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Twenty-eight years ago...
Gilmael looked on as Zykriel mounted the steps to the entrance of the College of Law and Governance. In their third year at the State University, the twins would finally go their separate ways insofar as classes specific to their respective courses.
As heir to the great northern fief of Losshen, Zykriel had elected to take a course that would help him be an effective ruler. With more freedom to choose his path, Gilmael had indulged his more adventurous bent and thought a career in the diplomatic corps would be very much to his taste. Hence his decision to take Consular Studies.
Their cousin Jareth had much to do with his choice. Now in his fifth and penultimate year in the same course, Jareth was currently apprenticed to a senior diplomat at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Granted he was a mere administrative staffer. As a student worker he could neither travel with his mentor nor meet any of his foreign counterparts. But he was privy to the details of the consul’s assignments, helped with research and record-keeping, and assisted in the drafting of treaties and the like.
It was exciting, Jareth oft said, even if he was deskbound and restricted in his interactions with consular folk from abroad. He was still being exposed to the intricacies and shenanigans of international relations. He could hardly wait to graduate and finally enter the diplomatic corps.
Jareth’s enthusiasm had been infectious and since foreign service seemed just the sort of profession that suited his personality, Gilmael decided to follow in his cousin’s footsteps. The only drawback was that he would not be sharing many classes with Zykriel nor would their schedules be aligned as before.
It’s not as if we’re joined at the hip, Gilmael reminded himself as he strode down the stone-paved path to the College of Consular Studies. Indeed, they differed quite a bit in personality and interests and had been known to disagree quite passionately over many issues. Yet folk persisted in believing they were of a piece just because they were physically identical.
The college was at the other end of the campus. Realizing he would be late for his first class if he dawdled any further, Gilmael quickened his pace to a dash. Just as he rounded the marble fountain that stood on the main intersection of the stone path, another student emerged from behind a copse of drooping willows. Gilmael did not see him until the last minute. After a rather jarring collision, both wound up sprawled half on the pavement and half on the damp lawn, their books and belongings scattered around them.
Gilmael stared at the other student, momentarily rendered mute by one of the most stunning faces he’d ever seen. White silver locks framed smooth sculpted cheeks, dark gray eyes, a sharp nose and pale rose lips. A milkstone earring dangled from his left ear.
“Are you hurt?” the student asked as he started to gather his things.
Gilmael was startled out of his appreciative stare. “Nay,” he muttered and likewise retrieved his books. “What about you?”
The Deir shook his head and got to his feet. He handed over a book of Gilmael’s that he’d mistakenly picked up. “You’re one of the Calanthe twins.”
In the middle of dusting off the back of his tunic, Gilmael paused and flicked a surprised look at his companion.
“I am,” he replied. Did those cool eyes just grow colder? “And who are you?” he asked not troubling to contain the kindling belligerence in his tone.
There was no mistaking the frigidity in the Deir’s eyes now. “Imri Viraz.”
He eyed a smudge on his sleeve and frowned. Looking up again, he seemed to give Gilmael a once-over. Uncomfortable under that knowing gaze, Gilmael bent to check the rest of his clothes. What had possessed him to wear light-colored garments today, he inwardly grumbled as he rubbed at a large grass stain on his knee.
Realizing Imri was still watching him, he glanced up to send the latter on his way. The words died on his lips when he spotted one shapely eyebrow going up in apparent amusement.
“What’s so funny?” Gilmael snapped.
Imri’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing.” He turned to go but paused and looked back over his shoulder. “You should take more care, Calanthe. You may not come away unscathed next time.”
Gilmael gaped at his back as he walked away. Did Viraz just threaten him? Hold on— Viraz? He swore under his breath. He’d just literally bumped into the son of Hedhral Viraz, head of the family that had ruled Losshen before the Calanthes. Of all the rotten coincidences...
He noticed Imri walking toward the Consular Studies building. Gilmael groaned. Were the fates colluding against him? Gritting his teeth, he hurried down the path as well.
––––––––
“Arrogant, boorish, puling brat!” Gilmael almost spat out the words.
Zykriel looked at him reprovingly. They were by the University stables waiting for their steeds to be brought to them.
Gilmael had angrily related his encounter with the Viraz heir as soon as he spotted his twin. Now he was spewing invectives at the other student, wishing with all his might that the latter could hear them. Zykriel grabbed him by a shoulder and shook him until he stopped.
“For Veres’s sake, it was an accident,” he scolded.
Gilmael glared at him. “You think I’m angry about that? I know it was an accident. But that witless spawn of a snake had the temerity to threaten me!”
“Why would he threaten you? What exactly did he say?”
Whereupon Gilmael repeated Imri’s parting words.
Zykriel scoffed. “I don't believe he threatened you. It sounds as if he was cautioning you. You do tend to dash around blindly when you’re in a hurry.”
Gilmael pouted. “Who’s side are you on?”
Zykriel rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking anyone’s side.”
Their conversation ceased when they received their steeds and mounted them. But as soon as they exited the stable gates, Gilmael spoke up.
“I suppose his uppity manners shouldn’t surprise me,” he huffed. “He’s a Viraz after all.”
“And you’re a Calanthe. I think that’s reason enough for him to be wary.”
“He wasn’t wary. He was condescending.”
“That’s your perception, not necessarily his intention.” Zykriel raised a hand to forestall another outburst. “Look, mayhap you’re right. Mayhap he’s a wretched, feckless snob. But I haven’t met him so I can’t judge him. Especially not on the basis of what you think was his mistreatment of you. I’m sorry, brother, but you tend to jump to conclusions even with little evidence. We’ve had more than our fair share of scrapes because of your temper.”
Gilmael glared at him in indignation and frustration. He was something of a hothead and impulsive besides. Jareth had told him to curb his temper and be more prudent if he really wanted to enter the diplomatic corps. He’d been working on both and believed himself much improved. Apparently not.
Still, there was no mistaking the disdain he’d glimpsed in Imri’s cold eyes. Gilmael would not be true to himself were he to let it pass without reprisal.
––––––––
Had Imri been any Deir but a Viraz, Gilmael would not have ascribed anything worse than ungraciousness to him. But he’d been raised to be suspicious of the family that had ruled Losshen centuries ago and still believed they were the rightful lords of the fief.
The family was one of the oldest in Ylandre, their direct descent from the first Virazes dating back to the Inception. In those long ago days, House Viraz ruled Losshen from the fief’s old capital of Delaris. The head of the Calanthes then was a thein who’d astutely allied himself with the powerful clans of the fief through his sons’ marriages. But neither he nor his descendants made inroads with the Virazes who stubbornly resisted every effort even by the Crown to unify the two Houses through matrimony.
They likely suspected the Calanthes of plotting to unseat them as the preeminent House of Losshen even if they did not usurp their rule of the fief. This suspicion deepened when, through judicious financial and military support of the Royal House over several generations, the Calanthes gained enough favor to displace the Virazes at court. They also expanded their holdings within Losshen until they rivaled them in wealth. What started as mutual distrust turned into full-fledged animosity. Nonetheless no Ardan thought to elevate the Calanthes to the highest position in the fief and so the Herune of Losshen bore the name Viraz for the next several centuries.
That changed during the Interregnum when House Viraz misguidedly supported Crown Prince Rovar Essendri while House Calanthe closed ranks behind the Ardan Wylan and his younger son Diorn. Why the Virazes chose to align themselves with a prince who tried to depose his sire and instigated civil war during one of the most unpropitious periods in Ylandrin history remained a mystery to this day. But the rumor then was that the reigning Herun had been embittered by Wylan’s thinly veiled desire to supplant him with a Calanthe. His resentment and change of allegiance proved calamitous to his descendants.
When he ascended the throne a year after the wars of the Interregnum, Diorn stripped the herunic title from the Virazes and granted it to their longtime rivals. Thus did the balance of power in Losshen tip in the Calanthes’ favor.
They moved swiftly to consolidate their power. The center of government was moved from Delaris to the small town near the Calanthes’ family estate. The town grew rapidly, becoming the fief’s political, cultural and economic hub, while Delaris declined and never quite recovered. Just two generations later, Syvonna was chartered a city and named the capital of Losshen by royal decree.
Nevertheless, though reduced to untitled aristocrats, the Virazes continued to hold their heads up high, openly showing their scorn for the family they considered mere upstarts. Having retained their affluence and influence despite the loss of lordship over Losshen, they clashed constantly with the Calanthes over the fief’s governance, even openly criticizing each current Herun if they deemed him incompetent or too harsh in his rule.
Circumstances changed once more however and again not to the Virazes’ benefit. To the surprise of many and the bafflement of even more, Imri’s grandsire Idren Viraz petitioned the Ardan Keldon to return the title to his House. By then the Calanthes were close kin-by-marriage to the Essendris. Naturally, his petition was ignored. Shortly thereafter he apparently went mad and attempted to assassinate the reigning Herun, the twins’ grandsire Rygan Calanthe.
The attempt failed and Idren Viraz killed himself before he could be brought to trial. But his actions had far-reaching consequences for his family. While they continued to be respected in Losshen by dint of their ancient name, they lost much support when many who’d formerly maintained their links to the family now shied from associating with them.
––––––––
Gilmael could not believe his eyes. Zykriel appeared to be having a chat with Imri Viraz just outside the main student dining hall. He pursed his lips in displeasure.
His twin met the Viraz heir midway through first term. To Gilmael’s annoyance, Zykriel was affable with Imri and even asked him to join them for the midday meal. Thankfully, Imri declined the invitation saying he was helping a schoolmate complete a report. Otherwise, who knew what Gilmael might have said?
Since they crashed into each other at the start of the term, their relationship had grown more antagonistic. Whenever he laid eyes on Imri, Gilmael’s anger flared. Judging from Imri’s expression when Gilmael caught him looking his way, the active dislike was mutual.
Their confrontations inevitably left a sour taste in his mouth. Despite his reputation as a hothead, Gilmael did not enjoy conflict for conflict’s sake. But for the life of him, he could not help himself when it came to Imri. And so the baiting and the sniping and the exchange of insults continued unabated.
And yet, Gilmael could not help appreciating Imri’s beauty either. It was frustrating that he should find his foe so appealing. So very desirable if he were to be truthful.
Shoving aside his memories and misgivings, Gilmael briskly approached Zykriel and Imri, pasting on a scowl for the latter’s benefit.
“Can you finally squeeze in a meal with us, Viraz?” he snipped. “Or are we Calanthes not worth your precious time?”
Zykriel rolled his eyes. “Gil...”
Imri wrinkled his nose and said, “I always try to make time for Zykriel. He makes good company unlike some Deira I know.”
“Good company?” Gilmael smirked. “You mean the only company you can get.”
“Enough, Gil!”
He ignored Zykriel and added, “It's well known how tender-hearted my brother can be. Even with the spawn of serpents.”
Zykriel gasped at the insult then glared at his twin. But before he could say a word, Imri stepped forward and grabbed Gilmael by his collar.
“You have the manners of a swylboar,” he growled. “I pity your parents for begetting so discourteous an oaf!”
Gilmael sneered. “Better discourteous than attaindered.”
He had not expected the blow and so stumbled back when Imri’s fist connected with his jaw. Gilmael snarled and would have lunged at him but for the intervention of a passing instructor.
“Viraz!” the Deir barked. “You know better than to engage in fisticuffs. To the dean’s office with you.”
Imri stared at the instructor. “I didn't start the fight!”
“It matters not who started it. Altercations are forbidden on university grounds. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Dyhar.”
Imri cast a furious glower at Gilmael before he sullenly followed the instructor. Whereupon Zykriel rounded on his twin and snapped, “Are you happy now?”
Taken aback by Zykriel’s ire, Gilmael wiped the grin from his face and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
“Of course not,” he mumbled. He moved his hand to his jaw and gingerly ran his fingers over the slight swelling. “The blackguard struck me.”
“I would have struck you had you thrown that insult at me!” Zykriel huffed in frustration. “Why do you hate him so? What has he done besides look down his nose at you? Which isn't surprising given the way you act around him.”
“Easy for you to say when you aren't the recipient of his contempt,” Gilmael retorted. “You scarcely meet him and when you do, he’s on his best behavior. You haven't had to put up with his insults and injurious comments. Were you to be called an uncouth, thieving parvenu to your face would you be so friendly?”
“He said that?”
“And more besides.”
Zykriel shook his head. “You’ve really fallen afoul of each other.
“I'm a Calanthe, he's a Viraz. As you pointed out, it’s inevitable.”
“But he’s never demeaned me by word or deed,” Zykriel remarked. “Yet I'm not only a Calanthe, I'm your spitting image. So why doesn't he quarrel with me as he does you? Likely because I don't take offense if he so much as looks at me the wrong way.”
Gilmael narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting I’m to blame?”
“I'm suggesting you’ve let your sensibilities get the better of your reason. And so has he,” Zykriel said, now obviously exasperated. “The pity is neither of you is willing to back down and try to make peace. Verily, you're both idiots embroiled in a petty war of your own making.”
He turned on his heel and entered the dining hall leaving Gilmael to gape after him in consternation. When they disagreed they seldom did more than argue and certainly almost never with raised voices or unflattering words meant to puncture one’s pride. It was not an experience Gilmael wished to repeat yet he feared he would if he and Imri did not settle their differences.
The problem was he did not think they could. Or that either was willing to lay down his pride and cross the divide between them. Particularly if the way Imri looked at Gilmael accurately mirrored Gilmael’s antipathy toward the Lossheni noble.