Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (22 page)

Shenze itself, or at least its architecture, seemed to follow the pattern. Massive domed buildings competed with thin, spire-topped edifices so delicate in appearance one almost expected them to crack and crumble at the slightest gust of the strong easterly winds. There was no homogeneity in the materials of which the city was wrought. Red brick, blue slate and moss green stone meshed and clashed in glorious profusion. The result was a vibrant metropolis alive with color, shape and texture.

Its citizens were more alike to each other than the structures they had built. They were little different from the people of the North Continent in physical appearance. But evolution had taken the sunnier climes of South Vihandra into consideration and consequently its folk were slightly darker in complexion with skin tones ranging from olive to coppery.

He’d felt the charm of this gateway city and its environs almost as soon as he and Riodan came out of translocation three days ago on the wide, gently undulating plain that lay before Shenze. If he now strove to keep Asmara allied to Ylandre, it was no longer out of duty alone, but also because he genuinely appreciated the land and its people.

At length he sauntered into the long open gallery that overlooked the open-air, mosaic-floored courtyard that was the center around which the palace had been built. The Halvan residence was as different from the Citadel as could be. Golden in hue and quite decadent in appearance, it sprawled rather than soared, with the main audience chamber housed under a massive dome that formed most of the north wing of the palace. Keeping the warmer climate in mind, its builders had provided many open courtyards and terraces within the complex, as well as numerous doors and windows to allow for maximum air circulation.

Like all royal keeps, the palace was enclosed within thick nigh impregnable stone walls. But an extra defense and a most effective one was the sheer drop in back of it.

From the ramparts on the palace’s rear wall, one gazed down into a deep jagged chasm too wide to bridge and too long to skirt. It was a dizzying sight and a frightening one as well.

From his vantage point, Dylen spotted Riodan down below talking with the Minister of Trade by one of the three fountains that adorned the courtyard. Riodan had earlier told him that he intended to corner the Deir and put not so subtle pressure on him to get on with the business of approving the contract renewals that were the purported reason for their presence in Asmara. The Minister seemed rather red-faced at the moment and was mopping his face with a kerchief. What in Aisen was Riodan saying to the Deir to make him so uncomfortable?

He recalled the bit of gossip he had come across the night before after he and Riodan had parted for the evening. It had come to his ears by way of the loosened tongue of his drinking partner, one of the palace officials. Perhaps he should communicate it to Riodan now while he had the Minister’s full attention. After all, what good was all his training under Rohyr and Tenryon if he did not put it to practical use? He focused on Riodan and, taking a deep breath, reached out and connected with him, mind to mind.

Ask him how he did at the gaming tables last night
.

Riodan did not so much as bat an eyelash at the unbidden message. He only nodded his head slightly to let Dylen know he had heard. He looked at his companion, Thael Dimas, Asmara’s Minister of Trade.

“I’ve heard quite a lot about the gaming halls of Shenze,” he casually said. “Is it true the stakes are higher here than in most other cities?”

Dimas glanced at him, obviously startled by the sudden change in topic. “Yes, it’s true,” he admitted. “You can win a lifelong fortune with one roll of the dice in our halls.”

“Or lose everything but the shirt on one’s back I imagine.”

“Well, that is a risk of gaming,” Dimas said with a shrug.

Riodan looked him straight in the eye. “And how did
you
do last night, Minister? Did you win a fortune or lose one?”

The Deir started. He grew pale. “A little of each,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Then it must be very reassuring that you have ample resources to pay off any debts you incur,” Riodan murmured.

Dimas grew red-faced all over again. “I assure you there have never been defalcations at my Ministry!”

Riodan softly chuckled. “Ah, I never implied that. What I meant was that you must have friends in high places who are generous enough to lend you what is needed.”

The Minister seemed taken aback. “I—that is, I have been fortunate, yes,” he stammered slightly. “But I, er, pride myself in paying back all I owe.”

“In kind as well as coin, I suppose,” Riodan said.

“On occa—” Dimas stopped mid word, his eyes widening. Riodan clearly saw fear in them. “What-what are you suggesting, Your Excellency?”

“Nothing at all,” Riodan replied with wide-eyed innocence. “A fair exchange does not always involve money after all. Now, about those trade contracts—may I expect progress on them very soon? Within the week perhaps?”

“I—yes, yes, I will work on them at once,” Dimas nervously assured him. “That is, they are being, ah, processed even as we speak.”

“That is good to hear.”

“Yes.” Dimas’ kerchief was out again, and he wiped his face as before. Except now

his hands visibly trembled. “If you will excuse me, Ambassador, I have an appointment to keep,” he mumbled.

“Oh, with Lord Malkon perhaps?” Riodan was gratified to see the other Deir turn deathly white. There were times a calculated guess could be as effective as an investigation of the facts. “Why, Minister, are you unwell?” he solicitously asked.

“Perhaps you should get some rest.”

Dimas was by now sweating profusely. “Yes, I-I think I must,” he stuttered. “Good-good day, Your Excellency.”

“Good day, Minister. Expect me at your office this afternoon.”

“What? Oh, but I—Yes, of course,” Dimas finished incoherently.

He hurried away as if a pack of hunting hounds was after him. Riodan watched him go then looked up to where Dylen waited. Their gazes met for an instant, and then Dylen stepped back out of sight while Riodan headed for his first official audience with the Shaja Amir and his nephew and heir Laral.

Riodan’s meeting with the Asmaran monarch proved illuminating and confusing at the same time in one particular capacity. Amir’s only son Sivar also attended and spoke with as much authority as his sire and cousin. Riodan noted Sivar’s demeanor with Laral.

There was little deference toward a higher-ranking personage either in his speech or behavior. Understandable had the situation been a familial one; not so much when it was an official occasion where protocol was expected to be strictly observed even among members of the same family.

He soon realized he wasn’t the only one affected by their behavior. Amir’s head counsellor and the scribe and attendants present looked discomfited by Sivar’s apparent lack of propriety. Amir, however, was not, and tellingly, neither was Laral. Indeed, not only did the crown prince not seem affronted by his cousin’s behavior, he even appeared to encourage it. Riodan tucked the intriguing discrepancy away for examination at a later date.

“I regret the anxiety caused by the new policy implemented by Minister Dimas,”

Amir said toward the end of the meeting. “He’s not to blame since I did approve his revision of the process of contract renewals, but he was very remiss in not informing you of it. Rest assured I shall have a word with him on that, Ambassador. And I give you leave to discuss the matter with him directly as well.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Riodan replied, choosing not to reveal that he had already done so.

Amir left the audience chamber ahead with his chief advisor while Laral and Sivar lingered a while to chat with Riodan.

They were a handsome pair and very much alike in height and facial features. This was not surprising given that they were first-degree kin. But Sivar’s hair was dark brown while Laral’s was a deep honey shade.

Laral asked, “Are the Ylandrins truly accepting of Rohyr’s binding to his leman?”

Riodan refrained from raising his eyebrows. “For the most part, Your Highness,” he said. “There will always be those who resist the crossing of lines between social classes.”

“I understand his uncle of Qimaras is of that thinking.”

“The Herun is retired from court,” Riodan informed them. “His opinion on the matter

no longer carries much weight.”

Laral chuckled. “You certainly don’t mince words, Ambassador. Or have you a particular dislike for Imcael Essendri?”

Riodan lightly said, “I only find such close-mindedness tiresome.”

“Ah, then you don’t oppose the blurring of lines between the well-born and the rabble?”

Riodan hesitated. “I would not advise wedlock between a blueblood and a peasant,”

he cautiously clarified. “The disparities on just about every level would almost inevitably doom such a marriage. But I see nothing wrong with, say, a well-mannered commoner marrying into a noble family or an educated working class Deir wedding someone from the gentry.”

“And, in any case, you don’t face that choice,” Sivar murmured. “Royal blood is royal blood even if it flows in the veins of a by-blow.” He smiled when Riodan stared at him, startled. “You hide it well, but every now and then, you can’t help but betray your attraction to Lord Dylen.”

Riodan reddened under their knowing regard. “I’m not alone in finding him attractive,” he said as blandly as he could manage.

“He is very comely,” Laral agreed. “Essendri blood runs true in him.” He eyed Riodan curiously. “You didn’t wait for my uncle to give you leave to speak to Minister Dimas. I saw you talking with him earlier. And he looked most uncomfortable with what you were discussing.”

“I only alluded to his fondness for gaming,” Riodan evenly replied.

“So you’ve heard tales of his frequent visits to the halls,” Sivar said. He shook his head. “I have cautioned him oft enough to be more prudent with his wagers. His family is well off but not so much that he can afford to make a habit of such a ruinous sport.”

“I hear Lord Malkon also enjoys the occasional evening trying his luck at the tables,”

Riodan idly mentioned.

“Does he?” Sivar shrugged. “Perhaps he does. I don’t keep track of Malkon’s activities. He has his own pursuits, and I have mine.”

Riodan said no more, but he did not miss the furtive glance Laral sent his cousin’s way.

He and Dylen compared notes during the midday meal back at the Ylandrin embassy. They fell into the habit without ever saying a word, something Riodan hopefully thought was a sign that their affinity of long ago was still intact.

Riodan watched with fond indulgence as Dylen attacked his meal with delight.

Despite all the pressures and tension of fulfilling their mission, Dylen was enjoying what he could of Asmara to the hilt. It was a conscious decision born of the twin reasonings that the experience might not come his way again, and though it had been against his will, he might as well make the most of it now that he was here.

Perhaps nothing had made it as easy for Dylen to appreciate the culture of the southern lands as the cuisine. And, having been exposed to sophisticated dishes for years, he was quick to enjoy the differences in flavor preferences. Slightly spicier than most North Continent fare and given to more adventurous combinations of ingredients and seasonings, the food south of the continental divide was pleasingly exotic for a Deir who

had not sojourned abroad before.

Today, they dined on fillets of whitefish poached in a surprisingly tart and piquant broth followed by peppery herb-encrusted roehart medallions roasted to a rare turn with mashed purple tubers garnished with sweet-tangy garnet plum puree on the side. And to end the meal, there was a rich cake of sweetened curd cheese in a biscuit crust topped with a mélange of fruits cooked in syrup.

They proceeded to discuss what they had learned thus far as they sipped the southerners’ favorite post-prandial beverage.
Kahvi
was a hot aromatic brew with a rich, slightly bitter flavor and was equally delicious taken with or without the sweetened condensed milk the Asmarans were fond of using in their various desserts and confectionery. Riodan grinned when Dylen displayed his predilection for the sweet version, adding the milk to his
kahvi
with a lavish hand.

“What did Amir have to say?” Dylen asked after taking a sip.

“He’s aware of the problem,” Riodan reported. “And he did question Dimas about it after we lodged our complaint. But apparently Dimas’ explanation for his actions satisfied Amir, and so he didn’t press the issue further.”

Dylen pursed his lips. “What explanation did Dimas give?”

“Officially? That it would be in Asmara’s best interests to periodically reassess such agreements, and rather than do a shoddy job of it, he thought it wisest to take as much time as needed to study each and every contract.”

“How very patriotic of him.”

“And so very reasonable sounding, too.”

“Except that it shouldn’t take forever to go over those contracts,” Dylen commented.

“Unless he’s taken it upon himself to personally study each and every one without any help whatsoever.”

Riodan smiled mirthlessly. “That is probably what he’s doing to slow down the process. And it appears your source was right about Dimas’ gaming habit. Sivar mentioned that he’s talked to Dimas about it as well. But he didn’t seem aware of a possible connection between him and Malkon. Either that or he’s a very good actor,”

Riodan wryly posited. “Though I can’t imagine why the pretense at ignorance if that is so. I’m inclined to believe he really doesn’t know. Or care.”

“He doesn’t appear to take much interest in Malkon’s affairs,” Dylen agreed.

“Which says a great deal about the state of their marriage.”

It said a lot as well about the Deir they had come to Asmara to keep an eye on.

Malkon Ferrenda had proved far from impressive. Glib and often pompous, he was given to preening himself on even the most minor of accomplishments. Not least of these self-proclaimed achievements was his binding to Sivar Halvan. That this had come about after careful negotiations between his sire and Sivar’s—negotiations he’d had close to no part in—he blithely ignored. Indeed he had gained a not so charming reputation for embellishing stories about himself if by doing so he could further puff up his already swollen head.