Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (15 page)

Dylen sensed it the moment Rohyr began to contact his cousin. There was an unnatural stillness, a silence that came close to oppressive. He looked nervously at Lassen. The
sedyr
had paled slightly but did not react further. It seemed he was used to the sensations wrought by his lover’s usage of his mental skills.

He looked back at Rohyr. This time he could not stifle a gasp. The Ardan was enveloped in a wavering light so faint that had the room been more brightly lit, the glimmer would not have been visible.

Dylen stared in fascination, his curiosity overcoming propriety. He did not habitually use his inborn talent to read the minds of others—not unless he thought it absolutely necessary————but but curiosity now impelled him to extend his senses just that extra bit to ascertain what was going on.

He only intended to catch a glimpse, not intrude into Rohyr’s mind. For one, he knew Rohyr would be instantly aware of any attempt to dip below the surface of his consciousness and would justifiably take exception. For another, entering another Deir’s mind was a procedure so intrusive it often left him with intense feelings of regret afterward. Thus his preference for quick, unobtrusive peeks if and when he needed information. To his shock, he felt a sudden tug on his mind, one he had never experienced, and before he knew it, he was on the same plane of consciousness as the Ardan.

A bluish-hued luminescence suffused what appeared to be a windowless chamber of sorts. Rohyr stood in its center, awaiting something. Dylen remained as motionless as possible in the shadows at the periphery of the chamber, wondering what would happen next and what Rohyr would make of his unwitting intrusion if he discovered it.

Suddenly, another Deir stepped into view, seeming to materialize out of the light.

Brown-haired, dark-eyed and dressed in a physician’s smock. It could only be Eiren Sarvan

You must come back to Ylandre at once, Eiren
, Rohyr informed his cousin.

Eiren frowned.
Why? What requires my presence?

A Deir is dying of a strain of blight only you are known to have cured.

I see.
One of your courtiers?

Nay, I only met him this eve. He’s a retired hethar
.

Eiren’s eyebrows rose
. Since when did you start doing favors for complete strangers,
Roh?

Since my brother asked it of me.

Brother?

The physician’s shock was so resounding Dylen actually felt the force of it. Hardly had he recovered from the unsettling sensation when Rohyr glanced over his shoulder at him, drawing Eiren’s attention as a result. Abashed, Dylen hastily yanked himself out of the link, stumbling backward as he returned to the here and now.

Someone caught and steadied him, and he realized Lassen had kept him from falling.

He was mumbling his thanks when Rohyr came out of his trance and at once turned to regard him curiously.

“You were in the link with us,” the Ardan remarked. “You heard every word.”

Dylen hesitated then realized it was ridiculous to deny what Rohyr already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t have the slightest notion how I did it. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

“You are Dyrael’s son and of the direct royal line,” Rohyr pointed out. “You carry the Essendri potential in your blood and in far greater degree than even Uncle Imcael it seems.” He eyed Dylen thoughtfully. “It only needs proper training to bring it to complete fruition. Quite unlike others who must toil long and hard to unleash their gifts to the fullest. What say you to that, Dylen Essendri
il
Teris?”

Dylen was struck speechless. He had not been expecting Rohyr’s formal recognition of their relationship and even less his acceptance of Dylen as a member of the Royal

House. Yet Rohyr had given him leave to take the royal surname as his own, appending Hirlen’s family name in due respect to Dylen’s birthing father. Overwhelmed, Dylen went down on one knee before Rohyr, struggling to keep his tears from flowing. He took his brother’s hand and kissed it. Rohyr looked at him in surprise.

“What’s this?” he protested. He drew Dylen to his feet. With a smile, he laid his hand on Dylen’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Never are you to bow or bend your knee to me, brother mine, save in ceremony.” He let go and turned toward the door. “Now come, let us wait for Eiren.”

Half an hour had passed when a translocation portal blossomed right on the empty street before the Teris townhouse. The late hour precluded much pedestrian or vehicular traffic, but the Ardan’s people had cordoned off the entire stretch nonetheless.

Dylen blew his breath out as the very air before them rippled. A pinpoint of light suddenly appeared in the darkness and rapidly expanded into an opening large enough for a mounted Deir to pass through. The opening was a-swirl with shifting brightness and shadows that blurred whatever lay within. But Dylen sensed the high level of energy generated by it. Small wonder only specially gifted
enyra
could create these transient corridors.

Of a sudden, a cloaked Deir emerged from the portal, astride a speckled steed. The portal immediately closed behind him, its soft radiance quickly fading away. Rohyr approached the rider as he dismounted. He caught the Deir in a welcoming hug. The newcomer then turned to Lassen and took his extended hand in a warm grip. They murmured greetings before Rohyr gestured to Dylen to come forward.

Eiren Sarvan dropped his hood and glanced at Dylen.

“I take it this is he?” he ascertained.

“It is,” Rohyr affirmed.

Eiren carefully looked Dylen over. He suddenly smiled. “Welcome to the family, cousin,” he said then swept past and entered the house. Rohyr grinned at Dylen before following the physician.

Dylen stared after them in astonishment.

“Most of them are like that,” Lassen softly said.

Dylen glanced at him. “Most of them?”

“’Twould be prudent to tread warily around the Ardan’s uncle,” Lassen cautioned.

“Imcael Essendri is not as accommodating of outsiders. ’Tis fortunate he doesn’t reside year-round in Rikara. But the others are kind and welcoming. You won’t feel a stranger amongst them.” He turned a reassuring gaze on Dylen. “Eiren has wrested many from the very arms of death. He will do his utmost for your
adda
.”

Forcing himself to relax, Dylen allowed Lassen to usher him back into the house.

Dylen wondered if he had ever been as exhausted as he was this day. He all but collapsed on the couch in the parlor. Lassen was slouched at the other end fast asleep, the signs of strain around his mouth. Dylen grimaced. He knew what Lassen had gone through. Never had he felt so drained, not only of strength but also of will.

Eiren had battled all night and the following morning to save Hirlen, drawing not only on his own considerable store of energy but also on Rohyr and Dylen’s and even what Lassen and the captain of Rohyr’s escort could lend. In addition, he had brewed a number of potions in the kitchen with Tarqin’s assistance. Those had ranged in odor from refreshing to noxious. But he had made Hirlen drink them all, studiously ignoring the Deir’s piteous whimpers when forced to imbibe the foulest tasting concoction. In between doses of the various medicaments, he had poured healing energy into Hirlen, topping his strength with what he took from the others. Dylen shook his head as he recalled the sight of Eiren bent over his father, eyes and hands eerily incandescent as he directed energy into Hirlen’s body.

First the Ardan; then his cousin. Dylen wondered if all the members of House Essendri were as prodigiously gifted.

He’d always been aware of his difference from other
sedyra
, endowed as he was with mental skills that were no longer accessible to the majority of Half Bloods. That was his legacy from Dyrael. He doubted however that he possessed anything near his Essendri kin’s level of power.

He glanced back when Rohyr and Eiren came out of his father’s bedroom. Though both looked a little tired, Dylen suspected it was more from lack of sleep than the effects of expending their strength. He shook his head, amazed all over again.

They walked over to the couch. Dylen watched Rohyr cover Lassen with his cloak then lean down and press a kiss to his leman’s forehead. It gave Dylen reason to suspect that Rohyr was as smitten with Lassen as Lassen was with him. He smiled to himself, pleased that the
sedyr’s
love was not all that one-sided after all.

Eiren dropped a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at the physician. His cousin, he reminded himself. How strange to suddenly find himself part of an extended family and a family of such prominence at that.

“He won’t die,” Eiren assured him. “I think the disease has been arrested if not totally destroyed.”

Dylen frowned, trying to think clearly despite his weariness. “Might it recur then?”

he anxiously asked, forcing himself to sit up straight.

Eiren sank down on his haunches before him. “There is no overnight cure for this disease even in its original form. It takes months to cleanse the body of blight. This strain will take even longer given its severity. Treatment may take as long as three or four years before he regains most of his strength.”

“But
Adda
will be cured?”

“I see no reason why not. However…” Eiren paused and eyed him so somberly Dylen knew there was some bad news in the offing. He gestured to Eiren to continue.

“What damage has been done to your father’s body can’t be undone. I can’t restore his legs for instance; he’ll be confined to a wheeled chair from here on.” He squeezed Dylen’s knee sympathetically when the latter paled. “And he’ll need constant monitoring all the way to convalescence for signs of any recurrence of blight or complications caused by it.” He allowed Dylen a moment to mull over the information. “The care he’ll need isn’t cheap,” he warned.

Dylen closed his eyes. He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead as if to ease away a headache. At length he opened his eyes and looked from Eiren to Rohyr.

“I will manage,” he stoutly replied.

“How?” Eiren pressed. “Only the rich can afford to hire trained caregivers.”

“I’ll take on more patrons,” Dylen decided. “The earnings are much greater when we take guests to bed.” He swallowed then sighed. “And I’m rather sought after for that particular service so it won’t be difficult to solicit more of them,” he added, trying to smile.

“Don’t even consider it,” Rohyr firmly interjected. “I can’t possibly allow you to continue working at the Seralye.”

Despite his fatigue, Dylen could not help bristling a little. “Mine is a legitimate profession,” he pointed out. “I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

“Nor am I,” Rohyr replied, coming to stand before him. “But you’re an Essendri and a prince of the blood. That alone is enough to preclude you from carrying on and mayhap unwittingly breeding by-blows down the line.” He paused when Dylen flinched, stung by the reminder of the circumstances of his own conception. “And even were it not prohibited, there are also the matters of security and propriety. Would you have me post guards outside the Seralye while you received patrons? Or ask me to ignore the gossip that will arise once it becomes known that you’re my brother?”

Dylen colored. At length, he stood up, ignoring his exhaustion as best as he could, and boldly met Rohyr’s gaze.

“Then what would you have me do,
Dyhar
? Sit around court and wait for your largesse?” Dylen shook his head. “Forgive me but I can’t just do nothing. I’ve never been idle, and in any case, it wouldn’t be wise. Bad enough when it gets out that you have a bastard brother who sold his services for the right price. The talk will worsen were I to become your ward when I am well past my majority and able-bodied to boot.”

Rohyr eyed him thoughtfully. “What would I have you do? Well, first I would have you address me by name.” When Dylen reacted with some dismay, he pointed out, “It would be ridiculous to have my one and only sibling behaving so formally with me when all my other kin have never done so except in ceremony. Second, I don’t wish for you to be idle either. It neither suits your temperament nor my purposes. Do you remember Gilmael?” he abruptly asked.

Dylen easily recalled the dark-haired noble who had first called attention to his eyes.

He nodded.

“Gilmael is in need of an adjutant he can trust absolutely. His last was recently imprisoned for treason.” Rohyr grimly smiled when Dylen gasped. “Yes, it can be a perilous position if one doesn’t know the meaning of loyalty. But you do. You kept our kinship a secret all these years to protect the Crown when you could have used the knowledge to benefit yourself and your father early on.”

Dylen stared at him then glanced uncertainly at Eiren. The physician shrugged, a faint grin curving his mouth.

“Gilmael can be a taskmaster sometimes,” he disclosed. “And Veres knows how willing he is to put himself at risk for duty’s sake and that he expects the same of his people. But he’s no harebrained daredevil either and he’s fair almost to a fault.”

“And the pay is very good,” Rohyr added.

“I should think so considering the working conditions,” Dylen dryly said, a touch of his humor returning. “But do I qualify for the position?”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if you didn’t,” Rohyr assured him. “Your training as a companion is very similar to what any Deir in Intelligence undergoes, especially with

regards to ferreting out information and discerning hidden motives. And I warrant you’ve got more experience in either area than many of Gilmael’s younger agents. You’ll be an asset to his Ministry and to the Crown. And eventually, when the dust has settled around your arrival, I’ll turn
Adda
Dyrael’s properties over to you.” He chuckled when Dylen stared at him incredulously. “You’re legally entitled to them as his eldest born. And he had land all over the country though he favored his coastal estates most. I dare say your father’s health will vastly improve from the sea breezes of Glanthar and western Vireshe.”

It took Dylen quite a while to recover from the shock of discovering the extent of his inheritance. But when he did, for the first time, he smiled brightly and without restraint.