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Nights were usually chilly in Medav no matter the season. It was almost midsummer yet the twins found the evening breeze crisp and bracing. Even for Deira born and bred in the northernmost fief of Ylandre, the lower temperature come evening warranted thick cloaks at the very least.
They did not ride for their zentyra would attract too much attention, some not very welcome. And so they walked toward the city center, the geographical spoke from which the districts fanned out. Nevertheless, they elicited wide-eyed gawks or double takes. Twins were a rarity more so identical ones.
When they were children, the brothers had enjoyed taking advantage of being virtually impossible to tell apart save by their parents. But adulthood instilled sense and pity and they tried to make it easier for folk to identify them. Zykriel now pushed his fringe back from his forehead and wore his tresses a tad shorter than Gilmael. They also tried to dress differently even if just in their choice of color. But given their very similar tastes in fashion, it was not unusual to clad themselves in much the same style.
Zykriel was not surprised when Gilmael suggested they head north and explore the Circle. It was Elana’s equivalent of the Quarter in Rikara’s west district. As in the Quarter, one could find entertainment of every sort and seldom come away with nothing or nobody to show for one’s efforts. Lavish theater productions and lowbrow open-air performances, elegant hethare clubs and garish bordellos, exclusive gaming houses and backstreet gambling dens, and dining establishments ranging from upscale restaurants and cozy tea-rooms to cheap taverns and roadside food stalls.
The Medavi were said to enjoy plain, earthy fare including the game they were fond of hunting, even tough or rank meat, which they braised or stewed in the beer or ale they preferred to spirits. Yet they also made a particularly potent firewater said to rival the strongest whisky produced in Ylandre.
But as much as they loved their food and drink, they enjoyed a romp between the sheets more. There was a saying about the Hegemony’s folk. The Savanith lived to eat, the Bavians ate to live, the Asturans lived to drink and the Medavi drank to fuck. Zykriel did not know whether all of it was true, but he was inclined to believe the part about the Medavi.
The consulate retainers had informed the twins that the taverns and brothels did not close until near sunrise. And Zykriel already knew the Medavi desired numerous progeny to the extent that in many unions both spouses took turns at childbearing. The Prime’s family was no exception. Eulan had sired three sons on his late consort and borne two himself. Of his five children, one died in infancy while another passed away from illness.
The brothers chose a well-patronized tavern in the heart of the district. It was quite full and it appeared many of the customers knew each other and oft met on the premises. It made for a very convivial if noisy crowd. They ignored the stares cast their way and sat themselves at a newly vacated table.
The tavern owner approached them immediately, likely guessing they were foreigners with deep pockets who would show their appreciation of good service accordingly. He recommended the house ale and a plate of pickled fish. Though neither twin was hungry so soon after dinner, they ordered the fish. No sense giving offense by refusing one of Medav’s iconic dishes.
“It’s ... not bad,” Gilmael commented after he took a bite of the delicacy.
“Actually, it’s quite refreshing,” Zykriel said. “And it goes very well with ale. I wouldn’t mind bringing back the recipe with us.”
Gilmael shook his head. “I like it enough, but I won’t miss it.”
Zykriel smiled. “Is it the flavor? Or do you find it too light in the belly?” His twin was partial to hefty servings and rich sauces.
“Perhaps. I don’t really know. Besides, we didn’t come here to try the cuisine.”
“You didn’t. But I wouldn’t mind learning a bit more about the Medavi’s preferences. It’s certain to come up during the trade negotiations.”
“Which isn’t really my area of expertise. I wish we knew why the Prime insisted that we accompanied Uncle Yovan.”
“So do I. But wherefore wracking our brains until we learn a little more about the situation?”
“I don’t like being in the dark.”
Zykriel could not blame his brother. As head of perhaps the most extensive intelligence network in the North Continent, it was Gilmael’s responsibility to unearth secrets and bring facts to light. It frustrated him when he did not know enough to make an informed opinion about something or decide what was the best course of action to take.
“Something else puzzles me and I could tell Uncle Yovan was concerned about it too.”
“What is it?”
“Eulan Shidara declined to have us formally presented to him. Instead we will be introduced during our meeting with him tomorrow. That’s virtually unheard of.”
Again, Zykriel took his twin’s concern seriously. Gilmael had more experience in international relations.
He was about to respond when he caught sight of a golden-haired Deir making his way toward them. Perhaps Gilmael would get his wish earlier than expected if the interest displayed in the Medavin’s comely features was indicative of more than mere curiosity about outlanders.
The Deir came to their table and at once reached out his hand to Gilmael. With a warm smile, he said, “It isn’t often we get Ylandrins around here. Welcome to Medav.”
Gilmael took his hand and shook it once. But somewhat taken aback by the Deir’s forward manner, Zykriel was slower to follow suit. He appraised the Deir a bit cautiously before returning the gesture. He noted the Medavin’s ley-silver earring adorned with a large amethyst—symbol of the minor gentry or commoners of high position in the government and diplomatic corps. Considering the Deir’s youth, probably the former.
“How did you know we’re Ylandrin?” he asked.
The Deir chuckled. “Ansen told me. The tavern keeper,” he added at the inquiring lift of the brothers’ brows. “May I join you?”
“Only if you give us your name,” Gilmael drawled, pulling up another chair.
Zykriel stifled a groan. The Medavin had piqued more than Gilmael’s curiosity.
“I’m Val,” the Deir said as he slid into the proffered chair. “And you are?”
As he had obviously given the shortened form of his name, Gilmael did likewise. It was not the accepted form of introduction in Ylandrin society, but neither twin knew enough about Medavian customs to deem Val impolite.
“Gil. And this fellow is Zyk. Pardon his standoffish manner. He doesn’t fare very well among strangers.”
Zykriel mildly glared at him. “I’m neither standoffish nor uneasy with strangers,” he said to Val. “Gil just likes to put forth reasons to tease me.”
Val laughed. “Ah, the ways of brothers. I know it well.”
“Younger or older?” Gilmael asked.
“I’m the youngest. I take it you’re the younger as well?”
Soon the two were chatting like old acquaintances. Zykriel sat back and only partly listened to their conversation. There was a grain of truth in Gilmael’s remarks about him.
He was not standoffish in the presence of folk he did not know. He simply reserved judgment until he had a better idea about the person he was dealing with. Right now, he knew nothing about Val save that he was an aggressive flirt who seemed bent on charming his way into Gilmael’s bed.
“The inn just down the street lets rooms for a few hours,” he heard Val say.
Startled out of his reverie by the tail end of their conversation. Zykriel looked from one to the other inquiringly. He stared in some disbelief at his twin when he and Val rose to their feet.
Gilmael said, “You can find your way back by yourself, can’t you?”
Zykriel’s stare evolved into a glower. “I have a better sense of direction than you. I had to develop it,” he informed an amused Val. “Otherwise I’d never manage to get him home after a night of indulgence.”
“You’re the sensible one then,” Val commented. “Unfortunately, the sensible ones don’t have as much fun. Not in my experience anyway.”
Zykriel rolled his eyes. “In my experience, fun is relative.”
Gilmael suddenly seemed uncertain. “If you’d rather I don’t—”
“Nay, go and enjoy yourself,” Zykriel said, waving him away. “Just make sure Val doesn’t regret approaching you.”
Val laughed out loud at Gilmael’s somewhat offended expression. “What say you prove him wrong, Gil-dyhar?” He extended a hand toward the entrance. “Shall we go?”
Zykriel watched Gilmael and his companion leave the premises. He’d expected his twin to seek intimate company, but he was annoyed just the same at being left to his own devices in a foreign place. And since he was not one to drink by himself, he decided to return to the consulate and turn in early. He downed the last of his ale, slapped more than enough bills on the table to pay for the food and got up. Perhaps the night air would cool his temper.
He got no farther than a block from the tavern when he heard voices raised in heated discussion. He turned a corner and came upon a party of five well-dressed Medavi engaged in an argument with a pair of equally well-to-do Deira, all of them clearly enyra from their nape-length hair and the cut of their fashionable tunics. The argument looked as if it would escalate into a brawl judging from the tense shoulders and clenched fists on display.
Ordinarily, Zykriel ignored such altercations. It was none of his business after all. But instead of walking on he slowed down. He’d identified the pair as fellow bluebloods from the silver and verdantine earrings hanging from their left ear lobes. The light olive green gem was the emblematic stone of sons or brothers of a Viarl, a long defunct title in Ylandre. The other five Deira sported the plain earrings of commoners of means. Yet that was not the reason he changed his mind about getting involved in this quarrel among strangers.
He deduced the bigger group had started the argument and would now use their greater numbers to intimidate the pair. The injustice of it triggered his indignation.
Giving in to impulse, Zykriel grabbed one of the malefactors by the shoulder and spun the startled Deir around.
“Methinks your spat has attracted attention,” he shamelessly lied. “A number of constables are making their way here as I speak.”
The Deir gaped at him for a few moments then turned back to his companions and barked out something in a language he did not recognize. Apparently it was a warning for them to leave for the five quickly disappeared down the street. Zykriel laughed under his breath, wondering at his dalliance with lunacy. He really had to get back to the consulate before he indulged in any more tomfoolery.
He felt a hand on his arm and he turned to face the two aristocrats. The first things he noted were their very attractive features and height. They were almost as tall as he. The next thing that struck him was how unruffled they were considering how close they’d come to engaging in a nasty fight.
One of the two said, “That was quick thinking, outlander. Our thanks.”
“How did you know I’m not from around here?”
“For one, your accent. For another, you obviously don’t know the old Medavian dialect,” the other Deir explained. “It’s no longer spoken widely, but all Medavi can understand it. No matter, we’re grateful for your assistance.”
“Aye, we could’ve dealt easily with those fools,“ the first Deir said. “But it’s much better to pass the evening without incident. Can you imagine having to explain bruises and ruined clothing to Aba again?”
“It appears this isn’t your first skirmish,” Zykriel surmised.
“I should think not. Oh saints! Where are our manners?” The Medavin extended his right hand. “I’m Dar and this is Ris.”
Zykriel shook their hands in turn. It appeared introducing one’s self by the shortened form of one’s name was indeed the custom.
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Zyk. And you’re brothers, I take it. You spoke as if you have a sire in common.”
“Indeed we are,” Dar replied. “And now, Zyk-dyhar, allow us to show our appreciation of your timely intervention. Join us for a drink.”
As Val had done earlier, he used the high honorific to acknowledge Zykriel’s higher station indicated by his earring.
“Oh but, I really should get back—”
“The night is still young,” Ris interrupted. “And what better way to learn more about our fair city than to talk with the locals?”
Zykriel hesitated. But the brothers looked quite ready to cajole him until he agreed. He laughed softly and said, “Very well, lead the way.”
The tavern they chose was less crowded and catered to a more discerning clientele. Many of the patrons bore the earrings of the aristocracy and gentry and some had attendants about. Zykriel noticed his companions had raised the hoods of their cloaks to obscure their features. He wondered if the brothers were trying to remain incognito, a suspicion that strengthened when Dar selected a table in a poorly lit corner.
Perhaps he didn’t hide his curiosity enough for Ris said, “Our family is fairly well-known. This way we avoid being recognized and fawned upon.”
“Aye, it’s quite annoying having to fend off hangers-on and the like,” Dar added as he took his seat.
Zykriel had to agree. The siblings were very recognizable. Both were striking in appearance though he considered Ris the comelier by far. His hair was a lighter brown than the Calanthe twins’ own tresses and framed refined almost haughty features offset by an impish smile that drew attention time and again to his mouth. He also had changeable eyes that ranged from deep amber to something of a dark golden green depending on the light. Zykriel thought him more distinctive of features than his lighter-haired, brown-eyed brother.
To his surprise, they did not order ale or beer but Medavian firewater. Zykriel peered a little warily at the small decanter the server brought to the table along with three tiny crystal cups. The liquor was completely colorless. He could not help frowning when Ris filled each cup almost to the brim.
Dar chuckled. “It’s strong, I won’t lie. It’s why we use such small cups. But believe you me, this is delicious.”
With that, he lifted his cup to his lips and downed the firewater in one swallow. Ris did likewise. Not to be outdone, Zykriel followed suit after taking a deep breath.
The beverage lived up to its name. It burned all the way down his throat and with more intensity than any other spirit he’d ever drank. Thankfully, he only coughed once but there was no suppressing the startled grimace that had his companions chortling. They had pursed their lips after swallowing the fiery liquid but that was all, he thought with a little irritation.
On the heels of what felt like a molten gush into his gullet came the most wonderful mix of flavors. It was almost as if the essences of the forests, rivers and meadows of the north had exploded all over his tongue and proceeded to perform a merry jig. He stared at his cup then lifted a disbelieving gaze to the siblings.
“This is...” He huffed a chuckle. “Its flavor is hard to describe, but I have to admit, this is amazing.”
Ris smiled and said, “It’s always like that the first time anyone tries it.”
“Another round then?” Dar refilled the cups. He lifted his in a toast. “To friendship between our peoples, aye?”
Zykriel nodded. “Yes indeed.”
A half hour later, he was surprised to find the decanter three quarters empty. He had not thought they would get through the liquor so quickly or manage to finish it at all. And he was starting to feel the slight fuzziness in his senses that meant he was just this edge of tipsy. He pushed his cup away determined not to imbibe any more.
However, he continued to enjoy the brethren’s company. They were by turns humorous and serious and he learned much from them about the Hegemony that was not in the books and scrolls he had studied. But even with wits ever so slightly dulled by the amount of alcohol he’d drank, he remained aware that they were quite the inquisitive pair though what they asked differed. Dar quizzed him about his political persuasions in exchange for sharing his own views. Ris on the other hand plumbed him none too subtly about his personal life while every so often running his foot up Zykriel’s leg under the table.
When Dar left them to take a piss outside, Zykriel asked, “Are you flirting with me?”
Ris smirked. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I’m not sure. Your ways might be different from mine.”
“In what land does this have a different meaning?”
Zykriel stifled a gasp when he felt Ris’s foot slither up his thigh to land on his groin. He stared incredulously at the Deir when said foot delicately rubbed against the bulge in his crotch.
“Are all Medavi as forward as you?” he managed to say.
“Nay,” Ris murmured. “In fact, I’m not as forward as I appear to be tonight.”
“That isn’t believable.” Zykriel gasped out loud this time when Ris pressed his foot down just that much more. “You’re much too practiced for a reserved innocent.”
“I didn’t claim to be reserved or innocent. I’m just ... selective. You intrigue me in more ways than one.” Ris withdrew his foot much to Zykriel’s relief. Or was it disappointment? “I rather hope you think the same of me.”
Zykriel willed his senses into a semblance of clarity. The Medavin sitting before him was not just beautiful. He was also intelligent, witty and sexually playful enough to stir interest but not so much as to come across as rakish. For the first time in a long while, he was strongly tempted to throw caution and good sense to the four winds, take his beauteous companion to bed and pound him into the mattress.
He made one last stab at restraint. “What of your brother? Won’t he object?”
Ris shrugged. “He’s my brother, not my guardian. Speaking of which, he’s back. So, yea or nay.”
“Where?” Zykriel heard himself ask.
Ris dimpled. He motioned to a stairwell to the right of the counter. “This tavern has comfortable rooms upstairs.”
They fell silent when Dar returned to the table. “It’s late, Ris-min. We should return.”
“You go ahead. Zyk-dyhar and I aren’t done yet.”
Dar’s eyebrows rose but he did not question his brother. He turned to Zykriel and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope your stay in Elana will be pleasant.”
Ris only waited a few minutes after Dar’s departure before he gestured to the tavern keeper. When the Deir neared them, Ris quickly spoke to him. The tavern keeper grinned and ordered one of the servers to accompany them upstairs. Zykriel followed Ris, admiring his pert arse as the Medavin mounted the stairs ahead of him.
The room was small and sparsely furnished but clean. There was a bed wide enough for two, a tiny side table and a basin on a washstand in the corner. The server filled the basin with water from the pitcher he bore and then left. Zykriel closed the door and slid the bolt into place.
Hardly had he turned around when Ris pressed up against him and sealed their lips together in searing union. Though startled by his companion’s aggressiveness, Zykriel quickly recovered and returned the caress with equal ardor.
It was clear Ris was no more a virgin than Zykriel. He coaxed him into an open-mouthed, hot-tongued kiss even as he drew him toward the waiting bed. They landed on it almost without parting their mouths, Zykriel half atop Ris.
He wondered if the Deir was amenable to playing the sheath. A Herun’s heir outranked a Viarl’s son in any country. If Medavian traditions were akin to Ylandre’s, Ris would have to yield if Zykriel demanded it of him. Yet even as he let his lips trail down from Ris’s mouth to his throat, he found himself unwilling to demand anything of the Medavin. The romantic in him did not relish prying a partner’s submission out of him.
He felt Ris’s hand on his crotch, stroking his now hardened shaft through the thick fabric of his breeches. With a groan, he returned the favor. Ris’s answering moan stoked his lust further. All restraint forgotten, Zykriel reached for the buttons on the Medavin’s trousers and started to undo them.
A sharp intake of breath pierced the fog of his passion. And then he clearly heard the plea in his mind.
Veres preserve me.
Taken aback, he glanced at Ris’s face. The Medavin’s quick attempt to school his expression confirmed Zykriel’s suspicion.
He rolled off Ris and sat up. Blowing his breath out in some frustration, he turned away and set his feet on the floor. He heard the rustle of the sheet as Ris sat up. A moment later, Ris knelt on the bed at his side and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”
Zykriel shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right to continue,” he quietly said. “You’re not willing.”
Ris huffed a startled laugh. “Surely you jest!” His eyes widened when Zykriel faced him and mouthed nay. “I assure you, I won’t cry rape tomorrow if that’s what worries you.”
“I don’t mean you didn’t consent,” Zykriel replied. “But you don’t really wish to share your bed with a Deir you hardly know, do you?”
“That’s absurd. I propositioned you.”
“But to what purpose? A dare? A desire to experience something different? I haven’t the slightest idea why you thought to consort with me, but I do know your heart isn’t really in it.”
“How could you know?”
“Your uncertainty is so strong you projected your thoughts enough for me to pick up. You prayed for deliverance.”
Ris stared at him, his lips parting in surprise. A moment later, he looked quite chagrined and his mouth thinned into a humorless smile. Zykriel tried not to flinch when he felt the Deir’s shields shut him out. Not that he’d been expecting otherwise. He imagined Ris was probably embarrassed at having let his guard down.
The Medavin shifted position to sit beside him.
“You’re a ... gallant sort,” he remarked, his eyes narrowing.
Zykriel shrugged. “I have no liking for hesitant partners. Where’s the pleasure in that? And truth be told, I don’t usually get into bed with strangers.”
“So why did you come with me?”
“I’d had too much to drink, I suppose. At least, enough to lower my resistance to someone as beauteous as you.”
Ris shook his head. “I didn’t expect this. Your twin had no qualms about leaving you behind in order to go and fuck someone he’d just met.”
Zykriel snorted. “We look alike. It doesn’t mean we are alike.”
A small smile tugged at Ris’s lips. Zykriel knew a twinge of regret that he would not be tasting that delectable mouth again.
“I think I should go. My thanks for taking the time to entertain me.”
“Not well enough it seems. You found my attractions wanting.”
“Ris—”
“But for a very compelling reason. I admire you for that.”
Zykriel stared at him. It almost felt as if he’d been bestowed with some seal of approval.
“Well, I’m glad there are no ill feelings between us,” he finally said. He rose to his feet and turned to face his companion. Ris made no move to stand but gazed up at him. So he extended his hand and said, “Goodbye, Ris. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Ris took his hand. “The pleasure was mine, Zyk-dyhar.”
Zykriel left the room without a backward glance lest his appreciation for the Medavin’s beauty overtake his good sense once more. He hastened down the stairs and strode to the entrance, peremptorily waving away the tavern keeper when the Deir approached him looking rather apprehensive. He wondered if his face appeared as stormy as his emotions felt.
As he made his way back to Embassy Row, he reflected on the aborted tryst. Part of him was grateful he had sensed Ris’s reluctance before his lust got the better of him. Another part regretted missing the opportunity to bed so intriguing a Deir. Zykriel wondered if Ris was really as seasoned a lover as his overture had made him appear or actually as inexperienced as his later hesitation seemed to reveal.
––––––––
He’d expected a retainer to let him into the consular house. He was surprised when a sulky Gilmael opened the front door.
“Where in Aisen did you hie off to?” he demanded before Zykriel had even stepped over the threshold.
“Why are you back so soon?” Zykriel countered.
Gilmael glared at him. He turned on his heel and strode ahead to the stairs. Just when Zykriel thought he would not answer, he muttered, “That scoundrel of a Deir backed out of our arrangement.”
Zykriel gasped. “What happened?” he asked as they walked up the stairs.
“Tell me where you went first.”
“Gil...”
They came to Gilmael’s chamber but he did not enter. Instead he jabbed a finger at Zykriel’s chest and said, “I was worried! I went back to the tavern and you were gone. So I returned here posthaste only to discover you hadn’t come back either!”
Zykriel rolled his eyes and pushed his twin’s finger away. “Anyone would think you the elder between us the way you sometimes carry on. I’m no child to fuss over nor am I prone to losing my way in strange cities like someone I know.”
Realizing his brother would persist until he answered, Zykriel gave him a brief account of his unlooked for adventure including the abrupt discontinuance of his tryst. Gilmael stared at him dumbstruck for several heartbeats.
“I can’t believe it!” he finally blurted. “After chiding me for seeking someone to fuck, you went and did the same thing!”
“But I didn’t seek anyone to fuck,” Zykriel corrected him. “It was he who propositioned me. Now it’s your turn to tell me what happened between you and Val.”
“If that’s even his real name,” Gilmael fumed. He leaned against the door with the blackest of expressions on his face. And perhaps a smidgen of embarrassment if Zykriel was any judge of his brother’s moods. “The knave had the gall to hand me a cock and bull story about some fiancé he neglected to mention beforehand.”
Zykriel gaped. “He’s betrothed?”
Gilmael smacked the door behind him angrily. “He propositioned me. He took the room. And he was all over me as soon as we got inside. We were half out of our breeches! And then he pleads a sense of guilt. Just when he’s on the brink of cuckolding his mate-to-be. I ask you, is that believable in any away?”
“It is possible he was belatedly stricken with guilt.” Seeing Gilmael bristle, Zykriel added, “His behavior was inexcusable yet I can’t help but admire him a bit.”
“Admire him!”
“He proved of sound enough mind to resist your charms.”
Gilmael scowled. “You’re one to talk when you were turned down yourself.”
“Nay, it was I who declined to take things further.” Zykriel stifled a grin when his twin stared at him incredulously.
“Why pray tell? Was he not pretty enough for you?”
“On the contrary, he would give any of our cousins stiff competition.”
“Then what put you off? His personality? His atrocious sense of fashion? Or wasn’t he wild enough for you?”
“It’s you who desires wanton partners,” Zykriel reminded him. “Actually, he lowered his shields enough for me to pick up some of his thoughts and...” He paused. “For someone who made advances so avidly just minutes earlier, I heard him pray for forbearance. It was disconcerting, not to mention off-putting.” Zykriel searched for the right words. “I was reminded of how trulls give in to their patrons’ demands in order to secure their fee or merit a bit more pay. Though what he expected from me in return I haven’t the faintest notion.”
“Well, whatever his intentions, the results are the same. It’s cold beds for the both of us tonight.” Gilmael huffed. “But what can you expect when in the land of equally cold fish.”
“That’s just your pride talking. Frankly, I don’t think it’s injured often enough.”
“Oh, stuff it, Zyk!”
Zykriel chuckled when his brother entered his chamber without so much as a curt goodnight and slammed the door shut. He went on to his own room
It was only when he was disrobing that he recalled what Ris had said about Gilmael. He wondered how the Deir knew he had a twin. Or that he’d been by himself because his brother had taken other company for the night.