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When Beraz returned from his suspension, he noticed the officers no longer trusted him as before, if they’d trusted him much to begin with. They were civil, but they did not seek his company outside of meals and camp functions. There was also a subtle lessening of deference toward him likely born of the knowledge he would receive no further promotion. They knew that should another officer be appointed commandant of the Royal Garrison, Beraz would not move on to another formal position.
Beraz took his predicament in stride. At least, outwardly it appeared he did. Inside, he seethed at being brought so low and fumed even more at being rendered helpless to do anything about it. But even worse than his diminished stature was the loss of Ranael’s respect and friendship.
The tribune kept his distance now. He maintained a strictly professional, decidedly cool relationship with him, making his displeasure clear when Beraz tried to bridge the distance with complimentary words and conciliatory deeds.
When he could bring himself to admit it, this withdrawal of Ranael’s amity left Beraz feeling most isolated and at a loss.
Two months to the day of his arrival back at the camp, Ranael sought an audience with him. The unexpected request lifted Beraz’s spirits. Perhaps the younger officer was starting to soften and would permit Beraz to approach him anew. He admitted Ranael to his office with alacrity, smiling when the tribune entered the chamber. His smile widened when Ranael returned his greeting with a lack of animosity.
“So, Tribune,” he said. “Wherefore this meeting?”
“You were misled, Dyhar. I didn’t ask for a meeting.” Ranael placed a sheet of parchment on Beraz’s desk. “I wish to take a lengthy leave from duty. Policy states that officers make the request in person.”
Beraz was deeply disappointed, but he hid his reaction as well as he could. He reached for the document and read it. He frowned and looked up sharply.
“A year’s leave?” he questioned. “Why so long?”
Midway into the officer’s reasons, Beraz regretted asking for them.
“I need sufficient time to tend to a number of personal affairs. Vaeren and I intend to bind to each other in the temple in Diondra.” Beraz stared at him in shock, but Ranael took no notice. “Whereupon we will travel to the estate left him by his sire in Glanthar to hasten the completion of refurbishments Vaeren started on the house several months back.”
Beraz was dumbfounded. “Where in Aisen did Henaz get the monies to refurbish anything, much less a house?” he asked.
Ranael laid a chilly gaze on him. “It wasn’t only property his sire bequeathed him, but also the income to maintain them. Tribune Henaz left his son a considerable inheritance.”
“I see.” Beraz pursed his lips. “Nevertheless, he’s still hardly your equal. You can’t deny that, Tribune.”
“Dyhar—”
“Hear me out first,” Beraz interrupted, disliking the desperation in his plea. “You think me rigid and unable to set aside my standards of what is acceptable and proper. That is true for the most part. Indeed, I’ll admit I found your affair with Henaz most repugnant. Yet I couldn’t set aside my desire for you. Even when I realized I would suffer derision amongst my circle for espousing someone who had openly consorted with a baseborn Deir, I believed you worth it.”
Something gleamed in Ranael’s eyes. Perhaps Beraz had managed to impress him? He hastened to press his suit while the officer was still disposed to listen.
“I’d never do this for just anyone,” he earnestly said. “But I’m willing to do it for you. You’re different. Special. You’re everything I look for in a mate. I hope you understand what I’m willing to give up for your sake.”
Ranael considered the unspoken declaration of love. “I think I’ve always known that,” he admitted.
Beraz caught his breath. “Then why him?” he asked, confusion and a hopeless longing edging his voice. “Why choose him?”
“Because with Vaeren, it was never about any of those things.”
“That’s all?” Beraz harshly asked. “You chose him because he loves you?”
Ranael shook his head. “I chose him because I love him as he loves me. For no reason save that we do. And if you still don’t understand, I doubt you ever will.”
“Then help me understand!” Beraz demanded in his frustration.
“Why? My decision is final.” Ranael narrowed his eyes at him. “And even if it wasn’t, I doubt you’d care to take Vaeren’s son as yours.”
“What do you— Beraz’s eyes widened. “Heyas! Don’t tell me you’re breeding!”
“And proudly so.” Ranael smilingly ran his hand over his still-flat stomach. “In another month, it will start to show.”
“Deity’s blood.” Beraz could not stop himself from staring at Ranael’s abdomen in horror. He drew in his breath sharply. “Is this why you agreed to marry him?”
Ranael scoffed. “On the contrary, it was I who proposed wedlock to him. Ah, but you were away when I asked him to bind to me. Nay, it’s simply that we wish to be wed before I birth this child. Our son will not suffer the taint of bastardy as his sire did.”
Beraz glared at him in mounting revulsion. He’d convinced himself that if only he could make Ranael his he would forget the tribune had shared Vaeren Henaz’s bed all these years even unto gifting his first and continued yielding on the Half Blood officer. He’d steadfastly shoved the images of the pair in torrid union to the recesses of his consciousness, images his mind had conjured once he discovered their liaison. But with the result of their affair now growing in Ranael’s belly, Beraz could no longer shut his imagination down.
It tormented him with vision after graphic vision of the Deir he’d hoped to wed on his back with the Deir he detested between his legs, claiming him with every forward thrust of his hips. Beraz struggled to shut out the harrowing imagery, clenching his shaking hands into fists and biting down so hard on his lower lip, he nearly drew blood.
“Praetor?”
Ranael’s voice broke through his pained haze. He saw the parchment on his desk awaiting his signature. After several tense moments, his mouth curled in disgust. He snatched up his quill, dipped it in ink, and jerkily affixed his name to the document. He did not trouble to pour sand onto the wet ink but tossed it across the desk as if it were tainted with an infectious disease.
As he picked up the document, Ranael shook his head and said, “Even now you run true to form. Yet you question Vaeren’s worth when it’s yours you should examine. But then you likely won’t since you wouldn’t want to find yourself lacking.”
He did not wait for Beraz to respond or give him leave to depart but turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
––––––––
Midsummer Day heralded a week of merrymaking in Rikara where mummers, minstrels, and acrobats took center stage in the city squares, folk danced in the streets, and food was peddled on the sidewalks even in the exclusive north district. It was a time of celebration when the sun shone bright and hot and winter’s frigid embrace was still far away.
The common soldiers at the Royal Garrison were not immune to the lure of the midsummer revels. Many requested leave even for just one day to visit the capital. Surprisingly, almost all were given permission to go.
In years past, Ruven Beraz had not been so lenient for he thought the revels frivolous and allowing rankers to take part in them a form of coddling. His stand on such matters had tended to be unpopular and gained him next to no friends even among the officers. But in years past, he had not cared. After all, what was the opinion of folk beneath him? Now however was different.
Now, he was forced to care. Taken down several pegs from his once-lofty perch, he was no longer in a position to remain indifferent or ignore what was said about him. His authority was not feared at all times but questioned and sometimes even bucked. For all intents and purposes, he had become what many Deira who relished status and power feared most. A lame duck.
The third day of the revels, he watched a party of officers depart for a day’s leave in Rikara. He realized he was quite unfamiliar with all of them. Indeed, he’d known none of his officers very well save for two.
One he’d hoped to wed while the other he’d tried to ruin. He’d assiduously studied them in hopes of gaining knowledge he could use to achieve his ends. Instead, he’d lost the one and lost to the other. And he still did not understand why he lost.
Much later in the day, he wondered what it was that drew even the officers to the noise and throngs of a typical midsummer festival. It had been long since he’d attended one. Perhaps it was time he refreshed his memory. And if in the course of the day, he caught a glimpse of the fair-haired warrior he desired as never before, he would count it a stroke of luck.
Merand was dumbstruck when Beraz informed him he would go but made no comment. Beraz wagered his adjutant would spread the word quickly enough once he was gone from camp. The thought of Captains Arendi and Loqin making sport of him when they got wind of his jaunt to the capital almost made him change his mind. But the desire for a chance encounter with Ranael proved stronger and thus he proceeded.
He arrived in Rikara just as evening was falling and directed his steed down the main avenue to the north district. It would be less crowded there, he reasoned, and also safer. True, the common folk would take advantage of the rare chance to frolic in this bastion of power and affluence. But the constables would be out in full force to keep the peace and drag away lawbreakers. That the chances of seeing Ranael Mesare here were greater than anywhere else in the city was merely an added incentive.
Beraz came to the north district’s main square where a low stage had been raised, festooned with banners above and below. A group of minstrels were performing, their songs ranging from sad to joyous, relaxed to rousing. He left his steed at a nearby public stable and walked back to the square.
For a while, he simply listened to the minstrels and watched the revellers as they danced. More songs than not were fast and lively in keeping with the general merriment. But every now and then, the pace slowed down to allow everyone, performers and audience alike, to catch their breaths.
It was during the performance of one such song that Beraz finally found what he sought. But it brought him no joy.
Ranael stood several paces away, face-to-face with Vaeren Henaz. Clad in light tunics and warm weather breeches, their hair tousled by a strong evening breeze, they did not look the least like formidable warriors. And they were completely lost in their own world, swaying as one to the music, their eyes on each other alone, their mouths meeting often and hands roaming in tacit foreplay.
Beraz gritted his teeth. Jealousy wracked him as he watched Vaeren place his hand protectively on Ranael’s belly. It turned into a gut-wrenching stab of envy when the fair-haired officer covered his lover’s hand with his and treated him to an incandescent smile. Beraz could not pretend Ranael was anything but deeply and passionately in love with Vaeren.
The music came to an end whereupon the minstrels announced they would take a rest. Another group of performers climbed on stage and started to tune their instruments.
Ranael and Vaeren had other plans apparently. They turned to leave, arms around each other’s waists. Beraz watched them though it pained him deeply. It was then Vaeren espied him through the crowds.
They stared at each other for several heartbeats. To Beraz’s dismay, Vaeren looked at him with compassion just before Ranael drew him away. Impotent anger coursed through him at the thought that he should be a sedyr’s object of pity but was swiftly followed by shame over his uncharitable response.
He watched them saunter away in the direction of Ranael’s town house. It was clear they would spend the rest of the night in passionate union. Again, jealousy reared its head alongside a desperate longing, though he was no longer certain if it was only for Ranael or also for what he shared with Vaeren.
“Enjoying yourself, Praetor?”
Beraz looked sideways and found General Arval at his elbow. He managed not to grimace. It was unpleasant to face the officer who’d initiated the inquiry into his conduct and then determined the commensurate penalties.
“Is the Academy already on summer recess, Dyhar?” he politely asked though in truth he was itching to tell the general to bugger off.
Arval’s humorless smile implied he knew what Beraz thought of him. “A fortnight now. My spouse insisted we come to Rikara. I’ve been remiss in visiting family these past many years.” He tilted his head in the direction the lovers had taken. “Did Ranael and Vaeren leave already?”
“Yes, General. They only waited for that last song to finish.”
“I believe I saw them dance together as well.”
Beraz stiffened. He did not like being reminded of the picture of intimacy they had presented earlier. “They danced, yes,” he curtly replied.
Arval nodded. “They wed in three weeks. It will be a pleasure to catch up with my old friends in Edessa.” The general suddenly grinned. “And I shall take much delight in watching Endrin squirm as his son weds the Deir he belittled.”
Beraz’s lips tightened. “Three weeks,” he muttered. “That soon.”
“Ah, Ranael informed you.”
“Last week. He requested a year’s leave.”
“And you granted it without protest?”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Nay, but I thought you’d try to dissuade him from binding to Vaeren.” Arval eyed him shrewdly. “It’s no secret any longer that you desired to make a match with him.”
Beraz started to scowl, then thought better of it. “It was a mistake. But I never imagined he would choose so unwisely.”
“Unwisely?” Arval shook his head. “You don’t understand their bond, do you?”
“So he told me.” Beraz laughed bitterly. “He’s breeding, by the way.”
Arval chuckled dryly. “Small wonder you ceased your pursuit.”
Beraz glanced at him, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“It repulsed you, didn’t it? It galls you that he carries another Deir’s child.”
“Of course it does!” Beraz wondered why the general had bothered to state the obvious. “How could anyone regard someone else’s spawn as his own?” he pointed out for good measure.
To his shock, Arval said, “Vaeren would. Even if that spawn be yours.”
Beraz stared incredulously. “Not even Henaz is that tolerant,” he blurted. “He’d never give his name to a child not his. And less so a child of mine.”
“Oh, but he would,” Arval said. “He would take Ranael in wedlock even were the child in his belly yours. And he would accept the child as his own and raise him as if he were of his blood.” He looked at Beraz with the same pity Vaeren had earlier. “You see, Beraz, their love demands no payment or exchange of favors. That is why you lost to Vaeren. Indeed, why you were never a real rival to him. You don’t know how to love as he does.”
The minstrels started on another song, a livelier rather bawdy one that quickly had the crowd clapping and cheering and not a few kicking up their heels in the requisite suggestive jig. Arval shook his head as the proceedings grew more raucous and the audience rowdier. He took his leave of Beraz.
“This was an enlightening conversation. But one I doubt either of us will care to have again. Good night, Praetor.”
The general strode away, leaving a hushed and somber Beraz by himself amidst the happy throng.