Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (32 page)

As for Jubal’s veiled accusation, the Shaja himself responded with a stern letter chastising the Ferrenda patriarch for even hinting that the Halvans had not provided adequate protection for Malkon. For what else could he glean from Jubal’s suggestion that someone had somehow managed to penetrate or circumvent the more than ample security provided all members of the royal family? Now murder from within by a member of the royal household—that was more feasible. But surely Jubal was not suggesting that the Halvans were capable of such skullduggery!

Teraz asked no further questions, and Jubal hastily backed off. After all, it would not do to antagonize the Halvans and lose an ally in the process. He very reluctantly however handed Malkon’s shares in Ferrenda-backed corporations over to his widower. His misgivings proved correct when Prince Sivar promptly sought and eventually wrested considerable control of several of those corporations within a few years of inheriting his late spouse’s estate.

When Sivar wed his cousin Laral a mere eleven months after Malkon’s death, Jubal was all but livid with fury. But already overthrown by the canny Sivar as principal administrator of two of the richest of his family’s holdings, he could do little other than vent his spleen on his unfortunate underlings and stew in impotent rage.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rikara, Ylandre

The gentle creaking of a rocking chair broke the early morning quiet in Hirlen Teris’

apartment. Dylen grinned at his father’s blissful expression as he relaxed by the entrance to the small, sun-dappled patio that adjoined his sitting room, comfortably tucked into the new chair Dylen had purchased for him in Shenze.

Well worth its price
, Dylen thought with satisfaction. The craftsmanship was excellent, the chair as beautiful as it was sturdy. Its armrests and rockers were artistically inlaid with iridescent nacre and the woven cane seat and back provided ventilation, a welcome feature during the warmer days of summer. Hirlen had been most elated upon receiving such a handsome present from his son.

It was now a month and a half since his return from the south, and autumn was coming to an end. He had brought Riodan home, snugly bedded down in a converted coach. The Halvans’ personal physician had accompanied them and ridden with Riodan throughout the short journey. Prince Laral had also insisted on an armed escort whose captain was gifted with the ability to translocate. This was so Dylen would not be overly taxed generating a passage back to Ylandre. Now Riodan was recuperating in his parents’

home.

Rohyr’s physician cousin Eiren Sarvan had attended to him at once. His skill and the considerable healing energy he wielded ensured an even swifter recovery for the young ambassador. Last Dylen had heard, Riodan was already up and about though Eiren had forbidden him to return to work, as that would only sap his newly returned strength.

Dylen’s contentment waned somewhat. Last he had seen Riodan was the week right after their return when he visited him with Rohyr and Lassen. Gilmael also joined them, and they had not been alone with each other the whole visit. Thus, no personal talk beyond Riodan’s health had ensued.

But Riodan looked at him questioningly several times during the visit. Almost pleadingly, truth be told. Dylen had been at a loss how to respond.

Their stab at reconciliation in Asmara felt unreal. It was almost as if the entire affair had been one incredible dream. Their one torrid night together was particularly disturbing to Dylen for he feared he had reopened himself too much, too soon to Riodan. He simply was not sure if he was ready to resume the deep, all-consuming relationship he’d shared with him.

Dylen sighed. There lay the rub. Would he ever be willing to be consumed by love again? He had allowed it to happen once and look where it got him. Nay, he scolded himself. He had to put the past behind him. Otherwise, he would not know the peace of heart and mind and soul that came with letting hurts and ill will go. Peace such as he had known from the moment he agreed to call Riodan his friend once more. That peace had lasted until he overheard Guyon Barath’s venomous aspersions on his character and the

reasons for his unsuitability as a friend to Riodan.

It had hurt deeply though he refused to let Guyon see it. It hurt because it was true, and much as Dylen loathed thinking about it today, what he had once been was at the root of Riodan’s denial of their relationship. For after all, had he not persuaded Riodan to leave him and return to his parents for that very same reason?

But Riodan had repented of his actions and ceaselessly humbled himself in the hope of gaining Dylen’s forgiveness. More, he had taken the unprecedented step of breaking a long-standing betrothal to prove his intentions to Dylen. That could have adverse repercussions insofar as Riodan’s reputation; the upper classes did not take kindly to one of their own breaking faith with another of similar station in favor of a Deir of dubious origins. For why would anyone do so unless it was for mere gain?

King’s brother he might be, but Dylen knew there were many Deira of good name and family who would hesitate to align themselves by marriage with a former
hethar
.

Such a liaison was not unheard of among the common folk—many prostitutes supported partners and families by selling their bodies after all. But such was not the case with the aristocracy and gentry except if wedlock with one such as him would be politically advantageous. A way of breaking into the Ardan’s close-knit circle of trusted advisers and confidants.

That was the main reason Dylen had been wary of every suitor since Rohyr formalized his status as an Essendri. He did not want to be anyone’s convenient stepping-stone to political elevation. But that was the feeling he got with every Deir who wooed him, even gentle, good-natured Sereth. Only Riodan did not make him feel like a mere rung up the ladder for the politically ambitious.

It always came back to Riodan. But if one thought about it, Riodan had displayed his remorse only when he learned of Dylen’s entry into House Essendri. Despite Riodan’s protestations to the contrary, Dylen could not help wondering if he would have done so had their circumstances remained the same. What guarantee did he have that Riodan had really intended to look for him, make amends for the hurt he’d dealt him and join himself to Dylen in wedlock, society’s opinion of such a union be damned?

Yet ambition alone could not have driven Riodan to nigh sacrifice himself for Dylen’s sake. Only one force could impel anyone to offer his life for another.

Dylen shook his head vexedly. Why was it so hard to accept that one thing had not changed between them?

Tarqin entered the room, beaming brightly, and announced they had visitors. The servant deferentially showed Rohyr and Lassen and their son Vyren in.

Hirlen brightened with pleasure, and he held out his arms to the infant prince. Vyren happily crowed, “
Oda!
” and eagerly leaned down from his father’s arms toward the closest Deir he had to a resident grandparent.

Lassen chuckled and planted his son on Hirlen’s lap whereupon the two embarked on a conversation comprehensible only to a babbling babe and a doting grandfather. Dylen shook his head in amusement and grinned at Rohyr as the Ardan seated himself on the couch opposite Hirlen.

“I wonder, did I make any sense at that age?” he remarked.

Hirlen looked up and laughingly said, “Nay, but I managed to understand you just the same. It’s a skill most fathers learn somehow.”

“Whether they want to or not,” Lassen quipped. “But it’s learn the language of babes

or muddle one’s way through parenthood.”

He yelped when Rohyr suddenly pulled him back by his belt. He landed with a grunt on the Ardan’s lap. Lassen half turned and lightly swatted his smirking spouse before settling himself more comfortably between Rohyr’s hard thighs.

Dylen observed them with a touch of melancholy. It was then he noticed Rohyr regarding him sympathetically. He raised his eyebrows quizzically at his brother.

Rohyr asked, “Have you visited Riodan recently?”

Dylen leaned back, shaking his head. “There’s been no pressing need,” he blandly replied.

To which Rohyr snorted. He nuzzled Lassen’s ear but kept his gaze on Dylen. “Yet I wager certain needs were duly tended to in Asmara,” he murmured.

Dylen colored. “I thought you were against invading people’s thoughts, Roh,” he chided.

“I am, and I didn’t.”

Rohyr moved lower to kiss the side of his now blushing consort’s neck. Lassen would have elbowed him but his arms were snugly pinioned by Rohyr’s embrace. Rohyr grinned when Dylen shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I glimpsed a few of Riodan’s thoughts when we visited him,” he smugly informed Dylen. “As I’m sure you did, so strongly did he project them as soon as he saw you.

There was no need to plumb his mind at all.” Rohyr slipped a hand down to lightly rest on Lassen’s thigh, perilously close to his crotch. Lassen gasped and slapped his hand away. Rohyr only snickered.

“The images I saw were quite incendiary,” he continued. “If that’s how you take care of a friend, I shudder to imagine what you would do for a true love.”

“Roh!” Dylen finally barked. He glanced at his father and was chagrined to find Hirlen smirking at him. “One night of—of rutting does not a love affair make!” he protested.

“Nay, but it can be the start of one,” Rohyr countered. “Or a second beginning.”

Dylen scowled, but there was little ire behind it. “Did you come to visit or to vex me?” he muttered.

He groaned when Lassen looked at him keenly then. If Lassen was going to start in on him, too, he would go and seek less inquisitive company.

“I saw him the other day,” Lassen related. “He looks so much better now. He had the ends of his hair trimmed, and he was hardly limping.”

Hirlen dimpled. “Then he is truly on the mend. That is good to hear.”

“Yes. And his burns have also healed though there is much scarring,” Lassen said.

“Eiren told him the scars will fade and become smoother over time. But the skin on his back will always be a little rough and patchy. I thought that of little consequence, but I fancy Riodan does not.”

“What do you mean?” Dylen sharply asked.

“He was quite self-conscious about them,” Lassen explained. “He kept tugging at his collar to hide his nape. And he said he would probably give away all his collarless shirts since he would no longer have use for them.”

“But that’s absurd!” Hirlen exclaimed. “Someone should tell him so. After all, it isn’t his face or form that makes him such a beauty but his goodness of heart and fidelity to those he loves.”

“Fidelity?” Dylen abruptly scoffed. “Much that you know,
Adda
.”

Hirlen frowned at him. “What? That he hurt you terribly at one time or another?” At Dylen’s stunned expression, he said, “Oh, I may not know the specifics of your quarrel, but I’m not blind, Dy. I felt your grief even when I was at my sickest, and I noticed how assiduously you kept your distance from him when he returned. I also saw how you dealt harshly with him when you couldn’t avoid him. And one more thing I saw that you refuse to see,” Hirlen added. “He loves you, Dy, and he blames himself without cease for your rift. You told him he was unworthy of you, didn’t you? Well, behold! He has come to believe it and contents himself with the crumbs you deign to toss his way!”

“
Adda
, please…”

“You hurt him, but you also hurt yourself,” Hirlen plowed on implacably. “For how can you ever be whole if you refuse to accept the other half of your heart?”

Dylen stared at his father speechlessly. Seldom had he heard Hirlen so impassioned and even less had he ever raised his voice to his only son. Hirlen must have noticed his stricken expression for his stern demeanor promptly vanished and he gentled his voice when he spoke once more.

“Forgive me, Dy,” he contritely said. “I had no right to speak that way and in front of others.” He glanced at Rohyr and Lassen in some embarrassment then looked at his son once more, his eyes pleading. “I just—I just want you to be happy,” he professed, frustration tingeing his voice.

Dylen swallowed. He looked at Rohyr. “You said the same thing,” he whispered. He bowed his head, his eyes shut tight against impending tears.

“I told him,” he hoarsely murmured. “I said I was afraid. How do I get past that? Tell me, how do I conquer this fear?”

He heard a sob and realized with horror that it was his. He leapt to his feet and stepped out onto the patio. Dylen stared up unseeingly at the cloudless sky, his body trembling with the effort not to cry. It proved a futile attempt when tears streaked down his face and his throat tightened painfully.

Someone tugged at his hair, and he turned with a start. Lassen stood behind him, Vyren in his arms. The child was gazing curiously at him.

“Nunky!” Vyren cooed. Dylen smiled through his tears and stroked his nephew’s plump cheek. He looked at Lassen, a little ashamed that his law-brother had seen him weep. Lassen looked back at him, his aquamarine eyes aglow with compassion.

“It isn’t easy to conquer fear, Dy,” he murmured. “But with a little help, it is possible.”

“Whose help?” Dylen asked though he already suspected Lassen’s answer.

“Whoever brings you peace,” was Lassen’s reply. “Of heart and soul and mind.”

Dylen sharply inhaled, startled by the mirroring of his earlier musings. He glanced sideways and saw his father and brother watching him with concern. He faced Lassen again.

“Such as you have,” he said.

“Such as you had,” Lassen pointed out.

“For a while.”

“But it can be longer than a while.” Lassen placed a fist against Dylen’s chest.

“Listen to your heart, Dy. What does it tell you? What is its plea?”

Dylen bit his lip. He noticed Vyren reaching for him demandingly. He took his

nephew into his arms and rubbed noses with him until Vyren shrieked with glee.

“By the way,” Rohyr said, coming to Lassen’s side. “He’s moved out of his parents’

house.”