Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

“There you are,” Torbald called out, motioning for Daemon to take a seat beside him. “First my daughter went in search of you, and now it seems I have lost my son to the same quest.”

  Daemon smiled underneath the cowl, and had they been able to see, the wicked grin would have revealed rows of perfect, white, even teeth. “I am sure he will return in a scrap.”

  “Come, sit.”

  Daemon took a seat on the bench beside Torbald but declined the offer of wine.

  “Tell me, Daemon,” he said softly, “how is it that you came to serve my son? You are not from Rieyn.”

  “’Tis a long tale, that,” he grunted.

  “My gracious thanks for taking care of my son,” Odessa interrupted, reaching a hand out to Daemon, who took it gently in his own. “I am so thankful that you brought him—”

  “There is no need, lady,” Daemon interrupted softly, squeezing her hand tightly with his own gloved fingers before releasing it. “Your son has been a true friend. I too can never repay the debt of kinship,” he finished as Ehron entered the room.

  “Where were you?” Ehron asked as he walked up beside Daemon.

  “This I could ask of you, lord,” Daemon replied, rising to his feet. “I seemed not the one lost.”

  “I was not lost,” Ehron assured him. “I was searching the keep for you.”

  Everyone saw the ease between the two men, and it warmed Odessa’s heart to think that her son had enjoyed such close camaraderie during his time away from her.

  “Did you mark not that I was here?” Ehron continued.

  “I marked it,” Daemon answered with a grin, bumping Ehron with his shoulder. “I thought you strolling for your ease.”

  Ehron smiled suddenly, putting a heavy hand on his servant’s shoulder and squeezing. “I should by now have grown accustomed to both your vanishing and reappearance.”

  Daemon suddenly turned to Odessa and bowed from the waist deeply. “I thank you for your pains, lady, on the feast that was prepared for the return of your son. I have not seen such devotion in many seasons. It brings a gentle pain to the heart.”

  Tears came fast to the mother’s eyes as she regarded the servant. How tender was his heart to speak such gracious words.

  “And yet you have had not a bite of this feast,” Gareth remarked casually, bringing everyone’s attention to that detail.

  “I thank only for the pains made on Ehron’s behalf,” Daemon assured him, his voice chilling as he regarded his lord’s brother.

  “And when do you take your meal?” Gareth asked him.

  Ehron sighed deeply. “In time of war, the master eats before the servant,” he told Gareth, reaching down to fill a plate with grapes, figs, and melon for his servant. “It seems that I must still remind my consul that he and I may dine together at our leisure and eat our fill.”

  “Never your fill, lord, lest we lose speed and stealth,” Daemon told him.

  “Well said,” Torbald agreed.

  “Here is your feast,” Ehron grumbled, shoving the plate at him so Daemon had to scramble to grab it. “You must eat before you find your bed.”

  Daemon sighed, immediately beginning to eat the grapes, and even then no one could spot a glimpse of his face. “I am starved, but I must also soon find my bed, or I will fall at your feet, my lord.”

  “Oh my dear ones,” Odessa said soothingly, rising to stand between her son and his servant, putting an arm around each man. “We must lead you both to your rest.”

  “I will aid you, mother,” Amelina offered, following after them as they started away from the eating table.

  “The shine be on you, Father,” Ehron called before mounting the central stairs, realizing suddenly how very tired he was.

  “As well as on you, son,” Torbald’s voice boomed back. “Good rest, Daemon Shar!”

  Daemon stopped, leaving the curve of Odessa’s arm. “Good rest to you, my lord Terhazien.” He bowed again ever so slightly before following Ehron, Odessa, and Amelina up the stairs, eating as he went.

  Odessa had to push Ehron into his chambers, but not before her oldest son made Daemon swear to return after Amelina showed him to his chambers.

  “Your room is right through here,” Amelina murmured, drawing back a tapestry of rich purple and green to reveal a wooden door.

  “How grand this is.” Daemon smiled, following Amelina into the warm candlelit room, putting the bowl of fruit down on a bench beside the wall. He walked from one corner to the other, surveying everything before finally speaking. “Who makes all the fine needlework?” he asked, running his hand over the heavy goose down quilt on the bed.

  “I,” she answered, smiling timidly.

  “Truly, lady,” Daemon said, and Amelina heard the respect in his voice, “I have not seen the equal.”

  No one ever noticed anything Amelina did, overshadowed as she was by Ehron’s warfare and Gareth’s care of the holding. Amelina’s smile became brighter as Daemon took a seat on the bed and carefully put one of her pillows on his lap. He smoothed his hand over it gently, examining it closely.

  Amelina leaned back against the wall, willing herself to stand there instead of crossing to the bed to sit beside Daemon. She wanted more than anything to be close to him, but the rules of propriety had been drilled far too deep. A gentle woman sat on no man’s bed save that of her husband. She was thankful for the support the wall offered and swallowed hard as her stomach clenched into a tight knot of anticipation.

  “You will enjoy court,” Daemon sighed, breaking the silence so suddenly that Amelina squeaked in surprise. “Pardon, lady,” he chuckled, standing to cross the room to her.

  If he noticed her trembling, he was considerate enough not to remark on it. She was thankful for his courtly manners and longed to gaze deeply into his eyes. They would be, she was certain, dark and warm.

  “Are you well, lady?” he asked gently, the concern clear in his voice.

  The tone brought her from her fanciful thoughts back to the present. “Speak your meaning that I will enjoy court,” she said quickly, the tremor only a whisper in her voice.

  “You will be well attended, lady. This is my meaning.”

  “How so?”

  “Surely there are many handsome men at court waiting to show worship to such a beautiful young woman. I hope your brothers prove to be suitable guardians of your charms.”

  “I have no concerns for my honor, sir. I am no temple virgin locked away from the world. I am the daughter of a baron—”

  “Daemon,” he said simply, correcting her use of the polite “sir” when she addressed him. “You must use my name ever.” He chuckled easily, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

  She felt the smooth, supple leather of his gloves against her silky skin when he touched her. The contact sent heat through her.

  She swallowed hard. “Daemon,” she repeated, all her bluster gone as she looked down at his hand on hers. It was such an innocent, chaste touch, and yet her heart danced in her chest.

  “You are of age to concern yourself with your own honor. I charge your brothers with only keeping your many would-be suitors at bay so that you may breathe between dances.”

  How honeyed were his words, how sweet, how artfully spoken. “Will you bide here while we journey to Tristan or attend my brother?”

  “As he desires,” Daemon assured her. “If I stay, shall I write you at court?” he asked, crossing the room back to the bowl of fruit to finish the grapes.

  “You write?” In her experience, not many men lower in station than her father wrote. Indeed, of all their servants, only Bren, her father’s second, keeper of the house, could make his letters. None of Amelina’s waiting women could write even their own names.

  Daemon laughed, and Amelina was charmed completely. “I will write to you,” he said, “if you will it so.”

  She caught her breath as he darted to her side, sharing the wall with her.

  “Tell me, what shall we write about?”

  “I kn
ow not what—”

  “Shall we trade secrets?” he asked conspiratorially, leaning close, his tone suggestive, mischievous. “I think we should, you and I. You will be my eyes and ears, and you will spy and tell me everything there is to know about the fat hens at court. How glorious you will be, the sleek cat moving among them.”

  It was too much for Amelina. She was too young, too inexperienced to know what to do next. She was overwhelmed by the playfulness, by the unhurried conversation, by the ease she felt in his presence. A sound that she had never in her life uttered before came out of her.

  “Lady? Will you be my spy?” he asked, pressing her for an answer, teasing.

  She coughed to clear her throat. “I will.”

  “Excellent,” he chuckled, and the sound was husky and low.

  She was sensitive of his warm breath as he leaned close for a moment and was afraid to turn and look at him, scared that she would throw herself into his arms and disregard all maidenly modesty. She wanted to brush the cowl back and look at a face that, if it matched the voice, would be flawless. Her heart was hammering in her chest so loud and so hard that she thought he must surely be able to hear it.

  “Truly I could not have a more tempting and lovely conspirator,” Daemon told her playfully, sliding away from her, putting space between them the moment before Odessa entered the room.

  “Here is my daughter,” Odessa said, smiling warmly at both Daemon and Amelina.

  “We spoke of court,” Daemon said cheerfully. “Your child has agreed to send me posts so that I may learn all the comings and goings. She is my spy.”

  “As will I be, if you stay behind,” Odessa chuckled.

  “Two spies,” Daemon cackled. “Excellent.”

  Odessa was charmed completely and then delivered the news that Ehron was requesting Daemon’s presence immediately.

  “It seems he must speak to you,” Odessa told him, moving to stand by her daughter. “And he refuses to sleep until he does.”

  Daemon sighed heavily. “A matter of some urgency, no doubt.”

  Both Odessa and Amelina laughed at him before giving him their blessing for sweet dreams.

  Odessa smiled knowingly, having seen her daughter’s look of absolute adoration. “Such a lovely young man.”

  “Aye,” Amelina answered dreamily, “the truth of his manner is that of a nobleman, though he is not.”

  “Nobility lives in the heart of the man, not in the title he bears or in the name of his house.”

  Amelina turned to look at her mother. “Yet could I join not with a nobleman, mother? Would father ever allow a joining with one who was not to be baron?”

  Odessa knew what she was being asked, understood the importance and understood, too, from the flush of her cheeks and the wringing of her hands that Amelina had stumbled hard. “Your father would not allow a union with other than one of the noble houses of Rieyn, Amelina. You are worth no less than a maxim. You are a baron’s daughter. You must prize yourself above all other women of Rieyn.”

  Amelina knew her duty, but her heart did not.

  “He is beautiful,” Amelina mused, never imagining that her mother had heard her.

  “Indeed,” Odessa agreed, “though we know only his heart, as we see not his face.”

  “Do you think Ehron has seen his face?”

  “You may well ask him,” Odessa said softly. “But you did not ask Daemon yourself, did you, dearest?”

  “Oh no, mother, I would never ask. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me.”

  “Indeed, and as your brother’s consul, he is above such queries, even if well-intended.”

  “Of course.”

  “But,” Odessa reminded her, “you may ask your brother whatever you please.”

  Amelina meant to first thing the following morning.

  DAEMON WALKED back down the long hallway and turned left, the way a passing servant had instructed him, and knocked lightly on the heavy wooden door of Ehron’s room.

  “Come,” Ehron called from inside.

  Daemon opened the door and found Ehron already in bed.

  “Ever I wait upon you,” Ehron grumbled. “Come and sit down.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Daemon said pointedly, picking up one of the sturdy wooden chairs by the hearth and carrying it over beside the enormous feather bed.

  “Lord me not, Daemon,” Ehron growled, sitting up in bed to look at his friend.

  “What name would you be called?”

  Ehron growled. “As to what we were discussing shortly before we arrived, I want you to swear the oath to me now.”

  “I cannot,” Daemon yawned.

  “Cannot or will not?”

  “Both.”

  “Swear to me now that you will remain in my employ until the end of your days.”

  Daemon snorted out a laugh. “You think to maul me into submission, then?”

  “Dae—”

  “Your father was pleased to hear that you are in the good graces of Ram Troen, was he not?”

  Ehron grunted. “He was.”

  “You see, again, I am right.”

  The warm sound of his friend’s voice, as always, rolled through Ehron, leaving nothing but comfort in its wake. “Always,” Ehron chuckled. “You are always right.”

  “I only want you safe before I leave you.”

  “No!” Ehron was instantly irritated. In the beginning Daemon had spoken of leaving only every six months, but he brought it up increasingly more often, first every three months, then every one. Now, he broached the subject daily, and to Ehron, it felt like he was counting the time down, and it made him uneasy. “Constantly you speak of leaving as though this were your choice to make. You are my consul, you daft man. I decide where you go and go not. You forget this fact often.”

  Daemon groaned. “The war is over, and I am not a citizen of Rieyn. I go where I like, my good prefect, and well you know this.”

  “I make choices for you, not you for yourself. Like the one to save that slave.”

  “Oh, shall we hear not this again.” Daemon rolled his eyes beneath the cowl and put his feet up on the edge of the bed.

  “You risked your life to save that worthless dreg from death, as though drowning were too good for him. His life is not worth a piece, and yet you leaped into the sea to save him.”

  “Is he not a man, the same as I?”

  “You are worth ten of him, and well you know this!” Ehron barked at him. “That you could so abandon me by….” He trailed off, remembering the sight of the high rolling waves, seeing the wall of water beside the ship, staring in horror after Daemon as he leaped from the deck into the churning darkness of the deep.

  “And you nearly beat me senseless while I was choking and straining to breathe.” Daemon chuckled, bringing Ehron from his thoughts, remembering how enraged his friend had been, the pain inadvertently inflicted. Sometimes, Ehron did not remember that he was twice the size of Daemon, the top of the consul’s head coming only to his shoulder.

  “You care over much for common dregs,” Ehron continued his rant. “You always have.”

  Daemon chuckled. “You care as well, only my actions upset you, and so now you rage against them.”

  “You will do as I say!”

  “Oh, fret not.”

  “Take another tone with me, Daemon!” Ehron warned him, giving his servant a scorching look even as he noticed that Daemon was humming faintly.

  “Aye, my lord,” he snickered.

  “Daemon—”

  “I said aye, my lord,” he said indulgently.

  “You could vex the patience of a saint.”

  Which he had been told often as a child by both of his parents. “If I agree and say aye again, will you have me beaten?”

  Ehron grunted before he pulled the heavy quilts up around his shoulders and let out a deep sigh of contentment. It was so good to be home and in his old room, surrounded by his family, with Daemon beside him; Ehron could not remember feeling so good.
>
  Daemon yawned and moved his feet off the bed.

  “Where do you run to?” Ehron asked his servant.

  “To my bed,” Daemon answered, standing and looking down at Ehron. “Your family is all that you spoke of,” he said tenderly.

  “Indeed.”

  Daemon regarded his lord and friend thoughtfully. “What troubles you? Your face is twisted with worry. You will soon resemble an old crone.”

  “I worry not. I am only pleased that my father seemed so taken with you.” He smiled up at Daemon. “I want him to love you as I do.”

  Daemon groaned. “The words you use—please, I beg you, mark them and censure them.”

  Ehron squinted up at him. “You are closer to me than my own brother. You have seen me sick at the sight of dead men, held me pressed between your hands so I would not pump my life blood into the snow, and waited patiently at the door as I have rutted away long nights in brothels. I have emptied the vault of my heart to you and no other—what word shall I give you but love, my dear Daemon?”

  “You’re a fool,” Daemon assured him.

  “But you favor me and so will make me Shield Bearer of Rieyn.”

  Daemon grunted. “As though this were in my power to grant.”

  “We both know it is. The way you think… before others know a thing, you have already considered it. I know no other man like you.”

  Daemon was certain that was true.

  “I want you to remain at my side.”

  “So you have said.”

  “Find your bed,” Ehron ordered, but his voice was gentle. He blew out the flame of the oil lamp next to his bed.

  Daemon left Ehron’s room and closed the door quietly behind him. The walk back down the hall to his room seemed endless, and once there, he collapsed onto the bed, bothering only to first bolt his door against late-night intruders.

  Two

  WHEN EHRON awoke, he had not only his consul but the captain of his private guard standing over him. He groaned loudly.

  “I wish I could sleep the light away,” Seone Amal groused at him.

  Ehron rolled his head to the other side and saw the dark visage of his consul.

  “Some of us have to actually attend to our duties,” Daemon said, and the smirking tone was not lost on Ehron.