Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (21 page)

He would force himself to be accommodating with Riodan for duty’s sake. And, Veres willing, he just might make a habit of it.”

“Thereby opening himself to Riodan’s attempts to reconcile with him,” Lassen mused out loud. “Yes, ’twould be a point from which they could start anew. Provided Riodan takes advantage of the opportunity. But think you he’ll stay the course?”

Rohyr nodded. “To the bitter end. I think the outcome will lie in Dylen’s hands. In whether he can forgive Riodan or not.”

Lassen bit his lip. ”Saints, I hope he can,” he whispered.

They lay in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lassen shifted a slender limb and laid it across Rohyr’s lap. Within seconds, he felt Rohyr’s shaft stir and firm up against his thigh. Before he could tease his mate, Rohyr rolled him over and lodged his hips between his splayed legs. Lassen moaned as his throat was nibbled and sucked and his nipples thumbed to tiny peaks while down yonder, Rohyr thrust against him, sliding their hardened shafts against each other.

Rohyr reached down and gingerly stroked Lassen’s sheath until his body was ready for reproductive intercourse once more. He slid a finger into the slippery passage, caressing it from within.

Lassen let out a shuddery exhalation. “Yes,” he whispered.

Rohyr withdrew his finger and pressed the tip of his shaft against the glistening entrance.

“I won’t restrain myself,” he huskily promised. “And neither will you.”

Aflame with anticipation, Lassen raised his legs and wrapped them around Rohyr’s waist. He gasped Rohyr’s name as he was deeply penetrated then braced himself for a nice hard ride.

Rohyr watched Dylen and Riodan’s faces as they listened to Gilmael explain the current situation in Asmara.

The country spanned the main route between Ylandre and the South Vihandran nations. All travellers passing through Asmara had to gain permission to do so from its government first. Ruled by the powerful Halvan clan, the wealthy and influential South Vihandran kingdom had become a cause for some worry thanks to the marriage of the reigning Asmaran king’s son to the heir of the current Varadani pretender Jubal Ferrenda.

It was an ongoing thorn in the Ylandrin monarchy’s figurative side, this constant cropping up of Ferrenda claimants to the rulership of the defunct nation of Varadan.

Despite having lost both crown and country in the war of conquest they instigated centuries ago, there seemed no end to rebellious Deira who clamored for the restoration of the Ferrendas to the Varadani throne.

They abided for the most part in the northwest of the Autonomous Province of Tenerith, which, along with the royal fief of Vireshe, had been carved out of Varadan.

Though few, and largely lacking cohesiveness in method and purpose, the separatists tended toward violent means of achieving their goals. So every few years, the royal armies were sent to crush them before they had a chance to swell to less manageable numbers.

Rohyr had led more than one campaign to “clean house” as his forebears had put it and never lowered his guard against them no matter how few remained after. But neither he nor his predecessors had yet managed to eradicate them completely for they fled into the bordering hills and mountains after every defeat, and it was all but impossible to rout them out of the subterranean labyrinth of tunnels in which they hid themselves until the next attempt at insurrection.

So the Ferrendas remained without kingdom or throne, but not resources or prestige.

Though stripped of a physical realm, they had managed to retain extensive properties in other lands whence they derived much income. And they were still of the blood royal and therefore remained respected in some countries, particularly in the south. After all, their former aggression had never touched the South Vihandrans. Thus to this day wedlock with House Ferrenda was still deemed acceptable by not a few southern clans, especially those whose ranks the Ferrendas entered in the days before Varadan’s conquest by Ylandre. The Halvans were among the royals who counted Ferrendas among their ancestors. And still wed with them as evidenced by Prince Sivar’s marriage to Jubal’s son Malkon.

Now that had not made Asmara unfriendly to Ylandre. On the contrary, relations between the two countries remained stable and lucrative. But no Essendri worth his salt would ever discount the possibility of a hostile in-law meddling in the kingdom’s affairs and influencing Asmara against Ylandre.

At present, Asmara had not put an embargo on Ylandrin goods or restricted passage through the realm between Ylandre and the countries down south. Nor had there been any hint of animosity on the Shaja Amir Halvan’s part. But there were signs that Jubal was trying to gain influence through his son’s entry into the royal family.

“There is a possible indication of interference,” Gilmael said. “The approval of contract renewals between several Ylandrin and Asmaran corporations and guilds has been considerably delayed. There’s a great chance that some may not be renewed at all even after years of smooth relations and fruitful cooperation. And it’s rumored that Malkon is cultivating close ties with various heads of government. The Asmaran Minister of Trade is oft seen in his company.”

Riodan asked, “What does our ambassador to Asmara say?”

Gilmael shook his head. “He was recalled last month after Foreign Affairs received reports of too much carousing in the stews and not enough attention to duty. Another will be posted to Asmara when his current assignment is done. In the meantime, we can make do with an interim consular team.”

“And may I presume that I will be part of that team?” Riodan ventured.

“You may,” Gilmael confirmed. “You and Dylen.”

Silence met his statement. Dylen and Riodan looked at each other in surprise then stared at Gilmael.

“You approve of my inclusion in the team?” Dylen asked disbelievingly.

Gilmael nodded. “It’s a judicious choice.”

“Judicious? Just how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Gil didn’t make the decision,” Rohyr interrupted. “I did.”

He glanced ruefully at Gilmael. He was not really surprised by Dylen or Riodan’s respective reactions. Dylen was glaring at him with incredulity coupled with suspicion while Riodan’s expression revealed a jumble of emotions, astonishment and the faintest tinge of hope among them. Nay, he was not surprised and neither was he sanguine that Dylen would accept the mission unquestioningly.

Sure enough, Dylen eyed him with barely concealed displeasure. “So you want to find out if Malkon is behind the recent problems in trade relations between Ylandre and Asmara,” he said.

“That is correct.”

“And we must tread carefully because he is wed to Amir’s son.”

“Yes.”

“But why me?” Dylen asked. “It makes sense to send Riodan—he’s proved his mettle as a diplomat. But I’m untried whereas Gil has any number of seasoned agents at his beck and call. Not to mention far more competent than I.”

“Hardly more competent,” Rohyr demurred. “It was you who helped uncover no less than three instances of burgeoning disaffection amongst the least suspected of the nobility.”

“Minor achievements,” Dylen said dismissively.

“On the contrary,” Rohyr countered. “Disaffection can easily evolve into insurrection if not nipped in the bud. Besides, you displayed a knack for discerning the beginnings of the problems before they developed into serious threats. And you have a great talent for getting people to open up. Pardon the term, Dy, but you virtually seduced them into talking.”

“Those were local cases,” Dylen protested. “This involves international relations best left in a diplomat’s hands.”

“But a diplomat’s hands can be tied in ways an agent’s are not,” Gilmael interjected.

“Rio will be constrained by his position insofar as discovering what Malkon is about. But he’ll be the shield behind which you can act as you see fit.”

“Which doesn’t explain why you want me to accompany him,” Dylen retorted.

“Besides, how do you propose to explain to the Halvans why your adjutant is part of a supposedly diplomatic mission? Wouldn’t it be better to covertly seed Rio’s team with agents rather than openly have someone from Intelligence in it?”

Rohyr raised a hand to forestall the spate of questions.

“It’s my prerogative to send who I want where I want, and no one can question my reasons,” he reminded Dylen. “But, if you feel a need for one, it’s because you
are
largely untried. Why shouldn’t I desire my only brother to gain more experience abroad?

And wouldn’t that allay suspicions on Malkon’s part about the real intent of this mission?

Save for your kinship to me, little is known about you even in Rikara itself. Not your stealth or your skill at extracting information or your talent in the mind-arts. Malkon won’t be on his guard and Amir will be flattered that I esteem him highly enough to send

my own brother to his kingdom for his very first mission abroad.” He locked gazes with Dylen. “Any more objections?”

Dylen glared back but only shook his head. Rohyr smiled faintly then looked at the others. “We are agreed on this then,” he declared. “When can they leave, Gil?”

“No later than a sennight,” Gilmael promptly replied.

“Very good,” Rohyr said. “You may go. Except you, Dy.”

Dylen seated himself once more, eyeing Rohyr warily as he did. The Ardan waited until the others had left the chamber. He looked at Dylen, studying him until the latter began to scowl.

“Why did you ask me to stay, Ardan-
tyar
?” he stiffly asked.

Rohyr sighed at the use of his title. “You’re displeased.”

“I have no right to be.”

“Dy, please…”

Dylen leaned forward, eyes flashing with hurt. “Why did you do this? You know what came of our previous association. Rohyr, I trusted you!”

“And I haven’t broken your trust.”

“Haven’t you?” Dylen challenged.

“Do you hate him that much?” Rohyr said instead.

The question rendered Dylen speechless. He abruptly stood and walked to the windows. For a long while, he stared out, viewing stately Mount Sarak in the distance.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough.

“Nay, I don’t hate him,” he admitted. “But it smites my very soul to be in the same room with him.” He blinked his eyes as if the bright sunlight dazzled him. “Bad enough to meet him now and then and perforce act civil to keep gossip at bay. But to work closely and keep company with him for most of a day for Veres knows how long…“ His voice trailed away to a pained murmur.

Rohyr rose and went to him. He put a protective arm around Dylen’s shoulders and pulled him close.

“Do you love him?” he softly asked.

“Love?” Dylen shook his head. “I no longer know what I feel. But I do know I can’t trust him.”

“Can’t? Or don’t wish to?”

“Does it matter?”

“If it affects you so much then, yes, it does.” Rohyr gently made Dylen face him.

“He’s suffering, too.”

Dylen grimaced. “I know.”

“And he repents of his sin against you. Even that benighted intended of his knows it, and that’s saying a lot considering what an obtuse wantwit Guyon Barath can be.” That elicited a fleeting smile from Dylen. Rohyr forged on. “Can you not give him a chance to make amends for what he did? He’s humbled himself before you more times than I can count. Doesn’t that move you?”

“And how hard can it be to humble one’s self before a king’s brother?” Bitterness shadowed Dylen’s eyes once more. “Were I still a
hethar
with antecedents of no particular importance, think you he would try to win my regard anew?”

“Dy—”

“It was because I was nobody that he refused me his help!” Dylen pulled away,

anguish limning his words. “Deity’s blood, Roh, he denied even our friendship! Made me out to be a one-night tumble and a liar for claiming to be more than that! Tell me, why should I trust him now? And why are you so bent on pushing us together when you know how deeply he hurt me?”

Rohyr pulled Dylen into his arms, holding him tightly and saying, “I’m sorry, Dy, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to cause you more pain. I hope you know that.”

Fighting for calm, Dylen tried to relax in his brother’s soothing embrace.

“Tell me why,” he whispered.

Rohyr took a deep breath. “Because you still care for him though you fight it,” he softly said. “If you would only admit your feelings—”

“And give him the chance to break my heart anew?” Dylen bleakly said.

“Nay, to relieve you of the strain of denying what it still yearns for,” Rohyr asserted.

“It will calm the turmoil in your soul. Believe me, it’s far more difficult to keep stoking one’s anger than it is to forgive and move on.”

“Ah, so that’s how you manage to keep sane with Uncle Imcael,” Dylen murmured with a watery smile.

Rohyr smiled back, heartened by the stab at humor. “Now you know my secret.” He reached up and cupped Dylen’s face in his hands. “Riodan despairs of ever regaining your love, but I see how much he hopes for your forgiveness. Surely you have it in you to grant him that at the very least. And perhaps restore something of what you once shared with him. Friendship, if not love.”

Dylen shuddered ever so slightly. “You don’t say it but verily you would have me try for more,” he said, his voice catching.

“Nay, I would have you take one step forward, no more, no less.” Rohyr touched his forehead to Dylen’s. “I would have you happy, brother.”

Chapter Seventeen

Truce

Asmara, South Vihandra

A land of contradictions
, Dylen thought as he gazed out at Asmara’s capital of Shenze from the wide windows of the east gallery of the royal palace.

In the north and central regions of the kingdom, the climate was pleasant with none of the seasonal extremes found in most of Ylandre save in the east where a massive mountain range, its craggy windswept peaks more forbidding than any battlement, protected Asmara from its sometimes contentious neighbors. Toward the south, the climate became progressively warmer and the seasons less numerous and varied—wet, dry and cold. The southwest was lush with swamps and rainforests, the arid southeast rife with barren rocky plains and small deserts.