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Mered watched his sire introduce another guest to his intended. How many now? Eight? Nine? He wondered if Yovan’s mental giftedness included a good memory. He knew he would be hard put to recall all these Deira’s names.
At least, Aba knows enough to present them to Yovan and not the other way around, he thought.
That would be a serious blunder. Whatever the state of the Seydons’ finances, they still outranked everyone else. So much so, some guests had committed the gaffe of bowing to them. Mered grinned as his betrothed diplomatically advised an investor and his spouse to reserve their obeisance for titled bluebloods.
The overwhelming majority of the guests were Half Bloods. The next ranking Deira after the aristocratic Seydons were a handful of gentry some of whom were True Bloods, but none were of consequence among the Rikaran upper crust. The rest were moneyed commoners whose only recourse if they sought to climb the social ladder was to marry into a highborn family. Such unions were so rare, Mered knew his betrothal to Yovan had sparked much gossip in the capital and drawn disapproval from certain quarters.
He became aware he was under someone’s scrutiny. While not gifted as full enyra were, he did possess some of the mental talents bequeathed the Deira by their ancestors.
Long ago, the Naere used their prodigious mind gifts to flee their dying world. The survivors colonized Aisen to suit their needs and assimilated its indigenous race, the gelra. But they mated only with the male of the species since the dual-gendered Naere felt no desire for female-kind. The Deira were the culmination of the Inception, that ancient period of facilitated evolution. Eventually, however, the fusion of Naere and gelra led to caste divisions in Deiran society.
The enyra or True Bloods whose forebears did not breed extensively with the gelra preserved many of the mind gifts of the Naere in their families. Not so the sedyra or Half Bloods most of whom were barely gifted or altogether mind-blind. During the Inception, the ruling Naere had been careful to keep their bloodlines relatively pure. It was not surprising their descendants went on to comprise the ruling class of Aisen whereas the sedyra formed the majority of the commoners.
But as always, there were exceptions to the rule. There were True Blood families who’d allowed their mental abilities to diminish either because of lack of proper training or subsequent over-breeding with Half Bloods. And not all enyra were able to maintain their power or places in society as the centuries ground by. Conversely, the gentry counted well-born sedyra among their number and Half Bloods of aristocratic descent existed albeit they were very rare and none were higher than thein, the lowest ranking noble title.
And then there were the mixed-bloods whose lineage determined their positions on the social ladder. Families of impeccable pedigree were counted as enyra and received by polite society. Those of indeterminate origins were relegated to the lower rungs. Though not full sedyra, they were treated as such by the upper class. It was to this latter sub-caste that the Cordonas belonged and which they hoped to leave by way of marriage.
Thanks to his partial descent from enyran forebears, Mered was not mind-blind like most sedyra. As he matured, he discovered he could sense when he was being closely observed or if a non-adept was trying to tap into his mind.
Of course, he could not know if an adept had ever pried into his thoughts, but he deemed it improbable. The circles the Cordonas moved in were far from favored by True Bloods. Nevertheless he sometimes wondered if he would be able to communicate by thought alone with someone gifted in the mind arts. He would ask Yovan if it was possible.
He slightly turned his head to discover which Deir was intensely regarding him from across the room. He stifled a sigh of irritation when he saw it was Abrom Fidara.
The Deir was staring at him hungrily. Mered knew he’d sought to court him but his request was declined, his parents citing the great age difference as their reason for refusing Fidara’s suit. In truth, Remir heartily disliked the notorious lech who was socially inferior even to the Cordonas. But Mered suspected Asrael would have had no qualms if he’d thought wedding Mered to Fidara would greatly benefit the bank.
Mered wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought and returned to observing his sire as he beckoned to another guest. He almost laughed when he noticed Yovan’s valiant efforts not to reveal what he really thought of the whole ordeal. At least the guest was mannerly if a tad too enthusiastic about meeting the Ardan’s cousin. The Deir who stood several paces behind him awaiting his turn was outwardly calmer.
He was also a former suitor, very well-to-do, quite handsome and not scandalously older than Mered. Before Yovan’s advent into his life, Mered would not have objected to his suit; might even have considered him a good candidate for a mate.
Mered realized the Deir was gazing at him and when he looked his way, the latter nodded at him in greeting. He returned the gesture and accompanied it with a warm smile. An instant later, he regretted it when the Deir’s eyes brightened with pleasure.
“Starting young, are we?” Mered glanced sideways at his brother Ovreth. “Have a care, little brother. You don’t want to wind up like Davre.”
Mered snorted. “As if I’d make that mistake with a spouse like Yovan.” He turned his gaze on his fiancé, a smug smile curving his mouth. “There’s none to compare with him and if anyone doesn’t realize that, he’s a blind idiot.”
Ovreth chuckled. “He’s indeed beautiful and doesn’t act all haughty toward us lowborns.”
“He’s kind and quite modest too,” Mered added. “I hadn’t expected it of someone royal-blooded.”
“He’s a damn fine Deir. You’re very lucky, Mer,” Ovreth said with something like wistfulness in his voice. “Have a care if you don’t wish to lose such good fortune.”
Ovreth excused himself to approach another guest. Mered looked after him curiously and then lowered his head in thought. He was aware that while his brother’s marriage was not unhappy, neither was it fulfilling. All his brothers’ marriages had been arranged with an eye toward furthering or fostering business connections.
He looked up when Yovan joined him. “You look as if you were pondering something rather serious,” Yovan remarked.
“Nay, I was only considering what Ovreth just said.” Mered cocked his head in his sire’s direction. “Is Aba done showing you off?
Yovan rolled his eyes. “I certainly hope so. Never have I met so many Deira ignorant of protocol.”
“Of course, they’re ignorant. They haven’t had to know any until now.”
“Your parents made the effort to learn some.”
“Because they desire more than wealth.”
“And thus sought to link themselves to my House. I can’t complain though. Not when their scheme gained me you.”
Mered had not thought himself the sort to swoon. But now he felt so giddy over the sweet declaration, he swayed enough to prompt Yovan to catch him in a loose embrace. Yovan slipped fingers under his chin and coaxed him to look up and meet his gaze.
“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.
“If you kiss me, I will be,” Mered said impishly.
Yovan shook his head in amusement but complied. And when Mered saw through the corner of his eye how that old wretch Fidara glared at them in disappointment, he smiled against Yovan’s lips and stretched out the kiss until no one who saw could question who he belonged to.
––––––––
A sennight later, the Ardan summoned Yovan to a meeting at the Citadel. The politely worded command upended everyone’s calm and would have turned one of lesser composure than Yovan into a nervous wreck. He quickly replied that he would present himself to his cousin the following day as requested.
He showed up at the massive doors to the royal residence at the appointed time and was taken aback when the sentries took him aside and sent word of his arrival. A retainer attired differently from his fellows soon appeared and bid Yovan to come with him that he might escort him to his meeting with the Ardan. Yovan noticed he was the only one among the numerous Deira who sought entrance or waited in the reception hall who was welcomed with such alacrity.
The curious and surprised looks cast his way by the other attendants and visitors led him to suspect few were met at the door thusly. He dared to scan a few minds and what he gleaned confirmed that except for foreign delegates appearing at court for the first time, it was only the royal couple’s intimates who were accorded such a prompt and personalized welcome. Everyone else regardless of name or rank had to await their turn for an attendant to come and conduct them around the labyrinthine hallways of the castle fortress.
As he followed the retainer across the octagonal reception hall, Yovan could not help the nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at the stylized map of Ylandre cast upon the white stone floor in varicolored sunlight which streamed down from the circular stained-glass window that formed the centermost portion of the hall’s domed ceiling. It was a remarkable first impression of the Citadel. He could not help glancing over his shoulder at both window and map as he mounted the main stairway to the second level.
When he sent word of his betrothal to the Ardan, he’d followed tradition. He did not need either permission or approval from the monarch to marry. It was simple courtesy to inform him a member of his family was going to wed and beget scions for the Royal House.
This was not to say that no Ardan had interfered with or even scuttled the marriage plans of any of his kinsfolk. Small wonder Yovan was battling anxiety now. What if Keldon deemed marriage to a lowbred commoner beneath an Essendri? Would he seek grounds to forbid it?
Despite Yovan’s umbrage over his forced betrothal, the idea of wedding Mered was growing on him as was his attachment to Mered. He would be disappointed if Keldon ordered him to desist. Not to mention it would imperil the solution to his sire’s financial difficulties. Adding to his turmoil was the disbelief he was actually walking the hallways of the royal keep.
Neither of his grandparents entered the Citadel again after their expulsion. And his father had yet to be received by the Ardan, a feat Yovan had achieved by virtue of a wedding announcement. He’d added it to the roster of messages from citizenry unable to secure a place on the list of supplicants who gained the privilege of presenting their petitions to the Crown in person. A part of him was still incredulous his message had somehow stood out and interested Keldon enough to summon him.
His nervousness increased when they left the public spaces and entered what appeared to be a private corridor. A glimpse of a crest on a doorway confirmed his suspicion. He had never met Imcael but he recognized his heraldic bearings.
He abruptly halted which prompted the retainer to do likewise. The Deir looked at him inquiringly.
“Are we in the residential wing?” Yovan asked.
“Yes, Dyhar,”
“Why?”
“His Majesty instructed me to conduct you to his rooms.”
“His rooms?” Yovan almost bleated. “The Ardan wants to meet me in his private quarters? Are you certain? What did he say?”
The attendant smiled so understandingly, it was apparent he was privy to both the reason for Keldon’s instructions and the effect it was having on Yovan.
“I assure you His Majesty desires this. His instructions were ‘Bring my cousin here as soon as he arrives. I hear Great-Uncle Andrion’s grandson is nothing like him save in appearance, thank Veres.’ Those were his exact words, Dyhar.”
Yovan gaped at the backhanded disparagement of his grandsire and compliment to himself in one comment. He wordlessly gestured to the Deir to lead on.
They came to the end of the hallway. The crest on the door identified it as the entrance to the Ardan’s apartment. The retainer knocked twice.
“Enter.”
Yovan remembered to close his mouth as he stepped into a chamber of spacious proportions but seemed rather simply adorned for a monarch’s sitting room. On second glance, he realized all the trappings of royalty were there from the rare wood floor and costly rugs to the black marble mantle over the hearth, expensively upholstered furniture and heirloom pieces of precious metals, crystal, ivory, colored blown glass and, Sweet Veres, white-silver.
The exceedingly rare metal was the sole province of hereditary rulers. It was outrageously costly when made into jewelry; what more with a considerably larger figurine? Yovan made up his mind to stay away from the delicately wrought statuette lest he knocked it over due to anxiety-induced clumsiness.
Keldon turned around from where he stood before the fireplace. Yovan saw his resemblance to Evran and presumably to himself though the Ardan was raven-haired and grey-eyed. His eyes bore the distinctive hallmark of a ranking member of the highest House in the land—rimmed irises. He was also more than twoscore years Yovan’s senior.
The Ardan acknowledged the attendant’s slight bow with a small smile.
“Inform Dyrael that Yovan has arrived, my good Josel.”
He turned his attention to Yovan after the retainer departed. Yovan bowed briefly and waited for Keldon to speak. Thank the saints for his late Oda Morev’s lessons in protocol. The Ardan came forward extending his right hand.
“Welcome,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, cousin.”
Whatever Yovan was expecting, Keldon’s warm greeting was not one of them. He took the Ardan’s proffered hand.
“The honor is mine, Your Majesty,” he managed to say in a steady voice.
“Oh pish! It’s Keldon to you. Tyar will do if you can’t bring yourself to drop the honorifics just yet. Come, have a seat.”
He gestured to one of the chairs around the tea table in the center of the room. A silver pitcher of mulled wine, two deep blue glass goblets and a dish of savory pastries and jam tarts had been set upon the table. Yovan sat down across from his cousin and again waited for him to speak.
Keldon chuckled. “You may disregard protocol and all that nonsense when we’re in private,” he said. “Family should be able to speak freely with each other. Just don’t tell Imcael I said so else I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Yovan could not help snickering. “You’re not at all what I imagined,” he admitted.
With that they commenced conversation as if they had not just met for the first time a few minutes earlier. It transpired Keldon had wanted Yovan to inform him of his betrothal in person as this would give him the opening to broach reconciliation with Andrion’s side of the family. There were those who thought it impolitic for the Ardan to unbend first. They had counseled him to wait for Evran or Yovan to make a move.
Keldon had not thought much of the advice. Why in Aisen would they make a move now when three past Ardane had made it clear they wanted nothing to do with them apart from extending the occasional handout? But his brother and counsellors had prevailed and Keldon set the matter aside to attend to the myriad issues that had beset the beginning of his reign.
“Aba wasn’t distant enough from the quarrel between our grandsires to set it aside and accept your father,” he explained as he sipped his wine. “He was influenced by my Oda Levare who wanted naught to do with his predecessor’s family. I can’t blame him given that his marriage to Opa Gilvreth was arranged while Grandsire’s betrothal to your grandfather started as a love match. Opa and Oda eventually came to love each other, but that isn’t quite the same as falling in love, is it?”
Yovan nodded. It was disconcerting to hear these details of his grandsire’s ruinous affair with his grandfather. But also enlightening enough to bring him some closure.
“Oda Morev seldom spoke of that time,” he said. “But I got the impression he loved Great-Uncle Gilvreth until the day he died and regretted he’d succumbed to Opa Andrion’s blandishments. My father was the one redeeming outcome of their marriage.”
“It’s tragic however we look at it,” Keldon commented. “Which is why I have to ask if this betrothal to Mered Cordona is something you truly want. I don’t want such unhappiness to befall you as it did our grandparents.”
“That’s very kind of you. Rest assured, I do want this marriage.” Yovan caught his breath as he admitted the truth for the first time. His smile widened when he realized a greater truth. “I want him.”
Keldon smiled back. “I trust he feels the same way?”
“I can’t say for certes. We haven’t really talked about it. But he’s affectionate with me and very open about it.” Yovan could not help speaking fondly of Mered. “I believe he does care for me.”
“Excellent. I’m looking forward to meeting him at your wedding,” Keldon said. At Yovan’s start of surprise, he wryly added, “I’d assumed we’re invited.”
“I, yes, of-of course, you’re invited!” Yovan stammered. “I mean, Mered and I wanted to, but— we weren’t sure you’d accept. An invitation from us, that is.”
Keldon grinned. “I suggest you invite Imcael and Naral too. Mind you, Imcael was shocked and very displeased when he learned who it was you’re marrying. Nevertheless, he’ll deem it a grievous insult and resent you evermore if you don’t invite them.”
“But will they come?”
“It will depend on whether deigning to be at an event that’s well-attended by our House and the highborns of the land is worth his time and sensibilities. And I assure you it will be well-attended once word gets out that Dyrael and I will be amongst your guests.”
Yovan exhaled. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll make certain to send them an invitation as soon as we settle on a venue.”
“Haven’t you yet? Then why not have your nuptials here?” Keldon suggested. “In which case, Imcael will definitely attend. He’ll look the ridiculous snob if he’s absent from an affair held in his own home.”
Yovan stared. “Are you saying we can hold our handfasting in the Citadel?”
“And your reception as well. You’re a direct line descendant of the Royal House. And having your wedding here at my behest will be irrefutable proof of our family’s reconciliation.”
Rendered speechless for several heartbeats, Yovan did not know whether to whoop or weep with joy. At length, he found his tongue. Impulsively clasping Keldon’s hand, he said in a hushed voice, “My thanks, Keldon-tyar. I-I don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness but I will, I swear.”
Keldon returned the grip. “I don’t care for repayment; only the return of kin. The royal family is much too reduced for my liking. Unfortunately, Opa Gilvreth’s wrath was not assuaged by his sire’s repudiation of Andrion nor did he ever forgive him. What do you know of the Royal Act of Disownment?”
“Only the gist of its contents and that your grandsire issued it following his coronation.”
“It’s a statute in perpetuity.”
Yovan gaped. A statute in perpetuity was virtually eternal and rendered its stipulations irreversible even by succeeding Ardane. They were exceedingly rare because of their permanence. The last one Yovan knew of was the proscription against certain noble families who supported Crown Prince Rovar in his attempt to usurp the throne. Considering that interdict was issued in the wake of the Ferrenda Interregnum more than a millennium ago, Gilvreth’s edict was stark evidence of his never resolved anger toward his brother.
“What exactly does the Act stipulate?”
“It reaffirms the original royal decree by Great-Grandsire Varael formally repudiating Andrion as a member of the royal family. It also prohibits the bestowal of any extant title on his descendants. Nor may they be addressed with the style due a noble for so long as they remain untitled. Which, since the Act forbids the first, makes it all but impossible to grant the second. Opa was truly embittered by Andrion’s betrayal. He sought to punish not just him, but all his heirs. My lawyers went over the damn thing, but they could find no loophole or other means to overturn it or temper the harshest stipulations. I’m sorry, Van.”
Yovan shook his head. “I can’t miss something I never had so it doesn’t trouble me. Indeed I grew up believing I would never see the inside of the Citadel, much less be received by my Ardan. Yet here I am and soon to wed in your presence. This is so much more than enough. I shall do my utmost to prove your kindness to us deserved.”
The door was suddenly flung open and a dark-haired child dashed into the room followed by a beauteous Deir almost three decades younger than Keldon. The child ran up to Yovan and curiously stared at him. Yovan noted the slate grey irises of his eyes were rimmed with smoky blue just like Keldon’s. A glance at the Deir behind him revealed whence the child had mostly inherited his countenance.
“Is he my long lost uncle, Aba?”
Keldon laughed softly. “Putting ideas in his head, Rael?” he teasingly chided the other Deir.
“Not I,” said Dyrael Essendri, Ardis of Ylandre. “You can blame Josel for spinning such tales. But, yes, Rohyr-min, he is indeed your uncle.”
Enchanted, Yovan bent so he and the little prince were eye-to-eye. “And are you my long lost nephew?”
Rohyr giggled. “But I was never lost. I was always here!”
The adults chuckled. Keldon took his son onto his lap and then reached for his spouse’s hand and gently pulled him down into the chair nearest him. “Ariad, allow me to formally introduce our cousin, Yovan Seydon thar Essendri. Van, this is my beloved Dyrael. And this little fellow is Rohyr.”
Yovan recalled of a sudden that Dyrael was the only child of Prince Raval, Joren’s younger brother. It meant Yovan was closely related to all three of the Deira before him.
“I’m so glad to meet you at last,” Dyrael said. “Thank Veres Kel decided to end that ridiculous feud.”
“And that’s how you found him,” Rohyr stated.
Keldon snorted. “It’s one way of putting it.” He fondly tapped his son’s nose with a finger. “You’re wise for your years.”
Rohyr nodded proudly. He peered at Yovan. “Can I call you Uncle Van?”
“I would like that very much,” Yovan softly said.
The prince smiled brightly. “And you must call me Rohyr-min.”
Tears pricked at Yovan’s eyes and he blinked to keep them from falling. “You honor me,” he half whispered.
Dyrael gently asked, “Are you close to any of our kinsfolk? We heard Uncle Evran asked some to help him train you in the mind arts.”
Yovan nodded. “I’ve met some. Unfortunately, the few I’m acquainted with spend much time in their fiefs. And of late I’ve had scant opportunity to travel outside of Rikara.”
Keldon pursed his lips. “That must be remedied forthwith. I don’t care for a divided House during my reign and even less to leave one to Rohyr.” He ran his fingers through his son’s midnight locks. “If there’s one thing I hope to achieve, it’s to ensure House Essendri maintains its unity come what may.”
“Ama will be very pleased to know your sentiments,” Yovan said. He eyed Rohyr. “As he will be when I tell him about the clever and adorable great-nephew he will meet at my wedding.”
Rohyr’s eyes widened. “Am I going?”
“If your parents permit you,” Yovan replied with a grin.
“Oh, they will,” Rohyr said confidently. “You invited me in front of them so they can’t say ‘nay’ anymore.”
Yovan laughed while Keldon and Dyrael rolled their eyes. “I suppose they can’t. Especially since they know I’ll be disappointed if I don’t see you there.”
Rohyr grinned and twisted around in Keldon’s arms to look at his sire. “I like him, Aba. He’s nice and young and he listens to me. Not at all like stodgy Uncle Imcael.”
“Rohyr! You mustn’t speak of Aba’s brother like that,” Dyrael admonished though an aborted guffaw betrayed his desire to laugh out loud.
Keldon sighed. “Really, Roh-min, must you remind us all that I’m too old to be parent to a toddler?”
“You’re neither an old Deir nor do you act like one,” Yovan protested. “I’m sure Dyrael-tyar can attest to your vigor in all the ways that matter.” He paused when Dyrael snickered while Keldon blushed and hid his smile in his son’s curls. “And in case you’ve forgotten, my parents begot me very late in their lives. I know what it’s like to have an old parent and you definitely aren’t one.”
He ended up staying a half-hour longer. When he took his leave, Dyrael offered to walk him out. But not before Rohyr wrapped his arms around his neck, gave him a peck on the cheek and said, “Come visit soon, Uncle Van.”
Yovan once again found himself fighting back tears even as he smiled broadly at his nephew. In that instant, he knew when Rohyr came to the throne, he would serve him without hesitation.
As he and Dyrael made their way down the hallways, Yovan could not refrain from expressing his admiration for the young prince.
“I’ve yet to meet a child his age with as much sagacity and wit,” he said.
Dyrael beamed with fatherly pride. “So I’ve been told by many. But your opinion pleases me very much and means more than most.”
“Why?” Yovan asked. “You’ve just met me and know only what I told you.”
“Only what you told us?” Dyrael snorted. “Keldon put you under surveillance once he considered reuniting our family.”
That stunned Yovan. “Wherefore?”
“To find out whether you and yours were worth taking back into the fold. Obviously he liked what he discovered. And now he’s met you and you validated his decision once and for all.” Yovan felt his cheeks heat up under Dyrael’s warm regard. “You’ve definitely earned not just a place in the Royal House, but also in Keldon’s esteem. And mine.”
His cheeks still a-blush, Yovan earnestly said, “I hope I live up to your expectations.”
He recounted the meeting to Mered and their respective parents at dinner that night. To say his parents were incredulous was putting it mildly. And the Cordonas were so flabbergasted they were rendered lost for words for nearly the length of the meal. But excitement eventually overtook shock especially when they learned Keldon had insisted the nuptial celebrations be held at the Citadel. Indeed, so pleased was Asrael that he informed Yovan he would gift him and Mered with an estate of their own.
Woodmere was the Cordonas’ latest and most beauteous acquisition. Located on the northeastern marches of the fief of Vireshe, it had belonged to a thein whose line had ended with his passing. His sole heir, a distant cousin who resided in the capital of Lythaen, was happy to assume the title but did not fancy country living. He sold the estate so he could build himself a grander one in Lythaen.
“What say you and your parents spend a sennight at Woodmere?” Asrael asked. “I’m sure you won’t mind taking a gander at the place. See if there’s anything you’d like to change to suit your impeccable taste.”
“But it’s already a beautiful estate. And quite tasteful too,” Mered said with a smirk. “Perhaps it won’t need so much fussing over.”
Yovan laid a mild glare on his fiancé for the gibing allusion to the extensive renovations the Cordona mansion would soon undergo. Mered merely rewarded him with sparkling eyes and a toothy grin which Yovan could not help but reciprocate.
“Perhaps it won’t,” he agreed. “Provided its late owner, Veres bless his soul, knew enough not to paint the lily. In any case, thank you for the invitation. I wouldn’t mind a preview of the estate. And my parents will enjoy a sojourn in Vireshe,” he added, glimpsing their delighted smiles. “They haven’t had a holiday in years.”