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Gilmael and Dylen entered the interrogation room for the second time in as many days. They approached Selvin who sat on the stool Imri had occupied the previous afternoon. He looked far from confident, but he straightened his shoulders and gamely addressed Gilmael before the latter could speak.
“Ho now, Gil! Are you here to pry a confession out of me? Surely you know you’ll get no such thing when I only did my duty.”
Gilmael stared at him. “Duty?” he repeated acidly. “What duty demands the murder of innocent folk?”
“I told you it was Viraz who—”
The blow Gilmael dealt left him with a bruised chin, a bleeding lip and an unfinished accusation. Cupping his swelling jaw in his palm, Selvin stared at Gilmael in shock.
“You killed them,” Gilmael growled. “Just as you tried to destroy Imri’s name.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Dylen stepped forward and glared at Selvin until he lowered his eyes.
“It’s useless to claim innocence,” he coldly said. “We know you drugged Imri’s drink and planted a false memory in his mind. The archivists confirmed it was you who filled his cup.”
Selvin swallowed hard. His eyes darted to and fro as he looked everywhere except at Dylen.
“Imri acted on that false memory and thus enabled you to report that you’d seen him enter Gil’s office. You then took the files and the list and used them accordingly to cast suspicion of treason on him.”
Selvin’s head snapped up and he glared defiantly. “You can’t know that,” he sneered. “Nobody could have seen—” He abruptly shut his mouth and his eyes widened in dismay.
Gilmael rolled his eyes. This was another reason he’d never sent Selvin on a foreign assignment.
“So there was something to be seen.”
“Nay, I didn’t mean—”
“And when we released Imri, you followed him home—”
“I only wanted to keep an eye on—”
“Slaughtered his household—”
“They attacked me—”
“Threatened to kill his son if he didn’t confess to the murders—”
“I didn’t threaten the child, you misunderstood—”
“All that just to cover up your attempt to incriminate him!” Gilmael caught Selvin by the front of his tunic and yanked him close. “You murdered several Deira and forced Imri to poison himself. For what? What could possibly justify such foul behavior?”
Selvin gazed at him, his expression one of terror and something Gilmael couldn’t identify. A moment later, he let out a sob and suddenly pressed his mouth against Gilmael’s in a desperate kiss.
Gilmael tore his lips away and flung Selvin from him. The Deir landed in a heap on the stone floor. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Gilmael glared at him in shock. The guards and agents around them all bore expressions of surprise and disgust. Dylen on the other hand stared at Selvin in appalled comprehension.
“Holy saints, you’re in love with him!”
“He’s what?” Gilmael demanded.
“He’s in love with you. That was his reason. To eliminate a rival.”
Gilmael scoffed. “They were never rivals. To claim that they are is to say I hold affection for him equal to what I feel for Imri.”
“That’s exactly why he tried to destroy him.” Dylen bent and hauled Selvin up on his knees by his collar. “You’d forced yourself to be contented with mere friendship. So long as Gil didn’t love anyone, you could endure your unrequited passion for him. But Imri came and won what you could never gain. So you tried to turn Gil against him in the hope he’d cast him aside. Failing that, you decided to kill him out of some idiotic notion it would restore you in Gil’s regard. You didn’t know we’d already discovered what you’d done.”
Selvin wept. He reached out beseechingly to Gilmael. “I’ve loved you for so long. Ever since our university days. But you never noticed. You didn’t care for me the same way. I bore all your affairs, all your lovers though it hurt so to watch others have what you never gave me.”
He wrenched himself out of Dylen’s grip and staggered to his feet. He turned to Gilmael, his hands raised piteously. “But you loved none of them and that helped me bear the pain. I thought, if I waited long enough, you might finally see me. You might learn to love me. And it was about to happen. You were so kind, so generous with me. I was closer to you than anyone else save for Dylen. I was on the verge of gaining my wish at long last.”
Selvin did not seem to notice Gilmael’s horror and revulsion. “But Viraz came,” he spat. “He ruined everything. He took your attention, your friendship. He took you away from me. So I had to get rid of him. I pray you understand. I did it for us.”
“There is no us!” Gilmael bellowed. “You were never more to me than a friend and a piss poor one it’s now clear! Holy saints! You’re insane to think I would have ever taken you to my bed, much less to mate.”
“Why not?” Selvin pleaded wretchedly. “Why don’t you want me?”
Gilmael laid a contemptuous stare on him. “I feel no attraction to you. No lust or affection beyond a friend’s due. And that you’ve forfeited irrevocably. You’re a fool and a murderer and no better than the lowest scum who infest the south district. May Veres have mercy on you. I can find none in me.”
“Nay, you don’t mean that! You can’t mean that! I love you. I—”
Dylen cut him off with a punch to the side of his face. “Take him to the eastside nick,” he commanded the guard captain.
Selvin not surprisingly protested the choice of prison. Located about a half league away from the city, the highly guarded eastside nick housed the vilest and most dangerous of Rikara’s felons. It was not uncommon for newcomers to be beaten half to death by their cell mates within days of their incarceration. Upperclass Rikarans and Deira guilty of minor misdemeanors or awaiting trial were usually sent to the city prison in the south district.
The guards marched Selvin out of the room. All the while he babbled about his devotion to Gilmael, sickening everyone who heard. When blessed silence finally fell upon them, Gilmael looked at Dylen, shaken and heartsore.
“I was so blind,” he whispered. “I didn’t see. I didn’t recognize his feelings for me.”
Dylen shook his head. “You’re not alone. He hid them well. Don’t let him tack on another reason to feel guilty over this whole sordid business.”
Gilmael’s mouth tightened. “I don’t need another reason. Were each instance of guilt a brick, I dare say I already have more than enough to build myself a mansion.”
“Gil, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t own myself as great a fool as Selvin? As cruel and delusional and selfish?”
“Stop!” Dylen gave him a little shake. “If you wish to flagellate yourself, do it later. For now, you have duties to perform and you’ll perform them as excellently as you’ve taught everyone to expect of you.”
––––––––
He returned to the hospital around noontide. He’d ordered all Ministry employees to hold their tongues about the incident on pain of dishonorable dismissal. He’d then signed the documents Dylen prepared committing Selvin to prison until his trial. Afterward, he went to the Citadel to inform Rohyr of what had happened.
The royal residence loomed over the east district, not only because of its location atop the hill upon which it stood, but also due to its sheer size and height. A multi-level cluster of buildings of white stone, steel and glass, it was both castle and fortress and the kingdom’s seat of power. It was home to generations of Essendris since before the Inception.
His cousin had been most displeased as he related everything including his handling of the situation. He did not hold back anything. Rohyr would have sensed his guilt and having to pry out the reason would have irritated him even more.
Rohyr’s response had pricked his pride worse than a stingtail’s toxic jab, but Gilmael still counted himself lucky to come away with an acerbic, “I thought your parents taught you better than that.”
When he entered Imri’s room, he felt the change in atmosphere almost at once. Imri laid a wary gaze on him so glacial Gilmael would not have been surprised to see icicles hanging from the ceiling. He slowly walked to the bed wondering how close he could get before Imri ordered him out. But the latter said nothing while he pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
“Selvin confessed,” he announced after an awkward silence. “He’s been sent to the eastside nick for now.”
Imri raised one eyebrow. “Eastside? I thought bluebloods were sent to the south district prison.”
Gilmael shook his head. “Not for crimes as horrific as his. They’ll earn him lifelong incarceration if by some miracle the courts don’t send him to the gallows.”
“I see.” Imri’s tone remained cool and distant. “What was his reason?”
“Not so much what as who.”
Imri stared at him in puzzlement. And then his eyes widened. “You?”
Gilmael proceeded to give an account of Selvin’s interrogation. Afterward, he waited for Imri’s reaction, hoping for the best but expecting the very worst.
Imri’s eyes had narrowed as he processed the tale. He released a huff while a small bitter smile curved his mouth.
“Why am I not surprised?” he murmured.
He stared at Gilmael, eyes gleaming speculatively. Gilmael stared back, anxiety making his belly churn. When Imri did not speak again, he said, “Eiren treated you last night. He discovered you were ... breeding.”
“Were?”
“They haven’t told you?” At Imri’s scowl, Gilmael reluctantly explained, “The poison killed the feotus.”
“Ah.” Imri’s eyes glistened and his lips trembled.
Gilmael took a deep breath. “Was I the sire?”
Imri blinked. His mouth tightened. “Obviously,” he curtly said.
“Was it an accident?”
“Nay.” Imri’s eyes hardened. “I deliberately conceived. Mishar and I are the only Virazes left who can still continue our line. I didn’t want to place that burden on him alone, more so if he would have to resort to breeding out of wedlock should no one care to marry into a family stained by treason. I hoped a child of Calanthe blood even if tainted with bastardy would prove acceptable to Deira of decent name.”
Gilmael swallowed a surge of anger at the thought of Mishar debasing himself to ensure the survival of his line. He realized a scant second later that it was exactly what his sire had done in the hopes of sparing him such a fate. Sorrow soon followed as he registered in full that the babe’s loss was as much his as Imri’s.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If there’s any way I can help—”
“Why do you think did my grandsire attempt to slay yours?”
The non sequitur took Gilmael aback and dispelled his grief. He considered his answer. The reason for Idren Viraz’s actions was hardly flattering for his family. But Imri waited and he finally replied.
“It’s said he went mad after the Ardan Keldon rejected his petition to restore the title to your family.”
Imri scoffed. “Think you really that would have been enough to drive anyone insane? Opa didn’t expect anything to come of his petition.”
“Then why did he seek the reversal?”
“Almost every head of our House did so.”
“What drove him insane then?”
“Nothing. He wasn’t mad in the least.”
Gilmael stared in surprise. “What?”
“It was vengeance he craved.”
Surprise gave way to bewilderment. “For what?”
“The death of his son, Alveon, my sire’s younger brother, whom your grandsire forced his heir Varan to abandon once it was learned he was with child.” Imri’s voice was as hard his gaze. “Your uncle’s child.”
“Uncle Varan?” Gilmael shook his head. “That can’t be. Aba would have told us.”
Imri’s smile was as bitter as the hemlock that nearly killed him. “Why would he if he wished to keep the name Calanthe unblighted in your eyes?”
Gilmael glared at him, but he knew there was no force or heat in it. Imri did too for he stared back challenging him to deny it. For a moment, Gilmael considered suggesting that they speak mind to mind for a swifter telling of the story. But he remembered he would not be permitted such an intimacy now.
At length, he let his frustration get the better of him and he snapped, “Explain.”
Imri’s smile widened but there was neither humor nor pleasure in it. “If you insist,” he sarcastically said. He leaned back against the pillows and folded his arms across his chest.
“Varan conducted a forbidden affair with Alveon. Unfortunately, they were careless and he got Alveon with child. When my grandsire Idren discovered he was breeding and who the sire was, he demanded Varan marry his son and preserve his honor.” His tone grew mocking. “Unsurprisingly, Rygan and Egris Calanthe rejected his proposal. Your grandparents were so leery of kinship with their foremost rival, so afraid my family would try to regain our title and lands through marriage, they forbade Varan from contacting Alveon again. My aba later learned that they confined him in your most remote manor in Jhonu. I understand the area is mountainous and thickly forested and therefore difficult to translocate from unless one is skilled enough. Evidently Varan was not. Nor was he gifted enough to attempt mind-speech from afar.”
Imri’s voice grew hushed though it lost none of its rancour. “Alveon didn’t know this and thought himself abandoned by a faithless lover. He killed himself just three weeks shy of birthing.” He glowered at Gilmael, the fire in his eyes at variance with the iciness of his tone. “That is what drove Idren Viraz to attempt to slay Rygan Calanthe. He dearly loved his son and was enraged by his mistreatment and death. Do you know Varan took his own life as well?”
Shocked by yet another revelation, Gilmael could only dumbly shake his head.
“He returned to Syvonna after Alveon died. By then my grandsire had been arrested and arraigned. But the authorities took pity on him on account of his age and poor health and they allowed him to await his trial in a friend’s house in Syvonna. He believed Varan had left of his own volition and his vengefulness reawakened when word of his return reached him. Opa was determined to evade the humiliation of a public trial and the hardship of imprisonment, but he decided to strike one last time at your family. He wrote to your uncle detailing how Alveon threw himself from the highest tower of King’s Hollow in his grief at being forsaken. He arranged for the letter to be sent in the name of a friend Varan had in common with Alveon.”
Gilmael felt dread expand in his breast as he guessed what was coming.
“Varan hanged himself that night. As soon as he heard of his suicide, my grandsire took poison. Shortly after, Egris passed away too. What sickness killed him I don’t know, but following his death Rygan abdicated and took up residence in Jhonu where he’d confined Varan. He became a recluse and never appeared in public again. Thus did your sire become Herun of Losshen though he was a younger son and his sire still lived.”
Silence fell as Gilmael struggled to digest the information. He vaguely recalled a visit as a child to a bleak and isolated estate, far smaller than Calanthe House and much less comfortable, where an aged Deir pottered around the windswept grounds. The Deir had placed shaking weathered hands on his and Zykriel’s heads as Desriq introduced them and then instructed the twins to address him as Opa. Gilmael remembered being confused since the only grandparents he knew were Ildris’s aba and ama. Neither did he have any memory of his Calanthe oda, Desriq’s birthing father.
Looking back, Gilmael recalled how deeply etched his grandsire’s wizened face had been with a haunting sadness and something else he had not recognized at the time. Now he realized it was remorse so excruciating and unabating, it had become a canker that was killing the Deir from inside.
They returned to Syvonna the next day. He never saw Rygan Calanthe again. A year and a half later, Desriq brought home his sire’s ashes which he interred in the family burial vault on the perimeter of the estate alongside his long-dead mate’s urn.
Gilmael shuddered slightly at the memories. “How was this kept a secret all these years? If everything you told me is true, why didn’t your family speak up and defend Idren’s honor?”
“Speak up?” Imri snorted. “How does one speak up when the Ardan himself has demanded one’s silence?” At Gilmael’s disbelieving stare, he said, “Keldon warned Aba not to reveal the truth to anyone on pain of the imposition of more prohibitions. It was he who had all tales about Varan and Alveon suppressed or debunked and allowed the lie about my grandsire’s motives to prosper. To be fair, he did compensate my sire for his losses. He lifted the proscriptions banning our family from government service and taking up residence outside of Losshen. He also reversed a number of property forfeitures imposed by Wylan Essendri.”
Gilmael was startled. “Wylan, not Diorn?”
“Wylan died a year after the rebellion was put down and in that remaining time he exacted as much vengeance as he could on all who’d supported Rovar. The quickest way was to seize their lands and holdings. When Diorn became Ardan, he stripped the rebel families of their titles and power as well, but returned enough of the confiscated holdings so as not to deprive them of income. He didn’t want it said it was he who’d reduced them to penury. That was prudent of him. He didn’t make mortal enemies of the bluebloods he disenfranchised and gained the loyalty of many before his reign ended. I rather think he passed his wisdom and perspicacity to Rohyr for all the generations between them. They sound very alike.”
“Do you think Rohyr knows the truth?”
“Very likely. It was his sire who demanded our silence.”
“Yet he’s never said a word to either Zykriel or me. He could have when he learned you and I were constantly at odds at university. And he should have when I informed him you’d been transferred to Intelligence.”
“To what end? I highly doubt Rohyr wishes to rake up the failings of the Royal House or disillusion you with revelations of perfidy committed by your family.”
Gilmael had to admit Imri was right. He blew his breath out. “Who else knows?”
“Outside of my parents, your sire and Rohyr? None.”
That meant the facts would likely never surface. Folk would continue to believe the lie that Idren Viraz rose up against the Calanthes in an attempt to retrieve what he deemed rightfully his. People would pass on the tale that Varan Calanthe had sickened and died when he’d misguidedly spent the winter at the family’s least sheltered manor. And as for Alveon, he’d been little known beyond the borders of Losshen’s former capital. Few outside of Delaris had been aware of a second Viraz son. Gilmael had not known and he was supposed to know such things.
“You said there are only you and Mishar left to carry on your name,” he ventured. “But I recall a cadet line that also goes by Viraz.”
“That line died out five generations back,” Imri said. “Diorn was compassionate enough to leave his foes with the means to comfortably sustain themselves. But he wasn’t so forgiving as to spare them from inevitable extinction. He knew that descent from attaindered stock would all but guarantee the end of a line since few would care to be linked to such families through wedlock. Of all the great families at the time of the Interregnum who’d come under attainder, only a third still survive. Just a scant handful have marriageable scions. And most endure reduced circumstances though admittedly due to their own imprudence. Thankfully my foresires wisely invested their monies and even managed to increase our holdings. But all our wealth cannot cleanse the stain on our name.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Imri shrugged. “The wages of choosing the wrong side as you once pointed out. I was fortunate Medril accepted my suit. We planned to have at least two children, but then he died. I still hoped to marry again. But family after family turned me down. I finally decided to carry a child myself, but I wasn’t willing to settle for just anyone. The sire had to be someone of unimpeachable name and family so that prospective mates would be willing to overlook my son’s surname.”
Gilmael winced at Imri’s reasoning. “That’s why you decided to have a child by me? To ensure the continuation of your line?”
He started at Imri’s angry growl. “That was my reason for having a child out of wedlock,” Imri snapped. “It wasn’t the reason I chose you. Call me a sentimental fool but I wanted a child born of love and I thought—” He cut himself off and drew a deep breath. “Aba says Uncle Alveon was severely chastised for falling in love with a Calanthe. But the events that followed showed he’d chosen right. Varan proved a faithful lover after all.”
A wistful expression appeared on Imri’s face. “I dearly hope they found each other in the hereafter or in whatever lives they’ve been reborn into.” The expression vanished. “I dared to follow Alveon’s example despite my parents’ protests. But unlike my uncle, I chose wrong. Veres was merciful in taking the babe away for he had not been conceived in mutual love.”
He trained a venomous glare on Gilmael. “I am nothing like Alveon was to Varan. I was never more than a trophy to you so you could boast that you’d seduced and bedded the heir of your family’s greatest foe!”
Gilmael had listened in growing horror. Now he cut in, desperate to refute Imri’s accusations. “That isn’t so! As Veres is my witness, I didn’t make a conquest of you. I care for you though I know I didn’t show it well enough. I just couldn’t have my people question my credibility. They were starting to once our affair became known.”
Imri laughed harshly. “Liar! Had you truly cared for me, you wouldn’t have distrusted me so easily and based on paltry evidence. You would have given me the benefit of the doubt until you had proof of my guilt. And you wouldn’t have made a spectacle of my arrest in front of Mishar who you’ve repeatedly professed to hold dear. Nor would you have humiliated me before my peers such that I may no longer show my face to them.”
“I’ll retract everything! I’ll tell them I was wrong.”
“And Mishar? How will you make amends for the trauma you caused him?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll do my utmost to fix the damage I wrought.”
“And will you also fix the ruination of our relationship? Can you? I know now that you don’t trust me; perhaps you never did. Pray tell, how can I trust you with my heart, faithless lover you’ve proved to be.”
“I know what I did is nigh unforgivable. But I beg you, Im,” Gilmael desperately pleaded. “Let me make amends.”
“Enough!” Imri turned his face away. “Leave and don’t return.”
Gilmael swallowed hard. “What ... what will you do?”
“Mishar and I will return to Delaris.”
“I see.” Gilmael reluctantly rose to his feet and started for the door. He stopped midway and turned around. He softly said, “I know I have no right to ask this of you but...” He drew a shaky breath. “Will you allow me to bid Mishar farewell when you leave Rikara?”
Imri turned an incredulous glare on him. “You ask much, Calanthe.” After a pause, he said, “If Mishar desires to see you, I’ll send word when you may come by. Now go.”
Gilmael left with a heavy heart. It rankled that Imri had shown himself the better Deir. He’d repaid Gilmael’s callous treatment with magnanimity. It mattered little that it was for Mishar’s sake. He’d still proved himself capable of a generosity of spirit that seemed to have eluded Gilmael’s grasp.
––––––––
Five days later, Imri sent word of their imminent departure. Gilmael dropped everything though it was the middle of the day and hastened to the Viraz residence. His throat tightened when he caught sight of the large carriage outside, its roof and back laden with luggage and other belongings. He dismounted and entered the open front door.
There were a few servants about probably come from Delaris. They had covered or wrapped the furnishings on the ground floor and rolled up the rugs and tucked them under the couch and tables. They were likely doing the same upstairs.
Gilmael stood in the foyer uncertainly, wondering if he should ascend to the upper floor and look for Imri. But before he could ask a servant, Mishar came tearing down the stairs, his pup in his arms. He was clad in traveling clothes, a dark cape draped around his small shoulders. Gilmael got down on one knee and held his arms out to the child.
“Lord Gil! I knew you’d come!”
Mishar handed Shibi to a servant before hurtling into Gilmael’s arms. He buried his face in Gilmael’s chest and started crying softly.
“Aba says we have to go back to Losshen. I don’t want to but he said we must. Can’t you tell him we don’t have to? Please tell him. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”
Gilmael blinked back his own tears. Mishar’s entreaties just about wrecked him as did his continued affection. How could the child still trust him?
“I can’t,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, poppet.” I lost the right and for the most inexcusable of reasons, he sadly thought as Mishar clung to him even more tightly.
“But I won’t be able to see you anymore if we go,” the tot sobbed.
“I know,” Gilmael whispered. “Verily, it breaks my heart.”
He ran his fingers through Mishar’s fair locks, breathing deeply of his sweet scent in an attempt to commit it to memory.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, kissing the top of the toddler’s head.
“I’ll miss you too.” Mishar hiccuped brokenly. “I’ll miss you every day.”
Gilmael heard someone clear his throat. He looked up to see Imri standing a few paces away. He refused to meet Gilmael’s gaze and kept his eyes on his son.
“It’s time to go, Mish,” he quietly said.
Gilmael stood up but Mishar refused to let go, throwing his arms around his legs instead. He looked over his shoulder at Imri, his expression pleading.
“Aba, can Lord Gil visit us at King’s Hollow?”
Both Gilmael and Imri started at the plea. They looked briefly at each other before Imri returned his gaze to his child.
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” he started to say.
“Why?” Mishar finally released Gilmael and turned to face his sire. “He’s our friend. Why can’t he visit us? I want him to visit us. Please, Aba, say yes.”
Confronted with his son’s tearful countenance, it appeared Imri could not refuse him.
“If Lord Gilmael wishes it,” he said, looking up with an expression that clearly indicated he expected Gilmael to decline.
But Mishar gazed up at him looking so hopeful yet apprehensive, Gilmael could not disappoint him either.
“Of course I wish it,” he softly said. He gazed at Imri, silently begging him to understand.
Imri shook his head and sighed. “Very well, he may visit you.”
Gilmael flinched at the specific reference to Mishar. But he schooled his wince into a smile for the child’s sake.
“I’ll see you in Delaris,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage.
“You promise?”
“I promise. Now thank your aba for his graciousness.”
Mishar ran to Imri and happily embraced him. “Thank you, Aba! You’re the bestest aba in the whole world!”
Gilmael was torn between laughter and tears at the fervent declaration. He could see Imri was conflicted too.
“We really must go,” Imri murmured. “Say goodbye to Lord Gilmael.”
Mishar hurried back for one last hug and a peck to Gilmael’s cheek. “Goodbye, Lord Gil. Come to King’s Hollow very soon.”
“I will, Mish-min,” Gilmael thickly said.
He let the child go and followed him and his sire out the door and down to the street. He watched them board the carriage, his throat clogged with unshed tears. When the conveyance pulled away from the pedestrian path, Mishar stuck his head out the window to call out more goodbyes and wave frantically at him. Gilmael forced himself to grin and wave back until the carriage disappeared into the traffic along Belvas Lane.
It was the most agonizing farewell Gilmael had ever known, Worse than his parting from Zykriel in Medav. That pain had been soothed by the assurance they would see each other again and the knowledge that their fraternal bond could not be severed by the greatest distance or longest time apart. But this parting held no lasting guarantees.
He would see Mishar again. But there was no certainty he would be allowed a second time. As for Imri...
Gilmael choked back a sob. There was no place for him in Imri’s life now. No chance to redeem himself in his beloved’s eyes. For that was what he was despite Gilmael’s refusal to admit the depth of his feelings for the silver-haired Deir.
Ariad.
He had lost his first true love. His only love. And he alone was to blame.