Heartstrings

Chronicles of Ylandre Book Four

Eressё

Published 2012

ISBN 978-1-59578-954-9

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

Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2012, Eressё. 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

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

When all else comes to naught, a steadfast heart is the only thing that stands between

hope and despair.

Scions of the most powerful House in Ylandre, Ashrian Mithani and Eiren Sarvan

were more than just cousins. Lovers of long standing, theirs was a bond that would have

been the envy of all were it not for one glaring flaw—Ashrian’s inability to commit

himself wholeheartedly to Eiren. Despite the dismay of some and the derision of others,

Eiren bore his inconstancy; displaying a loyalty Ashrian seemed incapable of returning.

That is, until Ashrian crossed a line and the transgression proved one Eiren could not

forgive.

In the wake of grief and remorse, Ashrian seeks to make amends and win Eiren back.

But something stands in his way. Or rather someone. And the irony of it all is that

Ashrian can neither hate nor help befriending the Deir who is his rival for the heart of

Ylandre’s most beloved physician.

Prologue

Impressions

Rikara in the 2992nd year of the Common Age

For a wedding between two members of the gentry, Aloir Sarvan’s was well attended

by scions of the highest House in the land, even though it was deemed a big social step

down after his first union to a son of a minor clan of House Essendri. Verily, it was only

because of his son from said union that the Essendris deigned to grace the occasion of his

binding to Dirion Qiraz. Had young Eiren declined to attend, none of his royal-blooded

kinsfolk would have shown up. And there would have been no need to hire the most

luxurious banquet hall in Rikara.

* * * *

“He’s grown beautiful,” Ashrian Mithani remarked as he and Reijir Arthanna studied

their cousin from their corner of the ornately appointed hall.

“Almost as beautiful as Rohyr,” Reijir said.

“True.” It was generally agreed that the Ylandrin sovereign Rohyr Essendri was

more physically attractive than the norm even in a House known for the uncommon

pulchritude of most of its members. “I wonder if he pulls his nose out of his books long

enough to take advantage of his beauty,” Ashrian only half jestingly remarked.

Reijir frowned reprovingly at him. “We’re not all of a piece. Eiren is very serious

about pursuing his profession. He doesn’t take his gift for granted. He knows full well

born healers are as rare as adamants.”

“I know that!” Ashrian rolled his eyes. “But he needn’t ignore the pleasures of life in

the pursuit of knowledge. That would make for a very boring existence.”

“I doubt he ignores them,” Reijir mildly retorted. “He just doesn’t flaunt his

conquests the way some folk do.”

“Meaning myself.” Ashrian grinned unrepentantly. “I won’t deny I like the chase.

It’s quite exhilarating, especially when one captures one’s quarry.”

“I hardly think the quarry agrees when he’s tossed aside once the hunt is over.

Really, Ash, you’re the worst sort of libertine.”

“At least, I don’t pretend otherwise. What they see is what they get, and it isn’t my

fault if they choose to take a chance with me.” Ashrian noticed Reijir eyeing Eiren with

some concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—yet. But did you mark how Eiren behaves toward his stepbrother?”

Ashrian shook his head and turned to see for himself what his Ilmareni cousin had

noticed. Eiren was in conversation with Ilian Qiraz. Or rather, Ilian was talking to him

and Eiren was responding with little enthusiasm. Ashrian wondered at his lack of

amiability toward his stepfather’s son. He regarded the other Deir as well.

Ilian was fair-haired and pale-eyed whereas Eiren was dark. He was sturdier of frame

but an inch or so shorter and more youthful of countenance though he and Eiren were

almost the same age. He also seemed of a less serious bent. Ashrian could not recall a

moment when Ilian had not smiled or laughed all evening.

“He’s not very friendly with Ilian,” he commented. “I wonder why?”

“Out of caution, no doubt. I don’t think he trusts Ilian very much.”

“Really?” Ashrian scoffed. “You perceived that just from Eiren’s behavior?”

“Nay, lackwit. I also felt his unease,” Reijir said. “You would, too, if you bothered to

extend your senses a bit instead of dulling them with drink.”

Ashrian bristled faintly. “I didn’t come to a wedding to spy on other people’s

thoughts. I’m here to relax, make merry, and enjoy what company is to be had.”

“You’re a Herun’s son,” Reijir mildly chided him. “It should behoove you to first

take stock of your surroundings in any situation before letting down your guard. How

easily you forget your lessons when it suits you, cousin.”

Sighing with some exasperation, Ashrian shrugged. “I’m never going to rule a great

fief like you do. I don’t have the same obligations as you.”

“You mayn’t be Glanthar’s heir, but you’re still a Mithani and an Essendri and that

requires some prudence in all your dealings,” Reijir pointed out. “You wouldn’t care to

besmear either name or endanger yourself out of recklessness, now would you?”

“Yes, O great teacher!” Ashrian grumbled. He raised a hand to forestall further

lecturing. “So you’re probably right that Eiren doesn’t trust his stepbrother. What does

that have to do with us? Do you think Eiren worries that Ilian will wrest our admiration

from him? That is a ridiculous notion considering his superior standing and peerless

skills. Not to mention that beauty we were talking about earlier. Ilian is handsome

enough, but verily Eiren is comely almost beyond compare.” He smirked. “So comely it

makes my mouth water just thinking about him in naught but his skin!”

Reijir elbowed him in the side with a little more force than usual. “Don’t take him

lightly. He isn’t anything like your previous bed treats.”

“You’re just miffed I lured that last pretty away from you,” Ashrian mocked. “Admit

it, Rei, you’re interested in him, too, and don’t want me to poach on your territory.”

His cousin glared at him. “And you’ve never been deterred before so why should I

bother to warn you away now?”

Ashrian had the grace to be abashed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he ruefully

said. “Look, I’ll own myself a scoundrel and a dolt for speaking out of turn. Come now,

accept my apology. Please, Rei?”

He turned a placating smile on his cousin. Appeased, Reijir lightly punched his

cheek. Looking around, Reijr spotted someone across the hall.

“I need to speak to Zykriel,” he said. “Enjoy yourself, Ash. But not so much that you

have to be carried home draped over the back of your steed.”

Ashrian watched Reijir head over to their cousin of Losshen. He turned his attention

back to Eiren who had managed to disengage from the conversation with his stepbrother

and now stood by himself for the moment, his dark gaze roving the chamber. At length,

his gaze fell on Ashrian.

Realizing Ashrian must have been regarding him for a time, Eiren blushed and

abruptly turned his eyes elsewhere. The color slowly creeping into his cheeks, and the

slight abashment in his widened eyes had a most charming effect and one Ashrian was

not immune to. He snatched two goblets of wine from a passing attendant’s tray and

purposely strolled toward Eiren.

By Veres, if he did not have his cousin wanting for more than mere talk by evening’s

end, it would not be for lack of trying.

Chapter 1

Entanglement

C.A. 3005

The sharp, high-pitched cry of a newborn infant pierced the silence. Eiren Sarvan

straightened as he gingerly lifted the child in its natal shell out of the womb that had been

its shelter for six months. Despite the blood and birthing fluids that covered it, the dark

beige shell appeared whole and undamaged, the faint bluish veins that streaked its opaque

surface undisturbed by the traumatic procedure the shell had been subjected to. The same

could be said for the newborn’s lifeline, the rose-hued birth cord that trailed across the

babe’s navel to its berth in the folds of the shell. The cord pulsed with the steady flow of

sustenance from shell to child.

Eiren sighed with relief and satisfaction.

It had been a difficult birthing. Ordinarily, the shell detached from the wall of the

womb at the onset of the contractions that pushed an infant toward the opened birthing

seam. But there was a condition wherein the shell or a part of it remained deeply

embedded in the womb wall and had to be surgically separated from it. In the absence of

a skilled physician who was also gifted enough to stem the potentially fatal blood loss

that accompanied the procedure, a Deir and his child was likely to die in the process.

Fortunately, the condition was very rare.

However, that knowledge had been of little consolation to Eiren as he fought to save

both father and child. He may have been Ylandre’s most gifted healer in several

generations but he never took any outcome for granted. There were many occasions when

his considerable skills had not been enough to turn the tide. True, the number of patients

he’d lost was miniscule in comparison to the ones he’d saved. But Eiren grieved every

loss nonetheless and questioned his ability each time.

Complicating this particular situation had been having to deliver the child outside the

more sanitary environs of a hospital operating theater where a physician could rely on the

assistance of trained apprentices and a complete array of surgical instruments and

medicaments. This was where knowledge and experience counted dearly. His insistence

on the room and beddings’ absolute cleanliness and the swiftness with which he had

performed the procedure on his patient helped lessen the chances of infection.

Eiren quickly inspected the babe for overall health. The natal shell, a firm, fleshy

half sphere just double the circumference of his cupped hands, would provide

nourishment for a fortnight or so until the infant was grown enough in size and could

suckle on its own. Having fulfilled its purpose, the by then desiccated shell, along with

the cord, would come off naturally.

Satisfied that the child was well, he handed the precious bundle to the Deir, who was

the neighborhood’s birthing practician. While the practician washed the babe, Eiren

turned his attention once more to the birthing parent. Checking to ensure all internal

bleeding had ceased and the Deir’s womb was sound, he carefully brought the edges of

the gaping seam together to hasten the seam’s closing. He then smeared on a thin layer of

medicinal cream to facilitate healing.

“Will they be all right?” the anxious sire asked from where he stood by his spouse’s

side, still tightly clasping the latter’s hand.

“They’re both fine,” Eiren assured him as he deftly wrapped several layers of freshly

laundered gauze around his patient’s abdomen. “No solids for him for a day or so. I’ll

pass by tomorrow to check that the seam is mending well. And just make sure he doesn’t

get up for at least a sennight. I don’t want him hemorrhaging because he started moving

about too soon. If he must piss or move his bowels, place a basin under him.”

“So messy…” the birthing father protested.

“Better a mess than the funeral pyre,” Eiren tartly pointed out as he removed his

bloodied physician’s smock. “Stay in bed else I’ll have you tied to it until you’re healed.”

The Deir weakly chuckled, moaning a little as the movement pulled at his wound.

His mate said, “I will see to it, Sarvan- dyhar. Thank you for coming to us at this time of

the night.”

Eiren stuffed his smock into his pack and then washed his hands and arms in the

basin of water provided for the purpose. He toweled dry, rolled down his sleeves, and

pulled on his tunic.

“You mayn’t be as grateful when you see my fee,” he tiredly joked.

“Nay, it will be worth it,” the Deir replied with a small smile. Seeing Eiren’s fatigue,

he added, “Would you like something to eat before you go?”

Eiren took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d rather you

offered me brandy,” he said with typical bluntness. “The strongest you’ve got.”

* * * *

A half hour later, he was back at his townhouse. While his groom led his mount

away, he slowly ascended the stairs to the second level and went to his bedchamber. Used

to the odd hours kept by a much sought-after physician and having learned to anticipate

his master’s needs, the butler hastened to draw him a hot bath.

Eiren shed his soiled clothing, idly noting stains that had somehow managed to

attach themselves to his shirt and breeches despite the protection of his smock. If that

large rust-hued blot on his shirtsleeve did not come off in the wash, the garment would

become part of the stock of clothing he used when undertaking procedures that entailed

contact with sundry body fluids. No matter; it was an old shirt. And he was not much of a

dandy in any case—a physician had to be sartorially practical—unlike some of his

cousins, who were always decked out in fashionable attire.

He pulled on a thin robe and sat in his reading chair to await the butler’s summons to

the bathing room. It was not long in coming and he happily sank into warm, slightly

sudsy water fragrant with soothing herbs while the butler gathered his clothes and smock

and took them down for laundering in the morning. Too tired to even scrub himself, Eiren

leaned back against the rim of the spacious claw foot tub, an indulgence amidst decor and

furnishings chosen for being comfortable rather than luxurious or fashionable.

Eiren closed his eyes and let the tiredness ease out of his muscles. Minutes of sheer

bliss passed by and he reminded himself not to fall asleep. It would be the height of

idiocy to drown in his bath of all places.

Perhaps he was wearier than he thought for he did not sense anything out of the

ordinary until it was right in front of him. Or rather in the tub with him.

Eiren gasped when another pair of legs tangled with his and a hand smoothed its way

from his chest down to his belly and even lower. He opened his eyes to behold Ashrian

Mithani’s handsome face just inches away from his, warm hazel eyes gleaming wickedly,

his burnished hair more like copper than mahogany in the candlelight.

“Ash!” he exclaimed, his breath catching when he was expertly groped down yonder.

“What in Aisen are you doing here?”

He pushed his cousin’s hand away. But Ashrian only grinned and impishly stroked

him with his other hand.

“I just came from a dinner party,” he drawled. “One of Aba’s shipping associates. It

got quite boring so I decided to pay you a visit instead.”

Eiren tried to ignore the burgeoning tension in his groin. “A dinner party at this

hour? It’s almost midnight.”

“A quarter past the hour actually,” Ashrian corrected. “They brought in the

performers from The Minstrel’s Tale. Such a deadly dull play. I simply don’t understand

the attraction. At any rate, I feared their performance would never end so I slipped away

and hot-footed it here.”

He quickened his strokes until Eiren was all but arching his body into them. Eiren

tried to speak but nothing comprehensible escaped his lips. The pleasurable tension grew,

and he could do naught but clutch at the tub rim and thrust his shaft into Ashrian’s hand.

The tightly wound coil in his belly began to loosen as his body started its ascent into

ecstasy. And then it came all undone and, sobbing harshly, Eiren spilled his seed into the

warm water.

When he finished spending, he slumped back fighting for breath.

“That was fast,” Ashrian teased, running his knuckles down Eiren’s cheek.

Eiren glared at him. “Damn it! Now I’m really exhausted.” He closed his eyes and

drew a deep breath.

“But pleasantly so, I warrant.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

“I’ll own the first but I doubt Adda will appreciate the second.”

“Oh, stuff it, Ash.”

Ashrian huskily chuckled. “I intend to.”

Eiren thought he heard the sound of a stopper being eased out of a bottle. Before he

had a chance to realize what that portended, he felt the slide of a slick finger into his

backside. His eyes snapped open, and he started to protest, but Ashrian covered his lips

with his own, thrusting a tongue into his mouth, and effectively silenced him. He groaned

as more fingers joined the first, smearing oil inside him and gently reminding his innards

of the pleasure to found from the entry of hard flesh into his body.

He did not resist when Ashrian shifted to kneel between his legs and slightly lifted

his buttocks. The familiar press of Ashrian’s shaft into him robbed him of coherent

thought, as did the repeated thrusts into his core, every plunge striking sparks of pleasure

that rapidly flared into a full-fledged conflagration. As always, he was his lover’s to do

with as he willed. Coupling with Ashrian was more often than not an exquisite exercise in

willing sexual submission.

“How well you fit around me, my sweet.”

Eiren shivered as Ashrian reached out to him with his thoughts. Possible only

between the more gifted True Bloods, the touching of minds in the course of copulation

triggered not only intense pleasure seldom experienced through physical sensation alone,

but also fostered an exquisite intimacy that transcended mere affinity between long-term

sexual partners.

“Ash, please…” he raggedly whispered as he was cleaved again and again, the

sensation of being sensually pierced reducing him to pleas for mercy. “It’s too much.”

Perversely, Ashrian slowed his movements. “Nay, I want to stay in you as long as

possible,” he murmured. “It’s been an interminable while since I last bedded you.”

“You’re going to remember how well I fucked you every time you sit down tomorrow.”

Eiren shook his head, not sure whether his cousin’s crude language offended or

titillated him. He moaned at a particularly slow withdrawal of Ashrian’s shaft followed

by as gradual a reentry deep into him.

“Interminable?” he stuttered as Ashrian reached for his resurgent member and

stroked it anew to stiffness. “Just last week, you all but pounded me into the mattress.

Thrice!”

Ashrian huskily laughed. “I rest my case.” He suddenly leaned down and kissed

Eiren with incendiary possessiveness. Pulling away slightly, he murmured, “Weekly

trysts are not enough for me, Ren. Not if I want my fill of your charms. Daily is more to

my taste and not just once a day either.”

He quickened his thrusts once more—quick, hard stabs meant to wring as much

pleasure as possible from their joining. Eiren surrendered to the rapture fast overtaking

him and, wrapping his legs around Ashrian’s waist, allowed his cousin to ride him to

their mutual satisfaction.

* * * *

Ashrian’s threat was not empty, and Eiren did indeed remember how well his arse

had been used not only each time he sat down but with every step up and down the stairs

it seemed. It was most inconvenient considering the number of times he had to ascend to

the upper floors of the four-story Rikara Public Hospital. He stroked his bottom with a

grimace when he finally returned to his consultation room on the ground floor.

Physician, heal thyself, he thought as he directed a few waves of mental energy

toward the source of his discomfort. Of course, the relief was only temporary. For a

longer respite, he would need to apply a medicament.

He took a small jar out of the lowermost compartment of his desk and passed

through the side door that led into the side chamber that served as his examination room.

After locking the door, he loosened his breeches and drew down his drawers. He opened

the jar. A fresh, slightly minty odor permeated the air.

Eiren scooped up a generous dollop of the jar’s contents, a loose, translucent cream

of bluish hue, and eased it into his rear passage. In a short while, the soreness within

began to dissipate. He groaned with relief then silently chided himself.

He should have applied some before he went on his rounds, especially when the ache

had become quite bothersome. After all, he’d freely dispensed the concoction to others,

especially the more libidinous of his numerous kin. He suddenly chuckled as he recalled

how his cousin Rohyr had stocked up on the medicament when he first brought home the

beauteous Velarusian sedyr he would make his leman. That Rohyr no longer replenished

his supply as often as he used to could only mean Lassen Idana had adapted to his royal

lover’s concupiscence and generous endowment. Indeed, Lassen complained of

discomfort very rarely nowadays and that was only after a more thorough tumbling by

Rohyr than usual.

Remembrance of the cause of his own discomfort suddenly brought a rush of heat

into his cheeks. Eiren was sure they were as red as they were warm.

He tied his drawers again and hitched up his breeches a little distractedly. Veres

almighty, he and Ashrian had been warming each other’s beds for over a decade now, yet

you’d think he was an untried innocent from the way memories of their encounters easily

reduced him to blushing embarrassment. How was it that his lover could arouse such

feelings in him after all this time?

A knock on the door jarred him out of his musings. He quickly smoothed out his

tunic and stepped out of the room. He smiled when he saw who his visitor was.

“When did you get back from Sidona?” he asked Keosqe Deilen, taking his cousin’s

hands in a warm grip. He glanced questioningly at the two Deira behind Keosqe.

“Just last night,” Keosqe replied. He gestured to his companions. “Do you remember

my good friend, Veare Marante?”

“Of course!” Eiren said, extending his hand in welcome to the Deir. “Though I

confess I didn’t recognize you after all these years. How long has it been since Kes

introduced us?”

“Almost eight years, I think,” Veare answered. “But you haven’t changed much,

Dyhar. You must have discovered the elixir of youth.”

Eiren chuckled. “And here I thought I’d aged from sheer exasperation with some of

my patients.” He turned his attention to the lissome lad by Veare’s side. He was darker

haired but their features were very similar. “Your brother?” he ventured.

Veare beamed and nodded. “This is Tristen.”

“Tristen has enrolled at the State University for formal medical training,” Keosqe

explained after the obligatory exchange of greetings. “He hopes to be a physician like

you one day. Indeed, he was so eager to meet you, he all but begged me to bring him here

today.”

With an indignant glare at Keosqe, Tristen protested, “I did not beg!”

Eiren had to laugh. Young Tristen apparently did not fawn over Keosqe the way

most other youths did. That was unusual considering his fair-haired cousin’s more than

comely countenance and splendid form.

“Will you be staying in Rikara until your brother completes his training?” he asked

Veare.

“Nay, I must return to Sidona,” the Deir said. “My spouse awaits me. But Kes has

kindly offered to take Tristen in. I cannot thank him enough for that.”

“Since when have I refused you?” Keosqe said, his voice unexpectedly gruff.

“None that I can think of,” Veare admitted. “He’s a true friend. I don’t know what I

would have done had he not been there when my parents died.”

Eiren caught Tristen rolling his eyes before looking away in apparent

embarrassment. Or was it irritation? He glanced at Keosqe and noted his somewhat

strained smile.

“Ah, we have to go,” Veare softly exclaimed. “Let us hurry, Tris. I need to make

some purchases before the market closes.” He slightly bowed his head to Eiren. “It’s a

pleasure to meet you again, Sarvan- dyhar.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Eiren said. “And I do hope you stay the course,” he

addressed Tristen. “Ylandre can never have enough trained physicians. When the time

comes and you wish to apprentice yourself, come to me. I seldom accept novices fresh

out of university, but for you I will make an exception.”

Tristen’s eyes widened and he blushed in delight while he stammered his thanks.

Before he followed his brother out of the room, however, Eiren saw him dart what

appeared to be a concerned glance at Keosqe.

“You’re not going with them?” Eiren asked Keosqe.

Keosqe shook his head. “I have two meetings, one after the other.”

“Rather late for business, don’t you think? Can’t they wait until tomorrow morn?”

“If only they could. But anything to do with the Ferrendas can never wait.”

“Ah, so the betrothal of Jubal’s son to that Asmaran prince is proving worrisome.”

A golden eyebrow rose in surprised amusement. “Who have you been talking to,

Ren? That isn’t common knowledge.”

“You have your sources, I have mine,” Eiren airily said. Relenting, he grinned and

admitted, “Actually, Rohyr asked me for my opinion my last visit to the Citadel.”

Keosqe laughed. “I thought it might be something like that. Well then, I’d best be

going.” He made to leave.

“How long have you been in love with Veare?” Eiren softly inquired.

The abrupt question stopped Keosqe in midstride. He stiffened then turned around to

face Eiren, his expression, one of chagrin and not a little sadness.

“Am I that obvious?” he quietly said.

Eiren sighed. “Your face changed when he mentioned his spouse, and then your

voice broke. And Tristen looked at you rather strangely. Almost pityingly it seemed. He

knows, doesn’t he?”

Keosqe nodded. “He saw my heart almost at once whereas Veare doesn’t at all. Has

never realized it even when we…” He swallowed then went on. “Veare came to me when

their parents perished almost fourteen years ago. He sought comfort for his loss and I

gave what I could. The only comfort I could give. I’ve been in love with him since I can

remember and I thought, perhaps, in the sharing of our bodies, he might come to see me

as a lover as well. But it was not to be. When we ended our affair, he again treated me as

his dearest friend, no more, no less.”

“I’m sorry, Kes,” Eiren murmured. “I wish there was some way I could help.”

“But you did,” Keosqe assured him with a small smile. “You permitted me to

unburden myself.” He leaned forward and bestowed an affectionate kiss on Eiren’s lips.

“I must go. Thank you for listening, Ren.”

Eiren watched him go then sat down at his desk, pondering his cousin’s plight. It was

difficult to be embroiled in a one-sided love. He heartily sympathized with anyone who

had to suffer through such heartache. An instant later, he grimaced.

Sympathy was easy to come by when one had some experience of another’s

problem. Truth be told, Eiren sometimes felt as if he had invested too much of himself in

an affair of frustrating ambiguity camouflaged by irresistible passion.

Chapter 2

Fissures

Gatherings of the Essendris at the Citadel were more common than would be

expected of scions of a royal house. And starting in spring and through the summer

months, when many of the Ardan’s relations were in town, the gatherings were quite

frequent. Any reason would do and often did. But on this particular day, the reason was

quite special. After all, reaching one’s majority was a milestone. When it was the Ardan’s

leman who had attained his thirty-fifth year, there was all the more cause for celebration.

At least, among the select few who were counted as close to Rohyr Essendri as the

brothers he did not have.

Despite pressure on Rohyr to wed soon so as to ensure the succession of an Essendri

heir to the black nahra throne of Ylandre, the Ardan had thus far evaded the efforts of all

the would-be royal matchmakers in the kingdom. Naturally, there were many who

grumbled that Rohyr was not taking his obligations seriously. But as Rohyr had

assiduously fulfilled just about every duty expected of him save for wedlock, the

complaints were by large taken for what they really were—the grievances of ambitious

Deira thwarted in their attempts to gain power through their influence on the consort they

hoped to establish at court. That Rohyr’s concubine was as comely as the glorious wood

sprites of Aiseni lore and more good-natured and compassionate than those mythical

creatures were purported to be, was also accepted as a good enough reason for the Ardan

to put off matrimony for a while longer.

There would come a day when Rohyr would perforce wed and sire progeny. But for

now golden-haired Lassen Idana of Velarus was deemed his de facto partner whether or

not Rohyr acknowledged that more than lust and affection bound him to his lover.

* * * *

Eiren was not the first to arrive at the Citadel—a physician’s time was not always his

own and an emergency had detained him for an hour or so. But neither was he the last to

show up. Rysander, their counsellor uncle, Yovan Seydon’s son and heir, had sent word

that he would be delayed. To Eiren’s surprise, Ashrian was not present either.

He’d expected Ashrian’s brother Aeldan to be absent for the older Mithani son was

summoned home to his fief of Glanthar quite unexpectedly. But Ashrian was not likewise

asked and therefore as far as Eiren knew was still in Rikara. Indeed, Ashrian had invited

him three days ago to go riding with him after which they could have a picnic lunch and

an afternoon of leisure in the bucolic groves amidst the foothills of Mount Sarak. Eiren

still winced when he recalled how his lover had left in a huff when he’d had to decline

due to a surfeit of ailing patients and a dearth of able physicians. Eiren wondered if

Ashrian was still sulking over that.

Really, one would think they had not kept company in a year, the way his cousin

carried on. They’d actually spent two days together just a fortnight past, when Eiren came

upon a rare week’s end of leisure. But Ashrian had not been pleased when Eiren resumed

his busy schedule. Then again, Eiren supposed, considering Ashrian’s concupiscence,

that was not surprising.

He was in the middle of chewing a juicy chunk of grilled roehart when he sensed

it—Ashrian in the midst of doing something he’d only lately promised Eiren he would

cease to do. Eiren swallowed the piece of meat with difficulty and then pushed his plate

away, his appetite gone. He downed his ale, however, with such speed that he nearly

choked on the dregs. Someone vigorously patted his back as he coughed up ale that had

gone down the wrong way. He glanced over his shoulder to find Rohyr looking down at

him with concern.

Rohyr slid onto the bench beside him, sympathy mingling with the concern in his

expression. Eiren’s cheeks heated up. He was certain his cousin knew what had suddenly

troubled him. And it would not have been a deliberate incursion into his mind by Rohyr,

but rather Eiren’s emotional turmoil causing him to project his thoughts for anyone gifted

enough to pick up.

“You went ahead and tried it,” Rohyr guessed. When Eiren nodded, he asked, “Is it

worth the aggravation?”

“Maybe not,” Eiren admitted. “But I have to know. So perhaps, it is worth it.”

Rohyr shook his head. “What has he done now?”

Eiren shrugged. “Nothing he hasn’t done before.” He tried to smile at his cousin.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to this.”

“No one ever gets used to being hurt. I’ll have him fetched. This is inexcusable

behavior.”

“Don’t, Roh,” Eiren pleaded, catching his cousin’s hand when Rohyr started to raise

it to summon a retainer. “It isn’t that bad. Besides, he hasn’t gone too far and I don’t

think he will.”

Rohyr’s eyebrows rose in obvious skepticism. “He stopped? Well, thank Veres for

small miracles. But he won’t come here now, will he? Not in the state he’s in.”

Before Eiren could answer, the door to the dining hall opened and Rysander Seydon

strode in. Swiftly doffing his cloak and handing it to a servant along with his gloves, he

apologized to the party at large.

“I’m so sorry, I know it’s terribly late,” he said. “But I couldn’t back out of my

promise to watch a play with Aba and Adda.”

“What play was this?” Lassen inquired as he came forward to welcome Rysander.

“That grand musical everyone’s talking about— The Minstrel’s Tale.”

“I saw it last week,” Rohyr’s brother Dylen piped up. “It’s rather good actually, if

you can get past the principal singer’s vanity. Full of himself, that one, and it shows in his

performance.”

“How true,” Rysander agreed. “But Ashrian must think otherwise, else he wouldn’t

have taken off with him after the show.”

“He what?” Keosqe said, looking up abruptly with a reproving frown.

“I saw them when we exited the theater. You know what a flirt he can be. He didn’t

see me, but it was obvious he’d turned on all the charm for that fop’s benefit.”

Eiren’s mouth tightened, and he struggled not to slam his fist down on the tabletop.

Beside him, Rohyr half turned to look at Rysander.

“He’s not coming here?” he called out.

Rysander accepted a mug of ale from a servant and so his back was to Rohyr as he

said, “If he was coming here, he certainly was headed in the wrong direction!”

He finally turned around to face Rohyr and paled when he saw Eiren sitting beside

their royal cousin.

“Heyas! I didn’t realize you were here or I wouldn’t have…” Rysander stopped and

then looked repentantly at Eiren. “Nay, it was nothing more than hurtful gossip. I

shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“It would have been kinder,” Eiren mildly agreed. “But as it isn’t anything we

haven’t all heard before, what does it matter? Don’t worry, Rys, I’m not angry with you.

Go on, enjoy yourself.”

He quickly turned around again to face the table lest he be subjected to the pitying

looks of the others. He could not help a shaky breath, however, and hearing the

despondent sound, Rohyr took his hand and squeezed it sympathetically. They looked up

when Keosqe sat himself opposite them. He appeared positively peeved.

“Didn’t you tell him off the last time?” he asked Eiren.

“I did.”

“And?”

“He said he would restrain himself.”

“Restrain himself? Holy saints! He should have sworn never to stray again.”

Eiren gave a short humorless laugh. “We aren’t promised to each other. He’s still

free to do as he wishes.”

“You aren’t officially promised to each other,” Keosqe corrected. “But everyone can

see where you’re headed with your affair.”

He glanced pointedly at Eiren’s lover’s earring. Eiren self-consciously pinched the

jewel between two fingers.

“Well, Ashrian apparently doesn’t see,” Rohyr commented. “Leave it, Kes. This is

between the two of them.”

Keosqe rolled his eyes. “You should have imprinted him,” he muttered.

“He’s my lover, not my concubine,” Eiren protested.

“Really? Has there ever been a time that he remained faithful to you long enough to

be deemed a lover?” When Rohyr raised his eyebrows alarmingly at him, Keosqe

grimaced. “Ah, damn my tongue. I’m sorry, Ren.”

Eiren looked at him unhappily. “Nay, you did no more than speak the truth,” he

whispered.

* * * *

He did not seek out Ashrian as was his wont when he’d perforce declined his lover’s

overtures too often over an extended period of time. It was one thing to try to make

amends when he’d left Ashrian wanting, and another matter entirely when Ashrian had

chosen to rectify his discontent by taking another Deir to bed.

That rankled far more deeply than Eiren was willing to admit to anyone even when

they had already guessed at the extent of his hurt. How could he still hold his head up in

the face of Ashrian’s indiscretions if he owned himself so deeply in love with his errant

cousin that he preferred to deny or endure his transgressions rather than break off their

affair and thereby forge a life without him?

Their cousins had urged him often enough to give Ashrian an ultimatum—behave or

be done with their affair. Each time, Eiren had refused, saying he had no liking for

coercive dealings. But the truth was, he was not certain Ashrian cared enough to want to

continue their relationship at the cost of his freedom. Were their liaison to end, Eiren was

certain he would suffer more.

The butler politely peeked in through the open door to see if he was busy. Eiren

enjoyed spending a good bulk of his leisure time in his study, reading lighthearted

material for the most part to offset the sorrows and stresses he encountered in the course

of work. That is, when he was not in the company of his Essendri kin. Or wrestling

between the sheets with Ashrian.

He sighed, expecting the butler to inform him that a patient had come a-visiting. In

far-flung rural areas, healers’ residences also served as hospital and convalescence home

in one—it was not uncommon for country physicians to have some rooms set aside for

the purpose. In Rikara, it was not really necessary with two hospitals, a state hospice,

several dispensaries, and an unknown number of backstreet clinics at people’s disposal.

But most of the city’s physicians still kept at least one examination room on the premises,

usually on the ground floor of their homes. After all, part of the healer’s oath was to

make himself available at all times to those in need. It could mean foregoing a good

chunk of free time, but if one’s vocation was strong and deep-seated, one simply learned

to live with the inconvenience.

Unfortunately, the same could not be expected of a physician’s family or friends.

Many physicians opted not to wed. Considering the number of healers’ marriages that

were unable to weather the vagaries of the profession, the choice to abstain from wedlock

was not surprising.

Eiren looked at his butler expectantly, wondering which of his numerous patients had

not been able to wait until morning to have his ailment attended to. But the Deir said,

“Master Ashrian is here, Dyhar. Shall I show him up?”

The request for permission drew a scowl from Eiren. He and Ashrian were on such

intimate terms, they dispensed with the usual formalities when they visited each other’s

homes. For Ashrian to hesitate at the door instead of entering as if he owned the place

bespoke a guilty conscience.

He’d sensed Ashrian’s activities that night and Rysander had seen enough to bolster

his suspicions, but to have Ashrian himself unwittingly confirm his faithlessness hurt

nonetheless. He curtly nodded his permission to the butler, tossed his book aside and sat

back to wait.

Eiren had intended to maintain his dour expression when his cousin entered the

room, but Ashrian neatly circumvented that by sweeping in and abruptly pulling him into

a tight embrace. Before Eiren could get more than a word of protest out, he was cut off by

an incendiary kiss that all but muddled his thoughts into a mad scramble. Desperate to

make a stand before Ashrian managed to distract him completely, Eiren broke away and

stepped back warily, glaring Ashrian into staying put.

“Don’t be angry, Ren,” Ashrian cajoled, holding out his hands in supplication. “It

was unreasonable of me to take your obligations against you. I’m truly sorry for taking

you to task about that and leaving in a huff. Do say you forgive me, Ren.”

Eiren stared at him in some vexation but with little surprise. “Veres give me

patience,” he muttered. “Is that all you came to apologize for?” he tartly said.

Ashrian opened his eyes wide. His intense, expressive, compelling eyes, Eiren

fleetingly thought then hastily shoved aside.

“Is there something else I should apologize for?” Ashrian inquired with frustrating

innocence.

Eiren rolled his eyes. “It seems that musical isn’t as deadly dull as you made it out to

be,” he sarcastically said. “Or rather its principal singer is not.”

Ashrian started. His nigh maddening composure slipped as faint color stained his

cheeks. “What do you mean?” he said to Eiren’s annoyance.

“How do you think I felt hearing about your newest bed treat in the middle of a

dinner party?” he snapped. When Ashrian stared at him in shock, he bitterly added, “You

couldn’t even be discreet to spare my feelings. Rysander saw you at the theater. He said

you flirted with the singer and then you left together. For his lodgings, I wager.” He

fought to keep from raising his voice. “So, was his bed big enough for you?” he bit out.

Ashrian had the grace to look abashed. “Heyas, I’m so sorry, Ren,” he offered.

“Oh, stuff it. You always say you are.”

Eiren angrily strode away but Ashrian caught him in a tight embrace from behind.

“We didn’t spend the night together,” he mumbled into Eiren’s nape.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Eiren vexedly shook his head. “Saints

above, what did I do to deserve a whoreson like you?”

He felt Ashrian flinch at the epithet. “I’m really sorry,” Ashrian repeated, his voice

low and tinged with remorse.

The sound of it served to mollify Eiren enough for him to waver in his resolve. He

inwardly cursed his inability to stand firm when it came to Ashrian. Annoyed with

himself, Eiren made a halfhearted effort to break away. Ashrian refused to cooperate.

Eiren huffed in frustration. “I only wish I knew where I stand,” he grumbled. “Just

what am I to you, Ash?”

“My lover,” Ashrian promptly replied. “The only one who counts.”

It was not exactly what Eiren hoped to hear, but it was an indication of his

importance to Ashrian. At least, he tried to convince himself that it was so. He let

Ashrian turn him around.

“I just want you to know, I didn’t bed him,” Ashrian said. “It almost came to that.

But then I thought of you and, well, I couldn’t continue.” Eiren allowed himself to be

pulled closer. “Surely that’s evidence I can abstain if need be.”

“Only you would deem an aborted coupling abstention,” Eiren retorted. He sighed. “I

should have run away as fast I could when you first plied me with wine and sweet talk.”

“And I would have run you to ground eventually,” Ashrian murmured. “You were

meant to be mine, Ren, like it or not.”

“Cocky son of a…” Eiren started to say. But he got no further for Ashrian put their

mouths to better use than exchanging barbs.

*

Ashrian gazed down at Eiren, studying him in the silvery glow of moonlight coming

in through the bedside windows. A part of him thrummed with gratitude that Eiren stayed

by him even when his behavior left much to be desired. Another part wondered why

Eiren did. Ashrian did not believe love was enough to blind one to the faults of the other

to the point of bearing with them rather than do without that love.

He’d long known his cousin loved him. Was in love with him. He’d discerned it way

before Eiren told him so. And he knew it hurt Eiren that he had not yet returned a like

answer. It pained him that Ashrian would not remain constant but continued to test the

limits of their relationship and challenge the social mores that sought to force him into

commitment, which he neither desired nor was prepared to submit to.

But Ashrian was not ready to declare himself anyone’s own, not even the Deir who

increasingly made him feel incomplete when he was not at his side. He shook his head

defiantly, as if doing so would shut out the recriminations of his conscience. He had not

entered into an affair with Eiren in order to test the waters for possible wedlock, he

reminded himself. Nay, he had seduced his cousin because he was beautiful and

desirable, and he continued their liaison because one did not come by so compatible and

satisfying a partner at the drop of a pin. He stubbornly ignored the prickles of shame and

regret that followed.

He simply was not prepared to commit himself to any one person or settle into a

relationship that smacked of near matrimony. Eiren knew this. Surely he knew this. Else

why had he put up with Ashrian’s infidelities for so long?

Ashrian swore under his breath. He was beginning to think like everyone else! How

could there be infidelity in a nonbinding relationship? They were both free to fill their

needs in other Deira’s beds so long as they were discreet. That was where he’d

blundered, he insisted to himself. He had not been careful and thereby exposed Eiren to

public ridicule. It was not the first time he’d hurt Eiren thusly, but he had promised to be

more circumspect after that last dalliance. Ashrian sobered.

He’d hurt Eiren once more and not only because of his lack of discretion. There was

no denying Eiren was hurt by his promiscuity. Nor could Ashrian pretend that Eiren

refrained from bedding others out of extreme selectiveness. If he did not share himself

with others, it was because he believed himself Ashrian’s own.

And perversely enough, Ashrian was relieved that he did. So what did that say about

himself? He cursed again, not liking the direction his thoughts and long-dormant scruples

had taken.

Determinedly shoving his irksome conscience aside, Ashrian returned to watching

his lover as he slept.

With his thickly lashed midnight-blue eyes closed and unimpeded by the spectacles

he wore when doing delicate procedures, Eiren looked much younger than his actual

years. His dark walnut-hued hair, ordinarily swept back and neatly patted down while he

attended to patients and the like, was now tousled and loose upon his forehead and

cheeks, giving him a slightly gamine look.

His mouth, usually tight-lipped with tension as he did his rounds, was relaxed and

slightly parted. Ashrian could not resist running his thumb along his lover’s lips. He

broke into a grin when Eiren drew the tip of his finger in and lightly sucked on it. Ashrian

felt the burn of desire build anew in his loins.

He drew the covers down to bare Eiren to his eyes. Lightly smoothing a hand down

the length of Eiren’s torso, he enjoyed the feel of smooth skin and hard muscle under his

palm and fingers. A sticky rivulet of dried semen on the inside of one thigh caught his

notice. Licking his lips in predatory anticipation, he carefully parted Eiren’s legs.

Another trickle of seed revealed itself in the cleft of Eiren’s bottom.

Ashrian closed his eyes and willed his lust to bank a little. Heyas! He wanted to

sheathe himself in Eiren once more despite having ridden him to exhaustion just a few

hours earlier. He wondered if the mirash Eiren had taken earlier was still in effect but

decided against taking the risk. The Deiran conception suppressor might have lost its

efficacy by now.

Eiren moaned in his sleep as Ashrian slipped a finger into him. Ashrian smiled as he

met yielding flesh still slippery with oil and semen. He would only have to lubricate his

shaft. He languidly did so, stroking himself to thoughts of how Eiren would look when he

awakened to the piercing of his backside. He was always impossibly beautiful in those

first moments of bemused drowsiness.

Ashrian moved between Eiren’s parted legs and lifted one slender limb onto his

shoulder, spreading him wide for ease of penetration. With an appreciative groan, he

pressed his shaft into his lover, pushing in all the way until he was completely seated in

tight, moist heat. He began to drive into Eiren, enjoying the sight of his shaft sliding into

his body, the gentle grip of his cousin’s satin-smooth innards on his flesh and the soft

slap of his groin against Eiren’s firm buttocks.

Eiren slowly came awake, his breathing uneven and his eyes opening to reveal a

mixture of bewilderment and fear. Ashrian caught his gaze and held it until Eiren

recognized him and realized whose shaft now rested inside him.

The fear in his eyes vanished to be replaced by desire. He let his head roll back and

his limbs relax, a sign to Ashrian to do with him as he wished. Ashrian groaned as his

nether regions responded accordingly.

He turned his head to lavish Eiren’s raised thigh with hungry, hot-tongued kisses,

wringing more moans from Eiren. Roused beyond reason, Ashrian quickened his thrusts,

burying himself as deeply as he could inside Eiren. There was something wonderfully

wicked about Eiren giving him complete liberty to use him as thoroughly as he desired.

Eiren did not move either in resistance or assistance, but bore Ashrian’s almost

punishing thrusts. He only groaned or gasped, occasionally moaning Ashrian’s name,

while clutching at the corners of his pillow. He presented a picture of utter submission,

and it was all Ashrian could do not to cross the line and brutally ravish so exquisite a

creature.

He pounded mindlessly into Eiren, wishing he could remain forever gloved in his

lover’s sublime heat. Release came with sudden explosive force and he cried out hoarsely

as he spent himself nigh endlessly. He shuddered as the aftershocks of his climax swept

through him and shakily planted his hands on the mattress on either side of Eiren to keep

from falling on top of his lover.

Movement caught his eye and he realized Eiren had taken himself in hand to gain his

own climax. He gently withdrew his spent shaft and pushed Eiren’s hand away, taking

the firm column into his mouth instead. Eiren softly sobbed as he was skillfully sucked,

Ashrian’s steady pace ensuring a likewise steady spiraling of pleasure in his groin.

Feeling the faint pulsing at the base of Eiren’s shaft, Ashrian nigh swallowed it to the

root. With a sharp cry, Eiren bucked up and spilled himself, trembling helplessly as

Ashrian drank him down. He slumped back when he was done spending, groaning softly

as Ashrian released his shaft.

Grinning with satisfaction, Ashrian laid his head on Eiren’s chest. For several

minutes, they lay in companionable silence with only their breathing to be heard. At

length, Ashrian roused himself to change position and nuzzle Eiren’s throat, pressing

kisses and the occasional gentle nip to the tender skin.

“Incorrigible rogue,” Eiren mumbled, his eyes closed and cheeks still faintly flushed.

“Yes,” Ashrian murmured.

He let his lips meander to Eiren’s shoulder, leaving a fresh trail of faint bruises on

his flesh. He kissed his way to Eiren’s chest once more and latched onto a dusky nipple.

Eiren shivered beneath him as he played with the tiny peak, teasing it with his tongue

until it was stiff enough to suck.

“Ash…”

Eiren’s whimpered protest sped up the reawakening of Ashrian’s desire. Tending to

Eiren’s other nipple with the same treatment, he proceeded to fondle his lover’s shaft.

“Have you no pity?” Eiren gasped as he was stroked back to full arousal.

“Nay.” Ashrian reached down between his cousin’s legs.

“Hold.” Eiren moaned when Ashrian fingered him. “I’m too sore. Fetch me that

salve first,” he said, indicating a small jar on the bedside table.

Ashrian shook his head. “I can’t wait,” he said, reaching for the bottle of oil instead.

He swiftly smeared Eiren’s shaft with oil then poised himself atop the rigid flesh.

With practiced ease, he slid down on it, slowly taking Eiren in until his buttocks rested on

Eiren’s groin.

“So impatient,” Eiren commented with a small smirk. He hissed when Ashrian

wriggled atop him, adjusting his position to accommodate Eiren’s girth comfortably.

“You didn’t oil yourself,” he said, gently thrusting upward.

“I didn’t need to,” Ashrian replied, lowering his hips to meet Eiren’s thrusts. “I’ve

had you up my arse with less preparation before.” He threw his head back, relishing the

heady sensation of penetration. “Have me, Ren. It’s been ages since you’ve taken me.”

“That’s because you’re always too quick to mount me.” Eiren caught his breath as

Ashrian took him in to the hilt repeatedly. “Deity’s blood, Ash, it has been too long. I’ve

forgotten how good it feels to be inside you.”

Their eyes met and for a moment tension reigned. To be inside anyone was Eiren’s

unspoken sentiment.

With a sigh, Ashrian leaned down and brushed his lips against Eiren’s. “And I’ve

never known how it feels to be speared—save by you. ”

The tension eased. Eiren pushed himself up and caught Ashrian in a plundering kiss.

When it ended, Ashrian found himself breathless and more aroused than ever. For all his

scholarly mien and reserved manner, Eiren could deliver the most devastating kisses.

Down yonder, Eiren curled his fingers around Ashrian’s shaft as it proudly jutted up

between them and began to caress it with slow, firm strokes.

“Ride me, Ash, ” he now demanded. “Have your fill of me. ”

Ashrian could not disobey him anymore than he could stop breathing. Drawing in

deep breaths in an attempt to control his excitement, Ashrian did as he was bid, thus

precipitating another mutual ascent to the heights of bodily pleasure.

Chapter 3

Folly

C.A. 3007

There was probably no profession more demanding than that of Aisen’s natural-born

physicians. There simply weren’t enough of them.

While any Deir with a strong vocation could and did enter the medical field, there

was no denying the preference for physicians possessed of the healing gifts. This was not

surprising considering such Deira could accurately diagnose an ailment through their

mind’s eye and had powers at their disposal that allowed them to minister to patients with

little to no medical supplies on hand. They were especially invaluable on the field of

battle where potentially fatal injuries had to be tended forthwith and with little more

resources than the unique mental energy healers expended to get a wounded warrior on

the path to recovery.

Eiren discovered the nature and extent of his powers while still a lad, but his parents

had not been eager for him to take up the mantle of a physician. They knew what the

profession entailed and even tried to talk him out of pursuing it. Among other things, they

had reminded him of what it would exact from any relationship he got involved in. The

level of marital discontent among healers, even those not naturally gifted, was one of the

highest, next only to those whose work frequently took them away from their families,

such as itinerant traders, professional mariners, and low-ranked warriors who could not

bring their spouses and children with them when stationed away from home.

But the call of his vocation had proved too loud and strong and Eiren hearkened to it

despite his parents’ reservations. He’d also proceeded well aware that he might wind up a

perpetual bachelor or the guilty party in dissolution proceedings should he be fortunate

enough to wed. What he had not foreseen was his involvement in a relationship that was

neither here nor there.

His liaison with Ashrian was difficult to categorize given that the length and depth of

their association was akin to that of betrothed Deira. They had even gone so far as to

wear matching lovers’ earrings of silver adorned with the gem of passion known as

heartsfire. The extent of their commitment to each other was highly suspect however. At

least, it was suspect on Ashrian’s part. As far as Eiren was concerned, the younger

Mithani brother was the one for him, and he was only waiting for Ashrian to decide

likewise.

* * * *

The monsoon seasons seemed to always usher in an increase in ailments thanks to

the wet, sometimes stormy conditions. The inclement weather also precipitated many an

accident due to slippery roads or flash floods in low-lying areas. And the summer

monsoon was no less inundated with rains than the spring. Thus, the hospitals and

dispensaries of Rikara were oft beset by a constant flow of Deira in need of medical care.

That in turn ensured that the capital’s healers and their aides would see little of their

homes save for a night’s sleep. It followed that their spouses and children if any braced

themselves for short and sporadic periods spent in their company.

For this reason, Eiren did not expect to find Ashrian awaiting him outside his

consultation room at the Rikara Public Hospital the afternoon before his lover’s begetting

day. They had already agreed to spend the following day together. Ashrian also knew

Eiren planned to take on other physicians’ rounds at the hospital and the Hospitallers’

health center so they could cover for him in turn tomorrow.

After greeting Ashrian, he entered the room and pulled off his physician’s smock,

which he hung on a hook by his door.

Following him in, Ashrian smirked. “You shouldn’t do that in front of me, Ren. At

least, not when we’re alone.”

“Shouldn’t do what?”

“Take something off.”

Eiren rolled his eyes. “You are a single-minded lech, do you realize that?”

“And proud of it,” Ashrian drawled. He suddenly shut the door and pinned Eiren

against it.

“Are you mad?” Eiren managed to gasp just as Ashrian kissed him into

speechlessness.

Ignoring his protest, Ashrian molded their bodies together, allowing Eiren to feel the

extent of his arousal. With an effort, Eiren freed himself and backed away, raising both

hands to ward off his amorous lover

“Control yourself, Ash,” he shakily ordered. “This is no place to indulge your

lamentable lack of restraint.”

Ashrian laughed and stepped backed. “Don’t worry, I only wanted you to know

what’s in store for us tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Aba and Adda have gone back to Glanthar. And just so you don’t worry about

having to keep your voice down—though really, I don’t see why you’re still so shy about

it when he’s so used to us and just ignores whatever he hears—but in any case, I already

asked Aeldan to spend the night at our cousin Halbreth’s house.”

Eiren felt his cheeks warm up at Ashrian’s nonchalant assessment of his brother’s

manner of dealing with their couplings. To distract himself from his embarrassment, he

latched onto Ashrian’s mention of a long-absent relation.

“Halbreth? The one who owns an estate in South Vihandra?”

“That one.”

“Is he back for good?”

“Who knows? Halbreth’s more of a free spirit than I am. But to get back to what I’ve

planned for us—we’ll have dinner together, just the two of us. Perhaps take a stroll

afterward to whet our appetites for the best part of the meal.” He wagged his eyebrows

suggestively at Eiren. “And then you and I can greet my begetting day as it comes—

together.”

“But I have…”

“It would mean so much to me to wake up tomorrow with you beside me,” Ashrian

finished with a grin. “Especially if we start the day with a nice morning tumble.”

Eiren sighed. “That sounds wonderful. But I can’t accept. I took on the duties of

another physician here so that he could take over mine tomorrow. And since he has two

patients who may birth anytime today, I have no idea when I’ll be able to leave.”

“So call off your arrangement.”

“I can’t do that. He rearranged his schedule to accommodate mine. Besides, I’m the

one who requested the change. I can’t renege on it on such short notice.”

Ashrian’s cheerful expression had given way to displeased frown. “Were this any

other occasion, I wouldn’t mind, Ren. Well, not too much.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” Eiren said. “I’ve informed everyone that I won’t be

available tomorrow. We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“Ha! Knowing you, something will call you away in the middle of everything,”

Ashrian said with a disbelieving snort. “Holy saints, is it too much to ask that you spend

this one night with me? Not that it will stop you from having your butler hand over my

address to every patient who seeks your services, but if we’re lucky, the exclusivity of the

street could prove a deterrent.”

“If the problem is severe enough, I doubt it. Look, Ash, I make myself accessible

because it’s my duty. My profession. I swore an oath, for Veres’s sake.”

“But I didn’t!”

Eiren felt a cold shiver shimmy its way up his spine. “I’m very aware of that,” he

said as evenly as he could. “You don’t know how often I lie awake at night wondering

when you’ll decide you’ve had enough.”

Ashrian seemed to realize the effect of his words for he shook his head and, taking

Eiren’s hands in his, said, “I’m sorry. I hope you know that wasn’t a threat. It’s only

that…” He huffed in frustration. “Please, just this once, I would like to be at the top of

your list.”

“This once?” Eiren huffed an incredulous laugh. “Heyas, you’re at the top more

often than you should be. Haven’t you noticed?”

“That was true at the beginning of our affair. But not these past three years or so.”

“Things happen and not always when we wish them to,” Eiren pointed out. “Folk get

sick or hurt or have difficulty birthing. Would you have me turn away or ignore someone

in dire need?”

“If you were the only healer within reach, nay. But you aren’t, Ren! There are many

physicians in Rikara. You don’t have to treat every patient who comes to you.”

“And I don’t. But you aren’t with me the whole day. You don’t see me turn away

people.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve spent enough nights with you to know you rarely if ever refuse

someone who comes to your door. Or even mine!”

“A Deir who would take the trouble to go out and look for a physician in the dead of

the night is likely to have a serious ailment or injury that needs immediate care.”

“Thus do you leave my side without a second thought to tend to every dunce who

comes a-knocking and complains of a bellyache or a sprain!”

Eiren looked pointedly at Ashrian. “So Reijir was just an idiot when he brought

Naeth here that night? And Naeth’s abdominal injuries were nothing more than an upset

stomach?”

Ashrian abruptly released Eiren’s hands at the reminder of Reijir Arthanna’s

nocturnal visit a year back, bringing a severely battered sedyran youth to Eiren for

treatment. The aforementioned sedyr was now Reijir’s ward and one not only the Herun

and his brother Keiran were very fond of, but also a number of the Essendri cousins

including Ashrian himself. Ashrian scowled in obvious resentment at being put in so

unfavorable a light.

“That’s beside the point,” he retorted. “And it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t

place limits on your availability as a healer.”

Eiren sighed. “I was born with a rare gift. The least I can do is use it for the right

reasons. And it also gives me a sense of purpose. I can be a productive member of society

and not an idle puss with nothing more to his name than kinship to Rohyr Essendri.”

He stopped abruptly when Ashrian turned an unbecoming, mottled red. What did I

say to merit that reaction? Eiren wondered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on Ashrian’s shoulder.

But Ashrian brusquely shrugged his hand off and bitterly said, “Yes, of course. It’s

far more important to do something productive than waste time rutting with some ne’er-

do-well whose only claim to distinction is his blood connection to the highest house in

the land.”

Eiren stared at him nonplussed. “What? I didn’t say that!” he gasped. “And I don’t

think you’re a…”

“Never you mind, O master healer,” Ashrian sneered. “I completely understand.

Indeed, I’ll leave you to your duties and see if I have any of my own to tend to.”

He turned and rapidly strode away.

“Ash, wait!”

Shocked by Ashrian’s unexpected vitriol, Eiren started to go after him. But his

current apprentice chose that moment to approach him and beg for help in tending Deira

who had figured in an ugly collision between a runaway passenger coach and a cart

transporting goods from the south. Eiren wavered for a moment, torn between his desire

to set things right with Ashrian and his duty to extend help to the injured. With a resigned

sigh, he followed the apprentice to the emergency ward, taking one last anxious look at

the receding figure of his lover.

* * * *

In hindsight, it was probably not the wisest course of action to head for a tavern

when he was still stewing over his tiff with Eiren. It was especially foolhardy considering

his past tendency to console himself with a warm body and nice arse selected from fellow

patrons of whichever establishment he’d chosen to drink away his resentment in. But

Ashrian was in no mood to be reflective or sensible.

He made his way to one of his favorite taverns. It was in the east district and

therefore was patronized by a better class of folk than could ever be found in the south

district. It was quite common to come across friends and acquaintances at the Silver

Boar—even Rohyr used to frequent the public house when he was not yet so steeped in

the business of running a kingdom.

The Silver Boar’s owner knew him and hastened to serve him the dark nutty ale he

favored almost as soon as he settle himself at one corner of the long wooden counter

whence various libations were dispensed. The Deir also persuaded Ashrian to have a

bowl of the hearty swylboar stew the house was known for.

As he dipped a piece of crusty bread into the stew, Ashrian sourly mused about his

dashed plans for the night. He popped the bread into his mouth and morosely chewed it.

He already knew the stew was delicious, but this was not exactly the dinner he’d

envisioned for the eve of his begetting day.

He thought of the elegant meal he’d planned complete with the finest wines from the

family cellar and the number of foodstuffs guaranteed to stoke the libido. He smiled as he

imagined Eiren’s spurious outrage when he recognized the aphrodisiacs seeded

throughout the dishes. His smile slowly faded.

There would be no dinner with Eiren. Hence, there would be no endearing reactions

from his lover.

He sullenly consumed the stew though his appetite had gone the way of his good

cheer. His ire notwithstanding, the food was flavorsome and he did not want to dishearten

the tavern owner who took so much pride in his establishment’s offerings. After a

moment’s indecision, he ordered more of the excellent ale, his liking for it overriding

prudence.

After finishing his meal, he looked around the crowded room and soon spotted a

slight acquaintance seated at a nearby table. Time to look for convivial company, he

decided. It was tedious drinking by one’s self.

But just as he was about to rise, someone suddenly stood before him and blocked his

way. He looked up, a curt “stand aside” ready to spill from his lips.

“It’s Ashrian- dyhar, isn’t it?”

Ashrian nearly chided the stranger for his presumption in addressing him by his birth

name. But the latter’s face suddenly seemed familiar. He peered at the Deir and then

nodded in recognition.

“It’s been a while, Ilian Qiraz.”

Ilian’s eyes danced. “You remember me,” he said with delight.

“I remember the freckles,” Ashrian mildly retorted.

Eiren’s stepbrother ruefully rubbed a finger over the faint sprinkling on his cheek.

“Just the freckles?” he said with a pout.

Ashrian faintly smiled. “Well, you’ve grown some since I last saw you. I do recall

your hair. It doesn’t seem as curly as before.”

Ilian laughed. “It straightened a bit with the years, thank Veres. May I join you?”

The abrupt request took Ashrian aback. But Ilian was looking at him expectantly and

he was family by affinity however distant. Ashrian gave in and indicated the stool beside

him.

“I’m surprised to see you here alone,” Ilian commented after ordering ale.

“Why?”

“Your begetting day is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Ashrian stared at him in surprise. “How did you know that? Did Eiren tell you?”

“Eiren?” Ilian snorted. “We don’t talk, you know that. Or rather he doesn’t talk to

me if he can help it.”

“Well, considering how you tease him ragged when you do talk, can you blame

him?” Ashrian pointed out. “But how do you know about tomorrow and what’s surprising

about my being alone tonight?”

“The last time we met four years ago was on your begetting day,” Ilian said with a

smug grin. “Remember? We bumped into each other in the public market. If I recall

correctly, Eiren was buying medicinal plants and herbs and you were complaining that

you hadn’t planned to spend the day helping him make potions and poultices.”

“You have quite a memory,” Ashrian remarked, impressed despite himself.

“Only for important things,” Ilian replied with a suggestive glint in his eyes.

“Furthermore, you’d obviously spent the night before together.”

“What made you think we did?”

“I gathered that from his mention of having to go home and change into fresh clothes

… at five bells in the morning.”

Ashrian regarded him with more respect. “Observant, too.”

Ilian shrugged. “I have to make up for Eiren’s lapses. He can be so oblivious when

he’s focused on his work.”

Unable to refute the statement, Ashrian asked, “So, when did you arrive in Rikara?”

He vaguely recalled that Dirion Sarvan tir Qiraz and his son hailed from a

neighboring fief and had moved back to their hometown upon the death of Aloir Sarvan a

few years ago. The same year of the public market encounter, he realized. Small wonder

he had not seen Ilian in all this time.

“Well, as you probably know, Adda and I came back a month ago to conclude the

sale of his properties in Rikara.”

“Nay, I didn’t know.”

“Eiren didn’t tell you?”

“Should he have?”

Ilian shook his head. “I suppose he’s never forgiven me for taking so many of his

prospects away from him. You were the exception.”

With the turn the conversation threatened to take, Ashrian should have disengaged

himself then. But Ilian was more talkative than Eiren and given to many witty if salty

turns of the tongue. He would certainly keep up with the Essendris so far as bawdy talk

was concerned. Consequently, Ashrian found that he enjoyed the latter’s company very

much.

He had never exchanged much more than greetings and the occasional small talk

with Ilian. Eiren’s aversion to his stepbrother was nigh legendary among the Essendri

cousins.

As Ilian himself had mentioned earlier, he’d displayed a lamentable tendency to flirt

with anyone Eiren appeared to be interested in and would go so far as to get them into his

bed if they seemed serious about pursuing a relationship with the healer. He’d succeeded,

too, if the declining number of Eiren’s would-be lovers during those years were any

indication. Ashrian alone had evaded his attempts at seduction but he suspected that was

largely due to lack of extensive contact with Ilian. After all, no one in their circle cared to

offend or hurt Eiren by keeping company however casual with a Deir he disliked.

As if poaching on his stepbrother’s territory were not enough, Ilian had also enjoyed

uttering jests at Eiren’s expense or goading him to exasperation that verged on anger.

And the younger Deir’s choice of subject to tease Eiren with had oft hinged on the latter’s

devotion to his profession. Ashrian suffered a mild twinge of guilt as he inwardly

admitted that he had not minded those jibes too much because he was less than enamored

with Eiren’s diligence himself. Irritated by the faint encroachment of his conscience, he

shoved the feeling aside and focused his attention on his companion.

Ilian was still no match for Eiren in appearance or stature. Few were outside of

House Essendri. But he was comely enough with his sandy hair, powder blue eyes and

lightly freckled skin. He was well-knit in body as well, his finely hewed limbs and sleek

form making up for his lack of height. Furthermore, he was just the type of Deir Ashrian

was inclined to bring to his bed when Eiren was not in it. Had once been inclined, he

sharply reminded himself.

“I saw the Ardis yesterday morning,” Ilian said as they started on their fifth round of

drinks. “He visited the seminary of the Order of Saint Javin.”

“Which is by far the richest order in Rikara,” Ashrian commented with ill-concealed

sarcasm. “Why am I not surprised?”

At present, a significant percentage of the Javinian membership comprised younger

sons of many of the wealthiest families of the land. Consequently, these families made

large donations to the order to ensure their scions were comfortably housed and fed.

Ashrian did not approve of the order’s current Superior General’s efforts to woo monks

and priests from the ranks of the affluent and powerful. And he did not appreciate the

new royal consort’s preferred patronage of institutions that were so obviously not in need

of assistance.

Ilian stared at him with great interest. “You don’t approve of Tyrde Essendri?”

Ashrian frowned at the coupling of his House name with the former Tyrde Kardova

of Anju. “I don’t know him enough to pass judgment on anything he does,” he cautiously

replied.

“But he’s kin to you and Rohyr’s first-degree cousin to boot.”

“And it had been ages since Tyrde last came to court. Even Rohyr knew very little

about him when they wed. I wager he still hasn’t learned much more.”

“Why not?”

Ashrian only shrugged. He was not about to reveal his misgivings about Rohyr’s

marriage of coercion barely two months ago to the youngest son of their snooty Uncle

Imcael. Shared with the majority of his Essendri relations, those misgivings had been

further stoked by Rohyr’s refusal to wed his consort in a fane ceremony, opting to

handfast with him instead. It was so telling for Rohyr to insist on the one Deiran conjugal

union that could be dissolved by law given just cause.

When he declined to be more forthcoming, Ilian blithely opined, “He’s very comely I

must say. Almost as comely as Rohyr’s leman. Who do you think warms his bed more

efficiently—the Ardis or Lassen Idana?”

“Nosy, aren’t you?” Ashrian commented with chuckle.

“Nay, just curious about that state of affairs.” Ilian smirked. “Not that I’d complain

were I serviced regularly by two bedmates of such peerless beauty! Ha, surely you’re not

scandalized. You have quite the reputation yourself, I hear.”

Ashrian rolled his eyes. “But I’m discreet enough to keep my prurient fantasies to

myself. And I’m no tell-all for all that I’ve learned enough to make a decent living off

blackmail.”

Ilian laughed out loud. “I like that!” he exclaimed. “You have no compunction about

owning your misdeeds. Would you mind very much if I followed in your footsteps? I

promise to be prudent and highly selective a well.”

He suddenly laid a hand on Ashrian’s thigh and lightly squeezed it, his eyes and

mouth promising a satisfying night if Ashrian chose to accept his overture. Ashrian

stifled a groan as his body responded to the latter’s touch. With a tight smile, he pushed

Ilian’s hand away.

Saints, it had been almost three weeks since he and Eiren had last coupled. Small

wonder he was so sensitive. After all, he’d never been one to deny the needs of his libido.

It was only because of his promise to Eiren not to stray again that his ventures between

the sheets for some years now had grown infrequent. The thought brought on a renewed

surge of irritation at his lover.

That damn schedule of his! And frequently putting his patients before Ashrian to the

extent of interrupting coitus to tend to some emergency case. Why, he’d even taken to

letting his butler inform folk when he would be staying over at the Mithani house!

Ashrian grimaced when he recalled having to forego an early night tumble just

because some fool of a Deir had been stupid enough to think the pain in his belly a

recurrence of a tumor Eiren had taken out a year back. Turned out it had been a simple

upset stomach brought on by too much food and drink at a party. Aeldan had been highly

amused by the incident. Ashrian had not and shown his displeasure by stomping out of

the house and staying over at their cousin Rysander’s home instead.

But then Eiren had been profusely apologetic when he located Ashrian the following

day and shown his regret most vigorously afterward. Ashrian had not been able to walk

straight for three days as much from the soreness of his overindulged shaft as from the

ache in his well-used backside. That was part of Eiren’s charm of course. How could

anyone deny him forgiveness when he went out of his way to make amends for his

transgressions, even the minor ones?

However, that charm had been in scarce supply these past many months, not to

mention Eiren’s intimate attentions. Ashrian scowled again as he recalled why he was

likely to greet his begetting day alone. Despite having imbibed enough ale to lower his

inhibitions to virtually nothing, he ordered brandies for Ilian and himself.

Ilian sipped the fine libation and gave an appreciative moan. The sound played on

Ashrian’s heightened sensitivity to stimulus and he considered his companion once more.

Why not? He was pretty and available and oh so willing. And if his intentions were

not so noble, well neither were Ashrian’s. So, yes, why not?

He carelessly tossed back the remainder of his brandy, the burn of it down his throat

alike to the enflaming of his lust.

“Well then, whither should we go?” he abruptly inquired.

Ilian looked at him in surprise. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I am now. But I can change my mind quite easily if you don’t make yours up in a

hurry.”

That was enough to spur Ilian and he quickly said, “I’d ask you to my house if you

don’t mind being overheard by Adda.”

Ashrian grimaced. With strangers, it did not matter if others were about. But Ashrian

did know Dirion Sarvan though he had only met Ilian’s birthing father perhaps thrice in

the years since he wed Eiren’s late sire. If the Deir turned out to be of a conservative or

overprotective bent, he would likely hover and that would dampen Ashrian’s ardor to a

degree. Not to mention make it awkward when they met in public considering Ilian’s

father probably knew about Ashrian’s affair with Eiren. Theirs was no secret affair after

all.

That tinge of unease over a potential impropriety should have warned him not to

proceed. But Ashrian’s resentment aided by the less than savory influence of too much

drink proved the greater force and he brushed aside his conscience. He wanted to pound

someone into the mattress tonight and, by Veres, he would!

“Mine then,” he said, rising to his feet.

He headed for the door, taking for granted Ilian would follow him. His conscience

made a last stab at deterring him, reminding him that Eiren had promised to spend the

following day with him. Ashrian hesitated for a heartbeat and then continued on his way

to the stable across the street.

I’ll believe it when he actually does it.

* * * *

Ashrian savored the lingering haze of his release as he rolled on his back on the

rumpled sheets of his bed. It was always a pleasure to bed an experienced and skillful

partner. He did not have to expend effort in teaching the other what to do and thus could

just let go and enjoy himself. Ilian had proved experienced and skillful, even more so

than Eiren.

The thought of his lover fetched him yet another pang of guilt but he determinedly

shunted it aside. Had Eiren made himself available tonight, Ashrian would have been

more than contented. Why shouldn’t I see to my needs? If Eiren chose to put his patients

and colleagues first, he’d better not be surprised if Ashrian looked elsewhere for

company. A tiny portion of his mind chided him for this injustice toward Eiren, but aided

by drink and the pleasure he’d just had of the Deir at his side, Ashrian shoved the

chastisements of his conscience into the recesses of his mind.

He started when Ilian suddenly molded himself against his side, smoothing his hand

down Ashrian’s chest to his groin. But Ilian did not stop there and Ashrian frowned when

he felt Ilian’s fingers wander down between his legs past his shaft. Ashrian firmly

stopped their southward progress.

“I won’t yield to you,” he said.

Ilian stared at him then huffed a disbelieving chuckle. “That’s not fair,” he protested.

“I let you take me.”

Ashrian shook his head. “I have limitations that you don’t.”

That earned him a pout. “Because you’re nobility and I’m not?” When Ashrian

simply dipped his chin, Ilian sighed. “So I rut against you, is that it?”

Ashrian snorted and turned over on his elbows and knees. “Be glad I’m allowing you

that liberty. Others wouldn’t bother.”

He tensed a little when he felt Ilian’s shaft against the cleft of his buttocks. But save

for an initial shallow probe, Ilian did not persist in trying to penetrate him. He relaxed as

the younger Deir shifted lower to slide his shaft high between Ashrian’s thighs. Ashrian

adjusted his position and brought his thighs together to make a snug fit for Ilian’s

member as the latter thrust against him. He reached for his own shaft, stroking it in time

to Ilian’s lunges.

“You’ve never yielded?” Ilian softly asked. “Not even to Eiren?”

Ashrian glanced at him over his shoulder. Ilian looked honestly curious.

“That’s none of your business,” Ashrian said.

Ilian smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, does he please you well? Is his girth good

enough?”

Ashrian could not help being protective of his lover’s reputation. “More than good

enough,” he shot back.

“Really? Then why do you seek other beds?” Ilian mildly taunted.

Ashrian looked back at him, glaring. “Do you want to leave here unspent?” he

growled.

“Veres forbid!” Ilian replied. But then he added, “I suppose you wouldn’t have

called out his name if he didn’t satisfy you.”

That startled Ashrian enough that he could only say, “I did?”

“Call out his name? Quite loudly, I hate to admit. Do you do that with all your

partners?”

Ashrian could not help wondering if that was indeed the case. Refusing to look at

Ilian again, he impatiently said, “You’re ruining my mood. Get on with it.”

Ilian laughed once more but did not press further. Instead, he leaned down and

reached around Ashrian’s hip to take his faltering shaft in hand.

“I won’t have you say I didn’t satisfy you,” he teased. “A pity though that you won’t

get to taste my steel. I’m sure it would more than match my brother’s!”

“I told you…” Ashrian began to snap.

But Ilian quickened his strokes, heightening the sensations in Ashrian’s shaft and

groin, leaving him too breathless to say more. He gave himself over to Ilian’s

ministrations and allowed himself to be swept along with the mounting pleasure.

Chapter 4

Undoing

The sun shone comfortably warm and cheerfully bright the following morning in

stark contrast to Ashrian’s mood. The first things he’d noticed when he opened his eyes

were the disarray of his bed and the scent of seed clinging to the sheets. It was enough to

completely jolt him awake and all but upend his stomach. He dashed to the bathing

chamber, certain he was about to heave the contents of his suddenly unruly belly. But

despite the nigh violent bout of retching, he did not vomit anything beyond a sour

mouth’s worth of digested food.

The sick sensations did not vanish, however. He willed the bile in his throat to go

down as he finished dressing. Perhaps he should not have had that glass of brandy on top

of the ale he’d consumed throughout dinner. The weak excuse served to upset his

stomach further.

Shame finally overcame him when Ilian spilled himself last night, thickly smearing

Ashrian’s thighs and adding to the mess of Ashrian’s own spending on the no longer

pristine sheets. The sight and scent of their mingled seed shocked Ashrian enough to

clear his head and awaken that inner voice he more often than not ignored when

indulging in misadventures.

He gritted his teeth in reluctant admission of the truth. His nausea had naught to do

with the state of his innards and everything to do with the turmoil in his mind. Not to

mention the guilt that weighed on his conscience like a ton of rubble now that alcohol and

righteous indignation no longer held sway. He would not have jerked away from Ilian

otherwise when the latter tried to snuggle up against him nor would he have sent the

younger Deir home despite the lateness of the hour accompanied by a curt behest never to

speak of their encounter to anyone.

Ilian had snickered at what he’d obviously deemed a belated stab at discretion, but

when Ashrian reiterated his order with little of his earlier civility in evidence, Ilian

naturally turned aggrieved. Nonetheless, he had grudgingly promised to keep the tryst a

secret. Ashrian could only hope Ilian was a Deir of his word.

He avoided looking at his bed as he passed it on the way to the door.

The trip to Eiren’s home seemed too quick as he struggled to put together a plausible

reason for his angry departure from the hospital last night or his failure to send a note of

explanation and apology to Eiren early this morn. Ashrian swallowed the curdled taste

reemerging in the back of his throat.

Eiren would suspect he’d cheated on him again. He’d come to know Ashrian very

well in the course of their affair and of late it seemed Eiren could tell when Ashrian had

strayed even when Ashrian shielded his thoughts from him.

He sighed again. Did his guilt show so readily on his face? Or resound in his voice?

Ashrian did not know but of one thing he was certain—never had he known such

stomach-roiling guilt as he did now.

Of all the Deira to cuckold Eiren with, why had he chosen Ilian? What had he been

thinking? Or rather he had not been thinking else he would not have responded to Ilian’s

overtures, much less taken him home to do the deed. He cringed as he was reminded all

over again of just where he had broken faith with Eiren. Saints above, Eiren had better

not learn the identity of Ashrian’s latest partner in crime. He tried to recall whether his

warning to Ilian to keep silent had been forceful enough.

To his surprise, Eiren was not home. He arrived in the wee hours of the morning, his

butler said, and in the worst temper he’d ever seen his master in. He’d also obviously

been drinking so perhaps that accounted for his mood. Eiren seldom indulged in heavier

drink than a glass or two of liquor. Yet barely an hour later, he’d set out once more. The

butler had no idea where he was headed for it was supposed to be a rest day for him. So

he could celebrate Ashrian’s begetting day with him in leisure, he’d previously

announced.

Ashrian winced at the recollection of Eiren’s plan to spend the day in his company.

Now that he looked back at the whole fiasco in the cold light of day, Ashrian had to

admit it was no fault of Eiren’s that he’d been forced to decline his invitation.

Eiren had taken on a good many more hours of duty at the hospital so that he could

keep Ashrian’s begetting day free. He could not have foreseen Ashrian’s sudden decision

to ask him to an intimate dinner and a night of pleasure. Ashrian groaned as yet another

fault slid onto the pile of guilt that already crushed him under its figurative weight.

He wondered where to look for his lover and then decided the best thing to do would

be to stay put. He had no idea where Eiren might have taken himself off to, but Eiren

would know to look for him at the townhouse. After all, that was where he’d said he

would meet Ashrian in the morning.

* * * *

Eiren showed up at the townhouse right after midday, just as Ashrian finished his

solitary lunch and the brightness outside suddenly dimmed. A quick glance out a dining

hall window revealed low-lying, gray clouds. The distinctive scent of oncoming rain was

strong in the air, as was the enervating humidity that was part and parcel of the season.

He welcomed Eiren in the blue sitting room, wondering a bit why his lover had not

gone directly to Ashrian’s suite, as was his habit. When he neared Eiren, the physician

rose to his feet. Ashrian took that as leave to greet him with their customary kiss and hug.

But while Eiren allowed the embrace, he broke their kiss so abruptly it appeared he did

not relish it. Ashrian gazed at him searchingly.

“If you’re angry about my little snit last night…” he tentatively ventured.

He tensed when Eiren slipped out of his arms, tersely saying, “I’m used to worse

from you.”

That stung, Ashrian had to admit, and it also worried him. He regarded Eiren

uncertainly. “I went to your house this morning. Your butler said you came home very

late and in quite a temper.”

“Understandable considering what I’d been put through,” Eiren snapped.

Ashrian stared at him. “Put through? At the hospital?”

“I’ve been asked to head a medical mission to Camara,” Eiren abruptly replied. “The

state hospital in the lowlands is adequately staffed but they lack training in the latest

methods of healing and medicaments.”

Caught by surprise, Ashrian took a moment or two to collect his thoughts. “That

backwater province? That’s no simple endeavor,” he remarked. “Small wonder you were

in a foul mood.” When Eiren did not deny or confirm the assertion, Ashrian added, “And

if you accept, how long do you think will you stay there?”

“Half a year at the very least. Perhaps longer.”

“Away from Rikara? You had best think it over well.”

“I have. Indeed, I spent the morning forming a team and making arrangements for

the move to Camara.”

“You mean you already accepted?” Ashrian said.

Eiren nodded. “I leave today, right after this visit. My team will follow tomorrow.”

Ashrian gaped in shock and not a little umbrage. “What! Why so sudden?” he

exclaimed. “And why didn’t you consult me first? You always consult me about

everything, Ren.”

“I planned to last night, but you were busy with Ilian,” Eiren venomously retorted.

Ashrian felt his face drain of blood. “Last night?” he repeated. “What do you mean I

was busy?”

“I finished up at the hospital as fast as I could then rushed here to join you,” Eiren

said, his voice, little more than a harsh whisper. “Spend the night at least.”

Ashrian flinched in apprehension as Eiren continued.

“I let myself in and went straight to your room. But when I entered your suite, I

sensed you weren’t alone. Worse, I heard the strangest of sounds from your bedroom. Or

perhaps not so strange, knowing you,” he sadly added. “Still, I couldn’t believe my ears

so I went and took a peek.” He barreled on, ignoring Ashrian’s increasingly horrified

expression. “And lo, there you were with my esteemed brother taking his pleasure of you.

On the bed I’d always thought only I had ever been invited to share.”

“Sweet Veres…”

“Needless to say, I didn’t linger lest I witnessed him spilling himself where I’d

believed was the only part of you still mine alone, ignorant, trusting fool that I am.”

“Nay, you misundersta…”

“It’s bad enough sensing you in the throes of ecstasy whilst in someone else’s arms,”

Eiren angrily cut in. “But this was by far the most ghastly for I was right outside your

room and everything came through to me stronger than I have ever experienced.”

Ashrian caught his breath. “Is that how…?”

“I’ve known when you cheated on me.” Eiren’s eyes were bleaker than the granite

peaks of the northern Sag Habron Mountains. “I told myself it was wrong to spy on you,

but I couldn’t stop myself from opening a channel between us whenever we were apart.

Call me a fool but I had to know if you were tupping someone else on the side. Then this

past year, you surprised me. You sought no one else’s bed but mine. It seemed you’d

reformed. And indeed I believed you had. Until last night.”

He suddenly glared at Ashrian, eyes blazing with fury and pain. “Veres almighty, I

shouldn’t have looked! I should have left as soon as I realized what you were about! I

might have been able to forgive you if I hadn’t seen. But to actually witness you coupling

with someone else is painful beyond belief. I won’t forget! Not ever.”

His voice broke on his last words. Ashrian grabbed him by the arms and tried to pull

him closer but Eiren stiffened and refused to budge.

“I’m so sorry, Ren,” Ashrian said.

“No doubt you are,” Eiren replied. “Nevertheless, it’s time we part ways.”

Ashrian gasped. “Holy saints, are you threatening to leave me?”

Eiren snorted. “It’s you who left me long ago. But I loved you so much I refused to

see that. I refused to admit that you didn’t care as much for me.”

“That isn’t true! I do care for you!”

“And I’m supposed to believe that when you couldn’t refrain from sharing yourself

with others?”

“It won’t happen again, I swear!” Ashrian desperately promised.

“Empty words. You said that the last time I found you out only to break it again this

very day. And with the one Deir you know I detest the most.”

Ashrian clutched Eiren’s arms. “There’s no excuse for that. It was utterly

reprehensible of me. But I assure you I will no longer seek others. I’ll be true to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Eiren said.

He pulled away and headed for the door. Ashrian went after him, trying to catch him

by the arm.

“Ren, please…”

But Eiren shook his head and yanked his arm free. “I’m tired, Ash. Tired of making

excuses for you. Tired of pretending that we have a relationship worth saving. And I’m

heartily tired of seeing the knowing looks cast my way, mocking me, telling me that

others know my lover as well as I do!” Ashrian sucked in his breath at the implications of

that statement. Meanwhile, Eiren paused, his eyes so sorrowful, it smote Ashrian to the

core. “Nay, not my lover,” he murmured. “You were no better than everyone’s favorite

hethar. Well, no more. No more.”

“Deity’s blood…” Ashrian said through gritted teeth, the pain of Eiren’s accusation

like a searing brand on his soul.

“I love you, Ash,” Eiren declared almost wearily. “I always will. But I can’t live with

your faithlessness any longer.”

The physician opened the door but then stopped and turned around. Ashrian stared in

horror as he removed the lover’s earring from his left ear. Eiren briefly gazed at the

heartsfire-adorned piece and sighed.

“Here,” he said, carelessly flinging the earring in Ashrian’s face. Startled, Ashrian

instinctively dodged it, nearly stumbling as he did. The earring dropped to the floor

behind him. “Mayhap some deluded soul will enjoy being your lover,” Eiren mocked as

he slipped out the door. “Or at least the pretense of it.”

Ashrian recovered his footing, whirled, snatched up the earring, and then dashed

after Eiren. He hurried down the stairs and raced to the front door. He exited the house in

time to see the back of Eiren’s steed as it bore the physician away.

“Ren!” he screamed after his departing lover. But Eiren did not look back.

The air before him moved and shimmered, and suddenly formed into a circle of

coruscating light. Bystanders stared in awe as a translocation portal blossomed in the

middle of the street, a rare sight for it was usually forbidden to generate these transient

corridors within city limits. The only exceptions to this rule were the exceptionally gifted

adepts who exercised firm and precise control of their powers.

Without a backward glance, Eiren urged his steed toward the portal. Rider and mount

vanished into its hazy interior in a blink of an eye. As suddenly as it had opened, the

portal closed, all light and movement snuffed so utterly, the experience left those who

had never seen one before blinking in astonishment and wondering if they had imagined

the whole thing.

Ashrian stood forlornly in the middle of the street, his chest heaving. He ignored the

curious stares cast his way. A cold drop hit his cheek followed by several more. The folk

around him scattered as more rain threatened to fall. When the steady shower

strengthened to a heavy drizzle, Ashrian returned to the house.

Not that he felt any better within. Eiren had left, perhaps never to grace the Mithanis’

home with his presence again. Or balm Ashrian’s aching heart as he experienced grief for

the first time in his till now recklessly lived life.

* * * *

Aeldan stared in disbelief at the ruins of his brother’s bedchamber. The costly drapes

had either been shredded in place or violently yanked right off the curtain rails, some of

which hung askew. The reading chair was nigh separated into parts while its small side

table lay on its side, the books it had supported scattered on the floor. They lay cheek by

jowl with the tattered remains of the pillows and beddings. The bed had sustained the

worse damage of all.

Its head and footboards were scored or gashed in several places, their intricate

carvings marred beyond recall. The canopy lay in a grotesque rust-hued heap on the bed,

the diaphanous curtains that had once hung from it barely concealing the gaping holes in

the mattress, which had apparently borne the most abuse. Its feather stuffing littered the

floor like the grisly aftermath of slaughtered fowl newly plucked.

In the midst of the wreckage and the primary reason the Mithani head butler had

hastily summoned Aeldan home huddled the instigator of the mayhem.

Ashrian sat against the foot of the battered bed, his eyes red-rimmed and the tear

tracks on his cheeks visible against the dust on his skin. He rested one arm on an upraised

knee, his fist half clenched around something he could not take his eyes off. Aeldan knelt

before him and gently turned his hand over.

He drew in his breath sharply when he saw a silver elliptical earring with a deep red

gem in its center. A quick glance at his brother’s bedecked left ear told Aeldan the jewel

was not his.

“Is this Eiren’s?” he softly asked.

Ashrian nodded listlessly. A shaky sigh escaped his lips and his eyes glistened.

Aeldan pursed his lips. He could guess what had led his brother to this pass. Though

the servants had cleaned the chamber and made the bed, thanks to the continued

downpour, they had not opened the windows. The distinct aroma of spent passion still

faintly lingered in the room. Ashrian had obviously spent the night soiling the sheets.

And with the wrong Deir no doubt. He grabbed Ashrian’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Let’s go to my rooms, Ash,” he said. “The servants will have enough to talk about

just clearing up this mess without also eavesdropping on us.”

Ashrian huffed a strangled laugh. “Nay, I want everything in this damn room

burned.” He looked around the chamber with loathing. “I’m not staying here, Dan. Not

ever again. Not after I…” He broke off, a shudder visibly running through his tall frame.

Aeldan stared at him. The apartment had been his brother’s since the day he was old

enough to move out of the nursery. Ashrian had always treated it as his sanctuary and

only those closest to him had ever been permitted to spend time with him within its

confines. He apprehensively led Ashrian out of the chamber into the sitting room where

the butler and several servants waited.

“Destroy all the furniture,” he ordered them. “Then move his belongings to the

rooms on the other side of mine.”

He did not wait for any reactions but ushered Ashrian to his apartment. Once inside,

he settled his brother on the sitting room couch fronting the hearth and sat down beside

him.

“Tell me what happened.”

Ashrian reluctantly recounted what had driven him to violence. Several minutes and

many a stop and restart later as he struggled against fresh bouts of tears, Aeldan knew the

full story. He stayed silent for a good while, not quite able to comprehend the extent of

Ashrian’s foolishness or stomach his revulsion at such sordid dealings.

“Why?” he asked at length, baffled by the whole situation.

Ashrian shrugged then said, “What does it matter? I drove him away with my

stupidity. That’s all that counts.”

“Nay. You must reflect on your motives,” Aeldan urged. “Else you’ll only repeat this

mistake again and again.”

“Repeat with whom?” Ashrian countered. “I’ve lost him. He’s the only one who

loved me enough to be hurt by my faithlessness.”

“So you’ll just let him go without a struggle,” Aeldan commented. “And here I

thought you cared for him.”

“I do!” Ashrian glared at him. “He’s my life! My very soul!”

“Wonders of wonders, you actually admit you love him,” Aeldan remarked. “Yet

you treat him as if he were just one of a number of mounts in the stable.” When Ashrian

stared at him affronted, he pointed out, “I dare say you did so without real malice. That’s

probably why he was able to forgive you before. Despite your lechery, you managed to

make him feel that he was a little more special than all the others. But this was different,

Ash. You shattered that illusion when you took Ilian to bed and here of all places. How

could Eiren continue to nurse his belief that he means something more than a warm body

to you? Or that you care enough to accord him the respect due a favored lover.”

Ashrian looked away, his cheeks flushing an ugly scarlet. “He was never just a warm

body to me,” he mumbled.

“He likely believed that too,” Aeldan agreed. “Or tried to.” He grasped his brother’s

shoulder and squeezed it. “You have to determine why you behaved thusly. Not just your

earlier bed-hopping but also, indeed most especially your tryst with Ilian. If you hope to

win Eiren back, you have to discover your reasons for betraying him. For instance, did

you truly not consider your relationship an exclusive one?” Aeldan grimaced then very

softly said, “Because if you did and yet sowed your seed elsewhere, you’re going to have

to admit what a bounder you are and decide if you can change your ways.”

After a tense while, Ashrian leaned against him and morosely said, “I am a bounder.

Veres only knows why he put up with me.”

“Because he loves you.”

“Not anymore. At least, not enough to take me back.”

“You don’t know that he won’t. You have to try, Ash. Write him at the very least

and find out where you really stand. It’s possible once he’s had a chance to calm down,

he might just listen to you. Perhaps give you another chance to redeem yourself.” Aeldan

grimly smiled. “I just hope you ensure this will be the last chance he’ll ever need to grant

you.”

Silence befell them once more. At length, Ashrian stirred and straightened. He gazed

at the earring in his hand, his eyes full of yearning and the faintest trace of hope.

“I do love him, Dan,” he whispered. “More than I ever realized. I want him back. But

I also want…” He took a deep shaky breath. “I also want to be worthy of him. I don’t

want to ever hurt him again.” He looked at his brother entreatingly. “Do you think I can

do that?”

“Not hurt him again?” Aeldan faintly smiled. “That you’ve actually acknowledged

the extent of your sin against him is a huge step in the right direction. You always made

light of your wrongdoing before. I think that displeased Eiren as much as you sleeping

around did.”

Chapter 5

Consequences

He wrote Eiren within the week, dispatching the letter by courier bird to ensure it

reached his cousin quickly. When Eiren failed to reply, he sent five more in weekly

succession. And for once he regretted his inability to commence mind-speech, only

respond to someone else’s summons. Mind-speech was a skill limited only to the more

gifted of the True Bloods and even less could initiate it or sustain a connection over a

great distance for a long time without receiving a boost from other equally skilled enyra.

Eiren possessed the gift, of course, and Ashrian hoped the healer would employ it to

respond to his messages. But that hope was thwarted when a letter arrived from the south

two weeks after the last message he’d sent.

Aeldan said nothing as Ashrian broke the seal on the envelope and drew out the

single sheet inside. For a moment, Ashrian hesitated to unfold the sheet, apprehensive

about its contents.

“Will you read it, or will I?” Aeldan offered.

After a further moment’s pause, Ashrian handed the letter to his brother. Aeldan

unfolded the sheet and began to read it aloud.

Eiren’s message was short and to the point, awful in its terseness and heartbreakingly

formal in language. There was no tenderness, no sign of intimacy, as he described what

he was about with the sparseness of a steward dutifully reporting to his master. Only at

the last did he finally relent and the words took on a more personal tone. But not an

encouraging one.

If you are truly repentant, cease this useless exercise. I don’t want mere words from

you.

Ashrian met his brother’s gaze above the letter. He was certain he looked as stricken

as he felt. He jerked to his feet and strode to his sitting room window to stare out and

breathe in fresh air to loosen his suddenly tight throat.

Aeldan came up behind him and clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Heyas, he doesn’t even want me to write him,” Ashrian mumbled.

“You may be wrong about that,” Aeldan said. “Write him again and ask him what he

wants.”

“And risk alienating him even more?” Ashrian shook his head. “I dare not.”

“What will you do then?”

“Do as he bid me. Perhaps he needs more time.”

“So you’ll stop writing him?” Aeldan said disbelievingly.

“Until he gives some indication that he’ll welcome letters from me.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll wait for him to return. We’ll talk then.”

“Do you think that’s wise? A year is a long time to leave matters unresolved.”

“I know, but I’d rather abide his request. It would only anger him further were I to

force my wishes on him.”

Aeldan looked at him skeptically. “I do hope you’re right.”

That Aeldan was not entirely certain about Eiren’s intentions showed itself when he

came to Ashrian a week later with another letter from their cousin.

“I wrote him that same evening,” he admitted a little sheepishly. “And I asked him to

be a little clearer about what he wants of you.”

“Yes?” Ashrian asked, hating himself for the breathless, obviously desperate quality

of his voice. “And what did he say?”

He was not encouraged when Aeldan frowned in obvious bafflement. “He said that

after all this time you should know him enough to understand what he means.”

Ashrian felt crushed. “I don’t know how much more I can bear, Dan,” he whispered

miserably.

His brother hugged him sympathetically. “Don’t give up hope,” he urged. “I’m sure

he still loves you. He wouldn’t have troubled to write you back at all if he no longer did.

It’s likely his anger that’s keeping him reticent. Perhaps you’re correct and he needs time

to forget what he can and come around and forgive you.”

* * * *

Ashrian could have discovered what Eiren was about through their mutual relations.

He was certain Eiren was keeping steady correspondence with Reijir and Keosqe, the

closest to him of their cousins after Ashrian himself, not to mention Rohyr.

It was no longer a secret in their close-knit circle that he and Eiren were estranged,

but he did not care to expose the extent of it or explain the cause. He was certain he

would hear no end of it when they learned of his folly. Keosqe had been openly critical of

his behavior and just the previous year had even gone so far as to advise Eiren to either

keep Ashrian on a tight leash or break with him if he refused to mend his ways.

Ashrian grimaced. He’d been so indignant when Eiren revealed that Keosqe had

counseled him to issue an ultimatum and not a little smug when his lover had chosen to

ignore the advice. Very sound advice it had been, Ashrian had to agree, and would have

spared Eiren so much pain had he taken it. Small wonder he could not look Keosqe in the

eye when they bumped into each other during the waning days of autumn. Not when his

fair-haired cousin stared at him searchingly, as if seeking proof to bolster his obvious

speculations regarding the unexpected rift between him and Eiren.

Nay, not proof, Ashrian severely chided himself. Keosqe was not one to kick

someone when he was down. But he did expect folk of honor to repent of their

transgressions and make amends for them if he could. That was what he sought each time

they met. A sign that Ashrian realized and regretted whatever sin he had committed

against Eiren and would take action to right it before too long. It was a mark of how

protective Keosqe was of Eiren. Truth be told, they all were, even dour Uncle Imcael.

Only Ashrian had not seen fit to treat Eiren as the treasure that he was.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Not only had taken Eiren for granted, he had

used him for a myriad reasons not least of which was Eiren’s ready availability to him no

matter the time or circumstances.

Because he loved me.

Loved. Past tense. Ashrian could not imagine Eiren’s love for him surviving such a

betrayal of trust. Not when he had never been given reason to believe Ashrian had ever

felt more than desire and casual affection for him. There was nothing solid to hold onto,

was there? No surety of anything deep and lasting between them. Not when Ashrian had

cuckolded him time and again, always claiming that each betrayal was little more than

physical release and therefore not true infidelity since he had never given his heart to any

of his partners.

Not even to Eiren.

Ashrian winced at the extent of his odiousness. He had never said the words even if

only to assure Eiren that their relationship was precious to him. But, nay, not once either

at the height of passion or the depths of confidences had he ever told Eiren how dear he

was to him. That he held a most hallowed part in Ashrian’s heart.

It hammered at him without mercy, this realization of just how reprehensible his

behavior had been. There was indeed no reason for Eiren to desire to reconcile with him.

No reason at all.

* * * *

With the onset of winter, Rikarans awoke one gray morning to find the city thinly

veiled with frost and looming Mount Sarak enrobed in white a third of the way down its

imposing slopes. Many hoped the capital would not be similarly blanketed too soon. The

cold alone would not impede the daily routines of the city’s folk but thick snow on the

streets and ice floes in the river could and often did.

Northern Ylandre dozed fitfully at the height of winter as activities that necessitated

braving the outdoors ground to a crawl. But there was no harm in hoping the slowdown

would be late in coming and mercifully brief in duration.

Ashrian stoked the fire in his bedchamber, grateful for the heat and light. He could

only imagine conditions in the more boreal regions and wondered how his twin cousins

of Losshen, Zykriel and Gilmael Calanthe, were faring. Of the major fiefs of the

kingdom, only Losshen was located north of Rikara. In contrast to Ziana, its distant city-

fief neighbor to the west, Losshen was not surrounded by a protective range of mountains

like the Sag Habron and thus lay open to the full fury of the winter storms that usually

swept across the upper North Continent.

Straightening, he started to doff his sleeping trousers and robe to change into

daywear. When he stepped out of his trousers, however, he suddenly spotted

something—there at the top of his shaft where it met his groin.

He frowned. It looked like a loose cluster of small blisters. Ashrian wondered what

could have possibly rubbed hard enough against his shaft to produce enough friction to

cause the vesicles. All his drawers were made from soft, smooth fabric and his sleeping

trousers were too loose at the groin to have come into frictional contact with his member.

He took a closer look.

They were not filled with pus but rather water; that much he could tell. And they did

not hurt, not even when he gingerly touched them.

The city chimes resounded, startling him. He shook his head.

Here he was dawdling when he was supposed to accompany his sire the Herun of

Glanthar to the quays right after breakfast. Though of high nobility, the Mithanis had not

hesitated to dabble in business and the family now owned the largest mercantile fleet in

Ylandre. The Mithani ships transported many seaborne goods to the capital, passing

down the continent-long Nyllos River to reach its most prominent tributary, the Azira, the

great river of Rikara.

Olriq Mithani took his responsibilities as head of the family maritime company very

seriously. And when he was in Rikara, he made it a point to personally meet any

incoming ships and oversee much of the unloading of cargo. He expected no less of his

sons.

Ashrian sighed. For so long he had left much of that duty to his older brother. As he

was not heir to the family holdings, he did not see why he had to attend to them. But the

Herun had finally ordered him to take an active interest in the business, informing

Ashrian that he intended to bequeath him considerable shares in the company, though

Aeldan would naturally own the majority.

That had taken Ashrian aback. He’d expected his income to come primarily from the

lands he owned or would inherit. His sire had then pointed out that it would behoove him

to take as much care of the company’s future as Aeldan now that he stood to earn

substantially from it. Ashrian had perforce conceded the rightness of his sire’s point.

Thus, here he was making ready to join the Herun on an early trip to the quays

instead of lazing the morning away. A trip he would delay if he did not hurry with his

ablutions and dress up. He quickly forgot about the blisters.

But about a month later, he was forced to remember them once more.

The Mithanis retreated to their seaward fief for the winter, preferring the fierce but

intermittent squalls along the western coast of Ylandre to the nigh successive blizzards of

the north. The capital of Evinor, in particular, was quite sheltered, lying as it did on the

shoreline of a deep, nigh circular cove protected by low encircling mountains and a

narrow mouth that helped break much of the force of even the strongest gales.

Evinor’s location was also ideal for the Mithanis’ business concerns. The family’s

large fleet could be safely moored in the bay during rough weather when the sea beyond

turned treacherous with towering waves and mast-crippling winds. And the city itself,

being the political and commercial center of the fief, provided enough accommodations

for any and all mariners forced off-ship during such stormy spells.

The Mithani estate and mansion lay atop a hill on the eastern arm of the cove. The

building that was the Mithanis’ ancestral home had been built as much to take advantage

of the breathtaking panorama of the harbor as to withstand blustery seaborne winds. As

such, it was the back of the house that overlooked the dark blue waters of the bay, which

could be viewed from a spacious sturdily roofed stone terrace or the numerous rear

apartments fitted with tall thick-paned mullioned windows.

In recent years, Ashrian had not been so keen to pass the season in Evinor, his

preference for more sophisticated pastimes better served in the capital city even at the

height of the cold season. If Rikara dozed during winter, Evinor virtually hibernated. But

this time around, he had readily accompanied his family home. With Eiren absent from

Rikara, the capital had lost what had always been its main appeal to him. A pity he’d only

recognized that when it was too late.

His first inkling of something gone very wrong was some three weeks into their stay.

He’d been at Aeldan’s side all afternoon helping him oversee the unloading and secure

berthing of several recently docked ships. As evening fell, he’d experienced pain in his

groin. It felt as if his skin had been abraded.

It was with relief that he and Aeldan finally went home late that night. But he did not

join his brother for a late supper, hurrying to his apartment instead. Quickly stripping off

his long tunic and shedding his breeches, he then yanked down his drawers and examined

the afflicted area. Ashrian stared in shock at the smattering of angry-looking wounds on

his groin. They’ve grown worse, he thought with consternation. And so quickly, too.

About a fortnight back, he’d noticed the blisters had burst and turned slightly reddish

but he had attributed that to having inadvertently scratched them the day before. And

since they still had not caused him any pain, he soon stopped worrying about them. He

had taken care to wash the area well each night as a precaution.

Ashrian quickly threw on a robe over his shirt and headed for his father’s suite of

rooms. Like a majority of bluebloods, Olriq Mithani and his consort, the Heris Kaiden,

maintained separate apartments. And in any case, Ashrian had always felt more

comfortable discussing personal matters with his birthing father rather than his sire. This

time was no different.

Kaiden admitted him at once, frowning slightly when he saw Ashrian was bare-

legged under his robe.

“Do you wish to catch your death?” he scolded, drawing his younger son into the

warmth of his sitting room. “Holy saints, Ash, would it have taken too much of your time

to put on trousers?”

Ashrian shook his head. “I didn’t consider it, Adda. Not when I saw this.” Without

much preamble, he parted his robe and showed his afflicted shaft to Kaiden. “Do you

think this might be an infection?”

Kaiden started then peered at the wounds. His frown deepened into a worried crease.

“Merciful Veres, these look like…” He shook his head, worrying his lip in the way

Ashrian had seen him do when something greatly distressed him. “I think you should

have Eiren look at this before it worsens.”

A pang smote Ashrian at the mention of his distant lover. “Eiren is still in Camara,”

he reminded his father. “I can’t have him return here just to examine me. I’ll consult

Master Denlos tomorrow.”

“Nay, let us go to him right now.”

“Now? Do you realize what time it is? And the streets are piled high with snow.”

“First thing tomorrow then. You must have this examined immediately.”

“You’re really worried,” Ashrian remarked, his apprehension mounting. “Why,

Adda? What do you think this is?”

Kaiden drew a deep breath. “Blight,” he tersely said.

Feeling as if his insides were performing a somersault, Ashrian could only gape at

his father.

Usually transmitted through direct sexual contact, blight, while not fatal, could be

destructive in a more insidious way. If one were fortunate, a bout might leave unsightly

scarring or cause internal discomfort as the disease followed its course. But at its worst,

blight attacked and ravaged the reproductive organs, wreaking havoc on a Deir’s ability

to procreate.

Treated when vesicles in the genital region—the first manifestation of the disease—

were still small and painless, blight was relatively easy to cure and no more than a

passing bother. But the longer it went untreated, the more difficult it was to heal and the

more severe the damage it wrought. Complete infertility was not an uncommon

consequence of delayed treatment.

Ashrian had discovered what had appeared to be innocuous blisters nearly a month

ago.

Their worst fears were confirmed the following day when Ashrian and his father

visited the family’s Evinor physician.

“These are blight lesions and they’re at an advanced stage,” Denlos said. “When did

the blisters first appear?”

“A month ago more or less.”

“And you did not have them tended by a physician?”

“I didn’t think it was serious enough to warrant it.”

Denlos’s sigh of frustration made Ashrian feel as if he were a child again sneaking

pastries and other sweet delights from the kitchen.

“And they burst when?”

“A fortnight ago, I think.”

Delos made a tut-tutting sound heightening Ashrian’s sense of abashment.

“You should have consulted a physician as soon as you noticed the vesicles,” the

healer said. “The blight would have just started its course and been easily remedied with

proper medicaments. But once the vesicles burst, it portends a further spreading of the

disease to other parts neighboring the afflicted area. Now far as I can determine, there is

already damage in your seed sac,” Denlos gravely continued. “I fear you may not be able

to sire offspring.”

“Veres almighty,” Ashrian whispered. He closed his eyes, only vaguely listening to

his father’s follow up questions.

“You said sire offspring,” Kaiden asked. “But what about conceiving them?”

“I want to examine his womb further before making any pronouncements about

that,” Denlos admitted. “However, my first impression was that his womb is sound. I

cannot say for sure that his seedbed is still fertile, but if the blight did not infiltrate the

womb, it is unlikely the seedbed was adversely affected.”

“Merciful saints,” Kaiden softly exclaimed. “Would that your suspicions are correct.

Examine him then. We must know if there is still hope.”

Ashrian suffered the physician’s probing in silence. Hope? What did it matter if he

could still carry a child to term?

He was the son of a ruling lord and kin to the monarch of Ylandre. He had not been

raised to be a childbearer—no member of House Essendri was expected to carry out that

duty save perhaps his cousin Keiran Arthanna of Ilmaren. But Keiran was that rare

being—a breeder whose reproductive function was dictated not by title or blood but by

his inborn ability to easily conceive as well as bear children way past the period of time

that birthing was deemed safe.

Ashrian shuddered at the thought of life taking root inside him. He was not a bearer.

He had never even felt curiosity about the experience! Yet now he faced the possibility of

reversing this very basic perception of himself. He was not sure he could accept the

change, much less live with it. He came out of his thoughts when he realized Denlos was

addressing him.

“I strongly urge you to contact whomever you believe might have passed the disease

to you,” the physician said. “The originator of this might have already spread it to others

and they should be warned to seek help as soon as possible.”

“How far back should I consider?” Ashrian asked with some embarrassment.

Heyas! The consequences of his promiscuity were descending on him with a

vengeance. Not only was he now ill with a disease commonly associated with lowly

prostitutes and indiscriminate lechers, he would also have to recall any number of

indiscretions that had contributed to the erosion of his relationship with Eiren.

“No more than three months or so,” Denlos replied. “The first symptoms usually

appear within two months of contamination.”

“Two…”

Ashrian could not quite believe his ears. It appeared it was his one instance of

infidelity after nigh a year of monogamy that had landed him in this mess. He groaned at

the thought of such colossal ill fortune.

His father must have noticed something in his expression for Kaiden said, “Who do

you suspect infected you?”

Ashrian sighed. “I don’t suspect. I know.”

* * * *

I did contract a very mild form of blight. But it was many months before our tryst.

And as far as I know I am cured and should not have been able to infect you. Indeed, I’m

surprised you even suspected I might be the culprit in your misfortune. Surely I’m not the

only Deir you bedded beforehand or since. Or have you been celibate all these months

Eiren has been gone? Perish the thought! That does not sound like you at all!

Ashrian scowled and looked up from reading Ilian’s letter out loud to his parents and

brother. His sire was seated behind his study table while his father had perched himself

on one edge. Aeldan was half sprawled in the chair opposite Ashrian’s.

“I hadn’t been with anyone but Eiren for nearly a year before that wretched night,”

he declared. “And I have been celibate since then.”

Olriq shook his head. “But if he’d already been healed of it, how could he have

passed it to you?”

“I don’t know, Aba, but there was and is no one else. Or are you suggesting Eiren

was the one who infected me?”

“Of course not. I just can’t understand how Qiraz could have given it to you if he

was already done with it by then.”

Aeldan leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Eiren often says the ways by

which a disease spreads or takes root can be so unpredictable as to defy reason. What if

that was the case here? Perhaps some trace of blight remained in Ilian’s body that wasn’t

detectable or needed a gifted healer’s “sight” to discover it. What was the word he used

to describe such aberrations? Asymptomatic?”

“That’s a possibility,” Kaiden agreed. “Qiraz can deny his part in this all he wants.

But if he was indeed the only other Deir with whom Ash had relations this past year, then

it stands to reason it was he who infected Ash.”

“But if that is the case, Ash must write him again,” Olriq commented. “Whether he

accepts the possibility or not, he should warn whoever he coupled with during that

period. If he is a Deir of any honor at all, it’s the least he can do.”

Ashrian snorted. “Considering he propositioned me first despite knowing of my

relationship with Eiren, I highly doubt he knows the meaning of the word,” he bitterly

said. “But you’re right nonetheless, Aba. And if he chooses to disregard the warning, so

be it. May any retribution be on his head.”

Chapter 6

Standstill

Airelan, Camara

Hungry lips marked his skin. Knowing hands mapped his body.

Sweet. So sweet.

He moaned as he was filled to the very brim; cried out as he was cleaved relentlessly.

Sobbing, he struggled to ignore the mounting pressure within, unwilling to surrender just

yet to the inevitable. Husky laughter wrecked his weak attempt at control.

Why fight it? You want this as much as I.

His shaft was gripped and stroked. The pressure quickly intensified into nigh

excruciating sensation.

Now, Ren, with me!

He spent himself in an eruption of sensation, crying out one word with fervent

longing as liquid heat flooded his very core.

Eiren jerked awake, clutching at the beddings and gasping raggedly. Deity’s blood!

How many times had he dreamed thusly in the past fortnight alone? Too many for

sanity’s sake.

He groaned as he felt the dampness in his crotch seep down between his legs to

spread under his arse. Sitting up, he threw aside the covers, got out of bed, and snatched

up the soiled sheet with a frustrated huff.

It was now some four months since he’d last coupled with Ashrian and still he

remembered what it was like to surrender to his cousin’s fiery loving. Nay, fucking! He

furiously reminded himself. That was what it had been in all the years they had warmed

each other’s beds. He had to stop mistaking one for the other. He had to forget and move

on or he would go mad.

Shivering from the winter chill, Eiren pulled a clean sheet out of his small linen

cabinet and hurriedly made the bed. He had a long day ahead of him. He needed the

sleep.

He lay down once more and pulled the bedding up to almost cover his head. As if

doing so would ward off further disturbing dreams of the Deir he had once called lover.

* * * *

The hospital in the capital city of Airelan was surprisingly well-appointed for a

backwater province establishment as Camara was often dubbed. It was only a two-story

building but the hospital had a complete operating theater and spacious recovery,

emergency and birthing wards. There was even a small chapel adjacent to the east wing

where the recovery ward was located.

Eiren had not expected anything as promising but he was very pleased to discover he

would not have to contend with substandard conditions in addition to bringing the

medical staff up to snuff. This was the hospital’s main problem.

The city Elders had assiduously campaigned for a provincial hospital worthy of the

appellation. The previous Ardan Keldon Essendri had been impressed enough with their

petition to authorize the funding of the structure. After his passing, his son Rohyr had

seen to it that the hospital would be properly equipped to service the province. What

neither Rohyr nor his sire could do much about was the caliber of the folk who would

staff the establishment. That largely depended on the number of healers who hailed from

Camara itself or the willingness of physicians and medical aides from the more affluent

fiefs to relocate to the province.

As Camara was not a place where one could advance with speed in one’s profession,

it was not surprising few outsiders found settling there to their taste. Therefore, the

hospital’s staffing relied almost wholly on homegrown medical professionals. The

province’s remoteness from the progressive fiefs and its general poverty however meant

inadequate training for most. Few Camarans had the means to attend institutions of

higher learning with medical courses for it entailed travelling to and residing in one of the

great cities for years.

The Airelan Elders had tried sending physicians north for additional training in the

hopes of these select few returning to Camara and passing what they learned to their

fellow healers. But not unexpectedly, a good number of these physicians, dazzled by the

wealth and opportunities in the affluent fiefs, failed to come back. The Elders had ceased

the experiment lest the province lose even more healers.

Undeterred, they embarked on another experiment, which proved more successful. In

cooperation with the Ministry of Health, the Elders took to periodically inviting

physicians from other fiefs to come to Airelan and train their staff. Since such missions

did not require a long-term relocation to Camara, many healers accepted the invitation.

After all, it was part of the physicians’ code to share their knowledge and pass on the

wisdom accumulated over the ages. And it was also a source of personal pride that one

had been deemed a master in the profession for only healers of great repute were asked

for their help.

Eiren’s appointment to head the latest mission had been deemed a coup. Few in the

field had not heard of him and when he arrived in Airelan, he had been treated with as

much awe as if the Ardan himself had come a-visiting. He’d even been offered a

townhouse in the city proper for the duration of his residence. But uncomfortable with

being set aside for special treatment, Eiren had insisted on being housed in the same

apartment row near the hospital as his mission staff.

His days were full, busy as he was with teaching healers, their assistants, and

apprentices and treating patients whose ailments were beyond the present level of skill of

the resident physicians. It was his responsibility to ensure that level was raised to

satisfactory standards before he returned to Rikara. Thus far, he had made much progress

for, as he quickly learned, the Camaran healers were an intelligent lot whose main

disadvantage was the unavailability of higher medical education and training in the

province and their inability to cope with the expense of seeking both elsewhere.

But while his days were full, his nights were not. Evening entertainment in Airelan

was limited to taverns and brothels. There were no great theaters or musical halls, only

the public arenas for the itinerant performers Camara was known for. But these thespians,

musicians, acrobats and jugglers were nomads who roamed the length and breadth of

Ylandre and therefore did not stay in one place for long. And in any case, they did not

perform the more cultured and profound plays or pieces of which Eiren was fond but

rather catered to the earthy tastes of the largely rustic-minded Camarans.

Hence his recent habit of retiring early and—because the Camarans proved too

diffident to impose on him at home and sought the services of the night staff at the

hospital instead—indulging in deep uninterrupted slumber. He was always well rested

now unlike in Rikara. But he also dreamed a lot. And of late, those dreams involved

Ashrian in the most indelicate of situations.

Eiren swore under his breath as he entered his consultation room. Bad enough that he

still yearned for his lover so much that he dreamed of him thusly, but did he have to be so

refreshed by such dreams as well? What did that say about him or rather his weakness

when it came to his longtime lover?

He could not deny his loneliness. Nor could he pretend that he was not daily tempted

to contact Ashrian and attempt to reconcile with him even if he was still pained and

angered by the latter’s betrayal. Just as swiftly, he would chide himself for being weak

and lenient where Ashrian was concerned. No doubt that partly accounted for his lover’s

tendency to take him for granted and have little fear of the consequences of his

unfaithfulness. The realization had been a sobering one but had done little to dampen his

desire for Ashrian nonetheless.

Eiren opened the sole window to let in fresh air. The slight breeze that wafted into

the room was cold but his tunic of fine wool and sturdy breeches were enough to keep

him comfortably warm. This far south, winters were mild and seldom did the region

experience the heavy snowfalls of the north. Even the storms were tame by comparison

and blizzards were so rare, the last one could no longer be recalled by any living

Camaran. Even then, that blizzard had only afflicted the province’s highlands. The

lowlands had never known the fierce snowstorms that were the bane of the far north.

He peered out the window of his office. It overlooked the gate to the hospital

compound and the hedge-lined street beyond. The street wound through a thicket that

separated the hospital from the city proper. But from his vantage point, Eiren could see

over the treetops and espy the snow-dusted houses and buildings in Airelan’s central

district.

Airelan was really a small, quiet city. Nothing at all like vast and sophisticated

Rikara, mysterious and historic Ziana or the cosmopolitan capitals of Sidona, Losshen,

Ilmaren, and Edessa. And Airelan certainly could not compare with lovely seaside

Evinor, its prosperity generated by the maritime trade made possible by its perfectly

located harbor.

Eiren groaned as memories of Evinor naturally led to recollections of holidays in the

city with Ashrian. Heyas! I miss him so much, he thought with helpless fervor. In that

moment, the longing grew so strong as to be agonizing.

I love him. I can’t stop wanting him.

Usually he followed up such maudlin thoughts by berating himself, but today he

could not summon the energy. Not when images of last night’s dream relentlessly

crowded out all other considerations.

It was too much. He could not withstand the distance and loneliness any longer. This

evening, he would write the Ministry to look for someone else to take his place, he

decided. He would return to Rikara as soon as his replacement arrived, seek Ashrian and

try to mend his relationship with him.

“Sarvan- dyhar?”

Eiren snapped out of his thoughts and turned around to face his assistant.

“Yes?”

“There’s a new patient who wishes to consult you,” the Deir said.

Having made up his mind to cut short his posting to Camara, Eiren felt disinclined to

take on new cases.

“Does he really require my help?” he asked.

“I think so. He looks quite dreadful. Besides, he says all his other physicians have

given up on him.” The assistant added, “He’s only here because his friends persuaded

him to seek your opinion.”

Eiren sighed. “I see. Very well, send him in. But please, no more new patients. Not

today.” Not anymore.

“Yes, Dyhar.”

Before leaving, the assistant placed a sheet of paper on the desk—on it was written

the new patient’s personal information and medical history. Eiren took one last look out

the window then turned to sit behind his desk. He had just put away a thick sheaf of

reports when the patient walked in. Eiren stared at him with sudden interest, the healer in

him responding to the obvious need for his service.

The Deir was definitely ill. Even without examining him, Eiren could tell from his

appearance alone that he had been virtually at death’s door before. He gestured to the

patient to take his seat on the couch by the door while Eiren quickly read the latter’s

history. He glanced at the name written at the top of the sheet. Firyon Ivari. He looked up

at the Deir.

“How long have you been ill, Ivari- tyar?” he asked.

“Three years now, Dyhar,” the Deir replied.

“Three years? You’ve outlasted many others with the same ailment.”

“So the other healers say. But it appears I’ve finally reached my limit.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They’ve all given up on me,” Firyon Ivari recounted. “They said ’tis useless for me

to continue undergoing treatment. That my remaining time would be better spent putting

my affairs in order.”

Shaking his head reprovingly, Eiren said, “Even if it seems hopeless, no healer

should ever cease to offer treatment. One never knows if something will work though it

didn’t before. Who spoke to you thusly? I’ll have a word with them.”

Firyon faintly smiled. “Nay, they were just being truthful. I don’t wish for them to

get in trouble on my account. I only came to you because my friends urged me to. Truth

be told, I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for a long time now.”

Eiren frowned. Firyon Ivari’s serene resignation to his fate disturbed him though he

did not know why. He did know that he had never lied to a patient about the seriousness

of his ailment or his prospects. But he’d always tempered the truth with hope if there was

still hope or comfort if there was none.

“Very well. But I can’t confirm their diagnosis without properly checking you

myself,” he said.

Rising to his feet, he indicated the door to the small adjoining examination room.

Firyon shakily stood up, prompting Eiren to hasten to his side and offer him his arm in

support.

Firyon took it with a grateful nod. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Sarvan-

dyhar,” he said. “Everyone says you’re not only gifted, but noble as well.”

Noble?

Eiren could not agree. He did not deserve the praise. Not when he intended to abort

his stay in Camara for the most personal of reasons.

Chapter 7

Homecoming

Rikara in the 3008th year of the Common Age

Aeldan scowled and snatched his tunic from Ashrian. He donned it jerkily, saying,

“It would please me if you would stop hovering and let me dress in peace!”

“And it would please me if you could dress a little faster,” Ashrian mildly shot back.

“I don’t want to be late, Dan.”

“Late for what? It isn’t as if there’s a program we might miss a part of. It’s just a

reception, Ash.”

“Not just any reception.”

The suddenly somber tone of his brother’s reply cut through Aeldan’s pique. He

sighed and quickly fastened his tunic.

“You don’t even know for certain that he’ll be there,” he muttered. “You know how

Eiren dislikes pomp and the like in his honor.”

“But the reception isn’t for him alone,” Ashrian pointed out. “It’s for his entire

mission team. He’ll attend it for their sakes.”

“I suppose.” Aeldan drew on a pair of kidskin dress gloves. “Let’s go then,” he said,

picking up his short formal cape. “Do we ride or take the carriage?”

“Take the carriage. I wouldn’t trust the grooms at the Ministry with our steeds.”

They hastened down the stairs to the large front hall just as their sire entered the

main door. He looked them over noting their formal wear.

“The welcome reception for Eiren’s team is tonight,” Aeldan said in reply to the

Herun’s unspoken question.

“Ah, yes, they arrived just this morn, didn’t they?” Olriq Mithani glanced at his

younger son. “Your cousins will likely hold their own welcome party for Eiren. So why

this desire to attend a rather esoteric affair?”

“I don’t care for the affair itself,” Ashrian replied. “But who it’s for matters greatly

to me.”

Olriq regarded him with a small smile. “From whom did you wangle an invitation? I

imagine those were limited to members of the profession.”

“And the Ministry of Health,” Ashrian reminded him. “It was a simple matter for

Keosqe to ask a favor of a fellow Minister.”

“I see. Well then, good luck, son. And give my regards to Eiren.”

“Thank you, Aba. I will.”

Despite Ashrian’s anxiety, they arrived at the Ministry building with time to spare.

Nonetheless, by the time they entered the reception hall, there were already a number of

folk present, most of them physicians and medical aides. That was not unusual given that

healers tended to be punctual so that their frequent premature departures from such

affairs due to emergencies would not be looked at askance by others.

Hardly had the brethren settled themselves with a group of ministry staff with whom

they were acquainted when the medical mission team arrived. Ashrian caught his breath

when he caught sight of Eiren as his cousin led the team into the hall. Was it his

imagination or was Eiren even more beautiful than he remembered?

Clad in black and gray even to his gloves and cape, his hair a little longer than was

fashionable for a True Blood, he looked positively roguish, a far cry from the serious,

almost scholarly Deir Ashrian remembered. It was astounding that a year in backwater

country could have wrought so visible a change in a person. Or maybe the lack of

sophistication and rougher living necessitated such change, Ashrian mused. Well,

whatever the cause, he knew himself more deeply in love with Eiren than he’d thought

possible. Conscious of his raucous feelings, he kept a tight leash on himself lest he cast

protocol aside and welcomed his lover in a more personal manner than was proper for the

occasion.

Thankfully, the formalities finished quite quickly and before Ashrian’s patience had

worn too thin. As soon as Eiren had finished accepting the greetings of a group of

colleagues, Ashrian grabbed Aeldan by the hand and all but dragged him along as he

hastened to preempt another party intent on speaking with their cousin. As the brothers

were well known in the medical community as much for their kinship to Eiren as their

aristocratic lineage, their appropriation of the physician’s attention effectively deterred

others from approaching him.

That they’d surprised Eiren was an understatement. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, he

failed to return their greetings at once. And when he finally spoke, his first words were,

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I like that!” Aeldan good-naturedly griped. “After getting all dressed up and

going out of our way to come here, this is how he rewards us.”

Ashrian could not stop gazing at Eiren. “He was just surprised, Dan,” he said. He

held out his right hand uncertainly. “Welcome home, Ren.”

Eiren hesitated and then took his hand in an equally tentative grip. “Thank you.

It’s—it’s good to be back.”

“You look well for someone who’s spent a year in exile,” Aeldan quipped. “Better

actually. It seems country living suited you.”

“Not completely,” Eiren said with a faint grin. “I wouldn’t have come back just yet if

I’d truly enjoyed it. But fie on you to call it ‘exile,’ Dan. It wasn’t as bad as that. You

should try living there for a spell.”

“Nay, I’ll take your word for it,” Aeldan replied. “But Ash here would probably

make the attempt just because you recommended it.”

Ashrian shook his head. “Nay, I’m not cut out for such quiet surroundings. I’ll take

Ren’s word for it too.” He smiled at Eiren, hoping he did not look as hungry for his lover

as he felt. “But I’m glad you thrived down yonder. We did worry you would find the

isolation oppressive.”

“It was lonely at times,” Eiren admitted. “Which was why I kept myself as busy as I

could. But the Camarans are warm and hospitable to a fault and very affable besides. I

met fine folk and made quite a number of friends.”

“That’s good to know.” Ashrian realized he was still holding Eiren’s hand. He

tightened his grip and drew Eiren a little closer. “But it gladdens me more that you’re

back. For good, I hope.”

Color stained Eiren’s cheeks and he abruptly glanced at Aeldan with an

unmistakable pleading look. Ashrian wondered at his lover’s agitation.

“Ren? Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“What? Nay, of course not.”

“Then why…?”

Before Ashrian could finish speaking, a Deir came up to them somewhat

diffidently—a sedyr judging from his long, braided hair and the symmetrical sleeves and

higher hem of his tunic.

“The Minister wishes to present you to a delegation from Asmara,” the newcomer

said. “Can you accommodate him now?”

His pronounced lilt branded him as Camaran. Ashrian speculated whether Eiren had

brought healers from the province to train in Rikara.

“In a while,” Eiren replied. “I’d like to introduce you to my cousins first.”

To Ashrian’s surprise, Eiren slid his right arm familiarly around the sedyr’s

shoulders and turned him to face the brothers. Only then did Ashrian notice a ring of thin

intertwined gold bands on Eiren’s right middle finger.

Apprehension snaked its way down his spine even before Eiren said, “This is Firyon

… my spouse.”

Ashrian stared in disbelief and suffocating dismay at the Deir. Smaller than the

average Half Blood with a thin face out of which large gray eyes stared out with a

mixture of curiosity and shyness, Eiren’s mate— holy saints, his mate! —was nothing like

any member born or wed into House Essendri.

His flaxen hair only made his pallor more apparent and he was so slender the word

fragile inevitably came to mind. And his voice when he returned Aeldan’s greeting was

of a breathy quality that had naught to do with allure. Veres almighty, Ashrian

incredulously wondered, what was there in this frail and insipid tow-haired creature to

entrance one who had lived his entire life surrounded or pursued by Deira of beauty,

vigor, and charm?

He was jarred out of his shocked silence when Aeldan none too gently nudged his

arm. Ashrian realized Firyon was looking at him with timid expectancy. Eiren had

apparently introduced him and he’d completely missed it in his fugue. He managed a

polite if perfunctory greeting to the Deir who in one awful instant had brought life as he’d

hoped to live it out to an end.

“So were you one of Eiren’s patients?” Aeldan was making small talk.

Firyon nodded. “I didn’t want to waste his time but my friends talked me into paying

one visit.”

“Thank goodness for their persistence,” Eiren murmured.

Ashrian swallowed convulsively. The pain upon hearing the tenderness with which

Eiren spoke to Firyon was almost beyond bearing. And Firyon responded with an

unabashedly adoring smile and worshipful gaze, clear indication of his undivided regard

for Eiren as well as unswerving devotion. Ashrian was certain he had never looked at

Eiren the same way in public though many were the times he’d felt the impulse.

Truth be told, it was not for lack of wanting to do so, but rather a reluctance to seem

besotted and thus appear weak to others. Well, Firyon obviously had no qualms about

that, Ashrian sulkily acknowledged.

Fearing he would break down in front of everyone—better a public flogging than

that ignominy—he suddenly said, “Excuse me, I need to speak with…” He caught sight

of an acquaintance on the far side of the chamber. “…with Beron. You remember Beron,

Dan? I believe he still owes me money from that last game.”

He forced himself to face Firyon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he managed to say

without gritting his teeth. “And, Ren, it’s…” He faltered for a moment when he met

Eiren’s concerned gaze. “It’s good to have you back,” he hoarsely finished.

Before either Aeldan or Eiren could stop or question him, he virtually bolted,

heading in the general direction of the Deir he supposedly intended to speak to. But

before reaching the latter, he swerved and made for one of the balconies instead, nigh

stumbling in his haste to leave the suddenly too warm hall behind.

He felt nauseated and, hastily leaning over the railing, heaved the contents of his

stomach. Thankfully the balcony overlooked a deserted patch of garden in back of the

hospital. His retching ceased and he straightened up.

Tears stung his eyes as wiped his sour mouth with a kerchief. For several minutes, he

did not know how many nor did he care, Ashrian stood by himself, dissolving into misery

and a crippling hopelessness he’d never known before.

Someone tapped his shoulder and he glimpsed a glass of water as it was handed to

him. He stiffened and turned around to face Eiren. His cousin’s eyes were sad and

sympathetic but no trace of regret marred their limpid depths.

“Drink first,” Eiren gently ordered when Ashrian opened his mouth to decline.

Ashrian stared at the glass, reluctant to accept anything from Eiren but unwilling to

appear a belligerent boor. At length, he took the glass and drained it, grudgingly

admitting relief at the washing away of the taste of vomit. To Eiren, however, he only

said, “Thank you.”

Eiren looked him over, as much a worried cousin as a concerned physician. “Are you

all right?” he softly asked.

Ashrian instinctively glared at him then turned his eyes away. He did not want to

fight with Eiren. He just wanted to get away and lick his wounds away from curious eyes.

“Obviously not,” he tried to say lightly. “I think I had best head home.”

“Ash…”

“After all, I’m no physician. I have no reason to be here at all.”

“I thought you came to welcome me home,” Eiren drily said.

Trying to brush past Eiren, Ashrian stopped in his tracks and stared at his cousin. “I

did,” he agreed. “But the other reason I came here, the real reason…” He let out a weary

exhalation. “…is gone.”

Eiren sighed and placed a hand on Ashrian’s arm. Whether a conciliatory gesture or

one of pity, Ashrian could not tell. But it hurt to be touched when it was too late for

everything else and he flinched and drew his arm away.

“I’m sorry,” Eiren murmured.

Ashrian shook his head. After a tense while, he said, “I never realized how much

you’d come to hate me.”

“I don’t…”

“I mean I knew you did but not to the extent…”

“But I don’t hate you, Ash,” Eiren interrupted. “Much as I often thought I should, I

couldn’t ever hate you.”

“Then why?” Ashrian could not keep the demanding tone out of his voice. “Surely

you knew I was hoping for another chance and yet…” He stopped, hearing how his voice

shook. “You didn’t even write me … left me to hope…”

“That was wrong of me,” Eiren admitted. “I should have written you at once. But I

was still angry. I’m not proud of it but I felt I owed you nothing. If it’s any consolation, I

didn’t inform anyone, not even Rohyr.”

Consolation? Ashrian laughed bitterly. “You wanted to hurt me as I had hurt you.”

He felt little satisfaction when Eiren winced. “Yes, I wanted to hurt you,” Eiren

reluctantly admitted.

“You succeeded,” Ashrian said. “Spectacularly. There’s nothing left for me now, is

there? Not even crumbs.”

“It doesn’t please me,” Eiren protested. “For so long as you were far away from me,

it was easy to nurse my anger. All I could think of was vengeance upon you for all the

hurts you’d dealt me. But the moment I saw you this evening, it all drained away. I never

hated you, but I did hate myself when I saw your reaction. Damn it, if only you had

followed me to Camara! I expected you to come, Ash!”

Ashrian stared at him disbelievingly. “Follow you?” he repeated. “You didn’t even

want me to stay in touch. Why would I think to go to you?”

Eiren stared back at him in confusion. “When did I say I wanted no contact with

you?”

“In your one and only letter,” Ashrian reminded him. “Remember? You called it a

‘useless exercise.’ You wrote that you didn’t want “mere words” from me.”

“And I didn’t!” Eiren exclaimed. “I wanted your presence. I wanted you to come and

talk to me in person. Not words on some piece of paper where I couldn’t see your face or

hear your voice. Where I couldn’t sense whether you were truly repentant or that you

yearned for me.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Saints, Ash, couldn’t you read between the

lines? After all these years, do you still not really know me?”

Ashrian felt horror swell within him. “Are you saying…?” He took a step back,

shaking his head in hopeless denial. “Then if I hadn’t misunderstood … If I’d persisted

until you were clear about what you wanted…” He bit back a sob. “Oh Veres, haven’t I

been punished enough?” he groaned.

Eiren looked stricken and, for the first time, regretful as well. “I’m so sorry, Ash. I

truly believed you would understand. But when you stopped writing me, I thought you’d

given up on us. That perhaps you’d found someone else.”

“There was no else,” Ashrian said. “Not after you left.” He raised his eyes to the star-

littered sky. “Do you know what hurts worse than your marriage though?” he whispered.

“The fact that you didn’t do it to spite me but because you love him.” He looked again at

Eiren. “I heard it in your voice, saw it in your gaze.”

“Of course I love him,” Eiren retorted but without heat. “I would never bind myself

merely as a means of revenge on you.”

“Bind?” Ashrian thought his heart would truly break then. “Have you soul-mated

with him?”

He desperately glanced at Eiren’s earring. It bore only a single milkstone, the landed

gentry’s gem to which Eiren had reverted after his break with Ashrian, not a snow

sapphire, emblematic stone of the eternally wed. Yet it did not bring Ashrian much relief

for there was no ignoring the wedding band on Eiren’s finger.

Eiren shook his head. “We haven’t known each other long enough to make such an

irrevocable union. Perhaps eventually, we might…” He abruptly stopped and looked

down apparently abashed. “Heyas, that was inconsiderate of me.”

“Why did you stop?” Ashrian goaded, his voice ragged with suppressed tears. “Did I

look so pitiful just then?”

“Ash, please…”

Eiren tried to take his hand but Ashrian snatched it back and started to walk away.

He did not look back.

“I’m leaving,” he flung over his shoulder. “Tell Aeldan I’ve gone ahead.”

He ignored Eiren’s pleas not to go and hurried across the hall toward the door. He

was this close to breaking down but damn if he made a spectacle of himself in front of

Eiren’s colleagues. And most of all the Deir who had taken away from him the one hope

that had kept him going this past miserable year.

Chapter 8

Crushed

Ashrian would never quite remember how he got back to the townhouse other than

that it was not by the family carriage. He brushed off the butler and made for his room

with nary a glance at the servants he met along the way. He sensed their curiosity, even

heard a whispered question in his wake pertaining to his apparent sour mood. But he did

not care. He did not think he would ever care about anything again.

Once inside the sanctity of his apartment, he let out a doleful sigh and allowed

himself to relax enough not to guard his expression so stringently. Pride had kept him

from letting anyone other than Eiren see the sorrow behind his temper. He yanked off his

cloak and shed his tunic, tossing both negligently over the back of the sitting room couch.

As he looked about listlessly for something to occupy himself with and distract him from

thinking about the evening’s wretched discovery, his gaze fell on the fruit bowl on the

side table by the couch, the requisite paring knife on a small saucer beside it.

Sunfruit, cranapples, and black grapes nestled in the bowl, all past their prime. He

had not taken note of the bowl, much less tried its offerings since the servants filled it

some days ago. Wrinkling his nose at the now speckled sunfruit and acidic grapes, he

plucked a cranapple from the bowl. Its skin was slightly wrinkled but the fruit was still

sound, if no longer as crisp.

He picked up the paring knife and peeled the fruit. Nothing wrong with the skin but

its texture and altered flavor would detract from his enjoyment of the flesh. He bit into

the cranapple, idly noting the intense sweetness that preceded the point when it became

overripe.

Taking a second bite, he laid the knife down. A second later, he picked it up again

and stared at it. Or rather at the wickedly sharp edge of its blade.

Ashrian swallowed his mouthful of cranapple and returned the rest of the fruit to the

bowl. He walked into his bedchamber, clutching the knife as if it were a talisman.

Sitting himself on the edge of his bed, he laid the knife to one side. He unbuttoned

his shirt and doffed it. With a finger, he traced a line on the inside of his left arm from

wrist to elbow. No measly slash across the wrist would do. It had to be a deep wound the

length of his forearm if he wanted a swift and fatal wound. He’d learned that much from

Eiren who had saved too many wrist cutters from death for Ashrian to trust in the efficacy

of that method.

Ashrian picked up the knife and hefted it in his hand. So small, light, and innocuous-

looking. Yet if used correctly, as lethal as a dagger or sword.

As he contemplated what he was about to do, he imagined his parents and Aeldan’s

reactions. They would be shocked and angered at first. Indeed, Aeldan would probably

heap a ton of choice curses on his corpse, he thought with morbid humor. But that would

quickly pass and his brother would deeply grieve him. They all would even as they

acknowledged his flaws and his folly.

Will Eiren grieve?

Ashrian pushed the question aside. His former lover had moved on and even if he did

feel sorrow over Ashrian’s demise, he now had a mate to comfort him.

A wave of revulsion came over him at the thought of Eiren with Firyon—depending

on him, sharing his life with him, loving him as he had once loved Ashrian. And worst of

all, Firyon was worthy of that love as Ashrian had never been or striven to be. Firyon had

eyes only for Eiren. His speech and very manner bespoke his belonging to Eiren alone.

So worthy, Ashrian bleakly repeated to himself. Not at all like Ashrian whose

reputation was salvageable only by dint of his name and blood. And whose ability to

procreate had been severely compromised by the consequences of his faithlessness and

promiscuity. Yes, the physician had said he could probably still bear children. But there

was no guarantee of it. He would likely not contribute to the propagation of Essendris or

Mithanis.

So what did that make him other than a useless burden to his family and his House?

Not that he cared if the making of children would not be with the Deir he loved and had

now lost. Ashrian laid the blade against his skin and closed his eyes.

Forgive me, Ren.

He should have taken his fraternal bond with Aeldan into account. His brother burst

into the room, white-faced and visibly shaking with alarm. He gave a shout when he

spotted the blade at Ashrian’s wrist, poised to bite deep. Aeldan lunged forward and

batted the knife from Ashrian’s hand, uncaring of the slight cut dealt his palm as it

connected with the blade.

“Are you mad?” he cried, grabbing Ashrian by the shoulders and shaking him with a

violence one would never expect of him. “Veres almighty, if Eiren hadn’t told me you’d

left …! A thousand plagues upon you, Ash! Is there no end to your folly? Is it your wish

to inflict pain on all who love you?”

Ashrian stared at him, taking in his brother’s ashen countenance and wild, fearful

eyes. Breathing hard, Aeldan raised a trembling hand to his hair and pushed the red-black

locks back, his wounded palm leaving a bloody smear on his forehead.

Shocked, Ashrian caught his hand and turned it over to check the cut. It was shallow

but still bled profusely. He snatched up his shirt and pressed it to the wound, heedless of

the stain it would leave on the fabric.

“Why, brother?” he heard Aeldan ask, his voice harsh. “Do you wish to leave Eiren

racked with guilt over your death? Or is it your way to punish him for replacing you?

Veres knows you played him false too many times to count and not once has he avenged

himself on you by doing likewise. Deity’s blood, why do you always think only of

yourself?”

Ashrian drew in a shuddery breath. The ruination of his relationship with Eiren was

the reason for his suicidal mood, not Eiren himself. Shame washed over him and he

pressed a remorseful kiss to Aeldan’s palm.

“I won’t do it again,” he choked out. He raised haunted eyes to Aeldan. “Not that

he’ll care. It won’t matter to him. I don’t matter anymore. You really shouldn’t have

stopped me, Dan.” His mouth trembled as he struggled not to weep. “I wouldn’t hurt so

much … or hurt anyone any longer.”

“You’re wrong,” Aeldan retorted. “Eiren still cares, He always will. A part of him

belongs to you even now that he is wed to someone else. If you die, that part will die with

you. Is that what you want for him? I thought you loved him, Ash.”

Ashrian caught his breath. “I never told him,” he whispered.

“And you never will if you end your life,” Aeldan pointed out.

“Why would he want to hear it?”

“If only to know without a doubt that he was much more than your favorite bed treat,

oh yes, he’ll want to hear it. Perhaps not now. But someday, when you’ve repaired the

bridge between you. When you’re friends again, you will tell him and he’ll be glad of it.”

Aeldan hesitated. “It’s the least you can do for him, whatever the price to you,” he added.

Ashrian fell silent, staring past Aeldan at nothing. The minutes ticked by. He was

only vaguely aware of his brother at his side, patiently waiting out his mood.

At last, Ashrian stirred and looked at Aeldan again. In a listless voice bound to break

anyone’s heart, he said, “If it will make him happy, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it all. He’s … Oh,

Dan, he’s worth so much more.”

The tears came then. His shoulders heaved and ragged sobs racked his body until

every muscle ached from the effort to control the tremors that swept through him. Aeldan

caught him in a tight embrace and held him fast. Unable to hold back any longer, Ashrian

wept against his brother’s chest, lost in a storm of grief, regret, and butchered hope.

* * * *

The last thing Ashrian expected or wanted after that night was to have anything or

meet anyone to do with Eiren until such time that his heart could bear proximity with his

former lover or receipt of news pertaining to him. He refused to attend the clan’s

welcome dinner for Eiren two days later for just that reason. And he did not regret his

refusal even after learning Firyon had been unable to attend the dinner due to exhaustion.

It would have been too difficult either way to behave with any grace in Eiren’s presence.

Therefore, it was with shock and not a little umbrage that he responded when the butler

announced Firyon Sarvan had come a-calling and requested an audience with him.

Little more than three weeks had passed since the reception. He had not yet come to

terms with his dashed hopes and dreams. Several minutes passed before Ashrian

managed to set aside his impulse to turn the Deir away and muster a curt reply to the

butler that he would accept his unexpected and thoroughly unwanted visitor.

Stepping into the blue parlor where the butler had put Firyon, he was immediately

struck anew by how sickly Eiren’s spouse appeared. The warm glow of candlelight and

oil lamps in the hospital reception hall had failed to mask the paleness of his skin. In a

merely sunlit chamber, the Deir was pallid of complexion and the shadows under his eyes

more apparent.

Ashrian recalled that Firyon had been one of Eiren’s patients. It seemed either Firyon

was a long time recovering his haleness or Eiren had not completely cured him of his

ailment whatever it was. Judging from the almost unnatural slenderness of Firyon’s

wrists and the boniness of his fingers, Ashrian guessed it was the latter. If Firyon was

convalescing from illness however slowly, there would be discernable improvement in

his appearance by now whether in his color, his weight or, Ashrian noticed for the first

time, his hair. It was dull and thin for a Deir his age.

So frail, he thought with pity. The stirring of concern startled him and he wondered if

his face had revealed it. He hoped not. He did not want this person who was essentially

his rival to think he was a softhearted fool.

Firyon rose to his feet, weaving his fingers nervously. He flashed an uncertain smile

as Ashrian neared him.

“What can I do for you?” Ashrian asked, his abrupt manner just short of impolite.

“Oh, um…” Firyon took a deep breath and then said, “I just wished to know if you

were well, Dyhar.” At the questioning lift of Ashrian’s eyebrows, he hastened to explain.

“You left the reception so suddenly, I thought perhaps you felt ill.”

Liar, Ashrian wanted to snap back. But sincerity shone clear in Firyon’s eyes and he

was forced to concede that the latter really did not know the reason for his departure.

“Didn’t Eiren tell you?” he replied. “It was he I bade good-bye to before leaving.”

Firyon flushed prompting Ashrian to revise his opinion of the Deir’s veracity. But

before Ashrian could say anything else, Firyon blurted, “Eiren did say you’d had words

with him. But I couldn’t believe you would leave just on that account.”

“Why ever not?” Ashrian retorted.

“Because you don’t seem the sort to act thusly unprovoked.” Firyon looked unsure

once more. “If you’re anything like your brother…”

Ashrian rolled his eyes. “I assure you, I am quite capable of acting like a boor if I

feel like it,” he said. “And comparing me to my proper and ever dutiful brother is akin to

likening cheap ale to fine wine.”

He smirked when Firyon looked quite shocked. But Firyon then frowned with

apparent disbelief.

“Surely you demean yourself,” he ventured. “Eiren has never spoken of you in a bad

light. And he’s always been truthful with me, even in unpleasant matters.”

“Unpleasant matters,” Ashrian repeated. “What a delicate turn of phrase,” he jeered.

“Are you telling me he never mentioned how I repeatedly cheated on him or that he and I

parted on bad terms because of my execrable behavior?

He huffed a mocking laugh when Firyon flinched. “You thought I was ill? Oh yes, I

was indeed ill. Sore of heart would have been his diagnosis and I dare say he told you so

if he’s been as forthcoming about our past together as you say he is.”

Firyon looked more distressed than ever. “He has told me about your affair,” he

admitted. “But you were nice to me, even if—even if you probably disliked me on sight.

So I thought he might have exaggerated your differences a bit.”

Ashrian finally gave in to his resentment. “Why don’t you follow Eiren’s example

and be truthful with me?” he snapped. “Just why did you come here?” When Firyon

failed to reply at once, he added, “Speak, damn it! I have more important matters to

attend to. You’re wasting my time as it is.”

His obvious derision brought darker color to Firyon’s sallow cheeks. But it also

seemed to bolster the Deir’s determination for he straightened his shoulders and proudly

lifted his head.

“I don’t want to make an enemy of you, Dyhar,” he said. “As much for Eiren’s sake

as my peace of mind. He wouldn’t care to have us at odds over him. So I came here in the

hopes of…” Firyon swallowed nervously. “In the hopes of befriending you,” he finished

in a rush.

Ashrian gaped at him in astonishment. “There must be something wrong with my

ears,” he commented. “I swear I just heard you say you want to befriend me.”

“I-I did say…”

“Then you’re the biggest idiot since Horem Ferrenda imagined himself the great

conqueror of Ylandre.”

Firyon pursed his lips in displeasure. “I most certainly am not! Though I feared

you’d think that of me for wanting us to be friends but, well, I do hope we can be.” He

gazed at Ashrian, eyes a-brim with earnestness and compassion. “You love him as much

as I do. Why would I begrudge him such devotion from others? Veres knows how

difficult his calling is, dealing with sickness and injuries and—and death day in and day

out. But he finds great comfort in the love of those he cares for. ’Tis what keeps him

going. You know this, Dyhar. You’ve always known, haven’t you?”

Ashrian looked away. Much good the knowledge had done him or Eiren. How much

damage had his many betrayals done to Eiren’s state of mind? To his equanimity in the

face of hopelessness, suffering, and loss?

He looked back at Firyon, a faint smile curving his mouth. “If I think you an idiot, it

isn’t because you wish to befriend your mate’s former lover,” he mocked. “Rather you’re

a great fool to want anything to do with the likes of me, Firyon Sarvan.” His smile

widened into a malicious smirk. “How do you know I won’t use you to get him back?

You say he still loves me. And I know he still wants me. Try as he might, he can’t help

looking at me a certain way. A way he doesn’t look at you.” He doggedly ignored

Firyon’s pained gasp. “It would be quite easy to seduce him. I know him so very well and

what pleases him most. Once I gain his bed anew, regaining his heart would be mere

matter of course.”

“But you wouldn’t…”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? After all, I’m a wanton slut who thinks nothing of sleeping around

and cuckolded your beloved spouse to boot, may I remind you. So why, pray tell, are you

so willing to be my friend?”

Firyon stared at him, white-faced and wide-eyed. Ashrian resisted the impulse to

take back his cruel words. He had to drive this sweet, exasperatingly naive Deir away.

How could he ever bear to keep company with the one person in all Ylandre who had

what he wanted above all else? It would be an excruciating torment.

“Well, why so silent?” Ashrian gibed when Firyon did not reply. “Have you come to

your senses already?”

He waited impatiently as Firyon visibly struggled to collect himself. The latter took a

deep breath and timidly looked at him. Yet a kernel of defiance sparked in their gray

depths, taking Ashrian aback.

“You may be as you say, but you didn’t do any of it to hurt him deliberately,” Firyon

unexpectedly said. “You did things, wrong things, but never out of malice against him.

So I know you won’t try to seduce him o-or take him from me. Because that would only

hurt him and you would never hurt him knowingly.”

He started to stammer when Ashrian stared at him incredulously. “I mean, maybe

before th-that incident, you were rather thoughtless about your flings but he knew they

never meant anything to you the way he did. ’Tis just that, well, that last time, ’twas

someone he didn’t like and it pained him because you knew that. But you never meant for

him to know, did you? ’Twas an accident that he found out. Though, he said, ’twas, um,

foolish of you to think his brother wouldn’t have thrown it in his face the first chance he

got. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, except for that one indiscretion, you

never took up with people who mattered. That is, mattered to him. So that’s why I don’t

mind if we become friends. I know you won’t do anything that would harm me because

that would hurt Eiren. You’d hold back rather than ever hurt him again.”

Firyon stopped, panting a little from racing through his speech with nary a breath

between sentences.

Ashrian gaped at him a few seconds before shaking his head and exclaiming,

“You’re unbelievable! What cave have you been hiding in that you know nothing about

the ways of the world?”

Patches of color stained Firyon’s pale cheeks anew but he replied, “I may be naive,

but I’m not stupid. I based my assumptions on Eiren’s opinion and you can’t deny he

knows you very well.”

It was Ashrian’s turn to blush. He abruptly turned away, running his hand through

his hair in agitation.

“Go away,” he growled. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“But…”

“Just go!”

He heard Firyon’s resigned sigh behind him followed by the latter’s soft tread as he

headed for the door. He swung about suddenly, a wild impulse overtaking his

determination to have nothing to do with Eiren’s mate.

“Wait!” Ashrian clenched and unclenched his fists as Firyon came to a halt and

turned around to regard him warily. “He said those things about me?”

Firyon stared at him, startled, but he nodded. “He told me all about you and your

time together.”

Ashrian harshly laughed. “Then you must have heard curses aplenty as well.”

“Not at all!” Firyon walked back, shaking his head firmly. “He never demeaned you

to me. He only said that you hurt him and how. I mean, yes, he did so with some anger,

but not enough to speak disrespectfully of you and definitely not with hate. He still loves

you. I don’t think he’ll ever stop. The only reason he left you is because you, uh…”

“Betrayed him with someone I knew he loathed,” Ashrian finished for him. The

familiar ache blossomed in his heart and he hugged himself. After a tense moment, he

murmured, “How kind of him not to speak of me as I deserve. But he was always a good

heart. It was one thing I loved so dearly about him. And still do.”

He eyed Firyon a little skeptically but not without some acceptance as well. “I

suppose it won’t do any harm to be civil with each other. Eiren would be pleased I

warrant.”

“He definitely would,” Firyon agreed.

“Besides I don’t want a rift in the family.”

“Neither does he.”

“And if he bears me no ill will…”

“How can he when he still loves you dearly?”

Ashrian regarded his frail guest with renewed amazement. “And you really don’t

mind that he does?”

“Why should I? ’Twould only be a waste of my time,” Firyon reasoned. “Love can’t

be commanded so why fret about something beyond anyone’s control?”

“How … logical,” Ashrian had to admit. He absentmindedly patted down his tousled

hair. “If you’re determined to do this…”

“I am!”

“Well then, I see no reason not to make the attempt. And eventually…”

“Yes?” Firyon’s eyes began to twinkle as he spoke.

Ashrian could not help smiling albeit crookedly. “Eventually, we might do

something utterly scandalous.”

Firyon snorted. “Since when has forging friendship become cause for scandal?”

“When that friendship is between the former lover and current spouse of the same

Deir,” Ashrian pointed out. “But if you won’t mind the talk…”

“I rarely listen to the gossip around town,” Firyon said. “But what about you,

Dyhar?”

Ashrian chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve been the butt of gossip all my life. What’s one

more rumor to contend with?” He held a hand out to Firyon. “I hope you don’t regret

this.”

Firyon took his proffered hand. “I’m sure I won’t.”

We shall see.

Strangely enough, Ashrian felt a lightness inside he had thought lost to him forever.

Perhaps it had to do with the hope of rebuilding something with Eiren, even simple

friendship. It could also be the prospect of keeping company with someone who didn’t

know him well enough to form any judgments about him just yet. Or it could be both.

“By the way, you may address me by name,” he said, surprising even himself.

When Firyon beamed happily at him in response, he knew a strange mixture of

melancholy and relief bubble up inside him.

In the wake of those feelings rose a conviction that, after so very long a time, he had

made the right choice.

Chapter 9

Unlikelihood

Eiren sat himself at the writing desk of the bedchamber he now shared with Firyon.

He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and then selected a quill. He quickly sharpened the

tip with the small knife kept for that purpose then dipped it in the inkwell. He focused on

writing the letter of inquiry he intended to send to the Arvaldin kingdom of Sarmatia

whose crown prince he had treated years ago for a growth in his belly.

He had successfully excised the tumor and managed to cleanse the surrounding

tissue of any signs of disease. Despite his confidence that he had cured the prince, he

continued to watch for any recurrence of the disease. Hence his twice yearly

correspondence with the Sarmatian royal family.

Upon finishing, he read over his letter, made a slight correction, and then plucked the

small bowl of sand from the corner of the table. He poured the sand over the letter and

allowed the excess ink to be absorbed. Satisfied that the ink had set, he poured the sand

back into the bowl. After folding the letter, he set it aside and took out an envelope. Once

more, he dipped his quill in the ink and then started to address the envelope.

“Are you angry?” he heard Firyon ask.

After a moment’s pause, Eiren laid down the quill and turned in the chair to look at

his mate. Firyon gazed at him a little anxiously. Eiren sighed and motioned to him to

approach.

“I’m not angry,” he said when Firyon came to him. “Just astounded by your

audacity.” He pulled Firyon down to sit on his lap.

Firyon faintly smiled. “Ashrian was too.”

“I should think so. Yet he agreed to try.” Eiren shook his head. “I don’t know what

confounds me more—your attempt to befriend him or his acceptance of it. That he even

spoke with you defies all logic. He has every reason to hate you.”

“But he doesn’t,” Firyon said. “He resents me perhaps for taking his place but I don’t

think he hates me personally. If anything, he blames himself for losing you. I should have

been afraid of him and what he’s capable of doing—he said so himself, that he could take

you away from me if he put his mind to it. But he’s so bent on ensuring that he never

hurts you again in any way, I know there’s nothing to fear. He’ll do everything in his

power to please you and protect you even if it costs him dearly.” Firyon very softly

added, “I think he’s become what you’d looked for in him before.”

Eiren narrowed his eyes. “Why aren’t you worried, Fir? I expected jealousy, not

sympathy. How can you be compassionate toward him? Indeed, how can you be so

generous that you would share a part of me with him of all people?”

“You’re displeased,” Firyon murmured. “You think I don’t love you enough to be

jealous. Truth be told, I was terrified when you introduced us. I couldn’t believe you’d

broken with someone like him and then married someone like me. And if he’d acted as if

he owned you and could do as he pleased with you, I would never have considered

befriending him. But he isn’t like that at all. He looked so lost and stricken when he

found out we were wed, I couldn’t help pitying him. And when he didn’t turn on us, I

knew his heart was in the right place. I just felt he loved you so much more than he cared

for himself.”

“You always see the good in everyone and everything,” Eiren remarked with a faint

smile.

“Only if there’s something good to see,” Firyon pointed out. “I’m not a blind

optimist and I’m not doing this completely from the goodness of my heart either. I need

to prepare for the future, Ren, and make sure someone will care for you. My health is

uncertain and there may come a time when…”

“Don’t speak of that!” Eiren cut in, his voice harsh. “Saints above, have you so little

faith in me, Fir?”

Firyon hugged him, burying his face in the side of his neck. “I do, I do. I know

you’re doing everything possible to make me hale. But you’ve said it many times before.

There are things beyond even your skill to fix. I would like us both to be prepared should

that be the case with me. Please, ariad, ’twould soothe my heart to know you’ll be loved

and cared for no matter what happens.”

Eiren swallowed hard. He tightened his hold on Firyon, shaking a little as he realized

he could think of nothing to contest his mate’s words.

“’Tis all right,” Firyon whispered, correctly discerning his silence. “I’d accepted

even before we met that I’d likely never regain my health. But I never imagined I’d get to

experience such joy as I’ve had with you. So you see, you’ve given me the greatest gift of

all. I’m forever grateful I was given this chance to love and be loved. So many folk never

do.”

* * * *

Now that his mate had graciously opened the doors of friendship to the Deir he’d

been expected to deem his enemy, Eiren knew he could do no less. Indeed, he had to do

much more. Ashrian was not just his former lover or close kin—he was his first true love.

And whatever his errors, Eiren could not deny that Ashrian had been loving with him in

his own way though he had never said the words. Yet he’d been inexcusably thoughtless

despite knowing how deeply shocked his cousin had been by his unexpected marriage.

The opportunity to make amends came during one of the weekly archery bouts their

royal cousin Rohyr held for those of his relations currently in town. Eiren had not had

much practice during his nearly yearlong absence from Rikara. Thus when the invitation

to join his cousins and uncles at the Citadel for an early morning session of yuda came,

he accepted with alacrity. Unfortunately, Firyon did not feel well enough to accompany

him and so he went on his own albeit a little late for he saw to his mate’s comfort before

he departed.

His first sight of all his kin in full regalia had the same impact on him as Deira who

had never seen Naeren-style archers or yudare in all their splendor. Yuda, an ancient style

of archery practiced by the Naere, the Deira’s ancestors, was virtually extinct in the

Vihandran supercontinent and had been preserved only in Ylandre by the royal family,

the great fief-lords and select companies of their mounted archers. Otherwise, one had to

travel to the westernmost continent of Khitaira in order to witness the regular

employment of yuda in the present day.

The yudar’s garments were a wondrous eyeful, a testament to history, formality and

tradition. Loose-legged, high-waist trousers of sturdy, usually dark fabric were worn over

short-sleeved, thigh-length tunics, long, thin breeches, and soft leather boots. Dressed

thusly, yudare were a sight to behold. When they employed their tall, stylized bows of

sturdy evergreen in the manner of the Naere, it was like peering into the distant past.

Eiren quickly changed clothing and then hastened to join the others on the field.

Rohyr was there as was his Ardis Tyrde. But not Lassen Idana. He had returned to his

hometown two months previously for a long-planned visit to his family.

Before taking his place, Eiren noticed Rohyr’s attempts to be accommodating and

friendly to his cousin and consort. He’s making a sincere effort to befriend Tyrde, Eiren

observed. He wondered however if Tyrde understood that it took more than skill between

the sheets and an active interest in the rule of the kingdom to make a royal marriage

work. Rohyr’s last letters to him before Eiren returned to Rikara had expressed much

frustration at their limited interaction outside of the bedchamber and wariness at his

consort’s aggressive efforts to increase his influence at court.

At least, he joined us this morning, Eiren thought with some bemusement. From

what he’d heard, Tyrde seemed more interested in creating his own coterie of followers

rather than being part of the circle of friends and relations Rohyr turned to for counsel

and comfort.

Is it our loyalty to Rohyr that turns him away? But that bespoke something more

troubling than mere egocentricity, Eiren realized. For why would a monarch’s spouse

begrudge him such love and fidelity that was rare and hard-won in a world as potentially

corrupt and rent by factionalism as the governance of a nation?

His musings were forgotten when he spotted Ashrian when the latter left his place

between the Arthanna brothers, Reijir and Keiran, and moved to the end of the line beside

Keosqe Deilen and Gilmael Calanthe. He suspected Ashrian had made the move when he

saw Eiren approaching. Eiren steeled himself against the possibility of a snub and headed

for his onetime lover.

Ashrian did not look at him but focused on his next shot. Eiren waited for him to

complete it before speaking. He smiled when the arrow hit the target just a couple of

inches off center. Their cousin Reijir was the master of the sport and only Rohyr and

perhaps Reijir’s own brother Keiran were closest to him in expertise. But Ashrian’s skill

had steadily improved and Eiren could imagine him becoming a master yudar as well.

When Ashrian lowered his bow, Eiren saw his chance. “I’m sorry,” he softly said.

Ashrian started slightly but still did not face him. “What for?” he replied. “I’m the

one who made a mess of everything.”

“But you were always kind and affectionate toward me, your missteps

notwithstanding,” Eiren pointed out. “I forgot that and hurt you with my lack of

consideration. I saw that you’d suffered as much as I yet I didn’t school my tongue. For

that I’m truly sorry.” When Ashrian still did not look his way but a tinge of color warmed

his cheeks, Eiren added, “For what it is worth, I still care for you, Ash. More than I

should, in fact. This gap between us pains me terribly though I know I’m the one who

started it.”

“Nay!” Ashrian finally turned to face him. “Don’t take the blame for that, Ren. What

you did was natural and only to be expected.” He suddenly looked so sad and resigned

that it quite broke Eiren’s heart. “I-I would have appreciated more compassion that day—

it hurt so much I nearly…” Ashrian broke off abruptly and instead said, “No matter, for

that I’ll accept your apology.”

Eiren gazed at him searchingly. “You nearly what?” he asked. He reached out and

gripped Ashrian’s arm. “What did you try to do, Ash?”

Ashrian shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself about it. Besides, Aeldan ensured I

won’t indulge in any more foolishness of the sort.”

A terrible suspicion took grip of Eiren and he tightened his hold on Ashrian’s arm.

“Not on my account, Ash,” he insisted. “Not for anyone ever. No one is worth that!”

“You are,” Ashrian retorted. “But rest you, it won’t happen again.”

Eiren swallowed hard, the enormity of what might have come to pass weighing him

down with dread and guilt. Ashrian covered his clutching hand with his own and patted

it.

“Think no more about it, Ren,” he said. “Aeldan was right. I can’t have you living

with regret on account of me. So you see, there’s nothing to fear.”

“Perhaps not to fear,” Eiren whispered. “But I didn’t think you’d…” He shut his eyes

tight. “I never intended to hurt you so much that you would…” He drew a shuddering

breath, unable to finish the thought.

The sudden weave of Ashrian’s arms around him was startling but banished some of

the cold dread inside him.

“Aeldan invoked your name,” Ashrian said. “It was the thought of how you would

react that stayed my hand for good. You saved me then.”

“Holy saints…” Eiren buried his face a moment in Ashrian’s chest, struggling to

collect himself. “Thank Veres for small mercies,” he murmured.

At length, Ashrian said, “I think we’d best behave ourselves. The others are looking

at us. Worriedly I must say.”

Eiren looked up and saw that Ashrian was right. The others were indeed watching

them and not only with worry but also suspicion. And Tyrde went so far as to smirk

knowingly when Eiren looked his way. Eiren instinctively jerked away from Ashrian. But

just as abruptly, he changed his mind and hugged Ashrian tightly, almost defiantly,

startling him in turn. When he let go, he gazed at Ashrian in appeal.

“Can we be friends again?” he asked, hopeful.

Ashrian hesitated and then said, “Only if you still care for me in some small way.”

“I do, Ash, and not in some small way,” Eiren answered. “Indeed, I always will.”

He waited with bated breath as Ashrian silently regarded him. He felt the faintest

brush of a mental probe and knew his cousin wanted to ascertain his truthfulness but

hesitated to do so without his leave. Eiren promptly dropped his shields and allowed

Ashrian to see for himself that he’d meant every word.

It had been so long since they’d last touched minds, opening to each other in trust

and revelation. Eiren shivered a little at the intimacy of it. That Ashrian felt likewise

echoed in the channel between them and showed itself in the intense yearning in his hazel

eyes in that unguarded moment. Eiren could not help responding to that unvoiced desire.

“Ash,” he murmured, acutely aware of the longing in his own voice.

The probe ceased and Ashrian briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again,

naught but warmth and kindness showed. He had firmly shuttered away all else. Given

his own tumultuous emotions, Eiren was relieved. Yet he was also saddened that they

would have to keep certain things hidden from each other from hereon even as they

reestablished amity between them.

“You should have brought Firyon with you,” Ashrian said. “It’s time he met the rest

of the family.”

Eiren beamed, his heart swelling with affection for his doughty cousin. “He was

unwell this morn. But I’ll bring him next time, his health permitting.”

Ashrian nodded and turned to face his target once more. He fitted an arrow to his

bow and fell into the yudar’s elegant stance. Eiren followed suit.

“Tell him I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Ashrian said, carefully taking aim. “We received

a shipment of rare sweets from Arvalde yesterday. I’ll bring him some.” The veins and

muscles in his right arm strained as he drew back the bowstring.

“He’ll like that,” Eiren replied. He watched admiringly as Ashrian loosed his arrow

into the dead center of the target. He made a decent shot himself but his lack of practice

was all too apparent. “You’ll soon be at par with Rohyr and Keiran if you keep this up.

Would you deign to teach Firyon?”

Ashrian hefted his bow thoughtfully. A yuda bow was virtually as tall as its wielder

and it took a certain amount of strength to draw the bowstring to its limit.

“If he’s strong enough,” he replied. “I’ll see how he does with this. But I think he

might do better with the crossbow.”

“Thank you, Ash,” Eiren said. “You’re really a kind heart. Small wonder Firyon

thinks so highly of you.”

Ashrian shrugged and nocked another arrow. But faint color stained his cheeks,

belying his apparent nonchalance.

Chapter 10

Affinity

“Weren’t Ashrian and Eiren lovers before or did I only imagine that they were?”

Halbreth Seere asked, scratching his silver-maned head in incredulity.

Aeldan rolled his eyes. His cousin was not the first to comment on Ashrian’s latest

imbroglio and Aeldan was certain he would not be the last.

“Yes, they were lovers and we all thought they would eventually wed,” he answered.

Halbreth’s expression was priceless. “So instead Eiren suddenly marries some

nobody from nowhere and Ashrian goes and becomes friends with said nobody,” he

commented. “And yet he’s so obviously in love with Eiren and would have cheerfully

decapitated anyone who tried to take Eiren from him. Except the one who actually did

take him away.” He looked at Aeldan, his bafflement apparent in his expression. “How in

Aisen did this farce come about?

“It’s no farce,” Aeldan sharply said. “I think Ashrian is genuinely fond of Firyon.

Now as to how that came about, I don’t understand it either. And neither does anyone

else including, I suspect, Ashrian, Eiren, and Firyon themselves.”

Halbreth looked even more befuddled, but he said no more and returned his attention

to what had provoked his curiosity. He and Aeldan had just returned from a brief

postprandial ride and thus walked in on a scene of improbable domesticity.

They were all gathered in the large study of the Mithani residence. Seated at the card

table, Ashrian was engaged in a board game of strategy with Firyon. Eiren on the other

hand was conversing with the brothers’ birthing father, his Uncle Kaiden. Over in his

great chair, Olriq Mithani would ever so often lift his eyes from the book he was reading

to stare rather dubiously at his younger son in amicable company with his former lover’s

current mate.

Aeldan could not blame Halbreth for sharing the Herun’s feelings about the

arrangement. Even more, considering that Halbreth just returned to Ylandre. The last

time he’d been in town, Ashrian and Eiren were still together, albeit undergoing what

most of the family had thought to be a temporary breakup. So his shock at finding a

complete upending of his assumptions was not surprising in the least.

His brother’s unlikely friendship with Firyon Sarvan had sparked off enough gossip

to distract even the Citadel courtiers from their duties. In fact, just the other day at the

Citadel, Rohyr had read out loud to a few of them a letter from Uncle Imcael in which the

Herun had commented on the situation in less than complimentary terms, saying it was

not meet for Eiren’s ex-lover and spouse to be on such good terms.

Such an arrangement was indecent, he’d complained, though what exactly was

indecent about it he did not say. Aeldan suspected it was Uncle Imcael’s way of showing

his disapproval of Eiren’s marriage to a Half Blood commoner when he was already all

but promised to a highborn True Blood who was not only the son of a Herun, but was

also a scion of House Essendri. But what else could one expect of someone who had

actually resorted to deceit to ensure the royal bloodline remained as unsullied as was

possible these days by lowly commoners and ungifted sedyra?

He did not reveal this to his cousin however. Nor did he tell him about the secret

currently being kept at the Mithanis’ estate in remote Pelmorth, a small coastal village of

Glanthar.

Only a trusted handful of people were aware of the infant born to Rohyr and Lassen

Idana at the start of autumn. Furthermore, Rohyr had taken an unprecedented step and

soul-bound himself to Lassen even though he was still handfast to Tyrde. Whether Rohyr

would find just cause to seek the dissolution of his marriage to Tyrde was still in question

and so he had chosen not to await so uncertain an outcome before taking Lassen in

eternal wedlock. But he would have abdicated if his most trusted kin had opposed his

wishes. Given the chilling alternative of Imcael as Ardan of Ylandre, they had

unanimously agreed to support Rohyr and recognize the son he’d sired on Lassen as his

heir apparent.

Aeldan expected those who had reason to fear disempowerment and fiercely

challenge the validity of the union. Evidence of its blessing by Veres almighty in the

form of testimony by those who had witnessed the sacred rite of soul-binding would be

discounted in the rush to void an undertaking that posed a threat to the overly ambitious.

Even the fact that a soul-binding took precedence over both civil and fane marriages

would not deter the desperate from trying. But knowing Rohyr’s intractability when he

set his sights on something, Aeldan also expected nothing less than a political bloodbath

when matters came to a head. He kept these thoughts to himself, however, saving his

speculations for discussion with those trusted few in the know.

* * * *

Eiren sighed in exasperation as he carefully dabbed at the trickle of dried blood

under Firyon’s nose. He glared first at his spouse and then at his cousin. Neither however

responded with the appropriate repentance he expected. If anything, Ashrian was

grinning from ear to ear and Firyon was positively glowing with exhilaration as he

continued to recount his latest misadventure with Ashrian.

“So instead of making a prudent retreat, you decided to just whale in and extend the

fight,” he chided Ashrian who sat opposite Firyon in the ground floor examination room

at Eiren’s house.

“He didn’t extend the fight, they were attacking me,” Firyon asserted.

“So he defended you. I understand that and I’m grateful he did, really.” Eiren glared

once more, first at Firyon and then at Ashrian. “But having pried those hooligans off him,

why for Veres’s sake did you not leave at once? Why did you stick around until they’d

recovered enough to start another brawl with you?”

“Because it wouldn’t have been half as much fun,” Ashrian archly replied. “Don’t

you agree, Roh?”

The Ardan of Ylandre chuckled when his personal physician leveled a look on him

reminiscent of the glacial stares his university instructors used to cast at him.

“Firyon was never in any danger, Ren,” he said. “A more dimwitted, inept collection

of ruffians I have yet to meet.”

“Never in danger?” Eiren repeated, his voice ominously higher and sharper. “Then

how do you explain this?” He cupped Firyon’s smudged and scratched face. “And this?”

He indicated Ashrian’s cut lip. “And what about that?” He pointed an accusatory finger

at the bruise that darkened Rohyr’s left cheek.

Rohyr touched his bruise and shrugged. “The punch was meant for Firyon. I got in

the way, that’s all.”

“The same for me,” Ashrian said, smirking.

Their nonchalance irritated Eiren further. “Holy saints! Did they even realize they

were fighting their own Ardan?” he muttered.

“Obviously not,” Ashrian replied. “Which only confirms Rohyr’s opinion of their

competence and intelligence—or lack thereof.”

“But can they really be faulted for not recognizing him?” Firyon wondered. “I beg

your pardon, Your Majesty, but your attire is, well, rather, um…”

“Disreputable, I know,” Rohyr finished for him. He plucked at his undeniably

raffish-looking tunic. “I used to wear this back when I was still crown prince and wanted

to blend in with the common folk.”

“That’s not the point!” Eiren scowled at his royal cousin. “Just how did you happen

to be around? You haven’t frequented the south district in ages, Roh.”

“Aren’t you pleased I showed up tonight?” Rohyr cheekily asked. “And I’m happy to

say, Firyon gave them as good as he got.”

“With a little help from us,” Ashrian added. “I must say, your timing was

impeccable, Roh.”

“As always,” Rohyr agreed.

Eiren rolled his eyes again. Rephrasing his question, he slowly and patiently asked,

“Why were you there?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Ren. To get away from Tyrde. He wanted me to join him

and his lackeys for a night of drink and talks of advancement for that dubious lot. So I

sneaked out of the Citadel.”

Eiren gaped at him, not quite able to picture their regal cousin slipping past the

Citadel guards like a truant student.

“But-but why sneak out?” he sputtered. “Why not just— leave?”

“In plain sight of everyone?” Rohyr scoffed. “Word would have quickly got back to

Tyrde and he’d have come after me forthwith.”

“You fear Tyrde?” Eiren asked incredulously.

“Of course not!” Rohyr said. “But he would have complained to Uncle Imcael and

you can be certain our esteemed uncle would have dashed off a spate of tedious letters

lecturing me about duty, honor and treating his son right. Now that I do fear.”

“And justifiably so,” Ashrian affirmed with a knowing shake of his head.

Eiren regarded them both with a jaundiced expression. “And just how did you

manage to turn down Tyrde’s invitation?”

“Oh, I told him I was unwell,” Rohyr replied. “That I intended to make an early night

of it and sleep it off.”

Ashrian guffawed. “He doesn’t know you never let illness get in the way of running

the kingdom, does he?”

“Thank Veres he doesn’t. Ah well, the sacrifices I make for the good of the

kingdom.”

Eiren snorted. “How pray tell could avoiding him and sneaking out and getting

embroiled in a fracas be for the good of the kingdom?”

“It put me in the best of moods,” Rohyr quipped. “And when I’m in a good mood, I

become very enthusiastic about ruling. Just ask Lassen how well I do after a night’s

worth of rutting with him.”

About to retort, Eiren stopped when Firyon snickered loudly behind him. He trained

a glower on his mirthful spouse and scolded, “You’re not helping.”

“Was he supposed to?” Ashrian needled. “But really, it was no worse than any of the

brawls we’ve been mixed up in before. Admit it, you’re in a pother because you never

expected Fir to be involved in a street fight.”

“Of course I never expected it!” Eiren exclaimed. “And I never thought you’d bring

him to the south district either! What were you thinking? You know how easily trouble

breaks out down there.”

“But he wanted to visit the cock pits,” Ashrian reasoned. “How was I supposed to

refuse?”

“Easily. You could have simply said, ‘Nay, Firyon, it’s a seedy area rife with

hoodlums and other undesirable elements.’ Would that have been so hard?”

“I did say that. Well, I didn’t refuse, but I told him it could be dangerous.”

“Yes, he did,” Firyon piped up. “I made him bring me anyway.” He eagerly looked

at Ashrian. “Can we do it again?”

While Eiren roared his name, Rohyr doubled over in laughter. Rohyr wiped his eyes

and said between chuckles, “Give up, Ren. Your overprotectiveness is misplaced. Look at

him—Firyon obviously enjoyed himself!”

“Very much indeed!” Firyon agreed.

“In which case, maybe we’ll attend a boxing match next time,” Ashrian suggested.

Before Eiren could protest, a delighted Firyon said, “Oh yes! I’ve always wanted to

see one of those!”

Eiren groaned and put a hand to his temple to rub it. “I can’t believe this,” he

muttered.

“Oh, come now,” Rohyr said with a grin. “Firyon isn’t some hothouse blossom in

need of constant sheltering. Indeed, I’m surprised you don’t take advantage of the times

he’s hale. You should let him get out a bit. See a little more of the world. I wager he’s

had enough of being immured at home and coddled within an inch of his life.”

“Thank you, Dyhar,” Firyon replied. “That’s precisely what I keep telling him, but

he won’t listen.” He looked up affectionately at Eiren. “I wish you wouldn’t fuss over me

so much, ariad. I haven’t been ill for a while now so you needn’t worry about me.

Besides, it really doesn’t become you.”

“You look ridiculous when you cluck over him,” Ashrian stated.

“Quite,” Rohyr concurred.

Eiren knew when he was beaten. Throwing his hands up, he exclaimed, “Veres

preserve me!” He glared at all three one last time. “You can take care of yourselves. I’m

going to bed!”

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. But not before he heard

Firyon brightly ask, “So, Ash, when will you take me to a boxing match?”

Chapter 11

Yearning

The shore spread out endlessly before Eiren. It was a perfect day for a walk down a

nicely deserted beach. Bright and breezy with nary a dark cloud to shadow the impossibly

blue sky. Or a querulous patient or interfering colleague to disturb the soothing rhythm of

surf descending on sand and the occasional haunting call of a sea bird on the hunt.

The physician lazily smiled as he strolled down the sandy stretch. There was nothing

like the beaches of Glanthar. And this particular one was renowned for the exceptionally

powdery consistency of its wheaten sand and the rich azure of its waters. That it was a

private beach, part of one of the numerous Mithani estates dotting the fief the family

ruled, made it all the more possible to enjoy one’s self without fear of intrusion from

strangers.

He came to the water’s edge just as one spent wave was retreating to make way for

another. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply of the bracing salty air. The feel of cool

liquid lapping at his toes compelled him to open his eyes and look down to watch the

water seep between his toes. He suddenly noticed a pair of bare feet alongside his.

Eiren looked sideways. Hazel eyes met his startled gaze.

“Ash!” he softly exclaimed. “I thought you’d be away the whole day.”

His cousin shrugged and said with a faint smile, “Since I concluded my business

early, I thought I’d take a stroll.”

“So you didn’t know I’d come down here as well.”

Ashrian shook his head. Eiren watched with some puzzlement as, without a word, he

turned and walked to the lone tree on the beach. Ashrian sat in its shade and settled his

lean frame against the trunk. After a moment, Eiren joined him, sinking down on the

sparse grass around the tree’s base. He regarded Ashrian wonderingly. But Ashrian did

not look at him.

“I pray your sojourn here will do you good, cousin,” Ashrian said, eyes on the waves

crashing on the shore.

Eiren stared at him curiously. “Why so formal?” he asked a bit reprovingly. “And

why have you been avoiding me?”

“Have I?” Ashrian shrugged. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Eiren felt a wave of frustration wash over him. The closeness they had once known,

even as mere kin to each other was gone. Ashrian treated him like a well-respected guest,

no more, no less. You’d think they were not related at all, much less shared a common

family tree. Or their bodies once upon a time. He stared at his cousin searchingly.

It was not long before he was acutely aware of Ashrian’s vibrant beauty all over

again. It felt like that time when Ashrian approached him at his sire’s second binding and

handed him a goblet of wine. He’d fallen hard for Ashrian then and soon after embarked

on a turbulent and dizzyingly passionate affair, the likes of which he had never known

before and would probably never know again.

Clad in a loose shirt and rugged breeches partially rolled to his calves, his bright red-

brown hair in fetching disarray from the strong breeze, Ashrian was the picture of the

wild spirit many thought him to be. Eiren could remember a time when no one could

tether him.

He’d known Ashrian then. Spent most of those years in his company, discovering

how well they suited each other despite the differences in their personalities. I tempered

him and he taught me to let go, Eiren thought.

He’d taught Eiren other things. Physician he might be yet Eiren had known less

about his body, or rather his body’s needs, than Ashrian had when they came together for

the first time between the sheets. It was at Ashrian’s hands that he’d experienced the

heights of pleasure and the depths of desire.

Of a sudden, he longed to touch the warm skin he knew lay underneath Ashrian’s

shirt. Just this one time, he told himself.

Wordlessly, he reached over and unbuttoned Ashrian’s shirt. Ashrian watched him

impassively as he smoothed his hand over firm flesh and sleekly sculpted muscles. With

his shirt’s opening, Ashrian’s distinctive scent also came to the fore. Eiren closed his

eyes, savoring the familiar aroma of his onetime lover.

Eiren opened his eyes and realized with a start that Ashrian was watching him. He

swallowed hard, abashed by his cousin’s regard. But Ashrian made no move except to lift

an inquiring eyebrow. Unable to explain his actions, Eiren stared at Ashrian’s mouth

instead. His lips seemed fuller than usual. Inviting.

Impulsively, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Ashrian’s. They parted to

permit him admittance and he savored the taste of his former lover. Warm and soft and

sweet, belying barely leashed power and passion.

He suddenly broke off the kiss, his heart thundering over the feelings the caress had

roused. He noticed Ashrian’s wary gaze.

“I thought all was over between us,” Ashrian murmured. “What’s more, you’re no

longer free.”

Eiren flushed. “I know,” he half stammered. “But after so long, I-it’s only that …

Damn it, Ash, can’t you see? I need you! I can’t go on without—without…”

He looked away in distress, his face burning with shame. Ashrian cupped his chin

and made him face him. Ashrian studied him intently until Eiren felt the slow burn of his

cheeks. And then all unexpectedly he pulled Eiren close and kissed him.

Eiren sighed and sank into Ashrian’s arms, hungrily returning the kiss as if drinking

from a freshly filled spring after a long drought. A part of him wondered in confusion,

Why can’t I resist him? This is wrong. I am wed to Firyon! But another part, the stronger

part, did not care and only wanted union with Ashrian once more.

Fire swept through his veins proving to him all over again that no other’s touch could

compare. It seemed but a moment before he found himself on his back, his clothing cast

aside, and Ashrian atop him.

He shivered with delight as Ashrian’s lips trailed from his jaw down his throat to his

shallowly heaving chest. He sucked in his breath as each nipple was suckled and

teasingly nibbled until he was pressing up urgently against Ashrian. The searing journey

continued, leaving pale bruises on the skin of his belly, each kiss and suck making him

gasp in elation. A moan burst from his lips as the sensitive clefts where his groin met his

thighs were licked and nipped with thrilling possessiveness.

Eiren reached down to run his hands through Ashrian’s hair, pleading for more. His

lover obliged and Eiren nearly howled in ecstasy when his aching length was suddenly

ensnared in wet heat. He helplessly bucked into Ashrian’s mouth, the relentless draw on

his shaft bringing him perilously close to completion. But to his dismay, Ashrian released

him.

“Nay!” he gasped. “Please, Ash, don’t leave me thusly!”

“You know I won’t,” Ashrian assured him. “Your pleasure is always mine.”

Their mouths met and slanted against each other in a hot-tongued duel. Eiren supped

of their kiss with a hunger born of long denial. When Ashrian tried to draw away, Eiren

curled his arms around his back and pulled him back. He eagerly pressed his mouth to his

cousin’s throat and chest, returning the favor of marking his neck with small scarlet

bruises and nibbling on his nipples until they hardened to tiny peaks. Ashrian groaned

and brusquely pushed him down

Eiren watched in anticipation as Ashrian shifted between his legs, lifted them and

parted his buttocks for breaching. With one smooth plunge of his shaft, Ashrian was

inside him and he moaned pleasurably and lingeringly, arching into his slow, deep

piercing. Ashrian held him steady as he repeatedly drove into him, his hands gripping

Eiren’s hips hard enough to bruise. Just the way Eiren liked it after prolonged abstinence.

When Ashrian curled his hand around his shaft and stroked him in time with his thrusts,

Eiren nearly crooned his approval.

The rapturous pressure grew in his nether regions with every slid of Ashrian’s shaft

into his body. Eiren gazed longingly at Ashrian until their eyes met. He thought then that

he would drown in the depths of his lover’s eyes. Beauteous pools of simmering hazel,

they drew him in and ensorcelled him, steadily unraveling his senses until he was all but

frantic for release.

His pleasure began to spiral out of control. Eiren sobbed as the relentless slide of

hard flesh up his backside intensified the rapture, as did the steady stroking of his shaft.

He stared at Ashrian, unable to give voice to his fierce longing. But when Ashrian smiled

knowingly at him, he felt a faint wave of self-consciousness. He quickly closed his eyes

and struggled to contain his too obvious desire for his erstwhile lover.

“Don’t hold back, Ren. Never hold back.”

Ashrian’s silent, sultry command shattered his every effort at control. His release

crashed down upon him like a tidal wave, overwhelming him until he could hold himself

back no longer and he hoarsely keened his lover’s name, the sound of it ringing across

the lengthy shore.

*

The branding heat of desirous lips and the searing touch of clutching hands reduced

Ashrian’s defenses to figurative rubble. Eiren’s body, strong and muscled yet open and

yielding, undulated under his own. He could not suppress the pleasure that invaded his

body. Or turn back the growing pressure in his groin that portended a breathtakingly

explosive orgasm.

He gasped as he was gloved in Eiren’s silken heat; groaned as his cousin’s powerful

legs locked around his waist to pull him deeper into his body. The pressure intensified

and soon he was teetering on the edge of rapture’s chasm. A cry rang out in his mind, so

joyful and rapturous it destroyed all vestiges of control. He climaxed with bludgeoning

force, spilling his seed in what felt like an endless torrent.

Ashrian hissed in shock and then opened his eyes to stare unseeingly at the coffered

ceiling of his bedchamber.

*

“Wake up, Ren! Saints above, what is wrong?”

The anxious voice timorously raised in query jolted Eiren from slumber, so different

was it from Ashrian’s deeper, surer tones. He blinked when he beheld Firyon’s worried

countenance hovering over him, his mate’s hair tousled and his eyes bleary from abruptly

interrupted sleep.

Eiren looked about him, disoriented, and tried to reconcile the warm, closed darkness

about him with the breezy, nigh endless stretch of a Glanthar beach. The fine sand and

sparse grass beneath him had given way to cotton sheets and a rumpled blanket partially

wrapped around him.

“What…?” he mumbled in confusion.

“I think you were dreaming,” Firyon said. “Or having a nightmare. You were

thrashing about. And then you called out something. It sounded like ‘Ash.’” He looked at

Eiren curiously. “Did you quarrel with Ashrian recently?”

The mention of Ashrian brought everything back. Eiren was grateful for the dimness

that concealed the sudden heating up of his face. He shook his head.

“Why do you think we quarreled?”

Firyon shrugged. “It was the tone of your voice. I’ve never heard you shout like that

before. It was—I don’t know—heated?”

Eiren rubbed his forehead. More likely impassioned.

“Nay, we haven’t even seen each other these past many days,” he said. “Likely I

remembered some past spat or other and dreamed about it.” He took Firyon’s hand and

squeezed it. “I’m sorry for waking you up. Go back to sleep, ariad.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Firyon asked.

“Perfectly.”

He waited for Firyon to slide back into heavy slumber before slipping out of bed to

discard his damp trousers and pull on a new pair. He hoped Firyon would not notice the

change come morning. He buried the soiled garment in the bottom of their laundry

hamper to make it appear as if he’d used them earlier in the week.

Thank Veres, his spouse had never seen or heard him as Ashrian had many a scarlet

night, he grimly thought as he lay down once more. Else, Firyon would have recognized

Eiren’s inflamed utterance of Ashrian’s name for what it truly was. He turned and pulled

Firyon close and determinedly went back to sleep.

*

Ashrian stripped off his trousers and tossed the garment into the laundry basket on

his way to the bathing chamber. He wondered in passing what the servants thought of

finding semen-stained clothing ever so often even when it was clear Ashrian slept alone.

None had shared his bed since his breakup with Eiren almost four years ago.

After a quick wash to cleanse his groin and thighs of his spending, he returned to

bed. But he could not sleep at once. Not when his body still thrummed with the slowly

fading tendrils of his strongest dream-induced climax to date.

Was it his imagination or were the dreams getting more torrid? His orgasms certainly

seemed to be intensifying. As for Eiren…

Ashrian sighed. It was time he visited Eiren and discussed the matter with him.

* * * *

Eiren arrived at the Rikara Public Hospital later than his wont the following day. He

blamed it on his fitful slumber the night before thanks to his anxiety that he would dream

of Ashrian again. He did his rounds as quickly as possible, mindful of the number of folk

awaiting him in his consultation room as well as a late morning meeting with the

physician to whom he was turning over a patient.

The meeting was postponed however, when the physician concerned was called

away on an emergency. Thus Eiren found himself with an unexpected hour or so of

breathing space. He wondered whether to proceed with his obligations ahead of schedule

or take advantage of the lull and join Firyon for the midday meal.

He had just decided to go home and was stepping out of his consultation room when

who should he espy striding down the corridor toward him than the object of his fevered

dreams.

Eiren groaned. Ashrian had seen him before he saw Ashrian. He could not avoid his

cousin without being obvious about it.

He wondered why Ashrian was here. The state hospital was not the place of choice

for the bulk of the city’s aristocracy in which to seek medical attention. Most bluebloods

preferred home visits by their physicians or, if there was a need for confinement, the

smaller but more efficient and better-staffed health center ran by the Order of

Hospitallers. Previously, the only reason Ashrian had ever set foot in the state hospital

was Eiren himself. Now that they were no longer lovers, Ashrian had ceased to visit him

here.

He willed the tension out of his stance as he waited for his cousin to traverse the

corridor to him. Ashrian smiled slightly when he neared, reaching out a hand to grip

Eiren’s in greeting.

“Can we talk in private?” he asked after a peek into Eiren’s office revealed two

apprentices putting the medicament storage cabinet in order.

Eiren raised his eyebrows at the abrupt request but acquiesced nonetheless. He led

the way to the small chapel in back of the hospital. “There’s a meeting room beside the

chapel. It sometimes serves as a confessional when all the stalls are in use and the

penitent doesn’t mind being shriven in person.”

That elicited a dry chuckle from Ashrian.

“What’s so amusing?” Eiren asked.

Ashrian shook his head. “It’s just ironic considering what I have to say.” They

entered the chamber. It was small but airy with only one wide window, an oval table, and

a few chairs inside. “I must say I prefer speaking directly to my confessor.”

“You do?” Eiren regarded him with surprise. “But you often said you disliked

revealing yourself if you sought shriving in the first place.”

“Well, I’ve grown some since then,” Ashrian replied. “Can we sit over there?” he

asked, pointing to the window. It overlooked the garden and had a wide flat sill. “I think

you’ll be thankful for the fresh air.”

“You’re being quite mysterious,” Eiren complained as they walked to the window.

They sat on the sill facing each other. He wondered why Ashrian looked at him

searchingly.

“It seems you don’t know,” Ashrian remarked.

“Don’t know what?”

Ashrian bit his lip then took a deep breath and said, “I haven’t been avoiding you,

Ren.”

Eiren felt the rush of blood into his cheeks. “What are you talking about?” he sharply

asked.

“You said so in your dream last night,” Ashrian reminded him.

“My dream!” Eiren drew a shaky breath. “How could you know what I dreamed?” he

demanded.

“Because I had the same dream. Or rather, I experienced what you dreamed.” At

Eiren’s incredulous stare, Ashrian elaborated further. “My family’s private beach in

Glanthar? You were walking along the shore. I joined you. And then you and I…”

Ashrian stopped when Eiren gaped at him. “The strange thing is, it wasn’t my dream. I

was part of it, I felt everything that happened between us, but I know it wasn’t mine. It’s

as if I was watching it happen from afar yet experiencing it at the same time.” He lifted

his hands in frustration. “I know, that sounds insane. It’s hard to explain.”

Several seconds passed before Eiren found his tongue again. “Are you saying you’ve

been sharing my dreams?” he asked dry-mouthed and hot-cheeked.

“Only the ones I’m part of.”

“Even when I was in Camara?”

Ashrian sighed. “Every one of them.” He hesitated then said, “That’s why I went to

you so hopefully that day. When you returned, I thought…” Ashrian looked away. “If

you dreamed thusly of us, I thought you had forgiven me and would give me another

chance. I didn’t expect…” He shook his head and looked at Eiren. “No matter. That’s

past and done with.”

Eiren felt a sympathetic pang of pain. “Small wonder you were so shocked,” he

murmured. “Sweet Veres, had I known…”

“But you didn’t.” Ashrian forced a smile. “I shouldn’t have made that assumption.”

They lapsed into awkward silence for a few minutes. Eiren could not look at Ashrian

without blushing, Apparently taking pity on him, Ashrian turned his gaze to the garden

while Eiren collected his thoughts.

“But how?” Eiren said at length. “I can only mind-speak when I’m conscious of

doing it. How could I have communicated with you while asleep?”

Ashrian looked at him, forcing Eiren to face him. “Remember the channel you

opened between us? The one you used to check on me? Did you close it, Ren?”

Eiren’s eyes widened. “What are you suggesting? That we’re still connected through

it?”

“It’s possible. Did you close it?” Ashrian repeated.

“I-I think so. Veres, I’m not sure!”

“How can you not know?”

“How? As if the mind can be segregated into orderly files to be yielded on demand!”

Eiren retorted. “You know full well only the templars have the skill to peer into every

nook and cranny of their minds.”

Ashrian nodded in agreement. “Well, what did you do to forge the link?”

Eiren shrugged. “It’s a variant form of mind-binding except for the binding part of

course. Rohyr demonstrated the method to me several years back. He entered my mind

from afar without my knowing it and observed what I was doing. I was treating a

patient’s injury that time and Rohyr described to me in detail what I did.”

“You didn’t sense his presence?”

“Not one bit. But that’s probably because he didn’t delve into my thoughts and only

remained on the surface of my mind so to speak. Of course, his being extraordinarily

gifted may also have something to do with it,” Eiren mused out loud.

“Yet you managed to do the same thing with me,” Ashrian pointed out.

“Not without a lot of false starts,” Eiren admitted.

Ashrian narrowed his eyes. “So you didn’t really know how to go about it? You just

kept trying until you succeeded?”

“You might say that,” Eiren muttered.

He tried not to fidget in embarrassment while Ashrian folded his arms and frowned

reflectively. “Then how do you know you cut our link?” Ashrian asked. “For that matter,

how can you say for certain that you performed the procedure properly?”

“I can’t,” Eiren admitted. “But the connection is supposed to only go one way,” he

insisted. “I shouldn’t be sending you my thoughts.”

“You said it’s a form of viratha,” Ashrian mused out loud. “Perhaps you can no

longer sense me from afar, but what if you accidentally created a bond between us? One

that remains dormant when you’re conscious. Once you sleep though, you have no

control over it and your thoughts cross over to me. But since I’d likely be asleep, too, the

only time I’d realize you were communicating with me would be if your thoughts were

particularly intense or intrusive.”

“Like in dreams,” Eiren said in a hushed voice.

“Exactly.” Ashrian reached over and briefly gripped his knee. “Did you ever consult

Rohyr about whether you were doing it correctly or not?”

Eiren slowly shook his head. “I just took for granted that the connection would close

on its own whenever I withdrew from it. It appears not to be the case at all.” He blew his

breath out. “This is so embarrassing. Heyas! You wouldn’t use this against me, would

you, Ash?”

Ashrian let go of his knee. “You think so lowly of me, don’t you?” he said, clearly

offended.

“I’m sorry,” Eiren apologized, this time taking the initiative to quickly catch his

cousin’s hand and contritely squeeze it. “I know you would never do something like that.

It’s just that, I don’t understand how I could dream thusly. I’m wed, for Veres’s sake! I

shouldn’t be dreaming of you, much less making love with you. I shouldn’t … I

shouldn’t want you at all!”

Again, silence reigned between them. Apparently appeased, Ashrian returned Eiren’s

conciliatory gesture. “Do you feel guilty?” he asked.

Eiren’s shoulders slumped. “Wouldn’t you if you were in my place?” He ran a hand

over his face in agitation. “Holy saints, I betray Firyon each and every time I dream of us

together.”

“How is a mere dream a betrayal?” Ashrian challenged. “Don’t they say our dreams

often reflect our deepest, darkest desires? We were lovers for years, Ren, and what we

shared ran deep and strong despite all our problems. It isn’t something that can be

forgotten so easily. I know I haven’t. I probably never will.” He paused, swallowing hard.

When he spoke again, his voice was slightly rough. “That our feelings should manifest

themselves in our dreams isn’t surprising at all. So you shouldn’t feel guilty about having

them. No one would hold it against either of us to care for each other still. Least of all

Firyon. He knows you love him. That you belong to him. And he knows I know it all too

well.”

Eiren could not help flinching at the raw pain in Ashrian’s voice as he spoke those

last words. He searched for words that might help assuage some of his cousin’s sorrow

but found none adequate.

“It was foolish of me to try something of which I have no experience without proper

guidance,” he finally said. “I should have asked Rohyr to teach me. Indeed, I shall do so

as soon as I see him again.”

“What will you ask him?”

“To show me how to terminate our link.”

Ashrian fell silent a brief spell. At length, he said, “You don’t have to.”

Eiren frowned. “Why not? Don’t you want to be free of it?”

“Only if it troubles you. I wouldn’t mind at all if you left things as is,” Ashrian

admitted. “Even so intangible a connection between us helps me cope.”

“Cope?”

“With losing you.”

That took Eiren aback. He felt a twinge of discomfort. Or was it more guilt? “Ash,

surely you’re not hoping I’ll act on my dreams,” he murmured.

To his relief, Ashrian firmly shook his head. “Of course not. It would grieve Firyon

and I couldn’t bear for either of us to hurt him so. Sharing your dreams are enough. Just

knowing I still have a small place in your heart helps me go on.” He gestured resignedly

with his hand. “But it’s your choice. If it troubles you, end it then. I’ll find some other

way to get through this.”

Eiren looked at him in wonder and regret. “You’ve changed so much,” he said. “If

only…”

“Yes, if only.” Ashrian smiled sadly at him. “We reap what we sow. Yet perhaps

some good will come of this. I haven’t lost all hope. Not so long as you still deem me

your friend.”

He suddenly caught up Eiren’s hand and pressed a quick but fervent kiss to its

knuckles. He did not give Eiren a chance to respond however but quickly rose to his feet

and hastened out of the room. Eiren watched him go, a welter of confusing emotions

leaving him feeling quite drained. But not so drained that he could not raise his hand to

his mouth, his lips seeking the same spot Ashrian had kissed.

Eiren could not gainsay Ashrian’s explanation for his dreams. Not when he

suspected the reason for them himself. He dearly loved Firyon, but he was also still

deeply in love with Ashrian. He feared he always would be. He let out a weary sigh.

How was he supposed to live torn between two loves? One gentle and comforting,

the other passionate and consuming. But only Firyon was within his reach. Ashrian was

now beyond it. Yet his heart longed for what it could not have and there was a burning

need within that only his former lover could satisfy.

Chapter 12

Confessions

C.A. 3009

Of all the possible outcomes Rohyr and his allied kin anticipated when he set events

in motion to end his marriage to Tyrde, a fight to the death between his official consort

and his no longer secret soul-spouse had not remotely occurred to any of them. But it was

not really surprising that no one had expected Tyrde to invoke an ancient law that

enabled him to challenge Lassen to a duel for conjugal possession of Rohyr. After all, the

law was obscure, seldom resorted to even in the days of its creation and had passed from

common knowledge in the last several centuries. It was a wonder Tyrde had even known

about it and, overly confident in his skill and greater experience, was willing to risk life

and limb in order to thwart Rohyr’s attempt to take the Ardis’s coronet from him.

Thus, the start of spring was marked by the most visible evidence yet of strife within

House Essendri, the likes of which had not occurred since the familial discord that had

made the short-lived but ruinous Ferrenda Interregnum possible. But even Tyrde could

not have predicted the turn the fight had taken. Not when he’d held the upper hand for

most of it. His advantage over Lassen had been apparent from the start and all Rohyr and

the others could do was hope and pray Lassen had accrued enough experience from his

near daily practice bouts at the Citadel drill yard to hold his own until—well, until a

miracle of some sort occurred.

Which is what seemed to have happened, Ashrian and Aeldan agreed as they rode

home from the Citadel following the duel’s shocking conclusion. What was up for debate

was whether the miracle had been of divine origin or due to royal intervention.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out Rohyr helped Lassen at that crucial

moment,” Aeldan commented. “Lassen started fighting as if he were a seasoned warrior,

did you notice? And so suddenly at that. I’ve never seen the like before.”

“Yes, but how?” Ashrian said. “I can’t think of anything he could have done to

instantaneously imbue Lassen with the needed skills.”

“Rohyr does possess the Essendri potential and he was trained by the foremost

templar in the North Continent,” Aeldan mused out loud. “Perhaps we can’t fathom what

Rohyr did, but—what if Tenryon taught him certain arts only the templars know about?”

“That’s possible,” Ashrian conceded. “And if that’s the case, thank Veres he’s gifted

thusly. I highly doubt Lassen would have succeeded otherwise. He’s no mean fighter but

skill alone can’t trump actual combat experience in a no-holds-barred duel like that.”

“Yes, I truly feared when he stumbled that it would be the end of him.” Aeldan

shook his head. “I can’t get the image out of my head, the way he evaded Tyrde’s blow

and got to his feet. It was so fluid, so practiced. And so like—like Rohyr!”

“And when he engaged Tyrde, I thought of Rohyr too,” Ashrian admitted. “I swear,

Dan, for a moment, it was he I saw in my mind, not Lassen.”

“The same thing occurred to me. Still, I didn’t expect Tyrde to try and assassinate

Rohyr. Not after Lassen spared him. He would have gone scot-free but for that ridiculous

idea of his to win the throne for Uncle Imcael.”

“Insane idea is closer to the mark. What do you think, Dan? Was it madness?”

“Only Veres know. He did treat Rohyr as if he were little more than a stepping-stone

albeit one who pleased him very well in bed. Yet it would have served him better to earn

Rohyr’s trust and friendship. For someone so intelligent and ambitious, that was

shortsighted of him. Almost absurdly so.” Aeldan shrugged. “So mayhap you’re right.

Perhaps he wasn’t all that sound, either his mind or his soul.”

Ashrian shuddered slightly. “When I think of Rohyr living out his life bound to

someone like that, it actually scares me. Thank Veres and all the saints Lassen won.”

They came to the end of the east district’s main street and, urging their steeds onto

the main avenue, headed north toward the city’s most affluent district. A partially

covered cart passed them. It was full of slaughtered bovines and wethers intended for one

or more of the inns and public houses in the area. Aeldan wrinkled his nose in distaste

when he caught sight of the carcasses.

“I expected some sort of bloodbath to take place once Rohyr showed his hand,” he

commented. “I never imagined a literal one.”

“Oh come now, Dan. One death does not a bloodbath make,” Ashrian scoffed.

“But it looked like one, didn’t it? His entrails spilling out and all that gore.”

Ashrian grimaced as he recalled Tyrde in his death throes. On the heels of the

memory came an image of Eiren standing by their cousin’s corpse, his arms stained

scarlet to the elbows, his shoulders slumped in defeat. And his face—Ashrian could only

imagine what the physician must have felt as he watched grief-stricken Imcael weep over

his dead son.

“Eiren bore the brunt of it,” he said. “I hope he’s all right.”

“I’m sure he is,” Aeldan assured him. “He bore little love for Tyrde.”

“He’s a healer more than anything else,” Ashrian said reprovingly. “To him, any

death is a failure.”

“True,” Aeldan agreed. “But I doubt this one will hit him as hard as, say, had Lassen

died when he nigh miscarried in Weilan last year.” He paused a moment before softly

adding, “And I dare say a greater loss awaits him.”

Ashrian stared at him in shock. “Dan! What a thing to say. Firyon is doing very well,

thank you,” he said, bristling with indignation. “Eiren takes very good care of him.”

“Of course, he does,” Aeldan replied. “But you needn’t be a physician to see that

he’s not much stronger than when he first came to Rikara. He’s always coming down

with some ailment or other. And, well, he often speaks as one who doesn’t expect to be

long in the world.” Aeldan sighed at the stricken expression on his brother’s face. “Don’t

be blind to what’s in front of you, Ash. It will only make it harder for you in the end.”

“But Eiren will…”

“He may be the most gifted healer in several generations. But you have to accept that

when the Maker summons us to His halls, not even Eiren can gainsay that call.”

Unable to refute Aeldan’s statement, Ashrian fell silent for the next several minutes.

At length, he said, “I’m for Eiren’s place. He won’t be able to contain his feelings, I’m

sure of it. I have to make sure he doesn’t tax Firyon overmuch when he tells him about

the duel and how hard he tried to save Tyrde and couldn’t.”

Aeldan regarded him with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “I still can’t quite

believe how deeply you’ve come to care for Firyon. Your concern for him goes beyond

all expectations, Ash.”

His comment was so consistent with Ashrian’s own confusion, he could not dredge

up any umbrage over it.

“I often ask myself how this happened,” he admitted. “I’ve never come up with a

clear answer.”

“Well, Eiren is definitely the cause.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s at the center of your odd relationship. The reason for its beginning and the

reason it’s continued.” Aeldan suddenly smiled with rare tenderness at his brother. “But

your fondness for Firyon? That can only spring from a boundless capacity for love. Your

shenanigans overshadowed the truth, but you really have a noble heart, Ash. A kind and

noble heart.”

The unexpected praise took Ashrian aback and he felt his cheeks warm considerably.

“Oh, stuff the sentimentality, Dan,” he muttered. “It doesn’t become you.”

Aeldan only laughed. “Be off with you then. Give Firyon my regards and tell Eiren

he has my heartfelt sympathy.”

Ashrian watched him ride away before proceeding to Eiren’s townhouse. With luck,

he would get there before his cousin did. That would give him enough time to prepare

Firyon for the emotional outburst he expected from Eiren when the physician arrived

from the Citadel.

* * * *

House Essendri witnessed a welcome milestone in midsummer when Rohyr wed his

beloved leman in the temple of Rikara, thus making their soul-binding also a state union

and rendering Lassen his lawful spouse and royal consort as well as soul’s mate. The

marriage was celebrated joyfully by most of the Essendris in stark contrast to Rohyr’s

hand fasting to the late Tyrde Kardova. Misgivings had ruled most of their hearts at best

and not a few had harbored suspicions and even animosity toward the former Ardis.

The tail end of autumn heralded another happy event when Reijir Arthanna’s ward,

plucky Naeth Orosse reached the age of consent. Rejir’s brother Keiran had insisted on a

lavish dinner party to celebrate the occasion. Ashrian could already foresee the spectacle

the lad’s legal majority five years hence would involve.

The Mithani brothers were among the first of the family to arrive sans their parents

who had already journeyed to Glanthar ahead of the cold season. It promised to be a

particularly harsh winter if one went by the bone-chilling breezes and premature snowfall

that had beset Rikara.

Ashrian muttered an imprecation as he left the relatively cozy confines of the family

carriage to make the short trek from the street to the front porch of the great Arthanna

townhouse. Clutching his cloak tightly around his body, he all but dashed indoors,

uncaring of how ungraceful he might look to others. There was some consolation,

however, when Aeldan, proved as oblivious of his appearance and did likewise.

The attending servants in the well-heated front hall dispensed warm spiced wine to

guests as they arrived. Ashrian did not nurse his drink but downed it straightly to help

banish the cold as quickly as possible.

“If this was Keiran’s idea, may Veres and all the saints bless him a thousand times

over this evening,” he said with relief as warmth flooded his body once more.

“I second that,” Aeldan agreed. He doffed his cloak and gloves and handed them to

one of the attendants.

The sound of a carriage rumbling to a stop out front sent the other servant trotting to

the door.

Aeldan glanced up when the opening of the door let in a gust of snow and chilly

breeze. “Why did he come alone?” he said.

“Who?” Ashrian absently asked as he pulled off his gloves and shed his cloak.

“Eiren.”

Ashrian paused in the middle of handing his cloak to the attendant and turned to see

their physician cousin enter the front hall.

“Where is Firyon?” he asked when Eiren joined them.

Eiren shrugged off his snow-dusted cloak. “He felt unwell.”

“Unwell?” Ashrian held on to his cloak, expecting to brave the cold and snow

outside once more. “Enough that he couldn’t come? Why did you leave him alone then?”

“It’s just a sore throat and cough,” Eiren assured him. “And my staff is keeping an

eye on him while I’m gone. But the weather doesn’t help.”

“Snowfall is unseasonably early this year and there’s talk of more to come,” Aeldan

said. “Let’s hope the storms are delayed at least.”

A small group entered behind them. They waited for their cousin Rysander Seydon

and his parents to join them before they all proceeded to the spacious reception hall on

the second level of the townhouse.

Many of Naeth’s schoolmates and favorite instructors had already arrived, as had a

number of hethare Keiran had brought in to liven up the festivities. It was not unheard of

for hethare to be present at the marking of a Deir’s thirtieth year considering they were

renowned for their intelligent if risqué repartee and their mastery of the art of pleasuring.

But their services were very expensive even when they did not ply the more intimate side

of their profession. Generally, only the wealthy could partake of their company whether

convivial or sexual. In any case, the hethare never solicited clients or accepted

propositions when they appeared at public gatherings, much to the disappointment of

several of the younger guests.

It did not take long for the rest of the family to appear much to the amazement of the

other guests. And such a stir Rohyr and Lassen’s arrival made. If there were any among

Naeth’s friends who were still unaware of his good fortune in coming under the

guardianship of the Herun of Ilmaren, they were now thoroughly enlightened.

Sometime after dinner, Ashrian was enjoined by Eiren to come and sit with him and

a few others in one of the recesses in the hall that formed cozy sitting alcoves. He found

himself in company with Reijir, Lassen, and Riodan Leyhar, who had just concluded a

mission in South Vihandra and incidentally gained himself a royal betrothal to Rohyr’s

brother Dylen.

Seated beside Eiren on a small couch, Ashrian marveled that he could now stay in

such close proximity to his former lover without feeling too much discomfort or

heartache. He wondered if he would eventually learn to let go of his love for Eiren

though he knew he would never actually stop loving him.

They were in the midst of talking about Riodan and Dylen’s marital plans when

Dylen himself suddenly stepped into the alcove, ushering a red-faced Naeth before him.

Apparently, the youth had been caught eavesdropping and Dylen had good-naturedly

suggested he join the party and hear all in comfort. Once he’d settled Naeth on the couch

between Ashrian and Eiren, he perched himself on the armrest of Riodan’s chair.

Lover’s talk passed between them and to still Riodan’s lingering uncertainty about

his worthiness, Dylen resorted to action as well as words. Their tender kiss elicited

different reactions. Ashrian knew a pang of wistfulness mixed with a spark of desire. But

Reijir’s moue of annoyance was unexpected. The Essendris were not exactly known for

being inhibited about displays of lust or love.

“Wherefore that expression, Rei?” Ashrian heard Dylen say with amusement.

“Surely you’re no prude to object to lovers showing their affection in public.”

Ashrian could not resist the opportunity to tease Reijir. “It isn’t your show of

affection he decries, Dy, but that it makes it more difficult to refrain from doing likewise.

But you’ll persuade him to indulge himself later, won’t you, Naeth?”

He grinned when the youth turned alarmingly pale and then colored up in the space

of a few heartbeats. Naeth all but jumped to his feet and, blundering through a spate of

excuses, hastily exited the recess. Ashrian grinned, his puckish sense of humor emerging

in full.

Reijir obviously did not appreciate it, however. “Ash? What were you trying to do?”

he asked, an edge to his voice.

“Aside from letting Naeth know it’s now perfectly permissible for him to proposition

you?” Ashrian cheekily replied.

“Deity’s blood!” Reijir’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Why is everyone so intent

on getting him into my bed?”

“Probably because more than your bed needs warming,” Dylen commented. Even

Ashrian had not seen that coming.

Reijir glared at him. “If you weren’t a cousin…”

“You’d tell me to mind my own business,” Dylen calmly finished for him.

“Which is considerable enough without meddling in mine!”

Silence followed on the heels of that admittedly provocative exchange. At length,

Reijir sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Dy, that was uncalled for.”

“I’m sorry too,” Dylen replied, extending an apologetic hand to Reijir, which the

latter accepted. “And so is Ash.”

Ashrian raised both eyebrows in indignation. “Who says I’m—ouch!” He rubbed the

back of his head where Eiren had given him a smart rap. Staring at Eiren, he sourly

asked, “What was that for, Ren?”

Eiren glowered at him though his lips trembled suspiciously. Ashrian knew him well

enough to tell he was doing his best not to display untimely mirth.

“To shut you up,” Eiren managed to say without laughing. He hastily turned his

attention to Lassen. “So, Las, I hear your sire was elected First Elder again.”

“For a fourth term,” Lassen confirmed. “Tal Ereq has prospered under his

governance. He’s made some very good decisions for the town.”

Ashrian perked up. “Oh yes! Wasn’t it his decision to let Rohyr have his way with

you?”

When Lassen blushed bright red, Ashrian knew he was in for a reprimand from one

of the others. But he was still taken aback when Eiren reached over and clapped a hand

over his mouth.

“Not another word out of you, Ashrian Mithani, or I’ll take my scalpel to your

tongue!” he warned.

Hearing the others guffaw at his chastisement, Ashrian meekly nodded his

acquiescence. Only then did Eiren remove his hand. A feeling of loss came over him at

the loss of contact and he was hard-pressed to keep his smile in place. The sense of loss

deepened when Eiren stood up and, citing the time, took his leave of them.

“I promised Firyon I wouldn’t be too late,” he said. “He’ll want to hear about

everything before he sleeps.”

He waved away Reijir’s offer to see him to the door but accepted Ashrian’s company

when Ashrian announced he would fetch himself a drink on the way back.

Down in the front hall, the attending servant fetched Eiren’s woolen cloak and

leather gloves then hastened outside to have Eiren’s carriage driven up to the main door.

“Tell Firyon we missed him,” Ashrian said as Eiren donned his cloak and pulled on

his gloves.

“I will. You’ll come by tomorrow?”

“After lunch. By the way, our cook made a batch of marzipan sweets today. I can

bring him some. He likes those, doesn’t he?”

“Very much. Thank you, Ash. Your company means so much to him.”

Suddenly at a loss for further words, they looked at each other for several moments.

Ashrian saw in Eiren’s expression that he was as affected by the surge of heat between

them that had nothing to do with the newly stoked fire in the entrance hall hearth. With

the attendant outside, there was no one about at the moment. He knew his cousin would

not resist if Ashrian pulled him into his arms and kissed him.

The faint rumble of Eiren’s carriage coming up in front broke the spell.

Ashrian took a half step back “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice rough.

Eiren started then looked away, his cheeks stained red. “Yes,” he replied.

“Tomorrow then.”

He hurried out and clambered into his carriage. Though relieved he had not given in

to temptation, Ashrian’s heart was heavy nonetheless as he watched Eiren go.

Rohyr was the first person he met when he returned to the reception hall. His royal

cousin handed him a glass of Khitairan brandy and wordlessly led him to a relatively

quiet spot in the still crowded hall. Ashrian knew better than to argue with Rohyr when

the latter obviously wanted to talk about something or other.

They stood by one of the balcony doors, looking out at the snow-enrobed gardens.

The doors were kept closed against the freezing cold but narrow apertures above them

allowed fresh cold air to enter in bearable amounts and prevented the hall from getting

stuffy.

After a few seconds of companionable silence, Rohyr murmured, “I salute your

restraint, Ash. I doubt I could have stopped myself in your place.”

Ashrian stared at him. “What do you…?” He stopped and paled. “You saw us

downstairs.”

“I wanted to ask Eiren if he thought a holiday in Vireshe come spring would be good

for Firyon,” Rohyr explained.

“Oh.” Ashrian recalled that Dylen’s ailing father had spent much of his recuperation

at one of his son’s seaside estates in western Vireshe. “Hirlen Teriz benefited from the

sea breezes, didn’t he?” he said, hoping to steer the conversation away from his intimate

moment with Eiren.

Rohyr seemed to go along. “Glanthar would be even better, I warrant, but under the

circumstances, awkward. I doubt your sire fully understands your situation.”

Ashrian sighed and shook his head. “It baffles him. Angers him, too, I’ve learned. I

never realized until now how protective he can be of us.”

“Then that’s one more blessing come your way.”

“And a very welcome one,” Ashrian said with a small smile. He regarded Rohyr

curiously. “Why did you take me aside, Roh?”

Rohyr shrugged. “If you wish to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

“Talk?”

“There’s so much turmoil in you. I sense it almost every time we meet and especially

when you’ve spent time with Eiren.” Rohyr tilted his head slightly to one side and studied

Ashrian with concern. “I dare say you’ve confided a little in Aeldan, but have you told

him everything?”

Ashrian swallowed. Rohyr had a way of looking at people that made them feel as if it

was useless to hide anything. Only a few were impermeable to that look and Ashrian

readily owned himself not one of them. He was neither a naturally resistant templar such

as Rohyr’s mentor Tenryon Hadrana nor an obtuse curmudgeon like Imcael Essendri

whose remarkable single-mindedness often made him oblivious to the many nuances of

personal interaction, especially if said interaction did not suit his narrow way of thinking.

“I’m not sure I understand what you want,” he hedged nonetheless.

“I’ll be blunt then,” Rohyr said with unnerving implacability. “Have you ever told

anyone why you were so inconstant with Eiren? We all knew you were but not the reason

for it.”

“Mayhap I’m just not capable of monogamy,” Ashrian insisted.

“Yet you are now and abstentious as well,” Rohyr pointed out. “Such a quick and

total change doesn’t happen just because of the pain of loss. You were always capable of

it, Ash, but for whatever reason, you refused to heed the calls of your conscience.”

Ashrian felt his cheeks flame. Rohyr had seen through him. Knew him for a fraud as

a cheat and a rake. He closed his eyes, wondering if he could open up to Rohyr when

he’d never been able to confess his conflicted feelings to others, including his onetime

lover and his only brother.

“Why would my reasons matter now? It’s too late to rectify the situation.”

“But not too late to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Again? That presupposes I’m going to find myself another lover.”

“You might.”

Ashrian snorted. “Tell me,” he challenged. “Had Lassen really left you that time, had

it turned out he didn’t love you after all—would you have got yourself another leman?”

For a moment, Rohyr’s eyes darkened with remembered pain, but he said, “Leman?

Nay, no one could ever take Lassen’s place in my heart. But another consort to replace

Tyrde? I would have made the effort to find someone more invested in this realm’s well-

being than he was.”

Ashrian could not suppress a skeptical, “Really?”

“Duty has always directed so much of what I’ve had to do in my life.”

“But what about happiness, Roh? Your personal happiness.”

“I’ve had to forego much of it. However, there is some compensation for the loss.”

“What compensation?”

“The peace and prosperity of this kingdom of mine.” Rohyr faintly smiled. “If I

couldn’t have the one Deir I love with all that I am, I would have contented myself with

the loyalty and regard of my subjects.”

Ashrian stared at him, unsure whether Rohyr’s outlook warranted awe and

admiration or pity and commiseration. A flash of insight made him realize it did not have

to be either-or. He shook his head as the chasm between their attitudes toward their lots

in life yawned wider than ever.

“That’s precisely why you wouldn’t understand,” he ventured. “You were born the

heir of your sire. You can’t know what it’s like to be me.”

Rohyr regarded him with wide, comprehending eyes. “Because you’re a second,

untitled son,” he said with a small gasp.

Ashrian treated him to a strained smile. “I’ve always envied the others for managing

to make something of themselves beyond a reliance on their inheritances or names,” he

admitted. “I haven’t. I’m no teacher or politician. And I’m not suited for law or the

church or a military career. I don’t quite know what to do with myself, Roh, save to fight

and jest and whore my way through life. And with the wealth Aba has already settled on

me, being a layabout is ridiculously easy.”

Feeling embarrassed by what he’d revealed, he abruptly summoned a passing servant

to whom they handed their empty glasses. Still discomfited, Ashrian said nothing more

but folded his arms defensively and looked down at his feet. Rohyr would know anyway

what he meant with regard to the “others” he spoke of without need for further

explanation.

Though born on the same day as his twin, the quarter-hour interval between his birth

and Zykriel’s had cost Gilmael Calanthe the rulership of Losshen. For a time, it had

seemed as if he would go the way of many younger sons and live his life in idle leisure.

Instead, he was now head of the country’s Intelligence Ministry, which was said to be the

most extensive and effective in the North Continent.

He was not the only untitled son to make a name for himself.

The Herun of Edessa’s middle son in a brood of seven children through three

different consorts, their fair-haired cousin Ranael Mesare had made his mark in Ylandre’s

armed forces in record time and was currently the youngest Tribune of the Royal army.

Three of his brothers had also achieved success in their chosen fields. Two were well-

known barristers with lucrative practices in Rikara and Edessa’s capital city of Diondra

respectively, while the third was next in line for the prelacy of the lower midland fief.

Then there was Keiran Arthanna. Though unexpectedly relegated to second son

status despite his being firstborn, he was not only a respected instructor at the State

University, he was also active in the Arthanna family’s many business interests and

amassed much wealth to add to his already considerable inheritance. Likewise, Tenryon

of Ziana’s younger half brother Jareth Hadrana had risen through the diplomatic ranks all

on his own to become Ylandre’s foremost ambassador.

Finally, one only had to trace Dylen Essendri’s ascent above his origins as a hethar

to realize how far he’d come to attain his present position as one of Rohyr’s most trusted

counsellors and a valuable member of Gilmael’s intelligence team.

“But you’re active now in your family’s shipping company,” Rohyr commented.

“Only because I have to be,” Ashrian replied. “Aba conferred a hefty number of

shares on me and so I have to do my part and help run the damn business.”

“It appears you do know how to do your duty,” Rohyr said with amusement.

“But it’s so tedious! It always has been. I was bored half to death by it all.”

“Still are?”

Ashrian hesitated. “Well, not like before,” he admitted. “Aeldan is good company for

one thing. And I’ve been given more responsibilities.” He winced. “I hate the meetings

though; they feel as if they could go on forever.”

“But…?”

Ashrian pursed his lips. “I’ll concede it’s rather interesting when the ships come in

and we unload the cargo and see to the bunkering of the crews before they head out

again. The maintenance of the fleet isn’t so bad either. I never realized just how many

ships we own or the many kinds we have in our fleet.”

Rohyr grinned. “I take it you’re not as bored as you used to be.”

“I suppose not,” Ashrian said, a touch surprised at his altered opinion.

He waited nervously as Rohyr contemplated the dark beyond the glass-paned doors.

He did not know why but it felt as if the other shoe was about to drop.

“So you held yourself up to them and found yourself wanting,” Rohyr murmured.

“Did playing the lecher make you feel more accomplished in one field at least?”

Ashrian caught his breath. He hugged himself even more tightly.

“What about Eiren?” Rohyr prodded. “How did he fit in?”

“Better than I’d ever imagined,” Ashrian replied with a weak stab at ribaldry. “He

was my first, Roh. The only one I could trust with that.”

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way with Lassen.”

Ashrian sobered. “Then it will likely disgust you that I seduced him mainly because I

knew Reijir also had an eye on him. I just wanted to prove myself the better Deir.

Obviously, it was meant to be a short and casual affair.”

Rohyr shrugged. “I know what you were like. I’m not surprised. Besides, it didn’t

stay that way for long, did it? That was hardly a short affair and far from casual.”

“I fell in love with him,” Ashrian whispered. “But I was too much of a fool to admit

it to him or myself.”

“I said nothing to Lassen as well when it would have been better if I had,” Rohyr

reminded him. “Our reasons for silence may have differed, but, whether duty or fear or

sheer mule-headedness, I’m in no position to censure you for your actions. What I did

find confounding were your dalliances. They hurt Eiren deeply and yet he forgave you

repeatedly.”

“Because he loved me and wasn’t afraid to say so.” Ashrian sighed. “As for my

dalliances, well, it was because I didn’t believe we were meant to last.”

“Hedging your bets just in case the worst happened.”

“You might call it that. But later, when it dawned on me that maybe he wasn’t going

to leave me and that he kept himself for me, I did stop. I mean, I’d be tempted and

sometimes played around a bit, but I didn’t actually bed anyone aside from him during

that period. Something kept me from going on. Likely my oft neglected conscience.”

“We all noticed. And we hoped it would stay that way for both your sakes.”

“But it didn’t,” Ashrian forlornly said. “If only I had gone straight home and made a

ruin of the dinner I’d had prepared for us. I wouldn’t have met Ilian then and all this

wouldn’t have happened.”

Rohyr regarded him thoughtfully. “You said something kept you in check. Why

didn’t it do so that night?”

Ashamed of the reason, Ashrian could not meet Rohyr’s gaze. “I was so resentful of

Eiren and his devotion to that damnable calling of his.” He shook his head. “Nay, it isn’t

damnable, that’s only what I thought of it then. But at the time, I felt as if I was always

competing for his time with his patients and research and everything else. Do you know

he went so far as to have his butler direct patients to my home when he spent the night?”

“That does sound like him,” Rohyr conceded.

“It was maddening!” Ashrian ran his hand in some frustration through his hair.

“We’d be in the midst of a tumble and all of a sudden he’d have to leave me and tend to

someone for Veres only knew how long. There were days I’d hoped we’d spend together

having fun and instead he’d haul me to the apothecaries’ stalls in the market or get me to

help him turn the public library inside out for medical books he needed. Heyas! I still

remember spending a begetting day at an orphanage, wiping a passel of sniveling brats’

noses! I beg your pardon, Roh, I don’t mean to imply every child is a sniveling brat.

Certainly not yours.”

“I hope not,” Rohyr retorted. “You’d never hear the end of it if Lassen thought you

considered your nephew a hellion.”

Ashrian grimaced. “Well, anyway, that night was the last straw,” he continued. “It

was the eve of my begetting day and I invited him to dinner and then to spend the night

with me so we’d be together the morning of the actual day. He turned me down.”

“Ah, I can see why you were so miffed.”

“If only it were that simple. I was a bounder about it, Roh. He’d already arranged for

other physicians to take over for him the following day so that he could spend it with me

as he’d promised. He took their shifts that day instead. That’s why he couldn’t accept my

invitation. But I was too incensed to see reason.”

“But that’s because you’d already been turned down so often before,” Rohyr

commented. “Did you ever tell him how you felt prior to that night?”

“What use would it have been when he made it clear his calling was more important?

And such a noble calling at that.” Ashrian morosely shook his head. “I thought I’d bide

my time and wait for his load to lessen a bit.”

“But it never did and instead you let your resentment build up to an intolerable

degree.” Rohyr suddenly hugged Ashrian, startling him. “If only you’d told him, Ash.

I’m certain he would have been so pleased to know you missed him very much. Don’t

you see? That would have been a sign of your love for him even if you never said the

words.”

Ashrian started. He let out a shuddery breath against his cousin’s shoulder. “How

true. But it’s too late now.”

“For love between you, maybe. No one can ever say what the morrow may bring.

Look at Lassen and me. But for the sake of your friendship, tell him. Let him know what

drove you then. Make peace with that part of your lives and strengthen what you now

share.”

“Brutal honesty, Roh?” Ashrian said. “What if it only hurts him? I don’t want to foist

guilt on him so long after the fact.”

Rohyr took him by the shoulders and gently shook him. “And therefore bear it all by

yourself? That’s your problem, Ash. You’re trying to shoulder something that came of

mistakes you both had a part in making. Allow Eiren to share the burden with you. He’ll

finally understand why you acted the way you did. You do realize it frustrated him deeply

that he didn’t know the reasons for your behavior. Your failure to confide those reasons

to him appeared to signal your lack of trust in him. I think that sometimes hurt him

almost as much as your dalliances did.”

Ashrian was taken aback by the thought. “I imagine that was the case,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’ll think about what you said.” He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose

between his thumb and forefinger. “I swear I’ve never had as many headaches as I’ve

suffered these past two years,” he fretted.

“Eiren would probably say they’re all in your mind.” Rohyr slung a comradely arm

across his shoulders. “Come. Let’s rejoin the others and enjoy what’s left of the night.”

* * * *

After more than a decade of partaking of his lover’s graces, it would not have been

surprising had Rohyr found the sameness a tad tiresome. But he did not and indeed he

looked forward to that sameness—Lassen’s love, the ecstasy of their unions, and the

knowledge that both were his forever.

He watched Lassen as he repeatedly pressed into him. Complete surrender coupled

with utter joy showed themselves in Lassen’s eyes radiant with trust, the upward tilt of

the corners of his half-parted lips, the encouraging wrap of his legs around Rohyr’s waist

and the eager lift of his hips to take in as much of Rohyr’s shaft as his body could

manage. And winging their way amidst the rapture, his thoughts resounded as his mind

touched Rohyr’s in the way of soul-bound mates, urging him on, pleading with Rohyr to

take him harder, deeper, to make him his very own.

It was a heady concoction and devastatingly addictive. Small wonder Rohyr had

been ready to place his life and crown at risk to gain eternity with this Deir who’d

claimed his heart as wholly as he’d pledged his body for Rohyr’s pleasure. Overcome

with the need to sheathe himself to the hilt, Rohyr slid his arms under Lassen and lifted

him up and onto his lap.

He smiled when Lassen moaned at the deeper impalement. Lassen curled his arms

around Rohyr’s shoulders as he rode his shaft, almost frantically lowering himself over

and again onto the piercing length until they were both shuddering from the bliss. Feeling

the onset of completion, Rohyr caught Lassen in a hot-tongued kiss, smothering their

cries with the searing seal of their mouths. He held Lassen’s warm body tightly as his

mate trembled in the throes of his own release, his semen dappling their bellies and the

tops of their thighs and the muscles of his backside tightening deliciously around Rohyr’s

embedded shaft.

Afterward, they lay together in sated bliss, their legs half tangled together, Lassen’s

golden head atop Rohyr’s shoulder. Rohyr grinned when his spouse pressed soft, moist

kisses to his shoulder. If Lassen did not wish to put his arse to another pounding so soon,

he would best do himself a favor and cease his tender ministrations forthwith. A pity they

had been in too much of a hurry to allow Lassen to imbibe mirash. Hence the necessity of

taking him by his backside alone.

Rohyr would never tire of sinking into his mate’s glorious heat. Thus, his prudence

to ensure Lassen’s ability to accommodate his lust more often than not. Many times,

however, Lassen himself did not set limits on when or how often Rohyr could have his

way with him. That eagerness to place himself at Rohyr’s disposal secured him in turn a

place in Rohyr’s heart that was so deep and encompassing nothing and no one would ever

be able to uproot or supplant him.

Yet it was not his lissome body that primarily endeared him to Rohyr. Lassen also

served as his confidant in matters Rohyr preferred not to share with anyone else. Often

enough, the issues he discussed with Lassen did not always present Rohyr in a good light,

particularly when he had to make decisions for his realm that required that he set aside

principle and personal beliefs. Lassen never judged him for being a monarch first in those

instances and was always quick to defend him and buttress his flagging spirits when the

burden of rulership became onerous to the point of nigh unbearable.

It was that lack of condemnation, that ability to see past the fault to the person and

reasons behind it that made Lassen such a trustworthy friend and advisor. Rohyr did not

hesitate to speak to him of anything under the sun be it matters that burdened him or

piqued his interest or simply deepened their intimacy as spouses. He told him now of his

conversation with Ashrian, knowing Lassen would keep it to himself as he did all their

secrets to the end of his days.

“If only people would communicate their thoughts and feelings to one another,” he

said when he was done. “Think of all the misery that could be avoided.”

Lassen soothingly smoothed a hand across his chest. “You’re still regretful of what

happened with us,” he gently scolded.

Rohyr nodded. “I suppose a part of me will always be,” he mused. “Apart from the

misunderstandings I could have prevented by simply declaring myself to you, I nearly

lost you for good.”

“Hindsight can be so frustrating,” Lassen remarked. “It shows you everything you’ve

done wrong only after the fact. Learning from our mistakes is all well and good, but I’d

rather we were blessed with foresight and erred as little as possible.” He moved partially

atop Rohyr and cupped his face so that he filled his spouse’s vision. “I’d rather you dwelt

on our happiness and feel my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I’ve done for you?” Rohyr faintly smiled. “You’re a saint, Las. Any other leman

wouldn’t have put up with my marriage to Tyrde and still stayed by my side.”

“But I was never just any other leman,” Lassen pointed out. “I was your only leman

and for reasons beyond the warming of your bed. Though you didn’t say the words, I

sensed deep in my heart that I meant much more to you than a kept lover. That held me to

you then. I knew that when you were with him, you performed as was required of you.

But with me, it was desire, not duty that drove you to keep me. You wanted me, Roh, and

sought every means to have me.” He kissed Rohyr lightly and tenderly. “How could I

have forsaken you then?”

“You did more than stay by my side,” Rohyr murmured. “You tried to protect me,

albeit misguidedly that time. Everything you’ve ever done has been for me. I’m the one

who’s eternally grateful. I praise the Maker every day for the first time we met and for

giving you back to me at long last.”

He closed his arms around Lassen, relishing their closeness. “I hope Ashrian finds

happiness anew,” he whispered. “I only wish he didn’t have to suffer so while he waits.”

“Sometimes people have to suffer first in order to truly learn the lessons imparted to

them,” Lassen reasoned. “But in the end, any reward will seem all the more precious for

the difficulty in attaining it. I know whereof I speak.”

He stroked Rohyr’s cheek, his eyes widening in wonder when Rohyr gazed at him

intently. “What is it?”

Rohyr smiled. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you all over again, ariad.”

Before Lassen could reply, Rohyr rolled him beneath him. Kissing his spouse nigh

senseless, he proceeded to show Lassen just how much he cherished him, heart, body and

soul.

* * * *

“Do you want children?”

Ashrian looked up from the fire he was stoking and regarded Firyon curiously.

Curled up on the couch before the hearth in the sitting room of the master bedchamber,

Firyon was bundled up in thick clothing lest his sore throat and sniffles recurred.

“Well, as heirs to my properties, yes, I suppose I do want them,” Ashrian said,

getting to his feet.

“Just as heirs?” Firyon knitted his brows curiously. “Don’t you want them for the

sake of having a family?”

Ashrian sat on the floor before the couch, leaning his head against Firyon’s legs. “I

haven’t really thought about it.” He glanced at Firyon. “Do you?”

“Oh yes. Lots of them if it were possible.”

“Then why haven’t you? Or is it Eiren who doesn’t care for them?”

Firyon shook his head. “Eiren would love to have children too. But I can’t give him

any,” he related with a sad smile. “I’m too weak to carry a child to term. He refuses to

risk my life for a child.”

“And rightly so.” Ashrian half turned and studied Firyon. “But Eiren can. Carry a

child to term, I mean. Don’t you reverse roles once in a while?”

To his surprise, Firyon shook his head again. “My illness has damaged my body in

ways you can’t see. I’m impotent, Ash. And even if I could achieve an erection, well, my

seed is quite sparse so the chances of siring a child on anyone is all but impossible. ’Tis

only sheer fortune I can still play the sheath and that doing so doesn’t tax me overmuch.

Well, most of the time.”

Thinking of his partial infertility, Ashrian knew a pang of empathy for Firyon.

Feeling quite inadequate, he said, “I’m sorry. That must have been hard to accept.”

Firyon sighed. “Eiren was very disappointed though he didn’t say so. But I knew he

was and still is. The way he looks at other people’s children, you can tell how much he

longs for his own.”

Ashrian pondered the statement. Just as he’d never really put much stock in the idea

of having children apart from dynastic considerations, so had he not thought about

Eiren’s feelings about the subject. It occurred to him that, as they were both scions of

House Essendri and had been raised to expect to beget children on others, perhaps Eiren

much like Ashrian had not given thought to bearing them himself. Obviously that would

have changed once he’d discovered Firyon could not carry children to term. The desire

for progeny would have altered his deeply ingrained perceptions of his procreative role.

Had his own perceptions changed as well? Ashrian considered his feelings so far

about the matter. The thought of carrying a child still did not sit well with him. Even less

could he picture himself submitting to anyone thusly and allowing someone’s seed to

grow inside him.

Unless that someone were Eiren.

Eiren was the one Deir he had ever allowed to enter him. The only one he’d felt

comfortable enough with to yield himself completely. Perhaps, it would not be so bad to

be a child-bearer if that child’s sire were Eiren.

Ashrian shook his head. It was foolish and a waste of time to even think about it

when it was not an option in the first place. Eiren belonged to Firyon and any making of

children would be between the two of them. Should have been if circumstances had not

got in the way. He heartily sympathized with Firyon on that point.

“I wish there was something I could do about your problem,” he muttered. “Saints, I

feel so useless!”

Firyon placed a hand on his head and playfully ruffled his hair. “Don’t feel like that.

’Tis not your fault I can’t have children either way. And ’tis nice to be able to confide

how I feel in someone. You’re a wonderful friend, Ash. More than I ever expected when

I first went to you.”

Ashrian felt his face grow warm. “You make it easy,” he gruffly said. To lighten the

mood, he added, “In any case, if you need anything, you know you just have to ask me.”

A servant entered the room with a plateful of rum-soaked, fruit-studded cakelets and

a pitcher of freshly mulled wine and two mugs. Ashrian had him set the refreshments on

the hearthside table and took over serving Firyon and himself. He resettled himself on the

floor, mug in one hand and a cakelet in the other. For the next several minutes, they

chatted about mundane matters.

Ashrian had just popped the last piece of cake into his mouth when Firyon asked,

“Did you really mean what you said about me needing anything from you?”

“Mmhmm,” Ashrian affirmed around his mouthful.

“Then would you please take Eiren back when I’m gone?”

Some of the cake went down the wrong way and Ashrian found himself coughing

like a consumptive. Lurching to his knees, he turned and glared at Firyon, forcing up the

last of the errant cake before he was able to speak.

“What in Aisen was that about?” he exclaimed, his voice raspy from coughing.

“Ash…”

“What do you mean when you’re gone? You’re getting well, Fir!” After a moment’s

pause, he added almost fearfully, “Aren’t you?”

Firyon bit his lip then leaned back and shook his head. “I’d just barely recovered

from a serious spell when I consulted Eiren. I honestly thought ’twas a waste of his time

and mine. But by some miracle, he’s managed to stave off the end. If not for him, I would

have probably died by that year’s end.”

Ashrian gaped at him, unable to digest the dreadful revelation. “What are you sick

of?” he finally asked. “The wasting disease? Eiren has healed many of it.”

“Nay, ’tis my heart,” Firyon told him. “It weakens steadily. One day soon ‘twill

simply stop.”

“Sweet Veres … Were you…?” Ashrian took a shuddering breath and then pulled

Firyon’s cold hands between his, rubbing them gently. “Were you born with it or did

something happen to damage it so?”

“Spoken like a physician’s lover,” Firyon teased. He explained, “There was an

outbreak of red fever in my hometown many years ago. All my family came down with

it. My parents, my brother, most of my uncles and cousins died of it. I almost died, too,

but as you can see, I recovered. Only it turned out it had left me with a weakened heart.

About three years ago, I started to tire easily and lost a lot of weight. I often fell sick as

well. I went to healer after healer and all said the same thing—that there was nothing they

could do for me. Only Eiren gave me hope though I sensed even then that he could do

little more for me than prolong my life.”

He leaned forward and rested his head on Ashrian’s shoulder. Ashrian wrapped his

arms around him and held him close.

“The terrible weakness I experienced before has returned, Ash. And it feels even

worse than it did then.” Firyon gave a little sob. “I think my time is almost at an end.”

“Deity’s blood,” Ashrian groaned. He tightened his hold on Firyon.

“So you see, I had to ask you. I need to know you and Eiren will be together again

after I pass on.”

“Don’t…” Ashrian swallowed. “He’s yours, Fir. How can you think I would take

him from you?”

“I know you won’t,” Firyon said, raising his head and gazing at Ashrian with tear-

filled but impossibly serene eyes. “That’s why I’m giving him back to you.” He placed

his fingers on Ashrian’s lips when he started to protest. “You belong together, don’t you

see? Even when you’re apart, you’re … I don’t know how to put it but it feels as if you’re

still with each other. I know Eiren frequently dreams of you.”

That Firyon knew about Eiren’s dreams horrified Ashrian. “Holy saints! Forgive

him, Fir, they don’t mean anything!”

Firyon looked puzzled. “Forgive him for what? For recalling a lover? You share a

past. ’Tis not surprising he would remember your time together.”

Ashrian suppressed the impulse to blow his breath out in relief. It appeared Firyon

was not aware of the nature of Eiren’s dreams. However accepting Firyon might be of

Eiren’s memories of a previous love affair, Ashrian did not think he would be happy to

know his mate lusted after his former lover so greatly that he dreamed of coupling with

him.

“I’ve often thought that maybe the both of you met in a previous lifetime,” Firyon

mused with a small smile. “And perhaps ’tis just a whim of mine, but what if you’ve been

together before, Ash? Maybe over many life cycles. Though obviously you never soul-

bound, else you’d have wed each other long ago. Then again, maybe ’twas as Veres

meant it to be.”

“What do you mean?” Ashrian asked in bewilderment.

“Mayhap He didn’t have you bind earlier so that you could lend Eiren to me in this

life cycle. To ease my passage from the world.”

Ashrian did not know whether to laugh or weep. He did neither but turned his face

away to stare into the leaping flames in the hearth.

“You said if I asked anything of you,” Firyon whispered.

Ashrian closed his eyes.

“Ash, please?”

“Must we talk about this?” Ashrian muttered.

Firyon slid a thin hand under his chin and compelled him to meet his pleading gaze.

“When I’m gone, he’ll need you more than ever,” he gently pointed out. “Take care of

him, Ash. For both of us.”

Ashrian jerked away. “Don’t talk about that, Fir. Saints, you’re not dead yet!”

“’Twill not be long before I am.”

“For Veres’s sake …!”

“Please, I need you to promise me.” Ashrian wanted to balk but Firyon quickly

added, “I’ll be able to go in peace, knowing you’ll be there for him.”

“That isn’t fair,” Ashrian protested.

“Please,” Firyon begged.

Ashrian sighed in defeat. How could he deny such a request? Scowling, he nodded.

“I promise,” he mumbled.

With a grateful smile, Firyon gripped his hand and squeezed it hard. Ashrian could

only pull him back into the circle of his arms and embrace him as tightly and protectively

as he could.

Chapter 13

Parting

Firyon’s health took a turn for the worse that winter. Eiren confined him to bed lest

exertion sap what strength remained to him and the cold encouraged ailments he could no

longer fight off. He also limited the number of visitors Firyon could entertain when he

saw how sitting up in bed for long periods of time tired him terribly.

The measures he took alarmed Ashrian. Having kept company with Firyon more

often and longer than all the others, he had witnessed the many ups and downs in the

course of his friend’s precarious health and had learned to recognize the signs of an

imminent downturn. The signs this time around were far more ominous even to his

untrained eyes, reminding him of Firyon’s words to that effect.

So he came by almost every day, braving the harshest weather and his parents’

remonstrations over his refusal to go home to Glanthar. As he privately told Aeldan

before his brother departed the capital for the season, he feared the worst. Firyon was not

rallying like he’d done previously. There was no telling if he would be able to surmount

this latest recurrence of his illness or recover properly if he did. Therefore, Ashrian had to

visit as often as he could. Just in case…

He was never able to finish the thought before dread took his tongue.

Spring could not come fast enough for him or Eiren. They had spent the winter

apprehensive that Firyon would not survive the season. But when the last icicles melted

away and the first blossoms started to show themselves and Firyon gained some color and

much-needed weight, they began to hope again. Maybe he would beat the odds and last

another year.

When Firyon’s health slightly improved with the onset of fairer weather, Eiren

permitted longer visits but he still restricted the number of people his spouse could meet

at any given time. He also deemed it safe to allow Firyon to leave the bedroom once in a

while. Thus, Firyon would occasionally welcome guests in the cozy sun lounge in back of

the house that opened onto the garden. The large windows could be shuttered when the

fresh spring breezes proved too brisk while the glass roof let in warming sunlight. On

sunny days, Eiren would settle Firyon in the daybed Lassen had sent them so that his

spouse could comfortably recline while receiving company.

Reijir immediately came by upon his return from wintering in Ilmaren and joined

Ashrian in regaling Firyon with the past season’s news and gossip. Reijir’s current

problem with two of his barons quickly came to light when he mentioned he would be

returning to his fief before too long.

“I can’t believe you haven’t resolved that ridiculous spat,” Ashrian said. “Perhaps

you should take a leaf out of your sire’s book and just eject them from Ilmaren.”

“They’d sue to regain their lands and rightly so,” Reijir said with a snort.

“But if you tied them up in the courts, you’d gain a respite from their bickering.”

“Thank you, but nay. I want a permanent solution.” Reijir sighed. “And to think this

would have been Keiran’s problem if not for Aba, a pox on his benighted soul.”

Firyon looked quite shocked at Reijir’s pejorative reference to his sire. But he did not

pursue the matter. Instead he asked, “What do you mean ’twould have been Keiran’s

problem?”

“Oh, hasn’t Eiren told you?” Ashrian gestured to Reijir and explained, “Keiran is the

firstborn son. But Uncle Rodeth got it into that perverse head of his that Reijir should be

heir so that he could sell Keiran, excuse me, marry him off to the highest bidder—I mean,

the most promising suitor. You see, Keiran is a breeder just like Lassen.”

Firyon looked quite awed. “I never dreamed I would get to know any breeders, let

alone two of them.” He glanced wonderingly at Reijir. “Do the inheritance laws really

allow a Herun to bypass his eldest?”

“If certain conditions are satisfied, yes,” Reijir replied. “Keiran’s breeder status is

one of the foremost conditions imposed by law.”

Firyon shook his head. “The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know.”

Ashrian grinned, mischief obviously on his mind. “Oh, then you would be most

eager to discover I wasn’t the only Essendri to become interested in Eiren back in the

day.” Reijir jerked a dismayed stare at him but he continued to tell his story. “It was at

the reception for his sire’s second marriage. We hadn’t seen him in some years. He was

deep into his medical apprenticeship at the time. Anyway, he looked different, so mature

and so much more handsome than we remembered. ‘Almost as beautiful as Rohyr’ is

what you said, right, cousin?”

While Reijir flushed a bright red, Firyon turned wide startled eyes on him “You,

Rei? You had designs on Eiren?”

“I did not!” Reijir protested. “At least, not the same designs as Ash.” He glared at

Ashrian. “All right, I thought him beauteous and I did wonder how it would pan out if I

courted him. But I swear, Fir, I didn’t have anything else in mind. Certainly not what Ash

did and later carried out!”

Firyon looked at Ashrian with what appeared to be severity while Ashrian affected a

penitent expression. The two gazed at each other awhile longer then burst into sniggers.

Reijir feigned a look of injury only to lapse into rueful chuckles himself.

“Glad to know you aren’t offended by revelations of this sort,” he remarked.

“Why be offended by proof that I am wed to a most desirable Deir?” Firyon

cheerfully said. He coughed a bit and pulled his blanket up a little higher. “Eiren told me

you’ve moved out of your family home,” he mentioned to Ashrian as the latter tucked the

blanket around him more snugly.

“I did,” Ashrian affirmed. “I transferred to a townhouse near the university.”

“But why move at all?”

“The house held some horrid memories I couldn’t dispel so I left,” Ashrian

explained. “The townhouse is one of our smaller properties. It’s adequately staffed so,

don’t worry, I’m well tended to.”

“I hope so.” Firyon looked in appeal at Reijir. “Rei, do check on him once in a while,

please?”

Reijir snorted. “Ash is no child in need of minding.”

“I know,” Fir said with a grin when Ashrian pouted with displeasure. “But do it for

my peace of mind.”

“Very well. And I’ll do it for Fir’s sake, so stop bristling, Ash.”

“As long as you don’t try to reorganize the furnishings.”

Reijir rolled his eyes. “As if I have an interest in that.”

“Nay, you leave those matters to Keiran. He does have an eye for that sort of thing

and the like. He’s also sweeter of countenance, I must say, though sharper of wit on the

other hand.” Ashrian judiciously regarded Reijr. “Are you certain you’re related?”

“More certain than I can say of you and Aeldan!” Reijir shook his head. “You’re

back in fine form, I noticed. And to think I’d actually hoped you’d tamed that tongue of

yours for Firyon’s sake.”

Ashrian laughed. “I tried to. But it appears Fir enjoys my brand of humor and I aim

to please.”

Firyon started to giggle but his mirth abruptly evolved into a bout of wheezing.

Finally managing to catch his breath, he looked at his concerned companions and wanly

smiled. “I’m sorry, do continue.”

Reijir asked, “Should we call Eiren?”

“Nay, I’m quite fine. I just…”

He suddenly stopped and slumped back on the daybed, feebly clutching at the

blanket.

“Fir! What’s wrong?”

Even as Ashrian anxiously posed the question, he noticed that Firyon was paler than

usual. Indeed his lips had a slight bluish tinge to them. He looked up in alarm at Reijir.

His cousin shot to his feet and dashed out of the chamber, shouting for Eiren.

Meanwhile, Ashrian lifted Firyon in his arms and hurriedly bore him upstairs to the

warmth and comfort of his bed. Hardly had he tucked his ailing friend in when Eiren

burst into the room.

Reijir left reluctantly about an hour later, demanding he be summoned immediately

should Firyon’s condition deteriorate further. Ashrian stayed on, unwilling to leave Eiren

to keep vigil alone. It was nigh midnight when he finally took his leave, promising to

return the following morning. However, when Eiren went down to his small dispensary to

fetch a fresh supply of medicaments, Ashrian decided to wait for his return before he

departed.

He stared long at Firyon, his anxiety heightened by the grayness of his friend’s

complexion. Ashrian had seen enough of the dead and dying to know Firyon was unlikely

to rally and recover. He let out a shaky breath then bent to drop a gentle kiss on Firyon’s

clammy brow.

“Promise…”

Ashrian started then looked down to meet Firyon’s weary gaze.

“Thank Veres!” he softly exclaimed. “I thought you lost to us. Let me call Eiren.”

Weakly tugging at his sleeve, Firyon shook his head. “’Tis my time,” he said, his

voice little more than a thready whisper.

Ashrian caught his breath. “Don’t talk like that, Fir,” he chided. “Don’t hurry

yourself into the grave.”

“One foot in it already…”

“For Veres sake!”

“Promise…”

“Fir, please…”

“You promise…”

The urgency of Firyon’s plea silenced Ashrian’s protests. His voice tight with the

threat of tears, he said, “I promise.”

Firyon weakly smiled. “I’ll miss you, Ash.”

Ashrian swallowed hard. “I-I’ll miss you, too, Fir. So very much.”

“Who would have thought … you and I…?”

Despite his sorrow, Ashrian echoed Firyon’s faint chuckle.

“Yes, who would have thought?” he tenderly agreed. He caught Firyon’s hands

between his and held them tightly.

“So tired…” Firyon murmured, closing his eyes.

“Shall I fetch Eiren?” Ashrian asked

Firyon’s nod was barely there. “Yes, please.”

Fighting back his tears, Ashrian brought Firyon’s hands to his lips and kissed them.

After making sure Firyon was warm and comfortable, he hastened to inform Eiren that

his mate needed him. They met on the stairs as Eiren mounted them bearing a woven tray

of medicaments. Ashrian did not disclose Firyon’s last words to him, however.

“Send for me should he…” Ashrian stopped, unwilling to voice his fear.

Eiren nodded, his despair dulling his usually intense gaze. “Thank you for staying by

me,” he whispered. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.” He drew a

shaky breath. “It won’t be long now.” His eyes blurred with unshed tears. “Ironic, isn’t

it? They call me the greatest healer of our generation and yet I’ve failed my own spouse.”

Ashrian clapped a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. “You’ve done

everything in your power, Ren,” he said. “Firyon has reminded you of this time and

again. He doesn’t fault you. He knows how much you love him and that’s all that matters

now. He’ll bring that love with him wherever he goes.”

A few tears spilled from Eiren’s eyes but he brusquely wiped them away. “I just

wish we’d met earlier. He brought light back into my life. I’d thought never to care so

much again. I hadn’t even known myself capable of loving so deeply until he showed me

the way.”

Ashrian looked away, devastated by the belated confirmation of Firyon’s complete

supplanting of his place in Eiren’s heart. There was no use hoping anymore. He was no

longer Eiren’s one true love. In the wake of his pain came anger at himself for

entertaining such thoughts at this time. Firyon was dying. Firyon trusted him to take care

of Eiren. Even if it proved his ruin, he would fulfill his friend’s last request to the best of

his ability.

He pulled Eiren into a quick hug and murmured, “Send for me no matter the hour. It

will ease his passing to have us with him at the end.”

Releasing Eiren, he hastily turned away to keep his cousin from seeing the riot of

emotions that surely marked his face.

* * * *

Eiren’s summons came much as Ashrian expected the next morning. Yet it was still

sooner than he liked.

He arrived at Eiren’s home just a step ahead of Reijir and Keosqe who had likewise

been advised of the seriousness of Firyon’s condition. They quietly filed into Firyon’s

room and after softly greeting Eiren, they gathered around Firyon as he lay ashen and

unmoving on his sickbed.

Ashrian had already known what to expect. Reijir and Keosqe had not. They could

not hide their shock at how fast Firyon was fading.

“He looked deathly ill yesterday,” Reijir murmured. “But still … I didn’t think he

would get much worst so quickly.” He looked apologetically at Eiren. “I should have

stayed on.”

Eiren shook his head. “It’s more than enough that you visited him and gave him

much cheer.”

“I didn’t expect this either,” Keosqe said. “He was so lively last I came by.” He took

Firyon’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Is he aware that we’re here? Can he hear us?”

“I think so,” Eiren whispered. “In any case, it won’t do any harm to talk to him.” He

bit his lip and then added, “Say your good-byes.”

“Sweet Veres,” Reijir muttered, closing his eyes a moment. At length, he leaned

down and, gently brushing strands of hair from Firyon’s forehead, softly said. “We’ll

never forget you, Fir. Be at peace.”

“And may Veres light your way to His halls,” Keosqe added in a hushed voice, his

eyes glistening with rare tears.

Eiren tried to smile, failed, and then lowered his head, his eyes closed. “I’d like to be

alone with him please. If you don’t mind…”

“Of course,” Keosqe murmured. “We’ll wait in the sitting room.”

They started for the door.

“Except Ash,” Eiren suddenly said. “Fir bade me tell you to stay by me. I don’t know

why, but…”

Ashrian caught his breath, remembering Firyon’s plea to him. “I made him a promise

last night,” he explained to Keosqe and Reijir lest they feel excluded.

Keosqe nodded while Reijir murmured, “Understood.”

The two left the room and Ashrian returned to Firyon’s side, sitting opposite Eiren.

“Did you get any sleep at all?” he asked, noting the dark circles under his cousin’s

eyes.

“In fits and starts,” Eiren admitted. “I was so afraid he’d slip away while I was

asleep.”

“Don’t you trust your staff to keep watch?” Ashrian asked with a reproving frown.

“I do but…” Eiren lifted red-rimmed eyes to him. “Ordinarily I do. But last night…”

Ashrian sighed. “Fir would scold you if he knew.”

Eiren smiled wanly. “He doesn’t have to. You’re doing it for him.”

“Well, someone has to fill in for him,” Ashrian pointed out. “In fact, he would expect

it.”

About to retort, Eiren stopped and leaned forward to place his hand on Firyon’s

barely moving breast. Firyon’s labored breathing steadily weakened until his every

exhalation was so faint they were inaudible. And the up and down of his chest slowed

until the time between each movement seemed interminable. Ashrian drew a sharp, shaky

breath.

This was the end. Their good-byes last night had been Firyon’s last in this lifetime.

After a minute or so, Eiren swallowed. He looked at Ashrian, his eyes wide with

dread. “He’s going,” he said, his voice laced with grief. “I can barely feel him. Holy

saints, Ash, he’s leaving me!”

Ashrian reached across to grip the hand that now lay clenched upon Firyon’s chest.

“He needs you to be calm, Ren,” he whispered urgently. “Let him go in peace.”

Visibly getting hold of himself, Eiren subsided. He bent down and tightly holding

Firyon’s hand, murmured words of love and comfort to his mate. Ashrian took Firyon’s

other hand and held it to his lips, tenderly kissing the lax fingers.

He did not recognize the moment of Firyon’s passing, so gently did the latter slip

away, but saw it in Eiren’s eyes. In the grief and denial that blazed in their dark depths.

He sadly laid Firyon’s hand down.

“I’ll tell the others,” Ashrian said, his throat so tight it was almost painful. He rose to

his feet and headed for the door.

But with a hoarse cry, Eiren suddenly flung himself on Firyon’s body, hands splayed

on his still breast. Ashrian swung around at the sound of his cry. He froze in shock and

some horror when he realized what Eiren was attempting to do.

His eyes and hands glowed with unearthly brilliance and streaks of energy shot from

his fingers to sink into Firyon’s chest while underneath Eiren’s palms was a flood of

angry red-hued light. Different from anything Ashrian had ever seen him wield and

frightening in its strangeness.

Saints above! His cousin was expending enough energy to heal a whole city of its

sick. Or fell every creature within reach should his efforts to resurrect evolve into an

expression of rage and frustration.

Born healers possessed much power. But they were not supposed to use that power

save to heal and mend. Even in battle, they seldom summoned their gifts, employing

them only as a last resort. If Eiren lost control of himself, Veres only knew what damage

he could wreak. Appalled at the prospect, Ashrian dashed back and, wrapping his arms

around Eiren, pulled at him with all his might.

“Stop, Ren! You must stop!” he pleaded, managing to pry Eiren off Firyon’s corpse.

“He’s in the Maker’s hands now; you can’t bring him back! Please, Ren, there’s naught

you can do for him! Stop this madness!”

“Nay!” Eiren nearly screamed. “I gave up too soon! I should have tried harder! He

might have lived! He should have lived. Let me go, Ash! Damn you, let go!”

Ashrian glanced at the door. Reijir and Keosqe would not have failed to hear Eiren’s

cries. If he did not manage to subdue Eiren soonest, they would insist on entering and

thereby see the unimaginable. Eiren would be mortified to have anyone else bear witness

not only to his breakdown, but also his attempt to break one vital part of the physician’s

oath.

As Veres entrusts the living to my care, I will surrender the departed unto His

keeping.

Ashrian concentrated all his thoughts on the slender bolt, willing it to move. He did

not have an adept’s skill in manipulating objects, but he bore Essendri blood and the

greater mind gifts that came with being part of the highest house in the land. If he focused

enough, he might manage to summon enough energy to achieve what he wanted.

The bolt slid home just as one of his cousins attempted to enter the chamber. He

heard an exclamation of vexation and alarm through the door.

Meanwhile, Eiren seemed to have lost all control of himself. Still holding on tight to

the physician, Ashrian started to panic when bolts of energy aimlessly shot from his

cousin’s flailing hands. Heyas! He had to do something, anything.

The door resounded with the blows of fists against it. “Ash! What is happening?” he

heard Keosqe shout. “Open the door and let us in!”

Ashrian looked from the door to the raging, grief-stricken Deir in his arms.

Forgive me, Ren.

He jerked Eiren around, taking him by surprise. Before Eiren could react, Ashrian

swung his fist at his chin. Eiren grunted once and started to slump to the floor. Ashrian

caught him and hefting him in his arms, carried him to the couch and tenderly laid him on

it. He stared at his former lover, tears of pity stinging his eyes. Mindful of the increased

pounding on the door, he turned his attention to Firyon.

After drawing the counterpane up to shroud Firyon’s body, he finally went to the

door and drew back the bolt. Keosqe barged in with Reijir hot on his heels, their

expressions demanding an explanation for the earlier commotion and the barring of their

entry into the room.

“His grief was too much,” Ashrian said.

Reijir stared at him, then glanced at the bed and the covered figure on it. A spasm of

sadness contorted his face as he approached Firyon. He drew down the counterpane to

uncover Firyon’s face and ran the back of his hand down his friend’s cheek. Heaving a

regretful sigh, he pulled the counterpane up once more.

Keosqe, on the other hand, had spotted Eiren and gone to him. He noticed the

darkening bruise on his jaw and looked sharply at Ashrian.

“What did you do?”

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to see him so distraught,” Ashrian explained, hoping

Keosqe would let the matter be.

He allowed his cousins the barest glimpse of what he had witnessed and been

compelled to put a stop to with force. Keosqe closed his eyes, as if to shut out the images,

while Reijir went to Ashrian and put an arm around his shoulder.

“You did what you had to,” he murmured. “Ah, poor Eiren. What a burden he must

carry.”

Ashrian shook his head. “He tried so hard,” he insisted. He gulped when a sob

tumbled its way past his lips. He turned his face into Reijir’s neck, forcing words out

while his shoulders started to shake and tears slid down his cheeks. “He did all he could.

Yet Veres took Firyon away from him. Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. Eiren

has served us all so well. Wherefore this punishment?”

“Firyon was already dying when Eiren met him,” Keosqe said. “Yet the Maker gave

our cousin the power to prolong life beyond its natural course. Otherwise, Firyon

wouldn’t have lived long enough for them to get to know each other, to fall in love and to

mate. And Firyon wouldn’t have known the joys of loving and being loved or come to

Rikara to enrich Eiren’s life. And ours.” Ashrian raised his head and met Keosqe’s

comforting gaze. “That was no punishment, but a gift, don’t you think?”

“Eiren will find it hard to believe that,” Ashrian croaked.

“He’ll have to let go first,” Reijir agreed. “And it will be up to us to help him

through this dark time.” He cupped Ashrian’s face between his hands and made him look

at him. “He’ll especially rely on you, Ash. Can you be his rock?”

Ashrian glanced at Eiren. Myriad memories swarmed his thoughts and for a moment

he doubted his strength. But one memory surfaced above all the others.

Take care of him, Ash. For both of us.

He swallowed hard then straightened his shoulders and, looking from Reijir to

Keosqe, he said, “I will be his rock.”

* * * *

He stood by Eiren ten days later as the physician laid his mate’s body on the funeral

pyre. Eiren allowed no one else to hold him as the flames consumed Firyon’s earthly

remains—not Keosqe or Reijir or even Rohyr who commanded his familial affection as

much as his loyalty.

Ashrian was Eiren’s preferred companion while Firyon’s bones and ashes were given

the final blessing and ritually transferred to a bronze burial urn. And it was he who bore

the brunt of Eiren’s sorrow when his mate was interred in the Sarvan family vault in

House Essendri’s private graveyard, cradled in the eastern foothills of imposing Mount

Sarak.

Chapter 14

Consolation

In the days that followed Firyon’s passing, Eiren displayed little outward emotion.

Unless one was aware of his recent widowhood, one would not have suspected how

deeply he mourned his loss or guessed at his relations’ concern for him. In keeping with

Eiren’s wishes, they closed ranks around him and neither disclosed the extent of his pain

over his bereavement nor expressed their own worries and sorrow outside of family

gatherings. And these he avoided if they let him.

It fell to Ashrian to cajole or bully him into keeping company with his cousins for it

soon became apparent that Eiren listened to him and no other. But being the physician’s

main source of comfort also meant being a regular target for his fits of temper. Rohyr

restrained himself from using his royal prerogative on his grieving cousin and all the

others waited on his moods before approaching him for anything. Only Ashrian braved

Eiren’s angry outbursts and bouts of despondency. But then again, only Ashrian was

accorded many a tearful apology and profuse thanks for his patience afterward and thus

was he able to suppress the impulse to give back as good as he got.

As he supervised the cleanup of Eiren’s study one otherwise quiet afternoon, Ashrian

reminded himself once more to always be alert for signs that his cousin was nearing the

breaking point. He should have realized Eiren would not suffer a lecture however mild on

the evils of drinking too much. He should not have been taken by surprise either when

Eiren started randomly pitching several not quite empty bottles of liquor, a whole set of

fine Lydani crystal ware and one antique decanter every which way. Whereupon he’d

stormed out of the chamber leaving Ashrian to literally pick up the pieces.

Ashrian plucked a piece of the decanter from the floor. The fragment was covered

with interwoven strands of gold and ley-silver. If he remembered correctly, the decanter

had been a treasured heirloom. Ashrian sighed and tossed the piece into the basket in

which the servants had placed the broken glass. As he left the study, he noted that the

beautiful Asmaran rug under his feet was all but ruined, its intricate patterns and vibrant

colors now marred by an assortment of liquor stains.

Eiren had retreated to his bedroom—a different one from the chamber he’d shared

with Firyon. Ashrian could not blame him for changing quarters. He had experience of

doing the same thing.

Bracing himself in case Eiren was still irate, he entered the room.

But Eiren seemed to have settled down. He was perched on the divan below the

window, staring out listlessly at the garden below. His whole attitude was of one weary

beyond bearing. Pity for his cousin filled Ashrian’s heart and he turned to leave.

“Don’t go, Ash!”

Ashrian turned around and warily regarded Eiren. “I can come back later,” he said.

“You appear out of sorts.”

Eiren quickly rose to his feet and held out a hand apologetically. “I’m sorry for my

bad temper. You didn’t deserve that after all the time you’ve spent trying to…” He

stopped and stared at Ashrian in dismay. “Sweet Veres, did I hit you?”

“Hit me?” Ashrian stared back, baffled.

He realized Eiren was looking at his right hand, which he had likewise extended.

Looking at it, he saw that blood trickled from a long shallow cut on his thumb.

“Nay, you didn’t hit me,” he said. “I must have cut it with the broken glass I picked

up. That was very fine crystal, I must say. It sliced me so cleanly I didn’t even feel the cut

until now.”

Eiren looked stricken. “If I hadn’t thrown all that glass about, you wouldn’t have

been wounded picking up after me,” he mumbled. “Here, let me see that.”

“It’s already starting to clot,” Ashrian assured him. “Calm down, Ren.”

But Eiren insisted on cleaning the small injury. Perceiving his need to make amends,

Ashrian did not resist and allowed himself to be ushered to the water basin in the corner

of the room. Eiren rinsed the wound then applied a dab of medicament to protect it from

infection.

“You’re a saint to put up with me,” Eiren said as he worked.

“Nonsense,” Ashrian scoffed. “You’re suffering through a great loss. Only a

blackguard would take your actions against you.”

Eiren caught his breath. He stared at Ashrian’s hand, which he still cradled in his. To

Ashrian’s surprise, Eiren suddenly lunged forward and hugged him, pressing his face

against his neck. He began to shake and Ashrian felt wetness on his skin. Sighing, he held

Eiren as he wept. He wondered if it was solely due to grief or also because of guilt and

shame. Knowing his cousin, it was likely a combination of everything.

“I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been unreasonable with you. But it’s so lonely without

him,” Eiren half sobbed. “The house is so empty and the nights are the worst. I don’t

know how to carry on, Ash. Heyas, this is so hard.”

“It is hard,” Ashrian agreed. “But you’re strong. You’ll get through this.”

Eiren’s laugh was bitter. “I think your faith in me is misplaced.”

“Nay. You’re stronger than I. If I could weather loss, what more you?”

Ashrian forced down his disappointment when Eiren stiffened and then drew back to

stare at him. Much as he wished he could hold his onetime lover a while longer, he

prepared to let him go nonetheless. But Eiren surprised him yet again.

“Stronger than you?” Eiren swallowed. “How can you think that? It’s only been a

month and already I’m falling apart whereas you…” He raised his hands to frame

Ashrian’s face reverently. Ashrian felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know where you got

your strength but I wish I possessed some of it right now.”

“I found it in the people who love me,” Ashrian somewhat gruffly replied. “Aeldan,

Adda and Aba, our cousins, even Keosqe and you know much he disapproved of my

wastrel ways—they were all there for me when it was darkest.” He paused for the length

of a few heartbeats. Just as I’ll always be there for you, Ren.

The many implications of his unvoiced declaration lay between them, neither

drawing them closer nor pushing them apart. It was too soon to broach any relationship of

greater significance than their blood tie and rebuilt amity. But there was no time

constraint on offering a shoulder to cry on or a willingness to listen and commiserate as

well as give counsel when sought.

To these Eiren had no objections. With a silent thank-you, he accepted Ashrian’s

gifts of understanding, sympathy, and affection.

* * * *

“How is Eiren faring?” Kaiden Mithani inquired at breakfast one morning soon after

the turn of the year.

It was one of the rare occasions when Olriq and Kaiden Mithani chose not to stay the

entire winter in Glanthar. Ashrian suspected they had done so to help Aeldan keep him

company and provide consolation of which he had needed much the past bleak year of

loss. It was at times like this that Ashrian understood more fully that his parents cared

deeply for him and his brother though they seldom voiced their concern.

“He buries himself in his work,” he said with a shrug. “It keeps him from thinking

too much about his loss.”

Kaiden frowned. “Not to the point of exhaustion, I hope. He’ll be useless to his

patients if he falls ill.”

“I keep telling him that. But you know how Eiren is. When he decides something,

it’s difficult to make him change his mind.” Ashrian sighed. “If I could offer him some

distraction, I might be able to pry him away from work. But he’s lost all interest in his

favorite pursuits. I can’t even get him to spend an early night reading one of his books.”

“Perhaps he needs distraction of a different sort,” Olriq Mithani murmured, as he

perused a letter from the seneschal of one of their Glanthar estates.

Ashrian mildly glared at his sire. “Eiren was just widowed, Aba,” he chided. “Surely

you aren’t suggesting I get him back on the marriage mart barely a year on.”

Olriq shook his head. “Certainly not. But though the heart grieves, the body

continues to need. And sometimes, relieving that need can help ease one’s grief. Provided

there’s no pressure to make more of a simple tumble than it is. That was how his sire

coped back then, you know.”

Both Ashrian and Aeldan looked at him in surprise.

“Are you saying Uncle Aloir played the field to comfort himself?” Aeldan asked.

“He allowed himself other Deira’s company,” Kaiden corrected. “He was so very

lonely after Mylan died and nigh took to drinking away his sorrow. I dare say you’ll

agree that would have been a far worse distraction. Of course, he was very discreet about

it. If memory serves, he availed of a hethar’s services at first.”

“No awkward ties there,” Olriq said.

It was obvious he approved of Aloir’s decision to turn to the celebrated if sometimes

controversial hethare for company.

“And they are very good listeners, they say,” he continued. “I imagine Aloir was able

to unburden himself a good deal and afterward he began to socialize again. Took up with

old friends and made some new ones. That’s how he came to meet Dirion Qiraz—they

attended the same play. And to think Aloir kept declining invitations to just about

anything after Mylan’s passing.”

“That’s not to say you should bring Eiren to a hethare club or have him take a new

lover,” Kaiden said with a pointed look at his spouse. “Indeed, if he’s not inclined to tup

anyone, it shouldn’t even be suggested. But working himself ragged isn’t right. And

being left alone with his memories is not helpful either. It’s company he needs while he

grieves. Now, whether that company includes more than talk is up to him. But there’s

nothing wrong with getting on with one’s life after a loss and you should make him

realize that.”

Aeldan glanced at Ashrian. “The Azira’s frozen over right by the Citadel. Dylen is

organizing a skating party for tomorrow. Lunch will be at the Citadel and Lassen will be

bringing in actors to do a few sketches for us. They’re from that farce that’s taken the

west district by storm so it should be riotous entertainment to say the least.”

“And how is it you know about Dylen’s party and I don’t?” Ashrian asked a little

indignantly.

“Maybe because I deigned to read his invitation?” Ashrian retorted. When Ashrian

stared at him in surprise, he added, “Your mind was leagues away when it was handed to

us. Really, you can be as bad as Eiren these days.”

He passed a note to Ashrian. The letter was in Dylen Essendri’s handwriting and was

indeed an invitation.

“Did he send one to Eiren?” he wondered as he read the note.

“I’m sure he did. Dylen would never leave anyone out. But likely Eiren won’t bother

to read it.”

Ashrian nodded. “Likely. Perhaps I should pay him a visit. Try and get him

interested.” He looked at his parents. “You’re right. It isn’t healthy for him to be so

isolated. We can’t hurry his grieving along, but we can help him soldier through it.

Besides, Firyon wouldn’t have approved.”

“Firyon again,” Olriq remarked with a frown. “You’ve taken your obligations to him

quite seriously, haven’t you? I admit it still baffles me how you managed to befriend

someone who took your lover from you.”

“He didn’t take Eiren from me, Aba,” Ashrian said as patiently as he could muster. “I

drove Eiren away and Firyon was there to catch him and care for him. A very good job he

did of it, too, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

His sire said nothing more though he did not look anymore convinced that Ashrian

had truly formed a bond with Eiren’s late spouse. But Kaiden smiled and said, “I don’t

pretend to understand how you managed it either, but I can see you truly regard him with

fondness.”

“He deserved it,” Aeldan said. He glanced at Ashrian. “So, shall I relay our

acceptance to Dylen?”

“Yes. And tell him Eiren accepts as well.”

“He does?”

“I’ll make sure he does.”

Ashrian made good on his promise. It took quite a bit of persuasion with a little

blackmail invoking Firyon’s wishes thrown in. But Eiren agreed to go, delighting

everyone with his presence the following day.

Surprisingly, most of the Essendri cousins were back in town when, ordinarily, they

retired to their fiefs for the entire winter. Naturally, Rohyr and Lassen and Dylen’s

diplomat fiancé Riodan Leyhar were present, as were the Arthannas newly arrived from

Ilmaren with Naeth Orosse in tow. Keosqe brought along his houseguest, Tristen

Marante, whom Eiren had recently agreed to take on as an apprentice. Gilmael Calanthe

also showed up sans his twin Zykriel. Unexpectedly, so did Ranael Mesare who was

providentially on leave for the season. And since the Mithanis’ expatriate cousin Halbreth

Seere had extended his stay in Rikara, he was invited to join the party as well.

Thus it was a large and happy group that took to the ice that morning.

“I can only imagine what you had to say to convince him to come,” Halbreth

remarked at one point when he and Ashrian skated abreast of each other. “I won’t ask,

but whatever it was, everyone’s glad it was enough to get him here.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Eiren who skated alongside Dylen and Riodan.

Doing likewise, Ashrian smiled as he noted Eiren’s dancing eyes and broad grin. And

when Eiren burst out laughing at some jest Riodan made, he felt his heart swell with

cheer and relief.

“He’s truly enjoying himself,” Halbreth observed.

“Very much so,” Ashrian agreed. “But I think it was simply the right time to draw

him out again. Any earlier would have been too soon. He’s just about ready to start anew,

and we should be there to ease his way.”

“You mean you’ll be there,” Halbreth said. “Aeldan told me Firyon made you

promise something. My guess is he asked you to take care of Eiren. Am I right?”

Ashrian nodded. “How could I refuse? But there are times I wonder what I’ve taken

upon myself,” he admitted.

“What Firyon asked of you is indeed difficult,” Halbreth murmured. “The path to

renewed romance is seldom smooth or easy.”

He caught Ashrian by the arm when he almost slipped. Ashrian glanced at him a

little incredulously.

“How did you know?” he demanded. Before Halbreth could reply, he gasped. “Did

you look into my thoughts?”

Halbreth snorted. “I only look if they’re virtually offered up for viewing.”

“Heyas!” Ashrian was aghast. “Have I been so transparent?” He glanced back at

Eiren in alarm. “Does he know?”

“Calm down,” Halbreth said. “Your thoughts were open right now and I just

happened to be close enough to read them. I wager it’s because you’re so pleased you did

something good for Eiren that you couldn’t help thinking about your promise. In any

case, why are you so horrified that I found out?”

Ashrian sighed. “He’s only been gone some nine months,” he murmured.

“It would be fodder for scandal soup had you never been intimate before,” Halbreth

affirmed. “But you were known to have carried on an affair for years before Eiren met

Firyon. It won’t surprise people were you to continue from where you left off. And no

one could possibly fault Eiren for seeking comfort with a previous longtime lover.”

“Still…” Ashrian grimaced. “To even entertain the thought of…”

“Bedding Eiren again?” Ashrian felt his cheeks grow hot at his cousin’s bluntness.

“But that’s a vital part of renewing your relationship with him, isn’t it?” Halbreth pointed

out. “I don’t pretend to fully understand this whole business of love, but one thing is so

obvious to me. Firyon intended that you take his place. Or rather that you reclaim what

he’d borrowed for a while. And, yes, you also let me see that, so close your mouth, Ash.”

“I can’t believe I let that slip,” Ashrian muttered.

“On the contrary, I think it was an unconscious plea for someone to confirm that

what you feel and hope for aren’t wrong.”

“You may be right.” Ashrian resisted the desire to look over his shoulder at his

former lover. “I do think Eiren still loves me though it probably isn’t the same as before.

It can’t be the same.”

“Perhaps it isn’t. But one thing is certain, you do care very much for each other.

That’s very clear to all of us. So why should you feel guilty about wanting him back in

your life or your bed?”

Glancing back, Halbreth picked up speed, motioning to Ashrian to follow suit. A

quick look told Ashrian the others were catching up with them and would soon be within

earshot if he and Halbreth did not put some distance between them.

“Firyon always thought of Eiren’s happiness, didn’t he?” Halbreth continued when

they were sufficiently ahead. “That’s what I gathered from Aeldan’s stories.”

“Yes, he always did.”

“So he wouldn’t want Eiren to suffer overlong. He’d want him to be happy again

and, if that entails a renewal of your affair, I wager he’d be the first to approve.”

“He’d tell us to get on with it,” Ashrian agreed with a small laugh.

He suddenly realized that for the first time in a long while, the discomfort over his

desire for Eiren had eased to a tolerable degree. Elated at the feeling of freedom, he

reached for Halbreth’s hand and briefly gripped it.

“Thank you, Hal,” he said. “You’ve lightened my heart. It appears I needed someone

to talk to. That is, someone I could trust to be objective about this whole mess.”

“It’s easy to be objective when one has naught to do with the situation,” Halbreth

replied, reminding Ashrian of his cousin’s many years of absence from Ylandre and his

consequent lack of real involvement in his Mithani relations’ affairs.

Someone raced up to them. It was Dylen, cheeks red from the cold and eyes

sparkling from the exhilaration of their sport. Riodan came up behind him, grinning as

widely.

“Slow down, you two,” Dylen said as he and Riodan moved to flank Halbreth. “By

the way, Eiren wants you by his side, Ash.”

Ashrian glanced at Halbreth who smilingly cocked his head in Eiren’s direction.

Ashrian grinned and, his heart singing with hope, skated back to join Eiren.

* * * *

Seeing some sparkle return to Eiren’s eyes, Ashrian wondered if the worst of his

cousin’s grief had run its course. He knew very well that everyone mourned loss

differently even to the length and depth of their sorrow. Eiren’s behavior the past year

had been in keeping with a Deir who had lost someone very dear to him. If there had

remained any skepticism as to the reasons for his sudden and unexpected marriage, his

reaction to Firyon’s passing finally put those doubts to rest. There was no denying the

marriage had been a love match even if Eiren’s initial involvement with Firyon had

stemmed from his efforts to move on from heartbreak.

Firyon’s last charge to Ashrian had been to rekindle his relationship with Eiren that

he might comfort and take care of him. The request kept resounding in his mind day in

and day out not only because Ashrian took it as an obligation to a dear friend, but also

since it mirrored exactly what Ashrian desired for himself. As Halbreth had pointed out

to him, he and Eiren still cared for each other though to what extent Eiren’s feelings went

Ashrian did not know. Eiren still dreamed of them coupling save during the two months

or so after Firyon’s death. Ashrian took that as evidence of Eiren’s continued attachment

to him. Whether that was enough to broach reconciliation was not as clear.

Besides, there was the matter of his impaired fertility. If he were to approach Eiren,

he would have to reveal what had happened to him. As it was hardly something he was

proud of—indeed, it was a never-ending source of personal shame to him—informing

Eiren of the circumstances that had dealt him such a lousy hand would be sheer torment.

Anything that had to do with his folly was and always would be painful to recall, let

alone recounting the whole, sordid saga to anyone.

And so he dithered about what do and when. On the one hand, it would bring him

one step closer to his own desire. But oh the other hand, it could set him back by leaps

and bounds instead. What if Eiren were put off? Where would that leave him then?

Circumstances curtailed his vacillation considerably.

When the letter from Ilian arrived toward the end of the month, he nearly burned it

unread in his umbrage. He had not forgotten the latter’s disregard for his concerns when

he’d discovered he was afflicted with blight. Nor could he forgive Ilian for insinuating

that he was no better than a profligate who took even pox-ridden whores to his bed.

Ashrian might have been promiscuous, but he had always been careful about his partners.

His one lapse had been Ilian himself and not a day passed that he did not rue meeting

Eiren’s stepbrother at the tavern of the Silver Boar.

But after much stewing and imagining all manner of torture to inflict on Ilian, his

curiosity got the better of him and he decided to read the letter. Ilian had not

communicated with him since Ashrian wrote him that one time. He wondered what might

have moved to Ilian to contact him now.

It had better not be another overture, he grimly thought as he broke the seal on the

envelope and drew out the solitary sheet.

The first two sentences left him reeling. Had he not been already seated, he would

have keeled over, so great was his shock. He forced himself to read the rest of the

missive, cursing Ilian for an idiot ever so often. When he finished, he was shaking so

hard he crumpled the letter without even trying.

Saints above, it seemed the decision had been made for him.

Chapter 15

Entreaty

Eiren started when Ashrian entered his consultation room at the Rikara Public

Hospital the following morning. He grimaced as he rose to his feet.

“Why that expression?” Ashrian asked, feeling a little affronted. “Do you fear the

sight of me that much?”

“Not at all,” Eiren said, coming around from behind his desk and extending a hand in

greeting. “But the last time you came here, you brought news that was terribly

embarrassing. For me, at least.”

“That’s true.” Ashrian chuckled wryly. “Rest you, the news I bear this time isn’t

anything of the sort. It may be distressing but nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel at ease?” Eiren somewhat tartly said. “If it is,

you’ve utterly failed at your objective.”

He motioned to Ashrian to sit beside him on the small couch beneath the window.

Ashrian recalled how Eiren had demanded a room with a view when he agreed to hold

office at the hospital. It was not that Eiren was finicky about such things. He simply

disliked enclosed spaces, especially when he had to deal with a particularly serious

medical case. A whiff of fresh air and a glimpse of something pleasant like a garden or

Rikara’s impressive skyline was often enough to lighten his spirit and strengthen his

resolve.

Ashrian wondered how to begin what he wished to convey and then decided to just

get to the point. “Are you aware that Ilian was stricken with blight four years ago?” he

asked.

Eiren’s eyebrows rose. “Was he? Well, considering his promiscuity, it isn’t all that

surprising.” He sighed. “He should be grateful that’s all he contracted.”

“But it isn’t all he contracted.” Ashrian hesitated then continued. “Your brother is

currently ill with a deadly strain. I gather it’s similar to what you treated Dylen’s father

for.”

“What!” Eiren gasped. “How far along is he?”

“Third stage.”

“Sweet Veres! Why didn’t he summon me long before this?”

“You’ve never been on good terms with each other,” Ashrian pointed out. “And my

… my liaison with him only worsened matters between you.”

“I won’t deny that,” Eiren agreed. “But, damn it all, Ash, this is his life at stake. He

should have contacted me.”

“And would you have responded?”

“Of course I would have! I’m a healer. Our code demands that we do our utmost to

preserve life even if we loathe its owner.” Eiren pinched the bridge of his nose a little

peevishly. “I shall pay a call on him as soon as possible,” he muttered. He stopped and

looked at Ashrian suspiciously. “How is it that you knew and I didn’t?”

“He sent me word,” Ashrian admitted after some hesitation.

“I see.” Eiren pursed his lips in apparent displeasure. “So you’ve remained close

despite everything.”

Ashrian shook his head. “Nay, this is the first contact I’ve had with him in three

years. The last I heard from him was in answer to a letter from me.”

“You wrote him? Why?”

“He passed his blight unknowingly to me,” Ashrian explained, his cheeks heating

with renewed shame. “I wrote to confirm that it was he who had given me the disease. He

denied my charge at the time though he admitted he’d suffered a mild form of it. He

claimed he was cured due to the absence of visible lesions. Obviously that wasn’t the

case. He wrote me about his present condition for fear I might have developed the same

strain. I imagine he contacted every bedmate he could remember.”

Ashrian could not quite make out what Eiren thought of him now but he doubted it

was good. He inwardly groaned, regretful that in trying to do the right thing he’d had to

dredge up the hateful memory of his parting from Eiren and the cause for it.

Eiren leaned back, a thoughtful frown marring his forehead. “In most cases, this

strain isn’t passed on like normal blight,” he mused aloud. “It develops only in the bodies

of certain Deira. What specific conditions allow it to change thusly is still unknown, but

the mutated strain is usually not communicable.”

“Usually. But that isn’t absolutely certain.”

“I’m afraid not.” Eiren clapped a hand on Ashrian’s shoulder and lightly squeezed it.

“Therefore I suggest you come to me for examination every other week until I can

ascertain that you didn’t contract the strain as well. Besides, if it’s spotted early enough,

the chances of curing it are higher.”

“Yet you healed Dylen’s father when he was virtually at death’s door.”

“That was equal parts skill and luck. He responded to my treatment well. Others may

not. Which is why it’s best to tend to an illness when it hasn’t yet reached its full

strength.”

“Very well, I place myself in your hands.” Ashrian let out a tired sigh. “Thank you

for agreeing to take my case.”

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re kin and also friends anew.” Eiren looked keenly at Ashrian.

“There’s more to this visit than informing me of Ilian’s plight or engaging me as your

physician,” he commented.

Ashrian wanly smiled. “Why didn’t you close the channel between us?”

Eiren shook his head. “You requested that I didn’t. But rest assured I don’t use it to

tap your thoughts the way I used to. Indeed, our bond isn’t what told me there’s

something else afoot. You’re projecting your anxiety about it so strongly, I’d have to be

mind-blind not to sense it.”

After a chagrined pause, Ashrian admitted, “There is something else. When I

contracted blight, it took a long while before I realized what I was ill with. By the time I

consulted a physician, it was at an advanced stage and had already done much damage.”

Eiren stared at him. “Your ability to reproduce?” he assayed.

Ashrian nodded. “I was told I can no longer sire a child. However, the healer also

said my womb is sound and therefore I may be able to carry a child. I would like you to

examine me and confirm this.”

After a tense moment, Eiren nodded and stood up. “This way,” he murmured,

leading Ashrian into his examination room.

He bade Ashrian to loosen his clothing enough to allow Eiren to examine his lower

torso and groin closely. Ashrian obeyed then lay down on the narrow daybed by the tall

window. Bright sunlight streamed in to illuminate his body as Eiren deftly ran his fingers

over his flesh and extended his senses to “see” what had gone wrong with Ashrian’s

insides.

After a long, silent while, Eiren straightened and gestured to Ashrian to sit up. He

leaned against the wall while Ashrian buttoned up once more. A troubled expression

marked his comely face.

“I wish it were not so, but your physician was right,” he said when Ashrian looked at

him expectantly. “The damage to your seed sac is extensive and even the passage inside

your shaft shows scarring. But, yes, your womb was spared.” He slightly frowned as he

spoke. “You should be capable of conceiving a child and carrying it to term.”

“Thank Veres for that,” Ashrian murmured.

Eiren looked startled. “You’re thankful?”

“Of course.”

“Yet you always said you would never consent to be a bearer.”

Ashrian smiled. “I would for the right Deir.” He hesitated then added, “I would for

you.”

Eiren gawked at him in utter surprise. He started to say something but then shut his

mouth abruptly and looked elsewhere—the walls, the ceiling, out the window—anywhere

but at Ashrian.

Ashrian allowed him a few minutes to assimilate the information. At length, he said,

“Just a child, that’s all, Ren. I have no right to ask for more. But to have something of

you…” He bit his lip as he wondered if he would have to grovel. “It will make life quite

bearable. Indeed, more than bearable.” After another pause, he asked, “Would you deign

to accommodate me?”

Eiren let out a shaky breath. “You’re serious about this.”

“Very.”

“Holy saints…” Eiren shook his head as if to discard whatever befuddling thoughts

lurked inside. In an obvious bid to stall for more time, he suddenly said, “One thing

puzzled me when I examined you. Blight enters the body through sexual contact and

attacks the reproductive organs if not treated at once. This is evident in your shaft and

seed sac—penetrating him introduced blight into both. Likewise, when his seed entered

you, the disease should have eventually invaded your womb and caused erosion of its

walls and deterioration of the seedbed. Anal penetration is no preventive. The wall

between the rear passage and the sheath is thin. It may slow down the spread of blight to

the womb but it won’t stop it.” Eiren’s frown deepened. “Yet your womb is clean, Ash.

There isn’t even a hint of scarring. I don’t understand how… It’s just impossible.”

“But he didn’t enter me,” Ashrian averred.

Eiren blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Ashrian got to his feet and turned to face Eiren. “Ilian yielded to me, but I didn’t

return the favor.” Noting Eiren’s surprise, he added, “I’ve never yielded to anyone other

than you. I always felt that intimacy was yours alone.”

When Eiren gazed at him in frank incredulity, Ashrian sighed and said, “I know I’m

little more than a filthy reprobate in your eyes but I did place limits on what I did with

others. I couldn’t allow anyone but you inside me. I just couldn’t bear the thought. And

even had I felt no such compunction, I’m still a blueblood and a Mithani. I never flouted

the rules that bind our House and gave myself to others. Save you.”

“Must I remind you that I saw him when he…?” Eiren looked away, visibly

struggling to contain himself. “How can you claim you never yielded yourself to him?”

Ashrian wondered if he could ever make amends for his folly. And in the next

instant, he believed he never would. Yet he doggedly hung on to the shreds of hope still

left to him.

“I let him rut against me, that’s all,” he said. When Eiren stared at him in open

skepticism, he could only wince and accept his cousin’s lack of faith. “I don’t blame you

for not believing me, not after my many betrayals. And I know all that really matters is

that I cuckolded you and hurt you deeply. But I swear by the Deity’s blood, I’ve never

played the mare to any but you, Ren. If there is aught of me I can say belongs to you

alone, it would be that.”

His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “And all of my heart.”

Eiren’s eyes widened in patent shock. He closed his eyes after a moment and shook

his head as if unable to believe his ears.

“Saints above!” he muttered. “After all this time, you choose now to…”

Ashrian held his breath. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly as he awaited Eiren’s

response. He prayed for a reply he could live with, but worried it would be one that

would dash all his hopes and dreams.

At length, Eiren opened his eyes and looked at him. He said, “I have to think about

it.”

Ashrian slowly released his breath. At least it was not an outright refusal. There was

still room for hope and reason to dream. “Of course,” he murmured. “After all, this is no

trifle I ask of you.”

“Indeed not.” Eiren ran a hand over his face. “Heyas! When you make a turnaround,

you don’t do it by halves, do you?”

Ashrian could not help grinning. “If I did do it by halves, it wouldn’t be a

turnaround, now would it?” He made for the door before Eiren could react either in

amusement or indignation. “Take all the time you need, but don’t delay telling me once

you’ve made your decision. I’d rather know it soonest, yea or nay.”

He stopped, his breath catching, when Eiren caught him by the elbow. He glanced

over his shoulder at his cousin.

“Thank you for asking me,” Eiren said. “If not for the, uh, circumstances, I’d

probably be inclined to … well, to accept.”

That was enough to make Ashrian’s heart soar. He took Eiren’s hand and, as he had

once done some months ago, pressed a kiss to its knuckles. When Eiren blushed, Ashrian

decided to say nothing further and risk breaking the delicate accord between them.

Instead, he gratefully smiled at Eiren and then slipped out the door.

Chapter 16

Amends

Tulsen, Karresa

The one and only time he’d visited Karresa, Eiren had not been too pleased. It was

on the occasion of his sire’s proposal of wedlock to Dirion Qiraz and Eiren had thus

acquired a stepbrother he had little in common with and whom from the start Eiren could

not bring himself to trust or keep company with. That distrust had since been proved well

deserved and Eiren could not help a pang of misgiving as he rode into Tulsen, the capital

city of this minor fief to the northeast of Rikara.

He ignored the questioning looks directed at him by the city’s gatekeepers. They had

watched him emerge from the translocation portal he’d opened virtually at Tulsen’s main

gateway rather than in the wide meadow before the city walls. Likely they wondered who

he was that he’d had no qualms about flouting the rules of generating portals anywhere

near populated areas. But Eiren carried himself with such assurance and the stateliness of

one born to the blood, none dared challenge him. And so he proceeded unhindered along

the winding main street, past the food market and dry goods stalls that comprised the city

center, then turned west toward the Qiraz domicile.

Most of the structures were built with red brick walls and slate roofs. As such,

Tulsen appeared charmingly rosy in the golden glow of summer but rather harsh and far

from welcoming in the gray of winter and decidedly nondescript during spring and

autumn. The western section toward which Eiren rode was the enclave of the fief’s

affluent folk. Here, the homes here were large and well-appointed compared to the

majority of the city residences.

But none of Karessa’s premier citizens, not even the fief’s Herun, could compare to

the rich and powerful of Rikara or the major fiefs and thus their homes appeared quite

ordinary in Eiren’s eyes. The Qiraz residence was no different from the outside though

Eiren knew his sire had refurbished the interior rather lavishly and it was now deemed

one of the most luxurious homes in Tulsen.

As he dismounted in front of the townhouse, he became aware of the many onlookers

who watched him curiously. A whispered comment here and there told him some had

recognized Dirion’s stepson and wondered why he had suddenly visited after so many

years. The servant who came to the door was just as startled and it took a moment or two

for him to recall his manners and usher Eiren in and up to the main parlor.

Dirion hastened to welcome him once apprised of Eiren’s identity. He was still

handsome with the same fairness as his son though gray strands now wove their way

through his sandy locks and faint wrinkles underlined his light blue eyes.

“Saints above, what brings you here, Ren- min?” he softly exclaimed, his

employment of the diminutive form of address underscoring their kinship.

Eiren smiled and took Dirion’s hands in his own. He had liked Dirion enough though

they never became close due to Eiren’s aversion to being in the same room as Dirion’s

son.

“I heard from a friend that Ilian is seriously ill,” he explained. “I should like to see if

I can help him.”

“Merciful Veres,” Dirion whispered. He looked gratefully at Eiren. “How good of

you to do this for him after he wronged you so.”

That took Eiren aback. “You know about that?”

Dirion sighed and nodded. “He told me when we returned here. I scolded him for

what he did. You didn’t deserve such disrespect, and I warned him he would pay for his

transgressions against you sooner or later. But I never imagined the punishment would be

this severe!” He led the way out of the parlor. “Come, Ilian will be quite shocked though

I dare say relieved you’ve deigned to visit him. He’s been quite desolate since his

condition started to deteriorate. Being bedridden doesn’t agree with him at all.”

He certainly spent many hours abed being ridden.

Eiren chided himself for the uncharitable thought as he followed Dirion to the family

wing. The elder Qiraz opened the door to Ilian’s apartment and gestured to Eiren to enter

with him.

“Adda, who was it?” Ilian weakly called from the bedchamber as Dirion led Eiren

through the sitting room.

Eiren was immediately struck by the raspy sound of his stepbrother’s voice, a far cry

from the dulcet tones he’d employed to great effect during his flirtations. Yet despite

knowing the advanced stage of Ilian’s illness, he was still shocked when he laid eyes on

him. Almost as shocked as Ilian was upon seeing him.

“Eiren?” Ilian croaked through cracked lips.

He was propped up in bed by several pillows and a thick counterpane covered his

lower body. His eyes were almost too big for his now gaunt face and only a fraction

brighter than his sallow skin and dull hair. And his body—it was but a pale shadow of his

sleek muscular form. Eiren was quick to discern the terrible thinness of his limbs though

they were hidden by the counterpane.

“Good morning, brother,” he quietly greeted. He stretched out a hand, saying, “I’d

like to try and help you.” He paused and then added, “Will you let me?”

Ilian stared at him a little incredulously. At length, he held out a much too lean hand

and weakly took Eiren’s. “If you would be so kind,” he said.

Eiren briskly doffed his cloak, gloves, and tunic and at once began examining Ilian,

checking his eyes, mouth, and throat before running his hands gingerly over his now

sunken chest down to his once brawny torso and taut groin. It did not take him long to

assess his stepbrother’s condition, and he straightened afterward, greatly troubled. Ilian’s

prospects were quite grim and even Eiren could not ascertain the chances of a cure, much

less recovery.

“I won’t waffle about this,” he finally said after much internal debate. “You deserve

the unvarnished truth about your chances.”

Ilian glanced at his father and then nodded with a faint smile.

Good, Eiren thought. He’s still got some spirit.

“This is a more virulent strain than any I’ve treated before,” he explained. “I wish

you’d summoned me as soon as you learned you were infected but that’s water under the

bridge whatever your reasons for failing to do so.” He looked from Ilian to Dirion then

back again. “I’ll treat you much as I did my other patients. I may have to tweak the

medicaments—increase the dosages or concentrate the potions a bit more. I must warn

you, it will be very much a matter of trial and error and it won’t be pleasant in the least.”

He hesitated before adding, “I’m sorry but I can’t guarantee you’ll be cured. The most I

can ensure is to prolong your life. And even if you do heal, you won’t recover

completely. You’ll never walk again for one. Your heart will also be weakened—you’ll

have to take care not to overexert yourself. And you may eventually go blind in your left

eye.” Again, he paused, allowing Ilian and his father to digest the unpleasant facts. “The

question I must put to you is, do you think it worth the attempt at a cure?”

Ilian looked long at him, eyes suddenly blurred with unshed tears. “I’ll be an invalid

for the rest of my life if I live, is what you mean,” he murmured. “Just payment for my

sins. That must please you.”

Eiren scowled. “I didn’t come here to exact retribution. I came to try and heal you if

I can and if you’ll let me.” He sighed and pointed out, “Life isn’t just about what you can

do with a hale body, Ili.”

His use of Ilian’s shortened name elicited a surprised gasp. “I think that’s the first

time you’ve ever called me that,” Ilian said. He drew a shuddery breath. “I’m not sure

how I can live a worthwhile life this way, but I would like to try. So, go ahead, Ren. Do

what you can. I’ll be ever so thankful even if you gain me just a few more years.”

“Very well,” Eiren said, exhaling in some relief. He looked at Dirion. “If I may use

the kitchen? And I’ll want your cook’s help to brew the medicines. Also, if someone can

accompany me to the market, I’ll need to buy herbs and other medicinal ingredients from

the apothecaries’ stalls.”

“Of course!” Dirion hurried out of the room to make preparations.

“Ren?” Eiren glanced back at Ilian. “I heard you lost your mate last spring.”

“I did,” Eiren quietly confirmed.

“My condolences.” Ilian bit his lip. “What about Ashrian? I trust you’ve reconciled

with him?” he asked, his tone surprisingly hopeful.

Eiren looked away. “We’re friends again,” he shortly said.

“Just friends?” Ilian sighed. “I imagine Ashrian hopes for more.”

“Yes, well…” Eiren pursed his lips, unable to suppress a welling of hurt and anger

over Ashrian’s betrayal of their love with the Deir he was now obliged to help. “There

are some offenses that can never be forgotten. Or easily forgiven.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ilian squinted, his expression one of pained regret. “He’s the one who

told you I was ill, isn’t he? Despite what I did.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“He has a good heart. So unlike me.”

“Yet he couldn’t stop straying,” Eiren retorted, his patience snapping of a sudden.

“He couldn’t keep from dallying with others when he knew how much it meant to me that

he cared for me alone!”

Ilian opened his eyes and gazed at him with a mixture of apprehension and surprise.

“But he did care for you and only you,” he said. “Otherwise he would have shared all of

himself with me.”

Eiren caught his breath. “What do you mean all of himself?”

“He refused to yield himself to me. He spouted some nonsense about being too

highborn for the likes of me to take him. But I knew that wasn’t the truth. I knew he

simply didn’t want anyone but you to have him that way.” Ilian smiled a little ruefully.

“That was his way of loving you. By saving that part of himself for you alone.”

Eiren stared at him, recalling Ashrian’s words to similar effect. He swallowed then

turned away, folding his arms and tucking them tightly against his chest.

If there is aught of me I can say belongs to you alone, it would be that. And all of my

heart.

“He called out your name.”

Eiren looked at Ilian in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Ilian had closed his eyes in exhaustion. “It was your name he called out. That was

such a blow to my pride. I realized then that I could never win him from you. That’s all it

ever was, you know. I envied you your talent and your fame. Taking your lovers from

you made me feel better. Pathetic of me, wasn’t it?” He licked his dry lips. “Ashrian

would have been the supreme conquest. But I failed. His thoughts were of you all the

while we coupled. You owned his heart even then.”

“Is that so?” Eiren muttered. He stifled a groan of frustration.

Ash, you idiot! Why couldn’t you tell me that you cared that much?

Before he could say more, Dirion returned with one of the servants. “We’ll both go

with you,” he said. “You can instruct me on what herbs to get. Harman here will help you

find the other ingredients. It will save time.”

Eiren pulled on his tunic. “A good idea,” he agreed. He suddenly became aware that

some of the doubt and turmoil inside him had given way to certainty. He glanced at Ilian,

who had wearily settled back against his pillows.

“Thank you, Ili,” he said.

Partially opening his eyes, Ilian regarded him entreatingly. “Can you learn to forgive

me, Ren?” he whispered. “Even just a tiny bit?”

Eiren looked away a moment. When he turned back to Ilian, he softly said, “I already

have … for the most the part.”

Chapter 17

Steps

The last person Ashrian expected to find at his door, bags and sundry other

belonging in hand—or rather on the front stoop—was Eiren.

He stared at his cousin in bewilderment, looking from him to the pile of baggage

beside him. And why was Eiren’s carriage headed in back of the townhouse when it

could remain parked on the street for the length of a visit? Except this did not appear to

be a mere visit. No wonder the butler had been at a loss for adequate words when he

informed Ashrian of Eiren’s arrival.

“What in Aisen…?” he started to say.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Eiren interrupted. “Or are you retracting your

proposal?”

Ashrian gaped at him. “You’re moving in with me?”

“It would be more convenient for the making of children.”

“Oh.” Ashrian took a deep breath and stepped back to allow Eiren entry. “I didn’t

expect that we’d live together.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“What? Yes! Of course I do!”

“Then have my things delivered to our room.”

Eiren’s easy familiarity snapped Ashrian out of his daze and he quickly ordered the

butler to have Eiren’s belongings carried upstairs to the room next to his.

As they mounted the stairs following the servants, Eiren said, “A separate room?” He

shook his head. “I’d prefer we shared quarters, Ash. Can you imagine the bother of going

to and fro between our rooms?”

Ashrian glanced at him in surprise. “Bluebloods do it all the time,” was all he could

say.

“I know but I never liked that arrangement,” Eiren replied. “Unless there’s a

connecting door?”

“Yes, there is one,” Ashrian replied a little nonplussed. “The rooms here are rather

smaller,” he hastened to explain. “There won’t be enough space for your things in my

quarters. That’s why I thought it best you had your own room.” He huffed a chuckle.

“And here I thought you’d deem me brazen for putting you next door.”

He was thoroughly flabbergasted when, as they reached the second floor, Eiren

suddenly leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Why would I when we used to be much closer than that?” he pointed out. “And so

frequently we warranted much talk around town.”

“Sweet Veres!” Ashrian grabbed Eiren by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “Did

someone hit you on the head? Or have you been experimenting with some suspect potion

all by yourself?”

Eiren laughed out loud and playfully shoved him. “Has it been so long that you’re no

longer used to our banter?”

Ashrian caught his breath. He said, “Actually, it has been too long.”

His joy knew no bounds when Eiren nodded and softly said, “Agreed. We’ll just

have to make up for lost time.”

Heartened, Ashrian ushered Eiren to his quarters.

“By the way, you didn’t tell me the reason for moving here,” Eiren said as Ashrian

opened the door to his room. “I’m quite curious.”

“Oh, that.” Ashrian led the way into the bedchamber. “No sitting rooms,” he said a

little apologetically. “I warrant it’s a much smaller house than you’re used to.”

“Ash…”

Ashrian halted but did not turn around. Shame scorched him as he explained, “I

couldn’t forget what I did back there, in my old room. Every time I passed it, I’d be

reminded of my idiocy. Not to mention the pain when you left me.”

He drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves.

But Eiren utterly undid him when he slid his arms around him from behind and

murmured in his ear, “This is a good idea. No bad memories to get in the way. I think I’ll

like it here.”

“Holy saints,” Ashrian muttered. He turned around and swept Eiren into a tight hug.

“Welcome, Ren,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “And thank you.”

* * * *

They shared a bed that night, but not their bodies. Both agreed without having to

speak of it that it was too soon.

And so, though he ached for the moment when they could be intimate again, Ashrian

was content just to have Eiren nearby. It was like the end of a long drought and he slaked

his thirst with all the zeal of the severely parched.

But it was quite annoying the following morn when they left the house together and

the neighbors who saw them immediately jumped to the most obvious of conclusions.

Ashrian did not have to wait for his staff to inform him of the gossip. Gossip quickly

caught up with him when he passed by the Mithani residence to have a word with his

brother regarding the lodging of recently arrived crew.

“I hear Eiren spent the night with you,” were Aeldan’s words to him as soon as

Ashrian walked into his suite.

Ashrian rolled his eyes. “I see the tongues wagged fast and furiously this morn,” he

acidly remarked.

“Surely you expected it. So it’s true?”

“He spent the night, yes. But we didn’t couple.”

“Nay?” Aeldan stared at him. “You managed to contain yourself?”

Ashrian shrugged. “I just didn’t want to change his mind so soon, Dan.”

“Change his mind about what?”

“Living with me.”

Few situations could render Aeldan speechless, and Ashrian had to grin when his

brother stared at him in patent disbelief.

“Tell me,” Aeldan demanded when he regained his tongue. “How did you convince

him to move in with you?”

“I didn’t,” Ashrian said, unable to forego the opportunity to confound Aeldan anew.

“It was his idea.”

Aeldan shook his head. He grabbed Ashrian by the arm and made him sit down by

him on the bedchamber couch.

“Either you’re delirious or you’ve learned some powerful love spell,” Aeldan said.

“Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

Ashrian told him, relishing the expressions of compassion, admiration, and

incredulity that chased each other across Aeldan’s face.

“And you’re certain of your decision?” Aeldan asked.

“I am.”

“But, Ash, to be a bearer…”

“It’s my only recourse if I wish to have children.”

“But that’s the point. You never wanted them.”

“I changed my mind.” Ashrian smiled at his brother a little crookedly. “If this is the

only way I can have a child with Eiren, so be it. I’ll take whatever hand fate deals me so

long as Eiren is part of it.”

“Sweet Veres.”

Aeldan leaned back, gazing at Ashrian with lingering disbelief.

“Why so skeptical?” Ashrian challenged. “It was you who told me back then that I

could change my ways.”

“Your profligacy,” Aeldan pointed out. “Not your views on parenthood and the like.”

He covered his mouth then rubbed a finger over his lips. “It’s a testament to the power of

love, that’s what it is,” he muttered. “I do wish Halbreth had heard you.”

Ashrian chuckled. “Why, Dan, are you on a campaign to make him see the error of

his ways?”

“Say rather I hope to enlighten him about the ways of the heart,” Aeldan replied.

“You know how stubborn he can be. Almost worse than you ever were.”

“Then you have your work cut out for you. As I have mine.”

Ashrian stood and walked to the mirror by his brother’s long wardrobe.

“I hope he’s right about my chances of conceiving.” He placed a hand on his

abdomen as he looked at himself in the mirror. “It’s my way back to him, Dan. My last

chance to win him anew.”

Aeldan rose to his feet and came up behind him. He placed a hand on Ashrian’s

shoulder and squeezed it supportively.

“You’ve already made headway in your quest,” he reminded Ashrian. “That he

decided to move in with you means he was touched by your plea. I think it’s only a

matter of time before you reconcile in full.”

Ashrian stared at him in the mirror. He covered Aeldan’s hand on his shoulder with

his own.

“I pray you’re right,” he murmured. “Deity’s blood, how I hope you’re right.”

Chapter 18

Rekindling

A month had gone by when a letter arrived from Karresa. It came with the morning

post but Eiren put off reading it until after dinner that evening, unwilling to rush through

Dirion’s report of Ilian’s progress or lack thereof as the case may be. He also admitted to

Ashrian that he was a little apprehensive about the contents of the letter. Failure was

never easy to accept even when he expected it. After dining, they retreated to the study

where they liked to pass the evenings catching up with each other’s activities or simply

reading, Ashrian reclined on the couch while Eiren preferred to curl up in the great chair

by the hearth.

While Ashrian settled himself on the couch with a half-finished book, Eiren opened

the envelope and proceeded to read the letter, walking around aimlessly as he did. He’d

reached the window when he suddenly let out a small exclamation, drawing Ashrian’s

attention. He looked up at Ashrian, very pleased.

“Dirion says Ilian has grown stronger,” he said, waving the letter above his head in

elation. “He’s gained a little weight and stays conscious for longer periods of time. It

appears my treatment is working thus far. Of course, I’ll know more when I visit them

next week.”

“So, do you think he’ll be cured?” Ashrian cautiously asked, still uncomfortable

talking about Ilian with Eiren.

“I hope so,” Eiren replied. He folded his arms, the letter dangling from his right

hand, and gazed broodingly out the window. “I’m not sure I can bear another failure.”

Ashrian stared at him skeptically. “Would you miss him?”

Eiren glanced at him startled. “What? Nay, not really.” He sighed and ran his fingers

through his dark hair. “It’s too late in the day for us to become close friends. Some

wounds leave scars that never fade. I’ve forgiven Ilian, but I can’t forget the wrongs he

did me. It’s best to put distance between us if we hope to keep our newfound civility.” He

turned around and leaned back against the wall. “But Dirion was always kind to me and

Ilian is his only close kin. I shouldn’t like him to be left alone in this world.”

Ashrian suppressed the impulse to go to Eiren, press him up against the wall, and

kiss him breathless. He chided himself for being so easily affected by a word or look or

simple pose. Rather than make a misstep and perhaps offend Eiren, he forced himself to

his feet and headed for the liquor cabinet. He opened it and took out an amber-hued,

square-shaped bottle.

“Care for some?” he offered without looking at Eiren as he poured himself a glass of

rum.

“Is that from Asmara?” Eiren asked, walking over to join him.

“Indeed it is. The finest rum in Aisen.”

“Then, yes, I would like some.”

Ashrian willed his hand to stop trembling as he filled a glass for Eiren. He turned

around too quickly and nearly bumped into Eiren who was right behind him.

“Careful now, you’ll spill it,” Eiren murmured, taking the glass from him. He took a

sip of the rum. “Definitely the finest,” he commented. He leaned past Ashrian to look into

the cabinet, pressing against Ashrian in the process. “Did you raid Uncle Olriq’s stock of

liquor and take only the very best?”

Ashrian self-consciously chuckled. “Why not? I only moved residence, not immured

myself in isolation.”

“I should hope not.” Eiren straightened and looked at him. “Else I would have no

place here.”

His words left Ashrian quite lost for words. He nervously took a swig of his rum and

then busied himself putting the bottle of rum back into the cabinet.

“What’s wrong, Ash?” Eiren placed a hand on Ashrian’s arm and compelled him to

face him. “You’re so fidgety.”

Ashrian shook his head. “I find I’m not used to this anymore.”

“Used to what?”

“Being around you.” When Eiren stared at him in bewilderment, he hastily added, “I

mean, alone with you like this and not fearing censure or … hurting someone.”

Discomfited, he brushed past Eiren and headed for the couch. He sat down, keeping

his eyes on his glass. Mercifully, Eiren did not tease or badger him and he felt himself

calm down a bit. He finished off his drink and set the glass down on the small side table.

Ashrian ran his hand distractedly through his hair. As he did, his fingers brushed the

heartsfire earring on his left ear. In all the time of their estrangement, he had never

removed it, wanting to feel that he still belonged to someone even if that someone no

longer cared to own him.

He rubbed the jewel between his thumb and forefinger then thought to check Eiren’s

earring. His throat tightened when he saw Eiren still wore the milkstone earring that was

the partner of Firyon’s. Worn in tandem with the wedding band on his right middle

finger, it was emblematic of his wedded state.

Ashrian sighed and leaned back.

It was foolish of him to think Eiren would cast off the symbols of his marriage so

soon. Nor did Ashrian wish to consign Firyon’s memory to oblivion. But he could not

deny that he yearned for some sign that Eiren indeed cared for him. Perhaps not as he

once did, but enough to give Ashrian hope that he might still have a chance of regaining

some if not all of Eiren’s heart.

Gazing at his cousin, he became aware all over again of the serendipity of their

situation. He wondered anew if this happiness that had long eluded him would last.

*

Eiren looked up to find Ashrian staring at him with what appeared to be a pained

expression. Slightly alarmed, he went to him, asking, “What is it? Are you unwell?”

Ashrian shook his head and a faint, heartbreakingly sad smile curved his mouth.

“I was only remembering when I found out about you and Firyon,” he softly said. “I

thought that you would never share your life with me again. Now, you’re here with me

and I-I can’t quite believe it.” He hugged himself, his eyes glistening. “I’m overjoyed just

to have you close by once more and at the same I’m terrified I’ll wake up and find I

dreamed it all up.”

Immensely moved, Eiren sat beside him and, pulling him into his arms, held him

close, stroking a hand soothingly down Ashrian’s back. “It’s no dream,” he assured

Ashrian. “I’ll be here come morning. I’ll be with you every day.”

“I hope so,” Ashrian whispered. He laughed a little forlornly. “And if you’re wrong

and this is all in my mind, I’ll just pray that I never wake up.”

Eiren swallowed. He’d known Ashrian was genuinely remorseful for his failings. But

he had not understood just how deep Ashrian’s hurt and sorrow ran. Likely deeper than

his own, he realized with a pang. And he’d shouldered his grief by himself unlike Eiren

who had been fortunate to have a mate to whom he could turn to for company and

comfort.

“Was I always this oblivious?” he murmured.

Ashrian frowned and looked at him puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“Your needs, Ash. Your pain.” Eiren sighed. “You used to complain about the time I

spent on my profession. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just that I didn’t

spend more time with you.” He cupped Ashrian’s face and gazed at him searchingly. “It

was how I’d spend the time with you. I used to drag you around with me, but I rarely

bothered to ask you what you wanted to do.”

When Ashrian closed his eyes and did not speak either to confirm or deny, Eiren

knew he’d guessed right. He groaned. “Oh Veres, I’m so sorry. No wonder Ilian managed

to tempt you. I’d neglected you once too often.”

“Don’t, Ren,” Ashrian said, his eyes snapping open to meet Eiren’s gaze. “I share the

blame for that. I kept so much from you and so you didn’t know. I’ll accept an apology

for the many times you turned me down, but I won’t have you making yourself the

villain. We both made mistakes and Veres knows we paid for them in our own ways.” He

raised a hand and stroked Eiren’s cheek. “You can’t deny you struggled daily with the

what-could-have-beens of our affair—even wed to Firyon. Your dreams proved that.

More so since you haven’t dreamed of us at all since you joined me here.”

Eiren looked at him in wide-eyed astonishment. He had ceased to dream of trysting

with Ashrian. Whereas even when he’d been with Firyon, he’d dreamed of them together

quite often, especially when he and Ashrian had not seen each other for a length of time.

And, oh, the guilt of it when he had to face Firyon in the morning, knowing his thoughts

had not been with him all night but with Ashrian.

On impulse, he suddenly kissed Ashrian. Not a sweet chaste peck on the lips like the

one he’d bestowed the day he moved in, but a hot, plundering caress with tongues

clashing and mouths slanting against the other in hungry abandon. Ashrian gasped at first

contact but quickly surrendered to Eiren’s desire. Eiren found himself straddling

Ashrian’s lap, held there in an adamantine embrace while Ashrian turned the tables on

him and all but devoured his mouth.

When the kiss ended, they were panting as if they’d run the length of the Great Field

outside Rikara. Eyes closed, foreheads touching, they stayed as they were, locked in each

other’s arms, their warm breaths mingling as they fought to still their racing hearts.

“Thank you,” Ashrian said. “Your dreams always felt real but they can’t compare

with this. With actually holding you in my arms again.”

He pressed kisses to Eiren’s throat down to the small hollow where his collarbones

met. Eiren could not speak or move. He’d missed Ashrian’s loving. Missed the way he

could assume command without pricking Eiren’s pride.

When Ashrian lifted his head, Eiren dared to open his eyes and meet his cousin’s

darkened, questioning gaze. Eiren felt heat and lust and a nigh torturous ache suffuse him

all at once. In answer, he cupped Ashrian’s face in his hands and kissed him hard once

more. Ashrian wasted no time in further inquiry and reached for the buttons on Eiren’s

jerkin.

In mere minutes, Eiren found himself stripped to his skin. He glanced at the door,

suddenly conscious of possible intrusion.

“I bolted it,” Ashrian murmured. When Eiren stared at him, eyebrows raised in

amusement, he added, “Just in case.”

Eiren chuckled and helped Ashrian shed his clothing, raising himself off his lap

slightly to allow him to slide his breeches and drawers down his hips and legs. He

lowered himself again to sit astride Ashrian’s thighs, groaning softly when their shafts

touched and rubbed together for the first time in years.

“And do you happen to have oil on hand as well? Just in case?” he said with a little

gasp as Ashrian caught one nipple between his lips and sucked hard on it.

Between licks of the tiny peak, Ashrian said, “I do. Though we’ll likely not want it.”

Eiren moaned as his other nipple was attended to. “Who says we won’t? I have never

cared to have my arse reamed unbalmed. You know that.”

Ashrian looked up at him in surprise. “You want to…? But I thought that…”

“I’d play the stud to your mare.”

“Well, of course. That was the whole point of my request. Truth be told, the oil was

an afterthought.”

Eiren grinned. “Some other day. Right now, I’m in the mood to be buggered as hard

and deep as possible. Now where is it?” His grin widened when Ashrian produced a small

bottle from behind the throw pillows. “Wherefore your timidity? You were never shy

about this before.”

“I was always sure before,” Ashrian admitted.

His answer further warmed Eiren’s heart. He wrapped his arms around Ashrian’s

shoulders and engaged him in another spate of breath-stealing kisses. Ashrian seemed to

forget his misgivings for the moment and virtually worshipped Eiren’s body, leaving

scarlet bruises on his flesh from his throat down to his belly, hauling Eiren up on his

knees so that he could ply his mouth and tongue on his groin and the top of his thighs.

“Sweet Veres!” Eiren gasped as he was all but swallowed whole. Shaking from the

pleasure, he bent over Ashrian, clutching his back and shoulders as he was hungrily

sucked “I don’t want to spend this way, Ash!” he pleaded. “Not this first time back

together.”

Ashrian reluctantly released him and let him settle on his lap again. Eiren leaned his

head on Ashrian’s shoulder, breathing harshly. “Heyas, you haven’t lost one iota of your

skill,” he muttered.

“Your dreams were enough to refresh my memory,” Ashrian replied. “I promise you,

in reality I’m out of practice.”

Eiren smiled. Lifting his head, he softly said, “I know you are. All the more am I

impressed with your prowess.”

He reached for the bottle of oil and, pouring a generous amount onto his palm,

smeared the slippery liquid on Ashrian’s shaft. After a moment’s hesitation, Ashrian

wiped the excess oil off with his fingers. Eiren caught his breath when he felt the initial

press of those fingers between his buttocks and up his arse.

He moaned as Ashrian eased oil into him, stroking him within to accustom him to

the presence of flesh inside him after so long. “Ah, I’ve missed this.”

Eiren had always enjoyed anal intercourse, more so because of the immediacy of the

act. Whereas the process of turning took a bit more time than he was willing to wait for

when he was this aroused.

When Ashrian withdrew his fingers, Eiren at once started to lower himself on the

hard shaft beneath him. But Ashrian caught him by the hips.

His uncertainty was back. Eiren could see it in his eyes. That was confirmed when

Ashrian said, “This isn’t right.”

“Why so?” Eiren asked.

Ashrian shook his head. “It just feels wrong. The purpose of our getting back

together is for you to sire a child on me.”

Eiren snorted. “And what does that have to do with making love? Do you now

subscribe to the school of thought that copulation is solely for the purpose of begetting?

Do you advocate that buggery be outlawed as well?”

“Of course not! But, Ren, we agreed I would be bearer.”

“And so you will be. I haven’t absolved you of that obligation just because I wish to

play the sheath. Really, Ash, since when did we care for rules in love play? Now shut up

and enjoy yourself. I certainly intend to.” He leaned down and rubbed noses with his

wide-eyed lover. “Enjoy you, I mean,” he added with a lascivious grin.

Ashrian gazed at him with such awe and love, Eiren could no longer stand to remain

apart from him. He eased himself down on Ashrian’s shaft, slowly taking the hard

column into his body.

It burned on entry as expected and he did not suppress his hiss of initial discomfort.

But as Ashrian’s shaft slid wholly up his arse, the pleasure of contact soon overtook the

ache of intrusion. He sighed with bliss when he felt himself filled to the brim, the

frictional contact between Ashrian’s shaft and that point of pleasure within him

contributing to the wonderful tension in his belly and groin.

He rode Ashrian’s shaft, enjoying his repeated impalement and the knowledge of

their bodies’ joining. He had to admit there had never been a lover quite like Ashrian who

enraptured his body as fully as he did his soul. Small wonder that from the moment

Ashrian first had him years ago, he’d lost interest in sowing his wild oats with others and

sought his cousin’s company and bed with a fervor he’d not thought himself capable of.

“Have me, Ash! As deep and hard as you can.”

Eiren only realized he’d communicated his desire when Ashrian drew back and

bestowed a familiar predatory look on him. He gasped when Ashrian suddenly lifted him

of his shaft and turned him on his knees on the couch in one smooth motion. Before he

could so much as squeak, Ashrian was inside him again, his body molded against Eiren’s

back and his arms trapping him in an embrace that brooked no resistance.

Ashrian plunged into him over and again in the way Eiren most enjoyed, hard and

fast with a hint of violence that bespoke possessiveness and mimicked ravishment. Eiren

buried his face in a pillow to muffle his increasingly strident cries. He’d forgotten how it

was to be taken so passionately and thoroughly.

Heyas, it felt so good!

Pleasure steadily unfurled in his belly and groin. He needed to climax and soon or he

would go mad. Ashrian continued to plow into him, wreaking such ecstasy, Eiren realized

he would not have to touch his own shaft to find release.

But Ashrian apparently had other ideas. Eiren groaned when his shaft was suddenly

gripped and caressed with firm, long strokes. All the way from the base to the head, now

slick with semen. He heard himself sobbing helplessly from pleasure so exquisite it

bordered on sublime pain. Eiren braced himself against Ashrian’s increasingly brutal

thrusts, praying for relief yet wishing the bliss would never end.

Ashrian suddenly pressed his face against the crook between Eiren’s neck and

shoulder, worrying the flesh with his teeth but not breaking it. Eiren felt him shudder

against him followed by the sensation of liquid heat filling his backside. Ashrian pulled at

his shaft, once, twice more. The tension in his innards exploded then, and Eiren almost

keened as a fierce orgasm ripped through him.

He’d vaguely worried about the stains his seed would leave on the couch. But his

concern was quickly swept away by the sheer intensity of his release and he ceased to

think about anything but the joy and ecstasy of his first union with Ashrian in years.

By the time he was done spending, his knees had weakened too much to support him

and he sank down, Ashrian still atop him. Still embedded inside him, Ashrian turned

them on their sides so that they could remain coupled awhile longer. Eiren rested his head

on the arm Ashrian had slid under him, pressing small kisses to the muscled flesh.

“That was as wonderful as I recall,” he lazily murmured.

“I aim to please,” Ashrian teased, his voice warm with delight and relief. “Veres, I

really missed this.” He sifted his hand through Eiren’s hair and drew errant strands from

his face. “I missed you.”

Eiren half turned his face and glanced at him over his shoulder. “As much as I

missed you, I warrant. No wonder I dreamed of you so frequently.”

Ashrian’s smile was so radiant, Eiren thought he would weep from joy just from the

sight of it. He laid his head on Ashrian’s arm again, wondering at the continued strength

and depth of his desire for this cousin of his through the years. For a moment, guilt made

an appearance. But then he recalled Firyon himself had befriended Ashrian precisely

because of their mutual love for Eiren. And he had never begrudged Eiren’s lingering

feelings for Ashrian either.

Because he knew he was not long for this world, Eiren mused, closing his eyes in

remembrance. He said holding grudges and the like were a waste of time. And he was

right. Oh, Fir, you were such a blessing to us. I hope you’re happy and hale once more.

He was slowly pulled out of his reverie by the slow rebuilding of pleasure. He

opened his eyes and realized they faced the wide ornamental mirror across the room.

Color warmed his cheeks when he saw their reflected images, Ashrian’s hand curled

around his shaft, fondling it with lustful deliberateness. And he had pushed a knee

between Eiren’s legs, parting them to reveal his shaft still buried in Eiren’s backside.

“Veres preserve me,” Eiren said under his breath as rapture swiftly wafted up from

his groin to his belly.

“I want to fuck you again,” Ashrian whispered, thrusting slightly into Eiren to

demonstrate his state of renewed readiness.

Eiren shivered, undone by the knowledge that Ashrian tended to resort to crude

language when aroused beyond bearing. Keeping his eyes on their reflections, he said,

“As often as you wish. I want to feel you tomorrow when I make my rounds.”

He smiled when Ashrian uttered an imprecation behind him. His smile was soon

wiped away as the pounding began anew and he could no longer control himself, either

the sounds that escaped him or the expressions that lit his face. Everything was reduced

to the sensation of Ashrian’s shaft sliding deep into his arse and his hand stroking him in

tacit ownership.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Ashrian lightly warned. “I’ve a mind to bugger you

until you can’t walk.”

Eiren moaned at a particularly deep thrust. He covered Ashrian’s fondling hand with

his own, pleased with Ashrian’s open desire for him.

“Please do. Verily, it’s been too long since you used me so well.”

He turned his head and let Ashrian capture his mouth in a searing kiss.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for him as they came together in bodily

union over and again. And as Ashrian had promised, he pleasantly ached with the

memory of it the morning after.

Chapter 19

Commencement

When three months had passed and still Ashrian had not conceived, he began to

worry that his womb was as infertile as his seed. What then? Eiren would have no reason

to stay on and he would be left with nothing of their time together. He would not be able

to bear the loneliness all the more if it was without end. For one thing he had learned

about himself during the crucible of their breakup—he was made for Eiren alone. It

would be a torment to move on and seek another, even for duty’s sake.

It was then he recalled Rohyr’s words and belatedly realized his royal cousin would

have indeed done his duty and sought someone with whom to share the burden of

rulership had Lassen not returned to him. But the cost would have been his happiness for

the rest of his life. Ashrian finally understood what that entailed and the thought of a

lifelong shackling out of obligation filled him with dread.

Fortunately, Eiren did not seem in much of a hurry to fulfill his side of their

agreement. When he took Ashrian once more, he did so with a passion that mirrored

Ashrian’s own fervor. Furthermore, that passion did not diminish in every subsequent

encounter. But, surprisingly, neither did such encounters outnumber the times he lay

beneath Ashrian or rode his shaft. It was as if the length of abstention from coupling had

eroded Eiren’s reluctance to admit his preference for yielding in bed openly. Ironic then

that it was Ashrian who needed to play that role more often if they hoped to make a child

between them. And yet Eiren did not seem to mind if they took their time about it.

“What if I can’t conceive?” he tried to ask casually one night as they lay facing each

other after a mirth-filled tussle that inevitably turned into a torrid tumble. “You’d think

I’d have got with child by now given how frequently we couple.”

Eiren reached out to run his knuckles down Ashrian’s cheek. “Stop worrying. Only

breeders are capable of getting with child so easily.”

Ashrian blew his breath out. “You’re so certain of this.”

“It’s the way our bodies are made. Why else do the majority of couples have only

two children at most when bearing is restricted to one mate?”

“So I can expect only two children at most?”

“If you follow the pattern. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule.” Eiren

eyed him with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re willing to put up with more than one

child?”

Ashrian shrugged. “If the first isn’t too much trouble, I might. And it won’t do harm

to have a spare heir around,” he added.

Eiren snickered and lightly punched his arm. “Saints! Only you would liken a second

child to a fallback!”

“I’m only being practical,” Ashrian pointed out. “It’s best I be prudent considering

the only heirs I’ll ever have I’ll have to carry myself.” He hesitated before adding, “And

hopefully all sired by you.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Getting ahead of our agreement, are we?” Eiren

remarked at length. “Let’s work on the one we agreed on first, shall we?”

Ashrian viciously tamped down on the hurt brought on by Eiren’s reminder that he’d

asked for one child only. He forced a smile and said, “By all means. Though I wouldn’t

call it work. There’s a reason it’s called bed play, remember?”

“Oh don’t go all academic on me!” Eiren said with a laugh. “I get enough of that

from my colleagues all day long.” He shifted of a sudden, coming to rest between

Ashrian’s legs. He leaned down and pressed kisses along Ashrian’s jaw before claiming

his lips in a long, liquid caress. “I’d rather indulge in something more lowbrow tonight.”

He trailed a hand down Ashrian’s body to where their groins met and their shaft

rubbed together. Ashrian groaned as Eiren brought the two columns together and stroked

them jointly. Soon they were both panting harshly from escalating pleasure. Ashrian

caught Eiren’s face in his hands and pulled him down for a scalding kiss.

“Will you have me again?” he murmured against Eiren’s lips. In answer, Eiren

reached for the bottle of oil at the top corner of the bed. Ashrian glanced at it and asked,

“Are you sure?”

Eiren grinned. “There’s always tomorrow and the day after and so on. I miss your

arse, Ash, and I mean to have it tonight.”

Stifling a groan at Eiren’s aggressive words, Ashrian wordlessly spread his legs and

raised his knees. He caught his breath when Eiren worked oiled fingers into him,

loosening him enough for penetration. Eiren had not taken him thusly since they started

coupling again and now would be the first time in years that his backside would be put to

use once more. A well-placed stroke had him hissing in pleasure and he arched up

slightly to meet the thrusts of Eiren’s fingers.

He knew better than to protest the withdrawal of said fingers but he missed the

sensation of flesh within him nonetheless. The faint pang was soon eased by the entry of

Eiren’s shaft into his arse. He moaned as he was completely filled, the burn of long

abstention as much a part of the pleasure as the repeated slide of thick flesh up his

backside.

* * * *

The last month of the year, just before the onset of heavy snow, they traveled to the

city of Althia in Ilmaren, their cousin Reijir’s fief. Reijir had unexpectedly announced his

betrothal to Naeth Orosse, the youth to whom he had stood as guardian. Ashrian thought

it quite amusing that Reijir should marry so artless a Deir when all his previous partners

had been experienced not just in the love arts, but in most areas of life. Then again,

perhaps that was precisely why Reijir had fallen in love with Naeth. His situation was

akin to someone who had too long partaken of stale beer and cheap wine and

rediscovered the potency and flavor of perfectly distilled brandy.

As he watched the pair speak their vows in the temple of Althia, Ashrian felt a pang

of wistfulness. He darted a glance at Eiren at the point when the Prelate of Ilmaren

pronounced them espoused in heart, body, and spirit. But he quickly averted his gaze

when Eiren turned his head lest his lover notice his yearning. He had asked a child of

Eiren and thankfully, Eiren had acquiesced. Ashrian did not dare scare his lover away by

asking for more, especially something as life changing and permanent as fane wedlock,

more so the irreversible union from soul-binding.

He had considered proposing that they handfast instead. Handfasting would give

Eiren a way out if he decided union with Ashrian was a mistake. But Ashrian set the idea

aside as self-defeating. If he asked Eiren to bind to him, he desired it to be for good. To

request that Eiren merely handfast to him would send the wrong message—that he was

unsure of the permanence of his feelings and therefore wished to be ready should he want

to dissolve their union. Such a certain misperception would doom their relationship even

before the vows had been uttered.

Ashrian contented himself with reaching for Eiren’s hand and holding it for the rest

of the ceremony. When Eiren returned the gesture, Ashrian lifted his eyes to the snow

sapphire and wrought silver four-rayed star of Veres behind the altar, and silently

invoked a prayer of supplication and hope.

The reception was every bit as lavish as might be expected of a great fief-lord’s

nuptial celebration, but especially one whose only brother had a taste for extravagant

parties. Keiran Arthanna ensured no one would forget Reijir and Naeth’s wedding for a

long time to come, pointing out to everyone that it was the perfect way to cap Reijir’s

successful efforts to erase the foul memories of their sire’s abusive reign.

As had been the case during Naeth’s begetting day celebration, it was chilly weather

outside. But Ilmaren’s more southern location made for milder autumns and tamer

winters. Thus there was no need for roaring fires and closed doors and windows to keep

the reception hall comfortable. Besides, there were a good number of the customary

sitting alcoves in the hall, many of them curtained, to which the less resistant to the cold

could retreat for a warming spell.

“I knew they’d be in a hurry to carry out the consummation rites,” Eiren muttered,

gesturing toward Reijir and Naeth as they slipped out of the hall earlier than was proper.

“What did you expect?” Ashrian said with a chuckle. “Dylen and Riodan didn’t

linger either. In fact, Dylen said were it not for Riodan’s sire and his passion for

decorum, they’d have missed the reception altogether. And Rohyr and Lassen left right

after the wedding dance, remember? A far cry from his behavior with Tyrde I must say.”

“Yes, he put off leaving the reception for as long as he could,” Eiren recalled. “That

was telling, wasn’t it?”

“As is this.” Ashrian smiled. “It seems our lot thus far has been blessed with love

matches. Even you, Ren.”

He did not dare look at Eiren though he sensed his lover’s eyes on him. Let him make

of my words what he will, Ashrian thought, his heart beating a little faster. It was true of

his marriage to Firyon. Ashrian fervently hoped it was just as true of their rekindled

affair.

“Are you planning to stay up late?” Eiren suddenly asked, sounding breathless.

Ashrian peeked at him, noting his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Not particularly,”

he murmured, his own breath coming a little faster. “Why do you ask?”

“I would like to stay up late,” Eiren said. He suddenly pressed a kiss to Ashrian’s

mouth. “But not here. And not like this.”

He tugged suggestively at Ashrian’s formal tunic, undoing one ornamental fastening

in the process. Ashrian closed his eyes and silently counted up to twenty.

“What are you doing?” Eiren huskily asked.

“Trying to calm myself down yonder,” Ashrian retorted. He groaned when Eiren

smoothed a palm over the obvious bulge of his straining shaft. “And you’re not helping!”

He quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking their way. Fortunately, as they

were tucked behind one of the marble supports, none seemed to have noticed their

behavior so far. “Saints, Ren, it’s difficult enough to keep my hands to myself in public,”

Ashrian muttered. “Would you have me take you against the wall right here in front of

everyone?”

Eiren’s smile was downright soul tempting. “Not here perhaps. But the alcoves are

quite cozy. And private.”

Ashrian stared at him in amazement. He closed his eyes once more and counted

another score. No good. Eiren’s scent and warmth had already invaded his senses and

now his fingers were making their wicked way under his tunic into his breeches. Ashrian

swore under his breath.

He caught Eiren by the wrist and hauled him into the nearest curtained alcove. It was

a narrow space with a divan against one wall and a small table beside it. The only light

came through the parted drapes and the gap between the top of the alcove entrance and

the curtain rail. As soon as he drew the drapes shut to signal that the alcove was

occupied, Ashrian pulled Eiren into a savage kiss, plundering his lover’s mouth until they

were both breathless and shaking in frantic need.

“Drop your breeches,” he harshly ordered Eiren as he hurriedly undid his own

trousers.

Staring at him wide-eyed, Eiren obeyed. His breeches and drawers had hardly slid

down his hips to his thighs when Ashrian roughly pushed him against the wall and

pressed against him, sliding their shafts together in sensuous contact and motion. Ashrian

sealed their mouths together again while he grasped the two columns and stroked them.

Eiren moaned and ground himself against Ashrian, clutching at his shoulders for support.

With his other hand, Ashrian unbuttoned Eiren’s tunic and spread it apart. The silk shirt

underneath he did not bother to properly undo but ripped it open.

Eiren gasped. “That’s a new shirt!” he protested.

“So I’ll get you a dozen more,” Ashrian retorted.

He leaned down to suck hard on one of Eiren’s nipples, nibbling lightly on it until

Eiren was gasping for mercy. He turned his attention to the other small peak, all the while

sliding his hands up and down their shafts. Eiren grabbed him by the hair and dragged

him back up for a scalding spate of kisses.

Ashrian reached behind Eiren and parted his buttocks, pressing his fingers against

the entrance to his arse. The hint of heat and silken tightness whetted his appetite for the

singular taste that was Eiren’s alone. He broke their kiss and peremptorily turned Eiren

around to face the wall. Before Eiren could speak, Ashrian dropped to his knees behind

him and, parting the cheeks of his arse, proceeded to stroke the rosy aperture between

with his tongue. Eiren muffled a cry and scrabbled for a hold on the wall, finding

purchase in the decorative molding above his head.

The repeated stab of Ashrian’s tongue into him set Eiren all a-tremble and he was

soon reduced to pleading for release. Hearing the desperate note in Eiren’s voice, Ashrian

rose to his feet. They had no oil and so he wiped the emerging seed from their shafts and

used the slippery liquid to coat himself. Holding Eiren’s hips steady, he penetrated him in

one steady plunge.

It was not as smooth an entry as one with lubrication, but the combination of saliva

and semen was enough to mitigate the burn of it. Eiren contracted his muscles around

Ashrian’s shaft thereby heightening their mutual pleasure. Hungry for release, Ashrian

pounded into him, relishing the softness and heat that gloved his flesh. He slipped his

hand around to stroke Eiren’s shaft in time to his relentless thrusts into him.

They swiftly came to completion, one after the other, Ashrian spending into Eiren as

copiously as Eiren spilled into his hand. He carefully pulled out of Eiren who leaned back

against him, still gasping for breath. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to

grasp Ashrian by his hair and pull him forward for a long, languid kiss.

“You never fail to impress me,” he whispered against Ashrian’s lips, his mouth

curling into a smile as he spoke.

Huffing a soft chuckle, Ashrian replied, “And you never fail to inspire me.” He

sighed and murmured, “I love you, Ren.”

Eiren shifted around in his embrace to face him, his gaze searching. At length, he

smiled and huskily said, “Is it your intent to arouse me anew?”

Though slightly disappointed that Eiren did not respond to his declaration in kind,

Ashrian was relieved it had moved his lover to desire more intimacy with him in such

short order. He glanced down and saw Eiren was indeed more than ready for another

round.

“Nay, but I’m not going to complain,” he replied with a grin. “Shall we retire to our

quarters or stay here?”

Eiren reached for the curtain and peeked out. Despite the absence of the newlyweds,

the merriment continued as before, thanks in large part to Keiran and the entertainment

he’d arranged for everyone’s pleasure.

“I think we’ll do just fine here,” he decided. He playfully pushed Ashrian backward

toward the divan. “But I should like to proceed in more comfort.”

Ashrian laughed and allowed himself to fall back onto the divan. He readily kicked

off his breeches and drawers and parted his legs as Eiren knelt between them.

Their mouths came together once more in molten union, the sounds of their passion

smothered by the seal of their lips against the other. Ashrian felt Eiren’s fingers trail

down and creep behind his seed sac to begin the process of turning. Feeling the bodily

changes that would open him up and make him ache for penetration, Ashrian reached for

Eiren’s shaft and stroked it until it reached its full length.

He knew he was ready when Eiren slid his fingers into him and he desperately

arched into the intrusion. Eiren withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his shaft, the

hard column easily gliding in deep. For a few heartbeats, they gazed at each other and

Ashrian could only think how lucky he was to be given this chance to be with Eiren

again.

Eiren began to thrust into him, starting slow in visible enjoyment of the pleasure of

mounting his lover. Ashrian lifted his hips to meet each thrust, wanting to take Eiren

inside him as thoroughly as possible that he might no longer feel himself a separate

being. He whispered Eiren’s name in between kisses, moaned it as rapture started to

overtake him and, when at last an explosive climax all but shattered him, cried it out

against Eiren’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering with ecstasy.

Above him, Eiren stiffened suddenly. He groaned and buried himself as deep as he

could, gasping harshly as he spent. Ashrian closed his eyes as warmth coated his innards

then swiftly made its way to his belly. He knew contact between Eiren’s semen and his

womb would induce spasms that would enhance an ongoing orgasm or trigger a new one.

He awaited the pleasure with anticipation.

The sudden flaring of heat in his belly took him by surprise. He lay in stupefied

disbelief, not quite able to comprehend what he had just experienced. After so many

attempts with naught but the fizzling out of that telling heat to show for their efforts, he

had not expected this coupling to be any different. But the heat continued, intensifying

for several seconds before slowly fading to a comfortable warmth that, if it followed the

usual pattern, would last until daybreak.

Veres almighty, he had conceived.

Eiren pulled out with a satisfied groan and rolled off him to lie at his side. The divan

was narrow and he snuggled against Ashrian, wrapping his arms around him and laying

his head on his shoulder in order for them to fit. He snickered softly.

Ashrian glanced at him and asked, “What is so amusing?”

“Not exactly amusing,” Eiren replied. “But I wonder what would happen if someone

chanced to peek in here. Would there be a hue and cry over our behavior?”

“More likely they’d charge me with debauching you,” Ashrian said. “But that would

be par for the course where I’m concerned. People expect it of me.”

Eiren shook his head. “They’d be wrong to think thusly. Maybe once upon a time

that charge would have been true. But no longer. You’ve changed, Ash.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“Hmm, the best, I think.”

That greatly pleased Ashrian. “Really?”

“Very much in fact.” Eiren rested his chin on Ashrian’s chest and peered lazily at

him. “Don’t you believe me?”

Ashrian smiled and nodded. He placed his hand on his belly, wondering whether to

tell Eiren that he was finally with child. But given his brush with blight, he could not help

worrying something might yet go wrong. He decided to wait awhile longer before

informing Eiren. He did not want his lover to suffer through another loss so soon.

* * * *

Their return to Rikara two days later meant a resumption of their respective duties.

Ashrian realized for the first time another benefit of a full day’s work. As he was too

busy to be affected by Eiren’s absences much of the time, he no longer harbored the same

degree of resentment he’d once did when he’d had too much idle time alone.

Of course, he still fretted when Eiren either forgot or was forced to cancel plans with

him on account of his duties. But he understood much better that it was not deliberate

negligence on his lover’s part nor did it mean that he was lowly placed on Eiren’s list of

priorities. Besides, Eiren doubled his efforts to make amends whenever he realized he’d

focused almost exclusively on his work to the detriment of their relationship. Ashrian had

to admit the change enormously heartening.

About a fortnight thence, Eiren came home from the Hospitallers’ health center

virtually enshrouded in a cloud of gloom. So depressed did he seem yet maddeningly

reticent about the cause that Ashrian considered heading for the hospital to find out what

had plunged him into such a state.

He started to dress, surprising Eiren when he came into the room to find Ashrian

preparing to step out.

“Where are you going at this time of the night?” Eiren inquired.

“The health center.”

Eiren stared at him. “If you’re unwell, I can examine you right here.”

“Nay, I’m quite well, thank you,” Ashrian replied. “But you obviously aren’t. And

since you won’t tell me what has put you in such a black mood, I’m going where I might

find out.”

He picked up his tunic and started to put it on. Eiren quickly stopped him and tossed

the garment aside. He abruptly leaned his head on Ashrian’s shoulder.

“I lost a father and child this afternoon,” he whispered.

Ashrian started. “Deity’s blood,” he murmured and pulled Eiren into a tight hug.

“What happened?”

“It was a premature birthing,” Eiren said, his voice low and anguished. “But the

seam didn’t part so the father didn’t realize he was bleeding inside. He only knew he was

in pain a-and the babe had stopped moving. But instead of coming to us at once, he

waited for his mate to borrow funds for his confinement. They hadn’t saved enough

money, they said.” Eiren looked up, his eyes flashing in angry disbelief. “Damn it all! As

if we’d have turned them away!” He closed his eyes, burrowing deeper into Ashrian’s

embrace. “They came too late. The child was dead inside the womb and the father …

He’d lost too much blood for us to save him. And then his mate blamed us for their

deaths. He … Oh Veres, he blamed me.”

“Why did he?” Ashrian demanded to know. “It was they who delayed. This wasn’t

your fault in the least.” He drew back slightly to look Eiren in the eye. “You didn’t lose

that father and child; the couple made a foolish decision and it cost them dearly. You

shouldn’t take the blame. I fervently hope you didn’t!”

Eiren shook his head. “I told him so. And so did my colleagues. But he was

distraught and I doubt he really understood. Maybe later, when he’s got past the anger

and the grief.” He wrapped his arms around Ashrian and dolefully sighed. “I know it

wasn’t my fault, but it hurts nonetheless. Oh, Ash, I keep recalling the sight of…” He

shuddered again. “I wish I could forget. Help me forget. Please.”

Ashrian blew his breath out. He did not know what to do. His usual method of

distracting Eiren was hardly appropriate given the nature of his distress. But just as he

was about to suggest a long soothing bath together to give himself time to think of

options, he remembered he had not yet told Eiren that he was breeding.

It was two weeks now and nothing seemed out of the ordinary inside him. At least,

nothing felt wrong. Perhaps he was securely with child.

After taking a deep breath, he pressed a kiss to Eiren’s lips then took his lover’s hand

and placed it on his belly. A gifted healer could detect the first signs of life almost from

conception if he put his mind to it. Ashrian hoped Eiren would sense their child’s

presence despite the distraction of his grief.

Eiren stared at him in puzzlement at first. He opened his mouth apparently to ask

Ashrian why he had placed his hand thusly when he suddenly caught his breath and his

eyes widened. He dropped his gaze to his hand on Ashrian’s abdomen. Then he closed

his eyes and concentrated. A faint bluish glow suddenly flared under his palm and

fingers.

An interminable minute later, Eiren gasped and jerked back. He stared at his hand

still on Ashrian’s belly. When he looked at Ashrian once more, his eyes had turned bright

with elation.

“Veres almighty!” he softly exclaimed. “You’ve conceived.”

Ashrian nodded. “The night of Reijir and Naeth’s binding.”

“That was a fortnight ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid something might go wrong.”

Eiren shook his head. “There’s nothing to fear. Your womb is sound.”

“I know that.” Ashrian gave a small, lopsided smile. “But I was afraid just the same.”

He sighed with relief when Eiren wrapped his arms around him and planted a kiss on

his nose. “Well, set your worries aside. I assure you everything is in order.” Eiren’s eyes

sparkled with jubilation, his earlier anguish forgotten. “Saints, Ash! You’re going to have

my child!”

Ashrian’s joy knew no bounds when Eiren claimed the child as his. “The Maker be

praised,” he happily murmured, pressing his face against the side of Eiren’s neck.

He fervently hoped the advent of this child would only mark the fulfillment of their

pact and not spell the end of their still fragile, not quite clearly defined relationship.

Chapter 20

Unforeseen

Now that he knew himself irrevocably with Eiren’s child, Ashrian wondered if it was

wise to hope for more. Would Eiren give him the chance to prove he could be constant?

Indeed, did he care enough to desire Ashrian’s fidelity?

He’d learned the hard way that trust had to be earned, not freely given except by

fools. Eiren’s trust in him had been badly damaged by his faithlessness and ill choices.

He would have to show Eiren that he was no longer the feckless philanderer of yore and

to do that he would have to follow Rohyr’s advice. He would have to tell Eiren the

reasons behind his behavior and in turn trust Eiren to be understanding and

compassionate toward him.

Ashrian adjudged one leisurely afternoon in his bedchamber the right time and place

for it. Eiren had come home early from a rare trouble-free day and was in excellent

spirits. In fact, so good was his mood that he’d doted on Ashrian from the moment of his

arrival. What better opportunity for confidences between them than now, Ashrian thought

as they whiled away the hours until dinner.

Eiren must have noticed his preoccupation for he suddenly said, “All right, out with

it. What’s troubling you?”

“Nay, nothing is troubling me,” Ashrian replied.

Eiren snorted. “But?” he prodded.

Ashrian smiled at his skepticism. “I would just like to talk to you about something.”

His smile widened when Eiren regarded him with some suspicion.

“Now why does that make me fidget?” Eiren commented. “Do you realize every

time we have a ‘talk,’ I’m left at best in a state of shock and at worst too flabbergasted to

think straight?” He sighed and tapped the space beside him on the couch. “Ah, what does

it matter? Sit down and tell me what you have in mind.”

His heart beating wildly enough to be heard, or so Ashrian believed, he sat beside

Eiren. “I loathe reopening wounds,” Ashrian ventured. “Especially wounds I dealt you.

But if we’re to be truly reconciled, we can’t have secrets between us. You deserve to

know why I behaved so odiously back then. I owe you that much.”

Eiren looked at him surprised. “Why bring that up now? And why do you feel you

owe me anything?”

“Because what I did hurt you,” Ashrian explained. “More so since you didn’t know

why I acted as I did. I should have confided everything to you of all people.”

“I see. Well then, if it will help ease your conscience…”

“Not my conscience, Ren, but your frustration over not knowing.”

Eiren stared at him. At length, he nodded and motioned to Ashrian to speak. Ashrian

did, repeating essentially what he told Rohyr more than a year ago.

As he recounted his past fears and failings, however, he became aware something

had gone wrong. The more he revealed, the more Eiren grew not merely disturbed as

expected, but greatly agitated to the point of getting to his feet and walking around the

room with a foreboding expression. Ashrian faltered a few times as he watched Eiren

pace back and forth like a wildcat waiting out its prey.

As soon as Ashrian finished his narration, Eiren spun around and glowered at him.

“Are you done?” he asked in a low, palpably irate voice.

“Yes,” Ashrian replied, his hackles rising.

Eiren angrily exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me this long ago?”

Ashrian blew his breath out, willing his tension away and not quite succeeding. “I

suppose I didn’t want you to think less of me,” he admitted.

“You thought I wouldn’t understand?” Eiren snapped. “That I’d judge and condemn

you? Well, that certainly indicates what you thought of me then. As bad a straitlaced

bigot as Uncle Imcael, I dare say!”

Ashrian quickly stood up. “Nay, I never thought you anything like him!” he

protested, reaching out to Eiren placatingly.

Eiren evaded his touch and stabbed an accusatory finger at him. “Oh, don’t you deny

it, Ashrian Mithani! You wouldn’t have hidden your fears from me if you trusted me in

the first place. Heyas! Of all the stupid things you’ve ever done, this tops them all! It’s

obvious you were thinking with the wrong head! And what a fool I was not to see how

good an actor you are. Did you laugh behind my back each time I swallowed your tall

tales and excuses?”

“Of course not! Ren…”

“Of course not, my foot! Stop trying to play me for a fool. I’ve had enough of that.”

Ashrian stared at Eiren in anguish and bewilderment. He’d expected Eiren to be

disappointed with him and certainly somewhat resentful at being kept in the dark for so

long only to reap the disastrous results of Ashrian’s unresolved feelings. What he had not

anticipated was a harangue so bitter and contemptuous it made him feel as if all he’d been

born to do was afflict people with his worthless self.

Maybe that is all I’m good for, he thought, dejection overtaking the last of his

flagging confidence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking past Eiren to the door and blessed escape.

“You should be!” Eiren spat. “I’ve heard all kinds of excuses but, Deity’s blood,

yours is the most pathetic. No wonder you all but wasted your life away!”

Ashrian barely registered Eiren’s departure from the room or the slam of the door

behind him. His knees suddenly weak, he sank back down on the couch, clutching at the

armrest with trembling fingers. Before long, his entire body was shaking in reaction.

Regret and self-reproach hammered away at him. Why had he told Eiren? What had

he hoped for? He should have kept his silence. He should have left things be. Now thanks

to his idiocy, he had put an end to any dreams he nursed of reuniting with Eiren.

He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat. The tears that pricked at his

eyes he savagely wiped away. He would not cry. He would not lower himself any further

than he had already.

Of a sudden, the room seemed oppressive, almost suffocating. He lurched to his feet

and pausing only to throw on a randomly chosen cloak, hurried out of the chamber

toward the stairs, nearly colliding with the butler along the way. Ignoring the startled

Deir’s anxious inquiry, he dashed down the stairs and fled the house into the cold of a

north late autumn afternoon.

* * * *

When he returned to the townhouse late that night, Eiren rehearsed the apology he’d

composed once he’d calmed down and comprehended the enormity of his blunder. He

mounted the stairs to the second level in some trepidation, wondering what he would

encounter when he saw Ashrian.

He could not forget the words he’d flung at his lover. How distraught Ashrian had

looked. Eiren berated himself once more. He should have stopped then. And he should

have apologized immediately. Instead, he’d stormed out, forsaking Ashrian to his

thoughts. Veres only knew what those thoughts had been. Had he forgotten so easily that

his lover had once nearly taken his own life whilst in despair? Recollection of that near

tragedy spurred him to quicken his pace.

Eiren drew a deep breath and knocked on Ashrian’s bedchamber door. After the third

rap and still no one answered, he warily entered the room. To his mingled disappointment

and relief, the room was empty, the bed turned down and the curtains drawn but the fire

in the hearth unlit by the servants. That could only mean Ashrian was not home. Eiren

wondered if he had left the house right after his own departure.

He stepped out of the room and, taking the back stairs, made his way down to the

rear section of the house. He found the butler and cook just outside the pantry, conferring

over the next day’s meals. Both looked up in some surprise when he approached them.

The aristocracy very rarely if at all ventured below the stairs as the area comprising the

kitchens, storage rooms, and servants’ quarters was often alluded to.

Embarrassment made Eiren reluctant to speak. But at length, he set his pride aside

and asked, “When did Lord Ashrian leave?”

The butler glanced at the cook before replying, “Right after you left, Sarvan- dyhar.”

Eiren noted the butler’s hesitation. He obviously knew something had gone awry

between Eiren and Ashrian and had discussed the matter with the cook. Eiren’s shame

deepened.

“Did he say where he was headed?”

“Nay, Dyhar. He, ah, he seemed in a great hurry and did not stop to speak to

anyone.”

He was in a state is what you mean. “How did he look?”

Again the butler hesitated. “He appeared rather, er, strained,” he answered with

practiced tact.

Quite the gift for understatement. Eiren nodded and turned to leave.

“Shall I serve you dinner, Dyhar?” the cook quickly inquired.

“I’m not hungry,” Eiren replied. “Carry on.”

He trudged to his room, more weary of soul than in body. Changing into sleepwear,

he passed through the connecting door into Ashrian’s chamber. Settling himself in the

reading chair by the window, he resolved to await his lover’s return.

Therefore, he was deeply shocked when he awakened to find bright sunlight pouring

through the windows into the room. Berating himself for falling asleep, he quickly looked

at the bed. It was untouched. Had Ashrian stayed out all night then?

Eiren hurried out of the room and made for the stairs. But as he passed the dining

room, he caught sight of Ashrian at the table, the remains of a light breakfast before him.

And he was dressed to go out. In different attire from what Eiren recalled he’d worn the

previous day. He swore under his breath at the realization that Ashrian had returned very

late last night, had obviously slept in another room, then stolen into his chamber come

morning and silently dressed while Eiren slumbered all unknowing of his return.

He entered the dining room, saying, “Thank Veres, you’re home. What time did you

arrive last night?”

At once, Ashrian rose to his feet, casting his table napkin aside. He did not look at

Eiren and attempted to slip past him on the way to the door.

“I’m meeting Aeldan at the East Bend docks,” he murmured. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Eiren grabbed him by the arm. “Wait, Ash, please stay awhile. About yesterday…”

“I’ll be late,” Ashrian interrupted.

“Damn it, I want to apologize,” Eiren pleaded. “What I said was beyond the pale and

completely uncalled for.”

Ashrian politely pulled his arm away. “I need to go. And you’ll be late too. Have

some breakfast before you leave.”

“Ash!”

Eiren watched his cousin stride away with nary a glance back. But he knew it was

neither arrogance nor anger that kept Ashrian from meeting his gaze. He leaned against

the door frame, wondering how much damage he had done to Ashrian’s sense of worth.

His proud cousin had mustered the courage to tell him the truth and reveal the worst

of his faults. And his reward for taking so crucial a step? The very reasons he’d held back

before. Eiren’s shoulders drooped. Small wonder Ashrian had shied from confiding his

fears and weaknesses to him. It would be no surprise at all if he never dared so humbling

an act again.

With a remorseful sigh, Eiren straightened and returned to his room to prepare for

the day. Perhaps Ashrian would be in a better mood tonight and be willing to listen to his

apology. Maybe even accept it. Eiren could only hope.

But in spite of his busy schedule at the hospital, he found himself distracted and

prone to errors. After misreading a patient’s record for the third time in a row, he finally

admitted defeat and made excuses to leave early. There were other healers on hand to

take up the slack. But he was the only one who could make amends to Ashrian and mend

their rift. Nonetheless, the sun was riding low by the time he rode down to the East Bend

docks situated in the northernmost section of the south district.

The Azira bent slightly to the east in this section of the river. Hence the name. It was

also the deepest and widest part of the great waterway, enabling several ships and barges

to put in at the same time. Thus the East Bend docks were also the busiest and most

commercial of the wharves along the Azira.

After stabling his mount at the dockside mews, Eiren walked down the wide lane that

led to the crowd-strewn wharves. It was not hard to locate the Mithani ship—it was the

largest vessel moored at the end of the longest wooden platform.

Eiren had only visited the East Bend docks once previously for he had little interest

in Ylandre’s maritime industry. He was far more familiar with the north district quays

which were not only cleaner and less crowded but also much safer. Belatedly, he realized

his attire marked him as affluent despite the simplicity of its color and style. An

experienced thief would note the costly fabrics used and the high quality and therefore

great expense of the tailoring. He pulled his cloak closer around his body to make it

difficult for the many pickpockets to prey on him and he cast his gaze about alertly to

make it clear he was no innocent or fool. That there were some who had mistaken him for

one or the other became apparent when they visibly lost interest in him once he showed

he was aware of them.

He quickly spotted Aeldan among the milling Deira. Despite being similarly attired

to the roughly garbed crewmembers of the ship whose unloading he was overseeing,

Aeldan was still every inch a highborn blueblood. His caste and lofty station revealed

themselves as much in his bearing and authoritative manner as in his height and the

shorter length of his hair. Yet he bellowed orders like a crusty sea dog, much to Eiren’s

amusement, and helped with the assorting of crates, sacks and sundry other cargo into

piles on the dock.

Aeldan looked up and noticed him approaching. He straightened and, after greeting

Eiren, remarked, “Isn’t this out of your way, Ren?”

“I’m looking for Ashrian,” Eiren explained with a small smile.

“Ah, he’s over at the warehouse,” Aeldan said, indicating a nearby row of boxy

buildings that lined one side of the river. He frowned and went on to ask, “Did something

happen? He looked rather upset when he arrived this morning. And he hasn’t so much as

cracked a smile since.”

Eiren grimaced. “We had words yesterday,” he shamefacedly admitted.

Aeldan’s frown deepened. “That must have been quite a discussion.” He cocked his

head in the direction of the warehouse row. “Go to him. Take him home. Talk to him, bed

him, do whatever you must but, please, fix whatever has gone wrong this time. I don’t

think Ashrian is in any state to be so distressed.”

“He isn’t,” Eiren mumbled. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Dan.”

“Shouldn’t you say that to him?”

“I tried but he wouldn’t listen.” Eiren ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I

think he’d rather avoid me. Not that I blame him. I gave him good reason to fear my

company.”

Aeldan stared at him. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said.

Eiren winced at the tacit reprimand. “I’d better go find him.”

“Yes, but remove your earring first, for Veres’s sake. This isn’t a north district park.

And take some of my folk with you.”

Eiren sheepishly obeyed the first suggestion but declined the second, saying he

would not proceed if he sensed trouble.

The warehouse row was only a few blocks away. Nonetheless, it was not safe to

linger in the area by one’s self, especially from the late afternoon onward. Dark alleys

separated the buildings, which for the most part were not much more brightly lit. Though

he had never visited the Mithani warehouse, Eiren guessed it was one of the better

maintained and illuminated ones. Unfortunately, he would have to pass a number of

rather decrepit buildings around which unsavory looking Deira bided their time. He did

not like the way they appraised him as he walked past them.

Too late he remember he still had his spectacles on. No doubt these ne’er-do-wells

thought him some craven fool of a scholar who’d lost his way. Easy pickings in other

words. He tensed when three of them straightened and ambled toward him.

“Where are you headed, pretty one?” one of them drawled while the other two

blocked his way.

Eiren bristled at the belittling appellation. “None of your business,” he retorted.

“Now stand aside, knave.”

“By gaw, he’s no meek one.”

“Maybe he likes a good tussle, eh?”

“With those owl eyes? He’d be done for before he threw the first punch.”

“Who says I was talking about a fight?”

“Well, what was you talking about?”

“Between the sheets, dimwit. Maybe he’s a firebrand in bed, hey?”

The three laughed raucously at the suggestion, but the way they eyed Eiren turned

distinctly lascivious. They suddenly moved to surround him, one of them grabbing at

Eiren’s arse for a feel. In the next instant, the ruffian was spewing imprecations while

hopping around on one foot and clutching his right leg. The other two gaped at him in

surprise—they had not expected their victim to retaliate with a well-placed kick to the

shin. But it was only for a moment. Growling in anger, they converged on Eiren together.

He surprised them by holding his own, his years of training in the drill yard of the

Citadel serving him well. But he was one against three—the thug he’d kicked had

rejoined the fray—and unless he dispatched them quickly, he might tire ahead of them

and that would spell disaster for him. Worse would be if the others who held back for the

moment decided that they, too, wanted a piece of his arse.

Eiren managed to divert them briefly by mentally sweeping up dust and rubble from

the ground and into their faces. But using the mind gifts entailed intense concentration

and tapping into his store of energy. Any accompanying physical exertion sapped his

strength more quickly, not to mention interrupted focus. Only the inordinately powerful

templars could sustain prolonged employment of the mind arts and even they preferred

not to be distracted while doing so.

Just as Eiren had decided to try and break away and race back to the relative safety

of the crowded docks, one of the assailants suddenly stepped back. Or rather he was

yanked back by his collar, spun around, and dealt a vicious blow to the jaw. He went

down with nary a whimper. Eiren had a glimpse of red-brown hair and hazel eyes before

he engaged one of the remaining ruffians.

He delivered a solid blow to the Deir’s nose and knew the satisfaction of cartilage

giving way before his fist. Another punch sent the bloody-nosed thug stumbling back and

a third landed him flat on his back on the ground. Eiren whirled around to see if Ashrian

needed help.

But Ashrian had already taken care of his opponent, who lay doubled up, groaning in

pain. To his consternation, however, Eiren noticed the other riffraff seemed interested in

continuing the fight. But instead of rushing them, the thugs slunk away into the dark of

the alleys and backstreets. It was then Eiren became aware of the presence of other Deira

nearby. Some were clothed in mariners’ garb, others in workers’ attire, but all bore the

Mithani badge of a cream-hued merlion atop a silver-gray islet against an azure field on

their right sleeves or breasts.

Eiren turned his attention back to Ashrian. His cousin was glowering at the two

Deira at his feet. The first one he’d downed had awakened and now looked groggily

around him. The second looked up at Ashrian beseechingly. The reason for his fear

became apparent when Eiren saw the glint of a knife blade in Ashrian’s right hand.

“Mercy!” the ruffian gasped, his eyes glued on the knife. “Of your goodness, Dyhar,

have mercy!”

Ashrian snorted. “And why should I when you showed my cousin none?” he

snapped.

“C-c-cousin?” The Deir glanced at Eiren in dismay.

“And kin to the Ardan as well,” Ashrian venomously added.

The thug gasped in obvious comprehension of Ashrian’s meaning. Perhaps he

thought he had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he managed to take Ashrian

down and flee the scene. Of course, it was a stupid notion and his knife had not even

cleared its sheath when Ashrian put paid to the attempt with a bone-breaking kick to his

ribs. The Deir howled in agony and fell back sobbing for breath. Meanwhile the first

hooligan had recovered somewhat and scrambled to his feet.

“Ash, look out!” Eiren yelled, taking a step forward.

The ruffian attempted to wrap an arm around Ashrian’s neck in a stranglehold. But

Ashrian twisted out of the way before his assailant could lock his grip then punched him

hard enough to break his jaw. A second blow and the Deir collapsed in an untidy heap.

Ashrian disdainfully nudged him with his foot. Satisfied the ruffian was unconscious,

he sheathed his knife.

Eiren sighed with relief. Belatedly, he took off his spectacles and tucked them away.

Gazing at Ashrian, he said, “Thank you, Ash.” He swallowed. “I shudder to think what

would have happened if you hadn’t come when you did,” he whispered.

Ashrian rubbed the back of his knuckles then looked up to glare at Eiren.

“What in Aisen are you doing here?” he asked none too patiently.

Eiren grimaced at his tone. “I thought we’d go home together,” he muttered.

Silence greeted his reply. At length, Ashrian said, “Nay, I’m not done here yet.”

He turned on his heel and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Eiren barred his way. “I can help out,” he offered.

Ashrian’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he firmly said.

Eiren winced. It was clear Ashrian did not desire to be in close proximity to him just

yet. He decided not to force to issue, but neither would he return home without Ashrian.

“I’ll wait for you at the riverboat waiting shed,” he said.

Ashrian sighed with exasperation. “Eiren…”

“I’ll wait for you,” Eiren stubbornly insisted.

Ashrian’s mouth tightened and, for a moment, Eiren thought he would object. But at

length, Ashrian curtly nodded then walked away. His heart heavy, Eiren watched him

return to his waiting people.

* * * *

Eiren initially worried that Ashrian would refuse to ride home with him. So he was

greatly relieved when Ashrian showed up at the shed an hour later. He said nothing,

however, but merely led the way to the mews. Eiren quietly acquiesced.

As they made their way north, Eiren could not help glancing worriedly every once in

a while at Ashrian. His lover was a superb fighter, by far better than Eiren at fisticuffs

and at par with the finest combatants among their kin. But a childing Deir’s reflexes were

necessarily slowed down, and they also tired more easily from excessive activity.

Ashrian hid his weariness well, but Eiren saw through his facade. His fatigue showed

in his listless hold on the reins and the slight curving of his normally ramrod straight

back.

“I think you should stay home tomorrow and get some rest,” he said. “You shouldn’t

tire yourself overmuch in your condition.”

Ashrian shrugged. “I assure you I won’t let anything happen to your child. You can

trust me in that at least.”

Eiren sighed. “I do trust you. In all things.”

“Nay, not all,” Ashrian replied. “And I gave you good reason not to.”

“Heyas!” Eiren reined in his mount forcing Ashrian to do likewise. He gazed

pleadingly at his lover. “It was inexcusable of me to say what I did. You didn’t deserve

any of it.”

“Didn’t I?” Ashrian shook his head. “I’ve always known myself lacking in direction

compared to the rest of you. You only spoke the truth.”

“Not at all!” Eiren disagreed. “Everyone has a different pace. You simply came to

your choice later than others. That doesn’t make you a lesser Deir in any way. And I was

dreadfully wrong to suggest that you are.”

When Ashrian only looked down at his hands, his face expressionless, Eiren

wondered if he would be able to undo the hurt he’d so carelessly inflicted on him. He

decided to completely open up as Ashrian had so bravely done.

“I prided myself on knowing you so well, even better than your own brother,” he

confessed. “So when I realized how ignorant I’d been and that you’d succeeded in

keeping so much from me, I just…” Eiren blew his breath out. “It was my pride that

spoke. I hated having to admit how insensitive I could be that I didn’t suspect your

troubles the least bit. So I was angry at myself but I took it out on you. I should have been

grateful that you’d taken your courage in hand and admitted your faults to me and instead

I lashed out at you. That was so wrong and if there’s anyone who should be questioning

his worth, it should be me. You’ve come so far in so short a time, Ash, and I’d be a liar if

I denied how much in awe I am of you.”

He reached across the space between them and clasped Ashrian’s hand. “I’m truly

sorry. I won’t blame you if you now regret having me as your child’s sire, but I pray you

don’t. At least, not so much that you’d want to rid yourself of it.”

Eiren caught his breath when Ashrian turned shocked and pained eyes on him.

Ashrian snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Do you think me so shallow I’d

end a life before it had even begun just out of spite?” he sharply asked.

“Nay! Ah, plague take my tongue, I’m making this worse!” Eiren thought hard

before speaking again. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d get rid of the babe. Only that you

probably wished you weren’t with child. My child. I’d have second thoughts about the

situation, too, in your place, and I’m a physician.” He gazed repentantly at Ashrian. “I

shouldn’t even have spoken of it. You have so few options, you’re the last person in this

world to consider throwing away what you feared you’d never have.”

Once more, he took Ashrian’s hand and held it tightly when Ashrian tried to pull it

away. “Please, Ash, you had a big enough heart to befriend Firyon. Surely you have it in

you to forgive me my idiocy?”

The invocation of Firyon’s name appeared to touch Ashrian for he suddenly closed

his eyes and murmured, “Would that he was here to counsel me.”

Eiren felt a stab of jealousy that the mere mention of his late spouse should have an

instant effect on Ashrian when none of his own fervent pleas had so much as put a dent in

the wall he’d erected between them. He realized for the first time just how much pain

Ashrian had surmounted and finally set aside when he set himself to making Firyon his

friend.

Compared to what he endured, my suffering was as nothing, he sadly thought.

“Nay, you endured as much,” Ashrian quietly said.

Eiren flushed when he realized he’d once more blazoned his thoughts to Ashrian.

“I seem to have trouble shielding when I’m with you,” he mumbled.

Ashrian faintly smiled. “Be thankful for it. I’m inclined to accept your apology now

that I know you’re sincere about it. And you shouldn’t be jealous of Firyon. If his name

has the power to influence me, it’s because he stood by me in life and at the end of it

gave me what I desired above all.”

The subtle declaration of unbroken love was both a balm to Eiren’s heart and a

caustic to his conscience. Wondrous as it was to be the recipient of Ashrian’s devotion, it

was also unnerving. Anything so implacable was. Eiren had to admit even Firyon’s gentle

love could not compare with the utter constancy and commitment of self Ashrian now

proffered.

It rendered him speechless and all he could do was lift Ashrian’s hand to his lips and

press a grateful kiss to it. They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence.

They returned home to a relieved staff and a late dinner. As they ate, they chatted in

a desultory manner, their rift too recently mended for more serious talk. At least, Eiren

thought it prudent to do so. Ashrian disabused him of the idea right after dinner.

When Ashrian rose from the table, he softly groaned. He rubbed his right shoulder

where a sore muscle had apparently made itself known.

“I need a hot bath,” he murmured. He glanced at Eiren, who’d immediately come

around the table to examine his shoulder. “Would you care to join me?”

Eiren looked up in surprise, not expecting renewed familiarity so soon. Elated by

Ashrian’s full acceptance of his apology, he pulled his lover into tight hug.

“I’ll give you a massage afterward,” he offered.

Ashrian’s lips curved up in a smirk. “Just a massage?”

“I thought you were tired?”

“Not that tired.”

Eiren huffed in some disbelief. “Well then, more it is. But only if you promise to let

me do all the work.”

“Do all the playing, Ren,” Ashrian reminded him. “It isn’t the least bit like work.”

Shaking his head at his lover’s indefatigable spirit, Eiren took Ashrian by the arm

and ushered him out of the dining room.

“Come on then. It’s late and, you may not want to admit it, but you need to rest. For

yourself and our child.”

“I promise you I will,” Ashrian assured him. “After you’ve seen to my needs.”

Eiren rolled his eyes. “You’re incorrigible,” he muttered. But he smiled nonetheless,

thankful for Ashrian’s capacity to forgive him so readily.

Chapter 21

Vicissitude

“I want to propose to him. But I don’t think I can bear it if he turns me down.”

Rohyr looked up from his son to study Ashrian curiously, his initial smile turning

into a frown. “Why fear that he’ll turn you down?” he asked. “Eiren chose to dwell with

you. He agreed to have children with you. He speaks highly of you whenever you’re

mentioned in conversation, which he often does by the way. I should think his actions

clear evidence of his regard for you. He loves you, Ash.”

“I suppose he does,” Ashrian said. “Firyon told me repeatedly that Eiren still cares

for me.”

“Then why the doubts? Why do you think he’ll reject your proposal?”

Ashrian sighed. “Because I’m not certain his feelings run deep enough to merit

wedlock with me.” He plopped himself on the small divan beneath the window

overlooking the Citadel gardens. “I keep looking for signs that he loves me as he once did

even if diminished somewhat. I haven’t seen much more than a fondness for my company

and, well, lust. I can’t put much stock in either given that I stood by him after Firyon died

and that I’ve always serviced him very well, which Firyon couldn’t do because of his

illness.”

Vyren chose that moment to raise his arms to his sire in a plea to be carried. Rohyr

lifted his son out of his crib and, settling himself on a chair opposite Ashrian, dandled

Vyren on his lap. Ashrian grinned when his nephew promptly blew bubbles of spit at

him. The child giggled, visibly proud of his feat.

Thoughts of the growing babe inside him prompted Ashrian to reach out his hands

invitingly to his nephew, whereupon, with typical exuberance, the baby prince all but

launched himself at him. Rohyr laughed as Ashrian tried to familiarize himself with the

proper way to handle a toddler.

“Practicing?” he teased.

“I need to,” Ashrian admitted. He gasped when Vyren nearly toppled off his lap in an

attempt to grab one of the tassels dangling from the draperies framing the window behind

the divan. “Saints, how do you keep up with him, Roh?”

“Truth be told, just barely.” Rohyr smiled at his lively son. “But it’s worth every

bruise and skinned knee keeping him out of trouble just to see him so happy.” He

suddenly looked at Ashrian searchingly. “Why look for signs? Why not just ask him?”

“If he loves me?” Ashrian shook his head. “I may not like his answer. Call me a

coward, but I’ve borne enough disappointment to last me a lifetime. What’s left of mine

at any rate.”

Rohyr regarded him sympathetically. “I’d pity you if I didn’t know you’d object. But

have you ever considered that perhaps you’re taking your penance too far?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re still taking most of the blame on yourself. That has to stop. You can’t go

through life chastising yourself for sins of the past. It blinds you to the changes you’ve

made in yourself. To your accomplishments. You may not be aware of it but almost

everyone now speaks so well of you. Uncle Olriq included. If he expresses any regrets,

it’s that your family’s company missed the benefits of your contributions for so many

years. Knowing your sire’s standards, that’s high praise.”

Ashrian stared at Rohyr. “Eiren said much the same thing,” he commented.

“Well then, that counts for much, doesn’t it? Surely he won’t mind being wed to

someone he esteems as much as he does you.”

“Perhaps.”

“Nay, for certes.”

Still assailed by doubt, Ashrian could not readily agree. At length, he clapped a hand

to his forehead and rubbed it in vexation.

“Deity’s blood…” he groaned. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

Rohyr leaned forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But in the end, any

reward will seem all the more precious for the difficulty in attaining it,” he declared.

Ashrian stared at him. “That sounds like something Lassen would say,” he

commented.

“He did say it,” Rohyr admitted with a chuckle.

Just then, Lassen entered the nursery, his long sun-bright hair twisted into a thick

braid. Vyren clamored at once for his father to take him. Lassen sat beside Ashrian and

transferred his son to his lap.

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to hear, but what did I say?” he asked, looking from

Ashrian to Rohyr.

“Naught but a gem of wisdom,” Rohyr replied, his mouth curling into a tender smile.

Lassen responded with a look of unmistakable devotion.

Ashrian sighed. I envy the certitude of their love, he thought with a pang.

Would that he could be as certain of his place in Eiren’s heart. Or life.

* * * *

After making up in the wake of their recent quarrel, Ashrian took to passing by for

Eiren almost daily and riding home with him. Whether he’d spent the day at home doing

paperwork or joined Aeldan and his sire at the docks, he made it a point to leave for

whichever hospital Eiren was at in time to catch his lover as he left the premises.

He did not tell anyone why he needed even the briefest of additional time spent with

Eiren. Certainly, he did not reveal his fear to Eiren that the time of their togetherness

would soon come to an end now that he was breeding. Eiren had not taken his previous

confidence well. Ashrian did not care for another rift between them. Time was too short

for such interruptions to their amity.

This evening he rode to the Order of the Hospitallers’ Health Center in the east

district though the hospital’s location was such that a part of the main building actually

stood on south district land. However, because the center was run by a religious order of

warrior priests and monks, the criminal elements of the poorest section of the city kept

well away. Thus, the hospital was not only clean and well maintained; it was also a safe

and quiet haven. Indeed, Ashrian much preferred it to the Rikara Public Hospital and

often wished Eiren would hold office solely at the center.

He was a familiar face at both establishments and almost as soon as he stepped into

the center’s front hall, he was greeted by a medical aide wearing the collar of a postulant.

The aide asked if he had come for Eiren Sarvan. When he affirmed this, the Deir directed

him to the office of the hospital administrator. He explained Eiren was in conference with

the administrator and someone from the Ministry of Health.

Ashrian made his way to the aforementioned office, wondering what business the

Ministry of Health had with his lover. Coming to the room, he knocked once on the door,

unsure whether he would be welcome. Someone bade him enter and he opened the door

and stepped into the room.

The chamber was small but airy with windows facing the lawn in back where

patients took in fresh air or sunned themselves after lengthy confinements. Right before

the windows facing the door was the administrator’s desk and to the left of it was a long

table with benches on either side. The three Deira at the table looked sideways at Ashrian

as he entered.

Eiren was surprised to see him, but he smiled nonetheless and said, “Ash! You’re

early today.” He patted the bench beside him. “Come, join us.”

“I hope I haven’t interrupted something important,” Ashrian said as he took his seat.

He was quick to note that the older of the Deira sitting opposite them displayed a fleeting

moue of what could not be construed as anything other than disapproval.

“Not at all,” the younger Deir replied. “Indeed, Sarvan- dyhar said he would need to

confer with you regarding our request.”

He was a distinguished-looking Deir despite his relative youth and Ashrian guessed

he must be from the Ministry. He was proved right when Eiren introduced him as Deputy

Minister of Health.

“And this is Danon Thamas,” Eiren said, indicating the Deir who had expressed

vexation over Ashrian’s arrival. “He’s the center administrator.”

Ashrian noted the lack of the clerical accoutrements of a religious in Thamas’s attire.

Apparently, the day-to-day running of the hospital had been left to a layperson. Well, that

made a lot of sense if the current crop of Hospitallers was little versed in the business

side of running a hospital not subsidized by the state.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he politely addressed Thamas.

“The pleasure is mine,” Thamas shortly replied.

But Ashrian had the distinct impression Danon Thamas felt no pleasure at all in

meeting him. Catching several glances the Deir cast Eiren’s way, he suspected the reason

for Thamas’s tacit dislike for him. Thamas was not at all skilled at concealing his

feelings. Ashrian turned his attention back to Eiren

“What is it you wished to discuss with me?”

Eiren nodded toward the deputy minister. “I’ve been asked to help train staff for the

new state hospital in eastern Velarus.”

“That is correct,” the Deir said. “It’s almost complete and we hope to open it for the

Velarusians’ use before the end of next year. In fact, the Ardis has already agreed to

grace the formal opening of the center.”

“The hospital falls under the territorial jurisdiction of Tal Ereq,” Eiren explained.

“Lassen’s hometown. If you recall, Rohyr had ownership of the land next to the town

transferred to the Crown when he granted Tal Ereq protectorate status.”

“I remember now,” Ashrian said. “That was one of the conditions stipulated in the

compact. Along with the border garrison.”

“Yes. So now eastern Velarus will have its own hospital. But it won’t be fully

operational unless we can train enough Velarusians to staff it.”

“Like in Camara.”

“Precisely.”

“A noble cause. But do you have enough time to take on the additional work?”

“It won’t be additional work. If I accept this assignment, I’ll have to relocate to

Velarus for the next, oh, three or so years.”

Ashrian stared at him. “Relocate?” he repeated. “But what of your practice here?”

“I’ll transfer my patients to colleagues in the interim.”

“I see.” Ashrian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “When—when will

you leave?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Eiren said. “It will be no mere jaunt. Three years is a long

time.”

“But you would go if you had no obligations here,” Ashrian asserted.

Eiren pursed his lips then nodded. “I suppose I would,” he admitted.

Ashrian felt as if a boulder had sunk to the pit of his stomach. “Do what you feel you

need to do,” he forced himself to say.

“But what do you think?” Eiren questioned. “Would it be for the best?”

“For the hospital—undoubtedly,” Ashrian replied. He hesitated and then added with

all honesty, “I’d be less than truthful, however, if I claimed to be eager about the

prospect. As you said, three years is no jaunt.”

Before Eiren could respond, Thamas spoke up rather sharply, “I think the decision

should be left to Sarvan- dyhar alone. A healer’s obligations always come first save

perhaps for family concerns. I don’t see that is the case here.”

Ashrian bit back a caustic retort and, shrugging, added, “As Thamas- tyar said, it’s

your choice, Ren. Do you wish to go?”

Eiren frowned. “Were I footloose and fancy free, I would say yes forthwith. But I’m

not free to do solely as I wish. You have a say in this, Ash.”

Again, Thamas interrupted. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I am of the

opinion that only immediate family should have a part in a physician’s decisions. I can

say with much pride that thus far the healers I know abide that unspoken rule.”

“But you don’t know all the healers in this land, Thamas- tyar,” Eiren rebuked him.

“And I don’t see why one should take pride in knowing folk whose lives have been as

much adversely affected by that tradition as enriched.”

Thamas reddened slightly but he said, “Indeed, the healer’s vocation entails many

sacrifices. But there is much reward in the saving of lives and the bettering of health. I

should think that association is something to take pride in. Don’t you agree, Dyhar?” he

asked the deputy minister.

“Well, I … to a point, I suppose, yes.”

“There, you see?” Thamas regarded Ashrian a touch condescendingly. “Surely,

Mithani- tyar, you see the impropriety of expressing your displeasure so openly.”

Ashrian fought the impulse to bristle at Thamas’s obvious deliberate failure to use

the correct honorific with him. Reigning in his temper as well as he could, he witheringly

commented, “I was not aware my status had changed, Administrator.”

For a moment, he thought Thamas would refuse to acknowledge his social blunder

judging from the latter’s mulish expression. But the Deir finally muttered, “My

apologies, Dyhar. My error was unintentional.”

Eiren let out a long, loud sigh. Ashrian recognized the underlying annoyance in the

sound and wondered who his pique was aimed at. He hoped it was not him for making an

issue of Thamas’s discourteousness.

“Shall we get back to the subject then?” Eiren said. He addressed the deputy

minister. “I will think on this. Give me a day or so and I will get back to you as soon as I

come to a decision.”

The deputy minister had looked quite uncomfortable during the earlier exchange. He

was obviously relieved to be given a reason to leave.

“We will await your decision then, Master Sarvan,” he said.

Hardly had he left the room however when Thamas, with what Ashrian took for spite

and perhaps a little desperation, peevishly snapped at him, “Perhaps you don’t realize it,

but your interference in Eiren’s life is most unmeet considering his recent loss.”

Ashrian stiffened. More infuriating than Thamas’s insolence was the Deir’s temerity

in addressing Eiren so familiarly. Unless Eiren had permitted it? Perhaps it was petty of

him, but Ashrian resented the notion that Eiren could be on such friendly terms with the

administrator that he would allow this informality between them.

“I didn’t know you and Eiren were more than professional colleagues,” he could not

stop himself from remarking.

“We aren’t,” Eiren sharply said. “But I’m sure Thamas- tyar intended no disrespect

with this error either.”

“Not to you,” Ashrian murmured, turning a flinty stare on the administrator.

Thamas tilted his chin up defiantly. “I should think a mere slip of the tongue less

offensive than pressing suit on a recently widowed Deir.”

Goaded beyond forbearance, Ashrian leaned forward and slammed a hand down on

the table, jolting Thamas into shutting up and paling by a shade or two.

“You forget yourself, Administrator,” he snapped. “Don’t think you have the same

privileges with me as you apparently do with Eiren.”

Eiren firmly clasped him by the shoulder. He quietly said, “Don’t trouble yourself

over Thamas’s tendency to overstep his bounds. He’s let his passion for duty get the

better of him more often than I can count.”

You mean his passion for you, Ashrian thought. He kept the sentiment to himself

however and allowed Eiren to pull him back slightly.

“My cousin is right however,” Eiren pointed out to Thamas. “Verily, your manner

leaves much to be desired and it would behoove you to improve on them if you don’t care

for the Hospitallers to replace you with one of a more gracious bent. Also, you’d best

school your tongue in the presence of strangers. They are not all as tolerant of your lack

of tact as I try to be.”

Ashrian flinched inwardly. Was he intolerant? And it seemed to him Eiren was

scolding Thamas as familiarly as Thamas had dared to address him. He could not help

wondering if Eiren had discussed their affair with the administrator. Thamas certainly

seemed to know about their renewed relations if not their domestic arrangement.

Realizing the futility of uninformed conjecture, Ashrian roused himself from his

musings in time to hear the tail end of Eiren’s speech.

“Let me make it clear that I wasn’t coerced into this liaison,” Eiren said. “He offered

what my beloved late spouse was unable to provide me. As I desire children greatly, I

saw no reason to refuse his proposal. And now that Lord Ashrian has fulfilled that desire,

I think he has every right to participate in any and all events that would affect our

offspring.”

Thamas turned an unbecoming shade of red. He stuttered, “You are … he is … That

is … W-when?”

“Next spring.”

Thamas pulled out a kerchief and wiped his suddenly damp forehead. He looked

most disappointed though he still had enough resolve to direct a baleful glare at Ashrian.

Or perhaps he simply thought there was nothing to lose by behaving thusly. After all, he

was no colleague of Ashrian’s and it was doubtful Eiren would bother to report what was

essentially a personal matter to the Hospitallers’ Superior General.

“I see my concerns were unnecessary,” he said at length. “My congratulations,

Sarvan- dyhar.”

Eiren nodded. “I will assume your felicitation extends to my esteemed cousin,” he

coolly replied. “In any case, our thanks and a good day. I trust this unfortunate discussion

won’t be repeated.”

He quickly ushered Ashrian out of the chamber without giving Thamas a chance to

finish his response.

As they walked down the hallway, Ashrian briefly glanced over his shoulder. As

he’d expected, Thamas was watching them from his door. When the Deir realized

Ashrian had seen him, he shook his head in the manner of one disapproving of some

unseemly deed. Scowling, he reentered his office and closed the door with a bang.

Ashrian stifled a sigh. He then noticed Eiren regarding him with concern.

“Forget him, Ash,” Eiren said. “He isn’t worth your ire.”

Though still miffed, Ashrian forcibly ejected his less than charitable thoughts about

the administrator. In any case, he had more urgent matters to consider. He would do

better to direct his speculations—and anxieties—elsewhere.

Chapter 22

Juncture

The first visible sign of his breeding state showed itself that night.

After his bath, Ashrian crossed the room to his wardrobe and selected a loose, pale

gray shirt and bed trousers. He shed his robe and started to pull on the trousers when a

lock of hair fell across his face. Shaking it out of the way with a slight toss of his head, he

happened to look into the bedchamber mirror. He saw it then—a faint line about two

shades darker in hue than his skin crossing his abdomen.

“I see the birthing seam has appeared.”

Ashrian drew a calming breath then turned to look at Eiren as he entered the room.

He drew on his shirt, buttoning it up enough to conceal the seam.

“You must have made quite an impression for the Ministry to request your services

again,” he ventured.

Eiren shrugged. “I did my part to the best of my ability.”

Well, your best trumps everyone else’s.”

“Why, thank you,” Eiren said with a grin.

Ashrian paused then asked, “Have you come to a decision?”

“It’s a challenge worth undertaking,” Eiren replied with a dip of his chin. “And the

rewards are great. My time in Camara was fulfilling.”

“And you met Firyon there. When you needed him most.” Ashrian sighed. “I miss

him.”

“Mmm. What does Uncle Olriq have to say about that, I wonder?”

“He may never really understand,” Ashrian admitted. He folded his arms. “But

Firyon was kind to me. He didn’t condemn me for any of the idiotic things I said and did.

And he even encouraged me to try and reconcile with you after he passed away. I sorely

miss his company and his counsel.”

Eiren smiled. “So do I. He had a sound head on his shoulders for someone so

sheltered. Ah, by the way, I just received an offer for my house. Will you come with me

tomorrow when I meet the buyer? You’re better at such matters than I.”

Ashrian thought his heart would break and wither away. “Of course,” he forced

himself to say as naturally as possible. “What time will you meet with him?”

But apparently he had not managed to school his expression. Eiren tilted his head

and regarded him wonderingly.

“Something is troubling you,” he commented. “Would you care to tell me?”

Fear and shame suddenly swept over Ashrian, and he had to hold his arms even more

tightly against his chest to help still the trembling of his body.

“Ash?” Eiren came to him, worry creasing his forehead. “What is it?”

Ashrian shook his head, unable to bring himself to speak.

“Deity’s blood, you’re frightening me,” Eiren said, reaching out a hand to grip

Ashrian’s shoulder and slightly shake him.

Swallowing hard, Ashrian forced himself to respond. “I’m so afraid to ruin what we

have between us now,” he whispered. “I just know I’ll say the wrong thing.”

Eiren’s eyes widened. He let out a huff of frustration. “Ash, just say it! Or will you

go back to keeping secrets from me?”

“Nay! Very well…” Ashrian took a deep breath and said, “When you walked away

before, it nearly destroyed me. More so because I knew I was to blame and there was

naught that I could say or do to persuade you to stay. What kept me going was the hope

that when you returned, you would forgive me and mayhap I would win you anew. But

you came back with Firyon and I realized that I would never live up to the standard he’d

set. That compared to him, I was…”

Ashrian hugged himself as he began to shake again. He mumbled, “I am utterly

soiled and unworthy of you and that you could never forgive me—only pity me.” He

ignored Eiren’s attempt to protest, raising a hand to silence him. “So I dared to ask a

child of you. I thought he would help me endure it when you left me for good. I’ve been

striving ever since to accept that you’ll never be truly mine again. But I-I find I can’t do

this. If you leave me, if you go to Velarus, it will be the end of me.” A harsh sob escaped

him and he struggled to swallow the ones that followed. He finished in a desperate rush.

“Please, Ren, I beg you, stay with me. I swear I won’t trouble you. Only stay so that I

might still see you. Please…”

His voice broke, and he bowed his head as hot tears blurred his sight. He was taken

aback when Eiren cupped his face and compelled him to look up and meet his gaze.

“Veres almighty!” Eiren softly exclaimed. “You think I would have agreed to sire a

child on you if I hadn’t forgiven you? If I didn’t love you?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t feel that way,” Ashrian admitted, a forlorn edge to his

voice. “You’re preparing to leave me now that you’ve fulfilled your part of our

agreement.”

Eiren looked confused. “What do you mean? How am I preparing…?”

“You’re going to accept an assignment that will take you far away from me again,”

Ashrian said. “And you’re selling your house as well. What can that mean other than that

you wish to relocate elsewhere?”

“Nay, you misunderstand!” Eiren replied, shaking his head vigorously. “I’m selling

the house because I want to buy a larger one.”

It was Ashrian’s turn to be confused. “Why in Aisen would you need a larger

house?”

“Because I want our children to live in comfort and neither of our homes are

spacious enough.”

“Our children? You expect to have more than one child with me?”

“Of course! Don’t you?”

Unable to digest the unexpected explanation, Ashrian stared at him doubtfully. “I

don’t understand. Our compact was for just one child.”

Eiren gaped at him. “This is no mere compact to me,” he asserted. “I want to have

children with you. As many as you can carry. I want to start a family with you.”

“But why would you? You don’t even care for me as you once did.” Ashrian drew a

deep breath and said, “Firyon is your great love now. You told me so yourself. You

regretted not meeting him sooner.”

“Heyas, you really thought that I…” Eiren stared at him unhappily. “Ah, forgive me,

I didn’t mean to leave you so unsure. I should have been clear about my intentions from

the start.” He pulled Ashrian into his arms. “Oh, dearest one, all I meant about Firyon

was that I wished he’d had more time to be happy with me. I brought him as much joy as

he gave me. And I loved him very much. Almost as much as I love you. But my love for

you is not the same as what I felt for him. He brought me peace when I most needed it.

And he helped me regain confidence in myself. He made me feel that I was enough for

him. Nay, don’t turn away. I know now that insofar as your heart was concerned, I was

enough for you.”

“More than enough,” Ashrian whispered. “You filled it to bursting. And when you

left me…” He shuddered in remembered desolation.

Eiren brushed a kiss against Ashrian’s mouth, startling him out of his despondent

mood. He pressed their foreheads together.

“Firyon gave me back something I’d lost,” he softly said. “I no longer knew how to

trust. Through him, I learned that I could trust again and that I could forgive. Had I not

met him, I would have gone back to you still harboring so much resentment that it would

have just torn us apart again.”

He raised his right hand between them, palm inward. Ashrian saw that his middle

finger was bare. Eiren had removed his marriage band.

“Firyon helped me rebuild the bridge between us,” Eiren murmured. “And when I

crossed it to join you anew, I realized that, while his love had comforted me and healed

me of my bitterness, it couldn’t complete me as you and your love does and always has.”

Ashrian stared at him. “And always will?” he dared to ask.

They gazed at each other, Ashrian with mounting hope and Eiren with growing

elation.

Eiren laughed in delight. “Is that a proposal of wedlock, ariad?”

His heart soaring from the long unuttered endearment, Ashrian replied, “Much more.

I never want you to have cause to doubt me again. So, will you bind to me, Ren? Be my

soul’s mate?”

His proposal was met with astonishment followed swiftly by understanding. “I know

you won’t betray me again,” Eiren said. “I saw the change in you almost from that first

moment when we met once more. There’s no need for you to prove your fidelity to me

through so stringent a measure.”

Ashrian shook his head. “I don’t find it stringent at all. To be your eternal mate is no

hardship but a blessing we should have claimed long ago,” He smiled faintly at Eiren’s

puzzled frown. “Firyon once told me he thought we’d been lovers in our past lives, but

that we tempted fate by never wedding our souls. I think he was right.”

Eiren joyfully beamed at him. “Then by all means, yes, I will bind to you.”

He pressed another kiss to Ashrian’s mouth. Almost giddy with relief, Ashrian

melted into it.

“I was going to convince you to come with me to Velarus,” Eiren murmured when

the kiss ended. “But then Thamas went and insulted you and I had to let him know what

an idiot he was.”

Ashrian broke into a brilliant smile. “Is that what you did? You defended me?”

“Yes. Why, what did you think I was doing?”

“I thought you were trying to explain our relationship to him.”

“Wherefore? His personal opinions mean naught to me. What? Did you think us

close friends that I would confide to him or care what he thought?”

“Can you blame me? He addressed you by name and you barely chastised him for it.

I thought perhaps you’d given him leave to do so.”

“Nay! I’m just so used to him trying to ingratiate himself with me, half the time I

don’t notice his infringements.”

“So you do know he desires you. Why then have you not put him in his place?”

“Because I don’t come into contact with him frequently enough for me to give a

damn. But seeing how he used that to provoke you, I think I’ll have a word with the

Superior General about disciplining him. I don’t want you to be subject to his insolence

ever again.” Eiren shook his head. “We really need to communicate more clearly. I don’t

want further misunderstandings of this sort between us.”

“Neither do I,” Ashrian agreed. He stroked Eiren’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“So you want me to go with you to Velarus?”

“But of course. That is, if you’re amenable to a lack of luxurious living for an

extended period of time,” Eiren warned.

Ashrian snorted. “What good will luxury do me if I don’t have you to share it with?”

He hugged Eiren tighter. “All I want is to be by your side.”

Eiren playfully rubbed their noses together. “Just by my side?” he purred

suggestively.

It was extreme provocation, Ashrian would later claim. Between one breath and the

next, he had Eiren on the bed beneath him. When their groins met in rapturous contact,

Eiren groaned and arched up into Ashrian, increasing the press of their bodies.

“Have me, Ash. Have all of me,” he pleaded. “Please, I need you inside me.”

Ashrian looked at him with mingled lust and wonder. “We make an odd pair,” he

remarked. “You’ve sired a child on me yet you’d rather play my sheath.”

“With you, I’ve always preferred it,” Eiren said with a grin. “I liked making love to

Firyon, but I was relieved I didn’t have to yield to him.” When Ashrian gaped at him, he

added, “You’re the only I have no qualms about taking inside me.”

“And here I thought I was alone in feeling that way,” Ashrian muttered.

He gazed hungrily at Eiren, thinking all over again how beautiful his lover was.

Wantonly displayed on his bed, his whole being eagerly offered up to him to do with as

he wished. It was as they had once been before their quarrel. Ashrian realized it was how

they were meant to be even when they occasionally changed roles and positions as their

moods warranted.

“Oh yes, I’ll have all of you,” he drawled, peeling Eiren’s trousers down his hips and

legs. “Spread yourself, ariad,” As he discarded his clothes, Eiren obeyed his order,

parting his legs with knees upraised and placing his hands on either side of his shoulders

in patent surrender.

Ashrian leaned down and engaged Eiren in a spate of hot-tongued, bruising kisses

until his cousin was quite breathless. Then he took his immodest time, leaving a trail of

vivid love marks from Eiren’s throat, shoulders and arms to his slightly heaving chest and

taut stomach all the way to his groin and the tops and sides of his tense thighs. He was

marking Eiren in ownership and he felt quite justified in doing thusly after his overlong

incertitude.

Eiren’s needful moans deepened his hunger almost to the point of desperation and it

took all his self-control not to simply shove his shaft into his lover. But Eiren had said to

have all of him and, by Veres, he would do just that. He eyed the thick column that rose

stiff and proud from the dark curls on Eiren’s groin.

When he leisurely ran his tongue along its length often enough to elicit several

imprecations from Eiren, he obliged his cousin and all but swallowed him whole. Eiren

cried out and lifted his buttocks, pushing deeper into Ashrian’s mouth. Ashrian smiled

around his mouthful of hot flesh. Cupping Eiren’s bottom, he proceeded to draw on the

healer’s shaft, taking him in over and again nigh to the base until Eiren was sobbing his

pleasure and clutching at the sheets so hard they came close to being rent asunder.

Ashrian chuckled when, upon abruptly stopping his sensual ministrations, Eiren

roundly cursed him for being such a wicked tease only to shamelessly beg for relief a

moment later.

“Patience, my sweet,” he crooned.

“Easy for you to say,” Eiren retorted.

Ashrian straightened briefly to allow Eiren a glimpse of his shaft. “Easy you say?”

Eiren regarded the extent of his formidable arousal and swallowed hard. “I see

you’re as eager as I,” he croaked.

“I have license to be now,” Ashrian pointed out. “I’m no longer unsure of my place. I

won’t hold back. Not one iota.”

“Holy saints…” Eiren stared at him almost reverently before closing his eyes and,

with a small smile, murmured. “I hope you don’t.”

Ashrian softly laughed. Without further ado, he pushed Eiren’s legs up and spread

them wide apart, exposing his lover to his greedy gaze.

He bent to ply his tongue on Eiren’s seed sac, enjoying the moans he elicited with

every moist caress. He slipped his thumb under the tender pouch and rubbed it over the

tiny entrance hidden behind. Eiren alternated between whimpers and gasps as his body

slowly turned, the sac lifting and contracting to reveal the delicate opening that was his

sheath. Ashrian pressed his lips against the sensitive orifice and dipped his tongue

repeatedly into the slippery passage beyond. Eiren would have shot off the bed had he not

been firmly held down by Ashrian, his hips caught in Ashrian’s iron grip.

“Ash, please, oh please,” he sobbed. His cries increased when Ashrian moved lower

and used his lips and tongue to similar effect on the rosy entrance to Eiren’s backside.

“Inside me now! Please, ariad.”

The whispered plea was fraught with unmistakable need. As was the clutch of

Eiren’s fingers at Ashrian’s hair and shoulders.

Ashrian swiftly rose and shifted between Eiren’s legs. He was at the end of his tether

as well and the need to bury himself inside Eiren had grown almost painful. Eiren’s

impatience did not help for the physician frantically wrapped his legs around Ashrian’s

waist and pulled him down so insistently Ashrian could do naught but sink into him.

They groaned in concert as their bodies joined. Ashrian shuddered in bliss when his

shaft was snugly gripped by the satin-swathed walls of Eiren’s passage.

“So good,” he bit out as he began to thrust into Eiren.

Eiren moaned, his limbs flexing as he drew Ashrian as deeply as possible into him.

“Love me, Ash. Own me!”

At Eiren’s fevered plea, Ashrian promptly abandoned his attempts at control and

roughly plunged into Eiren over and again. He felt the tight coil of pleasure in his belly

begin to unwind. Beneath him, Eiren writhed helplessly, his movements heightening

Ashrian’s own sensations. Ashrian suddenly felt Eiren’s legs tighten around him and his

body convulse. He heard his name called out in an impassioned litany and suffered the

frantic rake of fingernails across his back. He would bear evidence of their passion come

morning in the patchwork of scratches now on his back. Would that they never vanished.

The contractions of Eiren’s sheath around his embedded shaft intensified, wrenching

his orgasm from him. He muffled a cry against Eiren’s neck as the coil inside him

suddenly unwound then seemed to splinter apart without end until he thought he would

never stop spending.

After what seemed a blissful eternity, the aftershocks of his release finally subsided.

Eiren whimpered, however, when he withdrew from him and he quickly pulled his lover

into his arms, entangling their legs to prolong their intimacy.

“I love you,” Eiren whispered, bestowing tender kisses on Ashrian’s face and the

side of his neck. “Veres, how I love you.”

All of Ashrian’s sorrow and pain of the last four years dissipated as if they were but

part of an unpleasant dream.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, happy just to hold Eiren against his heart.

They lay molded against each other in companionable silence, not quite aware of

how much time had passed, often kissing, occasionally stroking or fondling each other,

and always gazing in wonder and still unappeased yearning, midnight-blue eyes telling

secrets to warm hazel ones.

At length, one kiss turned heated once more and Eiren softly said against Ashrian’s

lips, “You said you’d have all of me.”

Ashrian chuckled. “I intend to, my lustful Ren,” he replied. He reached for the

bedside table and withdrew their bottle of oil from the top drawer. “Nay, stay on your

back. I want to see your face when I enter you.”

Eiren colored slightly but complied. He quietly waited for Ashrian to coat his

resurgent shaft with oil. There was no need for foreplay, so primed were they for another

coupling. Ashrian only took the time to smear oil into Eiren’s backside to ease his way.

He tossed the bottle aside and, spreading Eiren’s legs, pulled his lover’s buttocks

onto his lap. He pressed against the rosy aperture until the tip of his shaft slipped in. To

his delight, Eiren propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze brazenly on where their

bodies were now joined. Ashrian slowed his inward progress, smiling when Eiren’s lips

parted in blatant arousal, panting in visible anticipation as he was entered. Once Ashrian

was fully seated inside him, Eiren lifted lust-clouded eyes to him before dropping his

gaze once again to watch his own taking.

Ashrian indulged him, making a show of each near pullout and subsequent slide back

into Eiren’s arse. That Eiren was aroused by the sight of his penetration showed in his

fully reawakened shaft, the length of it nosing up against his belly in all its hard glory.

His continued cleaving eventually took its toll and he fell back with a shuddery gasp,

his cheeks enticingly flushed, his eyes dazed with the burgeoning of rapture, his heaving

torso on mouthwatering display. Seeing the signs of oncoming release in his lover,

Ashrian curled his fingers around Eiren’s shaft, and stroked it in time with his quickened

pace. Eiren wrapped his hand around Ashrian’s pumping fist, smiling his delight in

Ashrian bringing him to completion in more ways than one.

When Eiren’s gaze suddenly flared with intense love and wanting, it had the power

to undo Ashrian. For the second time, he spilled his seed inside Eiren even as he poured

his love onto him. It did not take much longer for Eiren to follow him into ecstasy. A

slender ribbon of creamy semen spurted out of his shaft to coat their coupled hands while

Eiren, gasping loudly, shuddered his release.

Ashrian carefully uncoupled their bodies and once more pulled Eiren into his arms.

He pressed kisses to his lover’s lowered eyelids, pliant lips, and flushed cheeks.

“Are you content, ariad?” he murmured.

Eiren smiled. “Mmm, more than content,” He opened his eyes to gaze at Ashrian,

utter peace and satisfaction in their dark depths. “I’m so looking forward to binding to

you, Ash. We’ll finally belong to each other—forever.”

“Yes,” Ashrian whispered, fighting back tears of gratitude and wonder. “Forever.”

Epilogue

Reward

Tal Ereq, Velarus in the 3012th year of the Common Age

Their move to Velarus was delayed by bureaucratic snags. Personal concerns such

that by the time they journeyed to the bustling town of Tal Ereq, Ashrian was near his

time of birthing.

The main street was lined with townsfolk who welcomed them with much warmth

and appreciation. More so since word had gone before them of their kinship by affinity to

a son of Tal Ereq. More than a decade ago, Rohyr Essendri had ridden down this same

street and, at the end of it, had found the love of his life.

As they entered the council hall courtyard, Ashrian recognized the town’s First Elder

Dael Idana and his spouse Mithre. He glanced at Eiren.

“Perhaps we should have invited Lassen to come along for a visit.”

Eiren nodded. “We can always write him to join us and bring Vyren with him.”

“Rohyr, too,” Ashrian added. “He’s always reluctant to let Lassen out of his sight

for too long.”

“Considering what happened the last time he allowed it, who can blame him?”

Ashrian grinned. Who indeed?

As he reined in his mount, he looked at the gold and silver wedding band on his right

middle finger. He glanced at Eiren’s left ear, seeking the elliptical emerald and snow

sapphire adorned silver jewel that signified his soul-binding to a Herun’s son. Ashrian

reached up to his own ear to touch the partner to Eiren’s earring. As always, joy and

gratitude and a wondrous peace filled his heart. And his sense of belonging flared anew

when Eiren presented him to the town council, proudly making a point of informing

everyone of the reason for the current girth of Ashrian’s waist and hips.

All the members of the mission team were provided with comfortable

accommodations, but Eiren and Ashrian were given a separate house due to Ashrian’s

condition. It was by no means grand, but it was a touch more luxurious than they’d

expected. And they were also offered the services of servants who would come in daily to

see to their needs.

“Their coffers must be full to afford a guest house and one so well-appointed as

this,” Eiren remarked as he surveyed their home for the next three years or so.

“Well, ever since Lassen became Ardis, more folk have become aware of his

hometown and what they produce,” Ashrian pointed out. “I hear jewels, baskets, and

tapestries from Tal Ereq outsell similar products from other places.”

He peeked into a small but airy room adjacent to the bedchamber. “Will this do for a

nursery?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“It certainly will,” Eiren replied.

He drew back the curtains and smiled when he saw that the window opened on the

wide lawn and gardens behind the council hall. He turned and hugged Ashrian.

“I’m so glad you came with me, Ash,” he murmured. “The time will pass by so

quickly having you by my side.”

Ashrian snorted. “As if I’d ever agree to birth this child all on my own.” He kissed

Eiren then led him into the bedroom. “Now let’s see just how comfortable the bed is!”

* * * *

Eiren awakened at dawn the following day to Ashrian’s tight grip on his arm and a

spate of pained hisses and distressed moans. He sat up and unbuttoned Ashrian’s shirt to

uncover his belly. It was more distended than it had been the night before.

“Sweet Veres, you’re about to birth!” he softly exclaimed.

Assuring Ashrian that he wouldn’t whelp just yet, he hurried to the kitchen and lit a

fire to boil some water. For the first washing of their child, he explained to Ashrian when

he returned. While they waited, Eiren gathered the articles needed for a safe and sanitary

birthing and placed them in a basket, which he set on a chair by the bed.

“Do you need assistance?” Ashrian asked, wincing as another painful spasm racked

his body. “The others are billeted just down the street.”

Eiren shook his head. “There’s no telling when the seam will split. And since this is

your first birthing, you won’t know what to do should the child come while I’m out.” He

kissed Ashrian’s damp forehead. “Don’t worry, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to attend

a birthing alone.”

Ashrian bit his lower lip and clapped a hand on his lower belly. He blew his breath

out and then tightly murmured, “Is that the kettle whistling?”

Eiren stood up and hastened to the kitchen. He was soon back with a basin of water

and the kettle. These he set on the writing table at the foot of the bed.

“It's just like you to birth a full fortnight ahead of schedule,” Eiren commented as he

returned to Ashrian’s side. “And on our first morning here, too.”

Ashrian scoffed. “More likely you miscalculated the date.”

“Well, maybe. I'm entitled to an occasional mistake.”

“Excuses, excuses—Ah!”

Eiren quickly laid his hands on Ashrian's belly. He felt the hard bulge protrude

farther, the skin beneath his fingers now stretched to its limit.

“Just a little more,” he said. “It will soon be over.”

“It better be!” Ashrian growled.

About to say something else, he cried out instead. Eiren watched the birthing seam

begin to part, revealing little by little the blood and mucus smeared form of the infant in

its natal shell in the passage within. All the while, Ashrian spewed a string of

imprecations including a few choice ones Eiren had never heard before.

“Our child is going to be an expert in profanities considering the earful he's receiving

even before he's left the womb,” he muttered.

“Oh, and you'd be polite as a benighted diplomat in my place,” Ashrian sarcastically

rejoined. He suddenly hissed and gave an agonized yell as the seam completely parted.

“Ren?” he whimpered, unable to keep a few tears from escaping from behind his tightly

shut eyelids.

“Just about finished,” Eiren murmured soothingly. “You've done well, love.”

He gently lifted the babe out of its half-year berth and gave it a quick once-over

before laying it on one side of the bed, securely nestling the natal shell in the folds of a

thick towel. He schooled himself to ignore the infant's bawling. He was alone with no

helper to entrust the child to while he tended to Ashrian.

“I didn’t think it would hurt that much,” Ashrian whispered. He winced as Eiren

deftly brought the edges of the seam together.

With a burst of healing energy, Eiren started the mending process. Assured the seam

had already started to seal shut, he smeared it with a loose paste of herbs that would keep

the area clean as well as lessen the discomfort of healing. He finished up by winding

layers of a gauzy bandage around Ashrian's torso to further protect the seam from

infection. Only then did he return his attention to the babe.

He carried the child to the basin of warm water he'd earlier prepared and gave it a

quick wash.

“Who does he look like?” Ashrian asked, curious despite his fatigue.

Eiren studied his son critically as he dried him then loosely swathed him in a soft

blanket. The babe blinked a few times, allowing Eiren a glimpse of midnight-blue irises.

He then let loose another fretful wail. Eiren grinned and brought the child to Ashrian.

“He's a carrot top like you,” he told Ashrian as he showed him their son.

“I am not a carrot top,” Ashrian protested. He smiled nonetheless as he ran his

fingers through the infant's mahogany curls. “I think he has your nose,” he ventured. The

babe opened his eyes and sleepily peered at him. Ashrian gasped in delight. Elated, he

said, “And your eyes. He has your eyes, Ren. He's definitely your son.”

Eiren raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Did you think I doubted that?”

Ashrian shrugged. “Nay. But after all my foolishness, I wanted indisputable proof.”

“Oh you…” Eiren pressed a kiss to Ashrian's lips. “Leave the past where it belongs.

It's our future that matters now.”

Ashrian beamed at him and said, “Yes, my love.”

Eiren thoughtfully regarded their son. “What shall we name him? After your sire?”

Ashrian wrinkled his nose in mock horror. “Olriq Mithani-Sarvan? Veres forbid!”

He waited for Eiren's mirth to subside before suggesting, “How about your sire?”

Eiren firmly shook his head. “Nay. I don't care to be daily reminded of all the grief

his second marriage dealt me.”

“Now who's dwelling on the past?” Ashrian pointed out with a pout.

Realizing the discomfort his words must have caused, Eiren hastily apologized.

“That was a thoughtless thing to say. Do forgive me, Ash.”

“Only if you give me the privilege of naming our son,” Ashrian replied.

With a penitent smile, Eiren said, “It's yours.”

Ashrian settled back, his eyelids drooping. It was apparent lassitude had finally crept

up on him. “Why not name him Firyon?” he half yawned. “That way, he’ll always be a

part of us.”

Eiren felt his love for Ashrian swell in his heart until he thought it would burst. “Are

you sure?”

“Absolutely. He wanted so much to have a family.”

“Saints above, you’re incredible!” Eiren softly chuckled when he saw Ashrian was

almost asleep. He pressed a tender kiss to his mate’s lips. “Thank you, ariad. From both

of us.”

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.

age of consent The lawful age of consent is thirty summers and Deira are prohibited

from engaging in sexual relations beforehand. An adult Deir who beds a minor even if the

act is consensual will be charged with rape. The law does not apply to minors bound in

wedlock or taken as concubines. The former most often occurs when a binding is

contractual or arranged. The latter is nigh conjugal in nature and thus ensures a young

Deir will not be basely treated and will remain in good standing in society.

age of majority The legal coming of age is thirty-five summers. At thirty-five, a Deir

is considered a full adult and no longer subject to parental rule or guardianship. In the

case of underage sovereigns and fief-lords, however, guardianship is shed at the age of

twenty-two to prevent overly lengthy regencies which in ancient history often resulted in

the reluctance of the regent to return authority to the lawful ruling lord and thus led to

ruinous power struggles.

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 In the North Continent, hereditary monarch or potentate of a large

sovereign realm or ruling overlord of an aggregate of internally autonomous states.

Ardis An Ardan’s consort.

ariad “beloved” An endearment.

by-blow An illegitimate child.

Citadel Official residence of the Ardan of Ylandre, it is located in the capital of

Rikara.

Deir Member of the race of hermaphrodites that populate the world of Aisen.

dyhar High honorific applied to Deira of noble blood or high-ranking profession.

enyr “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 Prostitute who works in a brothel or walks the streets for patrons.

gelra Native race of Aisen with whom the Naere systematically bred and eventually

supplanted.

Hamir 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.

Heris A Herun’s consort.

Herun

North

Continent

ruling

aristocrat.

Herune

may

govern

sovereign principalities, fiefdoms, city-states, or great urban centers.

hethar “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.

leman Concubine or kept lover.

ley-silver Plain silver.

Mikhar Khitairan hereditary monarch or potentate. See Ardan.

min Diminutive form of address applied to a Deir of junior years or station.

Usage warrants mutual familiarity whether familial, platonic or professional.

mirash A conception suppressor.

Naere The Deira’s race of origin.

Oda “grandfather” Grandparent who functioned as caregiver of his family.

Opa “grandsire” Grandparent who functioned as the head of his family.

prefect The chief officer of a constabulary base.

sedyr “Half Blood” Deir whose antecedents bred indiscriminately with the gelra

during the Inception which resulted in the diminishment or disappearance of many of the

characteristics of the Naere in succeeding generations.

serl “baronet” Non-noble holder of the lowest hereditary North Continent title.

Shaja South Vihandran hereditary ruler. See Ardan.

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.

templar Extraordinarily mentally gifted Deir.

thar Formally designates the House name of a Deir of noble birth who goes by

a different clan name or surname, e.g. Tyrde Kardova thar Essendri.

thein “baron” Nonruling 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. Lassen Essendri tir Idana.

tribune A high-ranking military officer.

tyar General honorific for someone of higher years or station or whose

profession warrants more than general courtesy.

viratha “Imprinting” A process by which a Deir ensures that his concubine cannot

have sexual relations with another partner.

yudar A practitioner of yuda, the ancient martial art of Naeren archery.

Glossary of Principal Characters & Places

Aisen

A world populated by the race of hermaphrodites known as the Deira, Aisen has five

continents and two major bodies of salt water.

Anju

Seat of House Kardova, it is a minor but prosperous fief along the southeastern

border of Ylandre just north of Velarus. Anju is one of a handful of fiefs that retained

much of their original laws and traditions following annexation to Ylandre.

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.

Asmara

A wealthy and influential country, the South Vihandran kingdom spans the main

route between its neighbors and the realm of Ylandre. Ruled by the Halvan family almost

from its inception, Asmara's capital is the gateway city Shenze.

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.

-Lassen “Las” Idana, the youngest child of a family of the minor gentry from Tal

Ereq, a town in the province of Velarus, he became the leman of Rohyr Essendri, Ardan

of Ylandre.

-Ruomi “Ruo” Garvas, the son of a Fenycian peasant, he is presently the adjutant

of Reijir Arthanna, the Herun of Ilmaren.

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 “Ran” Mesare thar Essendri, the middle son of the Herun of Edessa, he is a

high-ranking officer of the Royal army and cousin to Rohyr Essendri.

Glanthar

Seat of Clan Mithani, the seaward fief of Glanthar is located on the western coastline

of Ylandre. The capital city is Evinor.

-Aeldan “Dan” Mithani thar Essendri, a cousin of Rohyr Essendri, he is the heir

apparent to the Herun of Glanthar.

-Ashrian “Ash” Mithani thar Essendri, Aeldan’s younger brother.

Ilmaren

Seat of Clan Arthanna, the fief of Ilmaren is located in the upper midlands of

Ylandre. Its capital is Althia.

-Reijir “Rei” Arthanna thar Essendri, cousin to Rohyr Essendri, he is the Herun of

Ilmaren despite being the second son of his predecessor.

-Keiran “Kei” Arthanna thar Essendri, a popular instructor at the State University

and Reijir’s older brother.

-Naeth Orosse, an orphaned youth who becomes Reijir Arthanna's legal

ward following an altercation in a south district tavern in Rikara.

Khitaira

One of Ylandre’s five continents, Khitaira 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.

-Gilmael “Gil” Calanthe thar Essendri, a cousin of Rohyr Essendri, he heads

Ylandre’s Intelligence Ministry and is the younger of the Herun of Losshen's twin sons.

-Zykriel “Zyk” Calanthe thar Essendri, heir apparent to the Herun of Losshen and

Gilmael's twin brother, he is also the Chief Royal Archivist.

Lydan

The continent lies across the Samaran Sea from the Vihandran landmass 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 Rohyr Essendri's uncle 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, he is Rohyr Essendri’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: (1) the north

district wherein the State University is located along with the homes of the city’s

aristocracy and affluent citizens; (2) the east district, a largely middle-class enclave with

the Citadel occupying most of the northern portion of the district; (3) 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; (4) the south district which is

the poorest and seediest area of the city; and (5) the central district, main location of the

country’s government offices, commercial establishments, and various financial

institutions, including the major banks.

-Eiren “Ren” Sarvan thar Essendri, cousin to the Ardan of Ylandre, he is the

kingdom’s foremost healer and Rohyr Essendri's personal physician.

-Shino “Shin” Essendri, cousin to the Ardan of Ylandre, he became Rohyr Essendri's

legal ward upon being orphaned.

-Vaeren “Vaer” Henaz, an officer of the Royal Army, he was the first prefect of

the regional constabulary base in eastern Velarus. Rohyr Essendri later appointed him as

head of the Ardan’s Guard, a company of soldiers accountable to the Ardan alone.

-Yandro “Yan” Vaedon, an orphan of unknown parentage and the first Half Blood

to serve as a senior diplomat's aide when he was appointed Ambassador Jareth

Hadrana's adjutant.

Royal House of Ylandre

House Essendri has ruled Ylandre since the kingdom's founding about four centuries

before the Inception and throughout its expansion into one of the most powerful nations

in Aisen.

-Rohyr “Roh” Essendri, Ardan of Ylandre, head of House Essendri and a powerful

templar. He is the youngest Essendri ever to rule the kingdom having come to the throne

upon the sudden death from an accident of the previous Ardan, his sire Keldon Essendri.

-Dylen “Dy” Essendri il Teris, the product of a premarital liaison between the

late Ardis Dyrael and a Rikaran hethar, he is Rohyr's half brother and adjutant to

Gilmael Calanthe, Head of the Intelligence Ministry.

Sidona

Seat of Clan Deilen, the fief is located southwest of Rikara. Its capital is Nivare.

-Keosqe “Kes” Deilen thar Essendri, a cousin of Rohyr Essendri, he is heir apparent

to the Herun of Sidona and head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

-Riodan “Rio” Leyhar, a prominent Ylandrin ambassador and one of Rohyr

Essendri’s trusted counsellors, he is the son of a distinguished diplomat.

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. Its capital is Lythaen.

-Rysander “Rys” Seydon thar Essendri, a cousin of Rohyr Essendri, he is one of the

heirs to the Cordona banking family fortune.

-Yovan Seydon thar Essendri, Rysander’s sire and Rohyr Essendri's uncle, he is the

Royal Chief Counsellor. He is wed to Mered Cordona whose family owns one of the

largest banking networks in the North Continent.

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 “Ten” Hadrana, Herun of Ziana and chief of the templars of Ylandre, he

was Rohyr Essendri's mentor in the mind arts and remains one of his trusted counsellors.

-Jareth “Jath” Hadrana thar Essendri, Ylandre’s foremost ambassador, he is

Tenryon’s younger half brother through their sire's second marriage to a cousin of the

previous Ardan Keldon Essendri.

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.