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Yandro stepped out of his chamber and made his way to the arched doorway at the end of the long hallway. It opened on a small tiled terrace which provided a view of the distant mountains to the east. He welcomed the gentle wind that greeted him as he passed through the doorway.
A good thing he’d kept his tunic on. It was colder than he was used to or liked, but preferable to the stuffiness of his quarters, which unfortunately faced the high wall that separated the royal keep from the busy road that ran parallel to its east wing. Though he had opened the windows as wide as they could go, the wall was an effective barrier against breezes and the like.
He wondered whose bright idea it had been to build the Hamara residence right next to a busy thoroughfare that made so high a wall necessary to deter unlawful entry onto the castle grounds. Looking around he took note of the suspicious glances cast his way by the night guards at either end of the terrace. Yandro scowled.
If only Ylandre had permanent diplomatic offices and the attendant staff quarters in Teraz. There would be no need to remain in the royal hold, and he would not have to put up with the indignity of being placed under surveillance as if he were up to no good. Indeed, if only his superior were an ordinary ambassador, they would have been billeted in one of the embassies or consulates in Teraz whose countries were friendly to Ylandre.
But, nay, Jareth had to be close kin to Rohyr Essendri, bearing royal blood himself. Protocol dictated that he be accorded the attendant honors due a scion of a royal house. This meant being treated as a guest of the Hamaras and given accommodations in the castle. Not surprisingly, Kilion had not offered them the use of the town house his father had provided for Theron Leyhar.
Yandro did not like being kept under close watch, not to mention being restricted in his movements by dint of guest quarters with little access to the outdoors save for this cramped terrace. He walked to the protective balustrade and stared over the wall at the mountains, their peaks partly obscured by low-lying clouds tinged orange and pink with the last of the setting sun’s light.
All too soon, it darkened and he could see no further than the narrow strip of garden below and, of course, the top of the damn wall. He sighed and turned around to return to his room.
As he swept the terrace with his gaze one last time, he suddenly felt a wave of shock reverberate through him. Yet oddly it was a sensation from without. It was not his shock but another’s. The feeling was followed by disbelief and confusion that soon mingled with a set of emotions belonging to yet another presence. Anger. Impatience. And a touch of contempt.
Curious, Yandro lowered his shields and opened himself to the waves of emotions, trying to locate whence they emanated.
Soon, he realized they came from a chamber on the upper level, its window to the right of his present location. He leaned back against the balustrade and closed his eyes, appearing to enjoy the breeze. But in truth he was focusing his senses on the source of growing turmoil above him. He breathed in deeply and allowed himself to fall into a relaxed stance.
His telepathic abilities were limited, but he could distinguish the emotional makeup of individuals and recognize these if he encountered them once more. He searched his memory for a match to either of the two emotional signatures he’d registered. One was completely unknown to him, but the other one was very familiar. And recent.
With some disbelief, he realized he was tapping into Kilion Hamara’s feelings. He half opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to randomly sweep the upper stories of the castle before landing on the window of his quarry. He frowned in puzzlement.
The royal apartments were in the opposite wing, overlooking the gardens and fountains. As far as he knew, the rooms above the guest chambers were small, sparsely furnished quarters for the servants a visitor might bring with him. Since he and Jareth were the only guests in residence at the moment, those chambers should lie empty. Why was the prince regnant of Teraz up there and arguing with someone?
Once more, he took a deep, centering breath. Delving deep into his memories of some of the most trying experiences of recent years, he pulled up the accompanying fear and suspicion he’d felt during those moments. And then he projected the welter of emotions onto the terrace guards.
On either side of the terrace, the guards stiffened and looked at each other in visible alarm. They conferred in harsh whispers, their surveillance of Yandro forgotten. He concentrated on intensifying the projected emotions into heart-thudding dread and paranoia.
Overwhelmed and driven to action, the guards raced toward the doorway and departed the terrace, the jabbering among them assurance that Yandro’s ploy had succeeded. They now headed for the lower levels in the collective belief that a threat lurked in the bowels of the castle.
As soon as they disappeared down the hallway, Yandro ceased his efforts and took a moment to regain his strength. Projecting thoughts and emotions onto other people was draining for him, which was why he seldom did so and as briefly as possible.
Sufficiently recovered, he straightened and headed for the cluster of thick vines that snaked up the wall to the third story. He grabbed onto the sturdiest-looking one and climbed his way to the window whence he’d sensed Kilion’s presence. A narrow ledge skirted the wall just below the window. Keeping his hold on the vine, Yandro gingerly stepped onto the protrusion.
The window was shuttered, but Yandro saw it was not properly latched for the panels were not completely closed. Yandro slid his fingers under the shutter frame and managed to coax it open. At once he heard voices raised in rancorous discussion. He recognized Kilion’s voice, but not his companion’s.
“What are you suggesting? That you can do as you wish?” Kilion sounded quite agitated and also disbelieving.
“That goes without saying. Did you really think you commanded their loyalty? Hah! You’re no more than a figurehead. Seasoned courtiers and warriors aren’t about to be directed by a mere child.”
“I’m no child!”
“Pish! You’re a mewling infant barely out of diapers compared to the members of the Council. You may rule in name, but I rule in fact.”
“Nay! Damn it, Ama, you had no right to break trust and abduct Theron Leyhar!”
Yandro nearly toppled off his perch in his shock. Swallowing nervously, he sidled a little further along the ledge until he could peek between the shutter panels into the room.
It was indeed a small servant’s bedroom with little more than a cot and a sturdy stool which served as a bedside table. Kilion stood before the cot, gazing down at a seated Deir of greater years. The latter was handsome and noble of countenance with thinning brown hair threaded with strands of gray, a slightly aquiline nose, a cleft chin, and cold, dark eyes.
Yandro thought back to the portrait of Xeren Hamara. The supposedly dead father of Kilion looked very much alive and far from pleased with his son.
“Why did you waste time entertaining Hadrana?” Xeren groused. “You had every right to sweep across the border of Tenerith and take back what should be ours if not for the usurping Essendris!”
“Don’t you mean what should be yours?” Kilion sarcastically asked. “And just how do you hope to excuse an invasion once you turn up alive and well and Leyhar obviously a mere scapegoat in your mad scheme? I highly doubt you intend to stay in hiding for the rest of your life.”
“Once we regain our land, it won’t matter. And as for Leyhar, he won’t live to tell any tales.”
“Then why have you kept him alive thus far?”
“Just in case our plans go awry and we need some form of leverage.”
“We? I’m not part of this. I refuse to be!”
“Fool of a boy!” Xeren lunged forward and struck his son viciously on the arm. “You are part of it whether you wish it or no!”
Kilion hissed and stepped back, clasping his arm. “So it seems,” he muttered. “Where is he? You haven’t harmed him overmuch, have you?”
“You show too much concern for an enemy ,” Xeren scolded.
“He’s an ambassador!” Kilion exclaimed. “It’s a crime to lay a hand on a member of the diplomatic corps!”
Xeren sneered. “And how will anyone find out, pray tell?”
“You will not harm him, Ama,” Kilion pleaded. “Swear you won’t.”
“For so long as we need him alive, he will remain unharmed. And that is all I promise. Now set your mind to more important matters.”
“First tell me where you’ve hidden him,” Kilion insisted. “Don’t keep me in the dark. Not if I’m to be party to this insane plan of yours.”
“Ah, you’ve finally come to your senses.” Xeren stood up and, plucking his cloak from the cot, said, “He’s in Laetro.”
Kilion’s lips thinned and tightened. “You couldn’t have done this unless you had much help,” he slowly said.
Xeren laughed. “Do you still think you hold the power in Teraz? Foolish child, most of your counsellors don’t believe you capable of ruling ably. They have hearkened to me since Anri passed away. How else do you think did I manage to pull off so elaborate a ploy?”
Kilion stared at him. “You staged everything just for an excuse to regain Ferrenda land, didn’t you?” he accused, his voice ragged with dismay and disillusionment. “You don’t want to be a sovereign’s father. You want to be sovereign yourself.”
“Oh, don’t worry your head about it,” Xeren drawled. “I have no designs on this principality. I would rather carve my own out of Tenerith.” He pulled on his cloak. “I must away. Who knows what my guards might do should they grow nervous in my prolonged absence. Now you had better send Hadrana away forthwith and put your efforts into readying our forces for invasion. Don’t disappoint me again, Kilion.”
He smartly tapped his son’s cheek with his fingers and then strode out of the room. Kilion sank down on the cot looking quite despondent.
Yandro did not linger but descended the vine as quickly as he could.
Hardly had he got back down when he heard the guards inside the hallway hurrying toward the terrace door. He quickly strode in, regarding the flustered-looking soldiers quizzically as they came abreast of him. They frowned at him as he passed them but did not stop him. However, two guards suddenly turned to follow him.
In light of their recent scare, Yandro realized they would find it suspicious if he were to appear to report to Jareth now. Yet he did not think it wise to wait until morning to tell the ambassador about his discovery.
Coming quickly to a decision, he walked past his door and headed for Jareth’s suite. Conscious of the guards’ interest, he knocked on the door, careful to keep his back to the Terazians.
Jareth opened the door already stripped down to jerkin, shirt, and breeches. Yandro swiftly pressed himself against the ambassador, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. To Jareth’s credit, he did not flinch but went along with the ruse, even lowering his head to press a kiss to Yandro’s cheek.
“Guards,” Yandro whispered.
Jareth leaned down and sealed their lips together in a brief kiss before drawing him into his suite. Yandro sensed the salacious amusement emanating from the watching guards behind him. Well, better they thought him performing more than a diplomatic aide’s duties and keeping an assignation with his superior than recall their false alarm and wonder if he had aught to do with it.
As soon as he closed the door, Jareth released him. He paused a moment, his eyes focused on the door. He then faced Yandro and asked, “What has happened?”
Yandro tilted his head toward the door. “Are we shielded?”
“Yes. Now why were the guards watching you? Wherefore the need to play lovers in front of them?”
“To allay their suspicions of my behavior. Though I highly doubt they know the reason for keeping a watch on us.”
“What is of such import that they’ve been commanded thusly?”
“The dead come back to life. Not that he was ever dead in the first place.”
Jareth inhaled sharply. His eyes widening, he said, “Xeren is alive?”
“And far from resting in peace.”
“Veres almighty! So we were right.”
Taking Yandro by the arm, Jareth ushered him to the couch before the hearth. As they settled themselves on the couch, Jareth’s eyes gleamed with curiosity and the beginnings of speculative ire.
“How did you come by this information?” he asked.
Yandro recounted everything he’d heard and felt. As he talked, he could not fail to notice the fire that kindled in Jareth’s eyes. Heyas! Just so did he look when he was planning something particularly audacious—or dangerous. Yandro started to regret revealing his discovery to the ambassador. Mayhap it would have been more prudent to wait for the following day.
His apprehension was borne out when as soon as he was done speaking, Jareth stood up, gestured for him to follow, and walked to his half-unpacked trunk. He reached into it and took out a sheathed sword and handed the weapon to Yandro.
“Can you manage this?” he asked. “You can’t risk returning to your room for your own sword.”
Yandro slid the sword out of its sheath and hefted it. It was slightly heavier than his own. He swung the blade experimentally before slamming it back into the scabbard.
“I can manage it,” he said.
“Good.” Jareth left him to sling the sword from his belt while he pulled out a cloak, which he also gave to Yandro.
“It isn’t as long as my other cloaks, so it should do,” he said as he stood up. “I’d rather neither of us sicken because of the cold.”
He did not give Yandro a chance to ask questions but walked to the wardrobe. The tunic and cloak he’d worn earlier hung from the ornate hooks on the wardrobe doors as did his belt and sword in its engraved sheath. Jareth quickly donned the tunic, buckled his belt, and pulled on his boots. He then slung the cloak over his broad shoulders.
As he fastened the garment at his throat, he glanced at Yandro and impatiently said, “Well, get dressed. I’d rather not waste any time.”
Yandro stared suspiciously at him. “Would you mind telling me exactly what you intend to do?”
Jareth came over to him in a few quick strides and took the cloak from him. Ignoring Yandro’s indignant protests, he drew the garment over his shoulders and would have fastened it as well had Yandro not pushed his hands away and proceeded to do it himself.
“What else do you think but to locate Leyhar?” Jareth said as if he were suggesting a turn in the gardens.
Yandro gaped at him. “We’re headed for Laetro? Now?”
“Xeren said Leyhar is safe only for so long as he’s needed alive,” Jareth replied. “If Kilion obeys his father and declares war on Ylandre, well, Theron’s life will be worth nothing and Xeren will have him dispatched without further ado.”
“But by ourselves? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to await reinforcements from Ylandre first?”
“We can’t invade Teraz on the strength of hearsay. We have to ascertain first that Xeren told his son the truth about Leyhar’s whereabouts and secure unassailable evidence of Xeren’s treachery to justify an armed incursion. Besides, a delay may be fatal for Leyhar.”
“You think Xeren lied to Kilion?” Yandro frowned. “Wherefore?”
“He might have. It’s quite obvious he doesn’t trust his son or believe him a capable ruler. Else why would he have kept Kilion out of his scheme? Now come, the sooner we get underway, the quicker we shall gain what we need to justify breaking Teraz’s borders.”
Yandro shook his head. “You’re as mad as Xeren.”
A faint smile curved Jareth’s lips. “Some lunacy is necessary in order to succeed in our profession. Surely you’ve learned that after all these years.”
“And tried to stay on the side of rationality,” Yandro retorted. “Look, Dyhar, we don’t even know where in Laetro he’s been concealed.”
“Ah, but I do. One of Xeren’s dower manors is in Laetro. It’s his least-favored property. Not that I blame him considering its remote location and the region’s singular lack of visual appeal.”
A little nettled he had not unearthed that bit of trivia when he’d read up on Teraz, Yandro tartly remarked, “Rather an odd choice to include in a dower.”
Jareth shrugged. “Laetro more than makes up for its aesthetic failings by providing considerable income. Its mountains are rife with coal mines and numerous lodes of iron, copper and ley-silver.”
He took a step away. Yandro placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“Wait, Dyhar, have you thought this through? If we don’t appear for dinner, won’t they wonder why?”
“Since you made a such show of keeping a tryst with me, they won’t wonder at all,” Jareth pointed out. “They’ll just assume we’ve more interesting things to do than dine with hostile companions.”
Yandro winced at the reminder of his ruse. But before he could respond, Jareth turned his gaze on the empty space between the bed and the sitting area. Yandro stared at him questioningly.
“What are you—”
He stopped and gasped when it seemed the very air before them rippled like water disturbed by a dropped pebble. A moment later, the ripple blossomed into the telltale coruscating light and shadow of a translocation portal. Yandro caught his breath, not sure whether to be awed or appalled.
“Tha-that’s forbidden!” he exclaimed. “Portals should be generated in open spaces!”
“Only because very few can be precise about the size and power of a blossoming,” Jareth said. “In cases of extreme urgency, policy can go and bugger itself.”
Yandro rolled his eyes at the disturbing image of an entity contorted into the proper position for self-skewering. Really, the thoughts Jareth’s colorful imprecations could conjure.
“And you just happen to be one of the few,” he muttered. “Are there any more surprises you have in store for me?”
Jareth grinned as he walked toward the portal. “I certainly hope so.”
“Wait! You don’t mean to walk all the way to Laetro,” Yandro pointed out. “I studied the map. It’s still a fair distance even by translocation. And Ambassador Leyhar was probably mistreated. He’ll be in no condition to walk to Ylandre. I very much doubt you fancy carrying him back all the way on foot.”
“Which is why our first stop are the stables,” Jareth said without looking back. “Try to keep up.”
He disappeared into the ephemeral corridor. Cursing under his breath, Yandro hurried after him.