Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (13 page)

As soon as a skeptical Aron departed, Dylen entered his bedroom and grabbed his cloak. After flinging it on, he brought out his jewelry case. From a small compartment he took out a mantle clasp.

He stared long at the leaping delphinid on the clasp, a name inscribed in the ancient Naeren alphabet just above the engraving. Finally, he closed his fingers tightly around the precious piece.

He had no trouble locating the Leyhar residence in the affluent north district. Riodan had pointed out the house when Dylen walked home with him from the University one late afternoon. After dropping by the Seralye to inform Zarael that he would be absent that evening, he hailed a coach plying the main avenue and headed north.

In this section of Rikara where the majority of the capital’s upper crust resided, the houses tended to be large and multi-levelled with spacious lawns in back and high elaborate rail fencing in front. But typical of most Ylandrin city or town homes, there were no gardens or gates out front. Main entrances opened right onto the street, usually with a porch or stoop leading up to the door. The Leyhar abode was no different though it was obviously a cut above many of its neighbors in size and costliness.

The house was well lighted, and a number of carriages were parked along the street fronting it. That meant the Leyhars were entertaining tonight. No matter, Dylen thought.

His need was too great to be set aside for mere propriety.

A liveried servant responded to the sharp rap of the heavy doorknocker. He was quite taken aback by the cloaked and hooded figure at the doorstep. In his haste, Dylen had not

bothered to exchange his long-sleeved, collarless undershirt for a regular shirt nor had he donned a tunic. He now hid his state of dishabille under his cloak.

“I wish to see Riodan Leyhar,” he announced in as authoritative a voice as he could muster.

Looking Dylen over doubtfully, the servant asked, “Who shall I say asks for him?”

Dylen did not give the Deir his name but instead said, “Leyhar-
tyar
told me to seek him should I need his help.” He held up the cloak clasp. “He said to show this as proof of his bidding.”

He handed the ornament to the servant.

The Deir stared at the gleaming piece in some awe. Markedly more courteous, he bade Dylen to enter. He ushered him up the stairs and led him to a large parlor.

“I seem to have intruded on a party,” Dylen murmured apologetically as he was shown into the predominantly grey-hued room.

“It’s a dinner in honor of Master Riodan,” the servant answered, unable to resist imparting his knowledge of the household’s affairs. “He’s leaving tomorrow for his first posting. As Ylandre’s Ambassador to Tehara.”

Dylen smiled with genuine pleasure. “That’s wonderful! It says something about his abilities that he’s been entrusted with such a sensitive assignment.”

The servant looked at him with interest. “Is it?”

“Very. The Teharan royals are terribly fractious and fickle to boot. But a skilled diplomat can keep them friendly to Ylandre.”

“I didn’t know that.” The servant regarded Dylen with more respect. “I shall tell Master Riodan that you are here,” he said and hurried out of the chamber.

Dylen did not wait overlong. Hardly had he given the well-appointed chamber an appreciative once-over when the door opened and Riodan stepped into the parlor. Dylen could not help gazing hungrily at him.

Maturity had chiseled his warm and youthful comeliness into a refined and somewhat remote beauty. That beauty was further emphasized by his attire—a midnight blue dress tunic over a silken shirt of palest cream, coal black long breeches and formal boots. This first sight of him at close quarters recalled to Dylen the tumultuous feelings he’d experienced the eve Riodan visited him at the Seralye.

The young diplomat looked at him questioningly. Realizing Riodan did not recognize him, Dylen dropped the hood of his cloak. Riodan stared at him in shock.

“Saints above!” he softly exclaimed. “Dylen?”

Dylen thought his heart would burst from his chest. He had not spoken with Riodan since they parted twelve years ago. Just hearing his voice once more was a wondrous balm to his yearning heart. He bowed his head briefly.

“I’m sorry for misleading your servant,” he said apologetically. “But I doubted he would have let me in otherwise.”

After a slight pause, Riodan nodded. “Understood. But wherefore this visit?”

Under other circumstances, the abrupt allusion to his intentions would have puzzled Dylen, not to mention roused his suspicions. But desperation clouded his perceptions and he ignored the rather peremptory question.

“I need your help, Rio,” he said.

Bronze eyebrows rose in surprise. “What has happened?”

“
Adda
is terribly ill. He is stricken with blight.”

“Blight? Then it’s not serious.”

“He has a lethal form of it,” Dylen explained. “I’ve been told there is no cure.”

Riodan looked shocked. “Sweet Veres,” he said with a shake of his head. He regarded Dylen curiously. “But, if there’s no cure, why did you come to me?”

“I heard you’ve grown close to the Ardan,” Dylen bluntly stated. “I want you to secure an audience with him for me.”

That took Riodan aback. “You wish to speak with Rohyr? Why?”

“So that I can plead with him to summon Eiren Sarvan back from Arvalde. He’s the only physician who’s succeeded in curing a patient of this disease.” Dylen took a step forward, raising his hands in supplication. “Please, Rio, I beg you, help us. You know I would never trouble you for anything less than—”

“What is
he
doing here?”

Theron Leyhar strode in, his face a picture of righteous indignation. Slamming the door shut behind him, he hastened to Dylen and Riodan and thrust himself between them, forcing Dylen back a step.

“Rio, go back to our guests at once. Your father can’t entertain them all by himself.”

He glowered at Dylen. “How dare you besmear our home with your presence,” he growled. “Leave at once! You will get no favors from us.”

Dylen stood his ground. “I came to ask Rio for aid,
Dyhar
,” he retorted.

Theron grew angrier. “You have no right to address him so familiarly!”

“On the contrary, I do have the right as his friend!” Dylen countered.

“Dylen,
Aba
,“ Riodan pleaded as he glanced anxiously at the door. “For Veres’ sake, keep your voices down.”

Dylen frowned. Riodan appeared troubled by the prospect of being overheard. He looked uneasily at his one-time lover.

“Rio, I don’t wish to rake up the past,” he said. “But I truly need your help.
Adda
needs your help. If you value what we shared—”

“Don’t be a fool, Riodan,” Theron sternly interrupted. “I heard what he asked of you.

It’s out of the question! Can you imagine what questions will be raised? No one will believe that simple compassion drove you. Why, everyone will immediately assume that there was intimacy between the two of you if you approach Rohyr on a mere
hethar’
s behalf.”

“But if I act for a friend, surely—” Riodan tentatively suggested.

“That’s no better! We don’t make friends with the likes of him. It’s simply not done!

And lest you’ve forgotten,” Theron barreled on, “mayhap
hethare
are respected in Rikara and other great cities but that isn’t the case in more conservative areas and certainly not in Tehara. Gossip can make or break your career. And there are also a goodly number of highly placed Deira who will take exception to any sordid tales from your past. That includes the Baraths. It would be the height of folly to give them a reason to repudiate you now that you’ve come to an agreement with Guyon—”

The door opened once more, and a servant peered in after a discreet while. “Barath-tyar wishes to enter, Your Excellencies,” he announced.

Giving both Riodan and Dylen a warning glare, Theron gestured to the retainer to permit the newcomer entry.

An elegantly clad Deir walked in. Of medium build and blandly handsome, he carried himself with an air of being someone. But Dylen did not recognize him despite

having seen or met just about every young Rikaran of real consequence in the course of his profession.

“So this is where you disappeared to,” the Deir said, coming to Riodan’s side.

“What’s so important that you had to abandon your guests?”

Theron quickly replied, “Nothing important at all, Guyon-
min
. Rio, let us return to our guests.”

Dylen caught his breath when he noticed the matching elliptical gold earrings at Riodan and Guyon’s left ears with opalescent milkstone at one end and deep red heartsfire at the other. There was no doubt about it. The Deir was Riodan’s betrothed.

He had long braced himself for the probability that Riodan would go on with his life and find someone worthy to stand at his side as he moved up and forward in the diplomatic community. Still, the evidence of it hurt, and he struggled to hide his feelings.

Riodan must have spotted his reaction for he suddenly flushed and turned his head sideways, obscuring his earring from Dylen’s sight. Dylen wanly smiled at the concern his erstwhile lover apparently still held for him.

Guyon looked more closely at Dylen. “A
hethar
?” he said in surprise upon recognizing Dylen’s earring. “Did you bring one in to entertain us? But I thought you didn’t approve of them, Leyhar-
dyhar
.”

The ambassador shook his head. “No more than you do, Guyon. This one had the impertinence to importune us here just because Riodan once visited his club with some friends.”

Dylen scowled at being spoken of as if he did not have enough wits to realize he was being insulted, not to mention blatantly lied about. He looked at Riodan, wondering why he did not defend him.

Guyon wrinkled his nose in distaste. He glanced frowningly at Riodan. “Why in Aisen did you go to a
hethare
club, Rio?”

“A mere indulgence of youthful curiosity,” Theron interjected before Riodan could reply. “He had not yet fully developed good taste or sound judgment.”

“
Aba
, stop it,” Riodan said through gritted teeth. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yet this
hethar
dared come to your home to ask for a favor,” Guyon commented, his frown deepening. “Whence his gall? Or was there more to your acquaintance than a mere evening’s entertainment that he feels entitled to such familiarity with you?”

“
Of course not!
”

Dylen froze at the vehement response. He stared speechlessly at Riodan.

“I don’t have the faintest notion why he came here,” Riodan flatly said. “I was kind and generous that night. I suppose he thought that sufficient reason to dare seek my help now.”

“Then nothing untoward happened between the two of you?” Guyon pressed.

“Nothing to give him reason to feel entitled to your assistance?”

Riodan snapped, “All right, I admit I had him that night. I was curious and had a bit too much to drink, and he was one of the
hethare
who entertained us and, well, that
is
part of their services. But that was all there was to it. Really, Guyon, think you I would carry on with someone below me in station?”

Dylen could not believe his ears. Better that Riodan had stabbed and gutted him. The pain of it would not compare to the agony he now felt. He stared in anguished incredulity at Riodan until the latter lowered his eyes. But though apparently discomfited by his

declaration, Riodan did not retract it.

Guyon’s frown vanished. “I suppose were I in my cups as well I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity either.” He smirked. “So, how was he?”

Color rose in Riodan’s cheeks. “What do you expect?” he muttered. “There’s a reason their talents are usually extolled.”

The dam of Dylen’s restraint finally broke.

“I was so wrong about you,” he spat. “You’re nothing more than a craven, status seeking upstart. Just like your sire.”

Riodan paled but said nothing. Affronted, Theron bellowed to the servant who waited outside the door. “Throw this scoundrel out!”

The retainer obeyed. He grabbed Dylen by the arm and tried to drag him away. But Dylen turned so fierce a glare on him that he let go and stepped back in alarm.

That incensed Theron even more. “I ordered you to get him out!” he thundered.

“Nay!” Riodan shouted. “There’s no need to use force,
Aba
!” He looked entreatingly at Dylen and said, “Dylen, please.”

Dylen stared back at him icily.

“Oh, I’ll go peacefully,” Dylen replied, his voice silky soft yet laced with such contempt Riodan visibly flinched and even Theron was rendered speechless. “I don’t make it a habit of forcing myself where I’m not welcome. I bid you farewell, Riodan Leyhar, but I can’t wish you joy or fair fortune.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, head held high and shoulders proud and straight. He did not look back.

Chapter Eleven

Meeting

Dylen only half-heartedly readied himself for work. Try as he might, he could not put from his mind the heartache and disillusionment of his meeting with Riodan barely a sennight past. Nor could he forget that his former lover—nay, his treacherous erstwhile friend!—had left for his first major posting abroad. And that posting had spurred not only Riodan’s denial of everything that had been between him and Dylen, but also his refusal to give aid. There lay the crux of Dylen’s anger.

The first he could understand however bitter it was to swallow, but the second was beyond comprehension. Hirlen had taken Riodan under his care all those years ago, opening his house and heart to a stranger and treating him like a son. Riodan’s lack of gratitude and betrayal of Hirlen’s belief in his honor and goodness were to Dylen’s eyes beneath contempt and thus unforgivable.

He checked on his father before heading for the Seralye. Hirlen looked so pallid and frail, Dylen feared he already had one foot in the grave. Dylen leaned down and kissed his clammy brow.

Hirlen opened his eyes and gazed tiredly at his son.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the barest of whispers.