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Soleris, Khitaira, in the 3008th year of the Common Age
Much as he wished to glare at the Mikhar of Soleris across the negotiation table, Yandro forced himself to curve his mouth into a gracious, noncommittal smile followed by a polite bend of his head. The precise bow conveyed just the right amount of courtesy and distance and preempted any assumptions the recipient might make based on misconstruction or personal perceptions. Best to maintain a professional mien in the presence of a Deir who’d just made it clear that he was interested in adding Yandro to his stable of consorts and concubines.
Yandro placed a good part of the blame for the Solerian king’s pursuit of his favors on Jareth Hadrana. As Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to Soleris, Jareth represented Rohyr Essendri and hence was invested with full power of independent action on behalf of the Ylandrin government. When he appeared to agree with the Mikhar that a diplomatic aide could be included among the proposed treaty’s provisions, said agreement was as good as a royal decree.
It had taken all of Yandro’s self-restraint not to react with open dismay and distaste when Jareth indicated he was amenable to discussing further revision of the treaty stipulations. Granted he did not actually say he would put Yandro’s services at the Mikhar’s disposal. But his choice of words and subtly conniving manner gave the impression he could and probably would.
Obviously displeased with Yandro’s response, the Mikhar frowned and turned a questioning gaze on Jareth.
“Your aide is not as warm as we expected, Ambassador,” he remarked, his use of the plural form of address toward himself as sovereign a clear expression of his displeasure. “Perhaps he does not fully grasp the consequences of such aloofness. Verily, it seems Ylandre’s standards of appointment to government service are not as exacting as should be.”
Yandro stifled an indignant growl at the aspersion cast on his country, having his intelligence questioned and being talked about as if he were a part of the chamber’s furnishings. Instead, he looked about him, observing the other Solerians in attendance—the Mikhar’s chief advisor, a scribe, the Captain of the Royal Guard, two warriors, and the servants who poured wine and served a dish of crisply fried fingerlings with a sweet and spicy dipping sauce.
He was struck all over again by the physical appearances of these folk from the south of Khitaira, the northernmost continent of the land mass to the west of Ylandre.
The vast Rualan Ocean lay between Khitaira and the supercontinent of Vihandra. But due to the ocean’s perilous waters, Ylandrin seafarers preferred to traverse the Samaran Sea though it entailed sailing along the northern coast of Khitaira if a ship was headed for one of the continent’s western ports or debarking in neighboring Lydan and travelling by land from there. An alternative route was to cross the Samaran Sea, sail around the tip of the southern continent of Arvalde and then travel northward to the western shores of Khitaira. This was the favored route of the South Vihandrans.
Depending on the weather conditions and whether a vessel was solely wind-powered or also propelled by oars, it could take up to a month to journey between North Vihandra and Khitaira and vice versa; longer if one took the overland trek through Lydan. But the Samaran Sea’s calmer waters ensured much safer passage and that made up for the lengthier trip. Of course, Deira fulsomely blessed with the mind gifts simply translocated to their destination and avoided the long journey altogether.
Huge as it was, Khitaira’s north and south regions were different not only in climate and topography—temperate, lush with forests and lakes and fairly mountainous in the north; balmy and given to flatlands and fast-flowing waterways in the south—but also in the features of its citizens. To Yandro, the fair-headed, golden-skinned southerners were even more exotic-looking than their dark-haired, ivory-complected northern counterparts. Two features they had in common though—their almond-shaped eyes, whose outer corners slanted upward and their strongly androgynous forms and faces.
When Yandro first laid eyes on them, he’d wondered if the Khitairans’ forebears had not bred with the gelra, the ancient Aiseni natives, as extensively as the other tribes of the Naere, the Deira’s ancestral race, thus preserving much of their original epicene appearance. But if that was the case, then the Khitairans should have also preserved the bulk of the Naeren mind gifts in the general population. Yet there was as much a divide between the True Bloods and Half Bloods here as there were in the other continents with the purer enyra usually composed of the upper crust and ruling class while the sedyra though the majority largely comprised commoners and minor gentry.
He’d later learned that most historians believed the Khitairans’ tribe of origin had always been the most androgynous of the Naere. The belief was based on the illustrations and other artwork borne to Aisen by the Naere when they fled their dying world. This was the reason commonly given for their slow change in appearance even long after the Inception, that almost forgotten time of deliberate interbreeding between the Deira’s colonizing ancestors and Aisen’s now-extinct indigenous people.
Whatever the truth of it, the Khitairans were a fascinating people, if surprisingly contradictory in their aesthetic preferences.
The northerners favored simplicity and deep jewel tones and thus their cities and towns bore a spare beauty and restrained elegance that was in stark contrast to the south, which tended toward the ornate and brightly colored. Even their taste in clothing differed with the southerners, favoring varicolored ensembles and their northern counterparts tending toward monochromatic attire.
Yandro did not consider southern dress or design gaudy or lacking in sophistication. Some of the most beauteous garments and wondrous houses, temples, and other buildings in the continent were found here. But they could be quite jarring at first sight, especially if seen in the wake of the more understated and less vividly hued raiment and architecture of the north.
Though by no means absolute hallmarks of either region, this striking dissimilarity was the general rule.
Soleris was no exception. A medium-sized country on the southwestern coast of Khitaira, it was nowhere near Ylandre in wealth or military strength and under normal circumstances would merit little attention from the North Continent’s most powerful nation. But when the most favorably situated major seaport in the south of the continent was located in the kingdom’s coastal capital city, it made sense to make an ally of Soleris to guarantee safe and convenient anchorage for Ylandre’s commercial and naval fleets.
The capital was lovely if a little backward compared to the other great cities of Khitaira. Many ancient structures with their pointed roofs and gracefully curved eaves had been preserved and were scattered throughout the city. Old-fashioned boats with odd fan-shaped sails plied the bordering river alongside vessels of more contemporary design. And several side streets and alleyways were still paved with the rose-colored pebbles native to this part of the continent, thus giving them a quaint charm.
As for the Solerians, they were generally kind and welcoming, albeit a little cautious with strangers. But once they warmed up to visitors, they tended to be very generous and helpful.
Unfortunately, their current monarch was a vain and lecherous despot with an overinflated opinion of himself and his kingdom’s importance. Yandro grudgingly allowed that he was handsome in a generic sort of way, but distinctly lacking in personality. A rather forgettable Deir were he not a country’s ruler.
In any case, Jareth and Yandro had been assigned the thankless task of wooing him. This involved alternately cajoling and browbeating him into accepting the treaty and its conditions.
Jareth delivered as professional a smile as Yandro’s had been, yet he somehow managed to imbue it with the magnetism he could and did put to such devastating effect on whomever he turned it on. Considering he was probably seething inside, his equability and soothing manner was nothing short of awe-inspiring. And it quickly proved worth the effort when the Mikhar visibly thawed and was seen to catch his breath and even crack a faint smile.
Yandro almost rolled his eyes when he recalled all the Deira Jareth had charmed into compliance simply by smiling in that ridiculously appealing way of his or treating them to a drawn-out, appreciative gaze that could induce even the worst curmudgeons to fumble around him in the manner of blushing adolescents.
“I beg pardon for any perceived slight to your person, Your Majesty,” Jareth said. “I assure you none was intended. But my aide is newly appointed and not yet comfortable with stepping outside the limits of policy imposed on him. Indeed, he has no experience of being the recipient of a sovereign’s favor such as you’ve graciously bestowed on him.”
It took a heartbeat or so for the Mikhar to wrestle free of Jareth’s ensorcelling gaze. He glanced at Yandro, who produced a more accommodating smile this time around. The Mikhar brightened and faced Jareth once more.
“Perhaps we were hasty in our appraisal of his manner,” he said, his voice a shade higher than usual. “It may turn out he is warm where it is most needed.”
With a knowing smile, Jareth reached slightly to his left to take Yandro’s right hand where it lay at table’s edge. Keeping his eyes on the Mikhar, he turned Yandro’s hand over and caressingly stroked it from inside his wrist to his palm. The king stared, visibly mesmerized by the suggestive, circular movements of Jareth’s fingers.
Yandro tried not to display an outward response to the ambassador’s touch. The inflow of warmth into his cheeks, however, told him he was not entirely successful.
“Well, considering the extensive training he received from me, I warrant he is indeed,” Jareth all but purred.
The Mikhar’s reactive gape was so far from regal, Yandro found it nigh impossible not to grin though he did manage to smother a snicker. He quickly looked away lest the king espy his amusement.
“That is most pleasing to hear, Ambassador,” the monarch said, sounding a little breathless. “Your reputation does precede you and with good reason or so we have been told.”
Jareth softly laughed which prompted the Mikhar to take a generous sip of wine. “A pity Your Majesty has no inclination to test the veracity of those tales.”
The king actually appeared regretful. “Yes, well...” He looked once more at Yandro, his gaze openly appraising once more. “I imagine those you have trained will do your tutelage justice.”
The Mikhar’s cessation of the use of the royal ‘we’ elicited a small exhalation of relief from Yandro. Jareth had succeeded in soothing the Deir’s pricked pride.
“I believe they will,” Jareth agreed. “I’m a very demanding teacher, and my standard of performance is quite high.”
He waited a moment for the Mikhar to digest the implications of his statement before gently touching his fingers to long sheets of parchment that lay on the table between them.
“I warrant it’s been a tiring day for you, Mikhar-tyar,” he murmured solicitously. “Perhaps we should finish our business forthwith that you might take your rest. Is Your Majesty satisfied with the terms of this contract? Or shall we draw up a new one?”
The Mikhar stared at the document uncertainly whereupon Jareth gestured to Yandro and huskily added, “We would be delighted to personally assist you should you wish to make any revisions.”
The Deir gaped at him again. But there was a spark of something else apart from mere arousal in his eyes. Curious, Yandro relaxed his shields and extended his senses to pick up the emotions radiating from the monarch.
Though he was not as gifted as Jareth and his fellow adepts, Yandro was receptive enough to pick up feelings and even the occasional stray thought from those around him. Not all Deira, usually the untrained or only modestly gifted, remembered to keep their shields up and the mind-blind had no shields to speak of at all. To avoid being inundated by the ebb and flow of random thoughts and feelings from those around them, sensitive Deira kept themselves moderately shielded at the very least. But with training, they could control their shields at will. As Yandro did now.
Well, the Mikhar was certainly excited; that was to be expected. However, there was also a hint of apprehension. Bordering on fear in fact. Wondering why, Yandro allowed himself to experience the monarch’s feelings on a deeper, more-invasive level.
To his shock, he was forcibly drawn into the Mikhar’s mind, instantly seeing what the Deir saw. Jareth’s doing, he concluded. After getting over his surprise, he quickly recognized external mental manipulation in progress.
Jareth had planted images in the Mikhar’s consciousness without the latter realizing it. The images were subtly woven into the very fabric of the monarch’s thought processes, making him believe they were part of his imagination or personal foresight rather than introduced by an outside source.
Yandro recalled the Solerian royal family’s mental abilities had eroded over the millennia. The Mikhar’s weak shields were testament to that diminishment. With some chagrin, he also realized Jareth had kept this in mind and intended from the start to use the king’s licentiousness to manipulate him while keeping control of the proceedings, including the attempt to add Yandro to the compact’s provisos.
The ambassador now filled the Mikhar’s mind with scarlet visions of Yandro in his bed, ready to see to his pleasure. Yandro almost uttered an imprecation under his breath as he watched Jareth’s vision of an encounter with the Solerian monarch.
Where in Aisen did the ambassador get such outrageous, prurient, and embarrassing ideas? And how could he possibly know what Yandro looked like sans clothing? Yandro darted a glare at Jareth, but the latter was clearly focused on the king and paid him no mind.
It was then Yandro felt the anxiety that underlay the Mikhar’s fear. He saw over and again, interspersed with the carnal acts, the monarch clutching his chest in pain, his breath becoming labored, and his skin paling to a sickly degree. Having discovered the source of the Deir’s forebodings, Yandro severed his connection to the Solerian king’s emotions. Less than pleased with what he had learned, he took care to direct his gaze downward and conceal his expression.
He heard the Mikhar gasp and declare in a somewhat shaky voice, “Nay, I am most satisfied with the contract. As you say, let us finish this forthwith.”
Yandro looked up in time to see the king gesture peremptorily to the scribe. The Deir hurried forward with a tray of writing material—a long, colorful quill, a small bottle of ink, a bowl of fine sand, a squat, lit candle, and the Solerian royal seal.
The king dipped the sharpened end of the quill in the ink. Before he affixed his signature to the document, he glanced at Yandro. For a moment, his eyes darkened with regret, but then he visibly shivered. Whether from frustrated lust, remembered fright or a combination of both, Yandro did not care. The lecher would not insist he be delivered into his bed now.
When the Mikhar was done, the scribe poured sand over the signature and waited for the ink to be absorbed. He returned the sand to its bowl and then picked up the candle. This he held over the document, allowing melted wax to drip into a small circular daub to the right of the signature. The scribe pressed the royal seal into the soft wax. The document was then passed to Jareth and the process repeated.
Yandro kept his face still as Jareth pressed his signet ring into the wax circle beside his signature, thus authenticating the treaty. The document was now a legal binding contract.
––––––––
They left the audience chamber, careful to keep their expressions neutral. It would not do to reveal their exasperation with their host or their relief at finally securing the Mikhar’s signature after more than two arduous months of crafty negotiations, nauseating flattery, and understated threats. At least, not until they were assured there would be no reversal of the new accord between the Khitairan kingdom and Ylandre.
They were not about to jeopardize the results of their sorely tested forbearance by allowing a glimpse of any chinks in their diplomatic armor.
Soleris would be in the wrong were the Mikhar to renege on the alliance with Ylandre and would gain little support from other countries, even immediate neighbors. And if it came to an armed confrontation, Ylandre would easily best the smaller nation.
But war was always a costly enterprise and therefore to be avoided. Concealing one’s true feelings a while longer was a miniscule price to pay for peace.
Yandro waited until they were no longer within earshot of anyone before speaking. “My felicitations, Your Excellency. I own myself amazed at how well you smoothed the Mikhar’s ruffled feathers.”
Jareth snorted. “They wouldn’t have needed smoothing had you been a little more welcoming of his overtures.”
“He wouldn’t have made any overtures if you’d kept me off the table in the first place,” Yandro retorted. “Did you really have to imply that I could be included among the provisos?”
“To persuade him to sign the damned compact? Absolutely. If physical allure and visceral lust are the most persuasive means at my disposal, rest assured I’ll make good use of them.”
“You always do,” Yandro wryly agreed. “I haven’t forgotten how you nearly became the Arakian Chieftain’s newest love slave.”
“Hardly my fault,” Jareth protested. “I didn’t know the Araki consider envoys part of the diplomatic offerings sent by their governments and our local legation failed to inform me of that idiotic custom.”
“It didn’t help either that you were very much to the Chieftain’s taste.”
Jareth grimaced. “I’d rather not be reminded of that unfortunate incident. It isn’t meet for diplomats to return from a mission looking as if they’d taken part in a brawl.”
“I looked like I’d been in a brawl,” Yandro reminded him. “You came out of it quite unscathed. Well, except for your ripped tunic and torn breeches. I’ll never forget the Ardan’s reaction when you explained how I had to rescue you from the Chieftain’s bedchamber. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh so hard before.”
“I wouldn’t have needed rescuing had the knave not drugged my wine with a love philter and then tied me to his bed. And we still managed to get those mining concessions in spite of the broken nose you dealt him.”
They turned down the corridor leading to the entrance-hall stairs, their pace quickening a bit in their haste to leave the palace and get back to the relative safety of the Ylandrin consulate. Yandro in particular preferred not to tempt fate and make himself an easy target for a fickle monarch’s lubricious designs.
“We do what we must,” Yandro muttered an oft-repeated quote. “Tell me though, when you implanted that vision of what would happen to him if he pursued his desire, why did you use me? I could have done without seeing myself servicing the odious lech.”
“Because his preference is for delicate beauties of lesser height than himself,” Jareth pointed out. “If I had fewer inches on me, I’d have projected myself instead.”
“I’m not a delicate beauty and you less so!” Yandro sighed. “You are handsome, that much I’ll concede.”
“Why, thank you,” Jareth said with a smirk. “Your taste is decidedly improving.”
Yandro glared at him. “And your humility is not. But really, Dyhar, I wish you wouldn’t resort to such tactics regardless of whom you offer up. Saints above, what if he’d chosen to take the risk and insisted on claiming me?”
Jareth’s lips curved into one of his lethal smiles, which forced Yandro to hastily look anywhere but at his superior. “Why such discomfort after nearly two years in my service? I never promise anything. You know any and all such offers are presented as possibility rather than probability.”
“I know that,” Yandro retorted. “If only His Vainglorious Majesty back there did as well! I truly feared he would insist your proposition be put down in writing. Then where would that have left me?”
He patiently waited for Jareth to stop chuckling. “I just detest being used thusly. As if I were a sweetmeat meant to assuage a glutton’s appetite.”
“Yet consider this, Yandro. I didn’t use my former aides thusly as oft as I have you. Verily it should flatter you.”
“Flatter me!”
“Well, surely you realize this proves how much more beauteous you are than the others ever were.”
Yandro felt his cheeks heat up. “I highly doubt it,” he muttered. “More likely they think me a no-name, mixed-breed cur trying to claw his way up in the world and would thus be most eager to cater to my betters’ wishes.”
He gasped when Jareth suddenly yanked him by the arm to one side of the corridor and pulled him into a shallow alcove. The ambassador turned a glare on him.
“You will not speak so meanly of yourself.” Jareth barked. “Especially in the presence of one who knows you’d never whore yourself to gain advancement.”
Jareth was of so even a temperament, the few instances he allowed his anger to flow without restraint were unnerving, not to mention heart-stopping. Yandro had to swallow a few times to gain back some calm.
He drew himself up to his full height, as was his wont when he sought to regain equal footing with the ambassador when they had a disagreement.
“How do you know?” he softly countered. “It isn’t as if we keep company every hour of every day.”
“We would if you’d only give in to your desire,” Jareth replied, his voice suddenly soft and low and suggestive.
Yandro rolled his eyes. Jareth had the uncanny and unsettling ability to change tack between one breath and the next.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, refusing to be distracted.
Jareth suddenly smoothed a thumb over Yandro’s lips, catching him by surprise. “And how do you know I don’t keep track of you every hour of every day?”
Yandro gaped. “What do you mean?” He stared suspiciously at Jareth. “Surely, you don’t have me followed about!”
“You don’t know that either. And you never will.”
“Dyhar!”
Jareth chuckled and, placing a hand on Yandro’s shoulder, ushered him back into the hallway. “Suffice to say I make it a point to know where my people are at any given time. How I accomplish it depends on the person or situation.”
The subtle reminder that the ambassador was one of the strongest wielders of the mind gifts silenced Yandro.
He had seen Jareth breach the mental shields of other Deira without doing them harm, communicate with his mind over vast distances with no need of assistance and create a protective barrier that distorted speech to prevent eavesdropping. It would be a relatively simple matter for him to reach out with his mind, track down his people wherever they might be, and discover what they were about.
He would not invade anyone’s privacy, however. Of this Yandro was fairly certain.
Jareth was an Essendri and the Essendris abided a code of honor when it came to such things. But he would be able to sense when someone was in a state of emotional and mental excitement as might occur while enjoying a sport or form of entertainment or during an impassioned discussion or altercation. Or sexual communion.
Yandro grimaced at the thought.
He was no innocent. He’d had his share of affairs. All had been short-lived and lacking the intimacy of true lovers. But the mere thought that Jareth could tell if and when he was bedding someone made him feel uncomfortable to say the least.
By far worse was if Jareth also learned whose image Yandro conjured when he pleasured himself. He could not think of anything as mortifying as that. Or more perilous to his heart’s well-being.
––––––––
A fortnight following the delivery of Jareth’s report to those concerned regarding the signing of the treaty with Soleris, a letter arrived from Ylandre. The missive was handed to Jareth as he had breakfast with Yandro on the consulate’s trellised and frond-shaded terrace.
Yandro did not really take notice of it at first and instead applied himself to the exotic breakfast fare set before them. Even more than the new sights and intriguing customs his profession afforded him, he enjoyed partaking of the various foreign cuisines. The more unfamiliar, the better. Had he not been in Jareth’s presence, he would have smacked his lips over the various Khitairan delicacies.
Steamed buns filled with well-seasoned, slightly sticky shredded meat, savory porridge topped with slices of earthy preserved egg and slivers of crisp, paper-thin crackling, pungent, salted, dried fish eaten with a sweet-sour relish of bitter gourd and sweet peppers, and tiny pork sausages fried until their skins were crisp served with a spicy-vinegar dipping sauce. To wash the food down were glasses of refreshing screw-pine-infused water and cups of the mild jade-hued tea Khitairans favored over the stronger black varieties.
Faced with such delectable food, Yandro was more interested in filling his belly than his superior’s correspondence. But then he glimpsed the missive’s trappings and realized it was no ordinary letter.
As Jareth accepted it, Yandro tried not to peer too obviously at the thick envelop edged in silver and bearing not only the insignia of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, but Rohyr’s royal seal as well. For Ylandre’s sovereign to affix his seal meant the letter was of greatest importance. He wondered what message warranted the formality.
Jareth broke the twin seals and drew out the letter. The parchment was thick and glossy of the kind usually used for invitations to formal function or official decrees. He read the document, his eyes gleaming and his mouth curved into a pleased smile by the time he was done.
He looked up and caught Yandro watching curiously. Ignoring Yandro’s wince of embarrassment, he handed the missive over.
Yandro took the parchment and read its contents. When he finished, he raised elated eyes to Jareth, his smile as wide as the ambassador’s.
“His Majesty has elevated you to Ambassador-at-large! My felicitations, Dyhar!”
Nodding his thanks, Jareth said, “Rohyr did say he would reward me thusly if I succeeded in getting the treaty signed. Verily, I thought he was teasing for he told me of it rather lightheartedly. I should know better than to think Rohyr would jest about such things.” He shook his head. “I wonder though if I truly deserve it.”
“You’re much too humble to think yourself unworthy of His Majesty’s high opinion of you,” Yandro firmly said. “You may have got into the service through your kinship to him, but you have advanced through the ranks on your own merits and therefore deserve every elevation awarded you.”
He only meant to reassure Jareth of his support and belief in his honest earning of all his accolades. He became aware of the worshipful tone that shaded his voice too late.
Jareth gazed at him gratefully and with such warmth and pleasure, it drove enough heat into Yandro’s cheeks to assure him he was blushing as darkly as the elder-roses in the ornate vase in the center of the dining table.
“My thanks, Yan,” Jareth softly said. “You do my esteem so much good. I wonder what I’d do without you.”
Yandro snorted. Trying to will his blush away, he mumbled, “Not very well at all, I wager.”
To his dismay, Jareth’s smile evolved into a rakish grin.
“How true. So how do I ensure that you never leave my side?” he asked, his eyes now alight with something akin to mischief.
Having anticipated the use of the word ‘service.’ Yandro was thoroughly taken aback. What Jareth said sounded much too personal for his comfort.
“All I wish is to be treated with due respect, Your Excellency,” he said after a moment’s pause to collect himself.
“Just respect? Surely you yearn for more.”
Yandro desisted from rolling his eyes. Did Jareth have to say the word ‘yearn’ as if he were caressing it? “A chance at advancement, of course. If I merit it,” he hastened to add.
Jareth’s grin widened. “Given your talent, I have no doubt you’ll merit every chance you get. At advancement and other... desires.”
Stifling the urge to fidget under Jareth’s gaze, Yandro took a sip of his tea. He wondered if and when he would ever grow accustomed to Jareth’s predilection for making such intimations.
A glance at the ambassador revealed him to be regarding Yandro with thinly veiled interest and amusement.
Yandro sighed and looked away. Likely never, he thought.