Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) (3 page)

“Did you?”

“I’ve completed the basic course. I plan to resume my studies next year.”

Riodan blew his breath out. “Fascinating. It’s beyond anything I imagined.”

“It isn’t common knowledge outside of our circle,” Dylen admitted. He selected several wristlets of leather and silver and slipped them on.

“You don’t have to answer this,” Riodan hesitantly said. “I’m just curious. But can you choose your patrons?”

“For the most part,” Dylen replied. “But if my club master assigns a guest to me, I must take him on unless I have a valid reason to refuse. That’s still far more choice than a prostitute has.”

Riodan nodded. “And I suppose your club master doesn’t accept just anyone off the street.”

“No indeed. It’s to his benefit to protect us. Obviously, brothel-keepers aren’t as discerning.” Dylen picked up his fur-lined cloak and drew it on. “Furthermore, a prostitute can’t refuse to couple in whatever manner a client demands.
Hethare
may and often do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Genital penetration is permissible only if a
hethar
agrees to it,” he calmly explained. “Very rarely, one might be persuaded to yield if his patron offers to pay through the nose for the privilege. Or if one desires a child. Otherwise, it’s strictly up the arse for us.”

Dylen grinned. The mirror showed Riodan gaping at him. His frankness had obviously impressed him. He turned around and slipped a finger under the other Deir’s chin. With a smart tap, he compelled Riodan to close his mouth.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Dylen said. “I’m seldom home before midnight.” When Riodan did not speak but only stared at him with wide eyes, he tilted his head questioningly. “What is it? Have I a smudge on my face or something?”

Riodan started. “Nay, of course not!”

“Then why are you staring?”

Once again, brilliant color blossomed in Riodan’s cheeks. He abashedly replied, “I was only so stunned. I haven’t met anyone as beautiful as you.”

Dylen raised an eyebrow. A small smile followed.

“Thank you,” Dylen softly said. With a nod at Riodan, he left the room.

He had ample time to think about Riodan Leyhar as he made his way to the Seralye.

An afternoon’s worth of the youth’s company had yielded enough information for Dylen to make a fairly accurate assessment of his background.

His sire was not a blueblood but a very wealthy member of the upper gentry.

However, Theron Leyhar was not satisfied with mere affluence. He also craved higher social status and worked assiduously toward gaining it, clawing his way up the ranks of the diplomatic corps. That neither Dylen nor his father recognized the name did not mean the Deir was of no importance. Indeed, Riodan could not hide his pride that his sire was one of Ylandre’s foremost ambassadors. Rather, it was probably as Hirlen had surmised.

Theron Leyhar likely did not care to avail of the
hethare’
s many talents, even the purely social ones.

That was unusual in that diplomats were very urbane as a rule and most made it a point to sample the more sophisticated offerings of the societies to which they were posted. Virtually every bachelor envoy of note frequented the Quarter. Furthermore, they oft hosted social gatherings, and one sure way to guarantee the enjoyment of one’s guests was to have a
hethar
or two around to enliven the proceedings with witty banter, erudite discussion and skillfully performed music. Assignations were very rarely part of such arrangements, especially when there were names to protect and reputations to preserve.

Dylen cast his speculation aside. Useless to wonder about a Deir he only knew secondhand. He turned onto the main street of the Quarter and walked into its very heart.

Located in the largely commercial west district, the Quarter was the place to go if one wished to indulge one’s self in entertainment and recreational activity. Here were the venerable theaters and music halls of Rikara. Here, too, were the great artisans’ studios and elegant
hethare
clubs, far removed from the dingy shops and bawdy houses that littered the seedy south district. The bulk of the capital’s various performers resided in the Quarter as well as many a writer and artist both accomplished and merely aspiring, all seeking inspiration from the colorful folk and their goings on.

The Seralye was not on the main street but on a road just off it. It was a three-story edifice with a tasteful but unassuming façade. It could have passed for an expensive inn were it not for the red and black border framing the sign above the slightly recessed door.

There was nothing obvious about the establishment. A liveried doorkeeper quietly welcomed guests when they entered the premises. Unlike in a brothel, no companions loitered in the foyer or on the stairs in various states of undress. The décor was understated and reminiscent of a stylish townhouse.

Uniformed attendants conducted guests up the stairs to the cozy reception room where they had a drink or two while they awaited their
hethar
of choice. Newcomers who looked likely to frequent the club were appraised by Zarael Thanar, the Seralye’s proprietor and club master, himself a
hethar
once upon a long time ago.

Guests who came for social companionship were entertained in any of the club’s many parlors. There were also four spacious taprooms where groups of Deira could party or unwind after a day’s toil. Contrary to popular misconception, carnal activity was not a matter of course among the
hethare,
and it was not uncommon for a companion to pass the night without coupling with any of his patrons.

If desired, however, those particular needs were met in the elegant bedchambers on the third story of the building. Deira who availed of these services were strictly vetted first. Indeed, a guest had to be a regular visitor at the Seralye before Zarael would even consider allowing him to progress to the status of patron. And, more often than not, Zarael gave his
hethare
the option to accept or decline requests for sexual service except when the patron in question was not one he could refuse. The former companion was not about to imperil either his establishment’s good name or his
hethare’
s health and general safety by being lax about his rules or standards.

Almost as soon as Dylen stepped into the reception room to let Zarael’s secretary Keon know he had arrived, a handsome Deir of middle years rose from his seat before the fire. He smiled expectantly. Dylen smiled back.

The Deir was a wealthy financier who came to the Seralye when the pressures of his profession and the tediousness of his mate’s company wore him down. Dylen glanced at Keon. A slight shake of the secretary’s head indicated the financier only sought convivial company. Of course, that could change in the course of the evening but, as he was a well-liked patron, seeing to that need should it arise would be no problem for Dylen.

He was one of the least sexually available of the Seralye’s companions, preferring to entertain guests in the parlors and taprooms. But when he did accept a patron’s proposition, he made certain that he pleased the latter so well, a request for another visit was inevitable. As he had told Riodan, he took on guests at Zarael’s behest who were not of his choosing, but these instances were few and far in between, and Dylen had no qualms about bedding them, particularly if their patronage proved beneficial in the long run.

After bidding Keon to have more substantial refreshments sent up, Dylen warmly greeted the Deir and ushered him to one of the parlors. If the visit remained purely social, he would be available to entertain another guest in an hour or so.

Dylen stepped out of the communal bath into the large dressing room, toweling himself briskly. It was a little past midnight, and he had entertained his last guest of the day, a
thein
of ancient lineage. The baron had also been the only one of his four patrons to ask for sexual service. Dylen idly wondered if the Deir’s consort was aware of the former’s proclivity for playing the mare. Then again, if he knew which
hethar
his lord-spouse frequented, it was likely he did. Many of Dylen’s bed partners sought him out because they desired domination at his hands.

As he dressed, another companion, Veanthe by name, sauntered in. He was a favorite taproom host due to his raconteur’s eloquence and knowledge of the bawdiest songs this side of the Samaran Sea. He was also Dylen’s senior by some sixteen years and a veteran of their club.

After they greeted each other, Dylen thought to ask, “Do you know aught about an ambassador by the name of Theron Leyhar?”

Veanthe rolled his eyes theatrically. “Enough to keep a wide berth around him.”

Dylen frowned. “Why?”

“He detests our kind. He deems us little better than the strumpets who walk the streets. And he isn’t shy about saying so.”

“You witnessed this?”

“I should say so. It was at a come-of-age party last year for Minister Pelar’s son. He wasn’t the only diplomat in attendance, mind you. Jareth Hadrana was there, and he’s the highest-ranking ambassador in the land. But that didn’t stop that stick-in-the-mud Leyhar from making a fuss about our presence.” Veanthe scowled. “He even embarrassed poor Almerin after he sang at a guest’s request. He said it was a shame that so venerable a song had been performed by a mere trollop.”

“Sweet Veres,” Dylen muttered. “In front of everyone?”

“Oh yes! A good thing Hadrana-
tyar
saw fit to chide him for his rudeness. That shut him up quickly enough. But he kept glaring at us for the rest of the evening. Really, is that any way for a grown Deir to behave? And he a diplomat to boot!”

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem like a general dislike for
hethare
,” Dylen remarked. “More like a personal encounter with one companion that blackened his outlook on the rest of the fraternity.”

Veanthe humphed. “That’s no reason to be impolite. He should know better than to judge a whole basket by one questionable cranapple!” He looked at Dylen questioningly.

“Why so curious about him? It’s highly unlikely that he’ll ever set foot in this club.”

Dylen shrugged. “I know someone who doesn’t hold the highest opinion of him, that’s all. But he does believe Leyhar is good at his profession.”

“I dare say your friend is right,” Veanthe grudgingly conceded. “Else Leyhar would never have made ambassador. I understand the evaluation process is quite brutal.

Nonetheless, he has the manners of a burhog!”

Dylen grinned and said no more. However, as he departed, he felt a twinge of unease.

It was difficult to reconcile the impression he had formed of Theron Leyhar with what he knew of his son. Riodan did not seem to possess his sire’s condescending attitude. Indeed, he showed naught but respect for Hirlen and grateful amicability toward Dylen. It was possible he was behaving thusly only because of his present dependence on the Terises, but Dylen thought it improbable. He was quite accurate in discerning people’s characters, and Riodan’s geniality and lack of arrogance rang true.

“Student lodgings will likely be full,” Hirlen said over breakfast three days later. By now the nasty welt on Riodan’s forehead had faded to a bruise, and the youth had already learned his way around the west district and also ventured into the finance section of the capital in the central district to draw funds from his bank savings. “I doubt there will be vacancies until the end of the academic year. Have you finished first term?”

Riodan nodded. “I was supposed to complete this year in Sidona then transfer to the University next year. But
Aba
would have hounded me without cease to go through with the betrothal and that I couldn’t bear. So I came here forthwith.”

“Then you will stay with us until a vacancy opens up,” Hirlen decided.

“I can’t do that!” Riodan protested. “Surely there are other rooms available.”

“Not for your purpose,” Dylen put in. “There’s a reason non-local students seldom look farther than the University boarding houses. Beyond those enclaves, their safety is not as ensured, not even in the better located ones.”

Riodan shrugged. “I may not have travelled much outside of Sidona, but I oft moved about on my own within the fief. I can fend for myself. And I don’t mind less ideal accommodations so long as they’re clean and reasonably secure.”

Dylen opened his mouth to scoff, but a glance from Hirlen shushed him.

“You should avoid the south district,” Hirlen counselled. “It’s the poorest and most unsavory section of the city. The north district, on the other hand, is rich, well guarded and close to the University. But you will find only townhouses and large apartments for rent—hardly what you have in mind I dare say. Now the east and west districts are quite safe during daytime and have a good number of decent lodgings. Dy will help you find something suitable. Until then, you will stay with us. Do keep in mind, however, that Sidona can’t compare to Rikara, neither its beauties nor its dangers. That you were assaulted almost as soon as you arrived is testament to that. Don’t be so quick to trust new acquaintances either. Not even the likes of us.”

Riodan stared at him. “But you saved me!”

“How do you know we’re not just fattening you for the slaughter?” Dylen dryly pointed out. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when Riodan gaped in obvious shock.

“All
Adda
is saying is that, hereabouts, it’s best to be overly cautious with strangers. You don’t know enough just yet to separate the wheat from the chaff, and that may prove your undoing. Now, what say I take you to our tailor? I have more than enough to clothe us both, and I don’t mind sharing with you. But I don’t think you wish to go about in ill-fitting garments that tell one and all at a glance that they’re borrowed.”

A grimace of embarrassment replaced Riodan’s burgeoning scowl. He mumbled his agreement and kept his attention on his porridge for the rest of the meal. Afterward, he went to Dylen’s bedroom to dress for a day out in the cold.

“So naïve,” Dylen murmured when Riodan was out of earshot.

Hirlen agreed. “Hopefully, he will overcome that soonest. But do be gentler with him, Dy. Your much vaunted tact seems to have gone missing.”