Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (28 page)

Riodan had found a sealed letter addressed to Prince Laral between two of the documents. Suspecting Dimas had wanted to ensure that it would reach its intended recipient, Riodan ordered several ministry guards to escort the adjutant he’d charged with delivering the missive to Laral. Having done what he could, Riodan took the documents he had come for and returned to the embassy, shaken by Dimas’ death and angered at whatever had driven the Deir to end his life.

His mood could hardly be improved by the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of his former fiancé. Even more annoying, Guyon had used their betrothal—the betrothal Riodan had broken just a week past—to get the embassy staffers to give him special treatment. Riodan decided the entire staff would need a severe lecture on the impropriety not to mention dangers of laxness with visitors to the embassy.

Guyon stood up, an expectant smile curving his mouth. But Riodan evaded his attempt to pull him into a hug. He faced his erstwhile intended with a discouraging scowl.

“Why are you here?” he tersely asked.

Taken aback by Riodan’s curtness, Guyon gaped at him for several seconds. Riodan rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t have much time, Guyon. I repeat, why are you here?”

Guyon recovered himself and answered, “I received your letter regarding our

betrothal.”

“Well, what about it? Was there anything that wasn’t clear to you?”

“Oh, it was clear enough. Which is why I came here soonest. To ask you to reconsider. I shouldn’t want your recklessness to be cause for regret later on.”

“I beg your pardon?” Riodan slowly said.

“You should know better, Rio,” Guyon chided. “It isn’t wise to make such an important decision in haste.”

Riodan stared at him incredulously. Had this Deir he had almost bound himself to always been such a thickhead? He shook his head in exasperation. “Guyon—”

Guyon quickly cut him off. “Look, I understand your fascination with Dylen Essendri. He was the first Deir you’d ever bedded. And he’s certainly an exotic creature even to this day. But, Rio, you deserve a mate who is your equal in all ways.”

“My equal,” Riodan repeated.

“But of course! You need someone who can match you in name, education and social standing,” Guyon asserted. “Someone with an unblemished background whom you can openly and proudly talk about.”

“Meaning you,” Dylen wryly said.

Guyon made a deprecating gesture. “Well, you have to admit, you won’t ever have to worry about being dished scandal-broth with me. And you need never fear stumbling across who knows how many Deira who’ve been on intimate terms with your mate or, worse, by-blows coming out of the woodwork to beg financial support of him.”

Riodan scowled at the all too obvious allusions to Dylen. About to make a scathing retort, he noticed the quick sidelong glance Guyon directed toward the door. The corners of his mouth then quirked upward in the beginnings of a smile. Riodan apprehensively turned his head and saw Dylen leaning slightly against the doorframe with his arms folded, his face devoid of all expression. But there was no doubt that he had heard Guyon’s every word. As Guyon had intended him to hear, Riodan knew from the satisfied smirk on Guyon’s face.

Forcing down the impulse to punch his former betrothed, he gestured to Dylen to enter. Dylen complied.

“You heard about Dimas?” Riodan asked.

Dylen grimly nodded. “Talvas told me when I arrived at the palace.” He regarded Riodan with some concern. “I hope you weren’t overly upset at being the one to discover him.

Riodan swallowed. “It was unpleasant,” he muttered. “What about your meeting with Malkon? Did you learn anything?”

“Nay, he suddenly begged off.”

“But he’s the one who asked you to join him,” Riodan said in surprise.

Guyon snidely suggested, “Perhaps he realized he preferred the company of Deira more alike to him in station.”

Riodan opened his mouth to rebuke him, but Dylen acted as if he had not heard and interposed himself between Riodan and Guyon, deliberately turning his back on the latter.

He dropped his voice to a confidential murmur, making it clear that Guyon was not privy to what he had to say to Riodan. Following his lead, Riodan ignored Guyon’s aggrieved reaction and drew Dylen a little farther away.

Dylen said, “Talvas told me Malkon had a heated argument with Laral just before

midday.”

Riodan frowned. “Not Sivar?”

“Nay, Laral went to Malkon’s apartment and demanded they talk. Those outside heard raised voices after a while, and when Laral came out, he was obviously angry. As for Malkon, he was ashen and all a-tremble. He started to come after Laral but retreated back into his quarters when he saw there were other folk outside.”

“Saints, what did they quarrel about, I wonder?” Riodan’s eyes narrowed. “Think you it had to do with Dimas’ death?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dylen added in a normal voice, “In any case, we mustn’t keep the prince waiting. I shall meet you at the palace.” He briefly tilted his head in Guyon’s direction. “You’d best finish your business soonest.”

He strode out of the room without so much as a glance at Guyon. The Deir stared after him in self-righteous dudgeon then swung around to confront Riodan. But Riodan busied himself dressing more formally, donning his court tunic and pulling on his dress boots. Guyon stubbornly sought his attention nonetheless.

“You can’t let him get away with—”

“I have no time to talk,” Riodan curtly said. “Prince Laral awaits us.”

Guyon tried again. “But, Rio, he—”

Riodan cut him off with a brusque, “You must return to Ylandre at once. I’m on official business and can’t entertain you.”

“Not until that insolent cur has been put in his place!” Guyon shrilly declared.

“Watch your tongue, Guyon,” Riodan snarled. “It is the Ardan’s brother you slander.”

Stunned by Riodan’s reaction, Guyon whined, “But he insulted me!”

“How?”

“He didn’t greet me!”

“You’re not a part of the consular team and furthermore got in here on a falsehood,”

Riodan icily pointed out. “Dylen is under no obligation to acknowledge you, speak to you or even look at you.”

“You defend him?” Guyon said disbelievingly.

“Yes. Oh, and by the way,” Riodan maliciously added. “I slept with him.”

Stupefaction rendered Guyon speechless for several seconds. “You-you what?” he sputtered.

“He’s as potent and well-endowed as I remember,” Riodan remarked with a pleased grin. “I can still feel him inside me. Indeed, I haven’t been able to sit down properly all day. But that’s not surprising given that he had me several times last night and again this morn.”

“You gave him what should have been mine?” Guyon shouted.

“Nay, I gave him what has always been his,” Riodan retorted. “I was his leman, Guyon.” He smiled broadly at Guyon’s horrified expression. “It was he who deflowered me and taught me all there is to know about coupling.”

Before Guyon could muster a reply. Riodan turned on his heel and left him standing in the middle of the room, pop-eyed and mouth agape. He saw his aide coming down the hallway bearing a tray of his requested food.

“Make certain Barath-
tyar
leaves Shenze forthwith,” he instructed the Deir, taking the tray from him. “Oh, and inform the necessary parties that we are no longer betrothed.

I don’t want him using that excuse to show up here again.”

Riodan reentered the apartment, stalking past Guyon with nary a glance or word. He settled himself at the small dining table in one corner of the sitting area and set to consuming his simple meal. Biting deeply into a warm slice of thickly buttered bread, he listened to Guyon’s protests as he was politely but firmly ushered out. The corners of his mouth tilted slightly upward at this small blessing in the midst of tragedy, uncertainty and potential peril.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Offensive

He found Dylen waiting at the main terrace from which several stone paths branched out to various sections of the palace gardens. Laral’s personal pavilion was at the far end of the east section, and they would take the right most path to reach it. Riodan dismissed the attendant who had conducted him thence, briefly explaining that he needed to discuss something with Dylen in private.

But, almost as soon as Riodan approached him, Dylen turned to step off the terrace and onto the path. Riodan caught him by the wrist and pulled him back.

“We have to talk,” he said.

Dylen’s face was unreadable. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Guyon—”

“Was right.”

“Nay!” Riodan protested. “Nothing he has, not even all the wealth and power in Aisen, did he possess them, could make him right. It’s you I want, Dylen. It’s you I love.”

“Being a king’s brother does not erase my past, Rio,” Dylen pointed out.

“Your past?” Riodan huffed in frustration. “Veres almighty, Dy, I lived with you for a year, waiting for you to come home to me, knowing you might have taken one or all of your guests to bed before you returned to ours! It didn’t bother me then, so why should it bother me now?”

A glimmer of emotion showed in Dylen’s eyes. “You turned your back on me because of it,” he dryly reminded Riodan.

“In my idiocy, I feared it would hinder me in my profession, but I never felt repugnance for what you did.” Riodan spoke earnestly. “You likely don’t believe me but even were you not Rohyr’s brother, I still would have sought you when I returned from Tehara,
Aba
’s will be damned,” He gripped Dylen’s wrist pleadingly. “I regretted what I did as soon as you left that night, but I was still ruled by ambition, and so I let you go.

But the contempt you showed me then—it haunted me all my years in Tehara. Yet I couldn’t forget you; couldn’t stop wanting you. I would have asked your forgiveness on bended knee and begged you to give me a second chance.”

“But you didn’t,” Dylen countered. “Not when we met again and not in all the time since. You didn’t even break your betrothal to Guyon.”

Riodan looked down, his cheeks flushing. “I would have done it had there been even the faintest hope of reconciling with you,” he said, his voice hushed. “But you were so distant, so cold. Even when you dealt kindly with me, there was no warmth in you. I tried so hard, Dy. But you put a wall between us that I couldn’t scale or breach. I came to believe that you loathed me. Worse, that you no longer cared. Without the certitude of your love, I had neither the courage nor the strength to cope with the consequences of breaking the engagement.” He looked up shamefaced. “There, I said it. I’m a coward and a weakling. You have every right to detest me after all.”

He held his breath when Dylen did not reply but looked at him uncertainly. At length, Dylen’s lips tightened, and he averted his gaze.

“I tried to stop,” he whispered. “I failed.”

Riodan swallowed hard. His grip on Dylen’s wrist turned into a caress as he slid his hand into Dylen’s and laced their fingers together.

“Tried to stop…?” he anxiously probed.

Dylen opened his mouth to reply. But the palace chimes suddenly tolled the time, startling them into awareness of their surroundings. Riodan swore under his breath at the untimely interruption.

“We have to hurry,” Dylen said. “We’re late.”

“Very late,” Riodan reluctantly agreed.

They hastened down the garden path and walked as rapidly as they could toward Laral’s pavilion.

“Strange,” Riodan murmured as they neared the fairly ornate structure. “Where are the guards, the servants?”

“Perhaps Laral ordered them to be discreet and—” Dylen started to say. He stopped when the sounds of clashing metal reached them. They glanced at each other then raced for the entrance.

“Holy Veres!” Riodan blurted. He stared in shock at the sight before them.

Bodies littered the floor and slumped against the walls, some feebly moving, others deathly still. All were garbed in royal livery. Their assailants however were attired in Ylandrin uniform. Unaware of the newcomers, they stood around watching the last Asmaran standing, their faces smug.

Laral still battled on, fending off two attackers. But he clutched his side and blood seeped between his fingers. Before either Dylen or Riodan could act, Laral uttered a curse as his sword was struck from his hand. The Deir behind him lashed out at his legs, and the prince fell heavily to his knees.

The soldier in front of him laughed and jeered, “Tired so soon, O Prince? And here I thought we’d get more sport out of you!” He raised his sword and started to bring it down on his helpless victim.

The Deir stopped in mid swing. He dropped his sword, his mouth open in a soundless cry. He toppled over, a carving knife embedded in his back. His comrades whirled around in shock just in time to bear the brunt of Dylen and Riodan’s charge.

Once more, the sound of swords meeting in combat rang through the pavilion.

Taking advantage of his guard’s momentary inattention, Laral grabbed the sword that would have decapitated him and swung it across the Deir’s legs, hewing them from under him. He staggered to his feet and rejoined the fray.

Riodan caught sight of a large dinner gong at one side of the room. Realizing they were seriously outnumbered and Laral badly wounded at that, he slew his opponent and dashed toward the gong. But more assassins blocked his way. Riodan grabbed a metal pitcher from atop a nearby table and flung it with all his might at the gong. The resulting clang was deafening and discordant, startling the other combatants into brief immobility.

Riodan barged past his distracted adversaries and reached the gong. He managed to strike it a second time before he was forced to engage the enemy once more.

His effort was not in vain. In a matter of minutes, a commotion outside heralded the arrival of more palace guards. Talvas burst into the pavilion, his warriors right behind him. For a moment, they stared in some confusion at the sight of the Ylandrin king’s brother and the Ylandrin ambassador defending their crown prince from Ylandrin soldiers. Then Dylen ran his opponent through, and all confusion evaporated. Talvas led his people into the fray.