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Ylandre, in the 2996th year of the Common Age
Eighteen years ago
The letter was one of several delivered to the Ministry of Internal Affairs. It looked no different from the rest—two sheets of parchment in a sturdy envelope sealed with a blob of wax bearing the impression of a crest. The only thing that set apart the missive was its provenance. A small town in the Autonomous Province of Velarus.
Close to the easternmost bounds of the southern province nigh to a region currently afflicted by armed conflict and plunder, Tal Ereq had territorial jurisdiction over land ideal for establishing a military outpost. Even if the permanent presence of trained and well-armed soldiers did not entirely deter incursions into the kingdom, Ylandre would be able to check neighboring Cattania’s aggression before the principality’s forces could set foot across the border.
Interestingly, Tal Ereq had declined a similar request several years ago due to its population’s unease with lying so close to a garrison. But now was another time and this was a different situation. Perhaps the townsfolk would finally be persuaded to change their minds.
––––––––
Whenever he sat down to Council, Rohyr always observed the formalities. Doing so was a way of keeping order and maintaining discipline. And considering a good number of his officials and advisors were also close kin, it was an effective way to minimize overfamiliar behavior and improper banter for it served as a reminder to all that they were meeting with their king in an official and therefore professional capacity. It was a practice carried over from his sire’s reign on Yovan’s advice.
Thus Rohyr sat at the head of the table with Imcael to his left while Yovan as Chief Counsellor sat opposite him. On either side were Keosqe Deilen, Minister of Internal Affairs, and Gilmael Calanthe, head of Ylandre’s intelligence group.
As there were only the five of them, one of the smaller audience chambers sufficed.
Keosqe had earlier handed Rohyr the numerous missives from the Velarusian communities affected by Cattania’s latest attempt to destabilize the region in an attempt to retrieve what they had lost to Ylandre almost four centuries before. Rohyr read the Tal Ereq petition last. Having read the letters beforehand, Yovan knew it was no long-winded document as several of the others were.
Rohyr returned the letter to Keosqe, leaned back in his chair and gestured to his cousin to speak. It was his habit to let the Council members put forth their opinions and suggestions before voicing his own. This way, there was little chance of inadvertently intimidating anyone into suppressing his honest thoughts on the issues at hand.
Tapping the letter, Keosqe said, “We can use their petition as leverage. In their need, it’s unlikely the townsfolk will once more refuse the Crown’s request to establish an outpost in the area.”
“Let’s hope they’ve overcome their resistance to having soldiers stationed nearby,” Yovan dryly commented. He had not forgotten Keldon’s frustration with the Tal Ereqi.
“If we position the outpost as the basis for a constabulary garrison, I’m sure they’ll capitulate,” Keosqe suggested. “Velarus is vulnerable to outlawry due to the absence of an organized police force in the province. This is particularly true of the more isolated areas to the east. Given the current situation, it would be in Tal Ereq’s best interest to allow us to build an outpost close by. We need not inform them of our actual plans. Indeed, I doubt they will care in the long run so long as they are well protected. In any case, I intend to include the matter in my reply to them.”
An impatient harrumph signaled Imcael’s entry into the discussion. Yovan suppressed the impulse to roll his eyes at his surly cousin’s pompous manner of calling everyone’s attention.
“This is but a small and insignificant town we speak of,” Imcael scornfully stated. “Who are these folk that we must deal so gently with them? Why waste time negotiating with them when the Crown has the right to take what it desires?”
Yovan forbore to sigh in impatience. “Technically, yes, we could just take what we want from them,” he said. “But the Autonomous Provinces owe no liege fealty to the Crown as the fiefs do. Were we to match the Cattanians in their utter disregard for the Velarusians’ rights and well-being, we would risk losing the trust and loyalty of these people. That’s no small matter when you keep in mind that most of eastern Velarus was once part of Cattania. Any disaffection can be used against us—if not by the Cattanians, then by would-be insurrectionists.”
“Nonsense!” Imcael scoffed. “The only insurrectionists are in Tenerith.”
Gilmael quickly contradicted him. “On the contrary, Your Grace, they can be anywhere. Where there are malcontents, there is always the possibility of insurgency. And there is no shortage of Deira dissatisfied with their lot who will blame the government for their misfortunes no matter how able or accommodating government has been.”
“Therefore, it would behoove us to treat Tal Ereq as we do other nations,” Yovan said. “With diplomacy and respect.”
“Though a forceful nudge won’t hurt if applied with prudence,” Keosqe added with a wry smile.
“Prudence being the key word,” Rohyr said.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his hands loosely clasped under his chin. It was the sign that he was ready to speak his mind and the others fell silent accordingly.
“I won’t dispute your contention that we could take the land without leave, Uncle,” he said to Imcael. “Indeed, the Crown’s constant interference in Tenerith contravenes the laws covering the provinces’ presumed autonomy, yet thus far no one has protested overmuch. There are always loopholes in the law and we have no compunction about using them if necessary.”
“However, we have no monopoly in the use of those loopholes,” he pointed out. “Unasked-for royal intervention in a region that has never displayed disloyalty or disrespect to the Crown can become a cause around which the disaffected or the mercenary of mind could be persuaded to rally. So, nay, I will not bring my royal privilege to bear on Tal Ereq. However, I give Kes and Uncle Van leave to use any and every other means at their disposal to gain what we need so long as we can sufficiently justify those means.”
Rohyr glanced at Gilmael. “I want you to go with them, Gil. Since the Cattanians are coming perilously close to declaring war on us, I think it would be best if you got personal confirmation of all the reports you’ve received regarding the situation. And, yes, you may join the delegation, Uncle,” Rohyr added when Imcael made a motion to speak. “What happens in Velarus oft affects Qimaras and you have an obligation to protect your fief as well as you can.”
Imcael frowned. “Not just Qimaras. It’s only that my fief is the largest and most progressive in the southeast. But there are other fiefs that will be similarly affected by events in Velarus. Oxon, Anju, Turras. I must look after their interests as well.”
Yovan was hard-pressed not to scoff openly. It was no secret Imcael paid the neighboring fiefs scarcely any attention save if invoking them made it clear he was the region’s preeminent ruling noble. He kept his eyes on the document before him lest he espied his nephews’ expressions and be unable to bite back the laughter said expressions were sure to induce. Rohyr had done likewise and only answered Imcael after a visible effort to swallow his initial response.
“Understood.” He turned his attention back to Keosqe. “How soon will you be able to depart for Velarus?”
“Three days if the others are as ready.”
“Excellent. Veres willing, we shall gain more than a peaceful border from this exercise.”
Yovan smiled. “Well, I’ve never been to Velarus, I’m ashamed to say,” he admitted. “It should be an interesting visit. Are the folk as fair as some say?”
“If you mean in coloring, yes,” Gilmael replied. “And they have a most attractive way of speaking. Quickly with a lilt to their speech and deceptively gentle. I once listened to a conversation between two Velarusians and I didn’t realize they were quarreling until they started to curse each other.” He mimicked one of the combatants. “May the scourge of a thousand plagues be on you and yours forever!”
Yovan laughed while Keosqe snickered at the accurate portrayal of a Velarusian spewing a malediction. Even Imcael could not help chuckling. But Rohyr did not join in the mirth. The Ardan lifted his hand to his mouth, but Yovan saw how his lips had curved downward before Rohyr covered the sign of distress. Alarmed, Yovan voiced his concern.
“Rohyr! Are you well?”
The Ardan opened his eyes. But while he appeared aware of everyone’s worry for him, he still seemed unfocused. As if his mind was elsewhere. Yovan repeated his question.
Rohyr softly exhaled. He said, “Rest you all, I am well. I just recalled something. My apologies for causing you worry.”
Yovan studied him curiously. Rohyr looked up and their eyes briefly met across the table. The infinitesimal nod of his nephew confirmed Yovan’s suspicion. Something had recalled a memory from the distant past. Rohyr had assured him such instances would not damage his sanity. But that did not mean he was immune to the pain or horror some memories evoked.
Rohyr straightened and picked up the Tal Ereq missive once more. He read it again, ignoring the exchanged glances of the others. When he was done, he looked at Keosqe, his expression alerting Yovan to a possible twist in their discussion thus far.
“I think I shall join you,” Rohyr said. “Not that I think you incapable of negotiating a favorable outcome for us,” he assured Keosqe.
Though surprised, Keosqe just shook his head and replied, “I didn’t think for a moment that you doubted my abilities. But I own myself surprised at the suddenness of your decision.”
“As do I,” Imcael frowningly said. “Why the change of mind, nephew?”
Rohyr shrugged. “It occurred to me that though I have visited Velarus before, I’ve never gone so far east. I think it’s time I saw with my own eyes what land we wrested from Cattania long ago. And whether it’s worth fighting to keep.”
He glanced at Yovan, his eyes questioning. Yovan dipped his chin once to assure him he would wait until Rohyr was ready to explain what had caused his earlier lapse. Besides he was in a hurry to finish the meeting and head home. A sense of anticipation lightened his heart as the discussion wound down.
Mered had spent two days in Sidona at his parents’ newest property. Asrael and Remir had hosted a weekend gathering at the estate. To impress new investors, he’d told Yovan. Since Mered had stayed over at the Cordona mansion twice the previous week, Yovan had been far from happy about even more time spent apart from his mate.
But now Mered was back. Yovan was looking forward to a full night of indulgence with him. Hence his dismay when he entered the sitting room to their suite to find Mered standing before the hearth dressed to go out. Yovan stood in the doorway, a frown gathering on his face.
“You’re going out? Tonight?” he asked disbelievingly.
Mered came to him and took hold of his hands, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, Van, but Aba decided to throw a dinner party for several clients this evening. I was taken by surprise too.”
Yovan stared at him, a familiar hollow feeling growing within. Though he already knew the probable response, he said, “Give me a few minutes to change into suitable attire.”
When Mered avoided his eyes and let go of his hands to go and pick up the mantle he’d slung over the back of the couch, Yovan’s heart sank.
Before Mered could give him some hastily invented excuse, Yovan preempted him with a caustic, “I’m not invited, am I?”
Mered flinched ever so slightly. “It’s only I and my brothers who are expected to be present,” he said, the faintest tremor in his voice.
“None of your brothers’ spouses will be there?” Yovan bit out.
When Mered hesitated a beat too long, Yovan had his answer. He drew a shaky breath and said, “It shouldn’t surprise me anymore considering how long it’s been since you’ve asked me to accompany you anywhere.” Mered winced but Yovan ignored him, so insulted was he by the obvious snub. ”I should ask you to give my regards to the family, but I don’t think they deserve any. Enjoy yourself, ariad,” he said, his voice hard. “I trust you won’t take offense if I don’t wait up for you.”
He gestured to the open door and then stalked off to the bedchamber when Mered did not move. As he angrily shed his cloak and tunic, he heard the sitting room door close. Yovan shut his eyes, his anger draining away to be replaced by a feeling of defeat. He’d known for some time now that he’d moved down the list of Mered’s priorities. But to have it baldly thrown in his face stung fiercely. Fighting to unclench his fists lest he smash something beyond repair, he bowed his head and let his shoulders droop.
He was startled when arms wove around him from behind. He turned his head to meet Mered’s repentant gaze.
“I’m not going,” he murmured. “I should have declined in the first place.”
Yovan drew a steadying breath. “Thank you. I only wish you decided thusly because you want to be with me, not because I asked it of you.”
“Oh Veres.” Mered came around to face him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, cupping Yovan’s tense jaw with rare tenderness.
It hurt Yovan to recall how infrequent such touches had become. Mered might have realized this too for he dropped his hand, wrapped his arms around Yovan and leaned forward until their foreheads touched.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated, his voice watery. “There’s no excusing my decision to attend the dinner so soon after being away from you. Forgive me my thoughtlessness. Please say you forgive me.”
Yovan tried to pull away. “You didn’t deny it was only because I asked that you changed your mind. Nor does it comfort me that you would have proceeded had I not arrived before you left.”
“Nay!” Mered looked quite horrified. “I do want to be with you. And I wouldn’t have left without letting you know. I swear to this. I truly waited for you. Indeed, I was still trying to decide what to do when you arrived.”
“Yet you were dressed and ready to go,” Yovan reminded him.
“It was just in case you didn’t mind.” Mered’s face scrunched up in shame. “But I shouldn’t have even thought of that. Heyas, I put their wishes before yours again. What kind of spouse am I? After all your efforts to mold me into a worthy mate, I just proved how undeserving I am of you.”
Mered held him closer and laid his head on Yovan’s shoulder. “Please, Van, forgive me. Don’t cast me aside.”
Yovan frowned at the fear he heard in Mered’s plea. Whatever issues he had with their relationship, however unhappy he was at times with Mered’s behavior toward him and their marriage, the notion of discarding his spouse had never occurred to him. It was something of a balm to his aching heart and dented pride to realize his beloved was just as afraid of losing him.
He drew away and slid a finger under Mered’s chin. Regarding him with as much affection as he could muster, Yovan said, “Wherever did you get the idea that I could ever cast you aside? How can I part ways with you, dearest of all I hold dear?” He smiled when Mered beamed at him gratefully. “I love you, Mer. Come what may I will always love you. Never doubt that, my sweet.”
––––––––
Tal Ereq, Velarus
Yovan waited for his nephew to finish contemplating the dregs of wine in the bottom of his glass. In the meantime, he looked around Rohyr’s sparsely furnished room. Their hosts had provided the best accommodations available in Tal Ereq. Unfortunately, the best accommodations were a few small rooms on the second story of the only tavern in town. And since these were hardly ever occupied, they were seldom upgraded to anything close to what highbred Deira were accustomed to.
All the rooms had been hurriedly cleaned, the linens changed and some of the furnishing probably swapped with somewhat newer ones. The two settees they were sitting on looked incongruous in the confined space. They did not match either the bed or the wardrobe and the low table between them looked more like a wide bench. The room’s saving grace was a narrow balconet that looked out on the strip of garden behind the tavern. The one other chamber with an even tinier balconet had been assigned to Imcael, but since it overlooked the main street Yovan did not think it much of an improvement over the remaining rooms. At least the beds were comfortable and the bathing rooms on the ground floor were clean and regularly provided with large tubs of fresh water,
Yovan returned to his perusal of Rohyr. He was as curious as everyone else as to why his nephew had suddenly asked for the son of Tal Ereq’s First Elder in exchange for his protection of the town. Not that young Lassen Idana was the only proviso demanded for said protection. The Tal Ereqi had also perforce agreed to the establishment of a military outpost nearby. But Rohyr had declined their offer of liege homage whereas he’d assured everyone that he would accept the pledges of the other towns and villages that also sought Crown protection.
Liege homage meant the loss of these communities’ relative freedom from Crown intervention. They would come under the Ardan’s direct control which entailed service in perpetuity to him. Not that the towns and villages involved had much of a choice. Not if they wished to avoid being wiped off the map of Ylandre by the rampaging brigands let loose on the region by Cattania.
Rohyr set his glass down on the table. Looking up, he smiled at Yovan ruefully. “You must think me mad. I imagine Uncle Imcael believes worse.”
“For wanting something—or someone so badly you gave in to impulse?” Yovan shook his head. “Nay, I don’t think you mad. But I suspect there’s more to your desire for Lassen Idana than a sudden interest in his pretty face or pert arse.”
Rohyr’s mouth tightened. “I know you don’t mean to belittle him, but please don’t speak of Lassen thusly. And you’re right, Uncle. I don’t lust for him.” He exhaled loudly. “I love him.”
Yovan stared. “How can you love him? You’ve only just laid eyes on him.”
“I first met him twelve hundred years ago,” Rohyr murmured. “In Ziana.”
“In a previous lifetime?” Yovan sat back dumbfounded when Rohyr nodded. “That would have been around the Interregnum.”
“It was shortly before,” Rohyr said. “We went as far as to plight our troth, but he was an acolyte in the Ziana temple and so we could do no more until he finished his ten years of service. But Rovar rebelled and I was recalled to Rikara to lead the Royal Army against him. And then the Varadani invaded the north and, well, you know the rest.”
Yovan blew his breath out. “So you were Prince Diorn in that life cycle,” he slowly said. “But Diorn— that is, you wed a cousin within three years of becoming Ardan. What happened to Lassen?”
Rohyr looked away. “He died before I could return to him.”
Yovan stood up and joined Rohyr on his chair. He wrapped a comforting arm around his nephew’s shoulders. Rohyr shuddered and then leaned against him, his face awash with renewed grief.
“I’m so sorry, Roh,” Yovan murmured. “How many lifetimes have passed since?”
“Seven.”
“Deity’s blood, that’s a terribly long time to have waited for his rebirth. No wonder you demanded him.”
Rohyr looked at Yovan. “I recognized him in the courtyard. I read his mind and saw the memories his soul retained. I had to secure him. I couldn’t bear to lose him again.” He suddenly appeared very young and unsure. “Was I wrong to do what I did?”
Yovan gently smiled. “You followed the dictates of your heart. What would have been wrong was if you’d taken him merely to slake your lust. But you love him. Have loved him for more than a millennium of lifetimes. It will be wrong if you force your love on him. But that isn’t your desire, is it? You took him as your leman because you can’t bear to wait any longer to claim him. And you also hope your intimacy will rekindle his love for you. Or mayhap teach him to return your love in his present lifetime.”
Rohyr breathed in shakily. “You saw my heart and guessed my intentions. I don’t think there’s anyone with acuity to equal yours, Uncle Van.”
“There are others,” Yovan demurred. “Not everyone can sit on the Ardan’s Council.”
“There you go again, downplaying your abilities,” Rohyr said with a chuckle. “Never have I known anyone so humble yet so capable of being prideful as you.”
Yovan scoffed. “Never? Have you met our family?”
Rohyr laughed out loud. “Point taken.” He clasped Yovan’s hand. “Will you guide me? Make sure I don’t overstep my bounds with him?”
“Of course,” Yovan assured him. “But I don’t believe you’ll need much schooling in your treatment of Lassen. You always take care of those you hold dear and you obviously hold him dearest of all. I will beseech Veres Almighty to return to you what you lost and pray that you never lose him again.”
––––––––
Three years later, Asrael Cordona sickened with the wasting disease. Within a month he was reduced to a shrunken shell of a Deir. Virtually crippled and bedridden, he was unable to shift position by himself without help, even less sit up. Despite his caregivers’ best efforts, the bedsores on his back never healed causing him much misery in his last days. When he passed away, his spouse, sons and grandsons mourned him publicly, but many noted that none displayed true grief over his loss. Indeed, the general consensus about their reactions to his death was either of indifference or relief.
It was not surprising since Asrael had not been known to show affection to his family, not even in the form of approval. He’d been more likely to browbeat his children than compliment or encourage them. And his relationship with Remir had long gone the way of the gelra. In any case, his vast fortune passed to his heirs.
Yovan noted that Mered’s portion was somewhat smaller than what his brothers received. He wondered if his mate had a falling out with his sire before the latter’s demise. But he did not speak to Mered about it. It was not his place to question why a Deir would choose to endow his heirs thusly. Besides, he did not covet any part of the Cordona fortune.
Not only was the pay phenomenal when one held one of the highest positions in the kingdom, he’d got to hobnob with the finest of the Crown’s financial advisors and benefited from their expertise. In the course of three decades in royal service, Yovan had amassed wealth befitting a direct scion of the Royal House. He was also secure in the knowledge that between Asrael’s bequests and their shares in Bank Cordona, Mered and Rysander were set for life. A luxurious one if they so desired even were Yovan not there to provide for them.
Rysander decided to celebrate his windfall and majority at the Seralye, a very exclusive hethare club. He invited those of his cousins who were in town to join him. Rohyr attended along with his leman Lassen Idana. Had Yovan known what would occur that evening, he might have insisted on joining his nephews however awkward his presence might prove for his son.
He now gazed curiously at the Deir by Rohyr’s side. Dylen Essendri il Teris was not much older than the Ardan which meant he’d been sired just months prior to Rohyr’s own conception. Yovan discreetly blew out his breath as he recalled that fateful conversation with Dyrael.
If only you’d known, Rael, he sadly thought.
While Dylen had inherited some of his sire’s beauteous features, he did not look enough like Rohyr for any to guess they were the closest of kin. Rohyr was similar to Dyrael in countenance, but had Keldon’s grey eyes and strong jaw. However, close inspection by someone who knew the royal family very well would reveal that Dylen was a scion of House Essendri.
Yovan glanced at the frail Deir ensconced in a wheeled chair by the warming fire crackling in the marble hearth of Rohyr’s sitting room. Hirlen Teris was still indisputably handsome despite his advanced years and the ravages of the disease that nearly killed him. It was no wonder Dyrael had chosen to consort with him before his marriage to Keldon. That and the hethare’s nigh legendary discretion, a thing almost unheard of among Deira whose profession included the provision of sexual favors.
He came back to the present when Imcael started loudly expressing his dismay and anger. “What in Aisen was Dyrael thinking when he sired a bastard on a hethar?” he bellowed.
Rohyr scowled. “Ama didn’t know he had sired a child,” he replied none too patiently. “Nor had he intended to. But that doesn’t make Dylen any less my brother than if he’d been conceived with everyone’s full consent.”
Not surprisingly, Imcael refused to back down. “And how do you know he is your brother?” He eyed Dylen suspiciously. “You should know better than to take some stranger’s word for it.”
Yovan noticed how Dylen’s mouth tightened though he did not speak. He stared back at Imcael, his eyes glittering with dislike and defiance. Yovan found himself quickly warming to his newly discovered nephew.
“I felt our kinship at once, Uncle,” Rohyr said. “Even before he spoke of it.”
“Strange, but I feel nothing.”
“Well, that’s hardly Dylen’s fault.”
Imcael’s face nearly purpled at the veiled aspersion on his lesser abilities. Before he could muster a reply, Dylen added a touch tauntingly, “Strange, but I felt His Majesty’s presence and our kinship before I entered the taproom.”
Rohyr laid a glower on a nigh apoplectic Imcael, daring him to unleash his bile on Dylen in his presence. Once he was sure Imcael would hold his tongue, he glanced at Yovan.
“Were you aware of Ama’s affair, Uncle Van?”
Yovan nodded. “He told me about it several years before he passed.”
“And you never bothered to tell Keldon?”
Yovan rolled his eyes at Imcael. “I was told in confidence. Dyrael asked me to keep it a secret lest it caused trouble between him and Keldon. I promised I would. But now that Dylen has come forward, I’m no longer constrained by my promise.”
He glanced again at Hirlen and then approached the crippled Deir. “If I may?” he gently said. “There’s something I think you should know about Dyrael regarding the last time he sought you.”
Hirlen paled and then flushed. “Of course, Dyhar,” he said, his voice weak and breathy.
“He deeply regretted what he did to you,” Yovan said. “He told me he warranted my contempt for his actions. He said you’d forgiven him, but he didn’t truly believe he deserved your pardon. I did my best to convince him that he did if you’d chosen to bestow it on him.”
The former hethar caught his breath. “Poor Dyrael,” he half-whispered. “To carry that burden for so long. I’m glad you were of comfort to him, Master Seydon. I assure you I bore him no ill will. I meant it when I forgave him.”
Hirlen looked at Rohyr beseechingly. “He was so resentful that he had no control over his future. Please don’t misunderstand me, Your Majesty, he wanted to marry the Ardan Keldon. He loved and adored him so very deeply. But that didn’t change the fact that his life had been arranged for him beforehand. It upset him beyond measure.”
“He indulged in more drink than he could handle that night,” he continued in a hushed voice. “I’d never seen him imbibe so much in all the months I knew him. I tried to resist when he sought more than we’d agreed on. Besides I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t taken mirash. But he was very strong and determined and... inebriated enough to ignore my protests.”
“Yet you forgave him,” Yovan softly said.
Hirlen nodded. “If only you’d seen him when he sobered up. He was beyond remorseful. He begged for my forgiveness, but I could see in his eyes that he believed he deserved none. I assured him he did, but I see now it wasn’t enough.”
He looked at Yovan again. “I’m truly grateful you relieved him of some of the weight on his conscience.” Hirlen hesitated then added, “He gave me triple my fee afterward. I think it was his way of making amends.”
“And of course you accepted it,” Imcael said.
“Of course I accepted it, Your Grace,” Hirlen replied with dignity. “To refuse could have been misconstrued as a rejection of his apology. It would have been cruel.”
“Why didn’t you inform him that you’d conceived?” Rohyr asked curiously.
“Tell him he’d begotten a child with another before wedding the Ardan?” Hirlen shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been just a terrible scandal. It might have irreparably riven their marriage. I couldn’t do that to them. To the Crown. And in any case, he gave me so much more than he took from me.”
Hirlen cast an affectionate smile at his son.
“You’re a loyal subject first and foremost,” Rohyr murmured. “Dylen said as much.”
“Yet he came forward and claimed his kinship to you,” Imcael testily said. “And with a host of Essendris to stand as witnesses. How very providential.”
Yovan chimed in when he saw the kindling ire in Dylen’s face. “Surely you would have done the same had a loved one’s life been at stake,” he pointed out.
Imcael glared at him. “That goes without saying,” he tersely replied.
“Ah, it’s good to know you aren’t as indifferent to the family as you would have us believe,” Yovan blithely said. “I think I might learn to like you after all. In good time that is.”
Rohyr pressed a fist to his mouth. Dylen, on the other hand, smiled at Yovan and quietly said, “Thank you, Dyhar.”
Imcael scowled and then heaved a long suffering sigh. He pointed warningly at the Terises. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the both of you,” he informed them haughtily. “I won’t allow shame to fall upon my House. Remember that!”
He strode out of the royal suite in righteous dudgeon. Whereupon Yovan eyed a snickering Rohyr quite severely.
“First a leman, now a long lost brother,” he tartly said. “What will you bring home next, Rohyr-min? A passel of yowling infants perhaps?”
He rolled his eyes when Rohyr proceeded to guffaw. Dylen stared at his brother with raised eyebrows. He started when Yovan pulled him into a quick hug.
“Pay him no mind, nephew. And by the way, welcome to the family.”
––––––––
The clerks and secretaries almost jumped in their seats when Mered shoved the door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall. Ignoring their wide eyes and gapes, he strode into Asrael Cordona’s office now occupied by Havir. It was barely a month since the banker’s passing but Mered was determined to free himself from the demands placed upon him these many years. Demands that had shriveled his soul and left him lying awake in shame and anxiety many a sleepless night.
Havir looked up from the documents on the desk and affixed a thin smile on his face. Mered suppressed an irritated sigh.
His eldest brother had never been close to him in light of the years that separated them in age, but he had paid Mered attention in a condescending older brother sort of way. His expression this morning however did not bear even the slightest warmth or welcome. Perhaps the stress of taking over Asrael’s position as head of the bank was already wearing on him.
Havir stood up and came around the desk. “To what do I owe this pleasure, little brother?” he asked.
Mered peered at him with a slight frown. There had been a hint of snideness in Havir’s tone that didn’t bode well for an amicable meeting. He wondered what had curdled his brother’s mood so early in the day.
“I’ve come to discuss my role in the bank,” Mered said.
“What about it?”
“I want to cease my involvement in its operations and expansion.”
Havir’s eyebrows shot up. It was apparent he had not expected Mered’s announcement. Pursing his lips, he strode to the door and closed it. When he turned around, his frown had turned into a scowl. He walked to Mered, his eyes narrowing in anger.
“Why in Aisen would you want to do that?” he demanded none too politely.
Mered exhaled heavily. “My duties have affected my relationship with Yovan adversely. I wish to spend more time with him, or rather on him. I’ve prioritized the bank over him too often as it is. I need to amend that now if I’m to keep our union sound. You needn’t worry, I’ll ensure whomever takes over from me will be fully briefed.”
“You think it’s that simple?” Havir snapped. “I won’t allow it.”
Mered shook his head. “You can’t force me to stay on.”
“I’ll strip you of your directorship and the shares that go with it.”
“Strip away. We’ll be more than comfortable without them.”
Havir narrowed his eyes at him in a distinctly threatening manner. “And your secret? Shall I strip away its concealment as well?”
Alarm and shock tore at Mered’s insides. “What are you talking about?”
“You can dispense with playing the innocent. You know full well what I’m talking about.” Havir was openly sneering now. “And you also know what it will cost you if I reveal it to Yovan and Rysander, don’t you?
Mered suddenly felt cold. “Aba told you?”
“After you gainsaid him once too often.”
“Deity’s blood! Do you realize what this will do to Ama?”
“Oh, he knows that I know,” Havir airily informed him. “And he agrees you should be kept in line. You’ve been turning quite rebellious of late. No doubt because Aba’s health had been failing fast. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’d try to set aside the family as soon as you could. In any case, I think you understand why you can’t step back now.”
“Nay, I don’t understand. Why do you want to keep me here? There’s Ovreth and Davre and Ama besides to keep things running well.”
“They can keep things running well, but none of us are young enough any longer to take care of the other side of the business,” Havir pointed out. “And our spouses refuse to allow our children to handle our dealings as we did after you made it very clear that Rysander will have naught to do with the bank. Not that the Ardan’s cousin can soil his fingers thusly, eh?”
“Then why—”
Havir cut him off. “You, on the other hand, are still young enough for it and charming and comely besides. And you’re married to the Ardan’s favorite and oh so powerful uncle. What Deir would forego the chance to be, ah, entertained by Yovan Seydon’s mate?”
At Mered’s horrified stare, Havir snorted derisively. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about it. Did you ever wonder why you only kept company with our lowborn patrons, and never the bluebloods? We’re not stupid, Mer. We know very well that bluebloods have no compunction about letting a cuckold know he’s been cuckolded, whereas lowbreds have a healthy fear of retaliation if they cross a highborn and especially one with royal blood in his veins.”
He grinned. “Therefore in gratitude for our protection of your name and marriage, you have to see this through until we’ve established ourselves fully in Khitaira. Then and only then will we speak of your plans again.”
Mered grit his teeth. “You’d hold this over my head, your own brother?” he growled. “You have no qualms about using me thusly?”
“As Aba used you thusly and with such satisfying results,” Havir reminded him. “And to think you didn’t even fully expend yourself. Won’t you consider how much more you’d achieve if you used your talents to their utmost?”
“Never!” Mered vehemently replied. He eyed his brother in disillusionment. “You and Ama are no different from him,” he muttered. “I’ve been a fool to believe you gave a fig about me.”
Havir snorted. “What reason is there to give a fig about you? Other than if you continue to contribute to the family coffers, of course.” When Mered angrily turned on his heel and made to leave, he sharply added, “I assume we understand each other?”
Mered shot him a venomous glare over his shoulder before stalking out of the room.