Rejar (22 page)

“Yes, sir.” Emmy hesitated.

“Is there something else?” Do not let there be something else.

“No, yer Highness, it’s just that—well, I didn’t hear him come in, sir.”

Rejar smiled faintly. “No, you would not.”

“Sir?”

“He moves quietly, Emmy. Show him in.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

Emmy returned a few minutes later. “Mister Trey Ed, your Highness!” she loudly announced to the room, causing Rejar to start. It was not very often she got to announce a visitor. Do it up nice and right, she did. She closed the door softly behind her after the remarkable gentleman had entered the room.

Traed watched her leave, then turned to face his capricious brother-of-the-line. “Your Highness,” he said dryly.

“It suits me, does it not?” Rejar preened, comically throwing back his head with a regal, feline finesse.

Traed exhaled in a great gust of air as if to convey the measure of his unerring patience at having to put up with these antics.

Rejar broke into a genuine smile. Strange, but he actually was glad to see Traed. Sort of. “So, tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Traed’s pastel eyes gleamed in what could only be called gratification. His brother-of-the-line was not completely successful in hiding his discomfit over his sudden appearance. “Yaniff has sent me here to visit with you for a while. I think I am getting on his nerves.”

No doubt. “I did not know Yaniff had nerves.”

In a rare show of whimsy, Traed replied, “Perhaps I conjured them up for him. You think he would thank me?”

Rejar grinned. “That would be a sight worth seeing.”

“Indeed.”

Rejar tried not to sound too dispirited when he inquired, “So ... you will be staying a while?”

Traed strolled over to the window that Rejar was standing in front of. With two fingers, he carefully moved the curtain aside and surreptitiously glanced to the street below. Satisfied no one was lurking about, he said, “Yes.”

The pupils of Rejar’s dual-colored eyes momentarily kindled. How was this not going to complicate his problems with Lilac? Mated one day and a brother-of-the-line shows up the next! To stay. I will kill Yaniff.

“Good.” His voice did not hold much conviction. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That is ... good.”

“Mmm.” Traed sauntered over to the French doors in the corner, swiftly yanking them open. His steely green gaze scrutinized the garden area beyond before reclosing the doors.

“Traed, what are you doing?”

“Doing?”

“Yes, you are behaving most strangely.” Even for you.

“Why do you say this?” The doors of the large cabinet in the corner were snapped open with a flick of his wrist, the contents scanned.

“What are you searching for?”

Traed paused after a considering glance at Rejar. It was not going to be an easy thing to watch over the Familiar without his knowledge of it. Even as a child, Rejar had been extremely bright. A scamp, true; but a sharp scamp. “I am viewing this world you have come to. What else would I be doing?”

“I do not know.” Rejar gave him a speculative look. “If you wish to know of this world, you need but ask me.”

“Very well.” Traed plopped onto the couch, hooking his booted feet over a small serving table. He crossed his arms over his well-defined chest. “Tell me,” he commanded.

I will kill Yaniff. Rejar sighed, resignedly—he was honor-bound not to refuse his brother-of-the-line anything. Especially an elder brother-of-the-line. “We are in a place called—”

“Ree Gen Cee Ing Land. I know, Lorgin told me.” He waved his hand impatiently bidding him to “get on with it.”

Rejar’s nostrils flared in annoyance. Traed was not the easiest person to have a conversation with. “It is a strange place, ugly and savage.”

Traed leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes, his expression conveying acute boredom.

“At first I thought it the most barbarous of places ...” Rejar’s eyes narrowed, then gleamed mischievously, “much like your Zarrain, Traed.” He gibed.

The barb hit. Traed’s eyes opened a slit. “I am listening.”

“But there is beauty here as well. Incredible beauty.” His sights drifted to the ceiling above, where he had left Lilac not too long ago, then back.

“You must see the art they produce. And the writings! There is a man here I know called Byron. He has recited some of his work to me. It is brilliant. But it is the music—Traed, the music! Like none I have ever heard! It fills the soul; it transcends boundaries, taking one to new levels of awareness.”

Despite himself, Traed leaned forward, caught up in the Familiar’s enthusiasm.

“Mozart! You must hear Mozart. His is a wondrous layering of sounds of such exquisite majesty that there are no words to describe it.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly.”

Traed seemed to think about this a moment. “Hmm. I will meet this Mozart.”

Rejar smiled faintly. “You cannot, Traed; he is from their past, but you can know him from his music. I will take you to a place called the Pantheon where you may experience it.”

Despite his aloof demeanor, Rejar could tell Traed was interested. So he was not surprised when the green-eyed man said, “Tell me more.”

Rejar walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured out two tumblers of whiskey. He handed one to Traed, then took the chair opposite him. “Try this—it is called ‘malt.’ ”

Traed viewed the amber liquid speculatively then downed the drink in one gulp. “It does not have much life to it. Surely this is not a warrior’s drink!”

“Give it time, Traed.” Rejar poured him out another glass, thinking that if he could keep Traed in a constant state of inebriation during his stay it might not be so bad. This might have merit.

A mellow Traed?

Rejar snorted, dismissing the foolish notion. With one such as Traed, it would probably take a great deal of malt. More malt than he could reasonably acquire. And even then there might not be any visible effects. The man was stone-clad iron.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Rejar eyed Traed’s Aviaran garments. “I will have to get you some proper clothes.”

Green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “And what is wrong with the clothes I have on?”

As if struck by lightning, Rejar got a brilliant idea. Now this might work... .

“Nothing—to me.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “However, I have found the people here to be most sensitive about their mode of dress.”

“In what way?” Traed took a drink of his malt.

“Well...” Rejar rubbed his jaw, “You will have to get some tracas made out of a ... a red silken cloth. They are called pantaloons.”

Traed raised his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. “Over this goes a bright green shirt ... with frilly ruffles about the sleeves.” He gestured with his hand so there would be no doubt as to the amount of frills required.

Traed stared at him stonily.

Unperturbed, Rejar continued, “And you must never leave the place where you reside without artificial hair upon your head.”

“Artificial hair.” Traed’s even voice drawled. He placed his empty glass down, gesturing to Rejar to refill it.

“Yes, white artificial hair in fact, hanging tubes all about your head. It is the fashion.” Rejar laced his hands behind his head, affecting a knowledgeable air. “Here, in Ree Gen Cee Ing Land you will find that fashion is all. I have a friend named Brummell who has told me this.” Traed would refuse to be attired in such a manner and thus would be forced to leave. Honor would be satisfied and he could completely focus his attentions on instructing his wife in the art of Familiar love.

“I see.” Traed lifted his glass slowly to his lips. The pale jade stare pierced the younger man. “Are you telling me that you actually believe I will go about dressed in this manner?” he murmured in a low, sardonic tone.

Rejar’s eyes drifted to the left. Perhaps it was not such a brilliant idea after all. “I suppose not.”

Since Rejar was looking at the wall, he missed the slight twitch of amusement of Traed’s lips.

What else could he come up with? The Familiar ran a hand distractedly through his long black hair. Well, there was always that. Even for one such as Traed. He looked at him shrewdly, then refilled the other man’s glass to the rim.

“The women here are very amenable.” He picked up his own glass as if the topic were of no concern to him whatsoever, and, as a service, he was simply imparting an interesting tidbit of trivia.

Traed was not fooled for an instant. He knew exactly what the scamp was about; he wished to sidetrack him. Traed exhaled noisily. Shaking his head slowly back and forth, he intoned, “Rejar. Rejar. Rejar. What am I to do with you.” It was not a question.

Which was just as well because Rejar had a reply he was sure Traed would not appreciate.

In an irksome manner, Traed tapped his fingers against his glass. “Please do not feel you must curtail your... activities on my account. Feel free to do as you have always done, Rejar. Carouse to your Familiar heart’s content.”

Rejar frowned. Traed could be most irritating.

“I will even accompany you,” he offered magnanimously. “To observe your astounding technique.”

Rejar began to wonder who was toying with whom. “You will not.”

“I insist.” At the fulminating look on the Familiar’s face, Traed smoothly added, “Surely you do not begrudge me. How did you put it on Zarrain? A night of entertainment.” His glittering green gaze riveted on him. Why was Rejar trying to be rid of him? He was hiding something.

Rejar was through with the game. He stood up. “It is for you to go out carousing!” he bit out. “I do not wish to go out carousing.” He all but snarled.

Then he began to pace. Not a good sign. Familiars had to be watched when they paced.

“Why not?” Traed took an infuriating sip of his drink.

“Because I am mated!”

Coughing, Traed almost choked on his drink. “You are what?”

“You heard me—I am mated.” It was one of the few times Rejar could ever recall seeing true shock cross Traed’s face. He just stared at Rejar for several moments, utterly stunned.

The impossibility of the words won out over his stupefaction. Rejar mated? It was laughable. The Familiar was playing with him. “I do not believe you.”

Rejar bristled. “What do you mean you do not believe me?”

“Just as I say. You may cease this Familiar game, Rejar, it is not working.”

“It is no game! I am mated, I tell you!”

Traed stood, placing his booted feet in front of Rejar. “Forgive me if I sound disbelieving but I find this hard to credit. It was not so very long ago that you availed yourself of half the female population in my keep!”

“Yes, but I—”

Traed faced him, arms akimbo, looking very much the Aviaran warrior. “So you will understand when I say that I have known you most of your life and that I have yet to see any indication that there is a modicum of the seriousness such a state would entail. Do you get my meaning? So what game are you playing?”

Rejar’s eyes flamed with the feral light of anger. It was not a state one would necessarily want a Familiar to get into. That is, unless one could adequately defend oneself.

“Then you know me not,” Rejar said softly, dangerously. “Guard your tongue.”

Traed hesitated. He had never seen Rejar like this. Perhaps it was time he reexamined this younger brother-of-the-line. It appeared there was more here than he ever let on. More than Yaniff let on. Traed watched him obliquely.

“Very well. I believe you. Now tell me; who is this paragon who has mated herself to you?”

Traed’s jesting words served to settle Rejar down. He smiled slightly, relaxing his stance.

“She is—”

The door to the study crashed opened.

Lilac stormed in, hands on hips, ready to do battle. “Nickolai! What is the meaning of this?” In her fury, she did not even notice the tall man standing to her right.

“Emmy tells me you have instructed her to move your belongings into my room! Well, I will not have it!” She stomped her foot and shook her finger at him at the same time. “It is just not done! I have told you that I will not share a bedroom with you! And furthermore, just because I have to—to consort with you does not mean—”

A slight movement out of the corner of her eye captured her attention. An exceptionally good-looking man with light green eyes and long dark hair watched her with an amused intensity.

“Who the blazes are you?” she blurted out.

Rejar stepped forward. “Lilac, this is Traed. He is my ...” How do you explain the intricacies of Aviaran relationships? There was no equivalent to a brother-of the-line here. The term cousin did not even come close. “He is my brother.”

Surprised, Traed looked over at him. An expression came over his face suspiciously close to pride.

“Your brother?”

She should have known that anyone who looked that good had to come from her husband’s family. She scrutinized him carefully, noting the lean, muscular build, the tall frame, the chiseled features, and the glittering eyes. She could come to only one conclusion.

“What does he turn into—a wolf?” she sneered, before storming from the room.

Rejar shrugged apologetically to Traed, a sheepish look on his face.

Hmm, Traed thought. This may prove an interesting journey after all. An idle, decidedly “wolfish grin materialized on his enigmatic face.

It did not sit well with Rejar.

Not at all.

Chapter Eleven

Lilac leaned back against the rim of the tub.

The water was good and hot. Maybe it would help to alleviate some of the achy feeling she had. It was the second bath she had taken that day and it was only the late afternoon. Still, muscles she didn’t know she had yesterday were sore today.

It felt good to be in the privacy of her dressing room.

Emmy had balked about placing the tub in here instead of in the bedroom in front of the fireplace but Lilac had insisted. She was feeling terribly sorry for herself and had every intention of enjoying her displeasure. Alone.

Nickolai.

The autocrat.

After she had stormed out of the study, she had raced back to her room demanding that Emmy remove his things.