Cethe (35 page)

Severyn recovered enough to produce an almost natural smile. “Nothing. I’m just jealous it’s you who’s going to Withwil ow,

while I must sit and listen to the complaints of Petitioners from dawn to dusk.”

“Send them back to your brother; make him work, for a change.”

“You tempt me. And if I thought Arami wouldn’t fal asleep or take intermissions every ten minutes to suck pelthe, I might take

you up on it.”

Even so, as Severyn continued on to his own rooms at the end of the hal , he toyed with the idea. Riding through Withwil ow’s

beautiful streets with Mick, the pair of them visiting the best inns and restaurants, taking in a play or two. There would be no need to

bring Eldering along. The scrawny, baby-faced…

Severyn gave himself a mental shake, ashamed at the direction his thoughts were taking. Eldering was al right; it wasn’t his

fault he’d been brought up by a herd of wild pigs. According to Mick, his life had been another kind of hel .

Severyn reached his rooms and let himself in. He looked at the big, empty bed. Soon, Eldering’s sister would be in it, waiting

for him. An image of her appeared in his mind’s eye, the porcelain complexion, enormous green eyes; al that hair, black as ink,

framing a face of ethereal loveliness. According to gossip, she was referred to as the Moon Goddess among her throngs of

admirers.

Her mother had been the earl’s fifth wife and the sister of his fourth. Stefn and Stefanie might be half-siblings in name, but the

blood they shared was much closer than that. Would she have the same spirit? The same sharp intel ect? He remembered their few

interviews, how stil and shy she had been, answering in near-whispers, never once venturing a comment or question of her own.

Suddenly, a year’s mourning period seemed al too brief.

Stefn wasn’t in his room. Michael went straight to the library, but found it deserted. Stepping back out into the corridor, he

happened to glance to the left. The tower door was ajar. Sure enough, when Michael reached the top of the stairs, light was shining

under the door. He opened it. In one of the armchairs facing the stove, a book fal en to his lap, Stefn slept.

The youth had taken off his jacket; it laid over the back of the other chair; and he’d untied his neckcloth. Now he sat, head

bowed, his black hair tumbling over his eyes and wisping against the nape of his neck where the lethet sparkled and winked.

Michael made no sound crossing the room on the thick, new rugs. Stefn didn’t move. He was breathing hard and his face was

flushed. Gently, Michael lifted the book from Stefn’s lap and saw, pushing against the fine, pressed wool of the boy’s breeches was,

an unmistakable bulge.

It was impossible not to react to such a sight. Stefn’s lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and fal ing rapidly. Who was he

dreaming of? As Michael watched, transfixed, Stefn whimpered and stirred slightly, his head fal ing back against the chair.

Michael could not help it. Even as he reminded himself of his promise, he bent down and covered Stefn’s mouth with his own.

A moan answered him, Stefn’s lips parting wider. Green eyes opened slowly, dark lashes fluttering. Michael straightened, cursing

himself.

But Stefn didn’t say anything, only touched his lips and looked bewildered.

“We leave for Withwil ow early,” Michael said. “Come to bed.”

Belatedly, ful awareness returned. Stefn rocketed to his feet, turning bright red. Michael grinned. “Nice dream?”

Stefn’s color deepened. He scowled fiercely and pushed past Michael. The sound of his retreating footsteps floated back up

to Michael, who fol owed more slowly.

“Isn’t your damned room ready yet?” Stefn greeted him when he reached their rooms. “I didn’t see workmen there today.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

“Obviously, you’l do what you please, but yes. I would like to have my room back.”

“And leave you like that?” Michael gestured to Stefn’s obvious erection.

“It’s your fault.” Sul en.

“You were dreaming of me?”

“No!” But Stefn’s color only deepened. “Arrogant bastard. You promised!”

“As you wish,” sighed Michael, inwardly cursing his foolishness. He wanted nothing more than to seize Stefn, tear his clothes

off and take him right there, across the bench before the fireplace. “Just don’t come waking me up in a few hours, begging me to

fuck you.”

He made it al the way to the door before a strangled voice cal ed, “Wait! Damn you!”

Michael turned. Stefn, trembling, tore off his shirt, letting it fal to the floor. The lethet winked and flashed in the firelight.

Fumbling in his haste and anger, Stefn stripped off the rest of his clothing. “There!” he snapped. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want!

”

Folding his arms over his chest, Michael leaned back against the door. “That’s hardly an invitation I can resist,” he replied. “If

you want me, say so.”

Stefn’s face was a study. A dizzying array of emotions flashed across it. “I want you,” he spat.

Michael laughed. “Very persuasive.”

“Damn you! I didn’t ask for this!”

“I know and I’m sorry.”

Stefn stared at him a moment, then groaned, lowering his head, one hand wrapping around his sex. Iron control held Michael

in place, but he doubted he could resist much longer. “At the moment, I don’t need your services as a cethe,” he said. “Why not

pleasure yourself?”

“You know why! You made me like this!”

“Are you sure?” Michael let his gaze linger deliberately on Stefn’s hand. “Go ahead. See if you real y need me this time.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Go on,” Michael said. “If it’s the lethet tormenting you, I’l do my duty, but if not… ”

Mouth twisting, Stefn closed his eyes. His hand began to move. A moment later, he col apsed onto the bench, legs spread

wide, breath hissing between his teeth as he pumped. “Oh, God!” he groaned. “Oh, God… Damn it… ”

Michael pushed away from the door and strode to the bench. Stefn lurched to his feet, throwing himself at him. Hungrily,

Michael kissed him again and again while, between the kisses, they both ripped at his clothes. Naked, he groaned, pushing Stefn to

his knees before him. Without resistance or protest, Stefn swal owed Michael’s cock and began to suck eagerly.

Michael looked down at the dark head with half-closed eyes, his groin afire. His senses overwhelmed him, his own breathing

coming hard and fast. Climax came al too quickly, forcing a guttural cry from him and blanking every thought in the rush of ecstasy.

His knees gave way and he dropped to the floor beside Stefn.

The other man suddenly cried, as wel , his busily-moving hands clenching around his spurting sex. Then he folded forward,

head bowed, sobbing for breath.

Michael recovered first, rising and cleaning himself off. He helped Stefn up, tending to him, also.

“Not the lethet, then?”

Stefn, breathing hard, refused to answer. Without another word, they went to bed. Sleep came quickly.

In the latter part of the Thirteenth Century, the Wet Years receded and populations grew. It became commonplace for

fiefdoms to attempt expansion by invading their neighbors. This state of near-constant war not only kept mankind fragmented

and in confusion, it allowed the nara to advance socially until many of the larger and more prosperous fiefdoms came to be

under their control.

This fragmentation proved disastrous at the beginning of the naran war when Men failed repeatedly to ally themselves in

the face of naran attacks.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume I
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1347

Morning came and Stefn woke to find himself alone. He lay in bed, content, until one of the footmen arrived with his breakfast

tray.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lord Arranz wants you to meet the other gentlemen in the stableyard at sunrise.”

Stefn groaned, but he accepted the dressing gown the man handed him. “Where’s Marin?” he asked.

“He left yesterday evening for his master’s home.”

Grumbling, Stefn went about washing up and getting dressed while the servant set out a generous breakfast of coddled eggs,

fresh-baked bread with creamery butter, sausages and baked apple compote.

“Best wear your warmest outer garments,” warned the footman as he busily packed Stefn’s bags. “His Lordship plans to ride

to Withwil ow to make better time.”

Stefn, wolfing his breakfast at the table by the windows, glanced curiously outside. The moon hung just above the roof of the

east wing, a lingering white disk in the brightening sky. He didn’t mind. One could see more from horseback and, besides, he was

used to the cold.

The servant finished packing and bore his bags away. Stefn finished the last of the compote, chasing every last drop of the

spiced syrup around the bowl with his spoon. His mood this morning was almost buoyant. Even the prospect of returning to

Blackmarsh wasn’t enough to crush it.

“Borstile?”

“My lord?”

“Would you do me a favor? In the library are three books set out on the reading table. Could you bring them to me, please?”

The footman hurried out, returning with the three thin volumes. Al were ladies novels. Stefn intended to loan them to Miss

Annie, whose kindness during his last visit he wanted to repay.

Forty-five minutes later, with a leather satchel holding Lord Bentley’s newest adventures in hand, Stefn arrived at the stables.

Everyone was there, even Auron, who had not bothered to dress, but merely thrown a heavy coat over his dressing gown.

Spotting a groom tying his bags to the saddle of a nicely turned-out mare, Stefn went straight over, handing him the books.

Across the cobbled yard Michael and the prince talked, heads bent together. At first, Stefn thought they were arguing, then the

prince burst into laughter, setting his hand on Michael’s shoulder. Something in the familiarity of the gesture froze Stefn in place,

twisting his stomach in the oddest way.

He turned back to his horse, making smal adjustments to his mount’s tack and answering the servant’s smal talk

automatical y. It was perfectly understandable, the intimate friendship between prince and the duke’s grandson. Michael and

Severyn had grown up together, were practical y brothers. The prince even referred to the Demon Duke as “Uncle Damon.” And

why did he care, anyway? With a last tug at the girth, Stefn got into the saddle.

Prince Severyn embraced Arranz and went to speak to the others. From the corner of his eye, Stefn watched Michael mount

with his usual grace, shaking back his silver banner of hair, utterly careless of his unnatural beauty. Something made Stefn glance

to the prince and saw that he, too, stared at the h’naran lord. Once again, Stefn felt the twinge of angst. When Lothlain’s gaze

suddenly swiveled to him, Stefn quickly looked away, heart pounding.

“Ready for the ride?” Michael’s tone was cheerful, his smile easy. Stefn’s spirits rose. He grinned back. With a chorus of good-

byes ringing behind them, they started down the drive.

Stefn imagined he could feel Lothlain’s gaze boring into his back. Just before they rounded the corner at the battery, Michael

turned and waved, but Stefn kept his eyes firmly ahead.

Around the battery and past the old gate house they rode; through Shia’s outer wal s and out onto the rutted roadway. On his

first trip out of the parish, Stefn had been frightened, with no idea what had lain ahead. Now his heart beat faster in excitement.

“Stil imagining my death?”

Starting, he glanced over at Michael whose smile had turned wry.

“Not this morning,” replied Stefn. “Maybe later.”

Michael laughed. “Let me know when you do,” he said. “I’l try my best to distract you.”

There was a wealth of meaning in his gaze, that was reflected in his eyes. How strange it was that their cool color could seem

so warm.

“Do we go to Blackmarsh first?” asked Stefn, feeling his own face heat. “Or on the way back?”

“First, I’m afraid. It’s been nearly a month since word from home. Most likely it’s nothing, but with this new Hunter outpost in

Creighton, I don’t like to make such assumptions.”

Stefn enjoyed being on horseback. As the day brightened around them, he saw the parish with new eyes. Suddenly, the bare,

rol ing land promised limitless possibilities instead of unattainable destinations. Distant ribbons of chimney-smoke made him think of

the repairs being made on his people’s ramshackle dwel ings.

Several times before crossing the parish line, they passed wagons heading north bearing shingles and bags of mortar.

“It’s not just repair of vil age homes, but new ones being built, as wel ,” Michael replied when Stefn commented.

“They’d best hurry. When true winter comes, they’l need a stout roof and thick wal s. How is the food supply in the vil age?”

“As good as can be expected, given what they had under your father. The prince means to support the parish through the

winter, but next year at this time, things should be much different.”

Support the peasants? His father had never cared a whit about their survival, seeing them only as sources of labor and

income.

The weather held al the way to Fornsby, cold but clear and sunny. As twilight fel , they stopped again at the Cathedral Inn