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The westward passage of a blizzard prompted Zykriel to contact Gilmael and discourage him from going to Delaris. The city was farther north than Syvonna and would likely be snowed under when the storm struck it. But Gilmael could not bear to disappoint Mishar and proceeded on his journey the morning of the child’s begetting day even as a cold wind swept through Rikara and snow threatened to blanket the capital.
He arrived just ahead of the blizzard. The streets of Delaris were virtually deserted as the city folk retreated into their homes to wait out the storm. Snow was already thick on the ground and the wind was intensifying into a gale. He was shivering by the time he entered the manor. His fur-lined hooded cloak, thick winter tunic and hardy gloves could not protect him completely against a northern Ylandrin snowstorm.
Hardly had he shed his cloak when Mishar rushed up to him, delight and relief in his features. Gilmael scooped him up into a tight hug.
“Happy begetting day, Mish-min,” he whispered, breathing in the child’s scent.
Mishar snuggled in his arms. “I was so worried you wouldn’t come because of the storm,” he confessed. “It’s never snowed so much before on my begetting day.”
Gilmael rubbed their noses together until Mishar giggled. “I wouldn’t miss this special day. Besides, I gave you my word and I don’t break my promises if I can help it.”
“That much is true.”
He glanced up and saw Imri was approaching them. He lowered Mishar just as Imri ordered the attendants to serve him a hot toddy to combat the cold. Gilmael was surprised. During his past visits, Imri’s welcomes had been brief and perfunctory. Never had he offered more than polite greetings after which he always appeared eager to put distance between them. He was even more surprised when Imri did not leave as soon as he welcomed him, but instead addressed him further.
“I shouldn’t have told you to stay away,” he quietly said. “It was unfair of me to ask you to disappoint Mishar.”
“It’s your right,” Gilmael murmured. “You only wished to protect him.”
Imri shook his head. “There are better ways to go about it than demand that you break your word and cast yourself as a villain.” He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to visit King’s Hollow for so long as Mishar wishes it.”
With that he turned on his heel and led the way up the stairs to the second floor. Gilmael followed him in a daze, Mishar’s grip on his hand tight as he toddled along. He wondered if Imri had softened a bit toward him during the intervening months. He felt as if he’d indeed passed a test. Hope flared though he cautioned himself not to make too much of Imri’s actions.
They had a merry celebratory lunch despite the howling wind outside and the steady fall of snow. Mishar did not seem to mind that the day had to be spent indoors, the plan to dine in the partially enclosed west terrace and then explore Delaris by foot scuttled by the inclement weather.
“I don’t really care how I spend today,” the tot confided with a bright smile. “So long as I get to spend it with you and Aba, it will be perfect.”
Gilmael’s throat ached from swallowing down the threat of a good cry. “And will you think it as perfect were I to stuff snow down the back of your breeches?” he teased, recalling how he and Zykriel used to do that to each other when they were children.
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I could.”
Whereupon they proceeded to rib each other mercilessly over the sumptuous meal, Gilmael toning down his sallies to make them suitable for a child’s ears.
Hedhral and Alfaer watched them with amusement, content to indulge their only grandchild even if it meant putting up with a Calanthe’s company. Imri on the other hand was not easy to read.
He smiled and laughed at the appropriate times, but Gilmael wondered if it was mostly an act so as not to upset his son. When Mishar was not looking, Imri’s cheery demeanor dropped and he gazed into the depths of his mulled wine as if in deep contemplation. Of what Gilmael could not begin to guess. Still, he did not leave the dining table as soon as he was done with his meal, but stayed and enjoyed his child’s happiness.
––––––––
The weather worsened considerably as the day progressed.
Gilmael stared out at the swirling snow and heavy drifts kicked up by the strong winds. The gardens were completely covered in white, the trees bowed under their icy mantles and the waters of the fountains and small lake were thinly overlaid with ice. He caught sight of some retainers virtually wading through the snow. They had retrieved a recently whelped hunting bitch and her litter from the kennels and bore the little family back to the manor.
In less than an hour after his arrival, King’s Hollow was completely snowed in. The road from the estate to Delaris as well as the city’s thoroughfares were impassable. And in any case, even if they managed to clear the streets or unblock the gates, his mount would be unable to traverse the deep snow to get to open space.
He could open a corridor inside the house or in the stables, but that was considered an offensive act since it was not his property at risk. He’d barely avoided damaging Mishar’s bedchamber back in Rikara and had partially destroyed the gate of the Hospitallers’ Health Center. That had been forgivable given the nature of his errand. But now he did not have the excuse of an emergency.
Mishar was ecstatic when Gilmael told him he was stranded for the time being. He still did not understand why the child liked him after the mistreatment of his sire. But Gilmael was grateful for Mishar’s attachment to him. He had fallen hard for the tot and yearned to call him his son.
Fortunately, Imri’s parents did not rescind their welcome and offered him a guest chamber. Imri on the other hand, lent him a sleeping shirt and trousers and a pair of fur-lined boot slippers. Gilmael accepted the garments with a frisson of excitement, pleased that Imri’s scent faintly clung to them.
He was unable to sleep that night however. His former lover’s suite was just two doors down the corridor. Not that he had any plans of going to his room. Gilmael did not care to be ejected from the premises.
Frustrated by his wakefulness, he pulled on the boot slippers and threw on his cloak. Taking a lamp, he made his way down the hallway and headed for the library. Perhaps he would find a book with which he could read himself to sleep.
As he passed the rose parlor, he noticed the door was open a crack and light showed through. Someone else was up and about. He hesitated and then reached out with his mind to ascertain the Deir’s identity.
“Come in, Gil.”
Gilmael caught his breath. Was he so careless that Imri had sensed his cursory scan? He pushed the door open and entered the room.
Imri stood at the floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows that looked out at the distant mountains. He was likewise dressed for bed. But a crackling fire in the hearth warmed the room enough that he had shed his robe. It was slung over the back of the couch.
After Gilmael set the lamp on the side table, he removed his cloak and laid it beside the robe. He joined Imri at the window. Naught could be seen but for the the occasional flurry. He glanced at Imri, wondering what it was he was looking at. Or sought.
“How did you know it was I?” he asked after a moment.
Imri smiled and turned his gaze on him. “Only you would wander around at night in the cold.”
Gilmael snorted. “For a while there I thought I’d got sloppy.”
“You? Sloppy?” Imri snorted. “Your need to be in control would never allow that.” Before Gilmael could respond, he added, “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I seldom can my first night in a room not my own,” Gilmael said, evading the truth. “And you?”
“The same.” Imri sighed. “Medril died on a night like this.”
Gilmael stared at him sympathetically. “You couldn’t get him help on time?”
Imri nodded. “I oft wonder if he might have lived otherwise.”
“What did your physician tell you?’
“That he’d lost too much blood too fast.”
“Lost blood...” Gilmael blew his breath out in dawning realization. “He miscarried?”
“Yes.” Imri turned away from the window and motioned to Gilmael to join him on the couch before the fire. “He had a difficult time when Mishar was born. The healers told us not to risk another child, but Medril...” Imri huffed a sad laugh. “He was determined to prove them wrong.”
Gilmael stared into the flames. “I’m sorry. That must have been a blow. You lost not only a beloved mate, but also one willing to look beyond your family’s past.”
Imri shook his head. “You’d be right about the second, not so much the first. Medril and I were fond of each other, but we didn’t pretend we were in love. It was very much a union of convenience. His hand in marriage for the acquisition of a great estate in Ziana his family coveted.”
Gilmael grimaced. “That seems to be a common denominator in so many marriages. Even amongst the Essendris.”
“Well, it’s called the marriage mart for a reason. Ah, let’s not talk about that.” Imri looked at him, one shapely brow rising. “You were mad to come here in this weather.”
Gilmael chuckled. “Perhaps, but I promised Mishar I would come. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”
Imri looked away, but not before Gilmael caught a glimpse of his slight frown. “You love him so much,” he murmured.
Gilmael hesitated then decided to push on. “I do. Indeed, I’m glad his eyes are the same color as mine,” he dared to add.
Imri’s frown deepened. “He’s the reason then?”
“Reason for what?”
“For taking me to your bed.”
Gilmael’s eyes widened. “Nay! The reason was you. It always has been.”
Imri looked back at him warily. Gilmael reached for his hand and clasped it between his own, startling him. But Imri did not pull back. Gilmael felt him shiver as he stroked his thumb across his palm.
“I love Mishar for his own sake,” he softly said. “But if I feel as if he’s my own child; if I don’t care that he isn’t of my blood—it’s because he’s yours. If I love him much more deeply than you deem usual, it’s because you’re his sire.”
Imri stared at him. “What are you saying? That you...”
“Love you, yes.”
Imri narrowed his eyes. “I want to believe that. When you bedded me I thought it might be possible.”
“But then I mistreated you,” Gilmael sadly said.
“Worse, you didn’t trust me. It was as if we’d returned to our university days when you hated me.”
Gilmael shook his head. “I never hated you. I was obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed with me?” Imri frowned. “How is that possible? You were so hostile. You went out of your way to avoid me when you weren’t quarreling with me.”
“Of course I did, selfish, misguided prat that I was then.” Gilmael blew his breath out. “You represented everything I was supposed to dislike yet I was drawn to you and it dismayed me to the core. I couldn’t like you. It wasn’t right. The only way to force those feelings aside was to treat you as I believed I was expected to. I was taught to be wary of all things Viraz.”
“As was Zykriel yet he was civil with me. Why could he hold his tongue and not you?”
“Zykriel and I look identical, but we don’t think alike nor do we respond to circumstances the same way. He’s always been milder of temper than I and more tolerant besides.” Gilmael hesitated and then sighed. “He wasn’t attracted to you as I was or guilty of harboring divided desires. Especially since you were the more acceptable desire.”
“You loved someone then?” Imri pursed his lips when Gilmael dipped his chin in assent. “Who— Nay, you needn’t answer that. It isn’t my business.”
“But it is if I’m to make my way back into your esteem.” Imri guardedly looked at him, but Gilmael pressed on, “Hiding my feelings has brought us to this pass. If being open with you gains me a little of your forgiveness, so be it. I want you to know it was you who made me question the rightness of my devotion.”
Imri pursed his lips. “You make this love of yours sound like a filthy secret.”
“It was.” Gilmael hoped Imri would notice that he'd spoken of it in the past tense.
“Tell me?” Imri whispered after a moment’s pause. “That is, if you wish to.”
Gilmael drew a fortifying breath. “I shouldn’t have ever felt thusly. At least, not unless I was Khitairan or Lydani.”
“It’s forbidden here ... this love of yours?”
“Not so much forbidden as discouraged. Our forebears made such unions after all.”
Imri’s smooth brow creased. Gilmael could almost follow his thought processes from the myriad expressions on his face. What matrimonial practice still observed in the continents of Khitaira and Lydan was now frowned upon in the North Continent? And what student or instructor had Gilmael shown more than a passing interest in? Or indulged in more than a brief affair that assuaged bodily desire rather than any attachment of the heart.
Gilmael faintly smiled. “He was no stranger to either of us. Indeed, he was always with me until wedlock finally parted us.”
Discouraged but not forbidden. A tradition still observed in two continents known for their adherence to the ancient laws and practices even unto... Imri inhaled sharply.
“Zykriel?” he asked with a gasp. “You were in love with your own brother?”
Gilmael looked down at their clasped hands. “I tried to rid myself of it, to no avail. The pain of his marriage to Qristan of Medav was excruciating.”
“Does he know you love him thusly?”
“He believes I got over it as he did.”
“Wait, are you saying Zykriel was also attracted to you?”
“Not quite. It was wholly curiosity on his part; the fledgling needs of the flesh. We ... experimented with each other.”
“Saints! You coupled?”
“Nay! We touched and kissed, that was all. Aba caught us one day and took pains to impress on us that passion between brothers is frowned upon. Zykriel took the lesson to heart and ceased any further intimate contact between us. But I didn’t. How could I when what I felt for him was far from brotherly?”
Gilmael looked guiltily at Imri. “It’s another reason I was so hostile toward you at university. I didn’t know what to do or who I could trust with such a sordid secret. And there you were, scion of a family that was foe to mine. An easy target for my anger and frustration. Yet you were so attractive I couldn’t help desiring you. It enraged me that I was helpless against your beauty. So I vented all my anger on you.”
He closed his eyes and bent his head. “It was wrong of me. But I didn’t know better. I was naught but an ignorant youth and a callow brute. I’m not making excuses for my behavior then or now. I only state the truth.”
Apparently Imri’s pity got the better of him for he squeezed Gilmael’s hand. “I behaved in like manner toward you,” he admitted. “I could have held back, refused to engage and forestalled all the quarrels we had. But I didn’t. We were both fools and brutes. Verily, if I could, I would purge us of those horrible memories and start anew. All the more that you suffered in secret all these years. I’m sorry, Gil, it must be torturous.”
“Not any longer,” Gilmael corrected. “My passion for him waned when I met you again. But I didn’t understand how or why and so I stupidly ignored all the signs that change was afoot in my heart. That I was learning to love you in spite of myself.”
Imri looked away. “Yet you didn’t trust me enough to believe me incapable of treachery.”
“All the evidence pointed to you. What else was I supposed to think?”
“You could have dealt with me a little more kindly. There was no need to shame me.”
“That wasn’t intentional. It was a stupid reaction.” He tugged on Imri’s hand making him look at him again. “When you asked me not to take you away in Mishar’s presence, I almost agreed. But then I picked up someone’s thoughts. I don’t know whose, it was too fleeting, but the fellow believed I would comply because you were my lover. There was so much ... contempt in that thought, I wondered who else believed as he did. And how many more.”
“So you wanted to prove him wrong.”
“I was also disappointed. I couldn’t bear the thought that you had taken advantage of our affair and my feelings. I acted without thinking. Out of fear and, yes, anger too.”
Imri nodded. “Fair enough. I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have behaved similarly. We’re both possessed of much pride after all.”
“I still regret that because of me you lost the babe,” Gilmael said. “Selvin committed his crimes out of love for me. Had I realized how he felt, perhaps I might have prevented him from acting on it.”
“How?” Imri countered. “His love was unhealthy. It wasn’t grounded in reality. He still would have moved against me if you didn’t offer him anything less than yourself. His choices were his alone as were his sins. That wasn’t your fault.”
Gilmael wanly smiled. “Perhaps not. But I still wronged you and for that I must make amends. I hope you’ll allow me to.”
Imri gazed at him questioningly. “And what do you propose to do?”
“Give you what you lost.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You lost the child I sired on you. We could try again. That is, if you’d care to sire a child on me.”