Rohyr softly crooned, scattering kisses on
Lassen’s face. “But I can only take you from behind until after
you’ve birthed.”

“It
doesn’t matter how you have me, so long as you do,” Lassen
moaned.



“Oh,
I intend to,” Rohyr murmured with grin. “I’ve waited far too
long to be inside you again.”

As
he spoke, he reached for the oil on the bedside table. Lassen’s
blatant haste to be speared made mincemeat of Rohyr’s patience and,
after the most hurried of preparations, he slipped behind his eager
mate and pulled him back into the slight curve of his body that
Lassen might nestle against his tall frame. Lassen sighed when he
felt the evidence of Rohyr’s desire hard against his bottom.

“Please,
Roh,” he begged, insistently pushing back until Rohyr’s shaft
slipped into the cleft between his buttocks.

With
a husky chuckle, Rohyr complied. Lassen groaned as he was pierced.
Gasped raggedly as he was repeatedly filled. Reaching around him,
Rohyr gripped his hardened length and proceeded to stroke it. Lassen
nearly keened. Every sensation was heightened from the caress of
demanding lips upon flushed skin and the slide of heated bodies
against each other to the wrap of possessive fingers around swollen
flesh and the inward plunge of satin-bound sword into yielding,
silk-soft core.

“Have
my love, Las,” Rohyr whispered hoarsely.

Lassen
turned his head, begging for his lips to be pillaged anew. His
wordless plea

was
swiftly answered and he surrendered himself to his ferocious need.



Completion
came with storm force. Ecstasy coursed its way through every nook and
cranny of his body as he spilt onto the pristine sheets. He heard
Rohyr gasp out his name as he also spent himself, the tightening of
Lassen’s body around his shaft all but milking him dry. They lay
entwined for several heartbeats as they waited out the last sweeps of
their spent desire.

Rohyr
carefully withdrew then helped Lassen lie back before gathering him
close in his arms. Lassen snuggled in his embrace.

“I
missed you terribly,” he murmured, idly running a finger along
Rohyr’s lower lip. He grinned when Rohyr lazily licked it, eyes
a-gleam with mischief. “And you missed me as much, I take it.”



“You
can’t imagine it,” Rohyr replied. “I can no longer recall how I
coped with the barren years before you came into my life. They seem
so long ago.”

Lassen
swallowed the lump in his throat. “Surely Tyrde tends to you. I can
never forgive him if he…”

“Neglects
me?” Rohyr snorted. “I am guiltier of that than he. Not that he
cares. All that matters to Tyrde is that I tumble him oft enough to
sire an heir on him. Anything else is irrelevant.”



“Even
when I was gone?” Lassen could not comprehend the notion of anyone
not falling in love with Rohyr, especially one who was in the
enviable position of being his official consort.



“I
think Tyrde loves only himself and mayhap Uncle Imcael. Everyone else
he deems luxuries, not necessities. I’m a trophy to him and a
steppingstone, nothing more. Oh, he desires me but that’s just
bodily attraction. And if he is affectionate with me, it’s because
he believes winning my regard will win him his desire. But there’s
no love there and I know it for a mere act. And so we both go through
the motions and people think our charade of a marriage is hale and
whole if not exactly a love match.”



Lassen
sadly gazed at him. “I truly thought that once I was out of the
way, he would be your friend.” Rohyr shook his head. “Did you
want that at least?”

Rohyr
shrugged. “It would have helped had we become friends. Bad enough
that we wed with no love between us. Friendship would have gone a
long way in smoothing the rougher edges of our union.”

“And
might have led to love eventually,” Lassen softly suggested.



Rohyr
looked at him with some amusement. “And that’s what you really
want to know.” He pulled Lassen down for a long kiss. “Yes, I
might have learned to love him had he shown the slightest interest in
making something more of our marriage than it is. But it wouldn’t
be the same way I love you. You complete me, Las. For so long there
was an emptiness within that no one could fill. Until I saw you in
Tal Ereq. I knew then that my waiting was done. That I would be
lonely and empty no more.”



Lassen
looked at him wonderingly. “Why do I feel that you haven’t told
me everything?”

“Rest
assured I shall tell you when this is all over,” Rohyr promised.
“When it’s safe for you to know.”

Lassen
stared at him in even more confusion. But he decided to let the
matter go in favor of a more pressing personal issue.

“I
trust he satisfies your needs at least?”

Silence
met his question and he worried that he had displeased Rohyr. But of
a sudden, Rohyr rolled him over and pinned him down.

“He
came to me as experienced in the pleasures of the flesh as I,”
Rohyr roughly said. “Most assuredly he satisfies my needs if
spending one’s seed is all there is to coupling. But it’s not and
it’s possible to be afterwards gratified in body but wanting in
heart and spirit. Tyrde gives pleasure that he may take pleasure in
turn. But you have ever pleasured me for my sake alone. And what
pleasure you took, you enjoyed all the more because it was I who gave
it to you. Can you mark the difference? Do you still worry that I
could ever rank anyone higher than you in my heart or soul or my
body’s sating?”



Rohyr
did not give Lassen a chance to answer but sealed their mouths
together in an almost brutal kiss. After reducing him to near
breathlessness, Rohyr teasingly stroked his way down the length of
Lassen’s thighs. He hooked his hands behind Lassen’s knees and
parted them wide. Rohyr drove his shaft deep into Lassen’s
seed-slick arse with a long slow thrust.

Lassen
clung to Rohyr for dear life as he was ridden to another climax.
Rohyr drew out their lovemaking, pausing at maddening intervals to
slow down the pace and lower the heat enough to prolong that wondrous
oneness he shared with Lassen alone. Lassen decided never to broach
so silly a question to his beloved ever again. Certainly not when
Rohyr had shown him time and again how much more he revered him as a
person, subject and lover than any other who had passed through his
life before.



*
* * *



A
few mornings hence found them strolling down the beach, picking their
way among the boulders and occasional tree that strewed the narrow
strip of wheaten sand and biscuit-hued pebbles. The sun shone
brightly with nary a cloud to obscure it. Unlike the spring monsoon,
the post summer rains were wont to fall in the afternoons.



Finding
a sheltered spot beneath a leafy sapling a little higher up on the
beach, they spread a blanket and unpacked a hamper of breakfast
fare—steaming hot rolls, soft farmer’s cheese, freshly churned
butter, rich blackgrape jelly, slices of honey-glazed ham and several
juicy freestone peaches. The cook had also packed a jug of sweet
cider for them with which to wash down the meal.

Their
enjoyment of their repast had as much to do with each other’s
company as it did with the food. Never had they been so open with
each other about their feelings before. Indeed, never had the word
‘love’ passed between them and certainly not as often as it had
in the weeks since their calamitous reunion.



Lassen
watched his mate with admiration and budding desire. How could he not
when Rohyr was such a splendid specimen of Deiran pulchritude? And
one whose favors Lassen now had every right to demand. Not that he
would ever play the hunter to Rohyr’s prey. It simply was not his
nature and to act so out of character was to invite acute
embarrassment on his part and amused commiseration on Rohyr’s. But
the knowledge that he could was intoxicating.



The
king lounged on his side, supporting himself on one arm while he bit
into a peach. A trickle of juice made its way down from the corner of
his mouth. Before he could wipe it away, Lassen leaned forward and
licked it off. He proceeded to kiss away the sweet moisture on
Rohyr’s lips then drew back with an impish smile.

Rohyr
licked his lips in appreciation. “I fervently hope it’s not
merely a function of

breeding
that makes you so brazen these days,” he said.



Lassen
laughed. “I assure you ‘tis not, but rather the knowledge that
you are mine. I never wanted for more than that and never expected
anything to come of it. Yet it came true, this dearest wish. How can
I not let you know how much I love you?”



Rohyr’s
grin softened to a tender smile. “As to that, perhaps we can be
even more to each other if Jareth’s suspicions pan out.”

“You
mean the Anjuin law of succession?”



Rohyr
nodded. “I’ve studied the basic laws of every fief and province
in this land. But I’m no legal practitioner, much less well versed
in the minutiae of statutes that have no bearing on Ylandre’s
welfare as a whole. I understand Anju’s law of succession but not
the particulars of it. If Jareth is right, there may be
something—some legal point that Uncle Imcael and Tyrde kept from me
that may render their instigation of this marriage suspect at the
very least. In any case, it’s worth investigating.” Tossing aside
the peach, he reached for Lassen and drew him closer. “I don’t
know if there is a loophole that will free me to make you my consort
but I meant it when I said I would relinquish the throne if I can’t
have you to spouse for so long as I remain Ardan.”



He
lay back and pulled Lassen atop him. For the next several minutes,
they kissed and caressed, enjoying the slow buildup of lust between
them. Before too long, they progressed to undressing each other, the
need to feel skin against skin overtaking their patience. They moved
against each other with all the passion of newfound lovers and the
ease of long-time partners. And underlining their loving was the
melody of their silent communication, testament to the inviolable
bond that joined them for all time.



Yet
Lassen did not expect the gift Rohyr bestowed on him as they moved
toward their bodies’ union. When Rohyr straddled his hips instead
of moving between his legs, he looked up at him questioningly.



“A
breeding Deir produces infertile seed, did you know that?” Rohyr
huskily said. He smiled when Lassen shook his head, eyes wide with
surprise. “This is the one time you can’t beget a child on me,
Las. What say we take advantage of it?”



Lassen
stared at him. “I’m honored,” he whispered. “But do you truly
want this?” Rohyr bit his lip then admitted, “I never imagined
giving myself thusly to anyone. I



won’t
deny that it’s hard enough yielding at all. This is-this is beyond
anything ever expected of me.”



He
did not have to explain his need to control their lovemaking. To do
the riding though it was he who would play the mare.

Pushing
himself up on one arm, Lassen slid his right hand up Rohyr’s hard
thigh then moved it inward toward his groin. With a faint smile, he
murmured, “May I?”



Rohyr
nodded. His breath hitched nonetheless as Lassen’s fingers slipped
lower and farther, beginning the sensual process by which he would be
turned. Lassen watched his face intently, not wanting to provoke an
adverse reaction from his skittish mate. He kept his caresses gentle,
tamping down on the impulse to fondle him in any way that might be
construed as predatory or aggressive. Rohyr would find it easier to
surrender control if Lassen’s dominance over him remained subtle
and unthreatening.



When
Rohyr’s body turned, the instinct to be filled awakened. He tensed
once more as his learned resistance against submission duelled with
the inborn desire for penetration. Sensing his spouse’s physical
readiness and emotional uncertainty, Lassen withdrew his fingers and
brought the glistening tips to his lips. Holding Rohyr’s gaze, he

roguishly
sucked them clean.



Rohyr’s
stomach muscles clenched in reactive need. Eyes closed in residual
apprehension, he slowly lowered himself onto Lassen’s shaft. For
only the second time, Lassen knew the pleasure of being sheathed to
the hilt and so wonderful was the sensation that he had to fight not
to buck up into the untried passage enclosing him.



A
degree of discomfort was only to be expected on Rohyr’s part. But
he was neither a craven innocent nor an inexperienced tyro. Seasoned
warrior and lover, he did not shy from pain but faced it head-on.
More so if he deemed the price worth it. And giving himself to the
owner of his heart Rohyr deemed well worth it indeed.



He
weathered the sting of defloration with little more than a wince.
Lassen laid his hand on Rohyr’s thighs and rubbed them soothingly,
tenderly coaxing his mate to relax and surrender himself to the
pleasure of being filled thusly. Rohyr let out a small exhalation and
opened his eyes to behold Lassen’s countenance, all aglow with love
and wonder and gratitude. It was enough to help him ignore the
discomfort and focus on the pleasurable sensations. More than enough
to dispel any misgivings he may have yet harbored and wholly welcome
the experience instead.



They
quickly found the rhythm that served their needs best. It did not
take them long to lose themselves in the timeless dance of love and
lust as flesh cleaved flesh and passion and rapture flowed as freely
and fulsomely as the seed that spewed forth from one to fill the
other at the peak of shared ecstasy. No description could do such an
experience justice. One could only remember it in a hot haze of
desire and fulfillment.

Rohyr
managed to hold on to some sentience though his body trembled with
the aftershocks of completion. He lifted himself off Lassen albeit a
little shakily and took care not to collapse on him lest he laid his
weight on their child’s cozy berth. Lassen pulled him against his
breast in an embrace that was both appreciative and comforting.



He
could guess at the intense feeling of vulnerability Rohyr must have
experienced yielding himself in the one act from which he’d been
taught to abstain. From adolescence onward, he had never entertained
the notion of being genitally pierced, not even by his consort.
Exigency rather than affection had always been expected to dictate
his choice of spouse. Perhaps it was just as well that Lassen truly
enjoyed playing the sheath to Rohyr’s sword.



It
was not that he did not like changing the rules of their bed-play.
Under Rohyr’s tutelage, he had learned never to discount the
potential for pleasure any consensual act afforded. But there was a
joy in taking Rohyr into his body that transcended all other acts of
physical intimacy, even the reversal of their usual sexual roles.



“That
was wonderful,” Lassen murmured. “At least it was for me. I hope
your expectations were adequately met.”



Rohyr
chuckled, his breath feathering Lassen’s chest. “More than
adequately. It was incredible. I wonder now why I was so afraid.”

“Understandable.”
“Is it?”

“Absolutely.
I was just as anxious my first bedding. Yet I’d had ample time to
prepare myself and knew ‘twas expected of me. Not so for you.
You’re so brave to give me all of yourself today. I’m truly
honored and grateful beyond words.”



Rohyr
lifted his head and looked at Lassen searchingly. “Do you enjoy it
that much when I yield? Because if you do, I’m willing to try this
again. Nay, that sounds as if … I

mean
we can reverse roles whenever you desire it. I wouldn’t have it be
about my pleasure alone but yours as well.”

Lassen
stifled a giggle at Rohyr’s unwonted discomfiture. “Oh, love, it
has always been as much about my pleasure. I enjoy playing the sword,
I won’t deny it. And I certainly won’t mind repeating the
experience now and then. But, verily, I still prefer being your
sheath. It simply feels so right, having you inside me.”



He
curled a leg invitingly around the back of Rohyr’s thighs.



“You
are insatiable these days,” Rohyr remarked approvingly as he
reached into the basket and came up not unexpectedly with a small jar
of oil.

Lassen
grinned as Rohyr lavishly anointed his hardened shaft. “Are you
complaining?”

“Not
at all.” Rohyr pressed kisses up the length of Lassen’s throat
while down yonder he pushed slick fingers up his backside. “But I
warn you, I’m inclined to take you as long and hard as I can. You
tempt me overmuch.”



“Give
in to temptation, my lord,” Lassen pleaded, lifting his legs to
wrap them around Rohyr’s waist.

The
headlong push of rigid flesh deep into his body robbed him of further
speech, as did the sweet intrusion of thought into his mind.

You
and yours forever, Las.





Chapter
Twenty-Two





Disclosures



Rohyr
returned to Rikara before the end of the month only to depart again
little more than a fortnight later. With the recent frequency of his
absences from the capital giving rise to talk of estrangement between
him and his consort, he strove to allay a portion of the gossip by
sojourning briefly in the Crown fief of Vireshe with his brother
Dylen. What better way to give the illusion of marital stability than
to check on the birthright of the union’s first fruit?



Vireshe
lay in the west just north of Glanthar and was part of Varadan before
the old kingdom was annexed to Ylandre. Now the hereditary seat of
the Ylandrin heir apparent, the fief was rich in fertile plains, lush
forests and teeming lakes and rivers. So great were Vireshe’s
earnings from taxes and rent that it could support the crown prince
and his family and he in turn could dispense with reliance on the
royal coffers.

Rohyr
had once derived his income solely from the fief but his time as
crown prince was prematurely cut short by the equally premature death
of his sire. He now held Vireshe in trust for his own heir, the
revenue accrued over the decades kept in banks or carefully invested
that by the time his firstborn received the fief’s herunic title,
he would have more than a sizeable nest egg at his disposal.

But
the need to keep up appearances was not the only reason for Rohyr’s
visit to Vireshe. With Lassen nearing the end of gestation, it
behooved Rohyr to be closely involved once more in the internal
affairs of his firstborn’s future holdings. Thus, the decision to
stay awhile in Vireshe before he went back to Glanthar. It was at the
royal estate just outside the capital of Lythaen that Jareth and
Zykriel caught up with him, bearing the results of weeks of arduous
research.



Along
with Keiran, they had ransacked the Citadel archives as well as
scoured the State University library and even the Lawyers Guild
records for anything pertinent to Anju’s peculiar succession law.
The problem had lain in the local nature of the statute.

Given
that Anju had been an independent state and its political and legal
systems largely left untouched by the Essendris who subjugated it
those many centuries back, scant attention had since been paid to the
fief’s internal dealings, including the detailed archiving of its
domestic laws and traditions. After all, who cared how a fief
functioned so long as its lords broke no laws, did not brutalize
their subjects and regularly contributed to the national treasury by
way of taxes?



Rather
than chance anyone overhearing their discussion, Rohyr suggested an
early morning ride through the estate forest. A hunting lodge was
conveniently located in the heart of the woods and could be easily
guarded without being obvious about it.



“What
have you learned?” Rohyr said as soon as they settled around the
small dining table within.

“Much
more than we expected,” Jareth replied. “To put it plainly, it
appears Tyrde’s threat against you is toothless.”

“How
so?”



Zykriel
deposited a sheaf of documents on the table. All were yellowed and
strongly

musty
in odor.



Rohyr
wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Where in Aisen did you unearth
these? They smell as if they came from underground.”

“They
were a sight more smelly when we found them,” Zykriel retorted.
“There was a stash of ancient documents in a vault in the very
bowels of the archives. Even I didn’t know it existed. I warrant my
predecessors didn’t bother to inform me because they believed it
either empty or no longer holding anything of import.”

“Well,
what did the vault contain?”

“Mostly
census documents and records of revenue from as far back as two
centuries after the Inception. The original reports regarding the
passing of the last females in Khitaira were there, too. It’s just
as well they were copied and stored in the upper levels. The old
documents were barely readable and almost fell apart when we brought
them out.” He showed Rohyr a thin bundle of badly streaked old
parchment. “We tried to find a newer copy of this elsewhere but it
seems there is none available.”

“Except
in Anju perhaps,” Jareth said. “But we could hardly search
there.”

“Indeed
not. So we had to make do with this. It’s a duplicate of the
charter document by which Anju was created a fief of Ylandre,
inclusive of royal ratification of the Anjuin Bill of Rights as set
down by the Kardovas when they first founded the duchy. Included,
too, are the rules on herunic succession. It’s clearly stated that
the line of inheritance is always through the eldest son of a
reigning Herun’s younger brothers. There is no mention anywhere of
election of one’s successor being permitted. Indeed, primogeniture
is against the law and a Herun who attempts to arrogate power to his
direct descendants can and will be deposed. Interestingly, the
practice is exclusive to South Vihandra.”



“It
has to do with the reasoning behind the law,” Zykriel continued in
somewhat scholarly fashion. “The right of succession by dint of
being firstborn is most effective when there are few heirs to contest
claims to a title or when there are enough titles and/or land to go
around to pacify an excess of heirs. Our family is a case in point.
Though we are numerous, there has always been a surfeit of wealth and
property to share amongst everyone.”



“Thanks
in large part to judicious marriages and sound investments,” Jareth
interjected.

“Exactly.
But in the centuries immediately following the southward migration of
colonists, large families came to be the rule in South Vihandra in
order to promote swift propagation. It was not unheard of for one
lord to have any number of sons to his name by Veres only knew how
many concubines in addition to his official mate. Keiran mentioned
that the second Shaja of Myare had eight sons by three successive
consorts and almost thrice that number from extramarital liaisons.”



“He
must have beggared his people through taxes to support such a massive
brood,” Rohyr remarked with a frown.

“As
a matter of fact, he did,” Zykriel confirmed. “It’s a wonder
Myare still exists today after the bloody rebellion that overthrew
that family. In any case, as the South Vihandrans deemed all these
children legitimate heirs, internecine feuds between brothers,
half-brothers and stepbrothers over titles and land ensued and soon
resulted in the wholesale extinction of many clans. A direct offshoot
of those ancient feuds were the revised rules of succession whereby
forbidding inheritance through one line of descendants alone and at
the same time encouraging intermarriage amongst brethren and

close
degree cousins allowed the surviving clans to spread the wealth a
little bit more evenly so to speak. A title and its entailed benefits
passed amongst House and clan members and permitted each family to
accumulate wealth before the title went to another branch.

“And
this has to do with Tyrde because…?” “The Kardovas originally
hailed from Azansa.”



Rohyr’s
eyes narrowed. “And Azansa is in South Vihandra.”



“Aye,
one of the first cities,” Jareth confirmed. “They later migrated
north and settled in what was then free land between Ylandre and
Cattania. The Kardovas brought with them all of the south’s laws
and traditions and when Anju was annexed to Ylandre, our foresire
Ruarq Essendri chose not to change them. Therefore, the old statutes
still stand to this day. And here we come to the meat of the matter.”

He
paused as Zykriel pulled out a sheet of parchment. It was even more
aged and discolored than the others, the faded script just barely
legible. “Contrary to what we’ve been led to believe, Tyrde’s
being an only child doesn’t automatically invest him with the
authority to choose his heir. The Bill of Rights was missing the
section that contained the specifics of the inheritance law. Locating
a copy of that section proved the hardest chore. We almost gave up
when even the Lawyers Guild records yielded nothing.”



“Keiran
found this in one of the oldest repositories in the College of Law
archives,” Zykriel said of the document. “It’s a copy of the
writ issued by Imlen Kardova, first Herun of Anju, that states the
particulars of the fief’s inheritance law. In essence, it
stipulates that the title should pass to the eldest son of the most
senior of the current Herun’s brothers. If said brother does not
produce an heir of his body, then the eldest son of the next brother
in line inherits the title and so on and so forth.”



Zykriel
read on with careful emphasis. “In the event that there are no
brothers or none produce heirs of their bodies, the title then goes
to the eldest son of the Herun’s closest blood relation.” He
tapped the document with a finger. “In other words, it passes
completely out of the incumbent Herun’s family.”



Jareth
regarded Rohyr sympathetically. “You made the natural assumption
that because Tyrde has no fraternal nephews of Kardova blood, it
would be his children who would inherit Anju. And neither he nor
Imcael saw fit to disabuse you of that assumption.”

“Who
is Tyrde’s heir?” Rohyr tightly asked.

“His
cousin, Nyol Kardova, the Prefect of the Anjuin constabulary. He’s
staunchly loyal to the Crown, I’m happy to say.”

“Not
to mention the eldest of a slew of brothers and cousins whose
children are now in line for the title,” Zykriel added.



Rohyr
fell silent, his face expressionless. Those who knew him well however
understood that he was anything but empty of emotion. Dylen had kept
silent throughout. Now he clasped his brother’s clenched fist. The
convulsive grip Rohyr returned was telling.



Dylen
quietly said, “You accepted what Imcael told you because you trust
him implicitly. You couldn’t conceive of him betraying you with a
falsehood.”

Rohyr
closed his eyes and lowered his head. And then, with a pained
exhalation, he looked at his brother with unhappy self-reproach.

“You
warned me,” he whispered. “You told me it was a weakness he could
exploit

but
I wouldn’t believe you. I refused to think him capable of such
perfidy.”



Dylen
tightened his hold on Rohyr’s hand. “You love him, Roh,” he
softly pointed out. “He’s the only immediate kin left to you
other than myself. And he loves you; that I don’t doubt. If he
deceived you, he believed it for your own good and the good of the
land as much as it was to further his own fortunes.”



“Fortunes
he believes his by right,” Jareth said with a snort. “There’s
no excusing his actions.”



Rohyr
nodded, gritting his teeth. At length, he said, “I sensed he was
hiding something that day. He shielded his thoughts so suddenly that
I felt them slam into place. I wondered about it at the time.” He
brought his fist down on the table so viciously, the wood cracked.
“Damn it all, I should have forced him to reveal his mind then! I
would have discovered their duplicity before binding myself in
wretched matrimony!”



About
to say something else, he suddenly stiffened. He abruptly rose to his
feet. “Lassen is in pain,” he rasped. “He must be about to
birth.”

The
others quickly stood.

“I
must go to him,” Rohyr said, hurriedly donning his cloak. “Dy,
stay here a while longer and keep up the appearance that I am still
in residence. Jath, Zyk, I’m indebted to both of you and Keiran as
well. For now, return to Rikara and await further instructions.”



*
* * *



Lassen
moaned at the deeply felt tenderness in his muscles. He’d awakened
that morning to the onset of labor and the awful pressure from within
on the birthing seam. Thank Veres for his bond with Rohyr alerting
the king to his condition. Dael and Mithre had both experienced
birthing but Lassen’s circumstances—his age and previous brush
with miscarrying—required a skilled physician’s assistance. Thus,
it was a great relief that scarcely an hour had passed since Lassen
felt the first warning spasms when Rohyr strode into the room, Eiren
right behind him.

Rohyr
had not made too much of a fuss. Indeed, he had acquitted himself
quite well, displaying little of the clichéd behavior of a first
time parent. Well, save for the moment when Lassen could not stop
himself from crying out due to the stabbing pain blossoming in the
vicinity of his lower abdomen. Rohyr began to panic then and only a
stern reprimand from Eiren calmed him down.

Eiren
had dampened the discomfort with a mind touch but he could not wholly
benumb Lassen to it for the birthing parent had to remain awake and
aware in order to safely push the child to the mouth of the seam.
Otherwise, the attending physician would be forced to take the infant
directly from the womb and that could introduce infection, cause
inadvertent internal damage and generally lead to complications, some
of them potentially fatal.



The
worst of it had been when his abdominal muscles had pushed the child
down and out through the seam. Lassen was reduced to sobbing out his
distress. But fortified by Rohyr’s firm grip on his hand and Dael’s
murmured assurances, he weathered the ordeal. And then he’d heard
the first piping cry of life, sweetly thrilling to his ears.
Afterward, the sharp pain had given way to a faint ache as Eiren
gently brought the edges of the wound together to encourage it to
begin healing.



Once
he bound Lassen’s abdomen with gauzy cotton bandages, the
discomfort became quite bearable. But Lassen would be bedridden for
at least a week, Eiren told

him.
Even the least strenuous of movements would slow his recovery so, for
the duration of that period, he was to remain in bed and attempt
nothing more ambulatory than visits to the chamber pot.



Through
the haze of exhaustion, he saw Rohyr holding their son, securely
ensconced in his natal shell. The shell looked like half the cooked
white of an egg and was almost double the circumference of Rohyr’s
cupped hands. No longer smeared with blood and birthing fluid, it was
dark beige, its opaque surface streaked with the faintest traces of
what looked like bluish veins.

Rohyr
lowered the precious bundle to him. Lassen gaped when he saw the tiny
infant cradled in its cushiony center, the faintly pulsing pale rose
birth cord trailing across his belly to disappear into the folds of
the shell surface. He had never seen a newborn fresh from the womb.
It was the custom to keep days-old babies indoors and away from
non-family members until the shell came off.

Despite
his miniscule size, the child was completely formed. And judging from
the strength of his flailing arms and legs, healthy as well. The
natal shell would protect him and provide nourishment until he was
able to suckle. Whereupon the desiccated shell and cord would
naturally detach. Lassen noted the silken hair on his son’s head,
as richly dark as Rohyr’s sable locks. The babe’s eyelids
fluttered slightly and he caught a glimpse of rimmed bluish-grey
irises. Merciful Veres… If there was still any doubt as to who had
sired this child, there was the proof to dispel it.



“How
long?” he asked, feeling the shell. It was smooth and warm and firm
to the touch but not inflexible.



“A
fortnight, give or take,” Eiren replied. “He’ll grow rapidly,
to about three times his birth size. And he’ll be ravenous for
estra
once the shell comes off.”

“Shall
I produce enough?” “I don’t see why not.”



Lassen
managed a tired smile. He looked up at Rohyr. “He takes after you.”
Rohyr smiled back. “In coloring. But he has also inherited some of
your features.”



He
glanced down at his son then gazed at Lassen. “He’ll be
beautiful.” Lassen chuckled. “I dare say you’re biased.”

As
lassitude overcame him, he closed his eyes, sore and weary but
content to the core.



*
* * *



He
slept through what was left of the morning and missed the midday
meal. Not that he would have had much of an appetite. Indeed, he
barely managed the small bowl of broth Mithre fed him that evening
and only nibbled the toast that came with it. But he did not feel
weak and his immediate post-birth fatigue was largely alleviated by
his lengthy slumber. The birthing seam was already closed though
still red and raw. It would eventually fade to near invisibility over
time.



He
held his son for the first time, grinning when the infant gurgled and
cooed as he ran a fingertip along its tiny chin. It was hard to
believe that in two weeks time, this same child would grow big enough
to cradle in his arms and strong enough to let the whole world know
when he was hungry, thirsty or in need of a nappy change.



He
looked up as Rohyr came to sit at his side and folded a protective
arm around him. Lassen half reclined against him.

“What
shall we name him?” Lassen whispered as he gazed adoringly at the
child. Rohyr smiled. “Your choice.”

Lassen
frowned. “But he’s your heir,” he protested. “Shouldn’t you
give him a name of your House?”

“And
you’re not now a part of my House? It’s your privilege, Las, as
his adda.”
Lassen’s frown gave way to a radiant smile. “Then I should like
to name him after



my
Opa
Vyren,” he decided.



“Vyren
Essendri,” Rohyr repeated. “A name befitting a future Ardan. You
must have loved him very much.”

Lassen
nodded. “He was a most wonderful grandsire. So very kind and gentle
and forbearing yet strong and fiercely protective of his loved ones.”

“Was
he beauteous as well?” Rohyr asked. At Lassen’s nod, he smirked.
“You took after him the most of his grandchildren.”

Lassen
blushed at the tacit compliment but happily rested his head against
Rohyr’s shoulder. They lapsed into comfortable silence and simply
indulged themselves in quiet joy, fondly regarding their slumbering
son. But all too soon, Lassen sensed the melancholic underpinnings of
Rohyr’s mood. He wondered what had managed to cast a shadow over
his mate’s contentment.

“What
troubles you?” he murmured. When Rohyr shook his head, Lassen
persisted. “Unburden yourself, ariad.
Tell me.”

Rohyr
reluctantly recounted his cousins’ report. By the time he finished,
he was deeply upset and angry all over again with himself. Lassen
soothed him.



“No
one can blame you for trusting him. Surely such a betrayal is so rare
as to be almost unheard of in the Royal House.”

“It
was a son’s treason that made the Ferrenda Interregnum possible,”
Rohyr wryly pointed out.

“And
‘twas the one and only time in Ylandre’s history that an
immediate member of the Royal House acted thusly,” Lassen
countered.

“Yet
now, here is a second try at treachery,” Rohyr bitterly said.
Lassen sadly smiled. “More an attempt to bluff their way to power.”



Rohyr
regarded him in some disbelief. “You are so forgiving considering
what their actions almost cost you.”

“I
would hope others would be as forgiving were I in their shoes.”



A
grin tugged at the corners of Rohyr’s lips. “The tropics of
Arvalde will freeze over before you learn to be as deceitful.”

“You
esteem me overmuch.”



“I
only speak the truth. But in any event, it clears the way for us.”
“Clears the way?”

“For
the dissolution of my union with Tyrde. He no longer has a hold on
me.” Rohyr pressed his lips to Lassen’s forehead. “It’s time
I made an honest Deir of you.”





Chapter
Twenty-Three





Confrontation



There
was much talk when Rohyr returned to the capital in the spring of the
following year after spending the greater part of the previous autumn
and the whole of winter abroad. But it was not that the Ardan had
never absented himself from Rikara for five months running that set
tongues wagging. It was the reason for it.

The
Rikarans watched in shock as he rode into the city shortly after
noontide with his long missing leman at his side. What of the rumor
that he had given up on finding him? Or that his anger was so great,
it was bandied about that Lassen Idana had best not show his face to
the king again if he valued his life. But the end of their shock was
hardly come.

Eyes
nigh popped out of their sockets and mouths dropped open at the sight
of the child who peeked out curiously from the sturdy sling that hung
from Rohyr’s shoulder. Judging from his size, he appeared to be of
suckling age. About as old as the number of months Rohyr had
sojourned elsewhere in the land. The child had sable hair and rimmed
irises.

Hardly
had word of the babe spread when a few observant onlookers spotted
the matching earrings the Ardan and his leman sported. Adamant and
snow sapphire on white silver edged with gold. People whispered. Had
Rohyr taken a binding-mate against all common convention? By the time
the royal cavalcade ascended the road to the Citadel, the news had
already reached the keep and everyone from the most staid courtiers
to the lowliest scullions was talking about it.



Rohyr
dismounted in the bailey, keeping a firm hand on his lively son who
seemed eager to explore his new environs even if it meant crawling
out of the sling and climbing over his sire’s arm or shoulder.
Dylen and Vaeren chuckled indulgently at the antics of Ylandre’s
infant crown prince.



From
the Citadel’s great main entrance, a furious Tyrde and his lately
arrived sire watched in incredulity as Rohyr walked down the
stone-paved path carrying his son, his brother on one side, his leman
on the other. Nay, not leman any longer, Imcael realized when he
espied the earring dangling from Rohyr’s left ear lobe.



He
opened his mouth to berate his errant nephew but Rohyr preempted him
with a cool, “I don’t remember recalling you, Uncle.”

“I
recalled him,” Tyrde tartly cut in.



“On
what authority?” Rohyr curtly inquired. “I am Ardis!”

“And
I am your sovereign. None may countermand my word in all this land.
Not even you, Tyrde Kardova thar
Essendri.”



It
took a moment for Tyrde to realize that Rohyr had used the House
identifier thar
rather than the conjugal adjective tir.
He stared at Rohyr in anger and confusion.

“You
stipulated that I would take your surname when we wed!”

“Because
I assumed an Essendri would one day rule Anju,” Rohyr snapped. “But
as that isn’t the case, there’s no need for you to bear the name.
Nor do I desire it.”

He
brushed past a stunned Tyrde and led Lassen into the manse. When
Tyrde would have followed, Dylen blocked his way.

“I
think it highly unlikely that you wish to discuss this matter in
public,” he said, tilting his head toward the courtiers and
retainers who had come out to welcome their king. “Rohyr will treat
with you in the red chamber as soon as he has seen to Vyren’s
accommodations.”



“Who
is Vyren?” Imcael demanded.



“Vyren
Essendri il
Idana, his son and successor, Herun-tyar,”
Dylen replied, using his nephew’s full name to emphasize Lassen’s
position as the babe’s birthing father.



With
that parting shot, Dylen walked away, leaving Imcael and Tyrde to
stare after him. It was only when he was out of sight that his
earlier words registered.

Treat
with them?



*
* * *



Within
the hour, they convened in the room named for the deep ruby of the
upholstery and wall hangings. It was also devoid of furniture save
for one high-backed chair at the far end of the room and a low
scribe’s bench nearby. The red chamber was a venue for informal
hearings at best, an interrogation room at worst.

Imcael
wondered which circumstance he and Tyrde were about to face as they
entered the chamber. Rohyr was already seated within, a number of
their relations arrayed about him. It was not surprising to see Dylen
and Yovan or Keosqe and the brethren Gilmael and Zykriel—all
frequented court. But why were Eiren and Keiran present as well? Or
Jareth for that matter?

The
Herun scowled when his eyes fell on the fair-haired Deir who stood to
Rohyr’s left. He glared at Lassen. But Lassen kept his expression
neutral. Almost.

Something
flickered in his eyes. Imcael’s scowl faltered. Was that pity he
had glimpsed?

“Wherefore
this farce, Roh-min?”
he demanded, breaking protocol by speaking first. Rohyr’s smile was
far from pleasant. “Which farce do you mean, Uncle? My

marriage
or the threat you used to force me into it?”

“How
dare you call our marriage a farce!” Tyrde huffed.

“If
the means by which it was achieved is naught more than a sham, the
result is just as much a travesty,” Rohyr retorted.



“Threat
it may be in your eyes but ‘tis no sham. If you don’t cease and
desist with this foolishness, I shall break with you and go where I’m
wanted!”

“And
how long will Lyam Dimari want you once he realizes he will sire no
heirs for Anju?”

Tyrde
gasped; Imcael goggled. “What in heyas
are you talking about?” the former sputtered.

“I
hardly think your cousin Nyol will hand over his birthright just on
your say so.” Silence fell on the chamber. A tellingly long
silence.

At
length Imcael blustered, “Where did you hear such nonsense,
Nephew?” Rohyr motioned to Zykriel to turn several documents over
to Tyrde. The Ardis

quickly
perused them, his face growing paler by the minute. With a muttered
oath, he handed the papers to his sire. Imcael swiftly read them.
When he was done, his hands were seen to shake, the clench of his
fingers further creasing the fragile documents. He

looked
up at Rohyr then glanced at Lassen.



The
Half Blood was looking at him with regret and compassion. Imcael
opened his mouth then closed it when no words issued forth.

“I
trusted you, Uncle.”



Imcael’s
gaze returned to his nephew. Gone were the ire and overt hostility in
Rohyr’s mien. In their place were sorrow and disillusionment.

“Rohyr…”

“Why?”

Imcael
swallowed. “You favored your leman overmuch. I feared you would
make him your consort.” He looked long and hard at Lassen. “A
mere commoner and a Half Blood, mate to Ylandre’s Ardan… I
couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t bear to watch you make
a mockery of our hallowed traditions.”



Yovan
gently intervened. “We may revere certain of our traditions but
they are hardly hallowed. Imcael, you have ever lived your life in
utter accordance with such customs and with little to no regard for
your own wants or needs.”



“Duty
should always come before personal desire,” Imcael stiffly
protested. “And since when did mere tradition become immutable
duty?” Yovan countered.

“Duty
should be rooted in our laws, whether legal, moral or spiritual.
There is no law prohibiting marriage between True Bloods and Half
Bloods. For that matter, there is no statute that proscribes the
entrance of Half Bloods or commoners into the Royal House. What you
have been upholding isn’t duty, Cousin, but prejudice.”



Imcael
turned his face away, as if the counsellor’s words offended him or
perhaps hurt. “What does it matter?” he gruffly said. “Rohyr
desired to end the marriage and he has found the means to do it. Will
I, nill I, the Ardis’ coronet shall now adorn the head of a
low-born sedyr.”



“He
will have to take it from mine!”



Tyrde’s
outburst drew everyone’s attention. He stared balefully at Lassen
before turning a defiant glare on Rohyr.

“I
won’t let you put me away so easily, Rohyr.”



Rohyr
coldly regarded him. “Had you shown me even the faintest sign of
concern or affection, we wouldn’t have come to this pass. But ever
did you make it clear to me that I am no more than a means to your
end and cared naught about taking away what little happiness I still
possessed. Well, your hold over me is gone and I see no reason to
prolong my imprisonment in a worse than loveless union.”

“No
reason but my own,” Tyrde shot back. “I claim the rite of
challenge!” In the appalled silence that followed, he snarled, “You
are mine, Rohyr Essendri, and what is mine, I keep!”



A
cacophony of protests erupted. Yovan and Zykriel had to restrain
Dylen when he lunged at Tyrde, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Keiran’s
voice rose above the rest. “The rite of challenge has not been
invoked since the turn of the millennium!”

“Which
doesn’t make my claim any less valid,” Tyrde crowed. He looked at
Yovan, his smirk just this side of smug. “You spoke of the law,
Uncle. Well, the right to challenge is mine by law and I demand
satisfaction.”

Rohyr
had risen to his feet. “If you think I will stand for this—!”



Tyrde
refused to flinch before his glare. “You are not above the law,
Rohyr. Not

even
you can gainsay my claim.” Seeing Rohyr at a loss for words even in
his fury, he turned blazing eyes on Lassen. “You want him?” he
taunted. “Fight for him. Let’s see how determined you are to win
yourself an Ardan when the cost of it may be your very life!” He
snickered at Lassen’s bewilderment.

“Nay!”
Imcael cried out. “Tyrde, are you mad? You’ll bring grief upon us
all!” Tyrde scowled. “Surely you don’t doubt my skills, Aba.”

“I
do not. But this will only worsen matters.”



“How
so? The law will uphold my right to reclaim my spouse and marriage.”
“They are bound,” Imcael reminded him. “A widowed soul-spouse
will languish



after
his mate without cease. If you slay the Half Blood, you will condemn
Rohyr to never-ending grief. That is the nature of soul-binding!”

Tyrde
stared at him then glanced at Rohyr. The king was regarding him with
mingled rage and apprehension. Tyrde scowled. He knew at whom Rohyr’s
anger was aimed and on whose behalf he was fearful. Tyrde faced his
sire.



“I’m
hardly to blame for that,” he haughtily declared. Shocked, Imcael
sputtered, “Rohyr is your cousin!” “Who cares as much for me as
I do for him.”

“He’ll
loathe you evermore!”



Tyrde
shrugged. “What need has an Ardis for love?” Before Imcael could
react, Tyrde pointed at Lassen. “Meet me in the sparring yard at
the fourth bell, Lassen Idana. That should be more than enough time
to shrive yourself and bid your child and my dear spouse farewell.”



“Blood
need not be spilled,” Rohyr cut in. “I won’t press for divorce.
You will remain Ardis.”

“And
ever will I come after that whoreson even if he bears no title.”
Tyrde sneered. “In making him your soul-spouse you ensured that he
won’t live to enjoy it. And I shall take great pleasure in your
misery over your part in his demise.”



He
swept out of the chamber, motioning to his sire to follow him. Imcael
hesitated but seeing the expressions on the others’ faces, he
heaved a shaky breath and departed. The rest gathered around Rohyr
and Lassen in dismay and anger.



“You
can’t let him do this, Roh,” Dylen protested. “The law—”
Gilmael unhappily began.



“Hang
the law!” Dylen growled. “That this one hasn’t been invoked in
nigh a thousand years is evidence of its barbarism.”

“Yet
Tyrde is right,” Jareth reminded them all. “It’s still the law
and one that grants him the right to challenge his rival. The
question is whether Lassen is ready to fight him.”



They
looked at Lassen. His brows were knitted in confusion.

“I
don’t understand. What is this rite? And why must I fight him?”

Rohyr
blew his breath out. “It’s an ancient ritual, harking back to the
beginnings of our race. And even then it was seldom invoked unless
the chances of victory were great. In this day, even fewer remember
its existence as the last time the rite was practiced was many
centuries ago.” He took Lassen’s hands in his. “Essentially,
it’s a means by which a spouse in a failed union where there is
another party involved can salvage his honor and at the same time
keep his marriage intact. The aggrieved spouse challenges the lover
of his partner to a duel. To the victor go the spoils. In the case of
the challenger, that means keeping his marriage intact. His mate has
to abide the outcome and return to his side.”

“And
the loser?”



Rohyr’s
grip on Lassen’s hands tightened. “It’s a duel to the death,
Las. The winner takes everything including his opponent’s life.”

Lassen
gulped. “Sweet Veres,” he whispered. “He means to do away with
me once and for all. He knows I have little experience in actual
combat.”

“But
what if Lassen refuses?” Keosqe asked.



“He
can’t refuse,” Yovan heavily said. “Once the challenge is
issued, it must be answered. The only way to avoid fighting Tyrde is
for you to flee. But that would make you an outlaw and fair game for
every bounty hunter in the land.”



“Should
you leave Ylandre, you won’t be permitted to return either,”
Eiren added. “Nor will you be allowed to bring Vyren with you since
he is a scion of the Royal House.” He paused then quietly said,
“And because you are bound, you’ll both feel less than whole
every day of your lives. There is no assuaging the grief of sundered
soul-spouses.”

“So
I wouldn’t lose my life but I would lose everything that would make
life worthwhile,” Lassen murmured. He gazed at Rohyr, eyes bright
with frustration. “I have no choice, do I? I mustn’t only fight
for the right to have you, I must win to secure your freedom. If I
lose, I shall die and I’ll do so knowing I’ve condemned you to a
twilight existence. And if I flee, we’ll both suffer a lifetime of
pain. Tyrde has chosen his revenge well.” He pressed his face
briefly into Rohyr’s shoulder. After a tense moment, he lifted his
head and said, “I had best spend what time I have left with you and
Vyren.”



*
* * *



Lassen
held little hope of surviving a duel with a more seasoned fighter.
Tyrde was not as proficient in the field as his cousins but he had
fought in a number of local skirmishes in his day. That was far more
experience than Lassen had.



He
held his son close, breathing in his baby sweet scent, listening to
his cheerful coos and first stuttering attempts at speech and feeling
his small body snuggled against his, perhaps for the very last time.
He crooned a lullaby to Vyren, hoping to make him sleep before he had
to leave him. More than anything, he wished for his child’s final
encounter with him to be a happy, peaceful one.

When
Vyren nodded off, he looked up at Rohyr in relief only to grimace a
moment later. The king’s expression quite broke Lassen’s heart.
Rohyr had lost the struggle to hide his feelings. Anguish, guilt and
helplessness played across his face and showed in the droop of his
shoulders and listless clench of his hands on his knees. Lassen laid
Vyren in his crib and went to his mate.

It
was obvious that Rohyr was berating himself for failing to avert the
recent troubles that had beset the both of them. He was blaming
himself for not having known the details of an obscure law exclusive
to one fief and one clan in all the land, for not anticipating the
invocation of an ancient rite that had long been forsaken and
forgotten by all but a handful, and for trusting one he loved as a
parent even when that one had often tried his patience to distraction
and stretched the limits of his tolerance.



Lassen
knelt before Rohyr and, cupping his face in his hands, pressed a kiss
to his mouth. “No one faults you for not being perfect, ariad.
Why do so yourself?”

Rohyr
pulled him onto his lap and held him tight. “My incompetence has
imperiled you,” he whispered.

“Incompetence?”
Lassen shook his head. “That is so far from the truth, ‘tis not
in the least amusing. I must insist that—”

“You
can flee,” Rohyr cut him off, eyes bright with uncharacteristic
desperation. “I can arrange for you to live in comfort in any
country of your choosing in South Vihandra.”



“Roh—”



“I’ll
find a way for us to meet with you, Vyren and I—” “You’re so
certain I will lose?”

“Nay,
but Tyrde will take advantage of every opportunity you give him. And
you shall for you’re no killer. You’ve never slain before. Tyrde
has and he’ll kill you without pity or compunction.”



“Eiren
warned that if we’re parted overlong—” “At least you’ll be
alive.”

“Yet
dead within. Being apart from you—” “I’ll endure it.”

“But
I can’t.”



Lassen
kissed Rohyr hard to preempt any further speech. Afterwards, he
pressed their temples together, his eyes closed against the plea in
Rohyr’s gaze.

“I’m
not made to live apart from you,” he murmured. “Had you not come
after me in Camara, I would have likely perished sooner or later. To
go into exile again, away from you—‘twill kill me as surely as a
knife to the heart. Better a quick death by the sword than a slow one
in an empty bed.”

“Leaving
me behind to suffer alone,” Rohyr bitterly said.

“You’ll
have Vyren,” Lassen softly pointed out. “He’ll be reason enough
for you to continue. Who else could possibly raise him to be as
glorious and valiant a ruler as his sire? And in any case,” he
hurried on before Rohyr could speak. “In any case, don’t discount
my winning just yet. Not for naught did I learn my lessons from you.
I may yet surprise Tyrde and win myself an Ardan.”

He
opened his eyes and Rohyr saw determination in their depths. Rohyr
caught his breath as another emotion blazed into being in his mate’s
aquamarine gaze.

Take
me, ariad.
Fill me, own me. Make me scream your name.



They
did not bother to leave the couch or divest themselves of all their
clothes. Shedding only what was in the way, they clutched at each
other in frenzied need, mouths sealed in searing union, torsos
sliding against each other, hands touching, fingers stroking, Lassen
straddling Rohyr’s thighs, moving his hips to grind their lengths
together, the sensuous friction almost enough to undo them.

As
soon as his body turned, Lassen lowered himself onto Rohyr’s shaft.
There was no need for mirash
for there was little chance of conceiving while he still suckled
their son. But even had that not been the case, neither cared if
their loving led to the making of another child. All that mattered
was the primal joining of their bodies and hearts and spirits.

Lassen
wantonly rode Rohyr’s shaft, revelling in the upward slide of
piercing sword into yielding sheath. Rohyr watched him, mesmerized by
his wild abandon. Years of tutelage at his hands had borne bountiful
fruit. He nipped at Lassen’s throat, marking the pale flesh with
crimson bruises. Glancing down, he saw two dark spots of moisture on
Lassen’s shirt. He ripped the shirt open to reveal drops of milky
estra
leaking from

Lassen’s
nipples.



Lassen
cried out as Rohyr latched onto one plump bud, pulling the nutrient
rich fluid out with each hard suck. The sensation of estra
being drawn out so forcefully combined with the continued breaching
of his flesh produced pleasure so strong he sobbed from the intensity
of it.



“Veres
preserve me!” he gasped when Rohyr bucked up hard into him as he
tended to the other nipple.



Their
minds met and melded into a mesh of deepest love and purest desire.
The relentless combination of sensations colluded to drive Lassen
over the edge into an orgasm that seemed to go on forever. He
frantically hung onto Rohyr, muffling his keens against Rohyr’s
shoulder as wave after rapturous wave crashed over him, his belly and
groin seemingly a mass of ecstatically singing nerves. He slumped
against Rohyr in the aftermath, arms tight around him.



The
sound of harsh breathing and the nigh painful grip on Lassen’s hips
told him Rohyr had experienced as strong a climax. As did the
fleeting surge of heat within his belly and the rivulet of excess
semen that trickled out of his body when he lifted himself off
Rohyr’s shaft. Rohyr pulled him back onto his lap, uncaring of the
milky smears on their thighs. They lost themselves in a spate of
tender kisses, hands roaming in rightful possessiveness over each
other’s bodies.



At
length, Rohyr drew Lassen against him to nestle in his arms, his
mate’s golden head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“You
will
win, Las,” he whispered. “You must. I won’t lose you again.”



For
some reason, Lassen had the feeling Rohyr was not referring to their
separation the previous year.





Chapter
Twenty-Four





Gauntlet



A
sizable crowd gathered to watch the duel that afternoon. Tyrde’s
doing, a disgusted Dylen informed Rohyr when he arrived. It would
have been much larger had he and Yovan not ordered a fair number to
return to their duties.



“He’s
so cocksure of winning he wants as many witnesses to his victory as
possible,” Dylen fumed. “I wager he would have chosen the Great
Field for this were it permissible and invited all Rikara to watch!
Shall I have the guards clear the yard?”



Rohyr
kept his temper in check. “If there are no outside witnesses
present, Uncle Imcael could accuse us of rigging the fight should
Tyrde lose. Let them stay. But permit no more to enter the grounds. I
won’t have this turn into a circus.”



Lassen
came out of the keep with Rohyr’s personal confessor. The cleric
looked uneasily at the king before crossing the yard to Tyrde who
stood at the opposite end with his sire and coterie. Rohyr’s mouth
tightened but he refused to stoop so low as to deny anyone the chance
to be shriven.



He
slipped a protective arm around Lassen when the latter came to his
side, briefly caressing the thick braid into which his mate had bound
his hair.



“You
can best him,” he murmured. “You were a more than able student
and quicker than most besides.”

“I
had a peerless teacher,” Lassen replied, managing a grin.

Rohyr
forced an answering smile. “Just keep your head and remember your
lessons. And whatever happens, don’t refuse help from without.”
When Lassen frowned, he added, “This is no game but a fight to the
death. You can’t afford to refuse anything that could gain you an
advantage. Think you Tyrde will stay his hand?” He tilted his head
in Dylen and Jareth’s direction. “They’ll shield you from any
mind tricks he may attempt.”

“You
think he would—?”



“He’s
partaken of battle. He’ll use anything at his disposal against
you.” Rohyr lowered his voice. “I would shield you as well but I
need to conserve my strength should the worst happen.”



“What
do you mean?” “Just trust me. Please.”



Lassen
looked searchingly at him. At length, he whispered, “With my life.”



Rohyr
caught him in a tight embrace, letting him go only when Vaeren
approached them. The warrior apologetically asked permission to
inspect Lassen for any concealed weapons or protective mail beneath
his clothing. Across the yard, the Citadel guard-captain did the same
for Tyrde.



Neither
helm nor armor was permitted in a rite of challenge duel. The most
protection combatants could hope for were their sturdy leather
jerkins. The point of the duel was a fast and decisive finish, not a
protracted fight or show of skill.



Once
Vaeren was done with his search, Lassen clasped Rohyr’s hand one
last time before proceeding to the middle of the field. Tyrde eyed
Lassen malevolently as they came to stand opposite each other.

A
carefully impassive Vaeren spelled out the rules of combat to them.
They were few and simple and drawn up to ensure a quick and lethal
contest.

“No
one may intervene once the duel starts and neither of you may seek
aid should you suffer injury. A swift and merciful slaying is
preferable but should one of you be incapacitated, the other will be
declared the victor. Whereupon he is to execute the loser through
decapitation.”



They
would start with knives, which almost all Deira learned to use from
adolescence onwards. Most duels did not proceed beyond this point.
But in the rare event that the combatants were too evenly matched and
the fight promised to turn protracted, they would resort to swords to
hasten the end of the duel.



After
ascertaining that both were ready, Vaeren handed them two knives
apiece. One had a long thin blade made for stabbing and parrying; the
other was shorter and wider with a wickedly sharp edge that could
easily slice a throat or belly open. Lassen tensely waited for the
signal to begin—the blare of a herald’s horn.



He
tried to recall everything Rohyr had taught him. Still, his
inexperience showed almost at once. Whereas Tyrde took the offensive,
Lassen remained largely on the defensive, more intent on blocking
Tyrde’s blades than inflicting injury on the Ardis. Moments in
which he could have dealt blows injurious enough to debilitate the
other if not outright kill him came and went with alarming frequency.

It
appeared it would not be Tyrde’s skill that would decide the
outcome but rather Lassen’s readiness to kill or the lack of it.

He
stifled a cry when Tyrde cut deep into the back of his left hand,
only narrowly avoiding the follow up stab to his chest. He lunged
sideways then ducked under Tyrde’s swing at his throat and took the
Ardis by surprise with a feint to his thighs. Batting Tyrde’s
tardily positioned long knife out of the way, he had the satisfaction
of wiping the latter’s grin from his face.

Tyrde
stared disbelievingly at the rent in his jerkin through which a long
shallow cut across his torso was visible. Only the thick leather had
saved him from being gutted outright. That and the fact that Lassen
had once again tempered his blow.

Give
him no quarter, Las!



Lassen
bit his lower lip as he and Tyrde circled warily once more. Rohyr was
right. He could not afford to pull his punches. Tyrde went in for the
kill with each and every move. Sooner or later, highly skilled or
not, he would wear Lassen down and find another opening in his
defenses. He would not hesitate to use that opening.



The
horn sounded and Vaeren called to them to halt. Thankful for the
chance to catch his breath, Lassen watched as the captain took
Tyrde’s knives and handed him a sword in their stead. He swallowed
hard. Swordplay had never been his strong point.



He
managed a small nod to Vaeren when the latter handed him a
silver-hilted sword along with murmured words of encouragement.
Lassen did not have to heft the weapon to know it was perfectly
balanced nor did he doubt that it had been honed to lethal sharpness.
He experimentally swung it, the grip sitting comfortably in his hand.



An
inscription on the gleaming blade caught his attention. His eyes
widened when he recognized the Naeren runes spelling out Rohyr’s
full name. He glanced at his lover, managing a small smile before he
turned to face his nemesis once again.



Tyrde
scarcely waited for Vaeren to step out of the way before he charged
at Lassen. Stroke and counterstroke. Circle and lunge, swing and
parry, the clang of the blades as

they
smashed against each other seemed deafening amidst the spectators’
shouts and comments.

A
strike at his shoulder proved a ruse and Lassen barely managed to
evade the hewing blow to his belly. But he stumbled as he skipped
back and lost his footing. Horrified cries rang out as he fell. Tyrde
hurled himself at his rival, bringing his sword down on him with
shocking savagery.



Lassen
scrambled desperately to get out from under the shadow of the blade,
avoiding it with only a hair’s breadth to spare. He somehow managed
to twist out of harm’s way and lashed out with his foot to trip
Tyrde. Without pausing to think, he got to his feet and snatched up
his sword in one smooth rolling motion. A motion he had not
previously practiced in any sparring bout. Yet his body had acted as
if he had.

Tyrde
rushed him in a blur of movement and he scarcely evaded the downward
arc of the latter’s sword. But in the next moment, he was bringing
up his own sword to ward off a blow to his torso, again in a move
that was instinctive. Except Lassen knew it was not.



He
was being guided. Nay, more than that. There was a presence in his
consciousness that took over from him whenever he was at a loss as to
what to do. Saints
above!
Lassen
did not know how but Rohyr had become one with him. Momentarily
distracted
by the discovery, he did not anticipate Tyrde’s next strike. But
Rohyr did.



Lassen
saw his arms move of their own volition. Felt them pull up and raise
his sword in time to block the attempt to disembowel him. Recalling
Rohyr’s plea, Lassen willed himself to surrender to the strange
merging of their minds.



The
tide turned. Tyrde found himself on the defensive for the first time
as Lassen seemed to cast aside his qualms and go on the attack. He
ignored the onlookers, focusing solely on besting his opponent, his
eyes glittering with newfound confidence.



Watching
anxiously from the yard perimeter, Imcael wondered at the change in
Lassen’s demeanor. Not to mention his sudden mastery of the sword
where just minutes earlier he had been barely holding his own. He
stared at Lassen with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. His
stance, his tactics, the very way he held his sword— where had
Imcael seen them before?

The
Herun swore under his breath as Rohyr appeared in his mind’s eye,
looking as he did in the battles where Imcael had fought at his side.
For the next several heartbeats, it was Rohyr whom Imcael saw
duelling with his son. He angrily shook his head as if to free his
thoughts of the impossible images



Lassen
pivoted on his heel to avoid being skewered. As he came around, he
brought his sword down and in to slice across Tyrde’s flank. Tyrde
screamed as the blade cut through the leather of his jerkin and bit
deep into his side. He backed out of reach, a hand pressed to his
wound, and stared at Lassen incredulously.



“Let
us end this,” Lassen suggested, lowering his sword fractionally to
indicate his willingness to stop the fight.

Tyrde
scowled. “Only when you’re dead,” he spat.



He
rushed Lassen, repeating the tactic that had earlier so rattled the
sedyr,
he had tripped and fallen. Lassen evaded him then struck him in the
back with the pommel of his sword, hard enough to make him stumble.
Tyrde fell on one knee then attempted to right himself. Lassen swept
his other leg out from under him. Tyrde landed on his belly, his
breath forced out of him with a whoosh.

He
frantically grabbed at his sword but yelped when Lassen’s foot came
down hard on his wrist and forced him to let go. With a swift kick,
Lassen sent the weapon skidding out of reach. Tyrde quickly rolled
over only to feel the tip of Lassen’s sword pressed against his
throat.

“Much
as I hate to admit it, we are quite alike,” Lassen icily told him.
“I, too, keep what is mine. And like it or not, Tyrde Kardova,
Rohyr
is mine.”

Tyrde’s
eyes widened at the stark possessiveness in Lassen’s voice. “You
wouldn’t kill an unarmed Deir,” he said imploringly.

“You’re
right,” Lassen agreed a shade contemptuously. “And in that we are
worlds apart.” He pressed the blade ever so daintily into Tyrde’s
flesh. “Yield and I will spare you.”



Tyrde
swallowed, feeling the faint prick at his neck. “I yield,” he
mumbled. “Louder!”

“I
yield! Rohyr is yours!”



Lassen
drew back his sword and lowered it. At once, a murmur of confusion
and protest broke out. One voice rose above the babble.

“The
law decrees that the victor takes all!”



Lassen
swept the dissenters with a glare. “And can’t the victor choose
what he desires to take?” he demanded. A hush descended on the
crowd. He looked down at his ashen-faced foe. “He is kin to the
Ardan, the son of his sire’s brother. I won’t stain my hands with
the blood of an Essendri.” He searched for the Deir who had spoken
out loud. “Can you
stomach it?” he challenged, holding his sword out to him. When the
latter looked down abashed, Lassen grimly smiled. “I thought not.”



There
was movement to his side. He saw Rohyr striding swiftly toward him.
He beamed and went to him.

Oblivious
of the onlookers, Rohyr swept him into a tight hug and pressed his
face into the gold of his hair. Through the corner of his eyes, he
descried Imcael helping Tyrde to his feet. Behind them, a guard
retrieved Tyrde’s sword and approached them to return it. Rohyr
released Lassen and turned to address his uncle. In the next instant,
he was staring at a javelin as it shot through the air straight at
him.

Tyrde
had shoved the guard aside and grabbed his spear as the other
stumbled. He hurled it with all his might at Rohyr then hurtled
himself at his cousin almost as soon as the weapon left his hand.
Imcael tried to grab at him as he sprinted forward but failed to get
a good hold. Everyone else was so stunned by his audacity that they
reacted more slowly than was their wont.

With
a cry, Lassen threw himself in front of Rohyr. But moments before the
spear struck, it splintered into pieces in mid-air, forcing Lassen to
fling an arm up in front of his face to protect his eyes from wooden
shrapnel. While he was still recovering from his surprise, the king
snatched the sword from his hand even as he thrust him aside.



Rohyr
turned in time to deflect Tyrde’s cleaving blow. Parrying another
vicious jab, he shoved Tyrde back. Tyrde lunged at him again, sword
raised with deadly intent. Rohyr’s battle-honed reflexes took over
and he swung his sword upward and across. The blade sliced through
Tyrde’s lower body.



Tyrde
staggered back then crumpled to the ground. Imcael and Eiren were at
his side in a flash. Eiren struggled to prevent his entrails from
spilling through the terrible wound while trying to stem the massive
outpouring of blood at the same time. Rohyr dropped to

his
knees and placed his hands on Eiren’s to lend him strength. Gilmael
and Keiran swiftly joined them. While they fought to keep Tyrde
alive, Imcael anxiously cupped his son’s face.



“Why?”
he demanded in anguish. “He spared you. Gave you your life. Why,
Tyrde?” Tyrde coughed and a pink froth flecked his lips. “For
you, Aba,”
he stuttered.



Imcael
stared at him, appalled. “For
me?”



“You
should have been Ardan. You were robbed of the crown… He
was born.” Tyrde wheezed painfully. “But your heirs through me…
Your blood in them… They would have ruled… He took even that
away… Sired a bastard…”

“But
why did you attack him?”



“I
wouldn’t had I won… Easy to dispose of his brat… But I failed
and…” Tyrde hissed with the effort to keep on talking. “So I
thought it best if he died… The throne would be yours… They’d
never let a bastard…”



His
eyes suddenly widened in terror. “Dark! Getting dark!” he gasped,
spitting up more blood-tinged saliva. “Aba—!”
His eyes rolled upwards until only the whites were visible.



“Save
him!” Imcael bellowed at Eiren.



The
physician shook his head. His arms were smeared scarlet to the
elbows. “He’s lost too much blood.”

Tyrde
went completely slack. Imcael stared at him in disbelief for several
moments. He let out a heartrending wail and, pulling his son against
his breast, sobbed into his disheveled hair. His nephews quietly rose
to their feet and stepped back.



A
squire hastened to Rohyr with a basin of water that he could wash off
the blood. More did the same for the others. But none of them cared
much. Not when close kin wept brokenly over the lifeless body of one
of their own.





Chapter
Twenty-Five





Aftermath



Rohyr
studied his uncle as the latter entered the royal apartment. Imcael’s
face looked grey and wizened, as if a score of years had caught up
with him in a fortnight’s time. And he walked with the heavy
shuffling tread of the bone-weary. The loss of his youngest son in
the most ignoble of circumstances had devastated the Herun to the
core.

He
dipped his chin in curt acknowledgement of Rohyr’s gesture to him
to sit down. While Rohyr poured him a cup of wine, he looked about
the room.

“Last
I visited here was on the morning of your coronation,” he remarked.
“I see you removed the old bureau in the corner.”

“I
found it too big and unwieldy,” Rohyr said.



“Then
I suppose you changed the bedchamber furniture as well.” “I did.
It’s no longer overly crowded in there.”

Imcael
nodded. “Keldon planned to refurbish this suite. Right after Dyrael
died. But he followed your adda
to the grave too soon.” The Herun sighed. “If only he had
listened to the grooms when they warned him it would be too dangerous
to ride his new zentyr unbroken.”



Rohyr
said nothing. He had been present when his sire was thrown. The fall
resulted in a fractured skull. Keldon had not woken again and died
three days later. With Dyrael gone as well, Rohyr began his reign an
orphan with only Imcael and his distant sons counting as immediate
family. Imcael seemed to recall this as well for he grimaced and
waved his hand in front of him as if to banish the memory.

“I
doubt you asked to meet with me to reminisce over the past,” Rohyr
said, pushing the wine cup across the small table toward his uncle.

Imcael
accepted it. “I wished to talk about what happened,” he replied
after taking a sip. “What Tyrde said … did…”

He
looked away a moment, squaring his shoulders. Barely two weeks had
passed since the duel. Imcael’s older sons came to Rikara to fetch
their sire and brother’s body and bring both back to Qimaras. Rohyr
knew that Tyrde had been cremated just four days ago and that his urn
was now interred in the burial vault of his Kardova father. When
Imcael returned to Rikara the previous day, he at once sought an
audience with his nephew.



“I
trust you know that I don’t desire to take the crown from you,”
Imcael continued. “You are the rightful ruler of this land and I
never deemed it otherwise.”

“I
never doubted that, Uncle.”

“Tyrde…
I don’t know how he came to believe that…” Imcael shook his
head in frustration. “I do not know. I tried to be a good parent to
all my sons. Tyrde didn’t always abide with me however. And when he
grew up, he didn’t enjoy living in Qimaras as much. He came to
prefer Anju.”



“Not
surprising,” Rohyr commented. “In Qimaras, he was merely the
last-born son whereas in Anju, he was Javan’s heir. It seems he
placed much stock in bloodlines and titles.”

Imcael
flinched. “My influence, my error,” he muttered. “I should have
seen the changes in him each time he returned to my house. He oft
asked me if I resented having been displaced as heir when you were
born. No matter that I denied it, he always discussed the matter
whenever he visited.”

“Did
you deny it the first time he asked?” Rohyr inquired.

The
Herun stared at him then looked down. “He first broached the issue
after you and I had just quarrelled over some policy and I…”
Imcael grimaced again. “I complained that you’d refused to listen
to my counsel.”



“So
he did think that you were resentful and only hiding your feelings
out of duty.” “He might have,” Imcael grudgingly conceded. He
heaved a testy sigh. “I’ll never



know
for certain.” He suddenly regarded Rohyr accusingly. “There’s
something that’s been puzzling me since… During the swordfight,
your leman—“

“Lassen,”
Rohyr interrupted. “He has a name, Uncle.”



Imcael
pursed his lips mulishly but finally said, “Lassen Idana is no
seasoned warrior. Yet there came a point when he seemed to gain
expertise he had not previously possessed.” He leaned forward and
stared hard at Rohyr. “I recognized some of the moves he made, his
tactics. I’d seen you make them many a time in battle. It was
almost as if you
were in the yard, in his body, so uncanny was the likeness of his
performance to yours. I know not how you did it, but you aided him.”

“And
if I did?”

“It
was not fair to Tyrde.”



“And
was he fair to Lassen when he challenged him, knowing him for a
novice?” Rohyr looked at his uncle pityingly. “Say what you will
but Tyrde was no defenseless victim. He actively colluded with you to
coerce me into marrying him. And beyond warming my bed, he showed no
propensity for my company even when I offered it. I suppose it was
because that wouldn’t have gotten children on him. But most telling
of all, he greatly enjoyed the prospect of killing Lassen and
watching me live out my life in agony over it.”



Imcael
clenched his fingers around his cup. “Most telling?”



“I
think you suspected it as much as I, Uncle. There was something wrong
with him. Whether it was madness—or a touch of evil—I can’t
say.”

The
Herun closed his eyes and bowed his head. “It matters little now,”
he hoarsely said. “He’s dead and whatever he held within died
with him. Still, I love him and shall always grieve his loss.”

“But
of course. I expect no less.”



Imcael
opened his eyes and silently regarded his nephew for a space. Rohyr
returned his perusal just as silently. At length, Imcael exhaled and
placed his cup on the table.

“It
was never my intention but I put you in grave peril and caused you
much unhappiness as well,” he reluctantly admitted. “In that I’ve
done a greater disservice to this realm than your leman ever did or
could.”



He
rose to his feet. “Yovan is right. I’ve permitted my beliefs to
dictate my choices to the point of ignoring sound advice and
disregarding the opinions of others. Hardly the mark of a good
counsellor. I had best retire to Qimaras. It’s time for Mahael to
make a place for himself in your court.”

“He’ll
be most welcome,” Rohyr assured him.

After
Imcael departed, Rohyr leaned back and stared at the dregs in the
bottom of his

cup
for several minutes. Finally, he stood and entered the bedchamber. He
smiled upon seeing Lassen seated in the corner chair, a drowsing
Vyren in his arms. Dressed in a loosely belted robe, he had just
finished suckling their child.



Rohyr
took his son and cradled him a while, pressing kisses to the babe’s
petal-soft cheeks and the downy hair on his crown. Certain that Vyren
was fast asleep, he laid him in his crib and tucked him in.



“You
heard?” he asked as he straightened. Lassen nodded. “I truly pity
him.”

Rohyr
took his hand and led him to the bed. They reclined against the
headboard in companionable silence, Lassen ensconced in Rohyr’s
arms. At length, Lassen stirred and regarded Rohyr curiously.



“Roh?”

“Hmm?”

“Will
you tell me now?” “What do you want to know?”



“To
start? Well, what you did during the duel… It seemed like you were
there with me. In me. And then you—you tore that spear apart. I
know you’re especially talented but that was beyond anything I’ve
ever heard adepts being capable of.”



Rohyr
hesitated then exhaled. “I am a templar,” he quietly said. Lassen
stared at him. “Like Tenryon?”

Rohyr
dipped his chin in assent. “It’s why I trained under him. My
parents let everyone believe that they chose him because they wanted
the best teacher for me. Well, Tenryon is the best. But the real
reason I spent a good portion of my adolescence in Ziana was because
it is there that all the templars of Ylandre are trained. It’s our
brotherhood’s base.”

Lassen
blew his breath out. “Does Imcael know?”



Rohyr
shook his head. “It’s up to each of us to choose to whom to
reveal ourselves. I can’t tell you who the others are; it’s not
my right. So far, I’ve told only Dylen, Eiren and you. And in
Eiren’s case, it was because I felt that my personal physician
should know all there is to know about me.”



“But
the others… It seems as if they know.”



“They
ascribe many of my uncommon abilities to the Essendri potential. My
family is strongly gifted after all and I am doubly so because my
parents were of the same line of descent. More than that they may
suspect but they do not know for certain.”

“Will
you ever tell them?”



“If
disclosure becomes crucial.” “Why the secrecy?”



“We
are better served when we can move amongst the populace anonymously.”
“But Tenryon makes no secret of what he is.”

“It
is he who initially trains our acolytes and training starts in
adolescence. It’s easier to ask parents to entrust their sons to
him if they know who he is.”

Lassen
lapsed into ruminative silence. “When you spoke of our bond,” he
said after a brief while. “You said it pre-dated our first
meeting.”

“Do
you recall how I sought you in Tal Ereq?” Rohyr asked. When Lassen
nodded, he said, “Your spirit called to mine. It was why I probed
your thoughts. I had to ascertain that it was indeed you returned to
me.”

“I
don’t understand.”



“Though
a reborn Deir no longer harbors the memories of his past lives, his
spirit will always remember,” Rohyr explained. “They are locked
in the innermost chambers of the mind, accessible only to those
gifted with the key.”

“Like
you.”



“Like
all the templars. We are the only ones who can recall every life
cycle of our existence and withstand the burden of it. All others
would go mad from such knowledge.”

“Then…
I was right,” Lassen said. “You were
in Ziana. Right after it was sacked by the Varadani. You saw the
slaughtered priests in the temple.”

Rohyr
said, “I was born Diorn Essendri, second son to Wylan Essendri,
Ardan of Ylandre.”

Lassen
gaped at him, more shocked by the discovery of Rohyr’s previous
identity than by the disclosure that he was a templar. After pausing
for a few seconds to allow for Lassen to recover from his surprise,
Rohyr continued.



“As
is the way of our kind, I’m always reborn an Essendri though not
necessarily within the immediate royal family. I’ve served through
many generations under Tenryon’s leadership. But I’ve also always
done my duty to my House. In all my lifetimes I have served this
realm in one capacity or another—governor, warrior, diplomat,
educator.”

“So
you knew me from a previous life,” Lassen ventured.



“More
than that. I loved you in a previous life.” Rohyr smiled at
Lassen’s stunned expression. “You had my heart in your keeping
before you were born and have had it for some twelve hundred years of
life and death.”



Once
again Rohyr paused to give Lassen time to cope with yet another
shocking revelation. “I was sent to Ziana for training when it was
discovered that I was a templar. I virtually grew up there and came
to regard its people as dearly as I did the Rikarans. Toward the end
of my stay, I met Liere, a newly arrived temple acolyte. We fell in
love and formed a bond not only of the heart but also of the soul. I
swore to claim Liere as soon as he finished his ten-year of celibate
service in the temple. But when my brother Rovar tried to usurp the
throne, our sire sent for me and I perforce served in the Royal Army
in the campaign against Rovar’s insurgency. That same year, the
Varadani swept over the border and occupied the northwestern regions
of Ylandre. They captured Ziana and made it their base. You know the
rest of the story.”

His
eyes glistened as they had when he first recounted the story to
Lassen a decade ago. “Liere was one of the acolytes who took their
lives. I grieved for him so deeply that I only handfasted with the
consort my advisers later urged on me. And down through the
centuries, it was for dynastic purposes that I wed and sired sons.
But never in fane marriage. I couldn’t bind myself to another
before Veres; not until Liere was restored to me.” Rohyr’s voice
lowered to a shaky whisper. “But the taking of one’s own life is
a wound to the spirit that is extremely slow to heal. Liere was not
reborn until now. Until you.”



Lassen
stared at him in awe. “Incredible,” he said in a hushed voice.



They
fell silent for a long while as Lassen digested the information.
Feeling Rohyr’s gaze on him, he looked at his mate and saw his
uncertainty as well as his yearning. It moved him beyond words that
Rohyr had waited all these centuries to reclaim him. He leaned over
to kiss his spouse tenderly, hungrily.

“I
want you to know,” he murmured against Rohyr’s lips. “I am
yours not by dint of any bond but because I love you with all that I
am. And now that we are soul-mated, we shan’t ever again be parted
for long. It gladdens me that we’ll always seek each other in every
lifetime to come.”

Rohyr
groaned and pulled him flush against him. His hands slid under
Lassen’s robe to caress his bare skin and moved down his sleek back
to cup his firm bottom possessively. Breaking their kiss as little as
possible, Lassen shrugged off his robe and set to undressing Rohyr as
well.



As
soon as the last of his clothing came off, Rohyr bore Lassen down and
pinned him to the bed. Lassen gasped as their shafts came into
contact, sliding against each other with maddening sensuousness.



“I
want to taste you,” Rohyr growled against his throat.



Lassen
trembled as Rohyr slid down between his thighs then moaned when he
was drawn into the moist warmth of his beloved’s mouth. He
struggled to keep his wits, which he knew would soon scatter quite
spectacularly to the four winds if Rohyr continued what he was doing.



“Let
me pleasure you, too,” he managed to say.



Rohyr
grinned as Lassen hurriedly shifted around. A moment later, he caught
his breath when Lassen tended to his hard shaft, drawing upon it with
gusto. Not to be outdone, Rohyr quickly resumed his onslaught on
Lassen’s length. They thrust into each other’s mouths, their
pleasure spiralling in near tandem.



Rohyr
pried Lassen’s legs farther apart and set upon the inviting
entrance behind his seed pouch. Lassen whimpered in pleasure around
his luscious mouthful as Rohyr wickedly drew his tongue along moist
nether lips before dipping repeatedly into the glistening channel
beyond. Lassen’s seed sac tightened and lifted, exposing him
further. With a final swipe of his tongue, Rohyr pulled Lassen back
under him.

Lassen
cried out as Rohyr drove deep into him with one thrust. The world
without diminished to nothingness as he was taken to the heights of
bodily ecstasy. Nothing mattered but the incessant ingress of hot,
hard flesh into him, Rohyr moving with feral grace, his lustful,
loving thoughts mingling with Lassen’s, taking possession of him
all over again. Lassen tightened his hold on Rohyr and a litany of
words spilled from him to punctuate the earthy sounds of their
lovemaking. Harder.
Deeper. Yours. Mine. I love
you!



Just
when he was on the brink of completion, when it seemed reality would
shatter around him, Rohyr pulled out, his shaft gleaming with the
slippery essence of Lassen’s sheath. Before Lassen could protest
his withdrawal, Rohyr lifted Lassen’s buttocks and spread them to
expose the rosy entrance to his backside. Holding Lassen’s
transfixed gaze, Rohyr slid into the heated heady softness beyond
until he was completely seated within.



Lassen
choked back a cry as he was summarily filled. Rohyr resumed pounding
into him while shoving his fingers repeatedly into his sheath. The
blatant show of ownership on top of the deluge of sensations proved
too much.



He
would have screamed the Citadel down, so powerful was his orgasm, but
Rohyr kissed him and swallowed his cries. Denied even that outlet for
the outward expression of his pleasure, Lassen clung to Rohyr, hoping
his sanity would survive the mind-blowing rapture.

Rohyr
swiftly followed him into ecstasy, the spasmodic contractions of
silk-bound muscles around his shaft milking him of his seed while the
satiny walls of Lassen’s seed channel convulsively gloved his
embedded fingers. He smothered his own cries against Lassen’s lips
as he surrendered wholly to his climax.

“Saints
above,” Lassen raggedly whispered many heartbeats afterward. “Do
you want to drive me mad?”

Rohyr
chuckled against his heaving chest. He lifted his head and grinned at
Lassen. “If you mean mad for more, the answer is ‘yes’,” he
quipped.

Lassen
groaned and threw his head back. A moment later, Rohyr tongued a
nipple. He licked off drops of leaked estra
before closing his lips around the slightly swollen bud to lazily
suckle it.



Lassen
gasped and shivered. “You’ll be the death of me yet!” he
moaned. Rohyr moved atop him, his scapegrace grin gracing his
handsome face. “But it would be a wonderful way to go,” he
cheekily drawled.



With
that, he kissed his sputtering love, forestalling any further
protests and stoking the fires of their mutual passion anew.





Epilogue





Milestone



Rikara,
in the 3009th year of the Common Age



Lassen
Essendri tir
Idana lifted his eyes to the circlet of pure white-silver adorned by
one large and flawless adamant and a number of small but perfect
diamonds. Above the adamant, delicately inscribed in the gleaming
metal, was a spray of royal holly. Resting upon a marble pedestal
before the altar, the diadem mirrored the crown that sat on Rohyr
Essendri’s dark head.



A
fitting coronet for the Ardis of Ylandre.



He
licked his lips nervously as the High Magistrate of Rikara intoned
the rights and duties of a monarch’s consort. How strange to hear
them when they were no longer another’s to perform. His breath
hitched when Rohyr left his side to stand before him. Behind Rohyr,
Dylen lifted the coronet on its silken cushion and bore it to his
brother.



Lassen
went down on one knee before Rohyr, conscious of the assemblage
behind him. The last time the temple of Rikara had been so packed was
when Rohyr himself was proclaimed Ardan. Lassen’s predecessor was
not crowned in the hallowed edifice but rather in the great reception
hall of the Citadel, as was the custom for a consort not espoused in
fane union to the king.

As
the Prelate of Rikara invoked the formal benediction, Lassen’s eyes
dropped to his right hand and the ring of intertwined gold and
white-silver bands on the middle finger. It was not only his crowning
that the nobles and notables of the land had come to witness but also
his temple binding to Rohyr, which had taken place immediately before
the coronation rite. He was no longer Rohyr’s leman but his lawful
spouse and heart’s mate.



He
glanced up and chanced a quick appraisal of those dearest kith and
kin who stood on either side of the altar. Keosqe Deilen and the
Calanthe twins Gilmael and Zykriel. Kindly Yovan Seydon and his son
Rysander. Tenryon Hadrana and his equally enigmatic half-brother
Jareth. Riodan Leyhar and Shino Essendri flanking nigh unflappable
Eiren Sarvan. Reijir Arthanna and his irrepressible sibling Keiran.
Fellow officers Ranael Mesare and Vaeren Henaz. The brothers Mithani
Aeldan and Ashrian of seaward Glanthar. Yandro Vaidon, Ruomi Garvas,
ever faithful Josel.



Last
but far, far from least, his dearest Aba
Dael and Adda
Mithre, there in the place of honor to the left of the altar, looking
on proudly with tear-bright eyes. With them were Yuilan and Fileg,
elated as only the brothers of the royal consort could be.



Imcael
had declined to attend but his remaining sons were present. They
stood on the opposite side of the altar from the Idanas. Relations
between Rohyr and Imcael would never truly recover but Mahael and
Ronuin were making an effort to maintain the ties of family however
loose they had come to be.



Lassen
caught his breath when he realized the Prelate had stopped speaking.
He glanced up and saw Rohyr take the coronet from Dylen. He closed
his eyes and shivered slightly as Rohyr placed it on his head.

It
was quite heavy, laden as it was with gems and wrought from pure
metal. But there was more to the sense of heaviness than its mere
weight. As he uttered the vows of rulership, Lassen acutely felt the
profundity of the new obligation he had taken upon himself—the
well-being of the country his spouse governed.

Rohyr
took his hand and smilingly pulled him to his feet. He bade him turn
around and presented him to the people.

Thunderous
applause broke out amidst shouted greetings of welcome and approval.
A herald hastened to the gathered throng in the temple plaza while
couriers rode out to proclaim the news of the king’s marriage and
the coronation of his new consort.

Feeling
overwhelmed, Lassen drew a deep breath, hoping to calm himself. Rohyr
pulled him close and pressed a tender kiss to his lips to the rousing
cheers of the assemblage. Lassen smiled into the kiss, his anxiety
dissipating. Trust Rohyr to place his comfort above protocol and
propriety. Was it any wonder Lassen had fallen in love with him
almost from the start?

Leaning
into Rohyr’s embrace, Lassen marvelled at the road down which fate
had taken him. Leading him into the arms of his heart’s choice. His
beloved king. His forever mate.





Glossary
of Terms





Aba
‘sire’
Parent who functions as the head of the family and principal
caregiver.
Adda ‘father’
Parent who functions as the principal caregiver of the family.

Ardan
In
the 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 populate 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.

Heris
(pl. Herise) A
Herun’s consort.

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.

Inception
Term
for the period of engineered racial evolution wherein the colonizing
Naere
bred with the native gelra which led to the emergence of the present
day Deira.



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 race of origin.



Opa
‘grandsire’
Grandparent who functions as the head of the family.
prefect The
chief officer of a constabulary base.

sedyr
(pl. sedyra) ‘Half
Blood’ Deir whose antecedents bred indiscriminately with
the
gelra during the Inception which resulted in the diminishment or
disappearance of many of the characteristics of the Naere in
succeeding generations.

templar
Extraordinarily
mentally gifted Deir.



thar
Formally
designates the House name of a Deir of noble birth who goes by a
different
clan name or surname, e.g. Tyrde Kardova thar
Essendri.



tir
Conjugal
term used to introduce a bound Deir’s birth surname if he takes his
spouse’s
surname, e.g. Lassen Essendri tir
Idana.

tribune
A
high-ranking military officer

tyar
General
honorific for someone of higher years or station or whose profession
warrants
more than general courtesy.

viratha
‘Imprinting’
A process by which a Deir ensures that his concubine cannot

have
sexual relations with another partner.





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
takes 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. One of a handful of winners in a nationwide
journalistic competition, she is 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



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other exciting erotic romances.





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