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As soon as he lost sight of the Viraz carriage, Gilmael mounted his steed and headed at almost breakneck speed for the Citadel. He stormed down the hallways toward his brother’s quarters forcing many a courtier and servant to leap out of his way or risk being mowed down. He knew word of his aggressive passage would reach Rohyr before long but for once he did not care. Nay, not even if his royal cousin dealt him an equally royal dressing down.
He did not give Zykriel a chance to return his curt greeting but shouldered past his twin into the sitting room of his suite, turned around and demanded he join him in mind-speech with their parents. Zykriel stared at him as if he’d lost his wits.
“You come here uninvited and unannounced and proceed to dictate your wishes to me,” he acidly said. “Pray tell, why should I reward your boorish behavior with compliance?”
Gilmael ran a hand through his already unruly hair while spewing invectives under his breath which served to annoy Zykriel even more.
“What in Aisen has got into you?”
Before he could say more, Gilmael exclaimed, “I’m sorry! Sweet Veres, you must think me mad! Well, I’m not. I’m just beset—” He stopped and closed his eyes. “How did it come to this?” he whispered.
Zykriel grabbed him by a shoulder and shook him slightly. “You’re not making sense. What has happened? What’s upset you so?”
“They’re gone,” Gilmael muttered.
“Who’s gone?”
“Imri. Mishar.”
Zykriel frowned. “Gone as in they’ve left Rikara?” When Gilmael nodded, he asked, “Whither did they go? Losshen?” Again, Gilmael dipped his chin in affirmation. “So, they’ve gone home. Why such sorrow? It isn’t as if you won’t see them again.”
“Imri has broken with me,” Gilmael blurted. “If he had his way, I wouldn’t see them again. It’s only because of Mishar that I still stand a chance to make amends. I don’t even know if I can make amends. Sweet Veres, what will I do?”
“Hold that thought,” Zykriel ordered him. He led him to the small corner table and bade him to sit down. He then poured them both strong whisky though it was early afternoon. Taking the opposite seat, he said, “Start at the beginning. Mind to mind.”
Gilmael bit his lower lip then closed his eyes and linked his mind to his twin’s. In a matter of minutes, the whole story unfolded, ending with Imri and his son’s departure. When they emerged from their silent conversation, he was near tears once more and Zykriel was in a state of shock.
“How did so many earthshaking revelations and events pass without so much as a squeak from you?” he finally managed to say. “Selvin’s scheme alone merited some— Wait, you informed Rohyr but didn’t think to tell me?”
“It was my duty to inform him, but I couldn’t bear for anyone else to learn of my idiocy. And, yes, that is the height of idiocy in itself, but I just couldn’t.”
“And I suppose you asked him and Dylen to hold their tongues.”
“Nay, if they’ve kept this mess to themselves, it’s likely out of pity for me.”
“But surely you knew it would all eventually come out. Eiren will have told Ashrian by now who will have likely contacted Aeldan for more information which will have piqued his curiosity in turn. He’s probably rooting around for the truth as we speak.”
Gilmael sighed. “He has rooted it out. Dylen says Keosqe and Jareth cornered him this morn and demanded he explain what Aeldan was talking about.”
“So I was in the dark while a number of our cousins already had an inkling of something gone wrong in your Ministry.” Zykriel scowled in displeasure. “May I trust I’ll be the first to know should something like this happen again?”
“I promise,” Gilmael muttered. “Saints, that’s all I seem to be saying these days.” He downed his whisky and stood up. “Will you join me now in confronting Aba?”
“Confront? I don’t think—”
“He knew and didn’t tell us. I want to know why.”
Zykriel pursed his lips, but finally agreed.
Sharing their mental energy to establish a stable link over the great distance, they swiftly contacted their parents. Desriq appeared in the blue-hued meeting place of their minds, Ildris following a heartbeat later. The Herun and Heris looked puzzled, as well as worried at the sudden summons from their sons.
Gilmael wasted no time broaching the reason for it. “Why didn’t you give us Idren Viraz’s true reason for wanting to slay Opa Rygan?”
Desriq gasped while Ildris looked at him in confusion. The Herun said, “Who told you? Rohyr?”
“So Rohyr does know.” Gilmael felt his anger mount more rapidly. “Imri told me.”
“Heyas! The Virazes swore an oath to keep their silence.”
“Under duress. Uncle Keldon gave them little choice though he sweetened the imposition with certain concessions.”
“What are you talking about?” Ildris demanded.
Desriq looked at his Heris uncertainly before asking Gilmael, “What do you know?”
Gilmael quickly recounted all that Imri had told him as well as the events that had led to the Viraz heir breaking his silence. By the time he ended his account, his anger had escalated and he let it loose on his sire.
“The Virazes were bound by an oath extracted from them by coercion. But you weren’t. You should have told us the truth. Instead you allowed us to believe the stories about them. Patent falsehoods swallowed by everyone and used to malign their honor and cast doubt on their loyalty to the Crown. Why? When did you become so craven as to permit the erosion of an entire family’s good name and repute?”
Ildris’s eyes flashed with ire and he stepped forward every inch the protective spouse. “That’s enough, Gilmael! Either speak to your sire with respect or don’t speak at all!”
“Ild,” Desriq murmured. He laid a soothing hand on his mate’s arm. “Gil is distraught. He didn’t intend to disrespect me.”
“Intent is no excuse for such behavior,” Ildris shot back. Gilmael opened his mouth to speak but his father preempted him. “You fault your sire for allowing those tales to stand as fact. Tales you say influenced your dealings with Imri. Are you saying you wouldn’t have treated him abominably had you known the truth? Is fair treatment contingent on an unblemished name?”
Gilmael paled at the accusation. With a whispered imprecation he made to leave the link. But Zykriel refused to let him, keeping him there by sheer will.
“We are showing ourselves no better than toddlers squabbling over who gets the biggest piece of cake,” he snapped. “Can we please discuss this like the grown Deira we purport to be?”
Ildris huffed but relented. “I’m sorry, Gil-min.”
“Nay, Ama, you only spoke your mind. That it was also the truth and hurt my pride is beside the point.” Gilmael looked repentantly at his sire. “Forgive me, Aba. You’re no coward and it was beyond the pale for me to say that you are. I’m just so heartsore and—” He fought to bring his tumultuous emotions under control. “Did you ... had you a part in keeping Varan and Alveon apart?”
Desriq shook his head. “I had no hand in that. I was away at university. I didn’t even learn of it until after Alveon died and Idren made the attempt on my sire’s life. Varan killed himself before I returned home.”
“Why didn’t you let the truth be known when you became Herun?’
“I wanted to, but Keldon enjoined me not to. Mind you, it wasn’t to protect our family. He wanted to maintain House Essendri’s reputation which was relatively scandal-free amongst all the ruling houses in the North Continent. I tried to reason that the truth wouldn’t smear the Essendri name since we aren’t in the line of succession. But he was adamant. As far as he was concerned, all actions undertaken by scions of our House could have far-reaching repercussions should those actions be used against us. He said thrones have fallen before when a ruler lost his people’s trust and support.”
“Thus the perpetuation of a ruinous lie,” Zykriel mused. “Who thought of it? Opa?”
“Nay, Keldon did.”
Gilmael scowled. “Just how lacking in confidence was he in his rule?”
“He had reason to be. He was but two years on the throne at the time and the country was still recovering from insurrection in Tenerith. Not as ruinous as the last one promised to be, but enough to sow fear and doubt amongst the populace. Keldon didn’t want to provide fodder for any who might speak against the Royal House. Not when feelings still ran high and his reign was just beginning.”
“I suppose he had good reason then,” Gilmael reluctantly admitted. “I’m surprised though. Even Imri believes it was Opa who came up with the lie.”
Desriq shook his head. “By then he was mired in shame and remorse. He was in no condition to think up such a story. And he didn’t have your Oda Egris for comfort either for he suddenly passed away. It was he who found Varan, you see. The shock and guilt was too much and his heart gave out. Your grandsire came to believe he was responsible for most of that debacle. Had he allowed Varan to communicate with Alveon, the chain of tragedies that followed might have been averted. So he judged himself unworthy of his title, abdicated within a month of your oda’s death and exiled himself to Jhonu. I oft feared he would take his life rather than languish in misery and obscurity. But he told me he didn’t deserve a quick or easy end. That he had to pay for his misdeeds. All those deaths weighed heavily on him. His guilt hounded him until the end of his life.”
“He told you...” Gilmael caught his breath. “Was that when you introduced us to him in Jhonu?”
“Yes. I wanted him to see you. I wanted him to know there was as much good that came from him as bad. He died with some measure of pride in his name and family restored.” Desriq smiled wanly at the twins. “Because of the both of you.”
––––––––
Gilmael looked around nervously, unsure of his welcome. He’d been to Delaris once and even met Hedhral and Alfaer Viraz, but that was before his majority. Desriq however had not brought his sons to the estate of Losshen’s former rulers due to the fairly recent renewal of bad blood between the two families. So this visit to King’s Hollow felt very much like entering enemy territory.
Nevertheless, he came alone despite Delaris being more than a day’s journey overland from Syvonna. It was customary for Ylandrin nobles travelling long distances to take an armed escort with them even if they did so via translocation. But Gilmael had not wanted anyone to bear witness to his attempts to make amends for his folly. Or see his humbling at the hands of the Deir he’d wrongly humbled.
The expansive grounds out front were awash in the reds and browns of autumn, but their majesty was not diminished in the least. A fitting introduction to the old and venerable mansion that was home to generations of Virazes. The architecture and many furnishings harked back not centuries but millennia. Calanthe House could not compare in age or history.
The Virazes originally lived in the city itself. Favorites of the Crown then, they’d often entertained the royal family in their Delaris mansion. The fourth Lord Viraz purchased all of the neighboring land part of which formed a shallow basin. There he built a luxurious hunting lodge for the pleasure of the reigning Ardan who was inordinately fond of the chase. Hence the name King’s Hollow. Eventually, the seventh Lord Viraz decided to move the family residence out of the city, tore down the lodge and began building what would become the imposing manor Gilmael looked upon today.
He glanced up when he dismounted before the great front door, shivering a little as he wondered which of the four towers Alveon Viraz had leaped from. When he entered the reception hall he realized all over again how ancient the building truly was.
Of course, he’d been in older residences. The homes of his cousins of Ilmaren, Sidona and Edessa for instance. And the Citadel was more ancient than any major structure in Ylandre save for the great temple of Ziana. But all had been contemporized in various degrees as time passed, each ruling lord refurbishing or rebuilding as he saw fit. Thus, evidence of those buildings’ ages were not always apparent, visible mainly in chambers, towers and galleries that had been left largely untouched.
Not so this manor. It was like stepping into the distant past. Gilmael suspected any modernizations had been limited to private areas such as the sleeping quarters or perhaps the kitchens. It seemed the Virazes had buttressed or repaired as needed rather than engaged in extensive renovations.
Gilmael returned his attention to the present, noting how the servants watched him warily. If they hailed from families that had served the Virazes for generations, it stood to reason they would be suspicious of a scion of the clan that had unseated their masters however long ago. He hoped they were unaware of his falling out with Imri. He did not wish to spend this one-day visit under the hostile regard of the household staff. It would be hard enough dealing with Imri’s parents if they displayed enmity toward him as well.
He drew a calming breath when Hedhral Viraz came down the stairway, eyeing him as cautiously as his servants had. He was long in years but still straight of back and steady of stride. His hair was more the white of age than lustrous silver, but it was clear where Imri had inherited his coloring. Gilmael waited for the Deir to greet him even though his higher station accorded him the privilege of addressing the Viraz patriarch first.
Hedhral bowed his head a fraction and said, “Welcome to King’s Hollow, Lord Gilmael. My grandson has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. He speaks very highly of you.”
Gilmael smiled briefly. “My thanks, Viraz-dyhar. It’s a pleasure to know Mishar looked forward to my visit.”
The Deir raised an eyebrow at his use of the high honorific but did not question it. Instead he turned slightly, extending his hand to indicate a wide corridor to the right of the stairs.
“My family is having a late breakfast on the east terrace. I was about to join them.”
Gilmael followed him, his heart starting to race the closer they came to the grilled doorway to the terrace. He tried to blow his breath out discreetly just before stepping onto the red-stone terrace floor.
Imri sat at a heavy wooden table, Mishar beside him and a graying Deir seated on the opposite side. The adults had just started their meal as evidenced by the still heaped serving dishes before them, but Mishar appeared to be nearly done with his bowl of porridge. The three looked up as Hedhral and Gilmael exited the house.
With a squeal, Mishar hopped down from his chair and dashed toward Gilmael, his eyes alight with excitement.
“You’re here, Lord Gil! I missed you so much!”
Gilmael swept him up into a hug then looked him over. “I missed you too, Mish-min. Is it my imagination or have you grown some since I last saw you?”
Mishar giggled. “Only a little bit,” he said, using his thumb and forefinger to measure his growth. “Aba says I won’t grow so much until I reach eighteen summers or so.”
“Your sire is right.” Gilmael swallowed his nervousness and putting Mishar down, turned his gaze on Imri. Sweet Veres, he’s more beautiful than I remember. He dipped his head and said, “You look well. Coming home seems to agree with you.”
Imri coolly replied, “It does.” He gestured to the Deir in front of him. “My father, Alfaer. I believe you’ve met.”
“Many years ago in town,” Alfaer confirmed. “You and your brother were at university, but I think it was before you met my son.”
“Yes, Dyhar,” Gilmael said, taking Alfaer aback as he had Hedhral. “We literally bumped into each other two years later.”
This time it was Imri who looked at him in some surprise. Obviously, he had not expected Gilmael to allude to their far from cordial first meeting with humor.
“We crashed more than bumped into each other,” he dryly corrected. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
He started to stand up though it was clear he’d barely eaten anything. Gilmael suspected it was to avoid being in his presence for long.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt your meal,” he quickly said. “Mish will show me around, won’t you, poppet?”
Mishar nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry, Aba,” he assured Imri. “I’ll take good care of Lord Gil.” He took Gilmael’s hand and pulled him toward the garden in back. “This way. Opa put in a bowling green last year. Would you like to try it?
As he followed the tot, Gilmael chanced a look back at the terrace. He felt a pang of disappointment when Imri did not so much as glance his way. But when he watched Mishar, a measure of joy tempered his sorrow.
It soothed his heart to know the child he’d come to cherish had much affection for him. If Imri never looked kindly upon him again, he would have his son’s loving regard to hold onto. He would teach himself to be content with that.
––––––––
At Mishar’s insistence, Hedhral invited him to join them for lunch and dinner. He accepted but almost regretted it when Imri not only sat as far from him as was politely possible, but also refused to say a word to him throughout each meal. Then he made himself scarce the whole day which deepened Gilmael’s unhappiness. But he kept the hurt to himself, speaking of it to no one, not even Zykriel when he returned to Rikara that night. He was to blame and deserved no comfort.
He visited King’s Hollow a half dozen more times in the span of two months. Each visit he hoped to see more of Imri even if just in passing. Each time he was disappointed.
Imri deigned to be present only when he arrived and departed and at mealtimes. His father spent more time with Gilmael, playing the gracious host to a guest. And Hedhral clearly did not relish keeping company with a Calanthe, but even he made an occasional appearance for courtesy’s sake.
It occurred to him during his latest visit that in granting Mishar’s wish, he was actually imposing on Imri which only exacerbated the awkwardness between them. That had surely affected the elder Virazes’ opinion of him as well. He debated the wisdom of coming back too often. Yet the part of him that still hoped and yearned balked at the thought of not seeing Imri or Mishar for a protracted period of time. Or worse, never again.
His worries seemed confirmed when he mentioned at dinner that he might not be able to return for a while due to work. It was not true, but he wanted to gauge the Virazes’ reactions. While Mishar pouted and looked woebegone and his grandparents politely murmured their sympathy regarding his hectic schedule, Imri accepted his announcement too readily for his liking. And then he excused himself as soon as manners allowed. Gilmael watched him go with renewed disappointment.
After dinner, as he walked with Mishar to the front entrance, he steeled himself for yet another strained encounter with his former lover. It was apparent that Imri just wanted to be done with any interaction with him. Why else did he discourage lengthy goodbyes? Today would likely be no different.
He was waiting by the door. Mishar hurried to him and said something that appeared to make him frown and fidget a bit. Gilmael wondered what was wrong. Before he could ask, Imri looked him straight in the eye, something he’d previously avoided.
“Mishar’s begetting day is six weeks hence,” he said. “We planned to celebrate it quietly, just the four of us. But my son reminded me that he’s entitled to guests.” He seemed to draw an exasperated breath. “Would you care to join us?”
Gilmael stared at him, rendered speechless by the unexpected invitation. He felt a tug on his hand and looked down into Mishar’s expectant face.
“Say yes, Lord Gil,” the child prompted. “You’re the only guest I asked for so if you don’t come I shan’t have any.”
“Is that so?” Gilmael glanced at Imri. “Well, if your aba agrees—”
“He does!” Mishar interrupted. “That’s why he invited you.”
“Ah...” Gilmael smiled, his heart swelling with love for the tot. “Then, yes, I will come to your celebration, dear heart.”
He heard Imri hiss in shock. But he kept his attention on Mishar whose face was radiant from the endearment. The child threw his arms around his legs and hugged them tightly.
“I hate it when you leave,” he said, his voice muffled against Gilmael’s tunic. “I wish my begetting day was tomorrow.”
Gilmael got down on one knee and pulled Mishar into his arms. “I don’t like leaving you either,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Rest assured, I will come back.”
Mishar’s smile grew impossibly wider and brighter. Nor did he stop smiling as Gilmael bid his sire goodbye in more formal fashion, thanking him as well for letting him visit. Imri stiffened slightly at his implied inclusion in Gilmael’s reason for visiting. His eyes flashed a warning. At the covert rebuff, Gilmael felt some of his elation drain away, but he held his tongue and schooled his expression lest Mishar sense anything amiss.
As he rode down the road through Delaris to reach the empty meadow in front of the city from which he could translocate, he tried to shrug away the creeping desperation that seemed to increase with each visit. Though he’d told himself Mishar’s affection would be enough, he knew it for a lie.
The child’s love was a balm to his sore heart. But it could never be enough. Not when it was a mate’s love he craved.