By Chance Met

Chronicles of Ylandre, Book Three

Eressë

(c) 2011

By Chance Met

Chronicles of Ylandre, Book Three

Eressë

Published 2011

ISBN 978-1-59578-867-2

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011, Eressë . All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

raven@LSbooks.com

Editor

Devin Govaere

Cover Artist

Anne Cain

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

A chance meeting heralds the convergence of two heretofore wildly divergent fates.

From the moment he laid eyes on the handsome Lord of Ilmaren, Naeth Orosse fell head over heels in infatuation with him. And after that first meeting in the middle of a tavern brawl in the dual-gendered realm of Ylandre, Reijir Arthanna did not forget the orphaned youth who came to his aid unasked. When fate brings them together anew, Reijir becomes Naeth’s guardian, which proves both blessing and bane when their mutual attraction is guilelessly nursed by one and distrustfully downplayed by the other.

Between attempting to ignore Naeth’s artless overtures and suppressing feelings he had long disavowed, Reijir has his hands full. But more than a title and duty were forced on this enigmatic cousin of Ylandre’s king. A less than benevolent past has left its imprint on Reijir who is as known for his cynical outlook on life as he is for his exotic features and proficiency between the sheets. Convincing him to risk his heart in love is a battle more experienced Deira than Naeth have waged and invariably lost.

Publisher’s Note

There are glossaries of terms, characters and places at the end of the book.

Prologue

Imposition

Ylandre, in the 2986th year of the Common Age

“I’m sorry you must pay so high a price, brother.”

The newly named heir apparent of Ilmaren half turned from the window and the view of the spacious courtyard fronting the great Arthanna manse. Reijir looked at Keiran questioningly, raven eyebrows rising.

“Why apologize for a deed you didn’t commit?” he asked.

Keiran shrugged. “Because Aba never will.”

Reijir snorted and shook his head. He looked out the window again, his studied indifference belying the welter of confused emotions Keiran could sense underlying his calm. The older Arthanna son stifled a sigh.

Veres almighty, Reijir had just attained the age of consent and was still five years short of his majority. He’d only started to live—really live—and all of a sudden their sire had yanked the figurative rug from under him and ensured a lifetime of unrelenting duty and service to their fief and its people.

Keiran waited several heartbeats before continuing. “You’ll suffer more for this than I,” he said.

Rejjir glanced back at him, frowning. “Will I? You know Aba intends to contract you before summer’s end. Is being forced into an unwanted union no hardship for you, Kei?”

“It’s a hardship for anyone, but I’ve expected it all my life,” Keiran pointed out.

“You haven’t. And even less are you ready to be stripped of what you do want.”

“What do you mean?”

Keiran took a deep breath before speaking. “Aba never approved of Darion. He’s barely tolerated your affair with him as it is. Think you he’ll stay his hand now that you’ll succeed him?”

That made Reijir turn around to face him, his eyes widening with consternation.

“What could he possibly do to take Darion away from me?”

“That I can’t say,” Keiran said. “But he spoke with Darion yestereve after he informed me that he intended to name you heir.”

Reijir stared at him. “How do you know?”

“Right after we talked, he ordered his steed readied. I wondered why—he rarely goes riding nowadays. So I told Ruomi to go after him. He followed Aba to Balas, Rei. To Darion’s house.”

“And only this morn did he bother to tell me of his decision.” Reijir’s eyes suddenly flashed with angry fire. “Deity’s blood! How I long for the day when we shall both be truly free of Aba and his tiresome interference in our lives!” Keiran bit his lip then murmured, “I’ll be free of him. But I fear you won’t. Not completely. He made sure of that when he bypassed me in your favor.” He smiled sadly at his brother. “You’ll always have to choose between duty and happiness for the one will not always come with the other.”

Reijir’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps. But at least I shall be the one to make those choices, not he.” He looked out the window, gazing in the direction of Balas, one of the villages that nestled among the low hills to the north of Ilmaren’s capital of Althia. “But now I think I had best pay Darion a visit.” He turned eyes darkened with apprehension on Keiran. “What did Aba do, I wonder?”

“Likely he attempted to persuade Darion to end your affair. What other reason could there be for that visit?”

“Likely you’re right. And if he succeeded…” Reijir drew a deep breath. “What then will I do?”

At times like this, Keiran was reminded of just how innocent his brother still was despite the yearlong liaison that had introduced him to love and only lately initiated him into the word of carnal pleasure. He reached for Reijir’s shoulder and gripped it.

“You’ll do what you’ve always done, Rei. Pick yourself up and move on.”

“If I can.”

Grim-faced, Reijir turned away and strode out of the study. Keiran gazed after him with a heavy heart. Many minutes later, he looked out the window and saw his brother walk out to the courtyard below where a groom had a steed ready for him. Reijir looked composed as he almost always did, but Keiran was not deceived by that calm façade. He watched Reijir mount the sleek beast and ride out of the keep.

Keiran murmured a silent prayer, hoping against faint hope that fate had not conspired against Reijir and a chance at true happiness.

Chapter One

Fortuity

Rikara, in the 3006th year of the Common Age

Naeth tucked stray strands of umber-hued hair behind his ear as he quickly wiped a tabletop of spilled alcohol and food crumbs. He looked around, checking to see if there were other tables to clear and clean, before returning to the back room to wash used tankards, glasses and plates. He sighed when he saw the number of dishes piled up in the sink.

He supposed he should be grateful that Camrion had invested in a basic plumbing system for his tavern’s washing needs. Naeth could only imagine how it must be in other establishments dependent on the public spigots and deep wells outside. Not to mention the questionable state of the cleanliness of their glassware and dishes.

That was probably one good reason why the Vomare’s clientele was a hair’s breadth more genteel than those of its neighbors. That its proprietor also took pains to keep the lowest of the riff raff out of his establishment was another. Thus there were not as many frays on the premises on any given day, and Camrion had to eject rowdy patrons perhaps only once an evening four or five nights a week. That was quite a feat when compared to the multiple near destructive brawls that regularly occurred in other barrooms.

Nonetheless, the Vomare was the last locale in all Ylandre one might have expected to find young Naeth Orosse. For that matter, the seedy south district of Rikara was no place for gently bred youngsters of the gentry. Troublesome enough during the day, the district was downright perilous come nightfall for the naïve and unarmed.

Naeth became acutely aware each and every night that he did not belong in the district and should not have come here at all his first day in from the fief of Losshen. But an orphan of next to no means did not have much of a choice, and Naeth could only count himself most fortunate that nothing horrid had happened to him when he sought help from an old friend of his father’s.

“A fire!” Camrion had repeated with horror when Naeth recounted the circumstances of his entire family’s demise. “Merciful Veres. I hope they didn’t suffer too much. And you? How did you escape?” 

“It was such a hot night, I went out to sleep on the porch,” Naeth mournfully explained. “Next I knew all the houses on the street were aflame. The fire spread so quickly, many of our neighbors were trapped in their homes.”

“Yes, this past summer was unusually hot,” Camrion agreed. “Everything would have been as dry as tinder, even the houses.” He sighed regretfully. “So, what about you?

Why did you come to me?”

“Adda oft talked about you,” Naeth answered. “He said you were one of his best friends and that you both made a promise that you would look after each other’s families in case you—well, in case.”

“We did promise,” Camrion admitted. He shook his head. “We were so young then.

As you can see, I’m just a simple tavern owner. What did Jiron wind up doing?”

“Adda taught at our town school.”

“Ah yes, he was always something of a scholar.” Camrion smiled reminiscently. “I did wonder how we ended up being friends.” He sighed again. “Well then, I suppose there’s always room for another helper. Mind you, it’ll be more than serving customers and cleaning tables. You’ll have to help in the kitchen, too, and with the washing up as well.”

So here was Naeth, doing odd jobs at a Rikara tavern. It was not what his parents would have ever expected him to do. But then they had not expected to die so suddenly either, leaving their youngest son alone and without resources beyond an old friend from days gone by. And in any case, it was far more respectable work than toiling in a brothel for instance. Now if only Camrion’s mate Lemael were as sympathetic, but one could not have everything.

Naeth came out of the back room, carrying a tray of clean tankards. He arranged them on the shelves under the counter. A rush of fresh air and sounds from the street outside heralded the arrival of newcomers, and Naeth glanced at the tavern entrance. He stared at the party of Deira who strode into the Vomare, stripping off their gloves as they did.

Though hardly dressed for a formal night out, judging from the quality of their attire, they were countless cuts above the Vomare’s other patrons. And the way they carried themselves—such assurance came not from the mere knowledge of being of a higher class but from the actual daily experience of it. Naeth realized even without knowing their identities that these Deira were not ordinary well-born enyra or True Bloods, the de facto ruling class. They were bluebloods from the highest echelons of Ylandrin society.

His conclusion was borne out by the elliptical gold earrings they wore on their left ears, adorned either by sapphire, emerald or creamy milkstone.

He thought in passing of his suncrystal stud—emblem of his minority—hidden in the depths of his closet in the tiny attic room Camrion had provided him three floors up.

Camrion had advised Naeth not to reveal his social station. The earrings of the common folk, if they could afford them in the first place, bore no stones, gems being the exclusive domain of the aristocracy and gentry. Though Naeth’s parents had been lower caste sedyra or Half Bloods who’d worked to support their family, his sire’s antecedents had been respectable enough to merit him inclusion in the minor gentry.

Naeth watched the bluebloods take over a table, unmindful of the sidelong glances and curious gazes aimed at them. There were four of them, all arrestingly handsome, strong looking, sinuous of build and taller than the average Deira. Two were dark-haired, one was quite fair and the fourth had a head of bright red-brown tresses. Of the dark-haired pair, one bore a marked resemblance to the mahogany-haired Deir leading Naeth to suspect they were close kin. The other was of such striking countenance Naeth had to remind himself not to stare too closely at him.

It was his first sight of a Deir of Khitairan descent. Thus the noble’s forest green eyes with their distinct slant at the outer corners were more than enough to rouse and keep Naeth’s fascination. The rest of his features were no less beauteous. The delicate lines of his cheeks and jaw were offset by his steely eyes, a patrician nose and a firm, finely-shaped mouth—all framed by gleaming jet black hair shot with strands of midnight blue. Naeth’s eyes were drawn to the sapphire in the center of the earring that adorned the blueblood’s left ear.

The youth briefly pondered which aristocratic rank was conveyed by a sapphire then dismissed the thought as irrelevant and continued his appraisal of the noble’s face and form. A most attractive Deir, he decided, his cheeks warming slightly as he went on to imagine what the noble’s attire covered but could not quite conceal.

Befuddled by his nigh instant reaction to the Deiran lord, Naeth sidled over to Camrion who was busy filling tankards with ale.

“Why are they here?” he asked, pointing his chin in the aristocrats’ direction. “Don’t the bluebloods go to the west district for their entertainment?”

“Slumming,” Camrion replied, eyeing the nobles with anticipatory pleasure. He would make a nice profit tonight. “There are certain pastimes available only in these parts that the aristocrats occasionally seek. Like cockfighting and boxing matches. I wager they came from the cock pit down the road.” He loaded a tray with the filled mugs and handed it to Naeth. “Tovan’s gone out to piss. Tell Wilfur to stop flirting with the customers and get back to work. And bring this to the table beside the bluebloods.” He grinned when Naeth’s eyes widened. “There, I’ve given you a nice excuse to have a closer look at them.

Now go!”

Naeth gulped and went to do as he was bid. After calling the flirtatious Wilfur’s attention, he gingerly carried the drinks to the aforementioned table. Fearing he would be distracted and wind up spilling the ale, he took care to serve it first before chancing a peek at the nobles. The mahogany-haired Deir happened to look up and notice him. He gestured peremptorily to Naeth.

“You! Four ales and a meat platter,” he ordered.

At the same time, the almond-eyed noble looked at Naeth as well. He gave Naeth a quick once-over in the manner of one who routinely assessed the attributes of other Deira. Naeth froze momentarily under that verdant gaze.

One of the patrons he had just served nudged him and said, “You’d better get a move on, lad. These high-borns don’t like to be kept waiting.” Startled back into action. Naeth hastened to fill the order.

Camrion was just as quick to prepare it, and it didn’t take long before Naeth carefully bore four foaming tankards to the nobles along with the laden plate of assorted meats and other savories that were the traditional accompaniment of alcoholic drinks.

Very few asked for the platter-sized dish though as it was quite expensive even in a cheap tavern. Naeth was conscious of the envious stares that followed him to the aristocrats’

table.

He arrived to find a card game in progress. He gulped at the impressive pile of bank notes stacked in the middle of the table. As he served the nobles their ale and set the heaping platter down, he could not help hearing snippets of their conversation.

“You have a knack for choosing winners, Rei,” said the Deir who had ordered their refreshments to the exotic-looking noble. “Three in a row! How you do it is beyond me.”

“Perhaps it’s some special Khitairan talent for communicating with beasts,” the light-haired one teased. “You certainly looked each cock over a long while before placing your wagers.”

“It’s called examination, Rys, not communication,” the aristocrat named Rei pointed out. Naeth felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach as he listened to the Deir’s low honeyed voice. “And you’d have made a nice little bundle, Ash, if you’d simply followed my lead.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” Ash conceded good-naturedly. “Though it never ceases to astound me that someone as rich as you is so careful about choosing which cock to back.”

“That’s why he’s one of the wealthiest Deira in the kingdom,” the fourth Deir put in.

“And why you’d be the poorest if I didn’t rein you in.”

“Fie on you, Dan! I’m not a prodigal,” Ash vigorously protested. “But I do like to let go once in a while. And in any case, even if Rei were loose with his money, it isn’t as if Ilmaren will be bankrupted any time soon. Hey, boy, keep your elbows to yourself!” he abruptly exclaimed when Naeth hit his shoulder when he leaned over to scoop up the money set aside as payment for the food and drinks.

Naeth sucked in his breath. “I’m so sorry, Dyhar,” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean to—

that is—”

“It was an accident,” Rei mildly interjected. “No need to glare the child into conniptions.” He looked squarely at Naeth. “I believe you’re wanted,” he said, gesturing toward the bar.

“Oh, y-yes, my lord,” Naeth stammered, the sudden heating up of his face telling him he was probably blushing to the roots of his hair. “Thank-thank you. And I beg your pardon, Dyhar,” he addressed Ash. “I truly do. I—” He stopped before he strangled on his words and made a fool of himself even more.

With a diffident bow, he wheeled around and hurried away, conscious of the nobles’

amused laughter behind him.

Camrion raised inquiring eyebrows when Naeth returned to the counter. “The bluebloods needling you?” he asked.

“Nay, I hit one of them with my arm,” Naeth explained. “He wasn’t too pleased.

Never have I seen such a glower before!”

“Be glad that’s all he gave you,” Camrion said. “Some high-borns would sooner knock you flat than wait for an apology.”

Naeth winced. “He might have if the other—the black-haired one—if he hadn’t stayed him. He was kind enough to defend me.”

“The outlander?” Camrion looked the Deir over appreciatively. “Exotic-looking, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think he’s an outlander,” Naeth said. “The others spoke to him as if he were one of them. They called him Rei and, oh, the one I hit said that even if he were a spendthrift, it wouldn’t matter because Ilmaren wouldn’t be bankrupted by it.”

“Ilmaren!” Camrion stared at him then jerked his gaze back to the foursome. “And they called him Rei? Why then, he must be the Herun of Ilmaren!”

“The Herun of Ilmaren?” Naeth repeated in awe. “That Deir is a fief-lord?”

“That’s right. Reijir Arthanna his name is. And he’s cousin to the Ardan, too.” Camrion softly whistled. “Maybe they all are. You said they talk as if they’re related.” Naeth nodded. “They’re very familiar with each other.” He repeated what he had heard of the nobles’ conversation.

Camrion’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Well, well, I never imagined the Vomare would ever be graced by one of the Ardan’s kin, let alone four of them! We must make sure they enjoy themselves enough to return! Stay by them, lad. Try to anticipate what they want.”

He happily shoved Naeth in the direction of the bluebloods’ table.

Naeth stifled a sigh of exasperation as he stationed himself as inconspicuously as possible near the nobles. How did one anticipate the wants of folk one did not know? He tried to keep an eye on them without appearing to do so. But he only proved he was neither a good actor nor an accomplished spy when the nobles glanced at him a number of times, knowing smiles curving their mouths. Naeth felt the color rise in his cheeks each time they looked his way and silently cursed Camrion for putting him in such an embarrassing position.

He resigned himself to simply being on hand should they order anything else. Which they did as the evening wore on. Naeth was amazed at the amount of ale they consumed—not to mention the throat-scalding liquid that passed for whisky at the Vomare—and all the while remaining reasonably sober.

By now, many of the other tavern denizens were in varying states of intoxication as evinced by scattered hiccups and snores from different tables, escalating arguments in slurred voices, and the occasional body toppling to the floor. Several thoroughly sozzled customers were unceremoniously hauled off to the hay-laden corners of the crowded room to sleep off their drunkenness. After helping Wilfur heave a particularly hefty Deir into a corner, Naeth had to wonder at the bluebloods’ capacity for drink. Managing to listen in on their talk once in a while, he could detect little evidence of inebriation in their speech.

Oh, they were now a little looser with their laughter and all had shed their cloaks and unbuttoned their asymmetrically sleeved tunics to the waist to reveal high-collared shirts and close-fitting jerkins. Finely tailored long breeches and dress boots completed their attire. Naeth gulped when he finally noticed the sheathed daggers strapped to their belts.

Saints above, what manner of Deira were these who took their pleasures while armed for trouble? On second thought, it occurred to him that they were merely being prudent considering the district they had chosen to take their pleasures in for the evening. He started when he realized one of them was hailing him.

Oh Veres, it was the Ilmaren fief-lord. He felt his cheeks heat up under Reijir Arthanna’s gaze.

It turned out they wanted one last round of drinks before they called it a night.

Camrion gleefully complied.

“We’ve made more off them tonight than in the last three nights combined!” he crowed as he arranged the foaming mugs on a tray. “Let’s hope they decide to come back and soon!”

Naeth tightened the black riband that kept his short braid from unraveling then hefted the tray and bore it the aristocrats’ table once more. He had just placed the tankards on the table and was turning to leave when the one thing he’d been hoping would not take place did.

Several Deira at a nearby table rose to their feet and ambled their way toward the nobles. They were quite unwholesome to look at and even less pleasant to smell. And they appeared to be spoiling for a fight judging by the hostile scowls that further distorted their rough features.

Gardon and his cronies, Naeth realized with a twinge of apprehension.

He doubted there was a more quarrelsome group of toughs in the district, and he heartily wished Camrion had kept them out of the Vomare tonight of all nights. He did not return to the counter but waited a few feet away, worrying what the gang would do.

Gardon suddenly leaned down between Reijir and Dan, planting a big, fleshy hand on Reijir’s just as the fief-lord had been about to pick up his winnings. He grinned at Reijir, offering him a whiff of fetid breath and a glimpse of stained teeth.

“You don’t need that, Dyhar,” Gardon drawled, winking at his companions who had moved to surround the table. “That’s just a drop in the bucket for rich fellows like you, ain’t it?”

Reijir looked disdainfully at Gardon’s hand then followed the length of the Deir’s arm to his face, his expression growing colder by the moment. By the time he deigned to look straight at Gardon, his eyes were positively glacial.

“Unhand me,” he said, his voice low and laden with ice and steel.

Gardon blinked at him, obviously taken aback by the Herun’s chilling demeanor. But puffed up by drink and the presence of his gang, he quickly recovered and leaned down farther, forcing Reijir to pull back slightly to avoid his noxious exhalations.

“Ooh, unhand me,” he mimicked Reijir. “How very classy of you.” He glanced around at the other aristocrats. When they only glowered at him, he snickered loudly, apparently taking their lack of active retaliation for fear.

Looking back at Reijir, he said, “You’re lovely for an outlander. Kind of my type.

Tell you what, if you make it up to us, we’ll let you keep half of your winnings. Ah, don’t be scared,” he chuckled when Reijir pulled his hand away in obvious distaste. “We won’t muss you up too much. If you cooperate, maybe we’ll just let you suck us off. You’ve got a sweet mouth to go with those bonny eyes.”

Naeth nearly gagged at Gardon’s proposition. Holy Saints, but the fool was really pushing his luck!

“Aw, that’s not fair, Gardon,” one of the thugs protested. “I was looking forward to shoving my pole up that pert arse of his! Not often we get Khitairans in this part of town.

Least, not beauties like him.”

Gardon guffawed. “Well, that will depend on his lordship, hey?” He cupped Reijir’s chin and leered at him. “What say, my pretty? Ever been diddled by a real Deir? I’ll be gentle if you ask nicely.”

One moment, Gardon was grinning salaciously at the Herun. In the next instant, he was staggering back, blood streaming from his nose. Naeth gaped in disbelief. However the Herun had delivered the blow, it was so swiftly executed it had been little more than a blur to him. Gardon’s cohorts stared as well, mouths agape in shock.

“I think you broke my nose!” Gardon screamed, a hand clapped over the injured part.

Reijir smirked. “Don’t worry,” he quipped. “A misshapen nose can’t possibly make you more hideous than you already are.”

It took Gardon a minute or so to work out the Herun’s insult. When he figured it out, his face turned crimson as a beet, and with a roar, he lunged at Reijir.

The bluebloods exploded into action.

Patrons scrambled for cover as fists flew and feet lashed out in a full-scale brawl.

Naeth quickly retreated behind an upturned table, wondering how to put a stop to the fight. He leapt out of the way when one of the ruffians crashed into the table, the force of his collision nigh splitting it in half. The Deir slid to the floor, eyes open and unseeing.

Naeth stared at him in horror. He hastily crawled under another table as the fray came perilously close to where he was standing. From the relative safety of his position, he anxiously watched the action play out.

Even to his inexperienced eyes, it was clear the bluebloods had the upper hand. They fought with a conciseness and soldierly grace that bespoke years of training and deeply ingrained discipline. He winced when the fair-headed blueblood rammed his fist into his opponent’s throat, hard enough to crush his windpipe. The Deir stumbled back then collapsed a few paces from Naeth, his face turning an ugly purplish grey as he struggled for breath. Sickened by the sight, Naeth scrambled out from under the table. Getting to his feet, he looked around to see who was still standing.

He caught sight of Reijir Arthanna just as the Herun slammed a foot into a thug’s belly. When the Deir doubled over, the fief-lord grabbed him by the hair and forced his head down even as he brought his knee up to all but smash the scoundrel’s face in. The Deir slumped to the floor as gore began to obscure his features.

Naeth forced down the bile that rose in his throat. This isn’t the time or place to be sick, he told himself.

A ruffian earlier downed by the True Blood named Dan staggered to his feet. Naeth gasped in disbelief when he yanked out a long-bladed knife.

There was an unspoken rule in the south district that one did not use such weapons within the confines of the taverns and bawdy houses—the measure reduced the number of fight-related fatalities in this violence-prone section of Rikara. Flouting it could lead to the lynching of the miscreant concerned.

The mahogany-haired noble shouted a warning as the armed thug rushed Reijir, slashing the knife back and forth in an attempt to slice him up. Reijir lightly skipped back then ducked under a wild swing. Naeth watched in amazement as, in one fluid motion, the Herun came up, twisted out of harm’s way and, grabbing his foe by the hand that wielded the knife, brutally wrenched his arm back. The Deir bellowed as the limb was yanked right out of its socket. He fell to his knees, his arm dangling uselessly at his side.

It was then that Naeth noticed Gardon creeping up behind the Herun, a thick, broken off plank of wood from one of the splintered tables in hand. Naeth did not pause to think but snatched up a tray and dashed toward the pair. He brought the tray down as hard as he could on Gardon’s head just as the latter was about to bash in the Herun’s.

The tray was not heavy, and the blow only stunned Gardon. But he could not help howling upon impact. Reijir whirled to see him clutching the top of his head and turning to lay a murderous glare on Naeth. Reijir grabbed Gardon by the collar and swung him around to face him. Before Gardon could react, Reijir punched him hard. He collapsed in a heap, a frightful swelling on the side of his jaw joining up with his disjointed nose to further disfigure his unlovely face.

Naeth stared down open-mouthed at the gang leader, fright over his brush with violence inducing him to gulp down air in erratic gasps. The sight of Gardon advancing on him with homicidal rage had stripped him of whatever courage had impelled him to come to Reijir’s aid. If the Herun had not helped him in turn…

Naeth bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and willed away the urge to pass out.

When he became aware of his surroundings once more, he realized the fight was over. Gardon and his cronies littered the floor in various degrees of insensibility. One lay dreadfully still. Tovan and Wilfur and the other helpers dragged them one by one to the entrance and tossed them onto the street outside. Camrion’s spouse, Lemael, was righting tables and clearing away the inevitable debris left by a fight. And the patrons who had chosen to wait out the brawl were already settling down once more at the undamaged tables.

It was just another night in the south district.

Naeth straightened and moved to help his fellow workers. He almost caromed off Camrion when the tavern owner hastened to the bluebloods as they did up their tunics.

For Deira who had just engaged in a vicious brawl, they looked remarkably composed and unbelievably neat and untouched. But for their slightly tousled hair, the faint sheen of perspiration on their faces, and the occasional smudge on their clothes, one would have thought they’d done nothing more strenuous than taken a brisk walk down the lengthy main street of the district.

Curious, Naeth followed Camrion and came up behind him in time to hear the Deir embark on a litany of apologies to the nobles.

“My lords, I beg your pardons!” Camrion entreated, his visions of future patronage by these moneyed Deira evaporating into the miasma of vomit and stale alcohol that permeated the room. “I shouldn’t have let Gardon into the Vomare knowing what a hothead he is! But he swore not to make trouble and—Ah, I’m truly sorry!” The four looked at him in surprise. “Wherefore the apology?” Rys asked. “This wasn’t your doing.”

“Truth be told, we were getting quite bored,” Ash drawled as he drew on his gloves.

“It’s good to know there’s excitement to be had in this establishment after all.” Camrion stared at them. “Then-then you aren’t angry, my lords?” he stammered.

Fastening his cloak, Reijir Arthanna snorted. “Angry because you couldn’t keep scum out of a south district tavern?”

Looking beyond Camrion, he spotted Naeth. He crooked a finger at Naeth and motioned to him to approach. Naeth did so with wide eyes and shaking knees.

“My thanks,” Reijir said with a small smile. “You probably saved me from a cracked skull earlier.”

Naeth blushed under the Herun’s surprisingly kindly regard. He had not thought such hard, knowing eyes could also be gentle. “He-he didn’t fight fairly,” he mumbled.

“Sneaking up on you the way he did.”

The nobles laughed.

“There’s no such thing as fairness in a brawl,” Dan pointed out with a grin. “Best you learn that soonest.”

“Y-yes, Dyhar,” Naeth stuttered.

He flushed even deeper when Reijir pressed something into his hand, as much undone by the touch of the Herun’s fingers as by the gold piece he found himself holding.

Gold and silver coins were wholly the province of the very rich. Everyone else dealt in bank notes. Saints! He had the equivalent of a fortnight’s pay in the palm of his hand.

“Thank you, Your Grace!” he softly exclaimed. “But there’s no need to compensate me for only doing what was right.”

Reijir eyed him curiously. “You didn’t grow up around here, did you?” Naeth was taken aback. “Er, nay, Dyhar.”

“I thought not. Your speech is different.” Reijir’s forehead creased slightly. “It’s much too refined for this section of Rikara.”

“Oh, well, um, my parents were teachers.”

“Ah, that explains some things. But not all. Watch your back, lad,” Reijir cautioned, pointing his chin at Gardon as the semi-conscious ruffian was none too gently ejected from the premises. “Siding with me has likely made you unpopular with that sorry excuse for a Deir.”

With that, he turned away and strode out of the tavern with the others.

Chapter Two

Catalyst

As closing time neared at the Vomare, the cleaning up for the day proceeded apace even if it meant sweeping between the feet of the remaining customers. It was a rare night that the tavern closed without the need to convince folk, sometimes forcefully, to leave the premises.

Naeth mopped the floor to remove all traces of spit and spilled drink and vomit. It was an unpleasant chore on a regular day. Tonight, congealed blood added to the detritus and the smell of it almost turned his stomach. Only the stench of acrid smoke made him feel sicker.

Finishing, he returned to the back room to collect the used dishcloths and soiled rags.

He bundled them together then picked up the pail of murky water in which he had rinsed the mop. Although Camrion had installed a sink and tap for washing the dishes, to clean anything else, the Vomare workers had to use the public spigot down the road two buildings away.

As he made to leave, Lemael abruptly blocked his way. The Deir thrust two large buckets at him. Both were filled with foul-smelling, semi-liquid refuse from the kitchen.

“Here, take care of the slops!” Lemael snapped.

Naeth stiffened at his brusque order. Camrion’s mate had taken an active dislike to him almost from the moment he introduced himself. Naeth had noticed his ire when Camrion reacted with much pleasure upon discovering Naeth was the son of his good friend from way back. He wondered not for the last time whether his Adda Jiron had been more than just friends with the tavern owner. That would certainly explain Lemael’s animosity. There was no comparing Camrion’s surly, ungracious spouse with Naeth’s gentle, well-mannered birthing father.

Whatever the reason for Lemael’s resentment, it had likely been further stoked by the windfall of a gold coin Naeth had come by earlier.

As if I asked for it, Naeth indignantly thought. Maybe a low-born heathen like Lemael expected to be paid each time he extended his assistance, but Naeth had been taught better and would never deny his help to someone for lack of recompense.

Scowling, he handed the rags and the pail of rinse water to Tovan. Picking up the brimming buckets, he laboriously carried them through the main room.

“Have a care and don’t go spilling them all over!” Lemael shouted after him.

Naeth stifled a curse and the impulse to look back over his shoulder and glare at Lemael. Cheeks reddened with anger and embarrassment, he hastened out the front door, sighing with appreciation at the swirl of a cool autumn breeze. It was only about a sennight ago that last summer’s oppressive heat started to dissipate. Naeth ducked into the alley beside the tavern.

The alley was faintly lit by two dying torches, and Naeth had to watch his step lest he lost his footing on the slimy stone flooring or found himself treading on and likely squashing rotting rodents and other such unmentionables. A deep gutter ran alongside the building and it was into this that he dumped the contents of the buckets.

This can’t even pass for swill, Naeth thought, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the odor. No swine in its right mind would come near this rubbish, let alone consume it.

Naeth rubbed his aching neck. It was hard to believe his present circumstances when only little more than two months ago, he’d been safe and happy in the bosom of his family. Not to mention living in reek-free conditions that did not induce his belly to roil ever so often. A welling of grief threatened to overwhelm him, and he determinedly quelled it. He would mourn his loss later in his tiny room. Now he had work to do. But for a moment, he lost himself in fair memories, letting them wash away some of his frustration and weariness.

The moment passed. With a resigned sigh, he bent to pick up the empty buckets.

Of a sudden, a large hand clapped over his mouth from behind while a meaty arm encircled his torso.

Terrified, Naeth struggled against his assailant, kicking backward and punching what he could of him. When the Deir only grunted and began to haul him deeper into the alley, he resorted to clawing at him. He must have caught him in a sensitive spot because his captor angrily swore and let him go.

Naeth tried to run past the Deir, but the latter managed to catch him by the hem of his jerkin and pull him back. He spun Naeth around and delivered a brutal punch to his belly. Naeth dropped to his knees, gasping from the pain and fighting for breath. The Deir grabbed him under the arms.

He barely mustered a cry for help as he was dragged into the shadows at the end of the alley.

* * * *

Reijir scowled as he left the Vomare for the second time that night. What a bother that he’d left his new gloves at the tavern and only remembered them when he was practically at his doorstep. Really, had the confounded things not been Keiran’s latest begetting day gift to him, he would not have troubled to come back for them. But his finicky brother had ordered them especially for him and would have taken umbrage at Reijir’s losing them so swiftly. Made from costly Arvaldin kidskin, the gloves had come with snowy Qindalan linen kerchiefs, all with his initials and herunic crest embroidered onto them in silver and gold thread.

The gloves were much too elegant for an evening in the stews, but Keiran had insisted he wear them if he wanted to show his only brother his gratitude for such a fine gift. Given Keiran’s penchant for giving him luxurious presents, it was not the first time Reijir had expressed his thanks in similar manner. He rolled his eyes as he considered his sibling’s other eccentricities.

Reijir stepped off the pedestrian path to cross the road to the stable where he’d left his steed. An unexpected sound arrested the motion.

It was a feeble cry, and at first, he mistook it for the mewling of a kit lost in the dark alleys to his right. He heard it again.

"Please… don’t…" A pain-wracked, frightened plea.

Laughter drifted his way from the same direction. Malevolent, lecherous laughter.

Reijir headed for the alley whence the voices had emanated. Silent as a cat, he crept up to the dark passageway, alert for any sign of impending danger. The alley turned slightly to the left.

"Nay! Leave me be!" The cry was weak and anguished.

"And who's going to make me?" sneered a harsh and menacing voice.

Reijir peered around the corner.

At the end of the noisome corridor a slight figure huddled against the wall. His jerkin and shirt were torn, and the crotch of his breeches ripped open. His face and what Reijir could see of his body were bruised and bloodied. He had been savagely beaten by the hulking Deir in filthy clothing who bent over him and roughly yanked his breeches down to his knees.

The ruffian sneeringly laughed again as he tugged at the tie of his victim’s thin drawers. "Well, my pretty," he jeered, "why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself? No one's coming to your rescue!"

Reijir stepped around the corner. "The lad said nay," he snapped.

The Deir whirled in surprise. Reijir’s glare turned black when he recognized Gardon, the gang leader who had dared to accost him inside the Vomare.

He spoke in clipped tones. "Come over here, dungworm,” he ordered, his voice a shade more threatening. “Away from the boy.”

Gardon approached him slowly. Just as he reached Reijir, he suddenly swung his arm at the fief-lord’s torso. Metal glinted in the dim light.

Reijir nimbly evaded Gardon’s assault, smoothly pulling his knife from his belt as he did. Dodging another attempt to gut him, he shoved his blade deep into Gardon’s beefy right shoulder, twisted it hard then yanked it out in one practiced motion. Yowling, Gardon clapped his hand over the ghastly wound. Before he could recover his wits, Reijir dealt him a sharp blow to the chin.

Gardon grunted and slid to the ground. Reijir prodded him with his foot then let out his breath. He picked up Gardon’s weapon and tossed it into the rank canal then wiped his blade clean on the ruffian’s jerkin and shoved the knife back into its sheath. Only then did he turn to the lad who now lay still and silent on the cold alley floor.

Worried, Reijir knelt by him and examined him more closely. He softly swore when he recognized the youth despite the blood and dirt that obscured his features. Heyas, it was the lad from the Vomare. The one who had helped him. Reijir scowled and looked back at the inert thug behind him.

This had been no random assault. The scoundrel had attacked the boy in retribution for assisting Reijir.

Reijir pulled the youth’s breeches up then carefully lifted him in his arms and headed for the street. He needed more light to examine the lad thoroughly. As he passed Gardon, the thug feebly groaned and half-opened his eyes. They widened with alarm when they fell on Reijir.

The Herun looked from him to the Deir in his arms. The youngster’s face was swollen, his nose and mouth were bleeding profusely, and his chest down to his belly was an ugly patchwork of welts and bruises.

Fury bubbled up within Reijir, and he abruptly lashed out with his foot. The sound of breaking bone and snapping cartilage assured him Gardon would roam the south district no more. Satisfied, he bore his precious cargo to the Vomare.

The few remaining customers were startled into silence when he barged in. The tavern owner hastened to him with a shocked cry. Reijir did not bother to explain but set down the youth on a long table.

He tore open what was left of the boy’s shirt and swiftly examined his torso. He did not like the look of the rapidly darkening mottled patch on the latter’s belly–it was possible he was bleeding internally. And he suspected the youth’s ribs were broken judging from his pained and labored breathing.

The tavern owner caught his breath when he laid his eyes on his server’s torn breeches. “Holy Veres! Was he raped?” he anxiously asked.

Without looking up, Reijir shook his head. “I found him in time. It’s fortunate I came back,” he murmured as he lightly ran his fingers over other bruises and wounds. “The brute who did this returned to punish him for aiding me earlier.”

“Gardon did this?” the Deir exclaimed. His eyes flashed with anger. “Where is he?

I’ll slit his throat!”

Reijir smiled grimly. “Rest assured, he won’t bother anyone again.” He straightened and took off his cloak. “I must bring him to a physician. I fear his injuries are beyond a backstreet healer’s skills.” He quickly wrapped the youth in his mantle. “What’s his name?”

“Naeth Orosse, Dyhar. From Losshen.”

“So far from home,” Reijir commented. He gently gathered Naeth in his arms. “I trust you’ll take care of informing his family of this.” The Deir shook his head. “He has no family left, Dyhar. They all died in a fire. It’s why he came here. He had nowhere to go and no one to turn to other than myself.” Reijir stared at him then down at Naeth. A welling of pity and compassion rose inside him. His mouth tightened. He was not used to feeling thusly for strangers, much less strangers he had only just met. He turned and strode toward the door.

“I’ll send word of his condition soonest,” he called over his shoulder just before he swept out of the tavern.

Chapter Three

Deliverance

Naeth had never known such pain before. The broken wrist he suffered when he fell from a neighbor’s cranapple tree could not compare to the agony of his current injuries.

He had only just passed his fourteenth summer then, and his adda had been furious with him. Whether it was for risking such a tumble for a piece of fruit or for filching from someone else’s property, Naeth had never really figured out. Maybe it was both, he now speculated as past and present collided in his disjointed thoughts.

He guessed he was riding a trotting steed. Or rather he was in the arms of someone who was. He was tucked close against a firm, unyielding chest, his nose half lost in a fold of some rich material. It certainly smelled rich. Nay, it was not the material that exuded the scent of wealth, he realized. He forced his eyes to open just enough to espy an expanse of fine dark grey wool adorned down the middle with pewter-hued buttons.

Quite an expensive-looking tunic, he thought.

From the corner of his eye, he noted the close-fitting right sleeve was decoratively cut just above the elbow to reveal a tight shirtsleeve that covered the arm to the wrist. He wondered if the left sleeve was wrist-length in contrast but just as artistically edged, a style worn primarily by True Bloods. Half Bloods liked their tunic sleeves plain and loose and of equal length. He briefly speculated who the wearer was, why he was in his arms, and where he was taking him. But all too soon he forgot to even think as excruciating pain surged through his body anew.

Every muscle and joint in his body screamed in protest with every movement however slight. He could not help a moan when he and the Deir who held him made a sharp turn. At once, the arm that encircled him tightened to steady him further. He sighed and slipped back into that in-between plane of partial wakefulness.

Next he knew he was no longer in constant motion but was being borne somewhere.

Up some stairs it seemed. Just a few steps followed by the faint chime of a bell. Again he forced a peek and glimpsed the upper jamb of a door. A residence? He heard his benefactor—or maybe captor—mutter a curse under his breath as the minutes seemed to crawl by. And then there was the sound of a door opening and a surprised exclamation followed by apologies and many a “Dyhar” and “Your Grace” and an occasional

“Merciful Veres!”

It was sheer bliss when he was laid down at length on a cool sheet atop a soft mattress. There was talking somewhere in the room, too fast and far away for him to understand. A quick bleary look around revealed a high ceiling and stark white walls and shelves of books and glass-enclosed cabinets full of bottles and vials of varying shapes, sizes and color. A rather astringent scent reminiscent of medicaments permeated the air.

It was a room such as one might find in a hospital or a physician’s residence. It reminded Naeth of the town healer’s examination room back home in Losshen.

His attention was caught by the sound of feet hastening up a flight of stairs. So he was in a ground floor room then.

After some time passed, he heard feet descending those same stairs at a brisk pace.

The footsteps steadily neared.

“Deity’s blood! How did this happen?’

Someone was talking, explaining. Something about finding him beaten up and on the brink of being raped. Naeth shuddered as recollection of his misadventure in the alley came flooding back.

So I wasn’t raped? he thought in confusion. But Gardon had pulled down my—

Naeth thrust the memory aside. Gardon had not succeeded in despoiling him, and that was what mattered. Now if only the pain would go away. It was so hard to think, to make sense of what was happening.

Fingers quickly spread his shirt open then skimmed over his skin so lightly he scarcely felt their touch. Whoever it was examining him murmured something in a rather peremptory tone but the feather-light touches did not cease. A little while later, he smelled an aromatic odor that reminded him of the hoarhound and feverfew plants that grew in the field behind his family’s house. He recalled the bitter hoarhound brew he and his brothers had perforce imbibed whenever they came down with the sniffles.

His hair was gently pushed back from his forehead, and a soft damp cloth was dabbed against his temple. It went on to his left cheek and the corner of his mouth. Each time the cloth touched his skin it stung, but the discomfort was soon followed by a cool sensation that lessened the hurt.

Those must be wounds he’s treating, Naeth fuzzily thought.

He managed to open his eyes a crack and take a peek at the Deira who tended him.

He almost fainted again when he recognized the exotic-looking aristocrat from the Vomare. The Herun of Ilmaren, Camrion had said.

The Herun was holding a gauzy cloth to the mouth of a bottle filled with a clear liquid. After a while, he set the bottle down and resumed his ministrations, tending to Naeth’s chest and shoulders next.

Movement on his other side alerted Naeth to the second presence in the room. He shifted his gaze and peered at the other Deir. Thick strands of gleaming brown hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring a pair of dark eyes. He was probably a physician judging from the way he methodically ran his fingers over Naeth’s battered flesh.

As the Deir bent lower over him, his loose shirt’s neckline dipped and opened to reveal a trail of reddish bruises from his throat to his shoulder. Even in his innocence, Naeth recognized the signs of interrupted coitus.

“I take it Ashrian is staying the night,” he heard the Herun comment.

“He’ll have to now,” was the dry reply.

“I’m sorry for the interruption.”

“Nothing we can’t address later.”

Naeth closed his eyes, the mere effort to keep them open even slightly already exhausting. He turned his head sideways, seeking a more comfortable position.

“What in Aisen is taking you so long, Eiren?” someone complained. “The bed’s grown cold and so have I!”

Startled, Naeth dared a quick peek. He found he was facing the door. A tousled-haired Deir stood there. He looked rather familiar. The Deir scowled when he saw Reijir.

“Holy Saints, Rei! Haven’t you had your fill of my company that you must follow me here?” he demanded waspishly.

It came to Naeth then. The Deir was one of the Herun’s companions from the skirmish at the Vomare. Naeth realized he must be the Ashrian spoken of earlier.

“Oh, stuff it, Ash,” Eiren said as he continued to examine Naeth. “It was my skills Rei came for, not your disreputable company.”

It was then that Ashrian noticed Naeth lying supine and almost unmoving on the table. His eyes widened.

“Heyas! Is that the lad from the tavern?” he exclaimed, coming into the room. “The one who brained that scoundrel with a serving tray?” Reijir sighed. “The scoundrel returned to pay him back for helping me.” Ashrian uttered an imprecation. He glanced at Reijir, eyes glittering with suppressed anger.

“I trust you killed him,” he said. When Reijir only looked at him, he smiled mirthlessly and declared, “Good.”

“Broken collarbone… two cracked ribs… split lip… multiple abrasions… nose isn’t damaged,” Eiren was muttering, heedless of their talk. “Left ankle is sprained. No other fractures, thank Veres.”

“Internal bleeding?” Reijir asked.

“Yes. You did right to bring him to me.”

The physician placed a hand over the intensely painful spot on Naeth’s belly. His eyes began to glow eerily. Shocked by the sight, Naeth could not help opening his eyes wide, a frightened gasp escaping him.

“He’s awake,” Reijir said. He stroked Naeth’s cheek soothingly with the back of his knuckles. “Easy, lad. You’re in good hands. There’s nothing to fear.” Naeth shifted his gaze to the Herun. Absurdly, all he could think was that Reijir Arthanna was really very handsome. Small wonder Gardon had lusted after him. He sighed and tried to clear his mind of such nonsense. He attempted to curve his swollen lips into a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Dyhar,” he whispered.

He slid back into unconsciousness, aware at the last only of a strange prickling sensation that coursed through his body and gradually swept away the pains of his savaging.

* * * *

Ashrian led the way to the parlor on the upper floor of the townhouse after Eiren finished tending to his unexpected patient. He headed for the liquor cabinet while the others took seats before the hearth. Eiren gestured to Reijir to take his great chair and settled himself on the long couch.

The physician’s home was modest by the standards of the Ylandrin aristocracy.

Eiren’s preference for cozy simplicity over luxurious indulgence showed in the comfortable yet stylishly spare furnishings.

“I sent for the carriage,” Reijir said as Ashrian handed him a glass of strong Sidona brandy. “He’ll be able to lie down on the way home.”

“You could fetch him tomorrow,” Eiren offered. “The lad can stay here for the night.”

“Nay,” Reijir demurred. “I’ve kept you from Ashrian’s clutches long enough.” Ashrian snickered shortly as he sat beside Eiren.

“I still can’t believe you went back there for the sake of a pair of gloves,” he remarked. “Though the boy is likely very grateful that you did.”

“I’m very fond of these gloves,” Reijir replied, making a show of admiring how well said gloves looked on his hands. “And I do try to keep my possessions for longer than a month’s use. Which is more than can be said for certain Deira we know.” Eiren chuckled while Ashrian threatened to heave a cushion at the Herun.

“Well, he should be fairly healed in about a fortnight, barring any unforeseen complications,” the physician said. “By the way, what’s his name? Do you know? I should like to call him something other than ‘he’ and ‘lad’ and ‘boy’.”

“His name is Naeth,” Reijir answered. “And he hails from Losshen.”

“Losshen!” Eiren grimaced. “He’s rather far from home for one so young.”

“Why, how old do you think is he?”

“I wager he’s yet to reach the age of consent.”

“That young?” Reijir shook his head. “He’s an orphan. The tavern keeper said his entire family died in a fire.”

That elicited expressions of sympathy from the other two.

“But perhaps he has relations back in Losshen,” Ashrian suggested, swirling the golden contents of his glass. “Sedyra seldom live far from their kin.”

“Yet Naeth came to Rikara precisely because he had no one,” Reijir said.

“Maybe one of his parents had a falling-out with relations and moved away to put distance between them,” Eiren commented.

“That could account for the lack of kinsfolk to turn to,” Reijir agreed. “But as Ash is undoubtedly itching to say, it’s all speculation and therefore useless talk.”

“For the moment, yes,” Ashrian said. “But, who knows, you may turn out to be right and this may prove the means to discover if he has relations after all.”

“Perhaps. Until then, I’ll look after him.”

Eiren leaned forward, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Will you now? That’s rather unusual. It’s never been your wont to help strangers.”

“It’s gratitude,” Ashrian put in. “The boy prevented some idiot of a Deir from cracking his head open.”

“Brained him with a serving tray you said.” Eiren huffed with some exasperation.

“The scrapes you get yourselves into…” He looked from one cousin to the other. “Who started the brawl? Ash?”

Ashrian bristled indignantly. “Why hold me responsible for every fracas that befalls us?”

“Because more oft than not you are responsible,” Reijir quipped with a faint grin. He continued before a scowling Ashrian could respond. “Nay, Ash didn’t start this one. But the blackguard who did thought I’d be amenable to being buggered by his whole gang.” Eiren nearly spit out his mouthful of brandy. “He must have had the wits of a flea to proposition any of you,” he muttered as he wiped his mouth.

“No wits at all, you mean,” Ashrian corrected. “But with his gang backing him up, he likely thought himself irresistible.”

“A dangerous idiot then. You did us all a favor dispatching him tonight.” Reijir sighed. “I hadn’t planned to. But when I saw what he’d done to the lad, I couldn’t let him live.”

Eiren eyed him wonderingly. “You were enraged, weren’t you?” It was more statement than question. Reijir shrugged. “And if I was?”

“As I said, it isn’t like you,” Eiren replied. “Young Naeth seems to have succeeded where others have consistently failed.”

“Succeeded at what?”

“He made you care for him, someone you just met and know nothing about and, strangest of all, had not even thought of bedding. Quite an amazing feat.”

“And in so short a time, too,” Ashrian added with a smirk.

Reijir glared at them. “You said it yourself, Ash,” he flatly stated. “It’s gratitude for his timely assistance.”

“Only you haven’t looked at anyone the way you do him,” Eiren quietly pointed out.

“At least, not in recent memory.”

“What are you talking about?” Reijir asked, a little startled. “What way?” Eiren calmly explained, “When he awakened, you were so gentle with him. And then he smiled and thanked you and—Saints, Rei, your eyes brightened. You actually smiled back! You were utterly pleased that he responded to you. Now why is that?” Reijir shook his head in irritation. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re suggesting. Verily, he’s just a child in need and I’m simply meeting that need for the moment. I doubt he has what it takes to survive unscathed in Rikara.”

“He’s quite a beauty, too,” Ashrian commented. “I didn’t notice back at the tavern what with all the grime on his face. But after you washed him just now—well, I must own myself impressed. He’d be a prize for any brothel in town.”

“Fie on you to suggest that,” Eiren said reprovingly. “He isn’t some baseborn nobody headed for the cathouse. Didn’t you notice his ear?”

“His ear?”

“His left ear is pierced. That means he’s worn an earring at some time or another.

But lowly commoners don’t wear earrings. Only Deira of means and reputable name can afford them.”

“Or inherit them.” Reijir nodded thoughtfully. “He must be gentry then at the very least. I did think his speech a tad too refined for a slum dweller.” His eyes widened in realization. He mused out loud, “If he hasn’t reached the age of consent, then he’s probably lived a sheltered life up until now. Sweet Veres, he’s a veritable babe in the woods.”

“Prime picking for every scoundrel in the city,” Eiren agreed. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen prey to any of them thus far.”

“He would have had I not returned to his tavern,” Reijir grimly said.

The conversation ended when Eiren’s butler entered the parlor to inform them that Reijir’s carriage had arrived. The three rose to their feet and headed back down to the examination room.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to check on him,” Eiren told Reijir as the Herun lifted the injured youth in his arms. “Give him this after breakfast and again at night before he sleeps. Two drops will do. Three if he can’t rest for the pain.” He tucked a small bottle filled with a clear rose-hued liquid into the breast pocket of Reijir’s tunic. Reijir murmured his thanks then bore Naeth to the front door.

Just before he descended the porch steps to the waiting carriage, he looked back over his shoulder at Eiren and, with a knowing grin, said, “I fear you still have a long night ahead of you. That fearsome bump Ash is sporting down yonder looks near to bursting. I wager he wants it buried in the right place when it does.” Eiren started to glower at him, but Ashrian suddenly pulled him back against his body in suggestive fashion. Ylandre’s finest physician blushed to his ears and down to his throat. He broke out of Ashrian’s embrace and stomped back into the house. Ashrian winked at Reijir before hurrying after their flustered cousin.

Laughing softly, Reijir boarded the carriage with his slumbering ward-to-be.

Chapter Four

Upshot

The servant entered the sun-washed bedchamber, a laden breakfast tray in hand.

Greeting Naeth, he set the tray down on the small table beneath the window overlooking the garden. His appetite roused by the delectable aromas emanating from the tray, Naeth eagerly sat himself at the table.

“Cook hopes you’ll like the fruit compote,” the servant cheerfully said as he quickly laid out the various dishes. “Peaches are really sweet this time of year, and the market had ripe manga from Asmara. Oh, and you’ll surely enjoy the venison sausages. His Grace had them brought over from Losshen just for you!”

“That’s so kind of him,” Naeth shyly replied.

The servant nodded vigorously. “Everyone’s talking about it downstairs,” he said in a confidential tone. “His Grace hasn’t doted on anyone like this since Lord Keiran’s sickly days—before Ruomi took over his care. Quite a turn it was for us, I tell you, but not unwelcome. It’s so nice to see him smiling more often. I mean, really smiling.

You’ve worked wonders on him, Orosse- tyar.” The sound of someone clearing his throat brought the loquacious servant’s narrative to a halt. He looked around a little guiltily at the Deir standing in the doorway. Ruomi Garvas signaled him to depart with a slight tilt of his head. The servant hastily obeyed.

Naeth smiled in welcome at Reijir Arthanna’s household adjutant as the latter entered the room. Tall for a Half Blood of peasant stock and his hair cut short in enyran fashion, Ruomi could pass for a True Blood. Furthermore, years of administrative work had diminished the unsightly calluses on his palms and fingers that had been the starkest evidence of the manual labor he had done in his childhood and earliest youth.

“Qiron needs to watch his tongue,” Ruomi commented. “He’s fortunate it was I who heard him and not Reijir.”

Naeth swallowed a spoonful of delicately seasoned creamed eggs. “Does His Grace dislike being talked about?”

Arms folded, Ruomi sat himself on the windowsill. “He’s used to being fodder for public speculation. It comes with the territory when one belongs to the highest House in the land. But he does expect his household to keep their gossiping to a minimum.” He turned his gaze on the garden below. Naeth noticed his eyes gleam warmly. A moment later, a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Naeth was on the verge of asking what it was Ruomi found so pleasing when voices drifted up to the window. Naeth recognized one of those voices.

It was not unkind, but there was an imperious quality to it nonetheless. Its owner was obviously used to having his way as soon as he demanded it.

“Ruomi- tyar, what does Lord Keiran want?” Naeth asked.

“He fell in love with the miniature trees at the Botanical Garden,” Ruomi explained without taking his eyes off Reijir’s older brother. “If he succeeds in growing a few in this garden, he intends to cultivate a whole grove in Althia.” Naeth’s brow creased in puzzlement. “Miniature trees? How small are they?” Ruomi turned his attention back to Naeth. “Small enough to grow in pots—some aren’t quite knee-high. I understand it’s a horticultural art form that is much revered in Khitaira. But it’s only now that the Garden keepers have succeeded in growing them this side of the Samaran Sea.” He looked Naeth over. “I trust you no longer feel too much pain?”

The previous week, Naeth had hunched over in discomfort whenever he sat up. But today he was sitting up straight and only occasionally winced when he shifted his position on the cushioned armchair.

“Just a twinge now and then,” Naeth admitted. “But otherwise, I feel fine.”

“That is good to hear. By the way, how old are you, Naeth?”

“I shall turn twenty-seven this winter’s start.”

“Eiren guessed right then. I’ll have you enrolled at the Rikara Academy.” About to bite into a sausage, Naeth stopped and stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Enrolled?” he echoed.

“Reijir wants you to continue your studies,” Ruomi said. “You haven’t completed secondary schooling, have you?”

Naeth shook his head. “I still have one year to go.”

“I thought so.” Ruomi stood up. “Incidentally, Reijir had me fetch all your possessions from the Vomare. I’ll have Qiron put them away for you.”

“Why did he—?” Naeth looked at Ruomi in confusion. “You make it sound as if I’ll be staying here.”

“You will,” Ruomi replied with a smile. “Reijir was granted guardianship over you yesterday.” While Naeth gaped at him in astonishment, he added, “And you can wear this again.”

He drew something from the pocket of his jerkin and placed it in Naeth’s palm. It was Naeth’s honey-hued suncrystal earring, emblem of his youth and evidence that he was no lowborn street urchin.

“Actually, you should wear it,” Ruomi amended.

He departed, leaving Naeth to digest the sudden and utterly unexpected changes in his circumstances as well as the rest of his breakfast.

* * * *

When Naeth regained consciousness, he’d wondered for a long while if he had indeed awakened or if his nightmares had segued into a very pleasant dream instead. For how else could he explain the airy, elegantly furnished bedchamber in which he’d found himself, the large bed on which he lay complete with plump feather mattress, a pile of downy pillows and what seemed like acres of clean crisp sheets, and the fine cotton nightshirt that had inexplicably replaced his rent shirt and worn breeches?

The notion that he was in the grip of a dream quickly evaporated when a Deir attired in a servant’s smock entered the room with a basket of linens, took one look at him, and softly exclaimed in what Naeth construed as relief before hastening out of the room again. Within a few minutes, Reijir Arthanna had walked in accompanied by two other Deira and proceeded to reduce Naeth to speechless awe and disbelief.

The Herun had explained the situation to him then introduced him to his older brother Keiran and his adjutant Ruomi Garvas. But due to the pain of his injuries and the grogginess induced by the medications that made the pain more bearable, Naeth had passed the rest of the day and most of the week that followed in a bit of a fog. Only toward the end of that period did he fully comprehend the good fortune that had befallen him.

And now Reijir Arthanna had assumed guardianship of him.

Naeth was not quite sure what to make of that. After all, it was not as if the Herun was overly fond of him. Though he’d visited Naeth often enough to know the state of his health, Naeth actually saw more of Keiran and Ruomi and even the physician Eiren Sarvan who dropped by daily to check on him. So it puzzled Naeth that a Deir who had taken him under his wing out of a sense of obligation should go a step further and make him a member of his household.

Realization of his new status abruptly caught up with him, and Naeth choked on his milk tea. He was still sputtering when the subject of his musings entered.

“What ails you?” Reijir asked, coming to his side with a concerned frown.

Naeth shook his head, as he coughed up the last of the tea that had gone down the wrong way. “Swallowed wrong,” he managed to wheeze afterward. “I was just so surprised.”

Reijir laid a hand on his back and rubbed it soothingly. “Surprised by what?” Naeth felt his cheeks grow warm as the Herun stroked his back. He hoped Reijir would construe his reddened cheeks as the result of his coughing bout.

“Ruomi told me that you’re now my guardian, Dyhar,” he softly said.

“So I am.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Understand what? You have no family. It would be remiss of me not to take charge of you after the service you rendered me.”

Naeth hesitated before murmuring, “Yes, of course.” He wondered why he felt disappointed to have the Herun confirm how he felt toward him. He shoved the thought back into the furthest recesses of his mind. It was absurd to feel thusly about someone he barely knew even if he was now that someone’s legal ward.

Reijir motioned to the window. “When you’re done, join me outside. A turn in the garden will do you good. And you’ll get to see Keiran’s latest acquisitions. He’s very excited about them so I advise you to make much of his efforts.” Naeth’s eyes brightened at the prospect. “Yes, I should like to see them. I just can’t imagine how anyone can keep a tree from growing to its full height.”

“It takes skill and patience,” Reijir conceded. “Keiran has the skill. But Ruomi will have to provide the patience I’m afraid.” He smiled when Naeth broke into chuckles. “It’s good to see you so cheerful, Naeth- min.”

Naeth caught his breath at the Herun’s use of the diminutive form of address.

Appending it to someone’s name conveyed not only a difference in age and rank between two Deira, but also implied the intimacy found in close relationships. Only his parents and older brothers had ever addressed him thusly.

“The servants say the same of you, Your Grace,” he shyly replied.

“Do they?” Reijir shrugged. “Put on something warm. It’s quite cool this morn. I’ll wait for you at the garden porch.” He made to leave but then briefly paused at the door and, looking over his shoulder, said, “By the way, you may address me by name.” Naeth was unable to respond, struck mute by the realization that he had just been granted a rare privilege.

Only close kin or Deira of similar or higher station could address a fief-lord by his birth name. Naeth did not know all the legalities of the relationship between a guardian and his charge, but he was fairly certain a ward did not count as family any more than stand on equal footing with his conservator. Especially if said ward was a commoner and a sedyr and his guardian a True Blood who was also a scion of the Royal House of Ylandre.

* * * *

“Come now, just a few more inches off,” Keiran Arthanna coaxed.

Naeth winced as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Keiran stood at one shoulder while a barber stood at the other, comb and scissors poised in readiness.

“But I won’t be able to tie my hair back if he cuts it any shorter,” Naeth protested.

“I believe that’s the point,” Keiran wryly said.

“Why is the length of my hair so important?”

“Because it’s not the current fashion amongst enyra to wear their hair long, let alone tie or braid it.”

“But I’m not an enyr.”

“Your schoolmates don’t know that.”

“But many sedyra attend the Academy, and they don’t cut their hair.”

“And look at how many of them are picked on by True Blood students who think too highly of themselves,” Keiran reminded him. “Who do you think coined the terms enyr and sedyr in the first place?”

Naeth stared at Keiran in the mirror. “Students?”

“Students,” Keiran affirmed, lapsing into his role as university instructor. “More specifically, university students from the great Houses who thought their purer bloodlines made them superior to schoolmates of diluted ancestry. Unfortunately, neither the terms nor their prejudice remained limited to their ranks but spread throughout all levels of society and eventually to the other lands. Granted the prejudice abated somewhat with the passage of time, but traces of it still exist everywhere.”

“Interesting though how it’s no longer as prevalent at the State University considering that’s where it all started,” Keiran musingly remarked. “I think it has to do with the mentality of bullies. Since youth and immaturity have much to do with it, it stands to reason that there would be more bullies in secondary school than at the collegiate level.”

Naeth rolled his eyes at the treatise on social interaction in an academic setting. “But surely it isn’t so bad as you paint it,” he skeptically said. “I hear the Ardan’s lover goes about with his hair past his shoulders.”

Keiran snorted. “There’s a world of difference between a royal concubine and a legal ward. No one would dare cross Rohyr by insulting his lover. And Lassen Idana sports the earring of a king’s leman—that protects him from offensive speech and aggressive behavior. You, on the other hand, carry no such talisman, and you’re obviously not a Rikaran and you don’t hail from a prominent sedyran clan.” When Naeth still balked, Keiran tartly added, “Would you have Reijir constantly coming to your aid whenever some idiot decides to harass you for being a Half Blood?” Naeth blushed and bowed his head in defeat. “Nay, of course not,” he mumbled.

“That’s settled then,” Keiran said, suddenly all smiles and twinkling eyes. “Cut the rest off,” he told the befuddled barber.

The metamorphosis startled Naeth even though he had witnessed Keiran make the sudden transition from stern autocrat to charming and indulgent benefactor many a time in the month of his residence at the Arthanna townhouse. Naeth oft wondered how Ruomi coped with Keiran’s mercurial personality. He could only conclude that perhaps the sedyr liked the elder Arthanna’s quicksilver temperament.

He did not look up again until the snip-snip of the scissors ceased. When he did and with all trepidation, he could not suppress a groan. The shorter style did not so much look bad as felt odd. It was disconcerting to feel his nape so exposed and lack the weight of a fall or braid of hair upon his shoulders or back.

“It suits you, kitten,” Keiran declared with satisfaction.

Naeth wrinkled his nose and half glared at him. “Kitten?”

“Reijir had a pet cat years ago, when he was still a student,” Keiran said. “You remind me of that pretty puss when it was a mere kit and not yet grown up and regal. It was all big blue eyes and a pert nose and fur the same color as your hair. And how he loved to cuddle against Reijir.” Ignoring Naeth’s indignant gape, he remarked with a dash of mischief, “I dare say when he looks at you, Reijir remembers his kit, too, and the way he used to share his bed with him on cold winter nights.” Naeth closed his mouth and turned even redder. “I do not look like a cat,” he muttered.

“I didn’t say you do,” Keiran countered. “Only that you remind me of that one particular cat.” He gestured to the barber to brush Naeth off. “Look for Ruomi Garvas,” he instructed. “He’ll take care of your fee.”

Once the barber departed Naeth’s bedroom, Keiran headed for the wardrobe and flung open its doors. After a quick look around, he pulled out a biscuit-hued tunic and chestnut brown breeches and tossed them to Naeth.

“Get dressed, kitten,” he instructed. “Then meet me in the blue parlor.” He turned and headed for the door, still talking all the while. “This afternoon, it’s off to the tailor with you and tomorrow morn the shoemaker and after that the glover and—” As his litany of schedules faded away into the distance, Naeth shook his head in some amazement. Keiran was so different from his brother in personality that, were it not for their facial similarities, one would think the older Arthanna son no blood relation but a winsome changeling.

Cringing at the probability of a scolding should he keep Keiran waiting, Naeth hurriedly changed attire then barreled out the door. He slammed into someone, bounced off that someone’s hard, unmoving frame, and nearly fell on his backside. But he was caught by the waist and pulled upright and against whomever he had bumped into.

The combined scents of herbaceous lavandra and woody oakmoss stirred a memory of a costly tunic faintly infused with the same seductive fragrance. Naeth gulped, stiffened, and hastily pulled away to look up into a pair of forest green eyes.

“Unless there’s a fire in the house, I see no reason for such haste,” Reijir mildly rebuked.

“Nay, it isn’t—I mean, he’s waiting—And he’ll scold me and I—” Reijir stopped the flow of Naeth’s stammered explanation by placing a finger on his lips. Naeth almost gasped at the familiarity of the gesture.

“I assume you’re referring to my brother,” Reijir said.

“Y-yes, Your Grace. I mean, Reijir- dyhar, ” Naeth quickly amended when the Herun gave him a pointed look. He also became conscious that he was still standing in the circle of Reijir’s arms. He did not know whether he wanted to escape them or stay put and that served to fluster him even more.

Reijir gazed at him with an expression Naeth could not place. At length, the Herun removed his arms from around him and stepped back.

“Keiran won’t scold you,” he said reassuringly. “In fact, he’ll likely keep you waiting a while. My brother isn’t known for punctuality, especially when something—or someone—distracts him along the way.”

In spite of himself, Naeth felt a grin tug at his mouth. “Ruomi?” he ventured.

“Who else? He caught Ruomi as we were exiting my study.” Reijir placed a hand on Naeth’s head and almost playfully ruffled his hair. “Keiran can be high-handed at times.

But he’ll back off if you stand your ground. Except for that,” he said when Naeth ruefully touched the ends of his shortened locks where they neatly brushed his nape. “I trust he explained the reason for the new style?”

“He did,” Naeth admitted. “I’m just not used to it yet.”

“It suits you,” Reijir said, echoing his brother’s earlier compliment. “Indeed, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly slid a finger under Naeth’s chin and lifted it, compelling Naeth to look at him. His voice low and just this side of sultry, he murmured, “Keiran’s right.

You remind me of my cat from way back. Especially your eyes.” Had his heart stopped beating right there and then, Naeth would not have been too surprised, so stunned was he by the impact of the Herun’s sheer beauty and uncommon impact on his senses.

He fought for breath as he tried to overcome the spell of silence that seemed to have taken his tongue. He finally managed a nigh strangled, “Tha-that’s nice to know. Thank you, Reijir- dyhar.”

Reijir chuckled and released Naeth from his gaze. He walked past Naeth, ruffling his hair once more as he did. Naeth remained where he was for the longest while, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

Saints above, will I always react to him this way? he thought with dismay.

At length, Naeth inhaled deeply then headed for the blue parlor where he would await Keiran. He fervently hoped his color would return to normal before the latter joined him. Because if it didn’t, he was all but certain Keiran would subject him to an interrogation the likes of which Naeth knew he would never withstand.

Chapter Five

Stirrings

C.A. 3007

“Hey, Orosse! Join us! We’re going out to celebrate!” Naeth smiled at the student who’d hailed him but shook his head. “I can’t, Javari,” he said when the latter and his group neared him. “His Grace asked me to be home early today. He wishes to fete me for graduating on time.” A youth behind Javari spoke up, his mouth curved in a smirk. “Why? Is His Grace so stingy that he would begrudge you any extra time to finish this last year?” he drawled.

“And here I thought him a generous soul. How disappointing to discover otherwise, eh, Orosse?”

Naeth stifled the impulse to snap back. “His Grace is a generous soul,” he pleasantly replied. “Hence his guardianship of my humble self. What he is not is profligate, which I understand is the bane of many a formerly rich Deir. Isn’t that so, Semrel?” He knew a welling of satisfaction when the insolent youth flushed an unbecoming red. It was well known around campus that Semrel’s sire had depleted the family coffers due to an addiction to the gaming tables.

“At least I‘m not an impecunious nobody in need of a generous patron to see him through school!” Semrel crossly shot back.

Naeth felt a familiar stab of anger mingled with sorrow. “Yes, how fortunate for you to still have family for that purpose,” he retorted.

Javari slapped the back of Semrel’s head. “That is beyond the pale, oaf!” he muttered. “We beg your pardon, Orosse. You know how it is with Semrel—his wits seldom keep apace with his tongue.”

“And thus ensures his foot is almost perpetually stuck in that big mouth of his,” another student quipped.

Before Semrel could react, Naeth said, “I hope you enjoy yourselves. But I really must go.”

He dipped his head to them then briskly walked away, ignoring the imprecations that spewed from Semrel’s aforementioned big mouth.

Truth be told, he was not going home but headed for the exclusive training hall a few blocks away from the Arthanna townhouse where many of the city’s bluebloods honed their fighting skills. While Reijir and Keiran usually preferred to pit themselves against the seasoned soldiers who frequented the Citadel exercise yard, they occasionally joined aristocrats of their acquaintance in the training hall for the greater variety of fighting styles including the brutish tactics displayed in the violent brawls that nightly took place in the streets and taverns of the south district.

Ordinarily, Ruomi acted as valet to both the Arthannas, but today he requested that Naeth take over as Reijir’s attendant. Right after his practice bout, Keiran would go home to freshen up then head for a meeting with his solicitors over a dispute involving one of his properties. Reijir always insisted that Ruomi accompanied his brother to potentially contentious meetings to minimize the risk of a heated argument erupting should Keiran’s volatile temper be ignited.

But even had he not been instructed to meet the brethren at the hall, Naeth was not interested in drinking the afternoon away. He knew his schoolmates would celebrate the start of their gap year by getting as inebriated as possible before they headed for their respective homes. It was the only form of mature recreation Deira their age could legally partake of.

By and large, sexual encounters, including the patronage of prostitutes, were strictly forbidden until one reached thirty summers, the age of consent. The only exceptions to this rule were with regards to wedlock and lawful concubinage. As for gaming and backstreet sports, one had to wait until the thirty-fifth year and attain one’s majority first in order to be able to indulge in either.

Of course, these laws were mostly observed among Deira of respectable families and unsullied names. Enforcing said laws among the slum dwellers was difficult to put it mildly. For the lowest class, engagement in illicit activity often started in childhood.

Naeth did not stick his nose up at his peers’ notions of entertainment, but neither did he care to waste his time or precious allowance on such unproductive pastimes. And a further waste it would be if he had to keep company with the likes of Semrel.

The Arthannas had been correct about the prejudice underlying the social structure of school life. That was not to say that all the True Bloods at the Academy behaved as execrably as Semrel any more than it was right to assert that every Half Blood was subjected to discrimination by their enyran counterparts. But the bigoted few—Naeth had quickly discovered they were the minority—tended to be outspoken and determined to let their displeasure and supposed superiority be known. And when they did, it was unpleasant all around.

Running his hand through his nape-length hair, he grudgingly admitted not for the last time that his benefactors had been right. Looking like a True Blood had spared him quite a lot of bother. Being Reijir’s ward, on the other hand, was a mixed blessing.

Most of his enyran schoolmates chose to be civil with him at the very least.

However, there were a few who let envy of others’ improved fortunes or disdain for those of lower station get the better of good sense. As for himself, he could not deny how blessed he’d been to come under a Herun’s patronage, and he refused to let others spoil his enjoyment of his good fortune.

* * * *

As soon as he arrived at the hall, he searched for Reijir. The place was full for a midweek afternoon, and numerous Deira were engaged in all manner of sparring, ranging from sword and knife play to wrestling and fisticuffs. The great chamber resounded with the crash and clang of metal against metal and the smack and thud of flesh against flesh or solid wooden floor.

Nonetheless, Naeth quickly spotted Reijir for he occupied a space virtually in the middle of the huge chamber. The Herun was engaged in hand-to-hand fighting against a brawny aristocrat some years his junior. They had drawn a sizable audience whose lusty cheers echoed noisily in the cavernous space.

Naeth appreciatively gawked at his guardian for several minutes, awed as always by Reijir’s martial grace and disciplined movements. But feelings other than mere fascination came into play as the Herun’s finely hewn body and sleekly muscled limbs were displayed to spectacular effect in a sleeveless shirt and snug long breeches. Naeth did his best to ignore the sensations Reijir aroused in him with nigh maddening regularity.

He determinedly forced his attention elsewhere and scanned the hall for Keiran. He saw him a little distance away, pitting his sword against a taller Deir.

How young he looked, Naeth thought. Indeed it was not unusual for new acquaintances to mistake Keiran for the younger Arthanna brother, a notion reinforced by the fact that it was Reijir who ruled Ilmaren. Perhaps the faint effeminacy of his features softened them such that he did not seem to age at all. Naeth watched Keiran deftly force his opponent to earnestly defend himself.

With a flourish that was almost theatrical were it not blatantly lethal, Keiran disarmed his sparring partner, giving the lie to the notion that his smaller stature and appearance of dubious masculinity barred him from being a skilled warrior. He smirked at his erstwhile opponent, then dipped his head graciously when the latter ruefully conceded defeat. He turned around as a broad-shouldered Deir came to him with a towel and a drink.

Ruomi towered over him. Indeed, Keiran barely reached his shoulder, an unusual sight considering Keiran was an enyr of noble lineage and Ruomi a sedyran commoner.

He quickly gathered Keiran’s things then escorted him out of the hall. Just before they exited the chamber, they spotted Naeth. Ruomi came over to briefly instruct him on what to do when Reijir was finished then quickly rejoined Keiran who was obviously in a hurry to go.

Many watched them leave, some taking care to conceal their curiosity, others openly intrigued and not ashamed to show it. Fortunately, Keiran did not care one whit what others thought and was untroubled by speculation about him and his affairs. And speculation there was in abundance since he had chosen to break with certain of the traditions that ruled the enyran upper class.

Naeth’s residency with the Arthannas had taught him much that he had not known as a country-bred Half Blood. He was not ignorant of Deiran betrothal and nuptial traditions—it was the custom to instruct one’s children in these matters as they approached the age of consent. But his parents had not imparted to their children the differences in culture between the upper caste enyra and the lower caste sedyra, doubtless because never in their wildest dreams had they envisioned one of their sons winding up a member of a True Blood’s household and an aristocrat of royal lineage at that.

Nothing had befuddled Naeth more than the sexual mores of the True Bloods.

Among the sedyra, sexual roles were completely interchangeable; no distinctions were made between partners. With spouses, the choice of who would bear children was based on capability—who had the more fertile womb or was the haler and thus could carry a child to term—and sometimes both chose to breed. The same rule applied to the selection of the primary caregiver—the partner whose time and profession were more flexible was the one who usually raised the children whether it was he who bore them or not.

But for the enyra, and especially among the nobility and upper gentry, such was not the case. From childhood onward, most True Bloods were assigned their spousal roles depending on circumstances. Foremost of those circumstances was an enyr’s rank in the family. A firstborn son and heir was expected to play the sword and sire progeny. Later born children could and were often designated as bearers that they might be wed to other families’ successors who would then beget children upon them.

This was not to say that the enyra never ventured outside their assigned roles but, as the acceptance of said roles was instilled in them virtually from birth, seldom did they act otherwise. Furthermore, the virginity of a high-born bearer was as important a clause in a nuptial contract as the more tangible conditions of land, power and wealth. Many came to their conjugal beds with little to no experience, and even if one had some carnal knowledge, it was expected that he had not yielded himself to any save his contracted mate. Thereafter he only ever played the sword if permitted by his spouse. It was yet another source of bafflement for Naeth, and one he found as strange as the enforcement of distinct marital roles, if not more so.

The exceptions to this rule were the scions of the great Houses wherein entry into said Houses was a prized condition in many an arranged union and therefore precluded the demand that their members yielded themselves in intercourse. Thus, none of the Essendris, unless they wed among themselves, were expected to play the sheath to their sexual partners and even less the role of childbearer.

It was this particular tradition that had spawned the speculation about Keiran.

That Ruomi Garvas was his long-time lover was no secret, but who did the yielding in the relationship was still a matter of speculation. Which should not have been the case given Keiran’s social class and bloodline. Yet rumors abounded that it was Keiran who did and, even more shocking, lustily so, and that had been enough to reduce many a hidebound blueblood to outraged speechlessness.

The elder Arthanna brother oft declared he was not interested in a union of convenience, but in the remote event that he did end up in one, his spouse would have to put up with all the talk sparked by Keiran’s liaison with his brother’s low-born Half Blood adjutant. Despite this encumbrance, Keiran did not lack for suitors. Naeth could only suppose the double-barreled lure of espousing a scion of both Clan Arthanna and House Essendri would more than make up for said encumbrance.

Naeth ceased his musings when the shouts of onlookers suddenly escalated. A glance told him the excitement stemmed from Reijir’s employment of a manner of fighting little known in this part of the world. He gaped when he realized his guardian had taken on two Deira and was now using a combination of precise fist and foot movements that enabled him to lengthen his reach and utilize his entire body’s strength in besting his opponents.

Within minutes, he defeated both Deira, knocking one down with a lightning-fast open-handed blow to his chin and turning the other into a crumpled heap of whimpering Deir with a high backward kick on the chest. The resulting applause increased in volume when he took the time to solicitously check his opponents for worse injuries than the usual cuts and bruises one expected of an encounter with him.

Naeth hastened to him with a towel and cool water, his hands trembling just the slightest as he wiped the sweat from Reijir’s face, neck and arms. He did fumble a bit when Reijir bent and hitched up a leg of his trousers to check a welt on his calf. The neckline of his shirt gaped open to treat Naeth to a clear view of his torso from chest to navel. Naeth gulped at the sight of a chiseled chest deliciously damp with sweat and nipples slightly peaked from the sudden brush of cool air as the Herun’s shirt fell away from his skin. He just managed to keep from discourteously snatching back his hands lest they wandered into forbidden territory.

“Has Keiran left?” Reijir asked when he straightened up.

Naeth nodded. “Several minutes ago.”

He watched Reijir pick up his tunic from a nearby bench and put it on.

“Why don’t you change your shirt first?” he murmured, handing Reijir his belt. “It’s terribly wet.”

Reijir shrugged. “It can wait until we get home.” He suddenly smiled at Naeth. “It’s your last day, isn’t it? How would you like us to celebrate your graduation?”

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting anything special.”

“Come now, surely you were hoping for something.”

“Nay!” At Reijir’s disbelieving look, Naeth admitted, “Well, dinner with you and Lord Keiran would be nice. And mayhap you’ll finally let me have a taste of that drink you like to have after a meal.”

Reijir chuckled. “Ilmaren cordial is quite potent for all its sweetness. You can actually get drunk on it if you haven’t the stomach for strong drink. But I suppose there’s no harm in a small glass on a full belly. Very well, dinner it is with all your favorite dishes, and if you can handle the cordial, I’ll let you try some Sidona brandy as well.” Naeth grinned with delight.

Others might make fun of his idea of a good time, but as far as he was concerned, the simple pleasures of life were more than enough to make for good memories. Of course, sharing those pleasures with Reijir Arthanna made those memories absolutely unforgettable, and Naeth happily savored and stored up each and every moment with his adored guardian that he might have a veritable larder of them to draw from in days to come.

* * * *

“How do you plan to spend your gap year?” Ruomi asked.

Naeth paused in the act of putting away his schoolbooks. The yearlong hiatus between the end of secondary school and entry into the collegiate level loomed before him, rife with possibilities. It was a welcome breather after six years of continuous schooling and the time to tend to personal activities before the start of another six years of higher education that was the mark of all Deira of decent name.

“I was hoping you’d allow me to assist you,” he admitted. Seeing Ruomi’s surprise, he explained, “I’ve been thinking about the future. About gainful employment and all that. I’m not cut out to be a solicitor or teacher, and I’m not especially gifted in any craft.

But I did help my parents manage what property we had—our house and the field behind it and the few animals we owned. I had to dispose of what was left after the fire to earn enough to make my way here. I got a very good price for them, too,” he added a little proudly. “So I think I’d make a decent caretaker and maybe even a good household adjutant like you.”

Ruomi eyed him thoughtfully. “You do realize such professions are not considered dignified enough for the gentry,” he pointed out.

“I’m in no position to be picky,” Naeth replied. “Besides, I think it’s up to a person to invest his job with dignity, even a humble one. And I know it can be done. You’re the best example of that, Ruo- tyar.”

The sedyr smiled at the compliment. “Thank you. It’s heartening for one’s efforts to be noticed, more so appreciated. Very well, I shall inform Reijir of your request. Let’s hope he approves it.”

Naeth did not wait long to learn the Herun’s reaction to his request. Within the week, he found himself tagging along after Ruomi on the latter’s daily rounds.

It proved more difficult than he’d expected. Ruomi’s work entailed much more than being an administrative assistant. It required paying close and careful attention to the details of running a noble’s extensive ménage and dealing with a plentiful array of personalities. This ranged from the household staff to the professionals and tradespeople who serviced and supplied the Arthannas, to the many visitors who called upon the brethren almost daily for every social and political purpose under the sun. And the patience and judiciousness needed to maintain cooperation between the butler and the cook and settle the many petty squabbles among the liveried servants, stable hands and lowly scullions…!

By the end of the week, Naeth’s respect for Ruomi had risen a hundredfold. And his optimism regarding his own capabilities had decreased somewhat.

Nonetheless, he stayed the course, determined to be useful and hopefully gain a permanent place in the Arthanna home when his time under Reijir’s guardianship ended.

This latter hope he kept to himself lest anyone wrongfully think him too ambitious for his breeches. Not that it would be any better were the truth known.

It was one thing to aspire to warm the bed of a great lord; quite another for a guardian to require such a service of his charge. It smacked of abuse of one’s power over another, and while the political practice of it was not unheard of in Ylandrin society, initiating sexual relations with a Deir under one’s care was deemed reprehensible by polite society. And if that Deir was still below the age of consent, it amounted to rape and was punishable by law.

To avoid casting Reijir in the role of a debaucher of innocents, Naeth would not only have to wait for his thirtieth year, he would also have to make the first move. He seriously doubted the Herun would even make a move if Reijir was as much attracted to Naeth as Naeth was to him.

Of Reijir’s feelings about him, Naeth was quite certain. It fairly sizzled between them, this maddening yet delicious tension that bespoke carnal desire and hopefully presaged more intimate contact between them. But Reijir was not keen to go as far as consummation, either physical or emotional, of that Naeth was also aware.

So how was a youngling with no experience whatsoever in matters of the heart or bodily union supposed to convince so guarded and blasé a Deir to surrender to their mutual need?

Chapter Six

Quandary

There were times Reijir suspected his honorable, honest to a fault adjutant of underhanded dealings. Granted these instances were extremely few and far between, but they existed nonetheless. This was one of those times, the Ilmaren lord decided, as he tried to avoid noticing every move Naeth made. Or rather every move of the youth’s delectable posterior.

Reijir shook his head and determinedly looked away from Ruomi’s work desk by the study door where Naeth was busy sorting a stack of recently arrived correspondence.

What had possessed him to approve Ruomi’s suggestion that he take Naeth under his wing and allow the youth to help him with his myriad duties? Reijir stifled a sigh of frustration.

Because he had not known how deeply Naeth’s constant presence would affect him.

Save for the weekends, Naeth had spent most of each day at school and out of Reijir’s line of sight. Not so now when he was almost always around, as much at Reijir’s beck and call as Ruomi and eager to comply with Reijir’s every wish.

Reijir muttered an imprecation. Not every wish, he firmly told himself. Not if the youth had any sense in that pretty, underage head of his.

Naeth came to him and placed several letters on one side of the desk, murmuring that he would deliver the others to the rest of the household. Reijir nodded his assent, keeping his eyes on the document before him.

The youth turned around and started to walk toward the door. But a few paces away, one of the letters he carried fell to the floor. Naeth bent to retrieve it. Whereupon a few others slipped from his grasp just as he straightened up and tumbled down as well. Softly cursing, Naeth bent once more to pick them up. The divided shirttail of his long shirt parted to accommodate the upward motion of his rump.

Reijir had surreptitiously watched Naeth walk away, and he was now treated to a full view of the youth’s well-shaped backside, the material of his breeches stretched taut across his firm buttocks. He smothered a groan as images of what lay beneath Naeth’s breeches littered his mind.

The Herun irritatedly wondered why Naeth had not donned a proper, arse-covering tunic before reason kicked in to remind him that an exceedingly warm summer day indoors discouraged anything more elaborate than a linen jerkin over a cambric shirt and cool cotton trousers. And after all, he had given his staff leave to dress as comfortably as possible while remaining within the bounds of propriety. He could hardly take Naeth to task just because his choice of breeches left little to Reijir’s unexpectedly active imagination. It was a relief when Naeth finally left the study, taking his inexplicably tempting body with him.

It was utterly confounding, this attraction to his ward, Reijir sourly thought. And so very inappropriate. Whence this response to the charms of so artless a creature?

Reijir’s many dalliances had by and large been with Deira as practiced in the love arts as he. But even the occasional virgins who came his way had been far from innocent in mind or virtuous in intent however unsullied their bodies.

Naeth was completely outside his sphere of experience. He was innocence and temptation all wrapped up in one intriguing package.

He swore again. He was being beguiled almost effortlessly by the minx! And worse, Reijir was quite certain Naeth was unaware of it. Veres help him if the youth ever realized just how enticing he could be without even trying.

And it was not just Reijir’s body that had turned wayward against his will. Even his personality seemed to have undergone some changes, and Rohyr had taken pains to tell him so the previous morning.

He should have known better than to bring Naeth with him to the Citadel. He’d never yet taken his ward to the royal keep though Rohyr was aware of the youth’s existence and his current position in the Arthanna household.

Rohyr was surprised when he showed up at the Citadel archery yard with Naeth in tow. But that surprise swiftly turned to interest and eventually mild amusement once he noticed Naeth’s earnest displays of adoration for Reijir and discerned Reijir’s equally earnest determination to ignore said displays.

Reijir still did not know why he’d decided to take Naeth along when he’d only just begun training the youth in the use of bow and arrow. There was no way Naeth could have participated in the informal competition that took place every week’s end among the Essendris.

* * * *

It had become the custom among Rohyr’s kinsfolk to join him for practice bouts when they were in town. Indeed, Reijir learned his archery skills in the Citadel yard, honing his inborn talent to a mastery seldom matched, much less bested, by his peers, even Rohyr who was a formidable archer in his own right.

Even more impressive was that the Essendris were practitioners of yuda, the Naeren style of archery that was now little more than legend in most of Aisen save in the westernmost continent of Khitaira and the border nations of its neighbor Lydan. There, the ancient martial art had been faithfully preserved.

But in all the Vihandran supercontinent, only in Ylandre could Naeren-style archers or yudare still be found. And even then, it was only members of the royal family and the great fief-lords and select companies of their armies’ mounted archers who carried on the nigh forgotten tradition. Thus it was always a treat to watch the scions of House Essendri when they came down to the Citadel archery yard for a morning of target practice.

Their garb alone was eye-catching, rooted as it was in the distant past and steeped in formality and tradition. Loose, high-waisted, pleated trousers of generally dark and sturdy fabric were worn over plain, short-sleeved, thigh-length tunics, long thin breeches and soft leather boots.

Their bows of hardy evergreen and the employment of them added to the yudare’s mystique. Virtually as long as its wielder was tall, the yuda bow was raised high then steadily lowered as it was drawn until the arrow came to rest below eye level. And whereas the common Deiran archer drew his bow only as far as his cheekbone, a yudar held his drawing hand behind his ear while placing his feet outward at an exact angle for balance and holding his back as straight as possible to prevent the bowstring from striking his face upon release.

Precision was a hallmark of the yudare, even when they were mounted and speeding past or toward their targets. So accurate were the best among them that they could demoralize entire armies and throw them into confusion by picking off their leaders in swift succession. In the turbulent times before and right after the Inception—that period of facilitated racial evolution when the newly arrived Naere deliberately bred with the males of Aisen’s native race, the gelra—the sight of a full company of yudare on steedback had been enough to sow apprehension among the military officers of the opposing camp and even reduce some to panic and craven retreat.

In any case, the rarity of yudare served to draw avid onlookers whenever and wherever a bout of Naeren archery was in the offing. The weekly gatherings at the Citadel were not an exception. And as Naeth had never yet seen Reijir engage in yuda, it was no wonder the youth spent the morning in wide-eyed, tacit hero-worship of his guardian.

He’d stared quite gracelessly when Reijir strode out first of his cousins onto the field in a stark white tunic tucked into dark blue-grey trousers. From then on, his gaze had seldom strayed from the Herun even when the others appeared—Rohyr accompanied by his half-brother Dylen and his leman, Lassen Idana, Keiran typically resplendent in brighter-hued trousers, Rohyr’s orphaned cousin and royal ward, Shino Essendri, Ylandre’s youngest military tribune, Ranael Mesare, and the Calanthe twins, Gilmael and Zykriel, confusing in their astounding likeness were it not for the slight difference in the styling of their hair. Rohyr’s two closest uncles arrived as well—Chief Counsellor Yovan Seydon and dour-faced Imcael Essendri, the Herun of Qimaras.

The sight of so many handsome notables together in one place and splendidly attired to boot should have divided Naeth’s attention. But it did not, and it was his nigh unwavering regard that drew Rohyr’s notice and piqued his curiosity about his cousin’s ward.

“The mystery is solved,” he murmured as he nocked an arrow.

Doing likewise at his right, Reijir glanced at him. “What mystery?”

“The reason for your easy smile this past year.”

Reijir glanced suspiciously at him then shook his head and, facing the target once more, positioned himself, his footing as precisely placed as his form was perfectly balanced. Rohyr smiled and followed suit.

Oohs and aahs resounded in the yard throughout the course of the morning. But to the majority of the audience’s surprise, though Reijir was clearly the most proficient among them, Rohyr and Zykriel somehow kept apace with him, conceding the field to him only at the very end and by an unusually small margin.

“What’s amiss, Rei?” Zykriel asked when Reijir failed to hit his target dead center a third time. “Besides your aim that is.”

“A lack of focus,” Rohyr replied as he released his arrow. He smiled with satisfaction when his shot put him even with Reijir. “That pretty lad yonder presents a formidable distraction,” he explained with a nod in Naeth’s direction.

Zykriel regarded Naeth with interest. “Is he the youth Keiran’s been telling us about?” When Reijir curtly dipped his chin, Zykriel grinned and said, “Formidable distraction indeed. Especially when he has eyes only for you, cousin. It’s a rare day when our esteemed Ardan isn’t the center of everyone’s attention. It must be terribly flattering.”

“And stimulating,” Rohyr added. “Subtle temptation can be as potent as blatant seduction.”

“How true.” Zykriel mischievously said to Reijir, “It will be interesting to see how long you hold out before the lad persuades you to have your way with him.” Reijir scowled. “It will get him nowhere, I assure you. I’m of no mind to teach him his bed manners. Heyas, we shouldn’t even be talking about that! Naeth is still three summers short of his thirtieth year.”

“So?”

“So it isn’t meet to discuss the matter. He’s under my care. I won’t stand accused of debauching my own ward.”

Zykriel snorted. “No one is suggesting you tup him just yet. But once he reaches the age of consent and comes to you willing, no one will condemn you if you take him to bed.”

“Zyk!” Reijir rolled his eyes. “You’re no help,” he muttered as he fit another arrow to his bow.

“Because we’ve given voice to your ambivalence?” Rohyr said. When Reijir glared at him, he commented, “Your less than perfect showing this morn is testament to the effects of his adoration on you. All the more since he’s so guileless about it. You’ve never known unconditional affection outside of the family, have you?” Reijir paused in the act of raising his bow. “You know I haven’t,” he softly replied.

“It unnerves you.”

“Yes.” Reijir’s admission was blatantly grudging.

Zykriel chuckled. “Our jaded, worldly-wise Reijir—felled by a child’s attentions.

Who could have imagined it?”

Before Reijir could retort, Rohyr said, “I for one.” He shifted his gaze to Lassen who instructed young Shino a short distance away, pride and desire and so much more gleaming in the depths of his slate grey eyes. Reijir and Zykriel glanced at each other. All it took to achieve that soft look in their otherwise stern-countenanced cousin was the presence of his golden-haired concubine. Rohyr looked at them and smiled, acknowledging what they thought of his relationship with his leman.

“You think there’s no room for change when we reach a certain point in our lives,” he said. “That once shaped, we harden like pottery baked in a kiln and can no longer refashion ourselves anew. But we can change. We are each a work in progress and will always be to the end of our lives. And when the reason for it is a dear one’s regard or need, the changing isn’t so very hard.”

He looked at Reijir, a challenge in his eyes. “I will wed out of duty in a few months time. Lassen stands by my decision despite the hurt it does him. How can I not respond to such devotion? How can I not have changed in all these years of our togetherness and opened my eyes and heart as I never did before he came to me?” Reijir nodded. There was no denying what Rohyr claimed.

In the years before he made Lassen his leman, Rohyr had been a distant ruler who’d taken his duty to his people seriously but had not had much interest in their lives beyond what was generally known. Hailing from the minor gentry of the small town of Tal Ereq in the faraway province of Velarus, Lassen identified with the common folk. He had never forgotten his roots nor fully forsaken the ways of his people.

Under his gentle influence, Rohyr had come to understand the day-to-day lives and real needs of those of his subjects who did not belong to the higher strata of society. He’d striven to form a bond with these lesser folk for the sake of the Deir who counted himself one of them.

“Lassen loves you as much as life itself, Roh, we all know that,” Reijir said by way of a half-hearted protest. “And though you don’t say so, you feel as much for him. But Naeth is only infatuated with me.” He glanced at Zykriel when the latter huffed in obvious disbelief. “He’s very young and can still bestow his heart elsewhere.” Zykriel scoffed, “And you want him to?”

Reijir started to reply only to realize he did not know the answer. At his stunned silence, his cousins snickered and, taking pity on him, said no more on the matter.

* * * *

Reijir started when the door opened to admit Keiran. His brother noticed his distracted state and grinned.

“Thinking about a certain Deir again?” he drawled.

“Don’t start, Kei,” Reijir growled. “I’m in no mood to bandy words with you.”

“My, but you’re testy. What did Naeth do this time? Aside from flaunt that pert arse of his without realizing it.”

“Kei…”

“Or are you still recovering from your talk with Rohyr and Zykriel yesterday?” Reijir scowled. “So you heard?”

“I made sure I did,” Keiran cheerfully admitted. “Rohyr’s right, you know.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“How can you be when you’re not the least bit impartial?”

“Oh, and you are?”

“Far more than you.” Keiran sat himself on the edge of the desk. “Take heart, brother dear. Zykriel said it best. When Naeth turns thirty, you won’t have to worry any longer about accusations of taking advantage of a minor in your care.”

“I have no intention of bedding him, for Veres’ sake!” Reijir huffed in frustration.

“The situation is unbelievable. He knows next to nothing about the art of enticement, but saints above, you wouldn’t know it from the way he flirts with me. I shudder to think what he’ll be like when he does learn how to properly seduce a fellow!” He groaned.

“Deity’s blood, had I known how difficult it would prove having him so close by day after day, I would have thought thrice before taking him in.”

“Is it truly such a hardship?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Damn it, Kei, he should know better than to wish to cavort with the likes of me. Better for him if he looks for someone closer in age with similar desires to his.”

Keiran snorted. “I will concede the age difference, but desires? Are you truly so unalike? That isn’t what I gleaned from what you said just now.”

“You know what I’m referring to,” Reijir shot back. “His background is so far removed from ours, it’s almost foreign. He knows naught of our way of life beyond what he’s learned in his brief time here, and I certainly have no experience of his. We have precious little in common, and I’m not eager to teach him the facts of blueblood life.”

“So you don’t want him to lose his innocence,” Keiran murmured. “Yet he will lose some of it when he embarks on any relationship regardless of who he has it with. We all change, Rei, especially when we share ourselves with others.”

“But perhaps the changing will be slower if he associates with Deira of comparable history to his,” Reijir insisted. “I pray he does. It would be a great weight off my conscience.”

Keiran guffawed. “You admit you have a conscience? Will wonders never cease?” That earned him a mild swat.

“You’re hopeless,” Reijir grumbled as he got to his feet and strode to the door.

* * * * 

Naeth scurried away at the sound of their approaching footsteps, ducking into the empty guest room next door just as the brethren exited the study. He waited until they were past before he came out and cautiously followed them to see where they would go.

The two made for the stairs and descended it. There was a murmur of voices from downstairs followed by the opening and closing of the front door. Naeth headed for his bedroom.

Once within, he leaned back against the door, his eyes closed. Misery, shame and guilt washed over him as he recalled Reijir’s words.

I should have realized what I was doing to him, he dejectedly thought. I should have noticed what a burden I’ve become.

Naeth opened his eyes, but for several minutes, he saw nothing beyond the blur of tears that threatened to flow. He blinked them back determinedly. He could not afford to break down now. He had to set things right and that meant keeping a clear head unclouded by grief or self-recrimination.

He fought for some calm. Upon managing to dredge up a morsel of it, he sat himself at the writing desk and composed a letter of gratitude and farewell. Naeth tried to keep it as dispassionate as possible lest he unwittingly foist feelings of guilt on Reijir. He refused to impose any further on the Herun than he already had. But just in case a sense of obligation compelled Reijir to go after him, Naeth wrote that he would return to Losshen.

That way the Herun would not look for him in Rikara itself.

It pricked his conscience to make the fabrication, but he firmly shoved the discomfort aside. It’s for his sake, he told himself.

As soon as the ink dried, he folded the note and placed it on his bedside table. One of the servants would be sure to spot it and deliver it to Reijir. He only hoped his benefactor would not think too badly about him.

Naeth went to his wardrobe and pulled out the small shoulder pack in which Ruomi had placed his belongings when he fetched them from the Vomare a year ago. Next he brought out all that remained of those belongings and placed them on the bed.

He selected the plainest of the tunics and donned it. Its long sleeves concealed the fitted cut of his shirtsleeves, but the shorter length barely covered the hem of his shirt and did little to hide the fine material of his breeches. Looking himself over in the mirror, Naeth decided that no one would notice the discrepancy between the costly breeches and the simple tunic.

It was fortunate he had not discarded his old tunics. He did not feel comfortable about walking into the Vomare and asking to work there while sporting the latest in enyran fashion. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was nothing he could do about the shorter style save to wait for his hair to grow long enough to braid once more.

His suncrystal stud gleamed golden in his left ear lobe, and he reluctantly removed the earring and laid it down on his writing desk by his money pouch. Rifling through the thin wad of bank notes in the pouch that was the remnants of his allowance, his fingers touched something hard. Naeth withdrew a gold coin and stared at it.

It was the coin Reijir had given him after the fight at the Vomare. He tightly clutched it in his hand a moment then put it down beside the earring. He could sell the earring and exchange the coin for bank notes. Much as he hated to part with either, he would likely be forced to dispose of them in order to survive. That became painfully clear when he checked what was left of his allowance. It would see him through a few days at most if he was very careful.

As despair threatened to disable him, Naeth forced his attention on his clothes. He stuffed the pack with the tunics he’d earlier selected and a few shirts, breeches and undergarments, careful to choose only the oldest and plainest ones. Fighting back his tears, Naeth blindly snatched up the money pouch and thrust it into his pack. He hoisted the pack and headed for the door.

Leaving the residential wing, he waited until the main hallway was empty. He hurried past the many parlors and descended the curving stairs. Luck was with him for the servants were apparently busy elsewhere.

Naeth made for the door and opened it. He hesitated a moment before taking a step outside. But he did not look back. He feared his resolve would falter if he did.

And so he slipped out of the Arthanna house with nary a soul’s knowledge or, so he believed, a heart’s care.

Chapter Seven

Imprudence

“You want work?” Lemael sneered. “What happened to that fine lord you took up with? Did he tire of you already?”

Naeth flushed angrily. Bad enough that Camrion was away on a visit to family back in Losshen. To have to contend with his bellicose mate made matters nigh unbearable.

But he was in no position to quarrel with Lemael. And so he swallowed his pride and the sharp rejoinder he was aching to serve up.

“I didn’t take up with Lord Arthanna,” he said as evenly as he could muster. “He only made sure I finished my last year of schooling, that’s all. Out of gratitude.” Lemael regarded him disbelievingly. “And then he tossed you out on your ear?” he scoffed. “Really, why not just admit that he found a new doxy to warm his bed?” It was too much. Naeth could not keep from talking back.

“His Grace is no lecher to bed a youth below the age of consent,” he retorted. “No decent Deir would.”

To his surprise, Lemael turned red in turn and looked away. Naeth wondered if the tavern keeper had gone so low as to seduce a minor in the past. Or had he done what he now accused Naeth of doing? In any case, he knew a moment’s satisfaction over Lemael’s discomfiture. But only a moment. Lemael turned even more hostile when he found his tongue.

“There’s no work for you here,” he haughtily stated. “We have more than enough competent helpers. There’s no need to take in an untrained one out of mere pity.” Naeth bit back another angry reply. It would do him no good to further antagonize Lemael.

“When will Camrion return?” he asked.

Lemael scowled. “I told you, there’s naught here for you to do! Stop relying on Camrion and look elsewhere for work. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.” He disdainfully turned his back on Naeth. But before Naeth could speak up again, a Deir came to the bar. He gave Naeth an appreciative once-over that left him feeling naked and dirty.

“Ho there, Lem!” the Deir exclaimed. “Do introduce me to this comely lad.” Lemael swung around, cursing in annoyance. But when he saw the Deir, his face cleared, and he suddenly grinned.

“Who’s watching your shop while you gallivant about, Davon?” he asked.

Davon shrugged. “It’s a slow night. The lads can manage without me for an hour or so.” He regarded Naeth with a salacious grin. “Who’s your friend?” Lemael snorted. “He’s no friend, only one of Camrion’s strays.” His eyes suddenly glittered unpleasantly. “He’s looking for work. Maybe you’ve got something for him.” Wilfur, one of Naeth’s former fellow servers, had come to the counter to fill an order and heard Lemael’s words. His appalled gasp warned Naeth any work offered by Lemael’s friend would be far from decent.

Lemael noticed Wilfur’s incredulous stare. He shoved the filled mugs back at the server.

“What’s it to you?” he snapped. “Get back to work!” After an angry Wilfur stalked off, Naeth warily looked Davon over. He was less than impressed. The Deir’s clothing was expensive, but he looked gaudy nonetheless. And his deportment was far from cultured.

“Your clients prefer them young, don’t they?” Lemael went on. “Well, he’s not even thirty yet.”

“Really?” Davon’s eyes lit up further. He appraised Naeth more intently. “What’s an enyr doing around these parts?” he asked, raising a hand to touch the ends of Naeth’s short hair.

Naeth hastily stepped back. “I’m not an enyr,” he said. “I was required to cut my hair at my previous place of work.”

“He talks like he’s had schooling, Lem,” Davon remarked. “Who’d you work for, boy? A blueblood?”

“The Herun of Ilmaren,” Lemael supplied.

“Gaw, really?” Davon stared at Naeth with even more interest. “He must be well trained from what I hear of his lordship’s tastes.” Naeth gritted his teeth. “I did not sleep with Lord Arthanna!”

“Then you’re still a virgin,” Davon said. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Very good. You’ll fetch a fair price your first time out.” Naeth stared in horror as it dawned on him just what Davon did for a living. “I’m not a felka!” he protested, aghast that they would even think he would consider entering into prostitution.

Lemael and Davon looked at each other and snickered.

“You’re not much good for anything else,” Lemael gibed. “Besides, Dav’s no brute pimp, if that’s what puts you off. He runs a sporting house on the Row.” Naeth blanched at the confirmation of Davon’s profession. Granted the Row was the south district’s least disreputable street; that did not change what a sporting house offered its patrons. He shook his head vehemently, trembling a little with shock. He wanted nothing to do with Lemael’s friend or his sordid business.

The Deir must have noticed his fear for he drew back a bit and said, “He’s obviously unplowed, Lem. I’ll give him time to get used to the idea. You just drop by my establishment when you’re ready, lad. Lemael knows where it is.” He leered at Naeth once more. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in high demand. Lots of Deira who’ll pay through the nose for the chance to break in a beauty like you.” Davon winked at him then waved goodbye at Lemael before departing.

Naeth slumped against the counter, his knees weak after being confronted with the possibility of selling himself in order to survive. He tried to steady himself, jamming his hands inside his tunic in an attempt to stop their shaking.

Someone handed him a glass of brandy. It was Tovan. The Deir made him sit down and urged him to drink the liquor. Naeth did and felt a little better a few minutes later. He glanced up when Lemael came to stand in front of him.

“How much for the brandy?” Naeth dully asked.

“Nay, it’s free,” Lemael unexpectedly said. He hesitated, glancing cautiously at Tovan and the other tavern servers. After a tense while, he grimaced and said, “You may have your old room for two nights. But it will cost you some. We can’t afford to feed you for free.”

Naeth stared at him in surprise. And then he realized Lemael was uneasy. Perhaps the disgusted expressions of the Vomare employees worried him. Who knew what they might say to Camrion when he returned?

Lemael had not suddenly developed compassion for him, Naeth deduced. It was only his sense of self-preservation surging to the fore. But whatever the cause for Lemael’s sudden civility, Naeth was relieved.

“I understand,” he said.

Two nights would not be enough for him to find other lodgings in addition to work that would pay enough for him to afford the rent on even the cheapest rooms in the city.

But for the immediate present it was still better than sleeping in the alleys or abandoned buildings of the district. All too often, those without shelter did not pass the night unscathed. Indeed, many did not awaken to see another day.

* * * *

“What did he take?” Reijir sharply asked.

Ruomi continued searching Naeth’s wardrobe. “As far as I can tell, only some undergarments and a few shirts and breeches, none new. And none of the tunics either.

Since his pack is missing and it held the last of his old clothes, I suspect he reverted to sedyran fashion.”

He glanced around the room and spotted something on Naeth’s writing desk. Ruomi softly exclaimed and strode to the desk. He picked up Naeth’s suncrystal stud and a gold coin. Swinging around, he worriedly showed the items to Reijir.

Reijir swore. “What in Aisen entered that witless head of his?” He glared at Keiran.

“Did you say something to him?”

Keiran scoffed. “I’ve made him feel as welcome as a member of the family, Rei. If he was offended by something said, it was more likely uttered by you than me.”

“But I haven’t said anything to him that could be remotely deemed offensive,” Reijir protested. “I’ve done naught, but been the soul of tact and patience.”

“Even when he tested your limits,” Keiran agreed. “And he wouldn’t take to heart anything the household staff told him, would he?”

Ruomi shook his head. “He reported everything to me. Even mild spats and minor gossip.”

“So it wasn’t anything said. Perhaps it was something he saw or felt.” Reijir impatiently sliced through the air with his hand. “All speculation.” He read Naeth’s letter again. “Would he really return to Losshen?” he asked.

“Why not?” Keiran said. “His home is there.”

“Nay,” Ruomi interjected. “He told me he sold what remained of his family’s property. The proceeds were just enough to get him to Rikara.”

“So he lied.” Reijir frowned. “To throw us off his scent no doubt. How much remains of his allowance?”

Keiran shrugged. “Not much would be left. Mayhap enough to see him through a few days if he scrimps.”

Reijir clenched his hand, crumpling the letter in the process.

“Ruo, search amongst his schoolmates and instructors,” he ordered. “He might have taken refuge with one of them. If nothing comes of that, check on everyone else he knows well enough to ask favors from.”

Ruomi nodded and left to assemble a search party.

“And if their searches come to naught?” Keiran softly said. “What then?”

“Then we’ll look elsewhere,” Reijir grimly declared. He unclosed his fist, smoothed out the letter and folded it. He tucked it into the pocket of his jerkin. “We’ll keep at it until we find him.”

* * * *

Naeth counted out his money. He sighed. Thanks to his near maudlin breakdown as he finished packing his belongings, he’d forgotten to put his earring and the gold coin in the money pouch. He silently berated himself for his carelessness.

Dinner would be thin pea soup and plain bread at the dingy stall down the street.

Breakfast tomorrow would perforce be sparser. Even half a kipper was too expensive. He would have to make do with gruel. Maybe the stall owner would take pity on him and add honey and a sprinkling of nutmeg to make it more palatable.

He would have to look for new lodgings. Lemael had broadly hinted to him earlier that he had outstayed his welcome.

The problem was the lack of means to pay the rent on even the most squalid room in the district. There were no jobs to be had at the moment for a Deir still in his minority—

at least, legitimate jobs that did not require him to service any stranger who could pay the price. Naeth’s thoughts strayed to Lemael’s friend. The one who owned a sporting house.

He’d recoiled as soon as he learned Davon’s business and refused to give the matter serious thought. But with his funds fast running out, he realized he had no choice but to consider every available option, decent or not. He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on the ramifications of working in Davon’s establishment.

Sporting houses had nowhere near the social acceptance of hethare clubs. Nor were its felkar required, as club companions were, to entertain their patrons socially and intellectually, only sexually.

A hethar could pass the night without bedding a single guest. Not so a house prostitute who was expected to smile and perform whatever carnal act was asked of him by whomever the house owner sent to his room. What basically separated a sporting house from a full-blown brothel were its cleanliness and, as far as Naeth had managed to learn, the prohibition of certain acts deemed harmful perversions by the general population.

The hethare clubs were the domain of well-born Deira, especially the bluebloods and the landed gentry. The sporting houses catered to members of the middle-class who aspired to enter the ranks of the upper crust by way of money, political connections or wedlock.

These social climbers tried to ape the upper class even to the extent of showing that they could afford indulgences the vast majority from the working class could not. But the costly services of the hethare were usually way beyond their means. This was where the sporting houses came in.

Naeth began to curl up his lips in derision as he recalled one of Wilfur’s scornful comments—the sporting house was the jumped-up Deir’s hethare club, but one never said so out loud among such folk unless one was looking for a fight. He stopped when it occurred to him that he might end up depending on these arrivistes for his livelihood. He closed his eyes in anguish.

His money would only see him through another day. There was no way around it. He would end up thusly.

Chapter Eight

Fallout

Camrion looked up from arranging mugs and glassware beneath the counter just as a Deir of obvious noble birth entered the Vomare and headed straight for the bar, two other Deira behind him. Camrion started in surprise then smiled when he recognized Reijir Arthanna, the Herun of Ilmaren.

“Welcome back, Your Grace!” he softly exclaimed. “What can I get you and your friends?”

“You can tell me where Naeth is,” Reijir said without preamble.

Camrion stared. “Naeth?” he repeated. “But I thought—Doesn’t he live with you, my lord?”

“He ran away,” Reijir replied. “Three days ago.”

“Sweet Veres. Why did he—? But he’s still here in the city?”

“We believe so. He didn’t have much money left, so it’s doubtful he left Rikara.”

“Did you call on his schoolmates?”

“And his instructors and every Deir he came into contact with the past year. You’re our last hope.”

Puzzled, Camrion frowned. “And you think I know where he is? But I’ve only arrived today from out of town. Just a few hours ago as a matter of fact. And Lemael would have told me if Naeth had come by while I was gone.” Even as he spoke, he realized Reijir was closely watching Lemael, which impelled him to do likewise. Camrion noted the way his mate abruptly averted his face. He also noticed the angry look directed at Lemael by Wilfur, who had just emerged from the backroom. Camrion turned back to Reijir in time to see the Herun glance at the taller of his companions. Probably his aide, Camrion guessed from the Deir’s dress and comportment. The Deir nodded and silently moved off to intercept Wilfur.

“So you didn’t see Naeth?” Reijir addressed Lemael.

Lemael reluctantly looked at him and said, “Nay, not a glimpse, Your Grace. But then he wouldn’t come here if Camrion was away.”

“But he wouldn’t have known Camrion was away unless he came here,” the Herun’s other companion pointed out. Camrion was certain he was kin, so closely did he resemble Reijir in countenance if not in height.

Lemael flushed. “Erm… I meant he wouldn’t have entered if he didn’t see Camrion about,” he stammered.

“That’s because you never treated him right, Lem,” Camrion said reproachfully. He looked at Reijir anxiously. “I hope the lad’s all right. But what in Aisen made him do something so foolish?”

“I would dearly like to know his reasons myself,” Reijir dryly said.

Just then, his aide returned. The Deir softly recounted what he’d learned. When he was done, Reijir turned on his heel, his face black with fury.

Without warning, he strode behind the bar and grabbed Lemael by the collar. Cries of alarm rang out when he brutally thrust Lemael against the counter, nigh bending him backward in half. Lemael yelped as the edge of the counter dug into his spine.

“My lord!” Camrion cried. “What are you doing?”

Reijir ignored him and glowered threateningly at Lemael.

“Where is Naeth, blackguard?” he barked.

“I don’t know!” Lemael gasped. “I haven’t seen him since you took him away!”

“Yet you were seen just two days past introducing him to one Davon Irve, owner of a sporting house.”

Camrion gaped. “What?” he croaked. “Naeth was here? And you didn’t say a word?” Lemael wheezed as Reijir’s hand tightened around his throat. “He only wanted lodgings for a day or two,” he choked out. “I let him use his old room.”

“But, Lem, you know what Davon does! Why did you let him near Naeth?”

“I didn’t! He approached us! All I did was be polite.” Reijir snorted. “So polite you told him Naeth was looking for work.” Despite his situation, Lemael shot a venomous glare at Wilfur who hovered nearby.

Reijir hauled him up, twisted him around, and smashed his face into the back wall.

Lemael shrieked when his nose collided with the hard surface.

“Do you know the penalty for procuring a minor?” Reijir said, his voice icy with rage.

Lemael whimpered fearfully. “But I didn’t instruct Naeth to join Davon’s stable,” he sobbed.

“Nay, you only suggested your pimp friend provide him with employment. I tire of this!” Reijir suddenly threw Lemael down on the floor. He planted a foot on the blubbering Deir’s chest, bearing down hard on him.

“Did Naeth ask you for directions to the sporting house?” he growled. Lemael nodded, tears streaming down his face. “When?”

“A few hours ago. Be-before Cam arrived.”

“Holy Saints!” Camrion glanced at the tavern entrance where the lengthening shadows told the time. “He’s probably being auctioned off right now!”

“Where is the house?” Reijir demanded. “Speak!”

As soon as Lemael muttered the address of Davon’s establishment, Reijir released him and raced out of the tavern with his companions. Camrion stared after them in a daze then looked down at Lemael when the latter attempted to rise.

Contempt replaced his confusion, and he said in a hard voice, “Get out, Lem. I’ll not have the likes of you anywhere near me.” He shook off Lemael’s hands when his now erstwhile mate clutched at his leg. “And you’d better pray they find Naeth in time else you’ll think the gallows preferable to dying at Lord Arthanna’s hands.”

* * * *

Naeth shivered despite the stifling warmth of the small dressing room. He avoided looking in the mirror to his left. He did not want visible evidence of how low he had fallen. And he would fall even lower before the night was done, he miserably thought.

Attired similarly to the rest of Davon’s stable of prostitutes, he was clad in silky drawstring trousers topped by a sleeveless shirt like none he had ever seen before. It closely hugged his body and the small peaks of his nipples and shallow dip of his navel could be discerned through the thin, almost translucent fabric. Fragile ties were all that fastened the front of the garment. Naeth swallowed when he realized they’d been designed thusly in order to make it easy to tear the shirt open. As for the trousers, one yank on the drawstring and they would slide right off his hips.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the feelings of horror and revulsion that rose within him. There was no helping it. He had to set aside his modesty and learn to spread himself for whoever made the highest bid for the privilege of taking his virginity.

At least he would only have to service one patron this night, he tried to comfort himself. Indeed, Davon had assured him he would only take one client a day his first week. But thereafter, he would average three Deira nightly.

Naeth sucked in his breath. Three a night! Veres almighty, could he do that? He started to shake violently.

I can’t, he wildly thought. I have to get out of here!

The door opened, and a grinning Davon looked in.

“You’re pale,” he observed. “And trembling, too. That will drive your price up, lad.

It’s plain as day you’ve never had a shaft up your arse before.” He grabbed Naeth by the hand and pulled him out of the room. He led Naeth down a short and stuffy passageway.

“Now remember, only buggering is allowed,” Davon briskly instructed. “If your patron wants to have you all the way, he’ll have to negotiate a new price with me first.

And of course, you’ll need to take mirash. Last thing you want is a bastard on your hands. Though there are some clients who enjoy tupping expectant Deira. They say it’s softer and hotter inside them. And they’re more wanton, too. Expectant Deira, I mean.

But that’s neither here nor there.”

They entered a curtained recess lit by a small oil lamp. There was a low platform in the center. Naeth could hear the murmur of voices beyond the curtain. He gulped as the feeling of doom grew stronger.

“Just stand here,” Davon said, directing Naeth onto the platform. “Don’t try to cover yourself in any way. The clients like to see what they’re bidding for.” Naeth recoiled when Davon adjusted his trousers so that the crotch clung to his groin, hinting at what was beneath the soft material. Davon looked at his handiwork, smiling even more widely when Naeth cowered in acute shame.

“They’ll go wild when they see how untouched you are,” he gleefully informed Naeth. “Fifty sovereigns won’t be too high to start with.” He pinched Naeth’s cheeks to bring some color into them then patted his buttocks. “Heyas, it’s going to be a very lucrative night!”

He slipped out through the curtain. At once the voices outside hushed.

Naeth heard Davon make the pertinent introductions. He cringed when the Deir made much of his innocence and lovingly described his attributes. It did not help his fraying nerves when Davon described his arse as “pristine as untrodden snow, wonderfully firm and so tight it’s guaranteed to reduce the lucky Deir who gets to break it in to unspeakable ecstasy”.

When Davon crudely announced that “of course, fucking the lad’s sheath is pricier”, Naeth decided he could not go through with it. But before he could flee, the curtain parted. He stared at an audience of Deira seated three-deep in a semi-circle before the makeshift stage.

Almost as soon as Naeth appeared the audience began to shout their bids, not bothering to wait for Davon to start the proceedings.

“Sixty sovereigns!”

“Nay, sixty-five!”

“Eighty!”

Naeth was rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move or even so much as blink his eyes. Even when several Deira demanded that more of his body be exposed, he did not react in his shock. But when Davon came up to him and loosened the front of his shirt further so that it parted to expose his nipples, he jerked back, shaking his head pleadingly.

That seemed to further excite the crowd for the bids escalated in amount. Naeth realized with deepening horror that these Deira were vying not just for the privilege of deflowering him but also for the right to rape him for the length of one whole night. He cried out at last and tried to escape Davon’s surprisingly strong grip.

“Don’t think you can back out now,” Davon growled, tightening his hold on Naeth’s arm. “You hear those bids? They’re the highest I’ve ever heard! Now behave or I’ll strip you naked right here and let them all have a go at you. After the winner’s buggered you to his satisfaction, of course,” he added with a nasty grin.

Tears rolled down Naeth’s cheeks, and he began to sob. To no avail. It was what Davon’s clients wanted. His fear stoked their lust as much as his comeliness and his obvious innocence. He could only shake helplessly as Davon yanked his trousers back until his upper thighs and shaft were obscenely outlined beneath the soft material.

An outrageously enormous amount was called out. “Three hundred and fifty sovereigns!”

Davon shouted, “Sold!” even as protests erupted from the losing bidders.

A Deir of middle years with thinning hair and a slight potbelly stood up and came forward to claim his prize. Davon thrust Naeth toward his buyer. Naeth flinched as the Deir crudely pinched his nipples then rubbed his crotch through his trousers. He reached behind Naeth with both hands, cupped his buttocks and squeezed them hard.

“Saints above but you’re the most luscious thing I’ve ever come across,” the Deir muttered, his thick fingers digging painfully into the cleft of Naeth’s backside. “Where’s our room?” he hoarsely asked Davon. “I can’t wait to ream his arse!”

“This way,” Davon said, forcibly pulling Naeth off the stage. “Enjoy yourself. He’s yours for the night. Of course, if you want to go further—and I can’t blame you if you do, he’s a right beauty—do tell me now so he can prepare himself. I’m a reasonable Deir. I’ll let you tup him all the way for a minimal addition to your bid.” He turned, dragging Naeth along. They walked into a Deir who did not so much as budge an inch. Naeth looked up and glimpsed a pair of steely green eyes glaring at Davon.

“Not if you value your life,” Reijir Arthanna snarled.

Obviously taken aback, Davon nervously gestured to two beefy Deira who lurked in the shadows, watching for trouble and prepared to eject any bothersome customers from the premises.

The pair advanced on Reijir, wielding stout clubs warningly. But they stopped in their tracks when Keiran and Ruomi barred the way, their daggers though sheathed clearly visible on their belts.

“This isn’t worth a knife in the gut, now is it?” Keiran coolly drawled.

Neither doorkeeper disagreed. Ruomi relieved them of the clubs and forced them down on their knees,

Meanwhile, Reijir’s eyes never left Davon.

“Do your clients know that lad is three years short of thirty?” he said, his voice carrying in the close room. “Or do they think raping a youngster worth a high dance on the scaffold?”

At once there was a mad scramble for the door. Even the winning bidder hastily departed, leaving Davon to face Reijir.

“Nay, Your Grace,” he stuttered. “I assure you, I didn’t know. Lemael failed to inform me. Had I known, I would never have taken him in.” Reijir’s fist smashed into his face. Davon fell back on his arse, clapping his hand to a rapidly darkening eye.

“Don’t play the dupe with me,” Reijir snapped. “You knew he was below age.” He looked across to the door where several of Davon’s felkar peeked in curiously. “How many more of those lads are minors?”

Real fear showed in Davon’s eyes. “None, my lord!” he protested. “They’re all of age, I swear!”

“Now they are. Were they when you first whored them out?” Reijir challenged.

When Davon gaped at him, he grimly smiled. “I thought so.” Grabbing the Deir by the collar, he hauled him to his feet. Davon teetered on tiptoes as Reijir forced him to look him squarely in the face.

“Far be it from me to pass judgment on consenting adults however repugnant their choices might be,” he murmured, his voice dripping with anger and contempt. “But you are of the lowest kind, preying on youngsters and earning from their ignorance and misery. You I will judge and exact suitable punishment.” He glanced down. So did Davon. The procurer’s eyes widened in alarm. He yelped and tried to wriggle out of Reijir’s iron grip, then babbled a litany of pleas for mercy.

His entreaties fell on deaf ears. There was a flash of steel followed by shriek upon bloodcurdling shriek.

Davon staggered back, his hands at his bloodied crotch. He fell to his knees, keening in pain and horror at his maiming. The watching prostitutes cried out then quickly retreated from sight.

Keiran addressed the stunned doorkeepers. “Count yourselves fortunate that you’re only his lackeys. If I were you, I’d look for new employment before word of what happened here gets around.”

The two looked at each other uncertainly then got to their feet and dashed out of the chamber. Reijir ignored Davon’s wails and stepped around him to confront Naeth.

In his shock, Naeth had not said a word or made a move. He now apprehensively looked at Reijir.

Reijir’s lips tightened. He grabbed Naeth’s arm none too gently. That snapped Naeth out of his daze. He whimpered when Reijir’s grip turned painful.

“Ah! Please, Dyhar,” he gasped. “You’re hurting me.”

“Hold your tongue!” Reijir snapped. When Naeth stared at him, startled by his brusqueness, he angrily bit out, “Fool of a brat! Putting us through all this trouble to save you from your stupidity!”

“Rei, I don’t think—” Keiran began to say.

Reijir turned on him. “Not a word,” he growled. He shoved Naeth toward the door.

“And you’d better have a good reason for this harebrained stunt of yours!”

*

Keiran looked worriedly at Ruomi. The sedyr sighed and shook his head.

“Let’s hope he calms down before we get home,” he said.

“And if he doesn’t?” Keiran muttered as they headed out.

“Then pray Naeth finds the right words to say.”

“The right—Why, thank you, Ruo. That makes me feel sooo much better!” Unfortunately, Reijir’s temper did not improve by the time they returned to the townhouse. His hot fury was merely replaced by a cold rage that was far more worrisome. When Reijir was in just such a mood, it was next to impossible to read him and anticipate his next move.

He did not speak but simply glared Naeth into accompanying him up the stairs to the second floor. A black look over his shoulder warned Keiran and Ruomi not to follow or interfere. Keiran watched them mount the stairs in apprehension.

“He’ll do something they’ll both regret,” he whispered.

Ruomi placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. “He’s more likely to come to his senses first.”

Keiran sighed and leaned back against Ruomi. “I hope you’re right.” They both winced as a door was violently slammed somewhere above them.

* * * *

Naeth frantically tried to corral his chaotic thoughts as he entered his bedchamber ahead of Reijir. He almost jumped when Reijir kicked the door closed behind him. The resulting noise was deafening to him in his frightened state. He timidly raised his eyes and looked at the Herun’s face.

Reijir’s expression was not the least bit encouraging. His eyes were dangerously stony while his mouth was a thin taut line of pure anger. He advanced slowly on Naeth, compelling him to retreat until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed. He lost his balance and fell back in a semi-sprawl. Reijir’s icy glower did not change as he regarded his wayward charge.

“Why did you leave?” he snapped.

“I, uh—”

“Talk fast, Naeth. I’m in no mood for long-winded excuses.”

“Nay, I’m not—I just want to—” Naeth gulped when Reijir shot him a blistering glare. His next words came out in a rush. “I didn’t want to be a burden to you any longer!”

Reijir’s eyes narrowed in bafflement. “A burden to me? Where in Aisen did you get that idea?”

“I heard you talking with Keiran,” Naeth admitted haltingly. “You told him you wished you’d never taken me in. That I would cause you to do wrong if I persisted in-in liking you.” When Reijir stared at him in even more confusion, he added, “It was the day after you took me along to the Citadel. I’d left you in the study to deliver everyone’s letters.”

He cringed when Reijir’s eyes widened in comprehension, and his jaw all but dropped from sheer incredulity. The Herun ran a hand agitatedly through his hair and directed an awful stare at Naeth.

“You idiot!” he shouted. “You take off with next to no money, try to lead us on a merry chase with the most pathetic attempt at misdirection I’ve ever known, and nigh ended up buggered within an inch of your life in the space of three days! And all because you heard something you didn’t understand and thought running away would solve everything?”

Naeth gulped. “I’m-I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

That was a mistake. Reijir’s stare only grew blacker.

“That’s all you have to say?” he sarcastically said. “You left to avoid leading me into wrongdoing, but thanks to your foolishness, I‘ve committed all manner of wrongdoing today! I almost beat your friend’s mate to a pulp, probably broke up their marriage for good, then came near to throttling that fat-bellied lech when he pawed and poked you.

And to top it all, I sliced up that oily-tongued purveyor of filth! Holy saints, I’ve fought and killed Deira before, but I’ve never gelded one!” Naeth’s breathing quickened as Reijir’s diatribe rose in volume and bile.

“I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble,” he stammered. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“By whoring yourself?” Reijir shot back.

Eyes tearing up, Naeth shook his head. “I didn’t want to. It disgusted me. But I had nowhere to go. I didn’t know what else to do. I—I just had to bear it.” Reijir went utterly still. “Bear it?” he repeated in an ominously low voice. “So you would have gone ahead and spread yourself for that paunchy degenerate?”

“I didn’t have much choice—”

“You would have let him fuck you until you bled?”

Naeth was shocked by the Herun’s crude language. “Please, Dyhar,” he begged. “It’s not that I wanted to—”

“You nigh sullied yourself irredeemably and for what? Over a misunderstanding?” Reijir grabbed Naeth by the arms and roughly pushed him down on his back. “You would have given yourself to a stranger for a mere pittance compared to what you’ve been receiving from me?” he murmured, his voice suddenly husky. “Considering how much I’ve already spent on you, that makes me the highest bidder for your precious virginity, don’t you agree?”

Naeth caught his breath at Reijir’s abrupt change in manner. An unholy light gleamed in the Herun’s eyes, making him more terrifying than when he was actively enraged. Naeth planted his hands on Reijir’s chest and attempted to push him away.

Reijir snorted and leaned down farther, trapping Naeth’s hands between them.

“A felka isn’t supposed to resist his customers,” he chided. “You aspired to be a whore, Naeth. Try behaving like one. You won’t last long in the business if you don’t learn how to please your clients.”

“Please, don’t—” Naeth half sobbed. “Not-not like this.”

“Then how?” Reijir taunted him. “Like this?”

Naeth cried out as his shirt was ripped open. He stared in wide-eyed shock at Reijir, unable to see the Deir he worshipped in the cold and calculating noble who looked set to ravish him without care or pity.

He shook his head wordlessly, failing to summon anything that would turn Reijir from his path. Again, he tried to push the Herun away. Reijir retaliated by crushing him into the mattress and smothering his resulting protest with a savage kiss.

Naeth feebly struggled, but he was no match for the Herun’s strength. He tried to turn his face away and break the scorching seal of their mouths, but Reijir cupped his chin and forced him to respond. And respond he did to his dismay.

It was not how he had envisioned his first kiss with Reijir, but it was a kiss nonetheless. A plundering, possessive kiss that left him breathless, robbed him of lucidity, and stoked a slow fire in his belly.

Before he knew it, he met the sensuous stab of Reijir’s tongue into his mouth with his own tentative dips. Reijir smoothed his hand upward along his flank and came to rest on his chest whereupon the Herun stroked a nipple to a hard nub. Naeth instinctively arched into the caress. And down below, his shaft reacted to the frictional slide of Reijir’s groin against him. As if they were not a part of him, his hips lifted, seeking more stimulating contact. When it came, he shuddered with the sensations of arousal.

Deep shame swept over him at the same time sharp desire surged within. He wept then, sobbing softly even as he welcomed kiss upon kiss on his yielding lips and mouth.

Reijir suddenly stiffened above him.

Naeth heaved a shaky breath as his lips were released. He opened watery eyes to peer at the Herun. Reijir was staring at him, his eyes dark and unfathomable. But the frightening gleam in their depths was gone. And so was the nigh contemptuous curve of his mouth.

“Dyhar? ” Naeth shakily whispered, wondering why Reijir had ceased his assault. He lifted a visibly trembling hand and touched the Herun’s cheek.

Reijir jerked back as if burned. He let go of Naeth, pushed himself off him and rose to his feet. Without a word, he straightened his tunic and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth the tousled locks. All the while, he stared unseeingly before him and did not look at Naeth. He strode to the door and opened it.

Naeth half climbed out of the bed, anxiously calling after Reijir.

Reijir paused and looked back at him, meeting his eyes across the room. Naeth caught his breath at the pain and guilt he espied in that verdant gaze.

“Lock the door,” Reijir tersely said. He closed his eyes, and Naeth saw his fist clench until the knuckles whitened. “And stay away from me. For your sake.” He stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind him.

Chapter Nine

Waiting

C.A. 3009

Naeth cheerily whistled as he walked down the pedestrian path flanking the avenue that ran past the State University grounds. He would be a little late for his first class, but he did not care. Not when the reason for his tardy departure from the townhouse had been Reijir’s latest letter to him.

Two years had passed since his near rape at the hands of his guardian. The encounter had shaken them both, Reijir more so than Naeth if one considered his actions the following day.

Naeth had come to breakfast to find the brothers deep in subdued conversation with Ruomi in somber attendance and Reijir dressed for travel. As soon as Naeth took his seat at the table, Reijir announced that he would return to Ilmaren and abide there for the rest of the season and the whole of winter as well. Naeth would stay in Rikara with Keiran for the remainder of his gap year and then enroll at the State University the following year.

“When will you come back?” Naeth anxiously asked.

“Next spring,” Reijir replied. He tapped a sheaf of letters by his plate and looked at Ruomi. “Arrange for all my correspondence in the city to be sent to the west district when I return,” he instructed.

“Will you want a full household staff as well?” Ruomi inquired.

“Nay, I won’t be in residence long enough. But I will expect you to report to me when I am. Until then, stay here and keep Kei out of trouble,” Reijir said, ignoring Keiran’s huff of indignation.

Keiran softened however when he noticed Naeth’s stricken expression.

“Yes, kitten, I’m afraid Reijir won’t be living here for a while,” he confirmed. “He’ll be staying at our west district house. It’s near the main offices of Arthanna Holdings in the central district.”

“But why?” Naeth asked pleadingly.

“Best I put some distance between us,” Reijir quietly explained. “What happened yestereve was inexcusable. I won’t risk imperiling you again.” Naeth could not speak for several seconds, the growing ache in his heart clouding all thought. When he finally found his tongue, misery limned his voice.

“I’m to blame,” he said. “I should be the one to leave.”

“Don’t, Naeth,” Reijir cut in. “We’ll have no more of that nonsense.” The Herun’s tone had been kind but tinged with a hint of steel. Naeth looked down, struggling to keep his composure and dignity. He’d lost both and more the previous day.

He could not bear for Reijir to see him as weak and given to excess sentimentality.

“By the way, the next time you decide to run away,” Keiran said a touch chidingly,

“do bring enough funds to tide you over for more than a few meals.” Naeth flushed with embarrassment when Ruomi handed him his earring and the gold coin.

“I meant to bring them,” he mumbled to his plate, unable to look at either brother.

After an awkward few minutes, he dared a glance at Reijir. The Herun was gravely regarding him in turn.

“Will you write me?” Naeth managed to whisper.

“Yes, I’ll write you.”

“Thank you. I-I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Reijir gently said. So gently Naeth nearly broke down in tears there and then.

He was aware his guardian had returned to Rikara at least thrice since that day, but as Reijir did not come by the townhouse, the only contact they’d had was through their letters. It had been a rather lonely two years for Naeth despite the company of his school friends and Keiran and Ruomi’s care. There simply was no substitute for Reijir’s physical presence.

Naeth shook away the melancholy mood his thoughts had brought on. At least, he’d finally seen Reijir again just three weeks ago, during the celebrations marking the Ardan’s second marriage. When Keiran told him he could attend the nuptial ceremony and the reception afterwards, Naeth was rendered speechless in his delight and excitement. Ruomi had then taken him to purchase an elegant court tunic, fine long breeches and new dress boots. It had been a most wonderful experience from start to finish.

But after so long a separation, nothing compared to his first sight of Reijir at the temple of Rikara. He’d trembled visibly, so overwhelmed had he been by the fief-lord’s splendid appearance. Reijir was handsome and striking in countenance without the aid of formal attire. When clad as befitted his title and social station, the Herun was simply too stunning for mere words to describe.

Later at the Citadel, Reijir did not spend as much time in their company as Naeth would have liked. And so Naeth drank in as much of the Herun’s beauty as he could and committed each and every detail to memory. Such pleasant remembrances and his intermittent correspondence with Reijir helped keep his sadness at bay and his yearning bearable.

He reached into his tunic and drew out the letter that had delayed him this morning.

It was worth any amount of scolding he might receive from his instructor. All of Reijir’s letters to him were worth any form of aggravation or embarrassment. Even being at the receiving end of Keiran’s acerbic tongue was of no consequence when he had a letter from the Herun for comfort. And that was saying a lot considering Reijir’s older brother, though a much loved instructor at the University, was heartily feared for his rapier-sharp dressing-downs of students who failed to meet his exacting standards.

* * * *

“That letter will neither grow longer nor produce new tales however often you read it, kitten.”

Naeth looked up with a faint smile at Keiran. The latter was standing by his bedchamber door, idly leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Naeth realized Keiran must have been watching him for a long time. He folded the letter and returned it to the thin stack of missives that took up one side of the middle drawer of his writing desk.

He looked up at Keiran as the latter straightened and made to leave. He quickly said,

“Kei- dyhar, why is your brother so afraid of losing control?” Keiran’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He stepped back into the room and shut the door.

“Why speak of that after all this time?” he asked.

Naeth leaned forward in his chair. “I’ve had two years to think about that day. Why it affected him so terribly. When you found me at the sporting house, he was just angry.

And when he talked to me afterwards, well, he did get angrier and also quite sarcastic, which I admit I deserved. But it was only after he—” Naeth paused uncomfortably. “In any case, it was only afterward that he acted differently. He looked stricken. Almost as if he were disappointed in himself.”

“So, you figured that out.” Keiran sighed. Pulling up another chair, he sat down facing Naeth and said, “It wasn’t only the loss of control that troubled him but that in doing so he nearly did to you what he had just saved you from.” He turned his face toward the window, and after a while, his eyes took on a faraway yet troubled look. Naeth wondered what disquieting thoughts could bring on that look.

“Reijir has spent almost all his adult life distancing himself from the actions of our sire,” Keiran murmured. “He loathed Aba’s ways and so strove to avoid behaving as he did.” He looked at Naeth once more, his gaze somber. “Can you imagine what it did to him to feel that he might not be so different from our sire after all?”

“Not so different…” Naeth sucked in his breath in dismay. “Are you saying your sire forced himself on others?”

Keiran’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “There are Deira who simply refuse to be denied. They are generally of two sorts. The first will force their wishes on others because they believe it’s for the greater good. It’s a trait that can be found in many leaders. But the second sort will force their desires on others simply because they want to satisfy their personal needs or build themselves up at the expense of their victims. I fear Aba fell into the latter category.”

“After he was widowed, he virtually tyrannized Ilmaren,” Keiran said, his voice tinged with disdain. “Ruomi was very nearly one of his victims and indeed Aba molested him for many months before that even if Ruomi was not yet of age. Only our timely arrival interrupted Aba’s assault on him.” He paused to allow Naeth to digest the shocking revelation. And again his eyes took on a distant look, but this time they widened with what seemed to be revulsion. “But even before he wed, he preyed on many who didn’t know of his proclivities. The tales we heard of his so-called conquests were not flattering. And then he crossed a line, and there was no defending him. He took our father by force. He drugged Adda one eve and raped him. I was conceived that night.”

“Holy Saints!” Naeth whispered.

Keiran nodded, his eyes still on some unseen event. “It wasn’t only a physical violation,” he quietly said. “Adda was as much kin to the Ardan Keldon as Aba. He trusted his Ylandrin relations. All his family did. Our sire betrayed that trust. Adda hailed from Dyare, by the way—it’s one of the most powerful fiefs of the kingdom of Qindala in Khitaira. Our grandsire was the ruling fief-lord at that time. So as you can imagine, they couldn’t allow Aba to get away with his transgression. Not when it had been committed against one of their own.”

“Is that why your parents wed?”

“Yes.”

Naeth frowned. “Your sire seems to have come away from his crime relatively unscathed,” he commented.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, he would have had to marry some day. It just happened sooner than later.” Keiran snorted. “Political marriages almost always come with strings attached. In the case of our parents, let’s just say one of those strings was the length and girth of gibbet rope.”

“Oh.” Naeth grimaced. “Forgive me, I’m not well-versed in such matters.”

“Nor do we expect you to be.”

“But Reijir shouldn’t think himself the same as your sire,” Naeth insisted. “He acted on impulse and out of rage. Your sire planned his rape of your father.”

“That’s exactly what I told him. But as you’ve discovered, Reijir hates to lose control. It reminds him too much of our sire who was overly capricious and hot-tempered to put it mildly. He refuses to be anything at all like Aba.” Naeth pursed his lips. “It seems so extreme, this abhorrence of his.” He shook his head, baffled. “But then I have little experience of hotheads such as you describe.” Keiran looked at him speculatively. “What do you know of the manner of our sire’s death?”

Naeth shrugged. “Only that he died when his heart gave. That’s what the servants say.”

“That is correct, his heart gave,” Keiran said. “In the wake of a fight he had with Reijir. My brother defended himself that night and finally fought back. Landed a few hard blows on Aba, enough to disable him. But I think—and Eiren agrees with me in this—I think, it was the shock of his rebellion that caused Aba’s heart to fail.” Confused, Naeth asked, “Defended himself? Against what?” To his surprise, Keiran said nothing but stood up and unbuttoned his jerkin. When he began to undo his shirt as well, Naeth half started out of his chair. Keiran stayed him with a peremptory gesture. He shrugged his shirt and jerkin off his shoulders, turning away as he did. Naeth gasped when he saw Keiran’s back.

Faint lines of slightly raised flesh randomly crisscrossed the noble’s back from his shoulder blades down to below the folds of his clothing. Even in his ignorance, Naeth knew what those marks were and how they’d been inflicted. Pulling on his clothing once more, Keiren turned around.

“Reijir has more to show,” he said as he buttoned up and retook his seat. “He used to come between us in order to shield me. I was frail then, and Aba’s beatings could have killed me.”

“Sweet Veres,” Naeth whispered, appalled.

For the first time, Reijir’s avoidance of doffing his shirt outside of the privacy of his quarters made sense. For that matter, his refusal to let anyone other than Keiran or Ruomi see him half-clothed was now understandable. Naeth could not even imagine what a Deir as proud and strong-willed as Reijir must think or feel for having once been unable to stop the abuse done him. It did not matter that it happened many years ago when he had not even reached his majority. The shame and horror of it obviously still lingered.

“So the night your sire died, he’d beaten Reijir?”

“Tried to, but yes.”

“But you said Reijir finally fought back. I take it you mean he’d simply borne the abuse before.”

“As did I. Much as we despised Aba, it had been ingrained in us to submit to him. It isn’t a simple matter to set aside a lifetime of habits, even the worst ones.”

“Then what finally drove Reijir to fight back?”

“He was furious that night. He felt betrayed. I can’t say more without breaking his confidence. Suffice to say our sire was involved and Reijir confronted him about it. But instead of allowing Reijir time to calm down, Aba reached for his cane.” Keiran shook his head. “He thought Reijir would be cowed. He mistook our previous failure to fight back for fear of him. Well, Reijir didn’t back down this time. They fought, and he eventually laid Aba low. And then he left Althia and came here to Rikara. As for Aba—I tried to help him. Ruomi summoned a physician, but he arrived just as Aba breathed his last.”

Keiran’s mouth curled up in scorn. “He kept telling me to bring Reijir back. He said it wasn’t proper for Reijir to lay a hand on him, that he had to be taught his manners.” His laugh was painfully sardonic. “That’s how I knew what had shocked him so that his heart failed. He couldn’t believe, nay, couldn’t accept that he’d finally lost control of Reijir.” He tapped Naeth’s forehead with his finger. “You say our sire got off lightly for such a heinous offense. Insofar as lawful punishment, that may be true. But there are other ways to suffer for one’s sins, and those ways are not always visible.”

“Our parents’ marriage was one of expediency and the preservation of reputations,” Keiran continued. “Once the madness of his lust passed, Aba found he and Adda had little in common. Oh, he was fond enough of Adda to temper his intolerance and rages for his sake, but, otherwise, they lived largely separate lives. Their estrangement didn’t affect Adda overmuch though—he focused his affection and attention on us instead. He loved us dearly, and we returned his devotion in full.”

“Was it your adda who raised you then?”

“For the most part. And so we not only look very much like him, we also imbibed Qindalan culture and our Dyarin kin’s way of doing things. Of course, that changed somewhat when Aba arranged for us to attend secondary schooling at the Rikara Academy. We kept company with our Essendri cousins and became very close to them. If Adda established the foundation on which we could ground ourselves, Rohyr and our other kinsfolk provided us with the means by which we could build ourselves into Deira of substance. Hale of body and whole of spirit despite Aba’s best efforts to beat us into submission. That was his way of coping with his sense of isolation and frustration at being bound by the consequences of his actions.”

“So he took his anger out on you.”

“Whenever Adda was not around to defend us, he would find some reason to punish us and take his cane to our backs. But as I said, Reijir was protective of me and would shield me as much as he could. When Adda died, any restraint on our sire’s part died with him. Aba turned on us in full, caning us frequently and meddling in all our affairs, including Reijir’s relationship with his first lover.” Naeth involuntarily stiffened at the mention of the Herun’s earliest love. But he determinedly thrust his jealousy aside and concentrated on Keiran’s narration.

“He was quite trusting then despite the abuse we endured,” Keiran said in a hushed voice. “He still believed in the goodness and integrity of others. That lasted until Aba named him his heir.”

“But how did your sire circumvent the inheritance laws in the first place?” Naeth asked.

“He didn’t have to. A peer may legally bypass his eldest son in favor of a younger one if the circumstances meet any of the conditions stipulated by law. I met one of those conditions.” Keiran smiled faintly. “Being a breeder has proved both boon and bane for me.”

Naeth stared at Keiran in awe.

Breeders were held in high esteem for their rarity and prolificacy. The fertility of breeders so exceeded the ordinary, they easily reproduced and could safely do so even past the age when the general ability to conceive greatly waned. The only breeder Naeth knew about was Lassen Essendri, Rohyr’s new consort.

The external physical characteristics of breeders were visible at birth—plumper nipples and slightly wider and paler areolae. Naeth could just imagine the ambitious Rodeth Arthanna’s reaction when he discovered he’d begotten a breeder son, Unsurprisingly, Naeth’s ever present curiosity about Keiran’s relationship with Ruomi flared, but he dampened the impulse to pry. That was none of his business, and in any case, the need to learn as much as he could about the Arthannas’ less than rosy past was more pressing.

“Boon?” he repeated. “Did you not mind giving way to your brother?”

“Only insofar as the marriage Aba would have forced on me,” Keiran replied with some distaste. “That was the primary reason he bypassed me, of course. So that he could marry me off in exchange for more wealth and land. Had he not died in such timely fashion, I would have been wed to the Deir he’d chosen for me before that summer’s end, when I reached my majority and could defy him. But other than that, I was relieved to be spared Reijir’s burden. Inheriting Ilmaren meant inheriting the ills foisted on the fief during our sire’s reign.”

Keiran grimaced in recollection. “Reijir spent all his early years as Herun repairing the damage Aba left behind and restoring our people’s faith in our family. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fix the mess Aba made of that affair I mentioned. Or rather he couldn’t ignore what our sire exposed when he moved to break it up. Reijir changed after that. He closed up and never again fostered deep relationships save with those of our family he already loved and trusted.”

Naeth shivered, appalled by the discovery of such pained and sordid experiences in his benefactors’ past. He would never have guessed it judging from the brethren’s privileged life and the great wealth and social positions that provided them with that life.

“Why did you tell me all this?” he asked.

Keiran folded his arms. “Best you make your choice based on hard truth however sordid than on pretty but false fancies,” he declared. “That way lie regret and recrimination.”

Naeth frowned. “Make my choice?”

“Whether to pursue your heart’s desire or not.” Color quickly rose in Naeth’s cheeks, prompting Keiran to add, “You will reach the age of consent in a few months. Reijir will likely return to this house then, when you no longer present a forbidden temptation to him. But I think you know as well as I that he won’t make a move unless he’s absolutely certain of your willingness.”

“Yes, I know that,” Naeth admitted. “I’ve always known that.”

“Excellent. So, kitten, what think you now of my brother?” Keiran gazed searchingly at Naeth. And then he laughed, as much from amusement as from pleasure. “I seem to have done him a good turn by telling you this much about him.” Naeth shyly smiled. “I hope he agrees with you when he comes home.”

“I hope so, too,” Keiran said.

He rose and headed for the door. As he opened it, he looked back at Naeth, his eyes a-twinkle with green flame.

“And if he doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince him otherwise.”

* * * *

Reijir thought not for the first time that it had been a mistake to allow Keiran to take Naeth to the royal nuptial celebrations the previous month.

He’d intended it as a treat for the youth, this chance to witness history in the making as the Ardan of Ylandre took to spouse his long-time leman to whom incidentally he had also soul-bound. It was an unprecedented move considering Rohyr had still been wed to his first consort at the time.

Granted, he had very reluctantly married Tyrde Kardova in handfasting rites that precluded the blessings of the church and allowed for lawful dissolution of the union.

Still, the whole business had generated considerable controversy and would have had the legal experts arguing about the validity of it all for years to come had Tyrde not rendered the issue moot by getting himself killed in rather spectacular fashion.

But that was neither here nor there.

The point of Reijir’s rueful musings was that he’d unwittingly laid himself open once more to the temptation he’d tried to resist by leaving Rikara and staying away from his official townhome the few times he’d come to the city. But then how could he have known that Naeth would be a vision of youthful pulchritude and dazzling sweetness when formally attired and grown to the verge of physical maturity?

He’d had to remind himself not to stare overmuch when he espied his ward at Keiran’s side from across the reception hall. And it had taken all his resolve to resist the impulse to take Naeth home after the celebrations and ravish him senseless, society’s judgment and the law be damned.

Happy as he’d been for Rohyr and Lassen, that joy had been lessened by the inner struggle to leave the youth untouched and himself unentangled just yet in what could result in a liaison of depth and intensity. It was something he had assiduously avoided for many years now.

Perhaps if he’d kept away until Naeth’s begetting day toward the year’s end, he might have been able to forget and move past that meeting and its impact on him.

Certainly when he wrote the youth from Ilmaren the week after, he’d felt quite confident that his urges had been adequately quelled. But then business that needed his personal attention forced him to return to the city a mere fortnight later, thereby putting him once more in proximity to Naeth.

That should not have been a problem either if it was simply a matter of avoiding physical contact with the youth. But unfortunately, even the mere sight of him was enough to set Reijir’s imagination and libido on fire. And he had seen Naeth around the city, especially when he came to the west district with friends to sample the entertainment offerings of the famed Quarter.

He forced himself to focus on the document before him. It needed his signature, and Ruomi was just awaiting it before hastening to the bank before it closed for the day. He frowned, wondering why the words seemed familiar. Reijir swore under his breath when he realized he’d just read the same paragraph three times in a row.

Annoyed with himself, he stood up and paid a visit to the liquor cabinet across the room. After pouring himself a glass of Sidonan brandy, he returned to his desk and, downing a third of the libation, resolutely read the document through. Satisfied, he signed it then called to Ruomi to enter the study.

His adjutant came in and, taking the document, scanned it swiftly to make sure all was in order.

“Will you make it?” Reijir ruefully asked.

Ruomi nodded. “There’s more than enough time. And besides, the bank doorkeeper knows me well. He’ll let me in no matter the hour.” Reijir briefly chuckled. “Whatever would I do without you, Ruo?”

“Not very well, I fear,” Ruomi replied with a small smile.

“And Keiran would do even worse,” Reijir lightly added.

They grinned at each other in agreement before Ruomi made to leave. But just as he reached the door, he stopped and turned back.

“Ah, I almost forgot—Keiran asked me to give this to you,” he apologetically said, pulling an envelope from inside his tunic. He handed it to Reijir. “He said it might prove soothing for your present state of mind.”

As soon Ruomi left, Reijir opened the envelope and drew out the letter within. He read the missive, his eyes widening when he came to Keiran’s main reason for writing it.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

Keiran was right. There was something liberating about not having to keep so many secrets. It was soothing indeed. But then his brother had to go on and recount the aftermath of his talk with Naeth. Now something else needed to be eased!

He returned to his desk and tossed back the remainder of the brandy, welcoming the distracting burn as the liquid made its way down his throat. He quickly looked through the remaining papers on his desk and came upon a long report with exceptionally atrocious handwriting. Reading it would likely strain his eyes and give him a headache of some consequence.

Reijir sat down and applied himself to making sense of the document. With luck, deciphering the hideous scrawl would keep him nicely occupied for a goodly while.

Chapter Ten

Resolve

An unseasonably early snowfall did not deter Keiran from throwing a sumptuous begetting day feast for Naeth. Nor were Naeth’s university friends and the instructors closest to him hindered in attending the celebration.

Every guest was warmly welcomed as they arrived and promptly relieved of their damp cloaks and thick gloves. They were each handed a glass of mulled ale and ushered up to the large reception hall where long tables were laden with dishes of sweet-salty haronuts, dainty rounds of crisp toast spread with creamy herb-encrusted soft cheese, roasted mushrooms marinated in wine, tiny skewers of grilled breast of tomquail and bite-sized roehart slices in a sweet-sour sauce of Khitairan origin. Servants went around to offer more ale, fine wine, and spiced cranapple cider for those who did not care for alcoholic libations.

As expected, minstrels and other musicians entertained the guests, as did professional dancers who lured a few brave souls into joining their ranks for a turn or two on the space provided in the center of the hall. But Keiran went one step further, bringing in hethare who mingled with the guests and regaled them with witty banter, juicy gossip, and many a wondrous tale.

Their presence left several of Naeth’s schoolmates agape and wide-eyed and a little hopeful that more than convivial company would be had from these fabled Deira who were also renowned for their prowess between the sheets and the high price attached to availing of that particular service. But they hoped in vain for hethare never solicited patrons at social gatherings nor did they ply that side of their profession outside of the privacy of their clubs or, if they took long-term lovers, their own homes.

But even the hethare paled in comparison beside some of the guests in terms of the awe and excitement they generated with their mere presence. For how could anyone compete with scions of the highest House in the land?

Naeth could not believe it when the Mithani brothers Aeldan and Ashrian entered the hall followed by Eiren Sarvan and his cousin Rysander Seydon whom he remembered from that years-ago brawl at the Vomare. Also present were Essendris he had met during his two visits to the Citadel—Rysander’s sire, Yovan, and his wealthy spouse, Mered, the Calanthe twins, and young Shino Essendri, who promptly sidled up to the enigmatic Herun of Ziana, Tenryon Hadrana, as soon as he appeared with his dashing diplomat brother, Jareth.

Nigh following in their footsteps, Ylandre’s Interior Affairs Minister, Keosqe Deilen, entered the hall, preceding no less than the Ardan’s half-brother, Dylen Essendri, and Ambassador Riodan Leyhar, both lately arrived from a mission together in South Vihandra. And then Rohyr Essendri and his beloved consort, Lassen, arrived.

Naeth had thought nothing could possibly top the moment when the Ardan and his mate extended their greetings to him. Until Reijir strolled into the hall just when Naeth had despaired of his coming to the feast.

“You’re late,” Keiran tartly said when Reijir came up to Naeth to convey his greetings.

“It’s only a few minutes past the hour,” Reijir mildly protested.

“Even a heartbeat after Rohyr’s arrival is late,” Keiran scolded.

“And how was I to know you were going to invite him?” Reijir retorted.

Standing behind Keiran, Ruomi cleared his throat and apologetically said, “I believe I informed you the whole clan had been invited, Dyhar.”

“Which meant Rohyr and Lassen were asked to attend,” Keiran pointed out.

“But you were rather busy sorting out that unfortunate business in Ilmaren,” Ruomi tactfully interposed. “Perhaps what I said didn’t wholly register.”

“Most likely,” Reijir wryly agreed.

“What business?” Keiran asked at the same time. “Those two pitiful excuses for barons?” He looked over his shoulder and glared at Ruomi. “And whose side are you on, Ruo?”

Reijir exhaled and turned his attention back to Naeth.

“Pay him no mind, Naeth- min,” he said. “And please accept my felicitations.” Naeth suppressed a grin lest Keiran glowered at him as well.

“My thanks, Your Grace,” he replied. When Reijir raised his eyebrows pointedly, he corrected himself with a hasty, “I mean, Reijir- dyhar.”

“I trust the arrangements are to your liking?”

“Very much, though I never thought Kei- dyhar would prepare anything so lavish!”

“For you, kitten, nothing but the best,” Keiran loftily declared. “Now go and enjoy yourself.” He shooed Naeth toward his waiting friends.

*

Reijir let his gaze roam around the hall.

Garlands of greenery adorned by the last blossoms of autumn festooned the walls and windows while thin strands of winter vine dripped in clusters from the ceiling along with jade satin hangings. The wooden tables had been left bare, and the guests sat on cushioned long benches. Underneath, moss-hued rugs shielded the diners’ feet from the cold floor. The country-style informality was further enhanced by the rustic ceramic ware, pewter cutlery and varicolored glassware.

The décor gave the vast chamber the appearance of an elegant greenhouse. With the blazes of three great hearths driving away the chill, it was difficult to believe that snow lay deep on the ground outside and a cold wind whipped its way down the streets and alleys of the city.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” he complimented his brother.

Keiran beamed. “It’s well worth the effort,” he said. “Naeth was so pleased.” He glanced at Reijir. “As you desired him to be.”

“It’s little enough amends for his losses,” Reijir replied.

“His family,” Keiran murmured.

“And his innocence.” Reijir shook his head at Keiran’s stare. “Living with us has stripped him of much of it. And I’m still not certain if that’s good or not.”

“You prefer he learned the ways of the world on the streets of Rikara?”

“Nay, but I wish I could look at him with the eyes of a friend and no further.”

“Thus leaving him burdened by unrequited love.”

“Only lust, Kei. He’s much too young to know what true love is.”

“Ah, and how old were you when you first laid eyes on Darion and fell head over heels in love with him?”

Reijir looked away, his mouth tightening. “Point taken,” he tersely said.

Keiran sighed. “I’m sorry. I know it still angers you after all these years but…” He gave a little huff of frustration. “You know as well as I that Naeth isn’t merely infatuated with you. Else he would have turned to someone more accommodating long afore this day.”

There was a short fraught silence. And then Reijir glanced at Keiran, smiling faintly.

“I know it,” he softly said. “But I’ll leave it to him to make his intentions clear. If he’s serious about his desire, he’ll come to me unbidden.”

“You ask much of him,” Keiran groused.

“And you likely counseled him to expect it,” Reijir shot back. “He’s still my lawful ward. I want no suspicions of force or coercion to taint whatever relationship we forge between us.”

He walked away before Keiran could respond, taking refuge from his irrepressible sibling in conversation with Keosqe and Gilmael.

* * * *

Dinner was an informal affair with everyone sitting or standing where they wished.

Guests where free to move around as they desired and so old friends caught up with the latest news and gossip and new acquaintances got to know each other better.

The hall had a number of sitting alcoves where guests could meet and talk in relative privacy. Naeth did not mean to listen in on any of these private conversations, but as he passed one of the recesses, he heard the honeyed tones of his guardian. Unable to suppress his curiosity or resist the siren lure of Reijir’s voice, he hovered by the alcove entrance, peering in cautiously to see who shared the cozy space with the Herun. He caught sight of the new Ardis of Ylandre and the recently affianced lover of the Ardan’s half-brother seated in comfortable armchairs across from Reijir.

Naeth thought Lassen Essendri tir Idana the most ethereal creature he’d ever seen.

But the Ardis’s sweet countenance and almost delicate appearance belied the tensile strength of his slender body, his steely courage and indomitable will. This was a Deir who had outlasted a more seasoned warrior in a duel to the death and thereby won himself a kingly spouse and a consort’s coronet.

Riodan Leyhar, on the other hand, was an interesting combination of fragility and brawn, his cool, finely chiseled features at variance with his husky torso and meaty limbs.

It was said the diplomat had suffered severe burns on his back from his nape down to his waist in the course of doing his duty. But Keiran had hinted more than mere duty had played a part in Riodan’s near fatal sacrifice.

Someone to Reijir’s left extended a bottle to pour more brandy into Riodan’s glass. It was Ashrian Mithani. He shared the one couch in the alcove with Eiren Sarvan.

“So, Rio, when will you wed?” the mahogany-haired noble inquired.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Riodan replied.

“Why? Are you afraid you’ll change your mind?” Ashrian teased.

Riodan shook his head. “I won’t change my mind. But he might.” This last was almost whispered. Naeth stared at the ambassador, surprised by the faint underpinning of anxiety in his voice.

“He won’t,” Lassen said reassuringly. “He endured too much to risk losing you again, Rio.”

Brown eyes so dark they were almost black turned to the Ardis. Naeth was struck by the uncertainty in them.

“I hope you’re right, Las,” Riodan murmured.

Eiren asked, “Why are you so unsure of Dylen?”

Riodan did not reply at once but stared into the depths of his brandy. “I wronged him once upon a time,” he finally said. “An unpardonable wrong. If Dylen didn’t have it in him to forgive, there would be no making amends for what I did to him. Indeed, I don’t believe I’ve done enough to deserve this second chance with him.”

“You nearly lost your life in order to save his and bear the proof of it on your back,” Ashrian incredulously said. “Surely that’s more than enough to make up for whatever sin you committed against him.”

Riodan raised a hand to the back of his neck to touch the rough skin barely concealed by his high collar. “A start perhaps but paltry repayment of my debt nonetheless.”

“Sweet Veres, just how grievous can a transgression be?” Eiren remarked. “Besides, if Dylen still held it against you, would he have consented to bind to you? And before the entire court to boot.”

“Heed them, Rio,” Lassen said, clapping a hand on the diplomat’s shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t let your doubts get the better of you at this late date.” Riodan bit his lips. “I try not to, but I can’t help worrying that he might have misgivings about binding himself to someone as unworthy of him as I’ve proved myself to be.”

“Once, many years ago,” Lassen pointed out. “Dylen forgave you that sin. ’Tis time you did the same for yourself.”

More curious than ever, Naeth leaned forward, wondering what had nearly destroyed the diplomat’s relationship with the Ardan’s brother beyond redemption. He nearly jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He looked back to find Dylen Essendri standing right behind him. Naeth felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“You’ll hear better if you join them,” Dylen dryly pointed out.

To Naeth’s dismay, Dylen ushered him into the recess. Reijir looked up in surprise then frowned in obvious disapproval. Dylen gestured for Naeth to sit on the couch between Ashrian and Eiren. His face flaming all the way to his ears, Naeth obeyed but assiduously avoided meeting Reijir’s reproving stare.

Meanwhile, Dylen seated himself on the armrest of Riodan’s chair. He gently regarded his pensive lover.

“I won’t change my mind, ariad,” he firmly said. “And if it will set your mind at ease, what say we bind next spring?” Before Riodan could respond with more than the beginnings of a relieved smile, he continued, “As for making amends, who says you must accomplish it fully before we’re wed? You’ll have the rest of our lives together to make it up to me and all the time to be creative about it, too.” Eiren and Ashrian chortled while Lassen playfully punched Dylen’s arm. Riodan, however, gazed up at Dylen, his eyes gleaming with adoration and gratitude.

“I think I can manage that,” he huskily agreed.

Dylen leaned down and pressed his mouth in a proprietary manner to Riodan’s. As they kissed, someone groaned. Dylen glanced sideways at Reijir.

“Wherefore that expression, Rei?” he chided, his voice edged with amusement.

“Surely you’re no prude to object to lovers showing their affection in public.” Ashrian quipped, “It isn’t your show of affection he decries, Dy, but that it makes it more difficult for him to refrain from doing likewise.” Before Reijir could respond, he blithely said, “But you’ll persuade him to indulge himself later, won’t you, Naeth?” Naeth blanched then blushed all over again. He glanced at Reijir to find the Herun glaring in exasperation at Ashrian. Naeth hastily rose to his feet.

“I really should, um, see to my, er, friends,” he stuttered. “They’ll, ah, wonder where I am. I mean, of course they’ll wonder—That is—” Naeth caught himself. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He scooted out of the alcove, pausing at one side of the entrance to catch his breath and wait for his color to return to normal.

“Ash? What were you trying to do?” he heard Reijir crossly ask.

“Aside from letting Naeth know it’s now perfectly permissible for him to proposition you?”

“Deity’s blood!” Reijir exclaimed. “Why is everyone so intent on getting him into my bed?”

“Probably because more than your bed needs warming,” Dylen softly said.

There was a brief but ominous silence.

“If you weren’t a cousin—”

“You’d tell me to mind my own business.”

“Which is considerable enough without meddling in mine!” There was another short silence fraught with tension. At length, Reijir exhaled and in a strained voice said, “I’m sorry, Dy, that was uncalled for.” Dylen replied, “I’m sorry, too. And so is Ash.”

“Who says I’m—Ouch! What was that for, Ren?”

“To shut you up. So, Las, I hear your sire was elected First Elder again.”

“For a fourth term,” Lassen said, filial pride warming his voice. “Tal Ereq has prospered under his governance. He’s made some very good decisions for the town.”

“Oh yes! Wasn’t it his decision to let Rohyr have his way with you?” There was a soft yelp followed by Eiren mildly threatening, “Not another word out of you, Ashrian Mithani, or I’ll take my scalpel to your tongue!” Naeth smothered a guffaw and strode off to rejoin his schoolmates.

* * * *

It was near midnight when the last of the guests departed. Reijir and Keiran also came down to see their cousins off while Naeth bid his friends goodbye. After a farewell round of raillery with Rohyr and the Calanthe twins, Keiran feigned weariness from the last-minute effort at jocularity and demanded Ruomi bear him to his room and tuck him in for the night.

With the ease of one long used to eccentricities, Ruomi obeyed and lifted Keiran in his arms. Naeth chuckled when his schoolmates went all goggle-eyed as the tall sedyr carried his smirking master up the stairs.

There was no one quite like Reijir’s older brother, and frankly, Naeth could not think of anyone who could possibly wish to be like him. It took a lot of audacity to live one’s life as unconventionally as Keiran often did. Not everyone could stand up to the critical scrutiny of peers or ignore the speculation that came with being different.

As he returned his attention to the guests, he met Reijir’s gaze. The Herun’s eyebrows rose in silent inquiry. Naeth felt his cheeks warm up, whereupon Reijir quirked a small smile before he turned and followed his brother and adjutant. Naeth counted to ten then applied himself to properly bidding his friends good night.

He reentered the house in time to see the servants coming down the stairs, all headed for the kitchen with soiled dishes, cutlery and assorted drinking glasses. Bestowing a gracious nod of thanks on the butler, he mounted the stairs and entered the corridor leading to the family wing. His bedroom was one of seven chambers that lay between Keiran’s spacious suite three quarters of the way down the corridor and Reijir’s corner apartment at the far end of the passage.

He was just passing Keiran’s door when a strangled cry came through it. Naeth paused in his stride when several lingering moans followed. His cheeks reddened as he recognized the sounds of imminent sexual communion, most uttered in Keiran’s distinctive voice now rendered low and breathy by Veres knew what.

It occurred to him that the couple within had not made it to the bedchamber. The sounds were clearly audible—too much so to have emanated from farther than the sitting room.

Where they lying on the couch before the fire? Or on the thick skins on the floor?

Ruomi’s voice, thick with lust, resounded through the door, ordering Keiran to lie back and spread his legs.

Naeth gaped at the door. He had never heard Ruomi speak in just that tone and certainly never the words that set his ears burning in shock.

So the rumors are true, he abstractedly thought. It’s Keiran who yields.

More lubricious sounds followed, tempting Naeth into lingering outside the door.

“Sweet. So sweet…”

“Ruo, please—!”

“Not yet. I want to taste all of you.”

A sharp gasp preceded a series of harsh whimpers.

“Now, Ruo!” Keiran was barely comprehensible in his obvious desperation. “Have me now, damn you!”

Merciful Saints, what in Aisen is Ruomi doing to him? Naeth wondered, his face hotter than it had ever been. He became aware of the throb and swell of certain body parts down yonder. He gulped, embarrassed by his body’s reaction, and made a feeble attempt to move past the door.

But then Ruomi laughed, a soft, wickedly sensual laugh that rooted Naeth to the spot and left him all a-tingle and presumably set Keiran afire if his groaned imprecations were anything to go by. The curses were soon replaced by a spate of wanton moans, each resonating with indisputable pleasure.

“Deeper… please, oh please… I want to feel you… ooohh, so good, so good…

Deity’s blood! Oh, ah, Ruomi—!”

Naeth reminded himself to breathe. Before he could catch hold of himself, he pressed an ear to the door. He regretted the impulse an instant later when he heard the most titillating of sounds. It was very faint, but there was no mistaking the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh. Naeth closed his eyes. Veres preserve me, he nearly groaned aloud.

His silent entreaty went unheard as evidenced by the further hardening of his shaft.

He was panting erratically by the time he heard the sobbed staccato cries that heralded Keiran’s completion and the harsh groans that marked Ruomi’s. Naeth drew in a shaky inhalation and ran his hand over his burning face.

A few rapid heartbeats later, Keiran whispered something too softly for Naeth to understand. His eyes snapped open when he heard Ruomi’s reply.

“On your knees then.”

Naeth stared at the door, aghast. Surely, they aren’t going to…?

Keiran’s litany of moans and pleas promptly disabused him of the notion that one round of intense rutting in a night was enough for any sensible Deir. He backed away from the door as the sensual sounds escalated once more. If one coupling’s worth of such sounds had brought him to such a state of arousal, another one would likely finish him right there and then!

He hurried to his quarters, part of him ashamed of intruding on their privacy, but another part quite exhilarated by the experience. As he started to open his door, he glanced at the apartment four rooms down the hallway.

Naeth hesitated at the threshold of his room.

For several minutes he stood there, staring at the door to Reijir’s suite. Beyond it was the object of his fevered dreams; the Deir who from their first meeting had warmed his heart and stirred his soul and awakened the ardent yearnings of a hot-blooded youth on the verge of sexual maturity. Naeth bit down on his lower lip to still its trembling.

If anything were to come of his desires, he would have to take action. However experienced in seduction and the love arts Reijir might be, he was no reckless libertine.

He would not initiate relations with his legal ward and invite accusations of taking advantage of a Deir who’d been lawfully entrusted to his care.

Naeth straightened, decided on his course.

He was finally of age to take a lover. And if he were lucky, if fate favored him, his first lover would also be his last.

Chapter Eleven

Bedfellows

Reijir poured himself a glass of brandy from the liquor cabinet in his study. He’d refrained from drinking too much during the celebrations earlier, but now it seemed he needed something to fortify him. A strange thing for him to feel considering his surfeit of experience in the love arts.

There were so many strange emotions he’d experienced ever since Naeth Orosse’s advent in his life, not least of which was a protectiveness he’d not felt for another in so long outside of his kinsfolk and closest friends. But that he could explain away, citing Naeth’s age and a sense of obligation toward the youth he’d taken under his wing. The possessiveness he tended to feel around Naeth, however, was another matter entirely. He could neither explain it away nor ignore it and hope it would vanish with time apart from the youth. If anything, their separations had only further whetted his appetite for Naeth’s company—and more.

Reijir downed the fiery liquid, started to pour himself another glass then decided against it and returned the bottle to the cabinet. For one, while his apartment was well-heated, the adjoining study was not and the chilly air had quickly penetrated his robe.

Second and more important, he was not easily inebriated, but alcohol did loosen him up somewhat including that part of him that he preferred to keep under his control.

He was not much different from his brother after all—they were both mercurial in personality and their tempers could turn on a whim or a misstep. But while Keiran embraced his unpredictable temperament and even used it to his advantage, Reijir eschewed his as much as he could.

As Herun of a great fief he could not afford to vent his griefs or rages on the people whose damaged trust he’d worked so hard and long to regain. As for the youth who’d surrendered himself to his keeping long before it was proper, Reijir intended the memory of this night to be one Naeth would cherish all his days. To ensure that, he wanted to be in full control of himself and whatever passed between them.

He left the study through the connecting door into the sitting room of his apartment.

If Naeth’s courage held, he would come to Reijir’s quarters before too long. But if the youth’s courage failed…

Reijir could not decide whether that would be a relief or a disappointment. But in any case, whatever Naeth’s decision, Reijir would give him ample time to come to it.

He entered his bedchamber, selected a thin book from the small collection he kept by his bed and seated himself in his reading chair by the balcony. It would take him about half an hour to finish the book. Time enough for Naeth to make up his mind and show up.

Or not.

* * * *

Reijir was just turning down the reading lamp when he heard the door to the sitting room open. He walked into the outer chamber to see Naeth enter. The youth quickly closed the door behind him and bolted it. Then he leaned against it as if in need of its support.

Reijir let his eyes sweep over Naeth. No sophisticated Deir about town had ever looked as provocative. The youth’s thin nightshirt clung to his slender form. Reijir could easily imagine the well-knit body underneath, the strong lean limbs and the tight, slightly rounded backside.

He held out his hand invitingly. Naeth came to him and slipped his hand into his. He looked into his eyes and glimpsed anxiety and embarrassment in their depths. But he also discerned curiosity and anticipation however nervous he might be. A smile tugged at his lips.

"You can still back out and leave," he gently said.

Naeth’s cheeks began to color. "Would you let me?"

"No," Reijir admitted, his smile widening. Naeth’s cheeks flamed then, and he dropped his gaze. Reijir softly chuckled. "You're not afraid, are you?”

"I'm scared to death," Naeth managed to say, his voice uneven and whispery.

"Trust me," Reijir soothed him. He led Naeth into the bedchamber. "I want this to be wonderful for you.”

Naeth finally lifted his head and managed to meet his gaze, a tremulous smile on his lips. "I do trust you," he whispered, his eyes shining with adoration.

Reijir groaned. Cupping Naeth’s face in his hands, he kissed the youth. Naeth made a small gasp when Reijir teasingly pulled at his lower lip. He felt the quiver in Naeth’s body as he gradually drew him into a more intimate kiss, still keeping his passion in check to hold Naeth’s apprehensions at bay.

Naeth slid his arms around his shoulders, eagerly following Reijir’s lead. Reijir’s hands move downwards to pull the lad closer.

The youth drew in his breath sharply when he felt Reijir’s hardening shaft, barely confined by the silky fabric of his burgundy robe. The youth whimpered as that fact made itself fully felt through the thin material of his nightshirt.

While such sensations served to discomfit Naeth, the same could not be said of Reijir. They only increased his desire to get past the barrier of his clothing. He raised his hand to Naeth’s throat and proceeded to undo the buttons of his nightshirt. When the shirt gaped open, he slid his hand under and let his fingers find and fondle quickly peaking nipples. Naeth jerked back in shock, but Reijir held him fast.

When Reijir bent to kiss the hollow of his throat he let out his breath with a faint shiver. Still he did not resist.

Reijir knew it was trust that was keeping Naeth thus. Trust that Reijir would not hurt him and he would not have cause to regret this experience. That knowledge made Reijir’s heart swell with tenderness even as it roused his passion to greater heights.

As he trailed kisses the length of Naeth’s neck and along his collarbone, the lad trembled in his arms, a tight little moan forcing its way past his lips. At the sound, Reijir raised his head to kiss his finely curving jaw and chin before capturing his parted lips once more.

*

Naeth felt as if he was on fire. Indeed, he was reeling from this devastation of his senses and the steady awakening of his body as evidenced by the burgeoning stiffness in his nether regions. He groaned when Reijir deliberately allowed their shafts to meet and rub against the other through their garments.

He was aware Reijir had turned on him all the charm and skill of a Deir who knew the love arts very well. But far from resenting this, Naeth was pleased to be a chosen recipient of the Herun’s attentions and that Reijir was taking great care not to hurt or frighten him. Nevertheless, when Reijir started to remove his nightshirt, Naeth did pull back in alarm. His eyes darted to the lamp, its weak flickering light still too bright for his comfort. Reijir chuckled and let him go but held his hand.

Before leading the youth to the bed, he snuffed out the lamp. Darkness enveloped the chamber save for the moonlight that glowed through the windows and peeked through from the balcony. A sliver of that silvery light fell across the bed and dimly illuminated the couple that stood beside it.

Reijir turned back to Naeth. He untied his belt and shrugged off his robe, allowing it to drop to the floor, thus revealing the extent of his endowment and the state of its arousal. Naeth shakily drew in his breath, his gaze riveted on Reijir’s groin. Even in the darkness, every detail was clearly defined. Naeth fairly quailed at the prospect of being possessed by such a Deir. He dragged his gaze to Reijir’s face, wondering if the Herun felt any discomfort in his nakedness.

He obviously did not. Indeed, he boldly returned Naeth’s gaze. Before Naeth could speak or move, Reijir’s hands were on him, raising the nightshirt and pulling it off him.

He dropped the garment so that it fell in a heap at their feet. Naeth stared down at it in dismay.

"Veres almighty," he whispered faintly. He heard Reijir softly laugh in sympathy.

"Modesty has no place in love play," Reijir drawled, guiding Naeth onto the bed.

He eased Naeth down on the mattress, following him closely. It took Naeth a few shaky breaths to adjust to the sensation of their naked bodies molded against each other.

Only then did Reijir begin his sensual assault in earnest.

He explored Naeth’s mouth, drawing a spate of soft gasps and helpless moans, then trailed kisses from behind Naeth’s ear down to the side of his neck and along his shoulders and chest. Naeth quivered beneath his questing lips and clasped Reijir’s shoulders with trembling hands, somewhat overwhelmed by the discovery of his body’s sensitivity to stimulation.

When Reijir closed his lips around a nipple, Naeth stiffened with shock, an alarmed gasp escaping him. He held on tightly to Reijir’s shoulders, vainly suppressing a moan as the Herun played with the peaked bud until it was taut with tendrils of sensation.

He felt Reijir’s hand continue its downward journey, his touch leaving what felt like a searing trail of brands on Naeth’s flesh. The caress of Reijir’s palm on his abdomen and the kneading of his fingers on Naeth’s tense thighs left the youth breathless with sensation and anticipation. But the wrap of Reijir’s hand around his shaft elicited a shocked, nigh protesting cry.

Naeth stared wide-eyed at Reijir as the Herun proceeded to run his fist up and down the length of his shaft, stroking him to a hot, throbbing peak. Never had another Deir touched him in such intimate fashion nor had he thought to bring himself to completion thusly.

The shock of his family’s demise followed by the struggle to survive on his own had stifled any desire to satisfy the sexual curiosity that first awakened that tragic summer.

His attraction to Reijir renewed those bodily yearnings, but he had doggedly ignored them lest they tempted him into some rash act he might come to regret. What release he’d known had come in the form of dream-propelled orgasms, the squeeze of his shaft between his legs or the rub of his groin against his beddings.

He tried to speak but naught came out of his mouth save for a breathy moan. Naeth fought down his embarrassment and fear and clung to his trust in Reijir. He arched up involuntarily when the Herun’s strokes quickened and the resulting sensations intensified.

“Dyhar? " he moaned, a shade of panic in his voice.

"Don't be frightened," Reijir whispered. "Just enjoy this."

*

He had never made love as he was doing now. In the past, he'd taken care to pleasure his partners so that they, responding in their passion and excitement, could return that pleasure. For this reason, virgins had been more of an annoyance than a treat. One had to be slow and ever so careful with them and teach them first how to satisfy him to his liking. While he was always gentle with them, he much preferred the company of more experienced Deira who already understood what he wanted from them. Hence, the taking of someone’s virginity had never been much of a prize to him.

But now, it did matter that Naeth was one. Reijir was deeply moved that the youth had chosen to yield him his innocence. Consequently, he needed to make Naeth’s first sexual encounter a wonderful experience for him. To this end, he chose to bring Naeth to satisfaction first without regard for his own needs, urgent as they were.

Naeth buried his face in Reijir’s chest, his hands clutching at the Herun’s shoulders, half-frightened, half-awed by the exceedingly strong tension slowly mounting within him. His breath came in rapid pants, and he moaned intermittently while his body visibly trembled.

"Let go, Naeth," Reijir urged him. "Don't fight it."

Naeth gave a strangled cry as he bucked one last time into Reiji’s hand. Thin ribbons of semen burst forth to dapple his belly and coat Reijir’s fingers.

He clung to Reijir until his trembling ceased. When he finally opened his eyes a little dazedly, Reijir deliberately brought his fingers to his lips. Naeth’s eyes widened as Reijir licked his fingers clean of seed. Reijir softly laughed when Naeth turned his face away.

Still grinning, he leaned down and plied his tongue on the youth’s semen-stippled belly.

Naeth stiffened then groaned at the sensual sensation. Only when Reijir was done did his breathing slowly return to normal.

After recovering some calm, Naeth looked at Reijir in some befuddlement.

Correctly divining the reason for his confusion, Reijir said, "I wanted you to enjoy yourself first.”

“Oh.” Naeth huffed a nervous chuckle. "I thought you didn't want to go further," he admitted.

Reijir grinned and shook his head. "I've waited far too long to put this off now.” Even as he spoke, he nudged a knee between Naeth’s legs, compelling him to spread them. He caught up the bottle of oil from the bedside table and drizzled a generous amount onto his fingers. Naeth stared in fascination as Reijir thoroughly coated his shaft with the oil.

“Raise your knees,” Reijir murmured, shifting between Naeth’s outspread legs.

Gulping, Naeth did as he was directed. He caught his breath when his buttocks were parted and Reijir smeared oil on the tight entrance to his backside with his thumb, teasing the sensitive flesh as he did. A moment later he gasped when Reijir’s thumb pressed into him, retreated then pushed in once more, all the while smoothing more oil up Naeth’s arse even as he accustomed him to the intrusive feeling.

*

Naeth averted his gaze when he realized Reijir was studying his face while he steadily breached him. He started then whimpered when he felt the entry of more fingers, twisting gently as they proceeded deeper. Naeth cried out in surprise when the stroking within him fetched him a burst of pleasure. He clutched at the beddings, panting unevenly as the delicious sensations continued.

He sighed when Reijir withdrew his fingers, torn between relief and dissatisfaction, only to sharply inhale when something else sought entrance. His throat tightened as he finally realized just what being taken would actually entail.

"This may hurt a bit," Reijir said in an oddly hushed voice.

Naeth fought back a surge of panic.

"I'm scared," he admitted in a rather thready voice.

Reijir asked very gently, "Do you want me to stop?"

Naeth looked at him incredulously, stunned that Reijir should still offer him a choice, even when he was obviously in great need of his own release. He blew his breath out then willed the tension out of his lower body.

"Don’t stop," he murmured.

“So brave,” Reijir commented with a small approving smile.

He began to ease into Naeth, sprinkling small kisses on his forehead, eyelids and cheeks. Naeth winced as he felt himself stretched beyond what was comfortable.

Reijir paused and said, “Bear down on me as if you’re pushing me out.” Naeth stared at him. “Why would I—?”

“Trust me, Naeth- min.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Naeth obeyed. He gasped as the action opened him up further to Reijir’s entry, allowing the Herun full ingress into him. Suddenly filled to the brim with hot, hard flesh, Naeth moaned and closed his eyes. The discomfort was acute and would take some getting used to.

“Are you well?”

Naeth opened his eyes and gazed at Reijir in wonder. He could not quite believe it, but after waiting so long, he was finally one with the Deir he adored. Reijir had taken possession of him, fulfilling a wish Naeth had nursed these past two years.

"Yes," he assured the Herun. "Thank you."

Reijir looked at him searchingly. "I should thank you," he quietly said.

Before Naeth could respond, Reijir started to move, sliding repeatedly up his backside. Naeth shuddered with each plunge of Reijir’s shaft into him. Before long, the earlier pleasure returned, this time wrought by the frictional slide of a hard shaft against sensitive flesh. Gasping from the sensations, he wrapped his arms about Reijir’s shoulders and pressed his lips to the Herun’s throat.

He heard Reijir’s breath catch as he moved his lips lower. The Herun half-laughed, half-groaned when Naeth eagerly kissed the length of his throat and what he could reach of his shoulders, his tongue stroking him in just the way Reijir had earlier done.

"Veres Almighty, you'll drive me mad," he raggedly gasped, his muscles taut with the effort to keep his body under control.

He pinned Naeth down and claimed his lips with a fierce kiss. Naeth eagerly lifted his hips to meet Reijir’s thrusts. He moaned against Reijir’s lips, his body trembling helplessly. His body began to shake as they made the final climb to a shattering climax.

When the explosion came, Naeth uttered a low cry and tightly wrapped his legs around Reijir’s waist, as if unwilling to relinquish the pleasure of being so fulsomely filled.

*

His shaft buried to the hilt in snug velvet heat underlined by the hint of strength in satin swathed muscles, Reijir gave in to his body’s demand for release and nearly shouted his pleasure when torrents of sensation threatened to completely engulf him. Only by sheer force of will did he manage to hold on to one last tenuous thread of bodily restraint and bite back that cry.

The unexpected intensity of their lovemaking had taken him by surprise. Naeth's response to him, for some inexplicable reason, almost shattered his rigid bastion of control. That he’d managed to stave off that breaching was testimony to the strength of his will over his body.

But it had been a near thing. A very near thing indeed.

Chapter Twelve

Smitten

Reijir and Keiran decided to spend the height of winter in Ilmaren, and they departed Rikara before more snowfall beset the capital. And since the university’s winter recess coincided with the coldest weeks of the season, the Herun invited Naeth to join them.

Naeth was surprised but pleased as could be. Though he was Reijir’s ward, he had not been previously invited to visit the fief. He wondered if in warming his guardian’s bed quite frequently, he had engendered a desire in Reijir for more of his company.

Whatever the reason, Naeth was most grateful for the chance to continue serving Reijir.

For truth be told, he had feared the possibility of some other Deir supplanting him in Ilmaren. But if he were on hand to meet most if not all of Reijir’s needs, potential rivals would find it difficult to get a foot in the door so to speak.

They rode out to the Great Field, and when they were a fair distance down the wide avenue from the city, they crossed a half frozen meadow to an empty spot. They would make the journey to Ilmaren by way of a translocation corridor, the generation of which both Arthanna brothers possessed the power and skill to perform.

It was an unwritten rule that anyone who created a corridor did so far from populated areas for the blossoming of a portal expended energy strong enough to kill or destroy.

Only a very few, the inordinately powerful templars and specially gifted physicians among them, could be so precise as to safely open corridors inside structures or in the middle of a busy street or square. Naeth knew the Ardan Rohyr was also one of that bare handful due to his inheritance of the fabled Essendri potential.

Well wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, he curiously watched Reijir and saw that he was staring at a spot a short distance in front of them. Naeth looked in the direction of Reijir’s fixed gaze.

He became aware of an unusual stillness around them—as if the chill breezes of the open plain had vanished and taken all sound and movement with it. And then he caught his breath as the air before them visibly shimmered. The shimmer expanded into a pulsing mosaic of light and movement. He was wide eyed and all agape by the time he comprehended that Reijir had opened a translocation portal.

Reijir glanced at him and asked, “Nervous?” When Naeth nodded, the Herun said,

“Stay close behind me.” With that he lifted a hand in a commanding gesture to the others then urged his steed toward the gateway.

Naeth swallowed hard then followed Reijir into the portal. He gasped when they passed through the icy mist that veiled the entrance and rode into the nigh oppressive coolness of the corridor within. Vague images of what appeared to be the countryside they were rapidly bypassing registered at the periphery of his field of vision. But too frightened to take a good look at the mysterious passageway they now traversed, Naeth resolutely kept his eyes on the reassuring figure of the Herun in front of him.

With neither daylight nor passing scenery to give him an idea of how fast they were travelling, Naeth quickly lost track of time. Indeed, it felt as if the whole world had come to a stop. Or ceased to exist. The silvery blue light within the corridor was steady but diffuse while the air just seemed to hang there, cold and unmoving and voiceless. Naeth knew a twinge of terror at the thought of being stranded in this utterly still and silent place.

Just when he thought he could no longer bear the chilling silence, he saw a glow in the distance. It was little more than a pinpoint of light at first, but mere seconds later, it increased in circumference until it appeared a bright disc. Naeth hoped it was the end of the corridor. He doggedly rode on, keeping as close behind as possible to Reijir. The light suddenly seemed to rush at them, and before he could think twice about it, Naeth was past it.

They emerged from the tunnel onto a wide meadow now rendered brown and dry as the coldest season overtook the land. Naeth looked back in time to see the last rider emerge from the portal. Before his eyes, the gateway shrank and closed and all around air and sound and movement was normal once more.

He came abreast with Reijir, blinking a few times to accustom his eyes to the light. It was quite bright for it was a cloudless day and high noon was upon them. Naeth realized it had taken them little more than a quarter of an hour to reach the midlands of Ylandre, a good fortnight’s ride and more than a month’s journey on foot or by slow-moving wain from Rikara.

Looking about, he discovered that the meadow was to the right of a wide highway—

the main approach to Althia he would later learn. Quiet and empty for the most part in winter, this thoroughfare would come alive with traffic in the spring.

Reijir glanced at him questioningly. Naeth hastened to reassure him, saying, “I am well.” At Reijir’s nod of acknowledgement, he asked, “Is it much farther?”

“Althia lies beyond those woods,” Reijir replied, cocking his head in the direction of a small forest that concealed a bend in the road.

Once the party regrouped, they rode onto the highway and continued their journey.

Almost as soon as they rounded the bordering trees, Naeth caught sight of their destination.

In a shallow basin amidst several low hills was a city of considerable size. An expansive ice-covered tributary curved around its western bounds to go on for leagues before it emptied its waters into the Nyllos, the mighty river that virtually ran the length of Ylandre and of which the Azira River that cut through Rikara was but a branch. With most of its structures built largely from bronze-and amber-hued stone and sand, the city appeared golden in the midday light.

This was Althia, the capital and herunic seat of the Lords of Ilmaren, principal fief of the upper Ylandrin midlands and one of the three major agricultural centers of the kingdom. It was a populous, prosperous city that bid fair to match Rikara in appeal and sophistication if not in sheer size.

As they neared Althia, Naeth took note of the low hills in the distance, towns and villages visible between them or scattered around at their feet. Before them sprawled acres of fallow fields to be sown with grain, pulse and edible seed come the end of winter. Naeth remembered that farther south the fief of Edessa held sway over the lower midlands and with Ilmaren controlled the central region that was foremost known as the breadbasket of Ylandre. He turned his gaze back to Althia.

In the south of the city stood a walled many-towered manse. From the highest tower of the manor a large banner fluttered in the strong wintry breeze, revealing a sprig of evergreen crowning a white majestically antlered roehart stag on a deep burgundy field.

Thus did Naeth lay his eyes for the first time on Arthanna Court, home of the ruling family of Ilmaren.

He knew the mansion had a long history. Keiran had told him some wings of the great house harked back to the small Naeren fortress that had once dominated the site.

Instead of tearing down the old building, the first Herun had incorporated it into the stately home that would become the seat of all succeeding fief-lords.

As he eagerly viewed the mansion, Naeth thought with some disappointment that it looked rather small for a Herun’s home since all he could see was the front portion of the building. But as he rode behind Reijir and Keiran down the main avenue of Althia and approached the tall wrought iron gates that bore the Arthanna coat-of-arms, he did know a renewed sense of wonderment and acute pangs of curiosity, regular occurrences for him since making the acquaintance of the Lord of Ilmaren.

The gatekeeper opened the gates to allow the company entrance into the courtyard.

Only then did Naeth realize that the enclosing walls concealed a great space adorned with graceful statuary and fountains, sculpted hedges and pocket gardens that would be awash with lush blooms come spring and summer. He almost whistled as he started to feel impressed by his lover’s ancestral domain.

They reined in their steeds and dismounted. A column of fully liveried retainers lined the shallow stepped stairs leading up to the massive front door. Naeth shook his head as the brethren swept past the retainers as if they were so many stone statues.

The heavy front door was duly opened by the head butler and ruler of the household staff. "Your Grace. Lord Keiran," he formally intoned, bowing as they entered the enormous main hall with its gleaming marble floor.

* * * *

It did not take Naeth long to comprehend just how mistaken he’d been about the dimensions or affluence of the Arthanna estate. The actual size of the house as well as the extent of the grounds on which it stood could not be discerned as one rode up to the front gate.

Upon exploration he quickly discovered the many acres of parkland behind the manse including the expansive manicured lawns and exquisitely landscaped gardens. A small crystalline lake in the park, its placid waters graced by regal grey-winged swans, lent a charmingly fanciful touch. The stables lay on the opposite side housing some of the finest equines wealth and skill could breed, not to mention an astounding number and variety of steed-drawn conveyances to suit every occasion. Farther on were fertile fields and verdant pasture for grazing, numerous poultry pens, bubbling streams and scattered strips of game-rich woods.

Beyond the parkland stood a thickly grown copse of tall trees at the outer bounds of which clustered the neat cottages of the Arthanna tenants. And finally, at the very edge of the estate's perimeters, against its southernmost wall lay a private graveyard, last resting place of every Herun and Heris of Ilmaren since the fifth century after the Inception.

Yet Arthanna Court was not the only property of significance Reijir possessed, Naeth later learned much to his awe. There were other houses and smaller estates scattered all over Ylandre, their combined rentals and production making his lover one of the wealthiest Deira in the realm. Add to that Reijir’s title and close kinship to the Ardan—

Naeth marveled all over again at the tides of fate that had swept him into a life quite different from anything he’d ever imagined.

* * * *

One thing Reijir had not expected when he took Naeth as his lover was the attention the youth would pay to his personal needs as much as his carnal ones. The three-week winter sojourn, for instance, proved full of warmth and cheer—the merriest holiday he could remember in so long a time.

The manor halls rang with jests and laughter. Naeth collaborated with Ruomi, and together, they somehow managed to bring some coziness to a building so immense it often looked forbidding in the dark. Torchlight flickered nightly out front making the approach to the house welcoming rather than imposing. Cheerful evergreen arrangements and other winter plants strategically placed in every major chamber and hallway brightened up the atmosphere immeasurably. And one afternoon, Reijir went so far as to join Naeth in treating the household staff to the spectacle of their Herun engaged in a snowball fight in the courtyard.

Ignoring the astonished gawks of the servants, Reijir and Naeth hurled fistfuls of newly fallen snow at each other. Ducking behind statuary and hedges to avoid the wildly flying missiles, they laughingly challenged each other, behaving like two unruly children whose parents were not home. Not even the scandalized stare of the elderly and oh-so-proper head butler deterred their enjoyment of this highly undignified play.

But when Reijir suddenly tackled Naeth to bring both of them down behind a tall hedge, Ruomi quickly stepped in and, to the butler’s relief, ordered the servants back into the house. However, while the butler only sought to do his duty, Ruomi was guided by a suspicion his employer might engage in business of a private nature.

"You're crazy!" Naeth gasped, trying to catch his breath as he lay panting on the snow beside Reijir.

"I'm crazy?" countered Reijir. "Pray tell, who threw the first snowball?"

Naeth snickered. He'd caught Reijir squarely in the side of his head when he'd emerged from the house looking for Naeth. "You were too good a target to resist," he admitted.

"You mean victim!" Reijir retorted.

Naeth laughed a little guiltily. "I fear we provided a bit of a show for the servants,"

he said with belated embarrassment. “And the butler looked positively horrified.”

"They will no doubt talk about nothing else for several days running,” Reijir agreed.

Without warning, he shifted atop Naeth and held him down with his body. Naeth yelped.

"What are you doing? Get off me! Let me up!"

"Nay."

Reijir suddenly parted Naeth’s cloak. Naeth wriggled in alarm.

"You can't mean to do anything out here!"

"Try me."

Unmindful of Naeth’s flustered protests, Reijir quickly unbuttoned the tunic of fine velvet beneath. He yanked open Naeth’s undershirt and bent to trail kisses from the youth’s throat to his chest. Naeth moaned softly as Reijir’s warm lips closed upon one nipple.

"This is madness," he whispered.

"I know," Reijir murmured, his tongue teasing the now hardened nipple. "It's what you bring out in me, my sweet."

"But this is indecent. It isn't right!"

Reijir lifted his head and looked at Naeth challengingly. "Why not? You're my leman. Unless you don’t mean to honor what that entails."

His comment effectively silenced the youth. Naeth gazed questioningly at him, to which Reijir responded with a stare that dared him to contest his choice of words. Naeth slowly smiled, and when Reijir kissed him again, he did not resist. As their kiss deepened, Reijir slid his hands under Naeth’s clothing with bold possessiveness. In lusty compliance, Naeth wrapped his arms around Reijir and pressed his body against the Herun’s.

Reijir huffed a throaty laugh. "I think we shall be late for dinner," he said.

With that he rose, pulling Naeth to his feet. Barely giving him time to rearrange his clothes, he picked Naeth up, unceremoniously slung him over his shoulder, and strode back into the house. Unmindful of the amused and bemused side-glances of his brother, adjutant, and several servants, not to mention the renewed horror of the butler, he swiftly carried his sputtering lover up the curving stairs.

*

After a few minutes, a door slammed noisily shut. The servants hurriedly scattered as the butler’s outraged gaze descended on them.

Keiran looked at Ruomi, grinning with glee and anticipation.

"I wonder…” he mused aloud. “But after all, stranger things have happened before.

Ruo, I do believe my brother's finally falling even if he doesn't realize it yet!"

“Or won’t,” Ruomi murmured.

He looked apologetically at Keiran when the latter scowled at him.

* * * *

Reijir awoke on the morning of the winter solstice to find, neatly folded at his side, a midnight blue velvet robe lined with black satin. On the left breast, his herunic insignia had been laboriously stitched in gold and silver purl. The obvious surfeit of painstaking effort told him Naeth must have cut, sewn and embellished the robe himself. He wondered how long the youth had worked on it.

Almost reverently, he picked up the robe and slipped it on to check for its fit. To his surprise, it was perfect. Apparently, Naeth was fairly adept in the basics of tailoring but had not progressed as far as the intricacies of fine embroidery.

Just then Naeth walked in, a laden bed tray in hand.

"Good morning, Reijir- dyhar," he greeted.

"Good morning, Naeth- min," Reijir replied as the youth set the tray on his lap. He stared at the hearty breakfast of creamy scrambled eggs, links of crisp-skinned swylboar sausages, salty ham slices, crusty bread slathered with sweet farm butter, a jar of golden honey and a pot of steaming milk tea. "Did you prepare this?" he asked.

"Why so incredulous?” Naeth retorted with mild indignation. "Of course, I did. After I convinced Olve that I wouldn't burn the kitchen down."

Reijir chuckled as he imagined the cook possessively guarding his territory. Then he remembered the garment he was wearing.

"Thank you for this," he softly said. "I very much appreciate the effort you put into making it."

Naeth beamed. "I'm just glad it fits! I’m not really fond of embroidery.”

“But at least you know how to do it.”

“Enough to do a passable job,” Naeth conceded. “Now, have your breakfast, my lord, before it becomes cold."

"Only if you share it with me," Reijir insisted.

They fed each other in between jests and bouts of laughter and soon reduced the hefty meal to little more than crumbs.

"I have something for you, too," Reijir said when they were finished. "I was planning to give it to you tonight. But why wait?"

He slipped out of the bed and disappeared into the dressing room. Moments later, he reappeared with a silk pouch, which he handed to Naeth.

Half holding his breath, Naeth opened the pouch and turned it over. An earring slipped out onto his palm. Wrought from gold, it was elliptical in shape with a deep blue sapphire at one end and a bright red heartsfire stone at the other. It was a leman’s earring, and one that identified its wearer as a Herun’s lover.

Naeth gulped. The earring formalized his position as Reijir’s concubine.

"Thank you," he whispered. He ran a finger reverently over the earring. “I’ve never seen such perfect gems before. They’re beautiful.”

Reijir grinned, pleased by Naeth’s pleasure and excitement. He then turned serious.

"No gem can equal the beauty of your heart, Naeth- min," he said. But when Naeth looked up, blinking back his tears, Reijir teased, “My, but you’re a sentimental one.” He chuckled when Naeth forgot his tears and pouted at him.

Later, he discovered Naeth in the kitchen conferring with the cook about the traditional solstice dinner and even doing some of the cooking himself. Reijir suspected Naeth was trying to bring the hominess of his life in Losshen to the formality of Arthanna Court. And it seemed he was attempting to build memories for Reijir as well—perhaps in the hope of replacing some of the unpleasant ones that had so marred Reijir’s childhood?

When he held Naeth in his arms that night, Reijir became aware that he was never as happy or fulfilled as when he was with his leman. Naeth was like a breath of fresh air in his life. Where once Reijir saw everything with cynical eyes, Naeth now coaxed him to look at his surroundings and fellow Deira with interest and wonder and even charity. And Naeth was unfailingly thoughtful of Reijir’s wants and needs, sometimes anticipating them if possible.

As Reijir commented one day to his brother, Naeth pleased him in all things save one. He was making it impossible for Reijir to live in any meaningful way without him.

Keiran’s response was an incredulous huff and an acerbic, “Please explain to me how that is a crime.”

* * * *

As the days progressed, so did Naeth’s lessons in the love arts also proceed apace.

Reijir did not hurry him along but took his time teaching him how to receive as well as give pleasure. This aspect of their affair initially befuddled Naeth. He had believed that, as Reijir’s concubine, he was expected to take the responsibility of providing release for the both of them. That was what concubines did or so he’d gathered from talk among the servants and gossip at the university.

That Reijir did not agree with such an arrangement was evident in their lovemaking, where more oft than not, Reijir made it a point to drive Naeth nearly mad with ecstasy first. And then toward the end of their stay in Althia, Naeth finally discovered the satisfaction of making love by illuminating lamplight.

When Reijir started to undress him that memorable night, he darted a glance at the lamp on the bedside table. “The light,” he gasped as he was stripped of his shirt more swiftly than usual.

“Not tonight, Naeth- min,” Reijir replied. “Not ever again. I want to see all of you.” Naeth stared then swallowed hard. But that meant he would be seeing all of Reijir from hereon. Every blessed part of him.

“Oh Veres,” he moaned as his loosened trousers slithered down his legs to leave him completely naked.

“Undress me,” Reijir softly commanded him.

Naeth hesitated then set to do as he was bid. With shaking hands, he divested Reijir of his clothing, not quite looking at his body as he did. Only after Reijir was as bare as he did he chide himself for misplaced prudery.

He knew Reijir’s body by touch and smell and taste. It was time he also got to know it by sight. Just as Reijir desired to know his. Naeth forced his eyes open.

His breath hitched, and his mouth watered. Naeth forgot his reservations as he eagerly perused Reijir’s form. Saints above! He’d thought Reijir’s body beautiful in the darkness of a moonlit room. There was no word adequate enough to describe his form as seen in revealing lamplight. All Naeth could think of were the statues he’d seen of the ancient Naeren gods. Intimidatingly lofty of height, sleekly muscular of frame, and nigh perfect of features, they were the stuff Deiran fantasies were made of. Therefore, it was a trifle disconcerting to see one’s fantasy in the flesh.

Just as he managed to regain his composure, he became aware he was under Reijir’s appreciative scrutiny as well. He blushed all the way to his chest and shoulders as the Herun’s gaze travelled down his body to linger not surprisingly on his groin. Naeth opened his mouth to say something, anything to break what felt like a protracted silence, though he would later realize mere moments had passed in their mutual study of each other’s bodies.

He did not get a chance to say a word for Reijir suddenly bore him down to the bed saying, “You have much too luscious a body to hide. Least of all from me.” Reijir kissed him so hungrily and lengthily Naeth was soon trembling without cease.

He closed his eyes as rapturous feeling robbed him of all rational thought. He could only hold onto Reijir, his body a mass of nerves skillfully set afire.

He wondered what the Herun meant to do when Reijir hooked his hands behind Naeth’s knees and pushed them back and apart. It was with great shock that Naeth felt his buttocks parted and Reijir’s warm breath ghost over heretofore hidden flesh. His eyes flew open just as Reijir’s lips claimed him with alarming intimacy.

"Nay, wait!" he gasped, trying to raise himself on his elbows and reach down to deter the Herun. “You can’t do that!”

Reijir gave a low laugh and, with a firm tug of Naeth’s arse, landed him on his back once more.

"Oh yes, I can," he murmured. And he gently marauded the tiny aperture with lips and tongue in a manner Naeth never imagined possible.

Naeth gasped as he was pierced. He had never imagined one could be penetrated by tongue as well and sublimely as finger and shaft. His head thrown back, he reached down between his outspread legs to grab a fistful of Reijir’s raven locks, only to end up running his fingers through them.

“Please, n-no more,” he breathily stuttered. “I can’t—I can’t—Reijir—!” He cried out at a particularly deep stab then whimpered when it was followed by a spate of teasing swipes over his overly sensitized entrance. The sensual incursions began again, and he helplessly groaned. He instinctively tried to close his legs, only to have them pulled apart even wider than before.

“Hold yourself open,” Reijir ordered him.

Naeth gulped and did as he was bid. He shuddered when Reijir renewed his assault.

Too soon, he felt the coil in his belly tighten almost unbearably before it finally unraveled in spectacular fashion. He cried out once then harshly sobbed as ribbons of pearlescent seed shot out of his shaft to dapple his belly.

He panted heavily in the wake of his release. Eyes shut tight, he remained still, uncaring for the moment of the wanton image he presented with his knees upraised and thighs spread apart. His abdomen was speckled with milky seed and the entrance between his buttocks was sleek with saliva and semen that had trickled down the back of his shaft to seep into the cleft of his arse.

Finally catching his breath, he was about to let go of his legs when Reijir stopped him and pushed them back once more. Naeth opened his eyes and gaped in disbelief when the Herun gathered the semen on his abdomen in his hand and smeared the slippery fluid on his shaft. A heartbreakingly mischievous smile curved Reijir’s lips as he bent over his shocked leman and pressed against his bottom, pushing deep into Naeth with one smooth thrust.

Naeth whimpered and moaned as he was filled to the brim. It was not as easy an entry given that semen was not as lubricious as oil, but the faint friction made him feel Reijir’s shaft more acutely and wrought sharper sensation on that point of pleasure inside him. He braced himself for the slightly rougher than usual thrusts into him, relishing the pounding for its granting of his dearest desire—Reijir’s ownership of his body and possession of his heart.

It did not matter if Reijir did not return his love. Naeth was determined to content himself with the affection the Herun readily showed him. It was so much more than he could ever expect and a surfeit of what many Deira sought all their lives and never found.

As Reijir repeatedly slid into him, kindling sparks of increasingly intense rapture with every inward stroke, Naeth gratefully decided he was a very lucky Deir indeed.

He lay limp and unmoving afterwards, blushing a bit but unable to stir much when Reijir gently wiped him clean of their combined seed. The Herun looked at him, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Tired already?” he gibed.

Naeth tried to glower at him and, failing, settled for a pout. “Twice in succession would wear anyone out,” he mumbled. “And I still can’t believe you did that.”

“That? ” Reijir archly repeated.

“You know what I mean!” Naeth blushed again. “Is that really done?” Reijir laughed. “For someone who was protesting it quite noisily earlier, you’re very quick to verify its common employment now.”

This time Naeth managed a glare. “I only want to know if doing that to me truly pleases you,” he retorted.

“Meaning you will neither protest nor hinder me the next time if it does.” At Naeth’s embarrassed nod, Reijir grinned and said, “Let me put it thusly, Naeth- min. Expect me up your backside in more ways than one—or two.”

Naeth’s blush deepened, but he only said, “As you wish.”

*

Reijir chuckled and dropped a kiss on the youth’s crimson cheek. He turned away and reached down to the floor for his robe. As he straightened, he felt Naeth’s arms slip around him. The youth pressed against him from behind.

“Surely you aren’t done with me yet,” Naeth whispered suggestively.

Reijir glanced over his shoulder at him. “Far from it,” he replied. “I was only going to fetch us more wine.”

Naeth rested his chin on Reijir’s shoulder and looked past the door to the sitting room where a half empty flagon of spiced wine and two glasses stood on suite’s small dining table. He wrinkled his nose.

“Do you have to?” he murmured, turning his face to lightly suck on Reijir’s nape. A moment later, he let his tongue forge a trail across the expanse of Reiji’s back interspersed with moist kisses.

Reijir closed his eyes and blew out his breath, aware that Naeth was paying special attention to the scars that crisscrossed his back. The youth started doing so the very first time he caught a full view of Reijir’s back.

He’d mischievously sneaked into Reijir’s apartment one evening soon after their arrival, entering the bedchamber just as Reijir had taken off his shirt. As Reijir’s back had been to him, Naeth saw the full extent of the injuries done to his lover by his late sire. His shocked gasp alerted Reijir to his presence and he’d looked back in dismay and not a little shame at having his disfigurement unexpectedly exposed.

But Naeth had given a little cry and hurried to him. Hugging him from behind, he’d said, indignation thrumming in every word, “How cruel of him! How dared he call himself your aba when he hurt you so! Ah, how you must have suffered, Rei- tyar.” And then he’d kissed Reijir’s back, pressing his lips to every scar as if in doing so he might wipe away the pain and misery of those long ago days. It had moved Reijir to the core of his soul. When he bedded Naeth that night, it was with a consuming hunger and an aching tenderness he’d never suspected himself capable of.

Reijir gripped Naeth’s hands where they met on his stomach, savoring the feel of the youth’s lips and tongue on his flesh. As his lust flared once more, he dropped the robe and reached behind him to pull Naeth forward and onto his lap. A flurry of hungry kisses to mouths and throats and shoulders was all that was needed for them to surge back into aching need and readiness.

Naeth sank down to impale himself thoroughly on Reijir’s shaft. As he lowered himself again and again on the hard flesh, Reijir caught him close to suckle his nipples.

Naeth moaned loudly and, clutching Reijir to him, continued to ride the shaft that so fulsomely cleaved him.

* * * *

“Do you wish to imprint me?” Naeth innocently asked.

Reijir stopped in the act of pouring himself a glass of wine. He turned and stared in surprise at Naeth. The youth had not moved from the couch fronting the blazing hearth.

It was their last evening in Althia. The next day would see them back in the capital in time for Naeth and Keiran to return to the State University as student and instructor respectively and where vital business awaited Reijir’s attention. The worst of northern Ylandre’s blizzards had passed, and one could reasonably expect the rest of the season to unfold with little fear from extreme cold and weather conditions.

They had retreated to the main study following dinner, but after a half hour or so of idle conversation, Keiran had taken leave of them and headed for his suite. As usual Ruomi accompanied him, leaving Reijir and Naeth to continue their post-prandial chat about minor amusing matters. That is, until Naeth opened the subject of concubinary binding.

“How do you know about viratha?” Reijir asked with a frown.

Naeth said, “My sire told me about it one time. He said he’d nearly imprinted Adda the year before they bound, soon after they started their affair. And he claimed it was at Adda’s suggestion.”

“Your adda offered to be placed in thrall? Why?”

“To prove his devotion. And also that he was worthy of Aba’s regard.”

“Worthy?”

Naeth shrugged. “That’s what Aba told me. I don’t know what he meant.” Reijir was surprised anew.

The binding of a concubine’s mind so that he was incapable of cheating on his lover was practiced only by True Bloods possessed of more than average mental strength. As mind blindness encroached on the sedyran populace, the majority of Half Bloods had gradually forgotten about viratha and the reasons for its imposition on a leman. Yet it appeared that Naeth’s sire had possessed the ability to do so. Reijir wondered if the Deir was of mixed blood and had retained some if not all of his enyran parent’s mind talents.

And Naeth’s birthing father had broached the matter of his worth. Why had he desired to prove himself worthy of his lover? Perhaps there was more to Naeth’s parents than Naeth knew.

Reijir rejoined Naeth on the couch. Sliding an arm around the youth’s shoulders, he sat back and silently contemplated the fire for several minutes.

Naeth shifted uneasily beside him. “Are you angry?” he anxiously asked. “I won’t mention the matter again if it offends you.”

Reijir shook his head. “You did no wrong.” Looking at Naeth, he slowly said, “And, yes, I have been considering it. As much for my peace of mind as…” He hesitated then sighed and continued. “I’d rather not share you with others, Naeth- min.”

*

Naeth caught his breath at the reluctant admission. He gazed at Reijir, glimpsing wariness and uncharacteristic uncertainty in the Herun’s eyes. Naeth sighed in turn though he took care not to let Reijir hear.

It pained him that Reijir still held back much of himself, neither giving his full trust to Naeth nor opening himself to the possibility of something deeper between them. But perhaps it was not surprising.

He recalled Keiran’s story of Reijir’s first lover. Keiran had implied the Deir involved committed a betrayal that led Reijir to end their affair. Naeth wondered if it had been a case of infidelity. It would certainly explain Reijir’s desire to ensure Naeth would be his exclusively. Well, whatever the reason, Naeth knew he would comply with Reijir’s wish if it would encourage his lover to trust him and believe in his sincerity and commitment to their relationship. And after all, that might prove the foundation of something greater. Like reciprocated love perhaps?

“I am more than willing,” he softly declared. “You need only say it.” Reijir returned him a keen searching gaze. What he saw seemed to assure him for he faintly smiled and said, “If I do imprint you, I promise to lift it should I wed.” Naeth flinched inwardly. He did not want to think about Reijir binding to another Deir, however far in the future it might be. “There will be no need,” he said, struggling to keep the tightness out of his voice. “I won’t mind if you don’t—” Reijir cut in. “I will not have you enchained to me without hope of more than a few stolen nights in my bed or yours.”

“But—”

“I must sire heirs for Ilmaren. That is a duty I can’t set aside. How can I demand that you continue to be wholly mine when I will no longer be wholly yours?” Naeth swallowed hard at the tacit revelation that he alone shared Reijir’s bed at the moment. It was a gift, unlooked-for and precious. Though it could not soothe the pain of knowing the Herun would one day marry for dynastic purposes, it had the power to assuage the pangs of doubts he harbored about his place in Reijir’s heart. Reijir might not love him, but it was clear he cared for Naeth as much as his duty and station allowed him.

Perhaps even a little more than that.

Reijir cupped Naeth’s chin and made him meet his gaze. “Are you still willing?” he quietly asked.

For a few heartbeats, Naeth could not speak for the lump in his throat and the ache in his heart that dueled with stubborn, some would say foolish, hope. But he regained his voice and, with conviction born of his unwavering devotion to Reijir, made his choice and gave his answer.

“Always.”

Chapter Thirteen

Identity

Rikara, C.A. 3010

“You want us to sort through our things and give ‘old stuff’ away to charity,” Keiran repeated. He looked at Reijir, eyebrows rising in perplexity. “Have you ever given away your cast offs, Rei?” he asked.

Reijir shrugged. “Not that I know of. But my wardrobe does seem to always have a little more space at certain times of the year. I’m sure Ruo can explain the mystery.” Ruomi continued placing books on the shelf he and Naeth had been rearranging when the brethren walked in.

“The orphanages always welcome used clothing for their older wards,” he said.

“They have them altered to fit.”

Keiran looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean to say there are children going about the city in my old clothes?”

“After adjustments in size and, er, alterations of any adornments, yes.” Reijir snickered. “You mean removal of them,” he said. “You do love to stand out, Kei. I suppose it’s to make up for your lack of height.” Keiran threatened to cast a throw pillow at him. “I happen to be of average height,” he corrected. “It’s you and the rest of the family who are abnormally tall!” Naeth cleared his throat in hopes of bringing the brothers’ banter to a halt before it totally sidetracked the original topic of conversation. Both looked at him questioningly.

“Yes, I do want you to sort through your things, Kei- dyhar,” he said. “I’m sure you have a lot of clothes you no longer need given your penchant for the latest fashions.

Besides, the orphanage is the Ardis Lassen’s favorite.”

“It’s the one in the south district run by the St. Ambrion monks,” Ruomi supplied.

“Lassen tends to bestow his patronage on the neediest establishments,” Reijir commented. “Very well, I suppose we have some things we can do without.”

“Doubtless,” Keiran agreed. “Ruo, do see if I have anything worth giving away,” he airily instructed. “After all, you know the inside of my wardrobe as well as I. Mayhap even better.”

“He does?” Naeth unwarily asked.

“But of course,” Keiran replied. “Ruo often helps me get dressed in the morning and he always undresses me at night.”

Naeth gaped then darted a glance at Ruomi, wondering what the sedyr would make of Keiran’s flippant ribaldry. But Ruomi only smiled as he reached out his hand for another book. Naeth passed it to him with a grin. It seemed Keiran’s statement was typical enough of his utterances not to warrant more than amiable resignation from his lover.

Reijir grinned. “I’ll bring my contributions to your room later, Naeth- min,” he said, rising to his feet. “Come, Ruo, I have some missives that need sending soonest.” As the two exited the library and headed for Reijir’s study, Keiran ran a proprietary hand over his simple but expensive burgundy jerkin. Naeth hid a smile.

Keiran could be such a dandy at times. But he did not take offense when accused thusly nor did he think it a sin to be fond of fashionable attire. That was probably why he was so well liked and even admired despite his eccentricities.

He likewise took his leave of Keiran and set about making his morning rounds. But right after the midday meal, he informed the brethren he would be in his room sorting through his belongings for cast offs he could donate to the orphanage.

After rooting around his wardrobe, Naeth discovered his old pack in the very back.

He pulled it out and, to his slight embarrassment, realized he had not troubled to unpack it when he returned to the townhouse after his ill-starred attempt to fend for himself two years ago. He emptied the pack onto the bed.

Just then, Reijir entered the room with an armful of shirts and tunics. The Herun smiled when he spotted the heap of Naeth’s sedyran clothes.

“No more running away, I trust?” he said, adding to the pile.

Naeth blushed. “Must you remind me of my idiocy?” he muttered. He glanced at what Reijir had laid down. “Those aren’t really cast offs, are they?” he remarked, picking up a tunic he’d seen the Herun wear perhaps twice or thrice before.

“I have more than enough, and those children have little more than the barest necessities,” Reijir replied. “I wonder though—how much do they alter contributions from True Bloods?”

Naeth frowned. “Does it disturb you that poor orphans might be passing themselves off as enyra by wearing their styles?” he asked.

“Nay,” Reijir demurred. “What do I care if a Deir tries to better his situation by concealing his caste? I made you dress as one of us, didn’t I? But there are some who might take exception to deception and that can prove dangerous for the unwary.”

“How true.” Naeth impulsively planted a kiss on Reijir’s jaw. At the inquiring lift of Reijir’s eyebrows, he said, “I should have known better than to think you prejudiced in any way. You took me in after all.”

Reijir snorted. “As repayment for coming to my aid,” he reminded Naeth. “I’m not altruistic. I would have refused you my bed if I were.” Naeth grinned. “But I sought it, my lord,” he pointed out. “And you waited for me to importune you first—out of honor. So you do have a streak of altruism in you.”

“Honor?” Reijir shook his head. “Protecting one’s reputation has little to do with honor. It was self-preservation.”

“As if you fear gossip and the like,” Naeth scoffed. He returned to his sorting. “You can protest all you like, but I am utterly convinced that you’re one of the kindest Deira in all Aisen.”

He did not glance at Reijir for his reaction. After spending the winter in intimate company with the Herun, he’d learned Reijir was more abashed by praise of his good-heartedness than compliments on his prowess in battle or between the sheets. Reijir Arthanna all a-flush from exertion or sexual release was a pleasure to behold but not so much as when the color in his cheeks stemmed from embarrassment.

Naeth idly rifled through his small jewelry case. He fingered his child’s suncrystal stud. Now that he was of the age of consent, the earring was no longer appropriate, all the more when he bore a leman’s earring. He set it aside. Perhaps Ruomi would help him sell it. He could donate half of the proceeds; the remainder would make a nice addition to his savings.

He chuckled as he pulled out a gold coin. Reijir saw it and said in surprise, “What, you still have the coin I gave you?”

Naeth nodded and returned it to the case. “I couldn’t bear to part with it. It’s the first thing you ever gave me.”

He chanced a peek at Reijir and was relieved to see the Herun regarding him with a fond smile. Naeth set the case down, pushing aside his old shirts to make space for it.

Feeling something solid within the folds of one shirt, he picked up the garment and shook it out. A small pendant on a silver chain fell out on the mattress.

Naeth softly exclaimed. “I’d forgotten where I hid this!” He scooped the pendant up and was about to place it in the jewelry case when Reijir caught him by the elbow and stopped him.

“Let me see that,” Reijir said, taking the pendant from Naeth.

*

He curiously studied it. That was no mere decorative engraving on the face of the silver piece but heraldic symbols replete with a coat-of-arms and armorial bearings.

Above the coat-of-arms was the distinct tracing of a family crest. He frowned.

While the majority of the gentry could boast family crests, none were identified by the other components of the typical heraldic display. And among the landed gentry only the serle or baronets possessed the right to bear the badges or coats-of-arms that were vital in distinguishing among helmed and armored combatants on the field of battle.

Deira of the minor gentry were not entitled to heraldic bearings such as were engraved on the pendant.

“How did you come by this?” he asked.

Naeth shrugged. “Aba gave it to me when I turned twenty. My brothers received similar tokens as well.”

Reijir stared at him in surprise. “So this was not the only piece your sire owned?” When Naeth shook his head, Reijir pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Interesting.” He gathered the pendant and its chain in his hand. “May I take this? I would like to show it to our solicitor.”

Naeth looked at him in some alarm. “Why? Do you think it was wrong for Aba to own something like that?”

“Not at all,” Reijir assured him. “But this indicates your sire’s family may have been more than minor gentry. Surely you know the only commoners who bear such devices are the serle. Did you never wonder about his antecedents when he gave this to you?” Naeth’s eyes widened. “It never crossed my mind,” he admitted. “I took it for granted that it was an heirloom passed down from Veres knows when.” He bit his lip.

“Aba never talked about his family. My brothers and I—we thought he had none left.

Adda was also the last of his family so we assumed they were both orphans.” He swallowed. “Just as I am,” he said in a hushed voice.

Reijir sighed and walked to him. He lifted his hand and ruffled Naeth’s hair.

“I didn’t mean to recall your loss to you. I’m sorry,” he quietly said. “Nonetheless, I think you should learn who your sire really was. Who knows, you may still have kinsfolk somewhere.”

Naeth caught his breath at the suggestion. “I may indeed,” he murmured. He looked at Reijir and tried to smile albeit wanly.

Reijir smiled back encouragingly then brushed their lips together. Pocketing the pendant, he motioned to Naeth to continue his sorting.

* * * *

Reijir’s begetting day arrived a fortnight later, an event he seemed content to let pass unnoticed. But Keiran refused to cooperate and had the kitchen prepare a celebratory dinner for relations and friends who were in town followed by a lively toast in his honor in the gold parlor. More a roast, Naeth grinningly opined, as he listened to the numerous teasing remarks.

By the time the guests departed, the night was old, and Keiran, as was his wont after a long day, demanded Ruomi carry him to his suite. Naeth grinned as the pair left, wondering if they would make it to the bedchamber this time. In any case, he sincerely doubted Ruomi would get much sleep this night judging from the look in Keiran’s eyes and the burgeoning bulge in his crotch.

Reijir laid a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up.

“Come, Naeth- min,” Reijir said.

Naeth nodded and followed the Herun to his apartment.

“I couldn’t think of anything to get you,” he apologetically said when they came to Reijir’s door. “Ruomi claims there’s nothing you don’t already have, and Keiran- tyar just told me you’d let me know what you want.”

Reijir smiled. “They’re right,” he agreed and entered the sitting room.

“Well, what gift would you have of me then?” Naeth pressed on.

“A very precious one,” Reijir replied.

Motioning to Naeth to sit on the couch, he entered the bedchamber. Naeth idly awaited his return.

Reijir reentered the room with what appeared to be a bottle of wine and a fluted glass. In the next instant, the youth sat up straight, eyes wide and cheeks warm with color. The contents of the bottle were a vivid blue.

“Is that—?”

“Mirash.”

Naeth mutely watched as Reijir set the glass down on the couch side table and filled it with the liquid. The Herun picked up the glass and handed it to him. Glancing up nervously at Reijir, Naeth glimpsed a question in the Herun’s eyes.

It astonished him that even now, Reijir still gave him a choice and would not take it against him if he declined. His hand shaking slightly, Naeth took the glass and stared into its azure depths.

Mirash—the potent conception suppressor of the Deira. Most often taken after a meal, mirash prevented the infiltration by semen of the seedbed in the Deiran womb.

Imbibing it indicated one was about to play the sheath in reproductive intercourse.

A very precious gift indeed.

After taking a steadying breath, Naeth slowly drank the mirash. It tasted like sweet wine but with a slight astringent aftertaste that marked it as medicinal in nature.

Nervously licking his lips, Naeth set the glass down on the table. He looked at Reijir, a small smile curving his trembling lips.

“Happy Begetting Day, my lord,” he half whispered.

Reijir’s eyes darkened tellingly. He pulled Naeth to his feet and led him to the bedchamber. Hardly had they walked through the door when he kicked it closed behind them and pulled Naeth into his arms for a torrid kiss that reduced his leman to a figurative puddle.

They hurriedly undressed each other, eager to mold their bodies together unhampered by clothing. As they kissed and sucked and caressed flesh as it was bared, tunics, jerkins, shirts and breeches dropped to the floor in rapid succession.

Undergarments however did not make it to the floor unscathed; at least, Naeth’s did not for Reijir all but ripped his drawers from his hips then bore him down on the bed. And before Naeth realized what he intended, Reijir leaned down and ran his tongue along the length of Naeth’s fast hardening shaft.

Naeth stared down speechlessly as his member disappeared between Reijir’s lips.

When Reijir repeated the motion yet again, Naeth threw his head back with a moan.

In the early days of their affair, he had either protested or questioned any sex act he thought beneath Reijir, especially if it entailed Reijir servicing him rather than the other way around. But after these many months of intimacy with Reijir, Naeth had learned to accept or resign himself to such acts, particularly if it appeared that Reijir greatly enjoyed performing them on him.

When Naeth began to lift his hips in response to the relentless suckling, Reijir cupped his raised bottom and took his shaft nigh to its base. Naeth arched up with a small cry.

Sobbing helplessly, he bore the relentless draw on his thrumming flesh. When Reijir also eased his seed-slick fingers up his backside, Naeth exploded with sensation, keening moans torn from him. He spilled himself down Reijir’s throat in what felt like an endless stream.

As he lay gasping for breath, he felt Reijir release his softening member only to lick his seed pouch of any remnants of semen. A slow flush suffused Naeth’s cheeks and blossomed into flaming color when Reijir nuzzled his groin, burying his nose in the sparse curls therein.

Reijir finally lay down beside him and gathered him into his arms. His pulse slowly returning to a more normal pace, Naeth opened his eyes. Reijir's handsome visage filled his vision. He smiled at Naeth’s wondering gaze.

"I've been looking forward to this," he informed Naeth.

"You have?” Naeth gulped. “Sweet Veres.”

Reijir chuckled. "And I look forward to doing it again,” he drawled. “As many times as you can take it.”

Naeth closed his eyes and groaned. The memory of Reijir’s mouth tight around his shaft was all too fresh. But he’d enjoyed the experience so very much and, truth be told, looked forward to being pleasured thusly again. And when he opened his eyes and gazed into the desirous depths of his lover’s eyes, he realized Reijir had not lied. The Herun had indeed enjoyed sucking him to completion.

Reijir leaned down and kissed him. Eagerly responding, Naeth was startled to taste himself. A compelling desire to taste Reijir as well swept through him, and he wondered if he would be able to please his lover enough for Reijir to encourage a repetition of the act. Reijir drew back and noticed his expression.

He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Don't tell me you're complaining," he said.

Naeth shook his head. "Only if you don't let me do the same thing for you," he whispered, lust making him bold.

Reijir skeptically regarded him. But when Naeth pushed slightly against his chest, he smiled and obligingly rolled on his back. Naeth followed him closely. When Naeth bent to kiss him, he hungrily returned it. His immediate response gave Naeth the courage to let instinct take over, sweeping away his inhibitions before it. He did as Reijir had done and soon discovered just how great the satisfaction of knowing his lover so intimately could be.

He lovingly drew his tongue across Reijir’s chest before playfully tugging at his nipples with his lips. That tore a ragged gasp from Reijir. Naeth slowly moved lower, following the same path Reijir taken with him earlier. When Naeth enthusiastically peppered his groin and upper thighs with kisses, Reijir half-laughed, half-groaned.

Another groan was wrenched from him when Naeth suddenly took him into his mouth.

Naeth savored the experience, the sweet salty tang of emerging semen making it an even more delightful exercise. He hungrily drew upon Reijir’s shaft, the recollection of how often and thoroughly this same flesh cleaved him stoking his greed for it. Knowing the night would not pass without Reijir spending inside him further enflamed Naeth, and he moaned around his luscious mouthful.

"Naeth, stop!"

He glanced up at Reijir questioningly. The Herun quickly pulled him up to lie beside him.

"Why did you stop me?" Naeth whispered as Reijir pushed him on his back.

Reijir reached between his legs, sliding his fingers behind Naeth’s seed pouch. "I'd rather do this," he thickly replied.

Naeth caught his breath as he was stroked in a place even he had seldom touched, much less examined. He knew about the process of turning, the method by which a Deir’s body was readied to receive another in reproductive intercourse. But it was one thing to know about something, another altogether to undergo the actual experience of it.

He shuddered when unruly sensations and a strange tightening in his groin blossomed and spread to his belly as his seed sac contracted and rose to expose the entrance to his sheath, the Deiran seed channel. Veres almighty, he could actually feel himself moistening and opening up! And on the heels of his body’s turning came an irresistible need to be penetrated.

Forgetting all inhibitions, Naeth raised one leg and curled it behind Reijir, pulling the Herun insistently between his thighs to press against his groin.

Reijir grinned. “How very eager you are,” he murmured as he touched the tip of his shaft to Naeth’s sheath, entering just that slightest bit.

Naeth moaned at the tantalizing sensation. “Take me!” he begged. “Please, Reijir, I need you so.”

Reijir’s eyes glittered at that wanton plea. He drove into Naeth, filling him in one smooth thrust. Naeth winced as the vestigial protective membrane inside his seed channel gave way before Reijir’s invading shaft.

But after so much foreplay, the sting of it was fleeting and soon forgotten. The exquisite sensation of thick, tumescent flesh filling and stroking his sheath superseded any discomfort. Naeth began to quiver as the long, rhythmic thrusts slowly unraveled the tightly wound tension in his abdomen. With each plunging stroke, he gradually came undone, and he lost track of time and space, oblivious of everything but the need to be one with Reijir

The tension in his belly splintered apart, and Naeth cried out as shattering satisfaction overtook him. Sobbing from the tremors that rocked his body, he clung to Reijir while the Herun rode him to his own release. Naeth caught his breath at the rush of heat toward his lower belly—Reijir’s seed making its way to his womb. There the heat slowly dissipated, but a spate of spasms ensued upon contact between the semen and his womb, thus prolonging the sensations of his release. He tightly closed his eyes, gasping as he waited out the last waves of pleasure.

Several minutes passed before he stirred once more, drained but elated nonetheless.

About to comment on the wondrous experience, he was shocked into speechlessness when Reijir proceeded to make love to him again, barely giving either of them time to recover from that first turbulent union. Reijir did not even withdraw from him while he kissed and stroked Naeth near senseless with mindless need.

It was at the height of that coupling, as Reijir thrust into him over and again while adorning his neck, shoulders and chest with vivid love bruises, that Naeth felt the gentle incursion into his consciousness. He recognized Reijir’s presence at once and innocently reached out to meet his lover in the otherworldly plane of his mind. At once, he was caught in a mental embrace and subjected to a kiss that seemed to obliterate him even as it built him up again.

Naeth sobbed when fear collided with burgeoning rapture. As his body was repeatedly pierced and filled, so was his mind inundated with pleasure so powerful he was left wide open to suggestion. Or in this case, Reijir’s command.

It was little more than a whisper, a claiming of his heart and body that would prevent him from responding sexually to anyone other than Reijir. But in its wake came more pleasure, and the sensations of his body’s cleaving intensified into volcanic force. No longer in control of himself, Naeth cried out repeatedly as an impossibly strong orgasm overwhelmed him.

To his shock, hardly had the nigh unearthly rapture completely faded away when Reijir took him yet again, driving him to peak after peak of fulfillment until his very veins seemed raging rivers of liquid fire. Each time, Naeth believed he could take no more only to be aroused anew by Reijir’s teasing lips and caressing hands. Over and over the Herun sparked the potent chemistry they shared until Naeth thought he would die from sheer pleasure.

It was nearly dawn when Reijir withdrew from him one last time, kissed him gently and finally allowed them both to drift into sated slumber. But even then, he did not let Naeth go. He held him so that even in sleep their bodies pressed close, their limbs entwined with intimacy.

Yet, though weak and limp and satisfyingly sore, Naeth did not fall asleep immediately.

What he had experienced awed him. He was now in thrall to Reijir, but the manner of its achievement was mind-boggling to say the least, not to mention exhausting in the most pleasant way. He was also mystified.

The difference in their couplings had startled and filled him with wonder. There had been no restraint whatsoever this night, only all-consuming passion. It seemed his transformation from avowed leman to imprinted lover made a whole world of difference and had likewise precipitated a change in the pattern of their lovemaking.

Naeth now realized that Reijir had previously kept a tight leash on himself and their couplings, exerting control over Naeth’s body as well as his. Cautious and spare in revealing too much of himself when there had been no surety of their relationship’s continuing, this night, Reijir had exposed more of himself to Naeth. He had unveiled the primordial passion and savage hunger of a hot-blooded Deir otherwise well hidden behind the cool and measured sophistication of an aristocrat of long and exalted lineage.

A protective barrier, Naeth deduced. A wall long ago erected and, if the gossip he’d heard was anything to go by, so impenetrable it had never been breached or scaled.

He could not help wondering how many of Reijir’s previous lovers had been subjected to imprinting. Or was he the first one? The only one? It was an intoxicating thought but also sobering. He was not certain if it bespoke Reijir’s greater affection for him or a troubling lack of trust in Naeth’s capacity for fidelity.

But before he could collect his thoughts and form a coherent theory out of his scattered musings, sleep overtook him. Naeth nestled farther into Reijir’s embrace, a tired but contented sigh escaping his lips.

* * * *

Summer was almost at an end when something finally came of Reijir’s inquiries into Naeth’s background, and when it did, it was anything but trivial. The family solicitor arrived one morning at the townhouse with an aristocratic stranger in tow or so it seemed to Naeth, judging from the Deir’s dress and comportment.

His name was Syvan Fiori and what he had to say changed Naeth’s life forever.

Whether it was for good or ill, Naeth did not know for sure.

“I am also a solicitor,” Syvan told them after the introductions. “Though much of my attention of late has been on one account. I have been looking for the heir of my uncle, Albran Fiori, a baronet of Sidona, and it seems I have found him in the most unlikely of places.” He looked at Naeth and said, “As your sire and older brothers have all passed away, Uncle Albran’s title and estate are now yours.” Naeth nearly fell off his seat. “Mine?” he incredulously exclaimed. “How can I be a baronet’s heir? My aba was a simple teacher.”

“Your sire was Uncle Albran’s only son and also my cousin.”

“What? But-but his name was Morel Orosse—“

“Yes, he took his spouse’s name when Uncle Albran disinherited him.” Naeth stared. “Aba was disinherited? Why?” He caught his breath and continued before Syvan could respond. “Because he chose my adda?” Syvan nodded. “The Fiori name is one of the oldest in Sidona. Uncle Albran was terribly displeased when Morel had his affair with Jiron Orosse. Mind you, he had nothing against Jiron personally, but my uncle deemed him an unsuitable mate for a future serl.” He glanced a little nervously at the Arthannas. “You have to understand, this was long before the Ardan Rohyr wed his leman. As far as my uncle was concerned, it simply wasn’t done.”

“Sidona.” Naeth blew his breath out. “That’s a fair distance from Losshen. Where in Sidona?” he asked.

“Irdaran,” the solicitor replied. “It’s one of Sidona’s more prosperous towns.”

“So Albran Fiori thought the threat of disinheritance would deter his son from marrying below him,” Reijir dryly said. “Obviously his son did not agree.” The solicitor sighed. “Morel eloped with Jiron a week after Uncle Albran’s ultimatum. He left only a short note of apology but also stated that he would not give up Jiron for either title or wealth. He gave no clue as to his destination and verily it has taken me all these months to find Naeth. If your solicitor’s path and mine hadn’t crossed, I wouldn’t have known to look here, and by the time I did, it might have been too late.”

“Too late?” Keiran questioned. “You are constrained by a deadline?”

“Indeed I am,” Syvan replied. “There is a condition in my uncle’s will wherein he required at least a year’s search for Morel and/or his issue. If they were not discovered within that period, they would be bypassed and the title would then go to the next Deir in line. As his executor, it fell to me to conduct the search.” Naeth shook his head. “I don’t understand. If Aba was disowned, then how came I to be heir? Wasn’t Aba’s line barred from succession?”

“He was barred but not his sons,” Syvan explained. “Your grandsire—” He paused when Naeth visibly flinched at the unfamiliar reference. “Uncle Albran put much stock in family lines. He wished to be succeeded by a direct descendant—in this case, one of Morel’s sons. As you are Morel’s only surviving issue, you are the foremost legal claimant to the Fiori baronetcy. If you accept your inheritance, you will be entitled to a generous annual allowance until your majority whereupon you will receive the entirety of the Fiori fortune.”

“Is the estate considerable?” Reijir asked. When Syvan looked at him with a somewhat scandalized expression, he said, “I only wish to know if it is worth my ward’s notice and the time and effort needed to put his affairs in order. If Albran Fiori died many months ago, his estate will have been vacant in the interim with only stewards to see to its care.”

Syvan stiffened and said a little proudly, “Fiori Hall is nothing to sniff at, Your Grace, I assure you. A goodly amount was set aside for its upkeep until such time that an heir was found and took over. It is in good condition. I have personally seen to that. It was my duty to see to the well-being of our property until I located my cousin or nephews.”

“So you have been seneschal as well as solicitor,” Keiran commented. “Quite a responsibility I must say.”

“I’m also family,” Syvan murmured. “After Morel left, my uncle asked me to visit him quite frequently and not always for my legal expertise.”

“For what then? Did you act as his companion as well?”

“Er, yes, you might say that.”

Naeth frowned thoughtfully. “If I accept my inheritance, you said. What does that mean? May I decline it then?”

When Syvan stared at him in mute surprise, the Arthanna solicitor spoke up.

“You may,” he said. “A baronetcy is not a rank of the nobility and may therefore be handed over to another by the primary heir provided there is no stipulation in a title’s articles of succession that disallows such an act.” He looked questioningly at Syvan who shook his head. “Fiori- tyar indicates there are no obstacles in this case. Therefore you have the option to refuse it. Though why you would wish to I must admit I find puzzling,” the Deir remarked.

“Perhaps you resent your grandsire’s actions,” Syvan assayed. “Thus you have no desire to affiliate yourself with him in any way.”

“Nay, I don’t resent him,” Naeth demurred. “How can I feel one way or another about someone I don’t know? But I was raised in a simple country household with no expectations of wealth or higher station or even a name of consequence. I know nothing about being a serl or running a great estate and ordering folk around. And truth be told I’m not sure I want to know.”

“It’s no easy task to take on,” Syvan agreed. “One must have the stomach for it else it will be difficult to manage the, shall we say, more unpleasant aspects. But you must be very certain of your decision. Once you surrender your claim, there can be no reversal of it.”

“Well, no need to be hasty,” Keiran pointed out. “I suggest you take a look at your holdings first, kitten. Then you’ll be able to make an informed decision and lessen the chances for regret later on.”

“You should also take your sire’s wishes into consideration,” Reijir said. “Had he wanted to remove his children as well from the succession, I imagine he would have explicitly said so in his letter. That he left the whole damn issue to your grandsire to decide gives me cause to believe he knew Albran Fiori would try to keep the title in his immediate family.” He looked questioningly at Syvan. “Am I right?” Syvan started then flushed. “Er, yes, Your Grace. Morel was far from happy about the prospect of being disinherited, but, well, he chose to be with Jiron so…”

“Then it’s very possible he would have contacted his sire eventually and presented him with his grandsons. How old was your eldest brother, Naeth?”

“At the time of the fire?” Naeth gulped. “He had just turned thirty-five.”

“The perfect time to come forward as your grandsire’s heir,” Keiran remarked.

“Your supposition makes sense, Rei. Morel mayn’t have trusted his sire not to meddle in his life, maybe even take his eldest son away and place him in wardship—Yes, Naeth, it can be done legally if a titled Deir claims his heir isn’t being properly raised. As I was saying, your aba may have concealed your whereabouts to protect you, but that doesn’t mean he wanted the title to pass to a cadet line. So I agree with Reijir. He probably intended to return to Irdaran once your brother reached his majority. In all likelihood, he wanted a son of his to inherit.”

Naeth blew his breath out then looked uncertainly from one brother to the other.

Reijir laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll take you to Irdaran next spring as soon as the winter monsoon has passed,” he promised. “But rest assured, whatever your decision, you have a home with us.” Naeth smiled in relief at Reijir’s words. “Thank you,” he murmured. He turned to Syvan. “And I will think the matter over carefully, Fiori- tyar. ”

“I think you can do away with the honorific,” Reijir commented.

“So I can,” Naeth said, his smile deepening. “I’m very glad to meet you, Uncle Syvan. It’s good to know I’m not alone after all.”

Chapter Fourteen

Complication

The sharp rap of footsteps in the corridor followed by the slam of a door farther down the hall alerted Naeth to the return of Reijir from Ilmaren. And not in a fair mood it seemed. But then who could remain even-tempered when trying to settle a ruinous long-standing feud between two barons who both refused to make peace just for the principle of it?

Naeth quickly set aside his book and got to his feet. Throwing a robe over his nightshirt, he stepped out of his room and hastened to Reijir’s apartment.

After a hesitant knock, Reijir opened the door, looking uncharacteristically disheveled in a partially unbuttoned shirt, loosened breeches and bare feet. Naeth caught sight of his tunic, jerkin and boots scattered on the sitting room floor. Another unusual sight in Reijir’s very orderly quarters. And the Herun was definitely in a foul mood judging by the scowl he did not completely wipe from his face even when he saw it was Naeth. The scowl merely faded to a frown.

“What is wrong?” Naeth softly asked, raising a hand to brush a lock of raven hair from Reijir’s forehead.

Reijir closed his eyes at his touch and what sounded like a muffled imprecation escaped the Herun. Before Naeth knew what was happening, Reijir grasped his upraised hand and pulled him into the apartment.

Hardly had the door slammed behind him when Reijir caught him in a fierce embrace and smothered his startled protest with a nigh incendiary kiss. Naeth gasped against the Herun’s mouth as his robe was brusquely yanked down his arms and dropped to the floor. His nightshirt followed in short order when Reijir rent it open with almost frightening impatience.

He clung a little fearfully to Reijir when his lover picked him up and bore him to the bedchamber. With little preamble, Reijir laid him on the bed and relieved him of the tatters of his nightshirt. To his surprise, Reijir did not trouble to strip himself completely but only shrugged off his shirt before joining Naeth on the bed.

Naeth whimpered as Reijir renewed his assault, little of his usual gentleness in evidence. Naeth steadied his nerves, telling himself it was his lover’s way of venting his frustration over a problem that promised to plague him for some time to come. Naeth willed himself not to resist but to give in to Reijir’s demands. After all, it was not as if they had not coupled as passionately before. Only Reijir’s abrupt manner was different.

He groaned when Reijir all but swallowed him whole, then gasped as the slide of fingers against the entrance of his seed channel bespoke the turning of his body. Naeth shuddered as ripple after ripple of ecstasy coursed through him.

Reijir often turned him when they coupled to intensify the pleasure for Naeth and also to make him more receptive since the process strengthened the need to be penetrated.

But he did not recall Reijir doing so while in the midst of orally pleasuring him. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear and he heard himself sobbing harshly with each suckle of his shaft and stroke of his sheath.

Warm lips replaced the fingers. Naeth softly cried out as the dip of Reijir’s tongue into him drove all thought from his head, filling the void left behind with sheer need.

“Please…” he begged, the word ending on a moan.

Reijir raised his head, his eyes gleaming darkly. He licked his lips of the slippery essence that clung to them. Naeth blushed at the wicked grin that curved the Herun’s mouth.

At least, he’s smiling again, Naeth thought with some relief.

Reijir swiftly undid his breeches. Naeth noted he had not bothered to don drawers underneath, more evidence of his anger and impatience with his quarrelsome barons.

“Oil…” Naeth murmured, reaching for the ever present bottle on the side table. But Reijir caught him by the wrist and pushed him down.

“No need for it,” Reijir said, shifting his hips between Naeth’s thighs.

About to speak, Naeth caught his breath when Reijir started to push into his seed channel. “Nay, I haven’t taken—” he started to say.

Reijir cut him off with a bruising kiss even as he slid into Naeth to the hilt. Naeth gasped and tried to push Reijir away. He managed to break their kiss and blurt, “Wait!

I’m not—”

Again, Reijir silenced him, sealing their mouths together in a hot-tongued caress. He seized Naeth’s wrists and forced his hands above his head. Naeth moaned into their kiss, then remembering his unprotected state frantically tried to dislodge Reijir by twisting his body sideways. To no avail.

Annoyed, Reijir forced him back down and barked, “Be still, Naeth!” Naeth cried out at a particularly deep and brutal thrust into him. The brusque incursions did not cease, leaving him breathless and unable to do more than shudder and gasp. As the quickening strokes of Reijir’s shaft against the walls of his seed channel wrought sensation after rapturous sensation, Naeth lost the will to deny his lover and gave himself over to their mutual pleasure.

He sobbed in ecstasy as release overtook him, the spasmodic clenching of his muscles around Reijir’s shaft wrenching the Herun’s climax from him. With a harsh groan, Reijir spent himself deep inside Naeth.

Still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm, Naeth only vaguely registered the familiar rush of warmth toward his belly and the pleasurable spasms that followed. But when the warmth burst into flaring heat, he stiffened in shock. The heat did not subside at once but lingered and spread throughout his abdomen. Inside his womb.

Heyas, he thought with dismay. Have I conceived?

Eyes shut tight, he clutched at Reijir, shaking with fear and wonder. A spate of warm kisses on his face and lips calmed him down somewhat, and he opened his eyes to look into contrite verdant eyes.

“I frightened you,” Reijir murmured. “I’m sorry, Naeth- min.”

“You—” Naeth swallowed. “You seemed angry.”

“Not with you.” Reijir bent down, touching his forehead to Naeth’s. “Only the fools I must deal with. I was sore from having to mediate between those two halfwits and over the pettiest, most ridiculous of matters. I wanted to put an end to it once and for all, but alas, they were hardly cooperative.”

“I see.” Naeth licked his lips, wondering how to tell his lover that he might have begotten a child on him. “That is aggravating,” he murmured. “Small wonder you were in no mood for talk.”

“I’m still in no mood for it,” Reijir said with a small smile.

He pushed his hips forward, making Naeth realize that his lover was still inside him and fast hardening again. Before Naeth could utter another word, Reijir captured his mouth in a series of gentle, breath-stealing kisses while below he wrapped his hand around Naeth’s shaft and stroked to a renewed state of readiness. Naeth groaned in defeat as rapturous sensation invaded him once more to the exclusion of thought and all good sense.

He would tell Reijir the following day. When the Herun was in better temper and would not take exception to the revelation that he had ravished Naeth and sired a child on him.

* * * *

But come morning, Naeth’s courage failed him. He simply could not find the right words to say. Or at least, words that would not cause Reijir grief and self-recrimination.

He would also have to dampen his own ardor if he were to keep his secret a while longer.

The Deiran libido increased almost from the moment of conception, and Naeth knew he was no exception to this particular effect of breeding.

“When is spring recess?” Reijir asked him and Keiran over breakfast.

“In a little more than three weeks,” Keiran replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I promised Naeth I’d take him to Irdaran this spring.” Keiran nodded approvingly. “Yes, he should have a look at the estate as soon as possible.” He smiled at Naeth. His smile turned into a frown. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “You look quite flushed. Are you coming down with something?” Naeth gulped and shook his head. It would not do to admit his high color came from his body’s reaction to stimulation such as the mere sight of Reijir’s handsome virile self provided.

Saints above, I should have more control than this, he scolded himself.

“I, uh, only remembered something, about last night,” he lamely replied.

Keiran suddenly guffawed. “I don’t blame you,” he said with a knowing grin.

Naeth looked at him in horror. “Y-you can hear us?” he squeaked.

“From eight rooms away? You should hope not! Nay, I only went to Reijir’s suite to ask him about something but, lo, what should I hear but a very voluble kit in full rut?

Your bed must have taken quite a pounding, little brother. And Naeth, too!”

“Have mercy on him, Kei,” Reijir mildly reproved. “Naeth is still unused to your overly salty tongue. And while I’ll admit to being your brother, I’m far from little. Which is more than you can say about yourself. Right, Ruo?” Ruomi bit his lip to keep from laughing as he placed a sheaf of letters to the right of Reijir’s plate. His eyes alighting momentarily on Keiran, he diplomatically replied, “Kei-tyar has his own special attractions.”

Keiran flashed him a wolfish smile. “And you know them all too well,” he huskily drawled.

Naeth suddenly rose to his feet and stammered out an excuse to leave. As he hurried out of the dining hall, he heard Keiran say, “Go after him, Ruo. Find out what ails him.

I’ve never seen him so red-faced and fidgety!”

Naeth groaned and hurried down to the front door. He had to evade Ruomi.

Heyas! How was he going to temper his lust when the brethren often engaged in earthy humor, especially Keiran? He only hoped Reijir would not notice his increased desire for intimacy with him before Naeth had the chance to confess his condition.

* * * *

The weeks marched by and still Naeth kept his secret. He knew he would have to divulge it before his belly began to show. His increased craving for sexual contact had already drawn Reijir’s attention though naturally the Herun did not immediately connect the change with breeding but rather thought it the enthusiasm of youth. His amused approval of the state of affairs only made it harder for Naeth to confess.

Meanwhile, the time for the visit to Irdaran swiftly neared, further distracting everyone from noticing anything amiss with Naeth. Or so he hoped.

The day before their departure, he woke up late after a somewhat uneasy night of vague dreams, thus missing breakfast with Reijir and Keiran who had already left the house by then. Naeth ventured down to the kitchen and assured the cook he would prepare his own breakfast rather than interrupt the cooking and bottling of the year’s stock of jams and preserves. And instead of eating in the dining hall or his own room, he settled himself at one of the worktables.

He was hungrily devouring his meal when Ruomi walked in. The sedyr paused to greet him before speaking with the cook. Naeth idly listened as Ruomi requested the Deir to check the larder for a number of foodstuffs. The cook and his assistant dutifully headed off, leaving Ruomi alone with Naeth.

“You’re with child, aren’t you?” Ruomi abruptly asked.

Naeth nearly choked on his mouthful of porridge. He coughed, wheezed a little then looked at Ruomi in wide-eyed apprehension.

“What—what made you think that?” he croaked.

Ruomi sat down across from him. “Your appetite has markedly increased, and you eat more frequently. You’re past adolescence and aren’t engaged in strenuous training of any kind and you’re not recovering from sickness. Other than these, the most usual cause for such a change in eating habits is breeding.”

Naeth gulped and looked down at the remains of his hearty breakfast, which aside from the honey-sweetened, milk-laced porridge had consisted of smoked bacon, grilled sausages, poached egg, a vegetable mélange, generously buttered toast, and a hefty bowl of chopped fruit doused with cream.

When he remained in stricken silence, Ruomi shook his head and said, “Have you told Reijir?” Again, Naeth could not answer. Ruomi sighed. “How did this happen? I thought you were being careful. Surely Reijir taught you how to prevent conception.” Naeth raised miserable eyes to him. “He did, and we were being careful. But that night he returned from Ilmaren, he was so ill-tempered and—” Naeth grimaced. “I tried to tell him I hadn’t taken mirash. But he was so angry about those feuding theina that he—he didn’t listen. Or maybe he didn’t hear, I don’t really know.”

“So he took you unprotected.”

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you told him?”

“Tell him that he-he—”

“Forced himself on you and got you with child—yes.”

“I can’t! I don’t want him to think he’s no different from his sire. You know what I mean, Ruo.”

Ruomi’s eyes hardened for a moment with remembrance. “Yes, I know what you mean,” he agreed. “But what Rodeth did to me can in no way compare to Reijir’s actions with you. Rodeth abused me and would have raped me in my minority had Keiran and Reijir not intervened. Reijir may have ignored your attempts to warn him, but you didn’t submit to him unwilling, did you?”

Naeth shook his head. “I’m never unwilling. Not with him.”

“Then it wasn’t rape and you should tell him what happened.” When Naeth flinched, Ruomi gripped his hand and squeezed it urgently. “Reijir’s trust has been much eroded and by folk he thought would never betray him. Why think you he has not engaged in a serious affair in so long a time? Until he met you, he refused to open himself to anyone outside of his family.”

“And you.”

“I earned it. And so have you. He’s learned to trust you, Naeth, but it’s still early days compared to the years he has held himself aloof from such feelings. If you keep this from him overlong, if you give him reason to believe that you’re capable of hiding something so important from him, it could hurt what you share. You could shake his trust in you. And while I doubt he would break with you over this, it could tarnish your relationship. There’s no telling where that might lead. Do you dare take the risk?” Naeth shook his head. “I will tell him.”

“When?”

“When we return from Irdaran.”

“Delay is not your friend. Think hard about the consequences if he finds out before you inform him.”

“You wouldn’t tell him!”

“Nay, that isn’t my right. But Reijir is no fool. I guessed it. Why shouldn’t he?” The cook and his helper returned, bringing the conversation to an end. But before he left the kitchen, Ruomi said, softly enough that only Naeth heard, “He will know the moment he sees evidence of your condition. Best you tell him before then.” Naeth bit his lip and nodded.

Ruomi unexpectedly smiled then. “His moods have grown somewhat unpredictable of late,” he commented. “It makes it harder to anticipate what he wants, but I am glad of it nonetheless, given the cause.” He patted Naeth on the shoulder. “Don’t give him reason to rue letting you in.”

He strode off, leaving Naeth to puzzle over his statement.

* * * *

They departed the following morning. Ruomi came with them, but Keiran elected to stay behind to finish collating research he’d been working on since the previous winter.

When Syvan Fiori joined them on the way out of the city to the Great Field, Naeth thought he looked ill at ease and wondered what could discomfit his thus far stolid uncle to that extent.

The reason became apparent when Reijir opened a portal.

“Why so pale, Fiori- tyar?” Naeth heard Reijir ask. “Have you never travelled by translocation before?”

Naeth looked at Syvan and saw that he had turned rather pasty. The Deir shook his head and said a little shakily, “I never accompanied Uncle Albran on his travels outside of Sidona. And, unfortunately, my branch of the family is not as gifted.” Reijir’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Are you implying Albran Fiori possessed the ability to translocate?”

“For short distances, yes, he had the ability,” the solicitor admitted. “But he claimed it was too taxing for him to sustain a corridor for longer than the time it takes to travel from Irdaran to Rikara. He never attempted lengthier trips, and he preferred to journey by land within the fief—to conserve his strength for when he really needed it, he used to say.

But perhaps he simply didn’t enjoy travelling thusly.”

“Nay, what he claimed is likely true. Contrary to popular belief, not all True Bloods possess the ability for it, not even amongst the nobility. And for those who do, the level of power and skill varies greatly.” Reijir glanced at Naeth. “Did Morel Fiori have the gift?”

To Naeth’s surprise, Syvan nodded. “But I don’t know if he passed the gift to his sons.”

Reijir looked thoughtfully at Naeth. “Perhaps I should have Rohyr or Eiren assess you,” he remarked. “It would be a pity should you possess some skills and never be trained to use them.”

Grimacing, Naeth said, “I’m not sure I want to know. This is quite hard, learning one new thing after another about my parents and myself. I don’t know if I can bear yet another secret unveiled.”

“You’ll bear it,” Reijir told him. “You’re far stronger of heart than you give yourself credit for, Naeth- min. How else could you have survived your family’s passing?” Naeth gratefully smiled. “I do know I feel braver when you’re with me,” he said.

Reijir grinned at him then lifted his hand and signaled to the rest to follow him.

They passed through the portal, a visibly distressed Syvan hesitating before entering the passageway. It’s fortunate Sidona is near Rikara, Naeth thought as he glanced at his uncle. He could just imagine what travelling to the midlands while inside a corridor would do to Syvan’s increasingly fraught nerves.

In the end, the solicitor proved unable to weather traveling thusly.

They emerged from the corridor a few minutes later onto a meadow blanketed by fragrant clover. Hardly had the last rider exited when Syvan hastily dismounted. He made his tottering way to a clump of shrubs where he emptied his belly, retching miserably until there was nothing left to vomit. Reijir shook his head and looked at Naeth.

“I can’t believe you’re related,” he murmured.

Naeth wanly smiled. He was not fond of the stifling closeness of a translocation corridor but neither did it unsettle him so much as to induce nausea or cause him to break out in a sweat as Syvan had. He looked elsewhere to spare his uncle further embarrassment when the latter finally returned, mopping his damp and reddened face with a now sodden handkerchief. Ruomi silently handed him a flask of water with which to wash out his sour mouth.

As soon as Syvan felt himself steady enough to remount his steed, the company set out for Irdaran.

The town was located in the hill country of Sidona. While the town proper nestled in a shallow valley, the Fiori estate lay on the other side of the encircling hills, about a league or so away.

Like many old estates, it covered an impressive number of acres. It was not self-sufficient, however, as the great herunic holdings were. The serle’s estates seldom produced enough for their households’ daily needs. Most baronets depended heavily on the towns or villages of which they were patrons for much of their provisions.

Naeth could not contain his curiosity when they rode into the paved courtyard of the manse.

This was where his sire had been born, grew up and resided until well into his adult years. This place held Naeth’s family history on his sire’s side and gave the lie to his belief that he was a simple commoner.

He shook his head in awe as he viewed the stately building and its immaculately kept grounds. Yet Morel Fiori had renounced his home and heritage rather than be parted from Jiron Orosse. Naeth felt love for his parents swell in his heart. He missed them all over again with the same sharp yearning he’d known when he lost them.

Someone squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up to see Reijir regarding him sympathetically. He managed a watery smile and, squaring his shoulders, followed the Herun’s lead and dismounted. Syvan led the way into the great house.

The servants had gathered in the entry hall to welcome them. Naeth sensed their curiosity and wonder as his uncle introduced him. He smiled his thanks as they tendered him their formal greetings and hastened to take the party’s cloaks and riding gloves. One thing Naeth noted was their immediate deference to Reijir as soon as they identified his social rank. These were well-trained retainers, he realized, and used to highborn visitors to the estate. All the more did he admire his sire for choosing his lover over the wealth and privilege to which he’d been born and had expected to one day assume.

He also noticed their subservience to Syvan even after being informed that Naeth was their new master. That seemed to confirm the solicitor’s claim that he had administered the estate during the interim months since Albran Fiori’s passing. Naeth said as much to Reijir when they had a moment alone together.

“Yes, they readily submit to his authority. But it isn’t the deference toward a temporary steward that I see here,” Reijir commented. “He said he frequently visited Fiori Hall. I warrant he didn’t just visit. I think he actually resided here for a considerable period of time. He was probably at his bedside when your grandsire passed away.” Naeth nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that would explain the servants’ manner toward him. Perhaps he was their acting master when Opa was ailing or right after he died.” Reijir smiled. “So, you’ve accepted him as your grandsire.”

“Well, he was,” Naeth said with a shrug. “I might as well get used to addressing him thusly.”

Right after showing them their quarters in the wing reserved for guests, Syvan offered to guide them around the rest of the manse.

“Is the house to your liking?” he asked when they entered the family wing.

“It is impressive,” Naeth admitted.

The building bespoke old wealth and long heritage. This was a family whose forebears went back to before the political upheavals of the Ferrenda Interregnum. The Fiori baronetcy was bestowed long before Diorn Essendri, the Ardan who beat back the invading Ferrendas and conquered their kingdom of Varadan, used the granting of titles and estates as a reward to his followers for their loyalty and as surety of their continued support.

“This was Morel’s apartment,” Syvan said as he opened the door to a large suite at one of end of the family wing. “Uncle Albran didn’t allow a single thing to be changed after he left.”

Naeth looked at Reijir a little nervously. At a slight nod from the Herun, he entered his sire’s boyhood quarters.

He walked around the sitting room in a bit of a daze, lightly touching the heavy furnishings and staring at the paintings by masters of a long bygone era. He peered into the bathing room with its ornate freestanding bathing tub, noting how the absence of modern plumbing dated the room. Interestingly, the bedchamber was much cozier than the outer room, its furniture chosen for comfort rather than worth or style.

Naeth ran his fingers along the carvings on the redwood footboard of the wide bed and fingered the gauzy curtains that, when drawn, provided an airy cocoon for whoever slept within. Moving to the side of the bed, he examined the emblem embroidered in silver grey thread on the wine-hued counterpane. He caught his breath at its familiarity.

Pulling out the pendant that now always hung from his neck, he compared the two and realized the symbols were the same. A lump lodged in his throat, and he turned away from the bed, his eyes swiftly blurring.

Reijir caught him in a soothing embrace, and he clung to his lover, fighting back his tears, his shoulders heaving with the effort.

“I miss them,” he whispered brokenly. “I miss them so much.”

“Of course you do,” Reijir murmured. “They loved you well.” Naeth drew in a shaky breath. He glanced at his uncle. Syvan appeared uncomfortable, and when Naeth looked at him, he averted his face. Naeth wondered if showing one’s emotions had been frowned on in his grandsire’s home. Syvan was probably embarrassed at witnessing Naeth’s near breakdown.

“Did Adda ever come here?” he softly asked.

Syvan stiffened then reluctantly met his gaze. “Yes, several times before Uncle Albran realized he was more than Morel’s lover of the moment. They, uh, shared this room quite frequently in those days.”

Naeth’s eyes quickly brightened. “Maybe I’ll feel his presence here, too,” he hopefully said.

“Well…” Syvan pursed his lips then pointed to the couch before the bedroom hearth.

A fringed amber-hued blanket was casually draped over the back of the long seat. “That was his. They would sit together before the fire, and Jiron liked to wrap the blanket around them both.”

Naeth ignored the slight distaste in Syvan’s voice. The Deir was obviously of a conservative, undemonstrative bent.

“They used to do that in Losshen, too!” he exclaimed in excitement.

He hurried to the couch and picked up the blanket. Forcing back a fresh set of tears, he almost reverently buried his face in it. At length he sighed and held the blanket to his breast. His shoulders shook, and he turned a tear-streaked face to Reijir.

Swearing under his breath, Reijir went to him and swept him into a tight embrace.

“Enough,” he said. “You can come back here later.”

Unable to speak, Naeth nodded and allowed Reijir to usher him out of the apartment.

The issue of his inheritance arose once more that evening after dinner. Syvan ordered the servants to bring them wine in the study where he showed Naeth the documents representing his grandsire’s extensive holdings. Naeth could not quite believe just how well off he could be if he chose to accept his inheritance.

“The local magistrate only awaits your official claim to the estate,” Syvan explained as Naeth perused the various deeds and legal papers. “Once he affirms the legitimacy of your claim, which is just a mere formality, you can at once take up residence in this house and exercise your rights and privileges as serl. As I mentioned before, you will be provided with an ample allowance until you reach your majority whereupon you will receive the monies due you in full.”

“It won’t be enough to exercise my rights and privileges. I’ll need to fulfill my duties and obligations, too,” Naeth said, sending Reijir a small lopsided smile. “Saints! I wasn’t raised for this. I don’t feel comfortable with—” He waved a hand to encompass the stuffy elegance of the chamber. “With this!”

Syvan nodded. “Morel didn’t think too highly of his circumstances either. He used to complain about the restrictions placed on him. Admittedly, Uncle Albran was quite a stickler for proper behavior, and he and Morel were oft at odds because of that.”

“Truly? No wonder Aba thought a life with Adda more rewarding. He must have felt smothered here.”

“Indeed, sometimes the lesser choice can be the richer one.” Naeth looked at his uncle in some surprise. Thus far, Syvan had seemed as hidebound by convention as the late Albran Fiori.

“You’re the last of my kin, Uncle,” he suddenly said. “I hope we can get to know each other better.”

It was Syvan’s turn to look surprised. He glanced at Reijir then nodded and said,

“Well, of course, that goes without saying.”

Naeth faintly smiled. Not exactly an effusive response but it was in keeping with Syvan’s reticent personality.

“One other matter,” he said. “You’re probably aware by now of my relationship with Lord Arthanna. I would like to know if you have any objections to my being his leman.” This time Syvan turned beet-red. Naeth suppressed a sigh and looked sideways at his amused lover. Definitely a stick-in-the-mud sort, he thought.

“It is highly irregular for your position,” Syvan finally said. “But as you began your, er, liaison with His Grace before you learned of your heritage, I suppose one cannot fault you for wishing to maintain it. I only hope you will be discreet when you are in residence in Irdaran.”

“Then you won’t forbid me to continue our—liaison?”

“I’m hardly in a position to tell you what you may or may not do,” Syvan answered a little stiffly. “But if I understand the situation and you decide to refuse the title and estate, you will remain a dependent of His Grace?”

“That is correct,” Reijir said before Naeth could reply.

Syvan pursed his lips. “Well, in that case, it would be imprudent to burn your bridges with Lord Arthanna.” He hesitated then asked, “Are you really considering declining your inheritance?”

“I’m inclined to do it,” Naeth said. “But I shouldn’t be completely dependent on His Grace either. That wouldn’t be right. And besides, I enjoy earning something for my efforts. Ruomi has taught me the dignity of honest work,” he added, smiling at the adjutant who had entered the study with a bottle of Reijir’s favorite Ilmaren cordial Ruomi smiled back and poured a glass for Reijir. “His Grace and Lord Keiran make it easy,” he murmured.

Reijir smirked. “Hardly easy where Keiran is concerned,” he quipped. “Unless you’re referring to the benefits he bestows on you for serving him so well.” Faint color warmed Ruomi’s cheeks, but he only huffed a soft chuckle and, after informing Reijir that he would have warm baths drawn for them, left the study.

Syvan stared after him a little pop-eyed. “Well, I never—” he started to say. Then seeming to recall where he was, he cleared his throat and said, “Are you suggesting the estate provide you with a stipend?” When Naeth nodded, he said, “It’s never been done before, but I imagine it can be arranged. A generous annuity perhaps for the length of your lifetime?”

“That would be perfect,” Naeth said, beaming with approval.

“If you refuse,” Reijir reminded him. “You’ll always have a place in my household regardless of your choice. But it’s no small matter to turn your back on your heritage.”

“It needs serious consideration,” Syvan agreed. ”The legalities will have to be observed, and they are considerable.”

“That is nothing compared to the loss of one’s entire history,” Reijir retorted a little severely.

“Aba did it,” Naeth said.

“Your adda gave him sufficient cause.”

“Who’s to say I have none of my own?”

Reijir’s eyes glittered unfathomably. “Who’s to say indeed?” he murmured. He rose to his feet. “Take as much time as you need, Naeth- min. This is much too important a decision to be rashly made.”

“I have been thinking!” Naeth complained. “Saints! I was so sure that’s what I wanted, but now you’ve got me wondering if it’s the right decision.”

“Better to delay your choice than have cause for regret later.”

“But you will take care of him if he declines, Dyhar?” Syvan carefully prodded.

Reijir glanced at him with some irritation. “I said I would. Goodnight, Fiori- tyar.”

“Er, goodnight, Your Grace.”

Naeth bade his uncle goodnight as well and followed Reijir out of the study.

“You don’t like him very much,” he remarked as they walked to their rooms.

“I’m not fond of pedants,” Reijir said. “And for someone who’s found long lost kin and the last of them at that, he’s singularly lacking in warmth and enthusiasm.”

“We barely know each other,” Naeth ventured. “Perhaps he’ll thaw when we’ve become better acquainted.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

* * * *

Naeth shed his nightshirt and, after hanging it from a hook on the wardrobe door to air, pulled out a pair of tan breeches and a dark brown tunic. It was now three days into their visit, and Reijir had suggested they ride to Irdaran that Naeth might get to better know the town of which his family was patron and also provided the bulk of the estate’s daily supplies. He turned to the mirror, holding the garments in front of him to see if they were suitable. It would be the townsfolk’s first real look at him and he wanted to make a good impression. It was then that he saw the slightest hint of a pale brown line crossing his abdomen.

Staring at his reflection, he traced the line with shaky fingers. The swelling of his belly would not betray his condition after all but rather the birthing seam that now showed faint but clear against his fair skin. The seam would gradually thin until it parted at the time of birthing to allow the babe to emerge from the womb. Naeth grimaced.

Reijir had not bedded him since their arrival in Irdaran, unwilling to undermine Naeth’s newly acquired station by showing him to be his concubine and dependent. But once they returned to Rikara, their intimacy would likely resume. In the course of their lovemaking, Reijir would not miss this first sign of breeding.

There was no getting around it. Naeth would have to tell him the truth beforehand.

Today perhaps?

The ride to Irdaran might put the Herun in a good enough mood to receive Naeth’s confession with equanimity. And mayhap the very process of acting in Naeth’s best interests might also minimize any guilt Reijir would surely harbor when he learned what had transpired the night Naeth conceived. Feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks, Naeth quickly dressed and hurried to join Reijir for breakfast.

They rode to the town taking the straight road between the hills that encircled Irdaran. Ruomi and Syvan accompanied them along with three of Reijir’s warriors. But Syvan only remained with them long enough to introduce Naeth to the town elders before taking his leave, saying he had business to attend to. With Reijir’s commanding presence backing him up, Naeth managed to sound confident in his initial meeting with the town leaders who would defer to his authority if he assumed his grandsire’s position.

He and Reijir pleased the locals by having their midday meal at one of the inns instead of heading back to Fiori Hall. Naeth further gained their approval when, assisted by Ruomi, he engaged in lively conversation with the town butcher, asking about the local game and inquiring about meat dishes unique to the region, while Reijir stood to one side rolling his eyes on occasion at the more graphic discussions about the Deir’s profession.

*

Seeing Naeth’s increased confidence in himself, Reijir decided his indulgence of his leman’s interests was well worth it.

They did not take the main road to go back to Fiori Hall but traveled an alternate route suggested by Syvan. The other route from Irdaran to the manse was a circuitous road that skirted the tallest of the hills around the town. The solicitor had been quite insistent that they take it, claiming the view quite lovely, for many sections of the road overlooked crystalline streams and dramatic ravines or came abreast of hidden falls.

Though Reijir was not fond of what he oft sarcastically labeled picturesque scenery, he could not refuse Naeth a chance to see more of his sire’s old haunts.

He was taken aback however when the road steadily climbed until they almost reached the top of the hill. Syvan had not warned them of this ascending portion of the road. More annoying, it was more of a rude track in this section and apparently used very infrequently. Thus, it was in poor condition. And then they came to a stretch that was so narrow they were forced to ride single-file and, worse, was deeply rutted and strewn with stones and other debris, forcing their steeds to pick their way carefully amidst the rubble.

To their right was the hill face, thickly dotted with trees, their branches heavy with vines and other trailing vegetation. To the left was a surprisingly deep ravine with steep sides and a rocky bottom. It was certainly dramatic but not at all what Reijir would remotely consider pleasing to the eye.

“Stay away from the edge, Naeth,” he called over his shoulder to the youth.

Naeth shakily agreed, his fingers clenched tightly around the reins. He was pale and looked apprehensive and kept his eyes on the uneven road. Reijir scowled. Even a seasoned rider would feel ill at ease traversing such a narrow, ill-maintained road. What more an inexperienced one?

“What was your uncle thinking, having us take this Veres forsaken route?” he growled as he steadied his steed after a near stumble on a rut masked by wild grass.

“It is charming,” Naeth gamely replied. “And maybe this stretch isn’t much longer so—” He gave a little cry as his steed tottered a bit on a slippery stony patch.

“Naeth!” Reijir glanced back in alarm.

“I’m fine!” Naeth was quick to reassure him. “I was just startled.” About to reply, Reijir cursed out loud when his steed stepped into another hidden rut and struggled to steady itself.

“That’s it!” he snarled. “I’m opening a portal.” He looked back at Naeth and said,

“Remind me not to thrash Syvan when we get back!”

*

Naeth opened his mouth, but before he could speak, something dropped from the overhanging branch of a tree just ahead of him. He had a glimpse of a long, curling creature before his steed suddenly whinnied in alarm and reared up on its hind legs.

Naeth cried out as he lost his grip on the reins along with his seating. He fell heavily then tumbled down the sloping edge of the trail toward the sheer drop into the ravine.

He screamed as his legs slipped off the road, dragging him down. A frantic grab at a thick vine slowed his downward slide. Someone grasped his arms and halted his fall. A panicked glance told him it was Reijir who held his life in his hands. An instant later, one of the riders was at the Herun’s side and helped him pull Naeth to safety.

Reijir held him tight against his chest. His harsh breathing told Naeth just how shaken his lover had been by the accident. He clung to Reijir, trembling violently. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted the creature that had spooked his steed.

It was a common garden snake.

Naeth frowned in puzzlement. He turned to look at Reijir and started to speak. But a sharp pain tore through his abdomen, and he doubled up with a cry.

“What is wrong?” Reijir asked in renewed alarm.

“It hurts…” Naeth whispered, barely able to speak. “Merciful Veres… it hurts…” Ruomi knelt beside them and gingerly placed his hand on Naeth’s belly. “Here?” he urgently asked.

Naeth could only nod. Ruomi looked at Reijir and said, “We must get him to a healer at once. He may be miscarrying.”

Reijir stared at him in shock. “How can he—?” He stopped when Naeth cried out again and stiffened in pain, one hand clutching at his abdomen, the other dropping lower to his groin.

Naeth suddenly felt something warm and wet gush out between his legs to the horrified exclamations of the others. Dizziness overcame him, and his vision blurred. A yawning well of darkness loomed before him. The last thing he remembered before he tumbled into the shadows was being lifted up into the haven of Reijir’s arms to be held fast against his lover’s reassuring heat and strength.

* * * *

“He’s too young,” Eiren soberly explained. “His womb could not shield the babe.

But even without the fall, the chances of losing the child were greater than carrying it to full term. Even Lassen nearly miscarried, although he’s a breeder. I had to warn Rohyr not to get him with child again until he reached forty summers at least.” The physician looked at his cousin. “You knew this yet you took the risk,” he said a little reprovingly.

Reijir glowered at him. “I didn’t know he was breeding,” he said. “He didn’t tell me and… Heyas, Ren, do you think me so callous that I’d consciously imperil him?” Eiren pursed his lips then shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He bent over Naeth again and placed his hands over the youth’s abdomen. “His womb is sound. I sense no damage that time can’t heal. He’s strong and resilient as well.” He glanced over his shoulder at Reijir. “He’ll be able to carry a child again, that much I guarantee.”

“Not if I can help it,” Reijir retorted, anger hardening his voice. “He kept it from me.

Why? And how did he conceive in the first place?”

“I felt your imprint on him,” Eiren said. “The babe was yours, Rei.”

“I didn’t doubt that. But it troubles me that he did this in secret.”

“You think this was deliberate?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Reijir looked away. “I trusted him.” Eiren straightened and stared at him with a frown. “Trusted? Then you trust him no longer?”

Reijir scowled, memories from long ago further darkening his mood. He abruptly shared a few of them with Eiren, brusquely forcing his way past the physician’s shields to fill his mind with thoughts and images from those unhappy times. Eiren softly swore and lifted a hand to grip his cousin’s shoulder.

“You must listen to Naeth first before you pass judgment,” he said. “No two people are alike, Rei, not even Zykriel and Gilmael for all their physical similarities.”

“I know that! I just—” Reijir exhaled wearily. “I don’t care to have my hopes dashed once more. Hope was all that kept me alive through Aba’s cruelty, and when even that was taken away…” He shuddered.

Eiren tightened his hold on Reijir’s shoulder. “That hope was vanquished, true, but others took its place. Keiran’s well-being, your fief’s prosperity—you fulfilled them despite your sire’s black legacy. Why doubt yourself now?” He studied Reijir closely.

“Because you feel differently about him, don’t you?” he murmured.

Reijir stilled then pulled away. “I hope he isn’t keeping other such secrets from me,” he flatly said. He moved back to Naeth’s bedside to stare down at him once more. “When will he awaken?”

“Likely before daybreak,” Eiren replied. He yawned. “I need some sleep. And by the way, you’re welcome.”

Reijir looked at him in surprise, followed by a contrite grimace. “Forgive me, Ren.

I’m behaving abominably yet it was I who made you travel all the way here.”

“Yes, and yes, but I’m not surprised. Not anymore.”

“Eiren—”

“Deny it all you want but don’t think you can get me to believe you.” After a moment’s hesitation, Reijir smiled ruefully and said, “Then I won’t. But thank you for helping Naeth and also for bearing with my churlishness.”

“Hmm, ever wonder which is the harder to do?” Eiren quipped. “Get some sleep yourself, cousin. Otherwise, you’ll be useless to him when he wakes up.”

* * * *

Naeth’s memories of his convalescence consisted of disjointed images and sounds, none making a complete picture in his mind but each rendered vivid by dint of the concentration he struggled to apply to each incident.

Ruomi gently wiping the sweat from his brow as he murmured softly to him, his voice reassuring even if his words made little sense.

A servant straightening up, his armful of bloodied clothing replaced in the next instant or so it seemed by cool, clean sheets.

Uncle Syvan hovering nearby, biting his lip and running his hand through his hair over and again then hastily smoothing down the resultant mess—the first sign of real animation he’d displayed so far.

And Eiren— what was he doing in Irdaran? Confusion quickly gave way to relief as pain vanished and strength returned under the physician’s healing touch.

Above all, he remembered worried forest green eyes above him as Reijir washed and dressed and tended him. The memory would remain with Naeth to the end of his days.

He groaned and opened his eyes a crack. His first thought was of the child. He smoothed a hand over his belly, frightened by a crippling sense of emptiness.

“You lost the babe.”

Naeth caught his breath and turned his face to find Reijir sitting by the bed gazing at him, his eyes dark, with ire or sadness, Naeth could not tell. Movement by the door momentarily drew his attention, and he saw Ruomi standing there. A quick scan of the room told him he was in his bedchamber in Fiori Hall. He turned his eyes back to Reijir.

“I’m sorry, Naeth- min,” Reijir quietly said. “Eiren tried to save him, but your womb was not mature enough to adequately shield the child from the fall.”

“I see,” Naeth choked out.

Grief over his loss mingled with dismay and apprehension that Reijir knew his secret. He closed his eyes, feeling the threat of tears behind his lids.

“Ruomi says you were about four weeks along. Is he right?” Naeth nodded.

“You didn’t tell me,” Reijir said reproachfully.

Naeth flinched then forced himself to look at Reijir. “I was going to,” he admitted.

“When we returned to Rikara.”

Raven eyebrows rose questioningly. “Why the wait?”

“I didn’t want you to—” Naeth stopped, unsure how to recount what happened without making it sound as if he blamed Reijir. “It was an accident,” he tried again.

“How could there be an accident?” Reijir countered. “You were taking mirash.”

“Yes, except—except that night,” Naeth stumbled on. “You changed your mind about having me from behind, but—but I hadn’t taken mirash yet.”

“So you let me take you unprotected?” Reijir said disbelievingly. “Heyas! Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried, I truly did,” Naeth hurriedly replied. “But you were so upset over that feud you had to settle in Ilmaren that you didn’t hear me. I mean, I don’t think you understood what I was trying to say and—”

Naeth’s stuttered explanation came to a halt when Reijir stared at him in shocked comprehension. The Herun turned ashen.

“Deity’s blood,” he whispered. “I raped you.”

“Nay!” Naeth protested. “It wasn’t rape. I wasn’t unwilling in the least.”

“But you resisted me,” Reijir tightly said. “I remember now. You kept trying to push me away and I—” He softly groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Veres forgive me,” he muttered. “I’m no better than my scurvy sire.” Shaking his head vehemently, Naeth forced himself to sit up. Weakness swiftly overcame him, and he fell back, panting from the effort while beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Reijir looked up in alarm.

“Ruo!” he exclaimed. “Get Eiren here!”

“No need!” Naeth quickly called out, holding up a trembling hand to stop Ruomi. “I only sat up too fast.” He reached for Reijir’s hand and gripped it. “You’re nothing like your sire,” he said, tugging at Reijir’s hand until the Herun met his gaze. “You’re kind and just and you see to the needs of those in your care, even unto a whole fief. Please, Reijir, don’t compare yourself to him.”

He pulled Reijir closer until he could slip his arms around him in an embrace, burying his face in his lover’s neck. “It was an accident,” he insisted. “You weren’t yourself, and I didn’t try hard enough to warn you.” Reijir lifted his head and placed his fingers on Naeth’s lips. “Don’t try to lessen my guilt by taking any blame, Naeth,” he sternly admonished. “I ignored your attempts to stop me. That makes me accountable.” He exhaled a shuddery breath. “Call it what you will, but I forced myself on you and, worse, got you with child and at your age. Sweet Veres, you could have died! You lost so much blood,” he hoarsely said.

Naeth tightened his hold on Reijir. “I was willing,” he emphatically reiterated. “My unreadiness was unfortunate, but that didn’t make what happened that night rape. You made love to me twice more, remember?” Cupping Reijir’s face in his hands, he kissed him deeply. When the kiss ended, he whispered. “It wasn’t rape. It can never be. I’ll always be willing.”

“Always?” Reijir skeptically said.

“Always,” Naeth firmly repeated. He inhaled deeply and declared, “I can never refuse you. Not when I love you so.”

They both went still. It was the first time a declaration of love had passed between them. Reijir regarded Naeth searchingly, but the youth stoutly met his gaze.

“How brave of you,” Reijir remarked, a small smile curving his lips though his eyes remained troubled.

Naeth caressed Reijir’s cheek affectionately. “Not at all. You’re so easy to love though you choose not to believe it.”

He wanted to say more, but a wave of lassitude struck him and he blinked owlishly, trying to stay awake.

Reijir shook his head. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, gently pressing Naeth down. “I will stay here,” he added when Naeth held on to his hand pleadingly. He pushed strands of hair from Naeth’s forehead. “And thank you.”

“For what?” Naeth asked around a small yawn.

He wondered at the intent stare Reijir trained on him. “For caring enough to try and absolve me,” Reijir finally said.

Naeth fought the pull of sleep enough to mumble, “Because I love you.” He finally slid back into slumber, his fingers still fast around Reijir’s hand.

Chapter Fifteen

Legacy

“He’s perfectly fine, Rei. That was just a small stumble. Holy Saints, who would have thought you’d be such a worrywart!”

Reijir glared at his brother. “I am not a worrywart!” he growled. “Veres almighty, is it a crime to check if someone is hurt?”

Keiran clucked reprovingly. “Not just a worrywart but a sorehead as well!”

“Please, Kei- dyhar,” Naeth softly pleaded. He glanced anxiously at Reijir, placing a placating hand on the Herun’s arm. “I’m all right. It was just a crack in the pavement.” Reijir gave him a quick once-over then nodded and mounted the steps to the townhouse front door. Keiran followed him, shaking his head in obvious exasperation.

Naeth sighed.

It was now almost six months since the accident in Irdaran, but after their return to Rikara, Reijir seemed to take Naeth’s every slip or tumble a bit more seriously than warranted. Given that Reijir had witnessed his fall and kept watch over him during his convalescence, not to mention learned the reason for his near fatal hemorrhage, his heightened sensitivity to even the slightest mishaps to befall Naeth was not surprising.

What was surprising was his increasingly erratic disposition, sometimes rivaling Keiran’s mercurial temperament.

Or perhaps not so surprising, Naeth dolefully mused, considering how displeased Reijir had been when he realized to what extent his leman had kept him in the dark.

Regardless of his intentions, Naeth had essentially deceived him, and that entailed a betrayal of trust however small. No wonder Reijir often alternated between candidness and reticence nowadays, especially where Naeth was concerned.

Ruomi was right, Naeth regretfully conceded. I should have told him at once. The delay only made things worse.

And then he’d had the temerity to declare himself to Reijir. Right after admitting to deceit by omission. His timing left much to be desired. More disheartening, Reijir had not responded in kind and never so much as alluded to it. At times Naeth wondered if he’d really uttered the words or only dreamt that he did.

He sighed again and hurried after the brothers.

Hardly had they entered the front foyer when Ruomi hastened toward them, speaking even before he came to a halt. The sedyr seemed a little flustered, something Naeth found unusual.

“My lords, you have a guest,” he announced. “His Grace, the Hamir of Dyare.” Reijir’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He looked at Keiran who appeared just as taken aback.

“Where did you have him wait?” Reijir asked, quickly mounting the stairs. The others swiftly followed him.

“In the gold parlor. Will you freshen up before seeing him?”

“Nay. Better to learn his reason for visiting now than delay and wonder while we’re at it.” When they reached the doors of the gold parlor, he glanced at Naeth then looked back at Ruomi. “Naeth will attend to us, Ruo. He might as well discover just how many skeletons we’ve got hidden in the family closets.”

Naeth gaped. He looked questioningly at Keiran, but the elder Arthanna only faintly grinned. Keiran swept into the chamber after his brother. Naeth hastily followed.

An elegantly attired Deir rose from the couch, a small smile curving his mouth as the brothers approached him.

Even before he noticed the Deir’s face, Naeth took note of his clothing. It was the first time he had ever seen anyone dressed in a crimson tunic who did not look the least bit gaudy or dandified. If anything, the color suited him, both his milky complexion and his air of quiet sophistication. Naeth curiously lifted his gaze to the visitor’s countenance.

He stared at the Deir’s face and form with fascination. He was even more exotic than the Arthanna brothers. His dark brown hair, streaked with whitish gold and combed back to uncover a high forehead, framed a comely yet almost ascetic face. The slant of his startling pale blue eyes was more distinct than either Reijir or Keiran’s, the well-defined cheekbones beneath emphasizing their foreignness even further. He was about the same height as Keiran, but he carried himself with such confidence and a sense of authority that he seemed taller. And slim though his frame appeared, Naeth suspected he was as well-knit and probably as experienced in the battle arts as the Arthannas. He moved with martial grace rather than mere poise.

Naeth noted that neither brother had welcomed him as yet. Indeed they were eyeing him somewhat warily.

“What brings you here, Dyhar?” Reijir finally asked.

“Formal as ever, I see,” the Hamir commented. “It has been long since you visited Dyare,” he pointed out.

“So it has. Our apologies.”

“Accepted. And that is the reason I’m here.”

“To check on us,” Keiran said.

“As I always have.” The Dyarin lord wryly smiled. “You are Liande’s sons.

Whatever the unfortunate ramifications of your sire’s folly, you know I do not lack in affection for you.”

The brothers glanced at each other. Reijir sighed and nodded while Keiran, to Naeth’s surprise, drew the Hamir into a hug. The Deir looked pleased with the warm gesture.

“You were always the expressive brother,” he told Keiran approvingly. He glanced at Reijir, his eyes twinkling slightly. “And you the reserved one. It’s just as well you haven’t changed overmuch, else my poor heart would give from the shock.” Reijir snorted. “Highly unlikely. You have the constitution of a Silesian ox,” he said.

He extended his hand and squeezed the Hamir’s when the Deir proffered his own.

“Welcome to Ylandre, Uncle Lihom.”

Naeth stifled a gasp. More intrigued than ever, he tried not to stare too blatantly at the elegant Khitairan.

He remembered Keiran’s description of the brethren’s foreign adda. The son of the Hamir of Dyare at the time, Keiran had said. If this noble was the current Dyarin fief-lord, that made him the previous one’s son and, therefore, elder brother to Reijir and Keiran’s birthing father.

At a gesture from Reijir, he poured wine for them then fetched a tray of savory snacks to go with the libation. After serving them, he sat himself at the card table and awaited further instructions. Nonetheless, he could hear their conversation, and it soon dawned on him that they were talking about the Hamir’s homeland.

Naeth frowned at the unfamiliar names and the strange references, each making him further aware of the foreignness of the Arthannas’ kin on their birthing father’s side. He stifled a sigh of frustration. His curiosity had been stoked, but his general ignorance about Khitaira made it difficult for him to fathom much beyond the superficial descriptions of the continent and its peoples.

He resigned himself to being at sea for most of the discussion and just tried to understand what he could, which was much less than he could hope for. Until the unexpected happened.

As he listened to their talk, it seemed to Naeth that images formed in his mind. He suddenly saw Khitaira as clearly as if he roamed its many lands.

The dark-tressed ivory-skinned denizens in the colder north contrasting vividly with the lighter-haired, golden-complexioned folk of the balmy south but marked as one people by their beauteous almond-shaped eyes.

Busy highways leading to resplendent walled cities robed in gold, crimson and purple. Sprawling towns bustling with traders and travelers. Sleepy rustic villages nestled in quiet valleys amidst fields of grain and vegetables.

Majestic snow-capped Mount Seleya, its nigh perfect cone shape reflected in the pristine lake at its base. In the middle of the lake stood a serene monastery upon a tall promontory accessible only by boat or barge.

Dazed by the images that flooded his mind, he looked in Reijir’s direction and realized the Herun was looking at him as well. Reijir’s green eyes glittered with a strange light, and Naeth suddenly and vividly pictured a group of Deira gathered in an expansive garden of unfamiliar blossoms, most attired similarly to the Hamir, all bearing the facial characteristics of northern Khitairans. Children laughed and shrieked as they ran and frolicked while liveried attendants followed them about, keeping them out of harm’s way while permitting them their carefree antics.

Naeth realized then that the images he had previously seen had been provided by Reijir.

The Herun had ensured he would not be lost as the conversation centered on faraway places and distant events Naeth knew little of and therefore would not have been able to comprehend in full. His kindness served to further strengthen the already adamantine conviction Naeth held that Reijir Arthanna was the only Deir he could ever love with all his heart and soul and body, the consequences of such relentless wanting be damned.

He became aware that the topic of the conversation had changed. The Hamir was relating something that had to do with the brethren’s Shiron relations. Naeth turned his attention to the noble with interest.

“Jomir has just begotten a pair of breeder sons,” Lihom said. “There has been a deluge of betrothal offers for either. And then there is Thalin’s two-year-old, a beauteous and very biddable child. As for myself, if all goes well, Mivar will present me with a third grandson before the year ends.”

He paused, smiling a little ruefully as a scowl burgeoned on Reijir’s face. “You have likely guessed the main reason for my visit.” He leaned back and eyed Reijir searchingly.

“There have been questions as to when you will produce an heir to fulfill your sire’s part of the contract.”

“When I wed,” Reijir curtly said.

“Naturally. But that begs another question. When will you wed, Rei- min?” When Reijir did not answer, Lihom added, “You are of a good age to take a mate. Indeed, well past the age in Qindala, but I have assured them that customs are not the same in Ylandre.

Nonetheless, there is some worry—”

“That I might renege on Aba’s promise?” Reijir scowled. “I’m not like him in the least, Uncle.”

“I know you are not,” Lihom agreed. “You have spent your life diverging as much as possible from his path. I will not deny that pleases the family. Rodeth was, to put it mildly, a most intemperate Deir. Only Liande was able to control him somewhat.”

“Only because of the contract.”

“For the most part. But I think Rodeth also esteemed him as much as he could esteem anyone.”

“There was gratitude as well,” Keiran wryly said. “Adda did spare him a painful and ignoble demise.”

“That, too,” Lihom agreed. “A pity his restraint did not extend to the two of you. We were always relieved whenever Liande brought you to Dyare to visit.”

“Yet you took no steps to keep Aba from venting his anger on us,” Keiran said, his voice a shade bitter.

Lihom shook his head. “Who do you think encouraged Liande to often bring you to Qindala? Your grandsire knew full well what Rodeth was capable of and that separating both of you from him was the best way to keep him from hurting you overmuch. But so many years have passed since. I warrant you have forgotten the respite your sojourns in Dyare afforded you.”

Keiran sighed. “Nay, I haven’t forgotten. But each time I recall his treatment of us, all I know is that Rei and I felt so helpless. It’s not a feeling I ever want to experience again.”

“Understood,” Lihom said. “It was no surprise at all that neither of you shed tears when he died. I imagine it was a vast relief to be finally free of him.”

“But I am not free of him,” Reijir flatly retorted. “Not completely.”

“You are not,” Lihom agreed. “And you will just have to make the best of the situation. Your son’s choices may be limited, but whoever he selects will still be his choice. Which is far more than Rodeth had planned for Kei had he not died then.” He glanced at Keiran. “Though the provisions Liande made for you would have enabled you to escape that cage almost at once.”

“You weren’t exactly pleased that he did,” Keiran remarked.

“Our sire was not,” the Hamir readily admitted. “He worried Liande had become imprudent with his wealth. When it turned out he was only protecting you, Aba ceased to object.” He turned his attention back to Reijir and looked keenly at him. “The majority of bluebloods in every continent seldom wed for love alone, Rei- min. Surely you expected even yourself to be bartered away in wedlock for political or financial gain had Rodeth lived longer. Or that he would at least make the attempt. Why then are you so against the practice for your son?”

Reijir pursed his lips. “I’m not completely against it,” he reluctantly admitted. “Some of the strongest marriages I know of were arranged. But it galls me that, due to my benighted sire’s capriciousness, my firstborn and I will have no say in the manner of his mate’s selection, only which one of the few presented to him will suit him best. Aba’s actions have robbed my eldest and his heir’s eldest of the chance to bind themselves out of true affection if they so desire.”

“But what of you?” Lihom curiously asked. “Will you bind for love or for duty?” Naeth could not help flinching when Lihom gave him a speculative look. Reijir did not however follow his uncle’s lead but only shrugged and kept his eyes on Lihom. Naeth did not quite know whether he was relieved or disappointed by the Herun’s lack of reaction.

“The hour is late, and I’ve had a long day,” Reijir said and stood up. “We can continue this discussion tomorrow.”

Lihom likewise rose to his feet. “I bid you both goodnight then.” He glanced at Naeth as he passed him on the way to the door. “I trust my nephew takes good care of you,” he murmured. “Or is it the other way around?” Warmth flooded Naeth’s cheeks, much to his dismay. Lihom nodded and walked out of the room followed by Keiran. Naeth looked up at Reijir as the Herun regarded him somewhat sympathetically.

“I’m sorry,” he contritely said. “I didn’t mean to reveal our, um, arrangement.” Reijir shook his head. “You only confirmed what he already knew even before he arrived.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think you he would travel all the way here just to remind me of my duty?” Reijir ushered Naeth out of the parlor. “He came to discover the exact nature of our liaison and whether wedlock is finally in the offing for me.”

Naeth’s blush deepened. “I see,” he whispered. A sharp pang resonated within him, but he struggled to ignore it. “He’s probably relieved that isn’t so,” he gamely said.

“Or disappointed,” Reijir countered. “He would have preferred to return to Dyare with the news of a betrothal or, even better, an imminent wedding.” His curiosity sweeping aside some of his sadness, Naeth asked, “Why is it so important to them that you marry? Is it part of that contract he mentioned?”

“A vital part.”

“Can you tell me? Or is it confidential?”

“It’s no secret though it isn’t well-known either.” They stopped at Naeth’s door. Reijir brushed a kiss against Naeth’s mouth then proceeded to his own apartment.

“Don’t take too long,” he said as he walked off.

Chapter Sixteen

Illumination

Naeth pressed a clenched fist against his mouth to stifle his cries, the tight coil of maddening pleasurable sensation in his belly loosening with every slide of hot hard flesh up his backside. He groaned when Reijir pulled his fist away and forced it above his head to join his other hand.

“Don’t hold back,” he told Naeth. “Don’t ever hold back.” A particularly deep thrust tore a sob from Naeth. “Please, please,” he hoarsely whispered. “I can’t take anymore. Saints above, I’ll scream if you don’t—if you don’t—“

“Scream then.”

“But-but your uncle—He’ll hear—”

“Let him.”

“Nay, I don’t want him to—”

Naeth cried out when his shaft was firmly gripped then relentlessly stroked. The coil unraveled more swiftly, giving him no time to think between one breath and the next, much less find the wherewithal to smother the sounds that escaped him. Pure reaction took over, and he gave audible vent to his pleasure, harsh sobs alternating with loud moans. And still Reijir cleaved him, seducing him into enjoying his body’s extended ravishment.

When completion came, Naeth thought he would faint, so strong and almost savage was his undoing. He lay quite helplessly as Reijir continued to pound into him, the struggle to slow his heart’s hammering hindered by the sensual piercing of his arse.

He felt Reijir tense against him, the Herun biting back a groan as he pushed deep into Naeth one last time. Naeth moaned at the familiar sensation of warm semen filling him.

He would never tire of the feeling, he deliriously thought.

Some heartbeats later, Reijir carefully withdrew from him. He snatched up a shirt from the foot of the bed and used it to wipe Naeth’s abdomen and the back of his thighs.

As he threw the shirt aside, Naeth impulsively sat up and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing kisses to the Herun’s wide shoulders and sleek back. Reijir chuckled and looked over his shoulder at him, a warning gleam in his eyes.

“You had best desist if you wish to give your arse a bit of rest,” he said.

Naeth laughed and lay down again, turning to face Reijir.

“You’re indefatigable,” he mildly accused.

Reijir partially reclined on his side. “And what about you, risking another taking so soon?” he pointed out.

Naeth blushed, but he smiled nonetheless. “I thought you were as done in as I,” he admitted.

“And therefore would be in no state to bugger you again just yet.” Reijir pushed strands of hair from Naeth’s forehead. “Well, I should be. Done in, I mean. But you’re much too delectable to resist for too long. I find myself surging back into readiness with an ease and speed I didn’t think possible.”

He seemed to regret his openness for he frowned and abruptly looked away. Thrilled by the unexpected confession, Naeth tried to smooth over the sudden tension between them.

“It only goes to show how potent you are,” he murmured in as sultry a voice as he could muster. “Small wonder I enjoy your attention, a sore bottom notwithstanding.” Reijir glanced at him, his frown fading to be replaced by a fond smile.

“Flatterer,” he retorted.

“Is it flattery to state a simple truth?” Naeth lightly challenged. He ran a hand down Reijir chest to his taut stomach. “Or to show my appreciation of you? I count myself lucky a hundredfold over to have learned my bed lessons from one as beauteous as you.”

“Enough,” Reijir roughly said, softening the bite of his tone with a gentle stroke of his knuckles on Naeth’s cheek. He reached down and squeezed Naeth’s buttocks. “Do yourself a favor and don’t provoke me overmuch. I won’t have you tottering around the house tomorrow.”

Naeth sighed. “Very well,” he said with spurious meekness.

Reijir grinned and, lying back, drew Naeth partly atop him so that Naeth rested his head on his chest.

“I understand Keiran told you how our parents’ marriage came about,” he said.

Naeth lifted his head and looked at him. “He said your sire took your adda against his will.”

“But did he tell you Adda was a temple acolyte at the time?” At Naeth’s horrified gasp, Reijir said, “Obviously not. Adda was midway through his ten-year of service in the temple of Dyare when it happened. He was actually contemplating becoming a priest when his service ended. So you can imagine the Shirons’ outrage. It wasn’t just Adda’s virtue or their trust that had been violated. Rohyr’s sire, the Ardan Keldon, had to intervene to keep the peace. The Shirons are very close to the royal family of Qindala—

Uncle Lihom’s adda, my grandfather, was the younger brother of the Mikhar.” Impressed, Naeth asked, “So you and Keiran are cousins to the current king?”

“Yes. In any case, Aba’s crime could have plunged Ylandre into war with Qindala had Uncle Keldon not been related to the Shirons as well. He brokered the marriage between my parents and forced Aba to sign a nuptial contract that heavily benefited Adda and the Shirons. To protect Ylandre, it was essential that the price for Aba’s crime be paid by Ilmaren. Our grandsire was forced to dower large tracts of land to Adda—nearly a fifth of Ilmaren’s total area. Those holdings were entailed in such a way that Aba had to fulfill a stipulation in the nuptial contract if he didn’t wish to forfeit them to the Shirons.

The stipulation is simple but has far-reaching consequences for my family. Beginning with his own self, the heir of every other generation of Clan Arthanna has to choose his consort from the members of House Shiron. Failure at any time to fulfill this pact will give complete ownership of the entailed territory to the reigning Hamir.” Naeth stared at Reijir in shock. “A fifth of Ilmaren! And every other generation starting with your sire. Then… then that means your eldest son will have to take a Shiron to spouse.”

“That is correct.”

“And there is no way of circumventing it?”

“None.”

“But why demand such a concession?”

“Simple. By binding Ilmaren heirs thusly, my Shiron relations are ensured of participation in the rule of Ilmaren in perpetuity and continued influence in Ylandre’s royal court for so long as there are Arthannas.”

Naeth was at a loss for words, stunned by the extensive planning for a future that none of the contractors of the pact would likely be around to witness. And what a scoundrel Rodeth Arthanna had been. Not only had he abused his sons and tyrannized the people of his fief, he’d also risked the inheritance of generations of Arthannas to come.

Furthermore, by making Reijir his successor, he had put him in the distasteful position of dictating his heir’s future. Considering how deeply Reijir had resented Rodeth’s constant interference in his life, to be forced to do the same to his own son was frustrating to put it mildly.

And all because of Rodeth’s inability to control his lust.

“Marrying kin whose goals hew closely to one’s own is preferable to forced marriage with a total stranger,” Reijir dryly pointed out.

Naeth looked at him suspiciously. “Did you read my mind?”

“Nay, it was you who projected your thoughts for me to see.”

“Oh. Well, I am shocked by the whole arrangement.” Naeth shook his head. “Saints above, what a steep price to pay for one night of pleasure.”

“But preferable to the alternative.”

“Which was?” 

“The penalty for violating a priest or acolyte was death by quartering. It still is.” Naeth blanched. “Heyas! No wonder they accepted the Shirons’ demands.” Reijir’s smile was mirthless. “No wonder indeed.”

“But your father?” Naeth ventured. “I can’t believe he was willing to subject his own grandchildren to the consequences of that stipulation.”

“He was willing. You must understand, Adda was raised to do as his family bid. But he was a good father. He brought us with him whenever he visited Dyare, and he did his best to protect us from Aba—when he died, we lost our strongest shield. It was his one act of defiance against his family that freed Keiran to live as he wished.”

“You uncle said he settled money on Keiran.”

“Adda suspected early on that Aba would bypass Keiran. He left a hefty portion of his properties to him in his will, which Keiran received when he reached his majority.

That was why Aba was in such a hurry to marry him off the summer he died, before Keiran could lawfully refuse the thein to whom he’d been contracted—a loathsome Deir many years his senior but very rich and willing to trade land for kinship with the Ardan by affinity. But in any case, even had Aba not died and married him off as planned, Keiran would have had the means to dissolve the marriage at once. His inheritance from Adda made him wealthy in his own right.”

“So that’s why your brother is so—so free-spirited.”

“After having a detested nuptial contract hanging over his head for the better part of his life? He’s entitled to be.”

“True.” Naeth curiously regarded his lover. “But what will you do about that stipulation? You made it clear you didn’t wish to foist it on your heir.”

“Only because it completely strips us of choice in the matter. It should fall to either my son or me to decide whether he will wed for love or duty. I meant it when I said I don’t object to arranged marriages. Many of the unions in House Essendri were arranged yet few of them were less successful than those forged in love. I just resent being forced to deal with the consequences of my sire’s folly.”

“So you won’t defy it?”

“And cost my children a great portion of the fief? Nay, I must safeguard their inheritance as best as I can.” Reijir fell silent, idly running his fingers through Naeth’s hair. At length, he said, “Keiran and I have oft discussed how to make it easier for my heir. We’ve agreed the best course of action would be to choose the most promising of our Shiron nephews and request limited guardianship of him. If I raise my son with his prospective mate, they may forge bonds of loyalty and affection between them. Veres willing, they might come to be good friends and allies and, hopefully, lovers as well.”

“But what if they don’t fall in love?”

“Then I won’t forbid my heir to take a leman.” Reijir had to smile at Naeth’s shocked frown. “It isn’t unusual amongst bluebloods to marry out of duty and keep a leman for love. Why think you did Rohyr not release Lassen when he wed our cousin Tyrde? It was the only way he could stomach that unwanted union.”

“Then the rumors are true? He was coerced into that marriage?”

“Yes.”

“But his marriage to Lassen- tyar—it’s a true love match?”

“Very much so.”

Naeth sighed and laid his head down again. “How very romantic,” he remarked.

“Would that we could all be as blessed.”

He tensed, realizing he had once more touched on a possibly contentious issue. But Reijir did not respond, and he slowly relaxed.

In the ensuing silence, he became aware anew of Reijir’s body—his singular enticing scent, the gentle up and down of his chest as he breathed, hard muscles swathed in smooth flesh under his cheek, one dusky nipple just inches from his lips.

Naeth cleared his throat and, raising his head to look at Reijir, murmured, “By the way, I took mirash. ”

Reijir faintly smiled but said nothing. Naeth sighed and resumed his position.

Ever since Naeth miscarried, Reijir had not taken him in reproductive intercourse again. Naeth did not know whether the avoidance was simply to protect him from conception or due to an aversion on Reijir’s part to begetting a child. Naeth hoped it was the former, but feared the latter was the more likely reason. That he might also resent Naeth’s concealment of his condition and perhaps still harbored guilt as well, Naeth preferred not to think about.

* * * *

Lihom Shiron stayed for a fortnight. Naeth rarely encountered him for the Hamir spent most days either going about with his nephews or meeting with the solicitors who handled his legal affairs in Ylandre. He also travelled with Reijir to Ilmaren to inspect his late brother’s dower holdings—holdings that would become Shiron property if Reijir’s firstborn failed to comply with the demands of his grandparents’ nuptial contract.

Needless to say, Reijir’s temper was hardly improved by an excursion that only reminded him of his sire’s misdeed. Naeth spent the following day nursing an aching rump and a depleted libido.

The eve of the Hamir’s return to Khitaira, Naeth nearly bumped into him as he headed for Reijir’s apartment. Lihom stepped out of his room just as Naeth was about to pass his door. Naeth wondered uncomfortably if the fief-lord had been waiting for him.

Lihom smilingly accepted his apology then said without preamble, “I hear you are a baronet in your own right.”

Naeth started at the sudden query. “If I accept the title,” he admitted.

“So it’s true. You desire to give up your inheritance.” Lihom pursed his lips in apparent disapproval. “Perhaps you should reconsider your position. For the sake of any children you might bear my nephew, if not your own.” Color rose in Naeth’s cheeks. “I don’t understand, Your Grace.” Lihom glanced in the direction of Reijir’s suite. “There will come a time when Reijir will wed and I dare say he will choose someone of equal station,” he explained. “No mere country serl will do, surely you know that.” When Naeth looked down at his feet and nodded, the Hamir said, “Good, you are realistic about the situation. Well then, what if he can no longer keep you in the manner to which you have grown accustomed? There is no telling if his Heris will tolerate a leman, especially one who not only resides in the same house as he, but might have borne by-blows who may eventually compete with his own progeny.”

Naeth gulped at the Hamir’s bluntness. “I have no intention of competing with whomever Reijir marries,” he protested.

“Accidents happen all the time which you have some experience of,” Lihom pointed out, understandably making Naeth wince. “I settled a considerable fortune on my leman long before I wed. He poses no threat to my spouse, not even the children he has borne me.”

“You willingly sired children on your leman?”

The Hamir shrugged. “He desired children of me, and I could not deny him. And as they are my natural children, they will by law receive a portion of my estate one day. But they carry his name, not mine, and the bulk of their inheritance will come from him. This way, there is peace between my mate and my concubine.” Naeth regarded the Hamir curiously. “Did you marry for love or duty, Dyhar?” Lihom softly chuckled. “Let my put it thusly: I was not forced into wedlock as your Ardan was his first marriage. But neither do I yearn for the bed or company of my spouse. My leman already amply provides both.”

He regarded Naeth gravely. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he counseled,

“Think of the future, child. You will not always have my nephew to protect your interests.”

The Hamir turned and reentered his room. Naeth blew his breath out and continued on his way.

Chapter Seventeen

Misstep

It was about a week after Lihom Shiron’s departure that a thein of Edessa came to the Arthanna house for a talk with Reijir. Business, he officiously informed Naeth as the latter conducted him to the blue parlor.

Business indeed, Naeth thought with a contemptuous snort when he discovered the reason for the baron’s visit.

He listened with mounting incredulity as the thein offered his son in marriage to Reijir as if he were negotiating an exchange of goods. Naeth was no ignorant bumpkin to think ill of arranged marriages but, saints above, could the baron not have discussed the matter without reducing his son to mere chattel? Or making Reijir sound like a prized stallion being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Small wonder nuptial negotiations among bluebloods were oft referred to by the cynical as the marriage mart.

He studiously ignored the budding ache in his heart brought on by the thought of the Herun binding himself in marriage.

Naeth was aware this was not the first proposal Reijir had ever received. But he had not been present during previous such discussions so it irked him now to listen to the details of the baron’s suit on his son’s behalf. And a part of him was deeply annoyed that Reijir deigned to entertain any suit at all. A foolish reaction, of course, but he could not help his jealousy.

It was aggravating to listen to his lover discuss possible matrimony with someone other than himself. Naeth stifled a sigh and served the wine.

He had insisted on continuing to act as Ruomi’s assistant, proud that he could be productive even if he was Reijir’s dependent. But now he questioned the wisdom of his choice. This was his first time to witness Reijir being courted, and he knew it would not be the last.

When the thein left at last, smugly bearing Reijir’s assurance that he would study his proposal, Naeth quickly returned to the parlor. He took a moment to slow his breathing so as not to appear as if he’d rushed back from ushering the baron out of the house. But before he could reenter the room, the door opened and Reijir emerged. Seeing Naeth, he lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

“I came back to see if you needed anything,” Naeth said.

Reijir regarded him with an amused tilt of his lips. “Rest assured, Naeth- min, this latest suit doesn’t interest me at all.”

“I wasn’t going to ask about that,” Naeth protested though a blush stained his cheeks.

“But you were wondering about it,” Reijir teased.

He fondly ruffled Naeth’s hair then headed for his study. Naeth followed him.

“Are you tempted by any of the proposals?” he dared to ask.

Reijir glanced at him over his shoulder. “None have met my exacting standards thus far,” he replied.

“The terms of the suits?”

“Nay, the candidates for my consideration.”

The Herun entered his study. Naeth hesitated then entered as well. Reijir looked at him in some surprise.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked with a small smile.

Naeth bit his lip then took the plunge. “You said you would permit your son to keep a leman if he didn’t come to love his lawful spouse. Did you really mean that?”

“I did.”

“What about—” Naeth took a deep breath before forging on. “What about your own spouse? What if you don’t love him? Will you do the same? Keep a leman, I mean.” Reijir’s eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he tapped Naeth’s nose with a finger and said, “A dutiful spouse is no match for a doting lover, Naeth- min.” Naeth bit his lip. “But what if your Heris doesn’t approve?” he pressed.

Reijir gazed at him wonderingly. “Why these questions? Is this about Uncle Lihom’s visit? Do you think I will bow to pressure and marry myself off soonest just to please the Shirons?” He gently chucked Naeth under the chin. “Rest you, marriage is not my priority at the moment.” Reijir turned and walked to his desk. “Please give these to Ruomi. He’s expecting them.”

As he signed several documents, Naeth anxiously stared at his back.

Reijir had not really answered his question, and with Lihom’s advice still fresh in his mind and his doubts stirred by the most recent suit for Reijir’s hand, he did not feel all that reassured. If anything, Reijir’s failure to give him a clear answer only served to heighten the feeling that theirs was a one-sided relationship that depended heavily on their physical intimacy. Take away Reijir’s lust for him and what would Naeth have?

Nothing and no one, he feared.

He loved Reijir with all that he was, but while Reijir was kind and affectionate and obviously enjoyed bedding him, Naeth could not fool himself into thinking the Herun returned his love. He could still hope, but that hope had to be tempered with practicality if he wished to avoid a too grievous battering of his heart.

Taking a deep breath, Naeth said, “By the way, I’ve made up my mind about my inheritance. I think it’s best I accept it.”

Reijir straightened and turned around to look at him, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. But Naeth did not wait for him to speak.

“I understand now why everyone thought me mad not to want it,” he hurried on. “I mean it isn’t as if I’m so well off as to turn my nose up at such a windfall. Indeed, I’ll no longer have to depend on you. And I’ll even have something to pass on to my sons some day!”

Even before he finished speaking, Naeth knew he’d said something wrong. Reijir’s smile abruptly vanished while his eyes widened in what appeared to be shock. For several heartbeats he stared at Naeth, a frown creasing his brow.

“So, how long have you yearned for this—independence?” he finally asked.

Baffled by Reijir’s reaction, Naeth replied, “You know I’ve always been uncomfortable about being completely reliant on you. But I’ve come to realize there are matters I have to consider other than my needs. For instance, if I have children some day, and I do want them, well, I should like to provide for them and if possible have something of my own to bequeath them. After all, it would be awkward for you to support children who aren’t your heirs, don’t you think? And in any case you won’t be always there to protect me. I’ll have to move on one day. So prudence dictates that I take this means to support myself and my future progeny and—” He stopped his somewhat rambling reply when Reijir’s frown deepened into a scowl such as had never been directed at him before.

“Such commendable reasons,” Reijir tersely said.

Naeth caught his breath at the utterly glacial quality of Reijir’s reply, not to mention the sudden shuttering of his expression. It was like the lowering of a veil between them.

“Would you like me to lift my imprint on you as well?” Reijir coldly asked.

Naeth gaped. “What? Nay! Why would I—?” he stuttered.

“It wouldn’t be meet for a serl to be in thrall, would it? Especially a grandson of the late and oh so proper Albran Fiori.”

“What are you—?“

Reijir approached Naeth, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed ire. “Here, it will take but a few minutes,” he tightly said, raising a hand to Naeth’s forehead.

Naeth jerked back, shaking his head frantically. “Nay, I don’t want to be released!” he cried out. He reached for Reijir’s upraised hand and caught it between his own. “Why are you doing this? What did I do to anger you so?” Reijir glared at him. For the first time, Naeth knew what it was like to be a recipient of the Herun’s contempt. The feeling sickened him to the very pit of his stomach.

“What is wrong?” he begged. “Please, tell me.”

For a moment, his hopes rose when Reijir seemed to hesitate.

“If I were to request you to turn it down, would you?” he unexpectedly said.

Naeth stared at him. “Why would you—?” he sputtered in profound confusion.

“Didn’t you want me to—? I-I can’t believe you’d ask that of me!”

“I just did,” Reijir dryly said, his eyes narrowing. “And you gave me your answer,” he mocked. He brusquely snatched back his hand.

He glanced down at the documents on his desk. A scornful smile curled his lips, and he picked up the papers and thrust them at Naeth.

“Here, you might as well earn your keep while you still live under my roof,” he snapped.

Panicked and utterly bewildered, Naeth said, “Reijir, please—”

“You will address me as Your Grace.”

Naeth’s stricken gasp had little effect on Reijir. He simply forced the documents into Naeth’s hands and said, “Now get out.”

For a moment, Naeth stared at him. He blinked his eyes to stem his tears. “Why?” he faintly asked.

“Get out!”

Naeth turned and fled, nearly stumbling in his haste to obey.

Blindly running down the corridor, he almost collided with Ruomi. The sedyr caught him by the arms and, noticing his distraught state, stared at him in alarm.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“He—he’s so angry at me, and I don’t know why,” Naeth blurted. “He won’t let me call him by name, and he told me to get out and that I have to earn my keep.”

“What? Why would he—?”

“I’ve lost him, Ruo!” Naeth piteously said. “He doesn’t want me any longer. Veres help me, he doesn’t want me!”

“That can’t be,” Ruomi protested, eyes widening in shock. “He dotes on you, Naeth.

More than he ever did even Keiran.”

“Not anymore,” Naeth mournfully said. He struggled to stem his tears, hiccupping as he did. “I love him so,” he raggedly whispered. “I’d hoped so hard that he would love me back even a little bit. But he doesn’t. He never will. It was a foolish hope from the start, and now it’s over. What will I do now, Ruo? Ah, what will I do?” He finally dissolved into tears as the enormity of his loss struck him anew, laying waste to his deeply wounded heart.

Chapter Eighteen

Heartache

If there was ever a time Naeth likened to a waking nightmare, it was the week following his falling-out with Reijir. What made it worse was his ignorance of what had triggered Reijir’s anger and what appeared to be disillusionment with him. But Reijir refused to speak of the incident. Not even Keiran could pry anything out of him.

Keiran perforce called a halt to his badgering when Reijir, in a burst of ire and impatience, hurled a glass of wine across the study to smash against the wall beside his shocked brother and tersely said, “Shut up, Kei!” Under those circumstances, even irrepressible Keiran knew it was time to retreat and regroup. Reijir did not often blow up, but when he did, it was best to give him ample time to calm down.

Unfortunately, that left Naeth in the dark as to what he had done to alienate his lover.

Former lover, he dolefully amended as the days passed and Reijir neither spoke to him unless absolutely necessary nor sought his company whether convivial or sexual. It did not help when another blueblood made his way to the Arthanna house to press his suit, this time presenting himself as a worthy mate to Ilmaren’s lord.

Lord Namare was the younger brother of the Herun of Ferth, a fief in the south of Ylandre, just below the lower midlands. Ferth was small in size but quite populous and very progressive. And it had become rather wealthy thanks to the fief’s many ore-rich mines. Namare did not rule Ferth, but as his brother’s chief advisor, he had a say in the running of the fief and his counsel was oft taken as well.

* * * *

The brothers discussed this latest offer in the garden porch after dinner. It was a cool night, and they took advantage of the refreshing breeze that wafted through the porch. As they sipped Sidona brandy, they went over the disadvantages as well as the benefits of such a union.

“I do wish there was a good reason to refuse Namare’s suit,” Keiran grudgingly said.

“But his offer is the best by far of all you’ve received.” Reijir studied the golden depths of his glass. “Yes, an alliance by marriage with Ferth is desirable,” he replied. “Namare’s brother is an able ruler and canny with his resources. I won’t be surprised if Ferth displaces Anju as the richest of the small fiefs before too long.”

“And eventually an influential one if Namare wins your hand. You’ll be their bridge to court, Rei.”

“I know that. Just as they’ll be our foothold in the south. The properties Namare offered are very productive. They’ll make a worthy addition to our holdings nationwide.” Keiran shifted in his seat, frowning slightly. “So you’re actually considering him?” Reijir smiled at his brother with little mirth. “For you perhaps?” That earned him a frightful glare. “Don’t even jest about it!” Keiran snapped. “You know my sentiments about the matter.” He took another sip of his brandy, his face screwed up in distaste. “I suppose he’s handsome enough to suit you,” he reluctantly conceded. “If you have a taste for bright orange hair and washed out blue eyes. He has a nice body, I’ll admit, though I won’t be surprised if he grows a belly. Did you see how much of the ale he drank? Ale, not wine! What did he think you were—a common tavern keeper?”

“Now, Kei, that isn’t kind—” Reijir started to say. But he stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly riveted on the porch entrance. Keiran followed his gaze, and caught a glimpse of a slight figure before the would-be trespasser hastily stepped back out of sight.

“He’s been following you about,” Keiran murmured.

Reijir said nothing but kept his eyes on the entrance. Watchful eyes, Keiran noted, but also pained and uncertain. He wondered all over again what beset his brother so.

“I wish you would tell me what he did,” he said. “You haven’t been this upset since the day you broke with Darion.”

“I haven’t the heart to speak of it now,” Reijir answered. “Maybe later… When it doesn’t hurt so much.”

Keiran stared at him. “Hurt? Naeth hurt you? How?”

“Kei, please.”

With a frustrated huff, Keiran sat back in his chair and tossed back the rest of his brandy. He made a face as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

“Very well. But bear in mind later may be too late. He can’t wait indefinitely. Not without certitude of resolution of some kind. And you wouldn’t be so cruel as to demand it of him,” he added.

He caught his breath when Reijir raised haunted eyes to him.

“Nay, I won’t demand it of him,” Reijir whispered. “Not that it matters. No one ever waits anyway.” He suddenly stood up. “Least of all for me.” Keiran quickly rose to his feet, eyes widening in further befuddlement.

“What do you mean?” he prodded. “Who didn’t wait for you? You’re not making sense.”

Reijir gave him a small, sad smile. “Goodnight, Kei,” he murmured and turned to walk back into house, leaving his brother to stare after him.

After a minute or so, Naeth stepped out onto the porch, pale and obviously distressed. He came to Keiran, his eyes beseeching.

Keiran let out a weary breath. “I’m sorry, kitten,” he said. “He turned as closed as a barnacle as soon as I broached your quarrel.”

Naeth swallowed painfully. “I heard part of your talk. He’s considering that last offer, isn’t he?”

“He considers every offer,” Keiran pointed out.

“But not seriously. Not like this one.”

Keiran shrugged. “It is a good offer,” he admitted. “As good as any proffered by those seeking a worthwhile alliance.” He smiled lopsidedly at Naeth. “That sounds so awful, doesn’t it, likening a marriage contract to a political treaty.”

“It’s your lot in life,” Naeth dully said.

“Not all. Some of us do wed as our hearts bid us.”

“But not His Grace.”

“His Grace? Since when have you become so formal again?” Naeth bit his lip. “Since he forbade me to address him by name,” he whispered.

Keiran’s eyes widened. “Saints! As bad as that?” He growled with impatience. “This can’t go on. I’m going to get to the bottom of this if I have to suffer a cabinet’s worth of glassware being thrown at me!”

Naeth managed a quivery smile. “Thank you, Kei- dyhar.” He sniffled of a sudden, and his eyes turned teary. “It’s been a long day. I’d best turn in as well. Good night.”

“Good night, kitten.”

Keiran watched the youth walk away, his tread heavy and listless. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it irritatedly.

Tomorrow, he thought.

They would be joining the others in the Citadel for the family’s weekly archery bout.

If he could not get Reijir to open up, perhaps one of their cousins would. Dylen was particularly skilled in ferreting information out of people whether they realized it or not.

Nay, Dylen was on extended holiday with Riodan in Vireshe, Keiran remembered, following Riodan’s birthing of their first child. Rohyr then, he decided.

Their king-cousin could be implacably persuasive. If Reijir would not speak of it to Keiran, perhaps he would agree to let Rohyr into his mind for a private conversation.

Keiran grimly smiled.

* * * *

Naeth timidly knocked at the door of the study. He tried to steady his breathing as he awaited permission to enter. This was the first time since that horrible day that Reijir had asked to speak to him alone.

“Enter.”

He opened the door and stepped into the room.

Reijir was at his desk. He stood up as Naeth approached, picking up a lone document. He handed it across the desk to Naeth.

Naeth perused it quickly. He blinked in surprise then looked up at Reijir.

“This is the deed to the west district house,” he said.

Reijir nodded. “I’ve signed it over to you.”

“To me?” Naeth stared at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Consider that a congratulatory gift in advance of your assumption of your title,” Reijir quietly said.

Naeth thought he would choke on the knot that suddenly formed in his throat. “But didn’t you—? You said I would still be welcome to stay here, even if I claimed my inheritance,” he desperately said.

Reijir shook his head. “I’ve given thought to this, and I realize how reckless I’ve been with regard to your good name. It’s very rare for well-born Deira to enter into liaisons for gain save for those in extremely dire straits. We bluebloods usually take our concubines from amongst commoners, preferably untitled ones. It’s less ruinous.” He held up a hand to forestall Naeth’s attempt to reply. “You’re neither impoverished nor untitled, Naeth, and you bear an old and respectable name. Openly continuing as my leman will only sully your name, leave you vulnerable to discourtesy, and hurt your prospects.” Reijir sighed and added, “Namare said as much when he visited. It’s no longer a secret in Rikara that you’ve been warming my bed. Imagine the talk when they learn you’re a baronet in your own right with a large estate at your disposal. Best you remove yourself to a separate house. It should be enough to stop gossip about our relationship from spreading further.”

“Do you really think this will keep folk from thinking we no longer share a bed?” Naeth bitterly asked.

“It won’t stop them from thinking thusly,” Reijir agreed. “But it’s one thing for you to have an affair with a fellow blueblood, another thing entirely to be his kept lover. A separate abode will provide that distinction.”

Naeth wondered if there was anything left of his heart to break. “When?” he faintly asked.

“Whenever you wish. The house is yours.” Reijir glanced at the timepiece on his desk. “I’m expected at the Citadel. I must go.” He seemed to hesitate then said, “You may not believe me, but I’m happy for you, Naeth. You deserve your good fortune and much more.”

Naeth watched him as he departed the study. He looked down at the document in his hand.

So it had come to this. Reijir wanted him out of his home.

He shut his eyes and squeezed them tight to keep from tearing up. He would not further disgrace himself by bawling like a babe where others could see and hear. He left the study and hurried back to his room.

He opened the topmost drawer of his writing desk and withdrew the thin leather case in which he kept the documents pertaining to his inheritance. He searched the papers within until he found what he was looking for.

The note bore the address of Syvan’s Rikara residence. Naeth knew his uncle was in town having seen him the other day in the central district. He sat himself at the desk and, taking out a sheet of paper, began to write.

He would not send his note through one of the house servants. There were public coaches aplenty whose drivers doubled as messengers to earn a little more to supplement their wages.

* * * *

Naeth was a little out of breath by the time he dragged his traveling bag almost four blocks away to a quiet side street in the north district. A coach parked just past the street corner told him his uncle was already awaiting him at their rendezvous point. Syvan alighted from the carriage at his approach.

“No one saw you?” Syvan asked.

“No one,” Naeth said. He blew his breath out after the coach driver took his bag from him. “That was a long walk,” he complained, shrugging off his small shoulder pack and tossing it into the coach. “Why couldn’t you have fetched me at the house, Uncle?” Syvan said, “I thought you didn’t want anyone to notice you were leaving. A large coach would have drawn attention, don’t you think?” Naeth grimaced then nodded. “Especially Ruomi. I don’t think anything gets past him.” He looked a little unhappily back the way he had come. “I suppose we should go at once. By the way, Uncle, thank you for coming for me on such short notice.”

“I was about to leave for Sidona anyway,” Syvan replied.

Naeth started when the city bells tolled the time. It was an hour before midday.

“Oh, should we have lunch first?” he asked his uncle.

“Nay. We can stop along the way when we get hungry. Let us go.”

*

As they clambered into the coach, a Deir on the other side of the street watched them intently.

One of the Arthanna retainers and Naeth’s unofficial valet, Qiron was returning from an errand. Taking a shortcut through the block, he was surprised to see his master’s leman coming down the opposite pedestrian path lugging a cumbersome bag to meet his solicitor uncle who strangely enough had a long-distance coach ready and waiting. Ever inquisitive, Qiron stopped to observe them, wondering at the clandestine nature of the meeting and curious why Naeth bore a traveling bag with him.

When they both boarded the coach, however, Qiron suspected something was not right. He resumed his trip back to the townhouse. As he walked, he wondered if anyone back at the house knew of Naeth Orosse’s departure. Judging from the youth’s secretive manner, it was highly doubtful he had properly taken his leave of anyone, least of all Lord Arthanna.

Qiron quickened his pace to a brisk trot and reached the townhouse before long.

Bursting through the servants’ entrance, he ran into a waiting Ruomi who eyed him a little severely.

“Dawdling again, Qiron?” Ruomi pointedly said.

Qiron shook his head and explained, “Nay, Garvas- tyar. If I’m delayed, it’s only because I saw something odd over by Marsden Way.”

“And that was?” Ruomi patiently asked.

“I saw Master Naeth on the way back!” Qiron excitedly said. “He boarded a coach with that stiff-necked uncle of his. And he had a traveling bag with him. It looks like they’re going on a long journey!”

Ruomi stared at him. And then he grabbed Qiron by the arm and barked, “Come, let us check his belongings.”

“Or what’s left of them,” Qiron breathlessly said as Ruomi shoved him toward the stairs.

Chapter Nineteen

Unmasking

“So, Rei, where is your pretty distraction today?” Zykriel asked as Reijir lowered his bow after a series of flawless shots.

“Where he belongs,” Reijir replied, eyeing his target with satisfaction. Three arrows stuck out from the very center, a feat no other had managed this afternoon.

Aside from the Arthannas, only Zykriel, Keosqe and Eiren were on hand to join Rohyr and Lassen in the Citadel archery yard. His fierce concentration very much in evidence, Reijir was in better than fine form, and it showed in his near perfect performance.

“And where is that?” Zykriel said. “In your bed?”

Reijir looked askance at his cousin. “At this time of the day?” he scoffed. “More likely he’s looking over his new residence.”

About to loose his arrow, Keiran stopped and looked at him in puzzlement. “What new residence?”

“I signed the west district house over to him.”

“What? Why?”

Reijir swiftly repeated the explanation he’d earlier given Naeth. Keiran glowered at him when he was done.

“You’re really determined to push him away, aren’t you?” he snapped. “Saints above, what will it take to make you stop hurting him?”

“I’m hurting him?” Reijir scowled. “It didn’t take much for you to twist things around, Kei.”

“No need to twist anything to prove he’s hurting terribly from your treatment of him!”

“Unless you desire an audience, I suggest you lower your voices,” Rohyr said reprovingly as he joined them. “Besides, you’re ruining everyone’s concentration.” He looked at Keiran. “Who’s been hurting who?”

Reijir groaned and rolled his eyes. Pique Rohyr’s curiosity and you would be lucky to get away from him unscathed.

Keiran threw up his hands in exasperation. “Both of them it seems, though I’ve only seen Naeth’s side of it. Likely the boy did or said something foolish and Reijir saw fit to take offense and—Ah! Veres spare me from idiots and mule-headed younger brothers!” Lassen came up behind him and laid a soothing hand on his back, massaging him until Keiran calmed down a bit. He regarded Reijir with concern.

“Are you well, Rei?” he softly asked.

Reijir grimaced. That was just like Lassen to ask after one’s state in expectation of an honest answer. And such was the force of that expectation that one could not answer with anything less than complete honesty.

“Nay,” he quietly replied. “Far from it.”

Rohyr frowned. “Why haven’t you told Keiran what happened?” he asked. “That isn’t like you.”

“There are some things that don’t bear talking about,” Reijir said. “Even with one’s closest kin.”

Keiran bristled with indignation. “I’m not just kin; I’m your brother! Your only one, may I remind you?”

“Peace, Kei,” Rohyr said. He studied Reijir worriedly. “Do you truly wish to keep it to yourself or do you literally mean you can’t talk about it?” When Reijir looked away, Rohyr softly exclaimed, “Holy Saints, how deep does your hurt run that you can’t bear to speak of it out loud?”

“Deep enough,” Reijir tersely said. “Are you done, Roh? I have business to attend to.”

“Your business can wait. We aren’t done yet.” Reijir stiffened at his cousin’s reference to himself in the plural. The royal “we” made any request however mild a direct order that could not be ignored. He folded his arms and tensely waited.

“I’ve seen you thrice this week, and each time you’ve grown more sullen,” Rohyr commented. “It’s because of this rift between you and Naeth, isn’t it?”

“He’s too much of a bullhead to admit it,” Keiran said with a sniff. He bit back any further remarks when Rohyr looked pointedly at him.

Rohyr turned his attention back to Reijir. “Perhaps you can’t speak of it,” he quietly said. “But can you tell me mind to mind? I swear it will remain between us.”

“What purpose would it serve?” Reijir unhappily asked.

“To gain you peace of mind?”

“What use is that if my heart is sore?”

Rohyr’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ah, you admit to more than lust for him then.”

“I wish it were not so,” Reijir murmured. “It would hurt less.” He let out a fretful exhalation. “I never thought he’d be no different from—” Reijir’s jaw hardened, and he barely bit out the next words. “From Darion.”

“Darion?” Keiran gaped at him then all but shouted, “Darion? Veres almighty, Rei, how in Aisen can you compare Naeth with that despicable, fork-tongued spawn of a weasel?”

“A fork-tongued weasel,” Zykriel murmured. “Sounds frightful.” He stifled a yelp when a miffed Keiran punched him in the arm.

Rohyr looked at Reijir searchingly. “Did Naeth do something that reminded you of Darion?” he probed. When Reijir did not answer, Rohyr nodded and said, “That explains much. Heyas, you were so stoic, so uncaring after your break with him, we were all led to believe you hadn’t loved him all that deeply. But you wept for him, didn’t you? And you haven’t truly let go of the heartache of your parting.” Reijir averted his gaze for several heartbeats. When he looked at Rohyr again, his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“I trusted him.”

“Darion or Naeth?”

“Both.”

Rohyr stared at him. “Tell me,” he urged. “Now, Rei. Open your mind to me.”

“Let me in as well,” Keiran insisted.

Reijir looked from his cousin to his brother. After a tense moment, he nodded.

Drawing a deep breath, he met Rohyr’s gaze, dropped his shields, and opened up to his cousin. He sensed his brother’s presence in the link as well when Rohyr allowed Keiran entrance into the otherworldly plane that was the meeting place of their minds.

It took but a few deep breaths for the whole sorry mess to be recounted, but when they emerged from their shared trance, their faces told another story. It was as if they had related and listened to a tale of many days telling.

Keiran stared at his brother for a few speechless moments. When he found his voice, he spoke with a riotous mix of incredulity, understanding and pity.

“Saints above. So that’s why you were so angry,” he half whispered. “He sounded like Darion all over again.”

“He is Darion all over again,” Reijir retorted.

“Nay, he isn’t! For Veres’ sake, just because he echoed Darion’s reasons and unwittingly at that, it doesn’t mean they share the same motives. Darion was ambitious.

Naeth has never displayed a desire for wealth or high station. And he’s always shown himself reluctant to be parted from you. He would never leave you willingly, Rei. You’d have to drive him to it.”

“Like I drove him before?”

“That has naught to do with—”

“Damn it all, Kei, he told me he loved me!”

That elicited a collective gasp.

“He did?” Zykriel said with some amazement.

“In no uncertain terms,” Reijir snapped. “Yet a few months later what does he do but inform me that he no longer wishes to depend on me? Not only that, he wants a fortune to leave to children he hopes to have. Children he never mentioned wanting to have with me! He obviously desires more than I’m ready to give. Just like— like him!” Rohyr caught him by the arms and shook him slightly. “You’re conflating Naeth’s motives with Darion’s,” he gently chided. “You can’t judge the lad based on actions done by someone else twenty-five years ago.”

“And think!” Keiran urgently said. “All the recent talk about you taking a consort? It must have upset Naeth terribly. He was so despondent when we last talked about it. He thought you were close to accepting Namare’s suit. He likely only wanted security for any children he might have. With you, Rei,” Keiran pointed out to his startled brother.

“Do you really think Naeth would ever willingly share himself with someone else or have children by anyone other than you?”

When Reijir did not reply, he plowed on. “You mustn’t let the past color your perceptions of Naeth. He’s nothing like Darion. The boy adores the very ground you stand on! He would sooner hurt himself than cause you pain. Surely you know that.” Before Reijir could respond, Ruomi entered the yard at a run. He came up to them, his expression and unseemly haste imparting trouble in the offing.

“What is it?” Reijir asked.

Panting a little, Ruomi said, “I fear Naeth has run away, Dyhar.” Reijir’s eyes widened in shock. “Again? Wherefore this time?”

“I don’t know, but he was aided by Fiori- tyar.” Ruomi swiftly reported what Qiron told him. Keiran shook his head.

“Why didn’t he fetch Naeth directly from the house?” he questioned in puzzlement.

“Who’s idea was it to meet elsewhere?”

“Likely his uncle,” Ruomi said. “Naeth would have preferred it otherwise if he was carrying more than a small pack with him. Yet Qiron says his bag was large and looked heavy.”

Reijir frowned. “So why would he insist that Naeth lug a heavy bag for four blocks when no one would have questioned his picking him up at the house? Unless it’s because he doesn’t want it known it was he who fetched Naeth, though why that should matter when…”

He caught his breath, his eyes widening with consternation.

“He said he’s just the family solicitor yet his kinship to Albran Fiori was close enough that he actually spent much time at the estate, acting as his companion. Indeed, the servants deferred to him as if he were their master. Heyas! What if he is their master?

Or rather could be. We never asked who comes to the title after Naeth and he didn’t volunteer the information either.”

Keosqe and Eiren had completed their round of shots before coming over to find out what the disturbance was all about. Overhearing the discussion, a surprised Keosqe said,

“Naeth is a Fiori?”

The brothers stared at him. “You know the family?” Reijir asked.

“I should think so.” Keosqe pointed out matter-of-factly. “The Fiori name is one of the oldest in Sidona.”

Reijir grimaced with some chagrin. Of course Keosqe would know something of the Sidonan uppercrust. As the heir of the fief’s Herun, he was expected to.

“Albran Fiori was quite outspoken but also very conservative,” Keosqe went on. “He was very much against anything that threatened his notions of propriety, especially marriage between Deira of different social stations. In fact, he’s best known in Sidona for disowning his own son in an attempt to stop him from marrying below him. But the ploy didn’t work, and Morel left the fief soon after, presumably with his lover.” He suddenly frowned. “Heyas, are you saying Naeth is Morel’s son?”

“And Albran’s primary heir.” Reijir urgently asked, “Kes, do you know who would have inherited the title had Naeth not been found?”

“I believe it was a cousin of Morel’s. What’s his name now? Ah! Syvan Fiori.” Keiran gaped at him in alarm. “Sweet Veres, if he’s next in line, he has everything to lose now that Naeth has decided to take up his inheritance.”

“And everything to gain if Naeth were to die.” Reijir’s mouth tightened. “Just as his family died,” he growled. “Deity’s blood, why didn’t we see that?” He turned to his adjutant. “Ruomi—”

“I brought your steed,” Ruomi quickly said. “And several riders.” Reijir did not waste time replying but raced toward the Citadel bailey, Ruomi right behind him.

*

“I hope he’s wrong about Naeth’s uncle,” Lassen said, his eyes dark with worry.

Keiran grimly muttered, “I fear he isn’t.” He looked at his cousins. “I’m for home.

I’d rather await news there.”

“Las and I will come with you,” Rohyr said. “You’ll be grateful for our company if the worst happens. I can’t imagine how Reijir will take it if he loses Naeth.”

“Nor can I,” Eiren murmured. “I might be able to mend an ailing heart. But there’s little I can do for a broken one.”

Keiran stared at him then shivered. With nary another word, he led the way back to the keep.

* * * *

Naeth was miserable. He'd left almost all of his possessions behind save for a fortnight’s worth of shoes and clothing—enough to tide him over until he could have more made in Sidona—and his leman’s earring. The precious jewel was tucked away in his money pouch, his only memento of happiness found and now lost.

His eyes welled with tears again. Reijir did not want him any longer. He’d hoped so hard and long that something of his feelings might be returned. Even if Reijir had wed someone else, if he’d desired Naeth enough to ask that he stay on as his leman, Naeth would have readily agreed. But all his hoping had gained him was the emotional exile of the past many weeks. And now it would be a physical one as well.

Better to pine for a futile love from a distance than endure the pain of seeing him every now and then and know he was beyond reach.

Deep in his unhappy thoughts, it was only when Syvan called out to the coach driver to halt that he became aware of his surroundings once more. To his surprise, Syvan began to climb out of the carriage.

“Why did you—?” he started to ask, but the other Deir simply ignored him.

A moment later, he heard voices outside raised in argument. Syvan appeared to be quarrelling with the coach driver. Naeth frowned, wondering what they were arguing about and why his uncle was ordering the driver to dismount. He stuck his head out the window.

A quick glance around told him they were no longer on the main highway but on a deserted road. There were no houses or travelers or other vehicles in sight for miles around. Only empty plains as far as the eye could see. Saints! He’d been so engrossed in his misery, he’d failed to notice any change in course.

The driver suddenly gave a frightened cry. Naeth looked back and saw that Syvan had drawn his sword. The driver desperately backed away from him.

Before Naeth’s horrified eyes, Syvan ran the unfortunate Deir through. As the driver slumped down in a heap, Naeth tried to scramble out of the coach. He froze in place when Syvan turned around and pointed his sword at him.

Naeth swallowed. A malevolent light shone in his uncle’s eyes.

“Uncle?” he tremulously ventured. “What is the meaning of this?” Syvan laughed bitterly. “Why couldn’t you have just died with your family?” he spat. “I planned it so carefully that no one would think it was deliberate, yet you somehow escaped.”

Naeth stared at him in confusion. And then his eyes widened.

“You set the fire?” he gasped.

The Deir merely nodded. Naeth tried to ignore the icy fear that suddenly took hold of him.

“Why—?” Naeth stopped, comprehension sweeping over him along with horror.

“You’re next in line? You’d have been declared serl if we’d all died in the fire?”

“That is correct.

“But how can you be an heir?” Naeth confusedly asked. “You’re just a cousin.”

“A cousin of the direct line of descent!” Syvan shot back angrily. “My grandfather was the younger brother of Albran Fiori’s sire and also the last of his kin. That made my aba heir presumptive until Albran wed and sired Morel. That set me back in the line of succession and more so if Morel had sons. Which he did, damn him!” He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead then looked at the spots on his sleeve with distaste. “Morel covered his tracks well,” he grumbled. “It took me years to locate him. And then I had to find a way to kill you all without the deed being traced back to me. A fire seemed the most logical solution given the heat of that summer. That was a goodly blaze I’m proud to say—ate up nearly your whole street. So imagine my shock when you turned up alive and well and with an Arthanna as your guardian no less!” Naeth nearly retched as he listened to Syvan’s callous account of his slaughter not only of Naeth’s family but also the Orosses’ neighbors who’d had the misfortune to be caught in the net of Syvan’s murderous scheme. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and warily regarded his uncle.

Syvan motioned to Naeth to get back in the coach. Naeth hesitated, trying to stall for time. His hand alighted on his shoulder pack where it lay on the seat beside the door.

Realizing the door hid his arm from Syvan’s view, he clutched the pack by its strap and dragged it down, keeping it concealed behind him.

“If only those Arthannas hadn’t interfered, filling your head with nonsense about your heritage and the like,” Syvan complained. “I wouldn’t have had to tire myself out trying to kill you.”

His words triggered Naeth’s memories of his accident in Irdaran.

“That snake,” he blurted. “I remember now why I thought it odd at the time. It was a garden snake, not a tree-climber.” He eyed Syvan suspiciously. “You dropped it in front of my steed, didn’t you? You hoped I would go over that drop. That’s why you insisted that we take the hill road!” Naeth’s eyes widened as he recalled more. “You were always checking on me while I recovered. I thought you were concerned about me. But that wasn’t the case at all. You were waiting for the chance to kill me while I lay bedridden.”

“Small chance of that with Arthanna constantly in attendance even at night!” Syvan growled. “A pity I didn’t know you were breeding. It would have been easier to lace your food or drink with poison and induce heavy bleeding. After all, it’s not rare for a Deir your age to miscarry and bleed to death.”

Naeth caught his breath. “So that’s why you were so upset then—not out of fear for me but frustration at being thwarted. You didn’t know enough to take advantage of my condition and then your scheme failed.”

“Little good your recollections will do you now,” Syvan said. “You’ll be dead and I’ll be named serl in your stead before the year ends.”

“How do you hope to get away with this?” Naeth challenged. “The Arthannas will suspect you.”

“Why should they?” Syvan countered. “Not once have I ever indicated foul intentions toward you. And I didn’t fetch you; you walked out on your own accord. You made it easy for me, nephew. I’d been wracking my brain for a way to dispose of you without rousing any suspicion. Now, thanks to your little tantrum, everyone will believe you ran away and then were waylaid by brigands. And they’ll think the coach driver was part of the ambush seeing as he brought you to such an isolated place. It will be quite easy to bury his body, and no one will be the wiser. A simple plan really but so very clever if I do say so myse—Gah!”

Syvan stumbled back, a hand going to a red welt on his cheek. Naeth had taken advantage of his momentary inattention and swung at him with the pack, hitting him squarely in the face. It was not a hard blow—the pack was too light to even knock Syvan into a daze. But it distracted him enough for Naeth to slip past him and flee in the direction of what he hoped was the main thoroughfare.

He heard Syvan cursing behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him the older Deir was hot on his heels. Naeth ran on, praying for deliverance and fearing there was none. There was not a single soul to be seen on the grassy plain nor were there any places in which he could lose Syvan long enough to conceal himself from his uncle—no scattered copses or interlacing ravines or even randomly strewn boulders. Only nigh endless grasslands against which he was clearly and perilously visible.

Merciful Veres! Syvan would kill him, drag his body back to the coach, and stage everything so that no one would ever suspect the truth of his death or the identity of his killer. Not even Reijir.

The thought of Reijir thinking him an utterly incompetent idiot for running away and getting murdered by bandits in the process stung to the quick. It reignited Naeth’s faltering will, and he forced his legs to move ever faster. He would not die and leave Reijir not only ignorant of the reason for his dying but also contemptuous of him for placing himself in danger.

The terrain became more uneven as flat land gave way to pockmarked ground. Both prey and pursuer stumbled now and then. Naeth belatedly spotted a shallow fissure in the ground ahead of him. With a yelp, he tripped and pitched forward, just barely softening the impact of landing with a clumsy roll of his body. Syvan was upon him before he could get to his feet.

He lashed out with his foot and landed a kick on Syvan’s leg when the Deir attempted to stab him. Syvan grunted and backed off slightly. Naeth desperately scrambled to his feet. No good. His uncle grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him back.

Naeth cried out as Syvan brought his sword around and positioned the blade at his throat. He closed his eyes, bracing for the painful slice across his flesh that would end his life.

To his surprise, Syvan yowled and suddenly let him go. He hurriedly pulled away then chanced a quick look behind him to see why his uncle had released him. He stopped and stared in disbelief.

An arrow protruded from Syvan’s forearm.

Shocked, Naeth looked wildly about. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He could only stare at the unlooked-for sight of nearly a dozen riders fast approaching them. But even more riveting was the image of the Herun of Ilmaren at their forefront in full archer’s mode.

Naeth had never yet seen a mounted yudar, much less watched one in action. He caught his breath as Reijir nocked another arrow and raised his tall bow. With a graceful arching motion of his arm, he drew the bowstring back, his limbs and torso straight and steady though he was astride a galloping zentyr. Naeth suddenly realized the Herun had drawn his bow once more for a reason.

He snapped his gaze back to Syvan. Apparently unaware of the warning behind Reijir’s first shot, the Deir had regained enough of his wits and sufficient obliviousness to his injury to charge at him again, his sword raised for the kill. Naeth skipped back frantically, wondering if he was so unlucky as to possibly die in full view of his rescuers.

Syvan came to a stop with a jerk, and a gurgle issued from his lips. Naeth stared dumbstruck at the ghastly sight of a bloodied arrowhead sticking out of his uncle’s throat.

Syvan stumbled a few steps, a hand clutching convulsively at the shaft that skewered his neck. He dropped his sword, swayed on wobbly knees a few seconds, and finally collapsed on the trodden grass. He twitched once, twice, then stilled.

Naeth could not move for the terror and sudden relief and so stayed rooted to the spot. He waited until Reijir and his people reached him. He espied Ruomi among them.

Reijir did not dismount but only quickly looked him over, leaving it to Ruomi to check Syvan for any sign of life. He glanced inquiringly at Ruomi and simply dipped his chin once when his adjutant shook his head. Reijir turned to give instructions to one of his riders. The Deir took two others with him, and they rode off toward the coach. He looked at Naeth once more, his eyes glittering ominously.

“Mount,” was all Reijir said, his voice alarmingly toneless.

Naeth stared at him in bewilderment, but when Reijir’s expression became a fraction harder, he hastily obeyed. He tensed when Reijir pulled him back securely against his body.

“What about him?” he asked, looking down at his uncle’s corpse.

It was Ruomi who answered as he got back on his steed. He tilted his head in the direction of the departing riders. “They’ll bring him back to Rikara along with the coach and its driver. The authorities will want a preliminary account of what happened. You’ll be asked for the complete story, but that can wait until tomorrow.” Naeth gulped, realizing the extent of Reijir’s black mood that Ruomi had taken it upon himself to reply. Despite his curiosity as to the timeliness of their arrival and attendant gratefulness for being rescued, he said no more.

He caught his breath as the air around them stilled and every sound faded into silence. He glanced over his shoulder at Reijir. The Herun’s fixed stare at the plains before them was all he needed to see. It bespoke the imminence of a translocation portal’s blossoming.

Within seconds, it opened up before them, and Reijir led the company toward it.

Just before they entered the portal, Reijir flung one side of his cloak around Naeth, for which the youth was grateful. It was as oppressively chilly within as it had been his previous two times inside a translocation corridor. This time around, he chanced a peek around him. But the fleeting glimpses he caught of the countryside as they traversed it at abnormal speed made him feel giddy, and he quickly closed his eyes against the dizzying jumble of light and color. In doing so, however, he became acutely conscious of Reijir’s nearness.

After so many days of physical and emotional distance, it was almost painful not to be able to squeeze the arm that held him or touch the hard thigh that nudged his or tell the Herun that he loved him. But Reijir was so remote Naeth did not dare move or say a word.

He did not know what Reijir was thinking or feeling, could not even begin to guess.

He wondered why Reijir had come after him.

Trepidation filled him as he concluded that he had done so for no other reason than to punish Naeth for attempting to leave him without his permission or knowledge.

Reijir’s continued silence only served to heighten Naeth’s anxiety and confirm his worries.

He suddenly saw light from behind his eyelids. The cold gave way to warmth and a faint breeze. He opened his eyes and discovered they were a short distance from the main highway that cut across the Great Field just outside Rikara.

They took the highway into the city and rode back to the Arthanna townhouse.

Chapter Twenty

Profession

The grooms hurried forward to tend to their steeds when they entered the stable yard in back of the house. Naeth winced when he was regarded with open curiosity. He could just imagine the speculations about his stealthy departure earlier and the reasons for it.

And now here he was again and more firmly in the Herun’s custody than ever. And stern custody at that if Reijir’s frigid expression was anything to go by.

When they entered the rear foyer, they found Keiran waiting along with Rohyr, Lassen and Eiren, much to Naeth’s dismay. That was all he needed—an audience, including the Ardan himself bearing witness to his ignominious return. An assorted number of household servants also watched from afar.

Reijir scowled. To Naeth's consternation, he swept past all of them, even his royal cousin, and strode through the connecting passage to the main entrance hall and mounted the stairs, yanking Naeth behind him so fast Naeth nearly stumbled. Once they gained the upper floor, Reijir did not break stride but headed for the study near the end of the long gallery.

Keiran voice carried clearly behind them as he and the others followed in their wake.

His words made no sense to a befuddled Naeth.

“…not worried at all. The study adjoins his bedroom. Will you be staying the night?” It was a blessed relief when they entered the study and Reijir shut the door behind them. Only then did he release Naeth before stalking away to the opposite end of the room to stare out the window behind his desk. Naeth stayed where he was, braced against the door for support. He gazed apprehensively at Reijir’s back.

*

For several minutes, Reijir stood in silence, his shoulders taut with tension. His feelings were at war. He did not know whether he wanted to throttle Naeth for running away or bugger him into the following week.

Only when he felt a measure of calm return did he deem it safe to confront his errant leman. It was then he heard a shuddering sob. He whirled around in alarm and stopped in his tracks when he saw Naeth.

The youth had slid down against the door with his head bent and hugging his knees.

And he was crying as Reijir had never seen him cry before—with helpless, wrenching sobs that made his whole body shake. Even worse was the pathetic hopelessness that enveloped him like a shroud.

"Sweet Veres," Reijir whispered.

He swiftly went to Naeth, going down on his knees and gathering him into his arms to hold him tightly.

"Don't, Naeth, please don't cry," he groaned against the youth’s hair. "I'm so sorry.

Veres forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you."

He scooped Naeth up in his arms, carried him to the couch by his desk, and sat down with him on his lap. And then he just held him, rocking him gently in his arms while he murmured soothing words to calm him down.

*

After a long, long while Reijir’s ministrations finally penetrated Naeth’s misery and he managed to hold down the terrible sobs that had wracked his body. But he did not dare lift his head from Reijir’s shoulder.

Now that the initial storm of his grief and fright was past, there was room for other emotions, shame the most acute of them. He could not believe he’d wept so profusely in front of Reijir. He could not recall a more embarrassing moment in his life.

“Don’t go,” he heard Reijir softly say.

Naeth lifted his head and stared at him. “What did you say?” he asked.

Reijir cupped his face. “Don’t go,” he repeated more firmly.

Naeth wondered if matters could become any more confusing than they were already. “I can’t stay,” he said in a barely steady voice. “I don’t want to be here when you bring your Heris home.”

He shakily got to his feet and hurried toward the door. But Reijir quickly blocked his way. Before Naeth could say another word, Reijir grabbed him and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Naeth desperately tried to twist out of his arms.

“Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. “I can’t—”

His next words were cut off when Reijir sealed their mouths together in a scalding kiss. Naeth tried to fight his surging response. But it was no use. He’d never had the strength to resist Reijir. He certainly had not suddenly found the wherewithal to do it now. With a despairing moan, he opened himself to Reijir and allowed him to all but devour his mouth.

He was trembling badly when Reijir released his lips to scatter kisses on his face then suckle his throat. He could not help a soft sob as he inwardly berated himself for being so weak.

Reijir drew slightly away and touched his forehead to Naeth’s. “I’m not bringing anyone home,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine myself with anyone other than you.” Naeth gaped at him incredulously. Reijir swallowed hard before continuing.

“Forgive me,” he shakily said. “I should have known you would never hurt me. That you’re nothing like Darion or Aba. Please, Naeth, don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to end our—” Reijir silenced him with another scorching kiss, his fingers winding through Naeth’s hair. Naeth was breathless by the time the caress ended. Reijir looked him in the eye.

“You don’t know it, and I was an idiot not to explain it to you, but when you told me your reasons for accepting your inheritance, it brought back memories I believed long forgotten. All I could think was that the past was repeating itself. I couldn’t bear to live through that pain again and especially not at your hands. And I know I’m criminally late in saying this but, Veres almighty, I love you, Naeth. I love you. And I’m so, so sorry for hurting you.”

Naeth began to shake once more, torn between hope and disbelief. “You love me?” he murmured fearfully. “Then why did want me out of your house?”

“I didn’t want you out of the house. But if you were to hold your head up in society, you couldn’t be perceived to be my leman. I only sought to make the truth of our relationship less obvious.”

Naeth frowned. “I remember you said that if I were to openly be your leman—” He halted and briefly gaped. “You meant as opposed to being discreet?”

“Yes. I never thought you’d perceive it to mean anything else.”

“How else was I supposed to perceive it? You stopped bedding me. And I couldn’t address you by name. And you told Keiran that you liked that last offer—”

“Enough!” Reijir shook his head. “I know my shortcomings all too well. Please don’t make me feel like a complete cad by repeating them to me.” He paused to take a calming breath. “I love you, Naeth,” he reiterated. “I can’t bear to lose you. Forgive me, please?

Stay?” he whispered.

Naeth gazed at him. Saw the stark fear in Reijir’s eyes that he had pushed Naeth too far. That he had already lost him.

For an answer, Naeth snaked his hand behind Reijir’s head and pulled him into a third kiss. He groaned when Reijir responded with almost savage hunger. Saints preserve him, his lips were going to be swollen by the time Reijir was done with him. Not that he gave a damn.

Reijir took him right there, on the floor in the middle of the study, amidst their hastily discarded clothing, uncaring of the dust and sweat from Naeth’s near fatal escapade. He did not bother to fetch oil but simply milked as much of their fast emerging semen as possible and coated his shaft with the slippery fluid.

It burned when Reijir entered him for it had been many days since he’d last sheathed the Herun. But Naeth did not care. All that mattered was the feel of his beloved lord deep inside him again, owning him and loving him as no other ever had or ever would. Reijir repeatedly drove into him while he cradled Naeth in his arms, nipping and sucking at his throat and shoulders to leave a telltale trail of red bruises on his flesh.

If Naeth still harbored any doubts as to the depth of Reijir’s feelings for him, they were wiped out now by the sheer possessiveness with which he was being taken.

He sobbed harshly when his orgasm hit him. It was so strong he thought he would pass out from the ferocity of it. He felt Reijir tense, fighting his own climax, insisting on prolonging their union. Still impaled on Reijir’s shaft and subjected to a renewed spate of his lover’s inimitable kisses and caresses, Naeth began to harden all over again.

The moment his erection prodded the Herun’s belly once more, Reijir resumed thrusting into him. Swift, hard stabs designed to bring both of them to a quick, exquisitely brutal end.

Naeth climaxed a second time, his cry muffled by Reijir’s mouth on his. This time, Reijir let go as well, gasping raggedly as he spent himself inside Naeth.

After what felt like an endless torrent of rapture, Naeth limply fell back, his two orgasms in a row robbing him of strength and lucid thought. He dimly felt Reijir withdraw from him.

The Herun gathered him in his arms and rose to his feet. Naeth managed a peek that told him Reijir was carrying him into an adjacent room. Belatedly, he recalled the study adjoined the Herun’s apartment.

Reijir bore him to the bathing room where a filled tub awaited them. Naeth wondered in passing if the ever efficient Ruomi had seen to it. He sighed with bliss when he was gently lowered into the warm sudsy water. As soon as Reijir sank down beside him, Naeth curled up against him, happy just to be back in his lover’s arms.

He finally recounted his misadventure, including Syvan’s motives for slaying his family and attempting to eliminate him as well. Some of his cheer washed away along with the dust on his skin and the soreness in his muscles.

“He was the last of my kin. I so wanted to get to know him,” Naeth unhappily whispered. “I thought he was fond of me.”

“Even if he was, greed ruled him,” Reijir softly pointed out. “The estate and money meant more to him than any blood ties. He killed your family for it. He doesn’t deserve your grief, Naeth.”

“I know but…” Naeth sighed. “I was such a fool.”

“Nay, you were merely naïve. But I assure you, a few years in my care will rid you of that,” Reijir gently teased. “Now, just relax and let me take care of you. You must be tired after all that’s happened this afternoon.”

“Your doing,” Naeth murmured around a small yawn. “I didn’t expect to be buggered so vigorously on top of being kidnapped, chased, and nearly murdered by a sword-swinging lunatic.”

Reijir huffed a chuckle at his show of spirit. He gently bathed Naeth, nigh luring him into a nap with his soothing ministrations.

* * * *

Naeth gingerly sat himself on the thick skins before the fire, his robe hanging loosely from his shoulders. His arse ached, and he was glad for a respite from the piercing it had taken. But it was a welcome ache, and he looked forward to more of it before the day was done. He smiled when Reijir joined him and handed him a glass of fortified wine.

He shifted his attention from the fire to Reijir as the Herun sank down beside him, a swath of fabric wrapped around his lean hips. Naeth had to grin when he espied the bottle of oil Reijir dropped on the floor beside him. Watching Reijir drink his wine, he experienced a swift swelling of gratitude that the Deir he had loved for so long returned that love in full measure.

Reijir glanced at him, his mouth curving up slightly when he noted Naeth’s adoring gaze. He held out his arm invitingly, and Naeth promptly moved into its circle to settle close against him.

“Our dinner will be served in the study in about an hour or so,” Reijir informed him.

“Can you wait?”

Naeth grinned. “I’m sure you’ll keep me sufficiently occupied until then.” Reijir eyed him with amusement. “You’ve developed quite the saucy tongue. Does that come of running away and being nearly assassinated in one day?” Naeth chuckled and just nudged him. He leaned his head on Reijir’s shoulder. But after a few seconds, Reijir sighed somewhat pensively. Naeth looked up at him with concern.

“Darion said much the same thing you did,” Reijir unexpectedly said. He looked at Naeth, his eyes gleaming. “He was my first lover; my first love. I thought I would spend my life with him. Which only goes to show the extent of my foolishness.” His smile turned a little crooked. “But then I was only a callow lad who didn’t know better. And much as I hate to agree on anything with my sire, this much I will now concede. He was right to drive us apart. His reasons were wrong, but the result spared me greater grief.” His voice caught as if he found it difficult to go on. Naeth lifted a hand to gently run his fingers along Reijir’s jaw. Reijir half-closed his eyes and, turning his head, pressed a kiss to Naeth’s fingers. Naeth shivered at the tender gesture.

“I would very much like to know what he did to hurt you so,” he murmured. “If only to ensure that I don’t do the same.”

Reijir shook his head. “You couldn’t hurt anyone even if you did your utmost,” he said. “There isn’t a spiteful bone in your body.”

“And yet I did hurt you,” Naeth pointed out. “Please, Rei, tell me.” He hesitated then whispered, “You can trust me.”

Reijir’s smile became luminous. “Yes, that I can.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Remembrance

Twenty-five years earlier…

Reijir rode into Balas and headed for his lover’s house. He was a familiar figure in the village after more than a year of nigh weekly visits to one of its inhabitants. And of late, many a night’s stay as well. Darion’s neighbors considered him Reijir’s leman now that they’d consummated their affair though Reijir had not yet presented Darion with the requisite earring, something he’d been planning to commission the coming summer.

As he dismounted in the small yard of Darion’s house, he felt the familiar thrill of homecoming race through him. This feeling of belonging always came upon him when he visited, a feeling that came not only of the Deir he loved so dearly but also the house itself. After all, this was where he had learned what it meant to give of his heart and himself so wholly and freely.

He still remembered the first time he saw Darion in vivid detail.

Reijir had just returned from Rikara to spend the summer recess in Ilmaren. By then he’d gained much confidence at university and from keeping company with his Essendri cousins. He’d left Ilmaren a shy and solemn lad and returned one year short of his thirtieth summer an assured, outspoken youth who very favorably represented his House in appearance and deportment.

His first morning home he ventured down to the city to see if there had been any changes in the time he was gone. Darion was among the young folk who gathered in the tavern where Reijir chose to have his midday meal, ostensibly to dine but in truth so they could have a look at the newly returned second Arthanna son.

Darion caught his eye not because he was comely of face and form, though he was undoubtedly both with his tawny hair and dark blue eyes. Rather it was because he alone of his companions had not fawned over Reijir after the introductions. Instead he had boldly seated himself at Reijir’s table and demanded that Reijir do something about the absurdly high tax his sire had recently imposed on goods brought in from other fiefs. He captured Reijir’s interest in that moment, and Reijir had proceeded to fall in love with him even though Darion was several years his senior and no innocent in love or love play.

That was another of Darion’s many attractions, Reijir had to admit. It was Darion who taught him about physical pleasure and the ecstasy to be gotten from the coupling of their bodies. And it was Darion who gave him such joy of heart and body that he hoped one day to bind to him. But for now, making him his leman would have to do. He intended to propose to Darion when he reached his majority and the constraints of age no longer hindered him.

He let himself in, the absence of resident servants for so large a house always a discordant note. He took the stairs two steps at a time and traversed the wide corridor to Darion’s bedroom. The sound of movement told him Darion was inside. He opened the door and stepped into the room. Darion turned around in surprise, his hands still in the midst of folding a shirt.

Reijir frowned at the sight of trunks by the bed and an assortment of belongings apparently being readied for packing away. He looked at Darion, eyebrows lifting in puzzlement.

“What’s all this, Dar?” he asked, indicating the heaps of clothing on the bed. “Are you going somewhere?”

As he spoke, Darion hurried to him. Preempting more questions, he sealed their mouths in a torrid kiss.

For several heartbeats, passion held sway as Reijir was sorely tempted to sweep everything off the bed and bear Darion down on it for a quick tumble. Momentarily giving in to temptation, he pulled Darion flush against him and deepened the kiss until they were both gasping with the need for more intimacy.

Darion unbuttoned Reijir’s tunic and shirt until he could slide his hands inward to stroke his chest. Breaking their kiss, he pressed his mouth to Reijir’s neck and let his tongue draw a moist trail from under Reijir’s jaw to the hollow at the base of his throat.

Reijir groaned and almost forgot the reason for his visit. But reason somehow managed to overcome lust. He shakily pushed his lover’s hands away and pulled back slightly. Darion stared at him with wide eyes.

“Are you actually turning me down?” he teased.

Reijir shook his head. “Only for now,” he breathlessly said. “I need to ask you something first. Keiran says Aba came here last night.

Darion started then replied, “He did.”

“And?” 

“He told me he had made you his heir.”

“What else?”

“He also said he would never countenance a marriage between us.” Reijir frowned. “And you’re leaving just because he said that?” Darion blew his breath out. “Surely you know there’s no chance for us now,” he said a little peevishly. “Your sire openly objected to me before. All the more will he act on his objections now that you’re his heir.”

“Aba knows I’ll sooner leave Ilmaren than allow him to dictate my choice of mate,” Reijir insisted. “He can create obstacles to keep us from marrying, but he won’t outright forbid us. Not if he wishes to keep me here. And time is on our side, Dar, not his. All we need do is wait for the day I succeed him.”

Darion looked away. “If you indeed succeed him. He could rescind his decision as easily as he chose to bypass Keiran. Indeed, if only to ensure that I don’t wed into your family, he could disinherit you and leave you a nameless pauper.”

“Did he tell you so?” Reijir grimaced when Darion nodded. “Yes, that sounds like something Aba would do,” he unhappily admitted. “He has no qualms about using people’s loyalties and sentiments against them.” He took Darion’s hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “Let me take care of this, Dar. If I have to bring the matter to the Ardan himself, I will.”

“I hardly think that wise, Rei. What would people say if you were to trouble the Ardan with so petty a problem and you a future Herun?” Reijir pursed his lips. “You’re right, of course. Heyas, but I hate this business of being a fief-lord! A pox on Aba for foisting so thankless a job on me.” He pulled Darion into his arms once more and touched his forehead to his lover’s. “Nevertheless, don’t upset yourself over this. Aba will back off when he realizes what forcing the issue could cost him. Besides, this is your home. He has no right to order you to leave without valid cause, and much as he wishes it were otherwise, spite is not reason enough to exile anyone.”

Darion smiled a little crookedly. He slipped out of Reijir’s arms.

“Truth be told, I had been thinking of leaving,” he said, walking back to the bed.

“Had we not met, I likely would have made my way to Rikara by now. You were the only reason I stayed on, Rei.”

Reijir was surprised. He’d known of Darion’s difficulties, but not that his lover had planned to relocate to Rikara.

“You wanted to leave? Why?”

“There was nothing for me here. After I paid off my parents’ debt, there was naught but the house left. I was only able to keep it because of your help.” Reijir could not gainsay him. When he first met Darion, the Deir had been struggling to maintain the standard of living to which he’d been accustomed, a standard threatened by his spendthrift parents’ ways and later by Darion’s own inability to manage his resources with prudence. Darion had slowly sold off property until all that remained was his house, a large and gracious abode that was really much too costly for a Deir of modest means. Reijir frowned at the critical assessment of his lover’s lifestyle, the first time he’d thought thusly.

And I was only able to keep it because of your help.

That statement bothered him, he realized. It implied Darion had not left because he’d found someone who could help him financially. Heyas! What did that make Reijir then?

More to the point, who felt more threatened by the potential loss of his inheritance?

Darion had cleared the bed of the piles of clothing and now reached out his hand invitingly to Reijir. But Reijir could not shake the unease of his barely formed suspicions.

He grabbed Darion by the wrist.

“What did Aba offer you in exchange?” he anxiously asked.

Darion caught his breath then tried to pull away, but Reijir’s hold on him was unyielding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protested.

“Oh yes, you do. Else you would have told me of his visit and bade me a proper goodbye,” Reijir pointed out. “That you tried to leave in secret belies that. You didn’t want me to know because you feared I would stop you.” Something clicked in his mind as he spoke. Reijir stared at his lover in dawning comprehension. “Nay, you agreed to leave not because you fear for my prospects but because I’d have naught to offer you if Aba disowns me.” His grip grew tight enough to force a gasp out of Darion. “The truth, Darion,” he demanded. “What did Aba offer you?”

“He granted me a great tract of land in Solandra,” Darion reluctantly answered. “And all the landholder’s rights that go with it. I’ll be a landlord in my own right, Rei. I won’t need to depend on you any longer. I’ll even have property to pass on to my sons.”

“Our sons,” Reijir angrily corrected. “Saints above, Dar, they could inherit the entire fief!” he cried in one last desperate outburst. “Why won’t you let me fight for us?”

“What if there’s naught to fight for?” Darion countered. “If your sire changes his mind again, it will be for the worst. He’ll leave you with nothing, Rei. You know he will.”

That effectively doused whatever still remained of Reijir’s passion. He released Darion with a scowl of disgust.

“And of course you wouldn’t want me then,” he spat. “Deity’s blood! I was a fool to believe that you loved me!”

“I do love you,” Darion insisted. “Were it not for the exigencies of my circumstances—”

“You mean the need to serve your profligacy,” Reijir cut in.

Darion gasped in indignation. “Are you calling me an opportunistic cad?”

“What else should I call you?”

“Well, I like that!” Darion huffed. “I could have pursued your brother if a rich patron was all I wanted. After all, he was the heir then. But nay, I settled for you, Reijir Arthanna, the second son. I won’t deny I was relieved when you offered to pay the rest of my debt, but that wasn’t the reason I propositioned you. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you.”

“With the intention of dropping me as soon as trouble reared its head,” Reijir sarcastically said. “I never thought you so craven that you would flail from a toothless threat.”

Angered, Darion shouted, “Fie on you to accuse me of cowardice! You can’t even defend yourself from your sire’s beatings!”

Reijir jerked back as if he’d been struck. He stared at Darion, speechless with anguish and utter disillusionment.

“Heyas! I didn’t mean that, Rei!” Darion exclaimed, eyes wide with dismay at his indiscretion. He placed a placating hand on Reijir’s arm. “I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for. Surely you know I don’t think you weak or cowardly. It was my anger that spoke.” Reijir yanked his arm away. “No more!” he snapped. “Leave here before sundown or I’ll have my people run you out for all to see.”

“What?” Darion was aghast. He tried to catch hold of Reijir’s hand, but Reijir evaded his touch. “Rei, please, you’re being unreasonable!”

“You have no leave to call me by name,” Reijir coldly informed him.

He ignored Darion’s stunned expression and brutally suppressed the welling hurt within as scarlet memories of his name whispered, moaned, cried out in the depths of many a sultry night assailed him.

“Don’t show your face in Althia again if you value your health,” he added more quietly but with no less venom.

He turned his back on the Deir who had taught him not only the pleasures of the flesh but also the delights of first love. The same Deir who now dealt him his first lesson in the risks of gambling one’s heart and sent him down the rutted road of innocence lost and trust betrayed.

* * * *

“Where did he go?” Naeth asked when Reijir finished his tale.

“He moved to Solandra and took over the estate Aba promised him in exchange for breaking with me,” Reijir somberly replied. “He’s quite rich now and wed to a like-minded Deir.”

“Like-minded?”

“The son of the town’s Second Elder, a Deir of good name and impeccable breeding but close to impoverished.”

“So he bartered his new wealth for respectability.”

“You can say that.”

Naeth wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’ll never understand how people can rank riches higher than love and the support of family and friends. And it appears your sire’s word was of little worth among your people. Else Darion wouldn’t have been so quick to take his bribe.”

Reijir shrugged. “It doesn’t change the fact that he preferred the surety of prosperity over the consequences of a relationship with me.” He drank the last of his wine and set the glass aside. “Without the certainty of any inheritance in my future, I was useless for his purposes.”

“I still can’t believe he gave up a life with you,” Naeth said. “I’m sure he didn’t realize what he was losing. Verily, people like him should be pitied. Just like Uncle Syvan. He must have been a very lonely Deir, don’t you think? Whereas my aba never wanted for love and esteem for all his lack of wealth.”

“Only you would be generous enough to show compassion for the Deir who cost you your family and sought your life as well,” Reijir dryly remarked. “Thank Veres for that. I pray that side of you never changes.”

Naeth smiled and planted a soft kiss on his jaw.

They lapsed into companionable silence. Naeth laid his head against Reijir’s shoulder, his eyes on the leaping flames before him. Reijir watched him with some uncertainty.

He wondered if he would be able to sleep well this night. What if Naeth decided to bolt after all? What if Reijir woke up the following morn to find the youth gone? His hand crept over Naeth’s and clasped it tightly. He pulled Naeth’s hands to his lips and kissed the youth’s knuckles. He tensed when Naeth turned his face to look at him.

“I’m staying,” Naeth whispered. “There’s no reason to be afraid.” Reijir swallowed hard. “Isn’t there? After the way I treated you?”

“You misunderstood my intentions,” Naeth softly pointed out.

“And you nearly left me as a result.”

“I didn’t know you loved me. I thought I had a no place with you.” Reijir winced, thinking how a simple act of omission had nearly cost him his one true love. He hugged Naeth closer, needing to assure himself that he had righted the wrong he’d done the youth.

He murmured, “I don’t know if I deserve you, but I’m never going to let you go.” Naeth looked searchingly at him. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he uncertainly asked. “Forgive me but I just want to know what I am to you. What you want me to be.”

“As is your right,” Reijir pointed out. “Don’t ever apologize for that.” He kissed the tip of Naeth’s nose. “I want you at my side forever. I want you to rule Ilmaren with me and to sire children on you—as many as you care to give me. And I hope and pray you want the same thing.”

It was a roundabout proposal, but its impact was no less profound than a more straightforward one. Naeth was briefly rendered speechless.

“But I’m only a baronet,” he blurted finally. “Aren’t you constrained to wed someone as high-born as yourself?”

“Who told you that?”

“Your uncle the Hamir. He said a mere serl wouldn’t do for a Herun.”

“True, such unions were unheard of until only very recently,” Reijir conceded. “But Rohyr upended the old rules when he married Lassen. If the Ardan himself broke with tradition, what’s to stop others from following suit? Besides, my sire beat the desire to blindly obey out of me.” Reijir squared his shoulders as if to shake off the pain and humiliation Rodeth had inflicted on him. “If I was constrained in any way, it was by my own fears. Darion’s betrayal cut deep, and it’s only now that the wound has finally healed. But it was simpler to just let people think I was extremely selective rather than explain my reasons for refusing to indulge in more than casual affairs.”

“You certainly didn’t exclude me,” Naeth said with a little pout.

“You gave me reason to doubt you,” Reijir countered. “When you didn’t tell me you were with child.” Abashed, Naeth bit his lip and nodded. Reijir remarked, “I think I was in love with you even then, but keeping such a secret from me made me fear that entrusting you with my heart might only lead to its breaking anew.” Naeth groaned. “To think I would have learned long ago that I’d already won you!

Ruomi was right. I should have told you at once. Ah, what an idiot I was.” Reijir grinned. “Idiot or not, I still intend to bind to you.” His reiteration of his proposal charmed an elated smile out of Naeth.

“When?” he asked, his eyes brimming with joy.

“Autumn’s end. That should be enough time to put together a decent wedding.” Naeth gaped at him. “So soon! Why don’t we wait until after I graduate from university?”

Reijir snorted. “Nay. I’m not taking any chances given your penchant for leaving me and thinking you’re doing me a favor when you do!”

Naeth could only grin sheepishly at Reijir.

After a moment, Reijir stroked a finger along the curve of Naeth’s left ear until he reached the pierced lobe, the absence of his two-stoned leman’s earring testament to his belief that he was no longer entitled to wear it.

“By the way, why didn’t you ask me to lift my imprint on you?” he asked. “Even had you succeeded in reaching Sidona, you would have remained enchained to me and that would have enabled me to trace you.”

Naeth did not reply at once. When he did, his embarrassment showed in the burgeoning rosy glow in his cheeks.

“It was the only way I could leave,” he confessed. “So long as I could still feel you in my mind, I thought I could bear parting from you—at least until you insisted that our link be broken.”

Reijir stared at him in some amazement. “And what if I chose to never release you?

What then?”

Warm color suffused Naeth’s face and ears nigh to the roots of his hair. That elicited an incredulous chuckle.

“You little idiot…” Reijir’s low, throaty voice made a tender caress of the pejorative, and Naeth could not stop the shiver that resonated through his body. “So you would have made an adulterer of me after all.”

”I don’t know what you mean,” Naeth mumbled.

“Did you think I would have able to resist the temptation to bed you again?” Reijir pointed out. “Especially when I alone could have you whenever and wherever I wished and I knew you would spread yourself for me without a moment’s hesitation. If you think me possessed of the strength to desist, then you have the wits of a simpleton.” Naeth averted his gaze, unable to meet his lover’s searching gaze.

Reijir’s huffed. “Or perhaps not,” he commented. “You knew I would search for you.

That I would seek your bed again!”

“Nay, I only hoped!” Naeth protested. He gulped when Reijir eyed him speculatively. “I didn’t even know if you would want me again. And even if you did, I wasn’t sure if your scruples would allow you to-to—”

“Tup you senseless while wed to another Deir,” Reijir finished for him. “You thought that of a Deir who would have counseled his own son to take a leman if he didn’t love his spouse. Where were your wits, ariad?” He grinned when Naeth beamed at his use of the endearment. “Verily, it has been long since I brought my scruples to bed with me. Nor have my partners been worth the effort of observing such niceties. With one exception.”

Reijir cupped Naeth’s face and affectionately rubbed their noses together until Naeth giggled. “You alone tested my restraint to the limit, and when I failed the test time and again, I was torn between happiness and guilt as I have never been before.”

“You were torn? You certainly never showed it.”

“You think so only because you don’t know me as I was. But Keiran quickly saw the signs of change in me and so did Ruomi.”

Naeth stared at him. “Ruomi did say your moods had grown almost as unpredictable as Keiran’s,” he admitted. “And then he said he was glad of it. Is that what you mean?” Smiling ruefully, Reijir nodded. “They suspected you were no longer a mere indulgence to me but a necessity. Yet stubborn fool that I am, I refused to admit how much I needed you even to myself.”

“You’re not a fool!” Naeth indignantly said. “Well, stubborn mayhap, but that seems to be in your blood. Keiran is just as bad. Maybe worse.”

“So loyal,” Reijir remarked with a grin. “Well, whatever your reasons, it was most fortunate for the both of us. Else I wouldn’t have known that you’d left the main road.”

“You mean you used our link to locate me?” Naeth asked, awed.

“Of course.” He ran his thumb along Naeth’s lower lip and smiled when Naeth instinctively pursed his mouth to draw the finger in. “By the way, shall I lift my imprint today or on our binding night?”

Naeth raised his eyebrows in surprise. He released Reijir’s finger. “Why bring that up now?”

“I said I would do so when I wed,” Reijir reminded him. “And soon I will.”

“Oh.” Naeth looked at him a little anxiously. “Will I-will I still feel you when we bind?”

Reijir smiled and nodded. “Even more strongly than you do now.”

“Then I want to wait,” Naeth decided. “I don’t ever want to feel your absence.” Reijir’s smile widened. “Then we shall wait,” he agreed.

He leaned forward and caught Naeth in a gentle kiss. But the kiss soon turned hard and torrid, boding further intimacy. Naeth eagerly lay back and pulled Reijir between his legs.

There was little foreplay. There was no need after the thorough plowing Naeth had borne earlier. Reijir paused only long enough to ease oil into Naeth and smear a generous amount on himself.

The pleasurable friction of ample flesh sliding up his backside rendered Naeth wantonly pliant. No word of protest or complaint escaped him when Reijir spread him wide for deeper penetration, only a litany of semi-incoherent pleas to be cleaved as thoroughly as needed to make him indisputably feel Reijir’s ownership.

* * * *

They came down to breakfast the following day to find themselves the topic of a very lively conversation. Accepting Keiran’s invitation, Rohyr and Lassen had stayed the night as had Eiren.

Naeth groaned when, upon spotting them at the dining hall entrance, Keiran exclaimed, “Sweet Veres, kitten, did my brute of a brother let you sleep at all?” Reijir glared at him and said, “I assure you Naeth got more sleep than Ruomi ever does when you’re in rut.”

He looked at Rohyr with both eyebrows raised, daring his royal cousin to make any potentially discomfiting remarks. But Rohyr smiled and said, “It’s good to see you’ve straightened out your misunderstanding, Rei. May we expect another binding in the family before long?”

That swept away Reijir’s cautious mood, and he smiled back and said, “Indeed you may and soonest, too. My intended has a habit of getting misplaced if I don’t keep him under lock and key.”

Naeth pouted and nudged him hard in the ribs.

He seated himself between Reijir and Lassen and across from Eiren who promptly announced, “He seems none the worse for wear save for a slight hitch in his stride.

Telling but not surprising. Do be gentler next time, Rei. Naeth’s arse can only take so much attention.”

A muffled imprecation escaped Naeth. Saints! Even Eiren was as bawdy of tongue as his relations!

Lassen leaned over and said, “Best get used to it. It’s one of the hazards of marrying into this family. But you’ll count it well worth the blushes, that I can guarantee.” Naeth chuckled in resignation. “I’ll take your word for it, Dyhar,” he murmured.

To his relief, the talk turned to politics and other events of current interest to the cousins. Naeth applied himself to having a good meal despite the growing difficulty of finding a comfortable position.

Try as he might, he could not keep from squirming in his seat. He did not regret the activities that had induced so acute a discomfort in his backside, but that lack of regret did naught to lessen said discomfort enough to allow him to sit still for any length of time. As Naeth carefully tested another position, he vaguely noticed Lassen conferring with Ruomi. The sedyr stepped out of the dining chamber.

Just as Naeth was wondering whether he would get through the meal without making a spectacle of himself, Ruomi suddenly appeared at his side holding a soft cushion.

He softly said, “Lassen- dyhar suggests you sit on this.” Naeth refused to look up as he settled himself on the cushion. It was indeed a blessed relief for his arse but now he had to contend with the embarrassment of providing ample evidence of Reijir’s concupiscence and his own eager complicity in his obvious undoing.

He kept his eyes glued to his plate.

“Naeth seems to be nursing an ache of some consequence,” Rohyr murmured as he meticulously sliced a sausage. “You wouldn’t happen to have something for that on hand, Ren, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Eiren replied with a long-suffering roll of the eyes. “With kinsfolk like you, it’s always best to come prepared.” He placed a small jar on the table and pushed it across to a crimson-faced Naeth. “Use it with a lavish hand. But don’t let Reijir administer it else you’ll wind up with a new ache before the old one’s been dealt with.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Closure

Althia, Ilmaren

Voices rose in song to the strains of gittern, harp and flute. Long boards groaned beneath the weight of a bountiful feast’s worth of food and drink. It was a celebration fit for a great Ylandrin fief-lord and his new consort and binding-mate.

Reijir and Naeth bedazzled their guests as much with the radiance of their smiles as with their resplendent attire. Clad in formal tunics of nuptial gold and cream with bejewelled belts encircling their waists and circlets of gold and silver upon their heads, they were the picture of a true love match, something the Ilmareni had not thought their distrustful Herun would ever make.

They had earlier wed in the temple of Althia, promising never-ending devotion and fidelity to each other through the many cycles of Deiran rebirth unto the final end of mortal life and beyond into the eternal halls of the Maker. Veres’ cool silvery flame flaring in their joined hands confirmed the validity of their union and sealed their oaths.

Naeth had been thrilled beyond description when he sensed the bridging of their minds, a joining that more than made up for the void left when Reijir lifted his imprint on him the night before. What had once been a one-sided link under Reijir’s control was now a two-way channel allowing Naeth to touch Reijir with his mind as well, a wondrous privilege unique to soul-mated Deira. He’d raised elated eyes to Reijir and thereby been humbled to see his proud lord-spouse shed silent tears as their hearts and spirits were bound in sacred union.

When the unearthly ecstasy of their souls’ binding faded, Naeth quickly retreated into Reijir’s arms, his luminous eyes and jubilant smile outshining the sconces on the temple walls, the ceremonial candles bedecking the altar and the blazing lamps that hung from the soaring ceiling of the cavernous chamber.

“I love you, Naeth Arthanna tir Orosse,” Reijir whispered, their lips just touching, before drawing Naeth into the first kiss of their espousal.

It was restrained, of course. But none could deny the passion that threatened to run away with them if not firmly reined in. Not even the most obtuse among the guests could possibly miss the passion simmering between them, just waiting to explode once they gained the privacy of their conjugal quarters.

The festivities that followed in the spacious reception hall of Arthanna Court were all Naeth could ask for from the music to the dancing to the warm support and affection of kith and kin. But as always nothing and no one could distract him for long from following his beloved Herun with his eyes no matter where he was in the chamber, wondering every so often when Reijir would claim him for the night.

Perhaps Reijir sensed his regard or he may have simply been thinking along the same lines. Whatever the cause, he rejoined Naeth after a last round of drinks with his cousins, a wicked gleam in his eyes warning all and sundry that the time for consummation was at hand.

Ignoring onlookers, he pulled Naeth into his arms and kissed him soundly. “What say we retire to our quarters,” he said.

Naeth grinned. “It’s still quite early,” he teased. “Why the haste?” Reijir leaned closer, his lips brushing Naeth’s ear. “Because I hope to find out just how good a rider you can be, ariad,” he murmured. “That is, of course, if you’re up to it.” Naeth caught his breath. Afire with lust, he eagerly grabbed Reijir by the hand and started to haul him toward the hall entrance.

“Are we going to abandon our guests without so much as a by-your-leave?” Reijir laughingly said though he readily followed Naeth.

Naeth snorted. “They’ll only wonder at your restraint, knowing you so well! Nay, my lord, best to live up to your reputation tonight of all nights. And as for whether I’m up to it,” he added with an impish grin, “I think the question should be, ‘How much of it can you take?’”

* * * *

A few torrid hours and one warm rejuvenating bath later, they returned to their well-used bed. Naeth blushed when he discovered the soiled sheets had been changed while they bathed. Reijir chuckled over his embarrassment and pulled him down onto the fresh sheets to lie at his side.

“The servants were only following my orders,” he told Naeth with a grin.

“Oh saints…” Naeth muttered. “They were here while we—”

“Dallied in the bath. Does it matter so much? It isn’t as if they didn’t know how the bed got into such a state.”

“That isn’t the point! They used to wait until I was gone from the room before making the bed. I can’t believe they were here all the time while we bathed. It’s embarrassing! All the more considering how the bed must have looked.”

“Yes, a veritable mess we made of it,” Reijir cheerfully agreed. “May that always be so.”

Naeth started to glare at Reijir, but he recalled what it took to bring the bed to the aforementioned messy state. And then he realized he ought not to complain about such blatant evidence of Reijir’s desire for him. He nuzzled his face against Reijir’s throat instead, happily sighing when his lord spouse pulled him even closer.

Reijir smiled at the sound. “Are you content?” he asked, raking his fingers through the silky strands of Naeth’s hair.

“Mmm, blissful is more like it,” Naeth said, lifting his head to gaze at him. “But I will admit my arse aches too much for another round.”

“Then we’ll let it rest awhile,” Reijir drawled, reaching down to lazily finger the orifice behind Naeth’s seed sac. “I’m certain this will more than take up the slack.” Naeth sucked in his breath at the leisurely incursion. “What-what about you?” he gaspingly said as the delicious sensations of his body’s turning washed over him. “I hope you aren’t overly sore yourself.”

Reijir chuckled. “After you pounded so enthusiastically into me?” Naeth’s eyes widened in dismay. He abashedly stammered, “I didn’t realize that you hadn’t—I mean, you’re so experienced, I thought you’d already—” He stopped to draw breath. The incessant slide of fingers against acutely sensitive flesh was making it hard to think with much coherence. “I’m sorry I didn’t take enough time to ready you,” he managed to say.

Reijir grinned. “Don’t apologize for pleasuring me so well. And as you said, you didn’t know. But do keep it in mind when you take the last of my so-called virtue.”

“Do you mean to say—?” Naeth gulped. “You really intend to give all of yourself to me?”

“Why not? You’re my mate.”

Naeth closed his eyes, shivering a little. When he reopened them, he swept his gaze over Reijir’s handsome face and splendid body. “I can hardly wait,” he whispered.

Reijir laughed out loud. “I knew there had to be a reason for my reluctance to yield to anyone before. But I never imagined it would be a blue-eyed imp with a countenance and form ravishing enough to tempt the saints themselves.” Naeth dimpled, his cheer and confidence restored. “I’m so glad I please you.”

“Please me?” Reijir suddenly rolled Naeth on his back, pinned him down and insinuated his hips between Naeth’s splayed legs. “Sate me fulsomely is closer to the mark. And yet, I can’t have enough of you, my sweet. You’re one habit I never want to break.”

Naeth moaned as Reijir’s resurgent shaft pressed into him. He spread his thighs wide and hooked one leg around Reijir’s waist to make it easy for the Herun to penetrate him as deeply as he desired. When Reijir repeatedly cleaved him, Naeth ceased to think with any clarity and surrendered himself to the pleasure of his connubial ravishment.

* * * *

His first sojourn in Ilmaren, Naeth had not gone farther afield than Althia itself. But in the months that followed their binding, Reijir made it a point to introduce his new consort as quickly as possible to the fief’s people. Thus, Naeth found himself travelling to every figurative corner of Ilmaren.

This day was no different. The bustling market town Reijir chose to visit was the primary commercial center of the southwestern portion of the fief.

They strolled through the market proper itself; it was the sprawling hub of the town and the best place to go if one wanted to see and meet the town’s citizens. Naeth smiled and greeted his way through the small crowds that inevitably gathered wherever he and Reijir went.

During a stop at a woodcarver’s stall, he spotted a crib in one corner. He walked over and examined the crib, admiring the skillfully carved headboard and inspecting its sturdy frame and legs. Naeth straightened, smiling a little absently as he smoothed his hand over his abdomen. He started when a few moments later, Reijir came up behind him and, enfolding him in an embrace, pulled him back to lean against his tall frame.

“When were you going to tell me?” Reijir murmured, placing his hand on top of Naeth’s where it rested on his belly.

Naeth apologetically glanced back at him. “I wanted to be sure first,” he admitted.

“The heat in your belly would have been confirmation enough.” Turning around to face Reijir, Naeth said, “Well, yes. But then, after I lost the first one—” He caught himself when a gleam of pain and guilt showed in Reijir’s eyes. He wove his arms around his spouse and kissed his cheek. “Neither of us meant for it to happen, Rei. I was just too young to breed. And indeed I still am.” He explained a little embarrassedly, “I didn’t allow enough time for the mirash to take effect that night in Santhe. Veres preserve us, Eiren’s going to have a fit over this.

He complains as it is that Lassen may have started a fashion for over-early breeding.” Reijir frowned. “We really have to be more careful. I won’t have you endangering yourself over ill-timed conceptions.” He placed a protective hand on Naeth’s belly.

“Nonetheless, I’ll have Eiren watch you closely. We’re keeping this child,” he firmly said.

Naeth beamed at him and, uncaring of the presence of others, unabashedly let Reijir sweep him into a passionate kiss.

*

Overwhelmed by the knowledge of this second chance at siring a child on Naeth, Reijir did not immediately notice that someone was watching them with more than ordinary interest. He gently broke the kiss and focused his senses on that slightly intrusive presence. At length, he located their observer standing a little distance away partially obscured by the loosely gathered Deira around him.

He was comely enough from what Reijir could see of his face and quite richly attired. And he bore the air of someone who thought highly of himself. But when Reijir continued to study him, his confidence seemed to falter for his hand was seen to fidget with the fine leather belt around his slender waist. And when he finally met Reijir’s gaze, it was with a bravado Reijir easily recognized as false.

Reijir caught his breath when he saw the Deir’s face in full. He stiffened and pulled Naeth closer.

Naeth apparently sensed his sudden tension for he looked up, saw his focused gaze, and followed it. He looked back questioningly at Reijir, obviously curious why the stranger had elicited such a reaction from him.

Keeping his arm around Naeth, Reijir beckoned to the Deir. The latter visibly started then came forward a little hesitantly. Up close, he looked rather worn and much older than their initial impression of his years. He bowed to Reijir and respectfully dipped his head to Naeth.

“You look well, Darion,” Reijir said. He tightened his hold on Naeth when the youth darted a startled glance at him.

“I am well, Your Grace,” Darion said. “And delighted you saw fit to visit our humble corner of Ilmaren.”

“It’s rather amusing to hear one of the richest regions in Ilmaren described as humble,” Reijir remarked. He looked at Naeth and said, “Solandra is just two leagues east of here. Its citizens oft come to this town for provisions not available back home.” He pressed a kiss to Naeth’s forehead and murmured, “I think there are things that need to be said. Perhaps you could speak to the woodcarver and inquire into the commissioning of a crib for our son.”

Naeth gazed at him searchingly. And then he smiled with such love and trust Reijir was tempted to pull him into another kiss. Giving Darion a pleasant nod of acknowledgement, Naeth gestured to the woodcarver to approach and took him aside.

Reijir watched him a while then turned his attention to his erstwhile lover.

“So, how goes life in Solandra?” he politely asked.

Darion smiled, but Reijir sensed his cheer was forced. “Life has been very good to me,” he airily declared. “I’ve doubled my acres and wed into a prominent clan. And I have two sons with a third on the way.”

Reijir quirked a small indulgent smile. “So I heard,” he replied. “Well done, Darion.

You achieved your dream. Your parents would have been proud.” Darion started to agree, but he stopped when Naeth and the woodcarver drew his attention anew. They had crossed his line of vision to enter another section of the stall.

He stared after Naeth then bit his lip and looked at Reijir once more.

“Nay, they wouldn’t,” he said in a suddenly strained voice. “Not when my sons don’t carry my name.”

Reijir’s eyes narrowed. “Your spouse required it of you?”

“Yes,” Darion replied, bitterness underlining his voice. “He said my name isn’t respectable enough. That our sons’ prospects would be better if they carried his name.” He half defiantly stared at Reijir, no doubt expecting some sign of derision from the Herun. But Reijir only said, “I’m sorry you had to pay such a price.”

“Are you truly?” Darion skeptically asked. “We parted on bad terms. Have you grown so magnanimous that you can easily let bygones be bygones?” Showing displeasure for the first time, Reijir snapped, “Do you seek confirmation of the damage you wrought on me with your desertion? Very well, I freely give it. You can take pride in the knowledge that I was haunted for years by the fear of being used and cast aside once more. That fear nearly cost me my salvation. Thank Veres, I found the one who would make me whole.” He deliberately turned his gaze on Naeth, compelling Darion to do likewise. “He unmade the shackles your betrayal placed on my heart and taught me not only to trust again, but to love with everything that I am and have. I’m never as happy as when he is with me.”

Reijir stared pointedly at Darion when he finished speaking.

Darion flushed deeply. He looked away and murmured, “Forgive me, I had no right to speak thusly to you.” Still unable to meet Reijir’s eyes, he grudgingly said, “He has indeed made you happy. Happier than I ever saw you even at the height of our affair. But as for myself—I lied. Save for my sons, I can’t say the same. I’ve achieved my dream yet I am empty inside. When I gave you up for a swift reward, I lost the one thing that would have made all my efforts worthwhile.” He visibly swallowed, as if he was trying not to cry. “I would have you know, I did love you. Not as you deserved and not as much as your Heris does, but I truly loved you.”

When he finally faced Reijir again, his eyes were bright with tears. “You’re fortunate, Your Grace. So very, very fortunate.” His voice broke, and he struggled to get his last words out. “I-I hope it will always remain so for the both of you. That is all. Fare you well and Veres keep you, my lord.”

Reijir said nothing more but dipped his head in acknowledgement. Taking it as dismissal, Darion bowed again then turned and walked away. He did not look back, but Reijir saw that his shoulders shook even as they drooped. Schooling his expression, he turned and looked for Naeth.

The youth came to his side at once. “The woodcarver says he will be able to have one ready for us when the time comes,” he softly said. When Reijir only faintly smiled, he lifted a hand and stroked his mate’s cheek. “Is something wrong?” Turning his face into Naeth’s hand, Reijir kissed his palm. With a sigh, he pulled away and, linking arms with his spouse, shook his head and said, “Come, ariad. It’s time we headed home.”

Epilogue

Beloved

“What did he say to you?”

Reijir turned from the window and the view of the expansive parkland in back of the great Arthanna manse. He looked somberly at Naeth.

“He told me about his achievements. And also his regrets.” Naeth studied his expression. “And did leaving you prove his biggest regret?” he ventured.

Reijir recalled the despair that dulled Darion’s eyes. He nodded and left the window to sit on the couch before the bedchamber hearth. Naeth followed to stand before him.

Reijir sensed his concern and glanced up into Naeth’s anxious eyes.

He pulled Naeth toward him and pressed his cheek against his mate’s belly. Closing his eyes, he smiled almost dreamily.

“It’s too soon to feel him,” Naeth tenderly teased.

“But not too soon for me to sense him,” Reijir replied. He suddenly caught his breath, went still for several heartbeats, then looked up at Naeth in delight. “And he can sense me. By Veres, he knows me!”

Naeth gaped. “How is that possible?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Essendri blood flows in his veins as it does in mine,” Reijir said, pride suffusing his voice. “I recognized my sire when I was still in my adda’s womb just as our son knows me for his.”

Naeth stared at him. “Life with you will never be boring, will it?” he remarked.

“There will always be something about you waiting to be revealed.” Reijir softly laughed and drew Naeth down to sit beside him. He held him close in the circle of his arm and laid his other hand on Naeth’s abdomen, smoothing his palm protectively over their child’s berth. Naeth rested his head on Reijir’s shoulder, almost purring in his contentment.

At the happy sound, Reijir looked at him and studied his face. He could not help contrasting Naeth’s peace and felicity with Darion’s hollowness and envious remorse. He turned his gaze to the fire, seeing his former lover’s face amidst the flames one last time.

Pity for the Deir vied with relief over his own good fortune, resulting in a welter of unsettling emotions. He drew Naeth even closer.

Naeth noticed his pensiveness. “Are you all right, ariad?” he asked.

Reijir considered his answer. A smile slowly curved his mouth.

“I will be if you cooperate,” he huskily said.

Naeth squealed as Reijir bore him down and pinned him to the couch. The ensuing spate of protests slowly dwindled with each article of clothing that dropped to the floor.

Soon Naeth was too preoccupied to even think coherently, much less utter anything that would make sense.

The sun rode low in the sky when Naeth snuggled against Reijir, laying his tousled head on Reijir’s shoulder. A beatific smile curved his lips.

Reijir sensed the openness of his mind. Naeth really needs to practice shielding, he mirthfully thought.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gave in to the temptation to discover what impelled that utterly satisfied smile, taking care not to alert Naeth to the covert perusal of his thoughts. Before long, Reijir smiled as well.

His mate was reveling in the lingering joy and pleasure of their union. His body ached delightfully; his heart felt exquisitely full. And he rejoiced in the new life that grew just beneath it—the precious fruit of their loving.

Naeth dropped a kiss on Reijir’s shoulder.

“Are you all right now?” he lazily murmured.

Reijir chuckled. “More than all right,” he whispered.

With Naeth at his side, Reijir knew he always would be.

The End

Glossary of Terms

Aba

‘sire’ Parent who functions as the head of the family.

Adda

‘father’ Parent who functions as the principal caregiver of the family.

Ar

Designates the surname of a married Deir’s spouse if the Deir concerned does not change his own name upon marriage and the spouse’s family is the more socially or politically prominent, e.g. Riodan Leyhar ar Essendri.

Ardan

North Continent hereditary monarch or potentate of a large sovereign realm or ruling overlord of an aggregate of internally autonomous states.

Ardis

An Ardan’s consort.

Ariad

‘beloved’ An endearment.

Deir (pl. Deira)

Member of the race of hermaphrodites that populates the world of Aisen.

dyhar High honorific applied to Deira of noble blood or high-ranking profession.

enyr (pl. enyra)

‘True Blood’ A Deir whose antecedents kept their breeding with the gelra to the barest viable minimum and thus retained much of the physical strength and endurance and most of the mind gifts of the Naere.

fane marriage (aka fane binding)

Marriage solemnized in religious rites preferably in a church or temple. A fane marriage can only be ended by the death of a spouse.

felka ( pl. felkar)

Prostitute who belongs to a brothel or walks the streets for patrons.

Hamir ( pl. Hamire)

Khitairan ruling aristocrat. See Herun.

Handfasting

Marriage solemnized in civil rites. Handfasting is the only form of Deiran wedlock that can be ended by divorce or annulment.

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.

Mikhar

Khitairan hereditary monarch or potentate. See Ardan.

Mirash

A conception suppressor.

Min

Diminutive form of address applied to a Deir of junior years or station. Usage warrants mutual familiarity whether familial, platonic or professional.

Naere

The Deira’s hermaphroditic race of origin.

Opa

‘grandsire’ Grandparent who functioned as the head of his family.

sedyr (pl. sedyra)

‘Half Blood’ Deir whose antecedents bred indiscriminately with the gelra, which resulted in the diminishment or disappearance of many of the characteristics of the Naere in succeeding generations.

serl ( pl. serle)

‘baronet’ Non-noble holder of the lowest hereditary North Continent title.

soul-binding (aka soul-mating)

Eternal marriage that remains binding throughout soul-bound Deira’s life cycles. The soul-mated are wed to each other even in death and instinctively seek each other in their succeeding reincarnations. A soul-bound Deir calls his partner his soul-spouse or soul’s mate.

Thar

Formally designates the House name of a Deir of noble birth who goes by a different clan name or surname, e.g. Eiren Sarvan thar Essendri.

thein ( pl. theina)

‘baron’ Non-ruling member of the North Continent nobility.

Tir

Conjugal term used to introduce a bound Deir’s birth surname if he takes his spouse’s surname, e.g. Naeth Arthanna tir Orosse.

Tyar

General honorific for someone of higher years or station or whose profession warrants more than general courtesy.

yudar ( pl. yudare)

A practitioner of yuda, the ancient martial art of Naeren archery.

Glossary of Principal Characters and Places

Arvalde

The smallest continent, Arvalde lies to the south of Lydan and is connected to its northern neighbor by a narrow land bridge. Arvalde’s climate is warm and humid, and there are only two seasons, warm and cool. The Arvaldins are somewhat swarthy of complexion, light-haired and dark-eyed.

Autonomous Provinces of Ylandre: Camara, Fenycia, Tenerith & Velarus The Provinces fall directly under the Crown’s rule, but the relationship is a loose one at best. Camara lies in the southwest while Fenycia is in the central region, toward the east border. Originally part of the defunct nation of Varadan, Tenerith is in the northwest whereas Velarus is located in the southeast.

Continents of Aisen: Arvalde, Khitaira, Lydan, North Vihandra & South Vihandra

The ancient Naere made landfall in the great landmass they named Vihandra. It was later divided into North and South Vihandra. As North Vihandra grew in political importance and economic power, it began to be referred to as the North Continent. The epithet eventually became the commonly used name. Khitaira and Lydan lie to the west of Vihandra across the Samaran Sea. Arvalde is located south of Lydan. The vast and treacherous Rualan Ocean lies to the east between Vihandra and Khitaira.

Edessa

Seat of Clan Mesare, the fief of Edessa is located in the lower midlands. The capital city is Diondra.

Ranael Mesare thar Essendri, an officer of the Royal Army and Rohyr’s cousin.

Glanthar

Seat of Clan Mithani, the seaward fief of Glanthar is located on the western coastline of Ylandre. The capital city is Evinor.

Aeldan Mithani thar Essendri, heir apparent of Olriq Mithani, Herun of Glanthar and Rohyr’s cousin.

Ashrian Mithani thar Essendri, Aeldan’s younger brother.

Ilmaren

Seat of Clan Arthanna, the fief of Ilmaren is located in the upper midlands of Ylandre. The capital city is Althia.

Reijir Arthanna thar Essendri, Herun of Ilmaren and Rohyr’s cousin.

Naeth Orosse, an orphan from Sidona who becomes Reijir’s legal ward.

Keiran Arthanna thar Essendri, an instructor at the State University and Reijir’s older brother.

Ruomi Garvas, Reijir’s household adjutant.

Khitaira

One of Ylandre’s five continents, it is the westernmost continent, lying across the vast Rualan Ocean from Vihandra. Adjacent to the smaller continent of Lydan, the climate and seasonal cycle of Khitaira are similar to North Vihandra’s save in the south where it is warmer and more humid. Possessed of almond-shaped eyes, Khitairans range in coloring from dark-haired and ivory-skinned in the temperate north to lighter haired and golden complexioned in the balmy south.

Losshen

Seat of Clan Calanthe, the fief of Losshen is located in the north of Ylandre. The capital city is Syvonna.

Zykriel Calanthe thar Essendri, heir apparent of the Herun of Losshen and Chief Royal Archivist. He is also Rohyr’s cousin.

Gilmael Calanthe thar Essendri, Head of Ylandre’s Intelligence Ministry and Zykriel’s younger twin brother.

Lydan

The continent lies across the Samaran Sea from Vihandra and is smaller than the neighboring continent of Khitaira. Its climate is similar to Khitaira’s save for a single longer wet season. The Lydani are ruddy-skinned, dark-haired and sloe-eyed.

Midlands

The region comprising Central Ylandre is roughly divided into the upper and lower midlands. Ilmaren is the principal fief of the upper midlands while Edessa holds sway in the lower territory.

North Vihandra aka North Continent

The most powerful of Ylandre’s five continents, North Vihandra was where the migrating Naere made landfall. Comprising the northern portion of the Vihandran supercontinent, it is more commonly referred to as the North Continent. North Vihandra has a temperate climate with two monsoon seasons during the year. The populace is largely fair-skinned with a wide diversity of hair and eye coloring.

Qimaras

A royal fief that was invested on Imcael Essendri and his heirs in perpetuity, Qimaras is located in the southeast of Ylandre. The fief was long held by a cadet Essendri line, but when the last of that line’s Herune died without issue during the reign of Rohyr’s grandsire Joren, the latter bestowed Qimaras on his second son Imcael. The capital city is Faqar.

Imcael Essendri

Herun of Qimaras. Rohyr’s uncle and the only brother of Rohyr’s sire, the previous Ardan Keldon Essendri.

Rikara

Capital city of Ylandre and ancient seat of House Essendri, Rikara is a melting pot of Deira from different regions. Rikara is divided into five main districts: the north district wherein the State University is located along with the homes of the city’s aristocracy and affluent citizens; the east district, a largely middle-class enclave with the Citadel occupying most of the northern portion of the district; the west district which is home to Rikara’s artisans and working-class and the location of the main market and the famed Quarter, the city’s center of entertainment; the south district which is the poorest and seediest area of the city; and the central district, main location of the country’s government offices, commercial establishments and various financial institutions including the major banks.

Eiren Sarvan thar Essendri

Ylandre’s foremost physician and Rohyr’s cousin.

Rysander Seydon thar Essendri

Rohyr’s cousin and one of the heirs to the Cordona banking family fortune.

Yovan Seydon thar Essendri

Rysander’s sire, he is the Royal Chief Counsellor and Rohyr’s uncle.

Shino Essendri

Rohyr’s legal ward and a cousin.

Vaeren Henaz

an officer of the Royal Army who eventually became head of the Ardan’s Guard, a company of soldiers accountable to the Ardan alone.

Yandro Vaedon

a junior diplomat and Ambassador Jareth Hadrana’s adjutant.

Royal House of Ylandre

Rohyr Essendri

Ardan of Ylandre, head of House Essendri and a powerful templar.

Lassen Essendri tir Idana, Ardis of Ylandre. Rohyr’s leman of long standing and eventually his second spouse and consort.

Dylen Essendri il Teris, Rohyr’s half-brother through the Ardis Dyrael Essendri’s affair with the Rikaran hethar Hirlen Teris. He is also the adjutant of Gilmael Calanthe, Head of the Intelligence Ministry.

Riodan Leyhar ar Essendri, a prominent Ylandrin ambassador. Dylen’s lover and eventually his spouse.

Sidona

Seat of Clan Deilen, the fief is located southwest of Rikara. Sidona’s capital city is Nivare.

Keosqe Deilen thar Essendri, heir apparent of the Herun of Sidona and head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He is also Rohyr’s cousin.

South Vihandra

Comprising the southern portion of the Vihandran supercontinent, South Vihandra has a warmer climate than the North Continent. It rains throughout the year ranging from sporadic showers during the bulk of the Aiseni year to stormy during the monsoons that mark the transition between seasons. The South Vihandrans are similar in physical appearance to their northern neighbors but slightly darker in complexion, generally ranging from olive skinned to light copper.

Vireshe

A royal fief that is invested on the Ylandrin Crown Prince upon attainment of his majority, Vireshe is located on the western coastline of Ylandre and north of Glanthar. It was carved out of the defunct nation of Varadan after that kingdom’s defeat and conquest by Ylandre. The capital city is Lythaen.

Ylandre

The richest and most powerful realm in the North Continent, Ylandre was one of the first nations to be established in Aisen. The kingdom is bound by the Samaran Sea to the west, the Nazcan Hegemony in the northwest, the principality of Teraz and the Ballar Dominion in the north, the sovereign duchies of Morave, Lithuana and Hamaldi and the principality of Cattania in the east and the Paravian Grasslands that lie between Ylandre and the South Vihandran kingdom of Asmara in the south.

Ziana

Seat of House Hadrana, Ziana is a wealthy city-fief located in the northwest of Ylandre. A protectorate of the Crown, the city is the site of the oldest temple to Veres still open for public worship.

Tenryon Hadrana, Herun of Ziana and chief of the templars of Ylandre.

Jareth Hadrana thar Essendri, Ylandre’s foremost ambassador. Tenryon’s younger half-brother and Rohyr’s cousin through his birthing father.

The End

About the Author:

As far back as her college days, Eressë enjoyed writing stories set in historical times or, even better, fantasy settings. A good number turned into homoerotic romances because many of her male lead characters wound up having more chemistry with each other than with the female leads.

Whether Eressë subconsciously wrote them that way even she does not know. In any case, this penchant for fantasy M/M romance became the wellspring of Ylandre, the world in which her seminal piece Sacred Fate and its sequels Hallowed Bond and By Chance Met take place.

Eressë lives in Southeast Asia with her husband, three sons and one dog. An AB

Journalism graduate, she started her writing career as an advertising copywriter. She is now a freelance writer and a contributor to a number of publications. She also enjoys cooking and baking and tries her hand at everything from pasta to pastries. But her first love is and always will be writing stories.

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