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Calanthe House, 3015 C.A.
Zykriel looked up when an estate guard hurried over, excitement alight in his eyes. He smiled with some amusement.
It did not take much to thrill folk who lived where the pace of life was more sedate and a birthing or the purchase of a sow cause for avid speculation. Not that Syvonna was provincial in any way, but of the major fief capitals, it was the most remote and therefore not as constantly exposed to the political and social turmoils that seemed part and parcel of life in other more centrally located cities.
More than a year had passed since he left Medav in a cold rage. Not unexpectedly, Rohyr upheld his decision, sending word to Eulan that he would break the alliance before resubjecting his cousin to their callous duplicity. Zykriel had known peace and certainty for the first time in a long while as soon as he set foot once more in Ylandre. But if he were honest, not true contentment. Or happiness.
He missed his mate. Qristan had somehow managed to bury himself deeply enough in his heart to keep him from rooting him out. He supposed this was partly due to Qristan’s admissions of fidelity and restraint.
The admissions did not change the fact that in standing by passively he’d aided his sire and brother in their scheme to use his consort and thus endangered him terribly. While Zykriel could understand loyalty to family to the extent of turning a blind eye to their sins, such reasoning could not mitigate the pain of betrayal. Or the feeling of having been toyed with for the shallowest of reasons.
But learning his spouse had been faithful and shared with him an adherence to certain traditions after all had assuaged some of his misery and lessened his bitterness to a more tolerable degree. He was nowhere close to considering reconciliation, but it was enough to prevent him from attempting to expel Qristan once and for all from his affections.
His family’s comfort and support had gone a long way in soothing his anger and sorrow and bolstered his determination to rebuild his life and move on. He’d enjoyed the joint midsummer celebration of his and Gilmael’s begetting day in Syvonna with those of their relations who were able to make the trip north on short notice. He’d been especially pleased when Rohyr and Lassen brought Vyren and their infant son Calen with them.
Keosqe’s wedding the previous year had been another pleasant distraction. He’d travelled overland part of the way to Nivare in order to reacquaint himself with the fief of Sidona and its neighbors. And when he’d joined in the ribbing of his fair-haired cousin for taking so long to finally settle down, he’d been reminded of the wonderful camaraderie to be had in his kinsfolk’s company.
But now he was without his kinsfolk, parents and twin.
Gilmael was in Rikara while Desriq and Ildris were in Vireshe enjoying a seaside holiday in the royal fief’s premiere coastal town. Hence all concerns were brought to Zykriel including the settling of quarrels between prominent Loshenni or petitions for the Calanthes’ patronage of some charitable Syvonnan establishment or other. He expected something similarly mundane from the approaching guard.
“My lord, the city sentries say a portal is about to blossom in the far field,” the guard announced. “Mayhap it has already opened as I speak.”
Zykriel nodded his acknowledgement of the information. “Remind the gatekeepers to inspect their papers if they are outlanders.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The guard hurried away to forward Zykriel’s instructions. Considering very few foreigners came directly to Losshen whence they hailed, the capital’s gatekeepers were not used to checking travel documents. Best to remind them of the responsibility.
It pleased him however that the sentries though all sedyra still possessed vestiges of their ancestors’ mind gifts, at least enough to sense the imminent opening of a translocation corridor. Only the completely mind-blind would not feel the ripples in space or the tremendous energies generated by a blossoming portal.
He turned his attention back to the zentyr whose massive left hind hoof was currently cradled in the estate farrier’s hands while the healer scraped at a small shallow cavity in the hard bottom of the hoof. Zykriel thought it amazing that animal husbandry had advanced so far there were now physicians who tended solely to livestock and the like.
This zentyr had started limping the other day and refused to put weight on the affected foot. Hence the need for the healer. It turned out there was an infection in the zentyr’s foot and if it was not treated, the hoof would eventually separate from the pedal bone and leave the beast crippled.
Zykriel watched as the physician transferred his attention to another cavity when the first proved to be a superficial one. This time, the solid material suddenly gave way as he dug his knife in. Pus welled up and trickled out of the hole. The Deir quickly enlarged the opening until the whitish yellow liquid gushed out.
The farrier lowered the zentyr’s foot to allow it to drain faster. The beast obviously felt some relief for it gingerly pawed at the hay underfoot. Satisfied, the healer prepared a paste of medicaments and with the blacksmith’s help packed the viscous mixture into the opening. They then secured the hoof by tying it firmly with twine. The healer explained it was just a precautionary measure to keep it from misaligning while it healed.
“Change the dressing twice a day,” he instructed the farrier and an attending stablehand. He handed them the bowl of the medicinal paste. “I’ll return in a sennight. In the meantime, don’t let him out of his stall lest he run and injure the hoof anew.”
Grateful there would be no need to put down one of the family’s prized zentyra, Zykriel walked the physician out front where the carriage provided for the latter’s short ride back to Syvonna waited. The Deir took his leave and boarded the conveyance. Zykriel watched it rumble away until it passed the estate gate. He was about to turn and walk up the steps to the manor’s front entrance when he spotted a mounted party of seven Deira approaching at a brisk trot.
Zykriel frowned. Who could these be? His parents had not mentioned visitors and he was not expecting any.
All unlooked for, he sensed a familiar presence. A painfully familiar presence that had him staring in disbelief at the riders. Despite the distance, he identified the Deir leading the party before he recognized the joint colors of Medav and the Hegemony. He let loose an imprecation.
The party halted at the gate when the sentries hailed them and inquired about their purpose for coming to the estate. Zykriel noticed how the guards reacted in surprise to the answer given, a few looking back at the mansion with uncertainty.
What do they want? he asked the guard captain.
Since the Calanthes had long accustomed their people to their gifts the captain did not flinch from the contact with his mind. Zykriel waited for the latter’s response through the mental link he’d opened.
Your lord spouse wishes to visit, Dyhar, came the reply. Shall I turn them away?
Zykriel blinked. Qristan wished to visit? He was tempted to deny his mate entry. But his intrinsic fairness urged him to extend a charitable hand to the Deir he’d wed.
Nay, let them pass.
He barked orders at the retainers who’d come out of the house in curiosity. By the time the visitors rode up, the Calanthe butler and several servants and grooms had arrayed themselves on the steps behind Zykriel, prepared to receive the visitors. He did not bother to peruse the others in the party but took note of a small baggage wain in the rear which indicated the visitors intended to stay longer than a day.
Zykriel did not know whether to be annoyed or impressed with Qristan’s presumptuousness. Nonetheless he conferred with the butler who assured him accommodations would be quickly readied if necessary. He then stared coolly at his spouse, determined not to let him know how unsettling his presence was.
Qristan reined in his steed at the foot of the stairs and dismounted. He approached Zykriel, his hesitant smile indicating he was uncertain of his reception. From the low yet furious murmur of speculation behind him, Zykriel knew that uncertainty well-founded.
It was not every day a Deir left a marriage yet did not break it. Rumors had hounded him since his return, but loyal subjects that they were, the majority of Syvonnans had put the blame on the Shidaras.
When Qristan reached him, Zykriel politely held out his hand in welcome. He noted the clamminess of his mate’s fingers when they briefly shook hands. Not just uncertain, he thought. Nervous too.
“Welcome to Losshen,” he said.
“My thanks.” Qristan paused before adding, “I wasn’t sure you would admit me into your presence.”
“It would be boorish to turn my lawful spouse away.” Zykriel spared the other riders a fleeting glance. “Wherefore this visit?”
“I want to—” Qristan corrected himself. “I would like to make amends to you. Perhaps enough that you will reconsider your decision.”
Zykriel stared at him. “I hope you’re not aiming for a quick resolution. The reasons for our estragement can’t be taken lightly.”
“Nor do I take them lightly.” Qristan looked at him in appeal. “I’m at fault and I know it won’t be easy to regain your trust. If I ever do,” he added somewhat disconsolately.
Zykriel was unable to fully withstand his forlorn demeanor, so alike to his manner when they visited his birthing father’s grave.
He suppressed a sigh and said, “I assume you’ll be staying for a while.”
“If you allow it,” Qristan replied, a hopeful note in his voice.
“How long?”
“My escort will return to Medav tomorrow morn. But for myself, a sennight at least. Mayhap longer if I don’t wear out my welcome by then.”
Zykriel nodded and gestured to the butler to take charge. He eyed Qristan curiously.
“Why didn't you write to inform me you were coming?”
“You demanded there be no communication between us by letter or mind-speech. But you didn't forbid me to come here.”
Zykriel could not help admiring the audacity of his spouse. Not to mention courage. It took a lot of gall to journey here uninvited. He could not quite hold back the beginnings of a smile. But then he looked past Qristan and all feelings of amity dissolved into the ether.
His eyes narrowed when Davian came around from behind his steed, bearing two travelling packs that indicated he was here to stay as well.
He’d hoped Qristan would dismiss his aide but was not too surprised that he’d retained him. The Deir was a part of the circumstances that had led to their separation, but he was not the main cause. While he’d contributed to the misconceptions Zykriel had harbored about his relationship with his spouse, he could not be faulted for Qristan’s failure to correct said misconceptions. And since Qristan had not witnessed the worst of Davian’s insolence toward Zykriel, it stood to reason he would not think the Deir deserving of dismissal particularly now that Zykriel had left Elana. What he could not fathom was why his mate chose to ignore the impropriety of bringing Davian to Losshen.
“Was it necessary to take him along?” he sharply asked.
Qristan glanced back just as Vilsom joined the aide who was now speaking with the Calanthe butler. When he faced Zykriel once more, he looked puzzled.
“You know I always take them both when I travel far,” he said. “But you needn’t worry about putting up with Davian. I ordered him not to approach you,” he added.
Zykriel resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. For such an intelligent Deir, Qristan could be so obtuse. He held onto his temper especially when he saw Davian look their way with the hint of a smirk on his lips. Zykriel refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly his presence affected him. He summoned a retainer.
“Have Viarl Shidara conducted to the willow room. I'll have you fetched at dinnertime,” he addressed Qristan.
If he was confused by Zykriel’s brusque manner or the impersonal use of his title, Qristan did not let on. Instead he thanked Zykriel for accommodating him, waited for the servants to pick up his baggage and followed them into the house. Zykriel watched him go with enough disquiet to ensure a sleepless night.
He had chosen the guest suite farthest from his own apartment. He would not chance bumping into Qristan every time he left his rooms.
The butler approached him. “I will billet Lord Shidara’s escort in the barracks, Dyhar, and there are more than enough spare rooms below stairs for his valet and aide. But the aide informed me that he isn't accustomed to living with the servants.”
There was the faintest sniff of indignation as the butler finished speaking. Zykriel thought Davian an arrogant idiot to behave superciliously toward household staff not of his master’s. He was only a step or so higher in social status than most retainers and indeed less than equal to the household adjutants and tenured butlers of the great houses.
Davian had not behaved that way with the castle attendants in Elana. What had possessed the fool to act all puffed up and think himself superior to the Calanthe butler?
He was about to insist the Deir share a room with Vilsom when Davian looked at him in that subtly challenging manner he'd previously employed with much success. Zykriel knew it was to goad him into putting the aide in his place in a manner unworthy of his station. Davian would then complain to Qristan that Zykriel was mistreating him. While he did not think his spouse would pay attention to something so trivial, the thought of giving Davian an excuse to smear him anew was irksome.
“House him with the stablehands,” he decided.
The butler’s eyebrows shot up. The Deir started to smirk before he remembered the impropriety of the behavior. He nodded and strode back to the aide.
Zykriel observed Davian as the latter was informed of his quartering. The Deir frowned uncertainly, but the butler turned away giving him no choice but to hoist his packs and follow him into the house. Zykriel smiled.
He could imagine Davian’s face when he was led straight through the mansion to the back entrance and conducted to the lodgings behind the stables where the grooms resided. He would be lodged in a bedroom with up to five others and share two bathing rooms and a single nearby outhouse with a dozen Deira as opposed to having only Vilsom as a roommate and the use of any of four large communal bathing rooms and several privies in the long shed just across the yard from the servants’ entrance.
Perhaps it was not a noble course of action, but the pleasure it accorded Zykriel made it very much worth his while.
––––––––
The Herun and Heris returned the following day unaware of their errant law-son’s presence at Calanthe House. To say they were taken aback was putting it politely. Aghast was closer to the mark, not to mention beyond indignant on their son’s behalf. Had Qristan displayed the tiniest bit of entitlement to Zykriel’s company, Desriq and Ildris might have thrown courtesy into the gutter and kicked every Medavin off the estate.
“Why in Aisen did you allow him to stay?” Desriq demanded. “He hurt you. He betrayed you for pity’s sake!”
Zykriel grimaced. Truth be told, he was starting to regret his decision.
The hours before his parents’ arrival had not been easy for him. Playing the gracious host had been painfully awkward. Additionally it had peeved him every time Davian entered the house even if he did not come near Zykriel. And it rankled that Qristan still did not seem to comprehend he was inflicting even more damage on their cracked union by continuing to avail of his aide’s service.
“He’s still my mate,” he replied. “I was being hospitable. Besides, what would it gain me to be hostile to him?”
“Peace of mind and heart?” Ildris acidly suggested.
Zykriel chuckled humorlessly. “And maintaining incivility between us will give me peace? Nay, what peace I’ve known since returning has naught to do with being apart from him. It’s being home that’s helped me. I never felt at home in Medav or that I was part of the family. I was always an outsider to the Shidaras and now I know it was with good cause.”
“Yet you invited a Shidara into our home,” Desriq said. “You might as well have released a serpent on the premises.”
“Qristan isn’t like the Prime or Diarmin. Yes, he’s too weak to gainsay his family’s wishes and self-absorbed enough to play with my feelings. But his cruelty isn’t born of malice and he isn’t as ruthless or cold-hearted as Diarmin. I don’t trust him, but I can’t hate him.”
Ildris let out a huff. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
“And if I am?”
“Enough to hope for reconciliation of some sort. That’s why you welcomed him.”
“Perhaps.”
“Saints above! How can you even consider mending matters between you?”
“Would it be an issue if I didn’t love him? If this were still just a marriage of convenience?” Zykriel took his father’s hands in his and kissed them. “Rest you, Ama, I’m not about to reconcile with him. And mayhap our marriage can’t be repaired. But I’m not going to make an enemy of Qristan just to spite him. Even if we never reunite as spouses, it would be better for everyone, indeed for both our realms, if we can be friends.”
Ildris sighed and glanced at Desriq. The Herun’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Zykriel with something approaching helplessness.
“I won’t interfere. You’re a full grown Deir with a mind of your own. But you can’t expect me or your father to feel kindly toward the knave who hurt you so. Don’t ask it of us.”
Zykriel gave his sire a quick hug. “I won’t. Qristan will have to earn your good will on his own.” He looked from Desriq to Ildris. “Now come, join me for dinner. It’s been most uncomfortable dining alone with him. I’d rather not soldier through another meal on my own.”
To his relief, his parents set themselves to helping him entertain Qristan albeit with as much restraint as they could get away with without making their unwillingness too obvious to ignore. And Ildris made it his mission to keep Davian from attending to his master by appropriating his time as much as possible.
Since it was his prerogative as castellan of Calanthe House to require every retainer’s attendance whether they were a member of the household or part of a guest’s entourage, Qristan could not refuse him his aide’s service. Nor could Davian balk at being repeatedly called away from his side.
Whether Qristan knew what Ildris was about, Zykriel did not care. But his gratitude to his father knew no bounds as he savored long periods in his mate’s company free of the Deir whose very visage he could not abide. And if Qristan was willing to forego his aide’s attendance in order to keep the peace, Zykriel was not about to sniff at the opportunity to rebuild amicability between them even if he was leery of forging anything greater than the simple accord of friends.
It was less of a drain on him to maintain civility with his estranged spouse when the time they spent together was untainted by an interloper’s presence.