Cethe

by Becca Abbott

  There, he collapsed into a silk-upholstered chair, surprised at how tired he was. In the other room, he heard voices. Arami was awake and not very happy. After several minutes, Severyn emerged wearing an expression of smug triumph. The door slammed behind him.

  “Let’s go back to the party,” he said to Michael. To the guards standing outside the suite, he said, “If His Majesty isn’t on his way to the dining room in one hour, come find me.”

  “He’s better, I take it.” said Michael once they were away.

  “Coherent, at least. Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

  “Yes, but what’s to stop him from drugging himself into a stupor again?”

  Severyn reached into his pocket and briefly showed Michael several small cut crystal perfume bottles. They were filled with pelthe. Patting his pocket, Severyn said, “I think I found them all. He’ll have to come out, if only to find these.”

  “Will you give them back?”

  The prince’s response was a derisive snort.

  Dinner was at midnight, still a couple hours away. Severyn was convinced to join a card game in one of the parlors. Michael declined, being shorter in the pocket than his friend, and took himself off to the terrace for a breath of fresh air.

  By now, the crowd had grown, spilling out of the ballroom and public rooms, onto the terrace, even into the still-bare gardens beyond. Michael decided to go down by the shore where a path meandered, giving a spectacular view of Lothmont across the lake. It was a view Stefn would appreciate.

  Michael caught himself, swearing under his breath. Resolutely he thought of other things, but when he reached the path, he found it populated by romantic couples. Abandoning that idea, he started back to the palace.

  “Lord Arranz?”

  Stopping at the sound of his name, Michael turned politely, and found himself facing a tall, handsome Hunter. In the dim light it was hard to make out the details of his uniform, but then the officer turned slightly, catching the illumination of a nearby torch. A Dragon!

  “You have the advantage, sir,” replied Michael, abruptly wary. “Have we met?”

  “My apologies. No, we’ve not, but I’ve heard a great deal about you. I’m Captain Adrian Remy of the Order of Dragons, recently down from Zelenov. Does your grandfather also attend the fete, my lord? It’s not often these days we see one of your family in Lothmont.”

  “His Grace is at Blackmarsh. I’m our family’s sole representative here tonight,” Michael replied. “But rest assured, more of us will attend in the future. King Arami exceeds himself each year, it seems.”

  “Magnificent, indeed,” replied the captain. His eyes held Michael’s, an odd light in them. “I understand you were disappointed at your wedding. Was the lady offered of such poor quality?”

  “Alas, I never even saw her.” Michael pretended regret. “An Objection was lodged. I understand it’s stalled in the courts somewhere.”

  “I’m sure whatever concerns were expressed will be rectified quickly. Still, I imagine your mistress must be delighted with the turn of events.” Remy’s smile invited Michael to share the confidences of romantic escapades. “Or do you plan to keep her on after you’re married?”

  “Oh, keep her on, absolutely,” replied Michael, thinking of Stefn. “What about yourself, Captain? Are you wed?”

  “Not yet, alas. A Hunter’s life is not well-suited for the demands of domesticity. Perhaps later.”

  The bells in the palace’s Royal Chapel pealed out over the island. It was midnight. In the distance, bells in the city could be heard answering as Lothmont greeted the first official day of spring.

  “Who is your mistress, my lord? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard.”

  Remy’s voice was light, but the question was so outre, Michael was momentarily speechless. Then he forced a smile. “As if I’d tell you, captain, and have her stolen right out from under my nose.”

  The captain laughed. “My apologies, Lord Arranz. It was bad of me, but I’m extremely curious. Is she human?”

  “I believe they’re serving dinner at midnight. Won’t your companion be looking for you?”

  Captain Remy’s dark eyes flashed; his smile was as quick and insincere as Michael’s. “Like you, I came with friends.”

  Witch-sense narrowed Michael’s focus to the handsome, dangerous man. A strange recklessness seized him. He had a sudden image of the proud bastard kneeling naked before him. “Ah,” he said lightly, “since we’re both free men this evening, how about a wager?”

  “A wager?” Wariness appeared in the captain’s gaze.

  “I wager that when I walk into the royal dining room, the woman on my arm will be more beautiful than the woman on yours. What do you say?” He grinned at the expression on Remy’s face. “Shall we find out the truth, Captain Remy? Who do women find more alluring: the knight or the demon?”

  Michael was late. Severyn sat at the head table, the sulking king on his left and Miss Eldering on his right. Away from the intimidating presence of her aunt, Miss Stefanie did not seem so shy or reserved as in their previous meetings. She greeted him with pretty charm and clearly enjoyed being led up the side of the long room on his arm. Nor did she lack for conversation. If Severyn hadn’t so much on his mind, he might have even enjoyed himself.

  Captain Remy made his appearance, escorting the Honorable Miss Elizabeth Castleton, one of Lothmont’s acknowledged beauties. Under the interested stares of the assembly, he lingered before leaving her in her chair and going to his own.

  Miss Eldering leaned toward Severyn conspiratorially. “Lizzie shall be in ecstasy for a week over this, Your Highness.” Her laughter was light and infectious. “Imagine! Escorted to dinner by the dashing Captain Remy! Surely it is the coup of the night! All our friends will be terribly jealous!”

  “Ah, but you are here with a prince,” he pointed out.

  “Very true.” She gave him a sunny smile. He was suddenly reminded of Annie. “Still, the Goddess has yet to make her appearance.”

  “The Goddess?” He could not help smiling at her. She wasn’t the least bit like Stefn, he decided.

  “Lady Locke.” Her voice was hushed, reverent, her green eyes wide and filled with admiration. “The Archbishop did not come this year, but of course, she would not miss the ball. Oooh! There she is!”

  Lady Charity Westcott-Locke made her appearance, dressed all in red, her dark hair piled high. Long, gracefully curling tresses escaped to caress her bare shoulders. No less decorative was her escort. His usual black and white made a dramatic foil for the deep color of her gown, its dark crimson hue matched by his ruby earring, flashing and winking with each turn of his head.

  Michael!

  Severyn glanced at his fiancé and found her enraptured.

  “So that is Lord Arranz!” breathed Miss Eldering. “Oh, my goodness! He looks so dangerous!”

  On Severyn’s other side, Arami roused from his sulk long enough to sneer to his scowling wife, “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when it gets back to your brother who his wife was fancying.”

  “I don’t recall issuing him an invitation,” was Eleanor’s tight-lipped response. Her gaze scorched Severyn, who smiled weakly. Arami smirked, delighted to have annoyed her.

  While the entire room stared, Michael brought Lady Locke to her chair beside a dazzled Miss Eldering. As if no one else in the room existed, he saw her seated, bowed over her hand, and murmured something that made her smile. Then, in the ringing silence, he strolled off to his own place at the most distant table.

  Severyn, like everyone else, watched him go, and, like everyone else, could not help but see his brother’s retainers seat a duke’s son among wealthy commoners and mid-level clerics. He turned to Arami, meaning to complain, but the king was busily gulping down his wine and calling for more. Deprived of pelthe, Arami would simply drink himself into a similar stupor. When he was in one of his moods there was no stopping him. And lately, it seemed, he more often in one of his moods than not. Eleanor
, however, saw Severyn’s expression and interpreted it correctly. Her mouth tilted into a tiny smile and, satisfied she’d had the last laugh, she turned to the nobleman on her other side and engaged him in conversation.

  When Severyn was king, there would be no more official slights or insults. The secretary who put Michael Arranz anywhere but at his right hand would be out of a job within a heartbeat.

  Another glass of wine vanished down the king’s royal throat. Conversation had started up again, but there were frequent, covert glances toward their table.

  “Arami… ”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” retorted his brother, beckoning to a hesitant servant impatiently.

  “You’ll be too drunk to give your address.”

  “Why don’t you give it? You’d make a better king, anyway! Everyone says so.”

  The conversation in their immediate vicinity abruptly died away. Acutely conscious that Arami’s voice was rising, Severyn laughed. “Don’t be an ass, brother. It’s too much responsibility for me, thank you!” He nodded to the hovering servant who sprang forward to replenish the king’s glass.

  Arami’s lip twisted. “Damn right,” he snarled and tossed off the glass in a single gulp.

  The last guest was seated. Severyn held his breath as Arami lurched to his feet. The entire hall fell silent. The guests looked expectantly toward their king, who inelegantly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked blearily around. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the annual Greening fete. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Thank you for coming.”

  He sat down. Severyn fought the impulse to rise and quickly take over. Instead, he lifted his hands and politely applauded. After a moment, others took it up. Arami simply stared gloomily out over the assembly and had another glass of wine.

  After dinner, Severyn shook off the attentions of several lords and went in search of Michael. He found his friend outside the ballroom, accepting a small, leather pouch from Captain Remy. The Archbishop’s personal aide bowed when Severyn joined them, but quickly made his excuses and hurried away.

  “I, for one, have always appreciated the brief dinner address,” Michael greeted the prince, his lips twitching.

  “Arami excelled himself tonight,” Severyn muttered. “And what the hell? Why was Remy giving you money?”

  Michael’s grin was positively wicked. After learning about the wager, Severyn laughed aloud. “Fifty gold? Good God, Mick! Do you mean to beggar the poor man?”

  “What could he do? Claim his lord’s wife inferior to some ordinary maiden?”

  Severyn chortled. Seizing Michael by the arm, he drew him through the crowd and out onto the terrace. There, beyond the hearing of nearby guests, he said in a low voice, “Seriously, Mick. Arami is getting bad. I’ve heard no end of complaints tonight. More worrying still is the way the Church is stepping in to fill the gaps. We may have to move sooner than I’d planned.”

  “We may not have to do anything. After tonight’s display, the Advisori may even ask for a Declaration of Incompetence.”

  “Who would have the courage to propose it? By law, I cannot, and even if someone takes the risk, nothing less than a unanimous vote will do. The Church has enough lapdogs among them to keep them impotent.”

  Michael sat down on a bench beside the balustrade, gazing down the gentle, manicured slope to the lake. In the east, the sky was brightening.

  “What happened to Miss Eldering?”

  “Whisked away by her aunt. Lady Scott-Eldering did inform me, however, that Miss Eldering will enter half-mourning next month and, hence, be available for sedate social amusements.”

  “You looked like you were enjoying yourself tonight,” was his unsympathetic friend’s response. “She is very… ” he broke off, yawning. “ …pretty. Ugh. Surely it’s permitted to go home and to bed? I swear that is dawn I see coming.”

  Severyn couldn’t help yawning himself. He looked back into the ballroom. There was no sign of the festivities letting up. Arami had gone back to ground, of course. Severyn knew he should stay and cover the host responsibilities, but: “Let’s go. It’s Arami’s party, damn it. I’m tired of playing clean-up.”

  Michael didn’t argue. He followed Severyn down the terrace steps and onto the lawn, circling around the palace to the stables. Before they got there, however, Michael slowed and stopped.

  “Something’s not right,” he said slowly. “It’s been bothering me since dinner.”

  “What?”

  “Remy. He was uncommonly interested in my romantic affairs.” Michael frowned thoughtfully at the path. “And there was something else, something about him. Something familiar.”

  “Perhaps you’ve met before and just don’t remember.”

  “Forget meeting him? Not likely!”

  “Aha. Does our unlucky earl have competition?” Severyn grinned at Michael’s expression. “He is a handsome devil.”

  Michael laughed. “I’d sooner take a snake to bed,” he replied with feeling. “And speaking of snakes, I wonder what kept His Eminence from attending tonight? Charity didn’t know much. Only that he had planned to attend, but was called away at the last moment on Council business.”

  “I can’t say I missed him.”

  They walked on, reaching the stables. Severyn’s unannounced appearance sent the grooms and stableboys into a tizzy, but in short order, his carriage was brought around.

  “I’ll give you a ride to your hotel,” he said, when Michael started to climb into it. “Maybe I’ll stop at the club on the way back and have a bit of breakfast.”

  The bridge was mostly empty when the carriage pulled out onto it. Their running lights reflected in the dark water on either side.

  “I think I’ll go to Shia,” Michael said.

  Severyn had fended off several of these intentions since the aborted wedding. “Why not go home for a week or two, instead? I should pay a visit to Messerling, now that I think of it. We could travel together.”

  Severyn waited, hoping to hear Michael agree, but, instead, his friend was silent.

  “Healing Arami was the first time I’ve used my power since the business in Fornsby. It tired me out more than I expected.”

  “How could that be? Witch power alone is sufficient for healing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s been almost three months since I was last with Stefn.” Michael frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if there’s more to the Bond than we know.” He sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “Sometimes, Sev, I feel like I’m making my way blind through the darkness with this thing, not knowing what to expect, relying only on folk-stories and family legend. The last time I was in Withwillow, Locke hinted there might be a third Chronicle, one concerning the nara exclusively. I wonder?” The quiet voice trailed off into silence.

  Severyn wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The line of Michael’s throat, the clean, hard curve of his jaw… Before he knew what he was doing, Severyn was on his feet. Leaning across the space between them, he kissed Michael squarely on the mouth.

  “Mmg!” Michael sat up straight, eyes flying wide open.

  Reason reclaimed the prince who felt a sudden rush of heat and embarrassment. He sat down hastily. His heart was pounding as if he’d run a mile at top speed.

  “S-Sev?”

  “N-never mind,” muttered Severyn, aghast at his own action. “I-I… It’s the party. Too much to drink.”

  They rode in uncomfortable silence the remainder of the way back to the hotel.

  PART XIX

  Once the war ended, St. Aramis magnanimously extended to the surviving nara his mercy and forgiveness. Although the bishops advised against it, he gave many their lands back and restored their titles. If he could be faulted for anything in his shortsightedness, it is for his great generosity of spirit and extending the Light of Loth’s forgiveness where it was undeserved.

  from: The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume II,

  Year of Loth’s Dominion 1349

  A week passed, but th
ere was no word from Severyn. Michael finally sent a note to the palace, something noncommittal, with no mention of the kiss in the carriage. He received no answer.

  He could still remember the shock on Severyn’s face afterwards. What had he been thinking? Why had he done such a thing? They were both half-drunk. Did he think Michael was angry or, more likely, was Severyn ashamed of himself?

  “I’m going to Shia,” Michael announced suddenly.

  Jeremy sighed, propping his boots up on the ottoman and swallowing the last of his whiskey. Outside, rain beat against the windows and thunder rolled across Lothmont. Spring had arrived in the central valley with a vengeance; endless rain and flooding downriver. Inside the Fairhands Club, however, Michael, Jeremy and Auron were cozy and well-fed, having just finished an excellent supper.

  “Are you going to tell Severyn? What the devil is going on with you two, anyway? Did you have a falling out?”

  “Not really.” Michael didn’t want to talk about it.

  “We can ride up together,” suggested Auron.

  “I’ll have to stop at Blackmarsh first. Annie writes that Father’s health is even worse than usual. As she reminds me, an eldest son must occasionally do his duty.”

  “For Miss Annabel, I would consider duty a pleasure!”

  Michael bared his teeth. “Come within arm’s reach of her, Auron, and I’ll end your chances of fatherhood forever.”

  Auron grabbed a nearby periodical to shield his lap. “Now, now, Mick. You know I hold your saintly sister in the highest regard.”

  Michael shrugged. “She fancies Forry anyway.”

  “Forry? That stick?” Auron was stricken. “You cannot be serious!”

  “And why not?” demanded Jeremy. “Forry’s a nice, respectable sort of fellow, with a good title and a prosperous parish. Women like that sort of thing.”

  “Alas. It’s true. Money is all. Men such as myself may be well-endowed with looks, intellect and charm, but without a corresponding plumpness of pocket, we’re simply moments of amusement.”