by Becca Abbott
from: The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume II,
Year of Loth’s Dominion 1349
The rain continued through the week, relentless, and the flooding grew worse. With the help of Captain Lake and the guardsmen, the people of Embry abandoned their village, streaming uphill to the abbey with what belongings and livestock they could salvage. They took over the big, empty barns and set up camp all around them, trampling the lush grasses into muck.
According to the reports Stefn received, priests were scarcely seen.
“Sulking inside the abbey compound,” said the informants.
Stefn doubted, however, that Abbot Drummond had meekly accepted the sudden change in his station. For too long, the Church had wielded great influence in Shia. Even provincial despots clung tightly to power. It was comforting to know Captain Lake shared his wariness and had set watchers around the abbey, making note of who came and went.
After eight days, the rain finally ended and, right behind the sunshine came Marin, Auron Challory and a company of Auron’s guard. Stefn’s relief made him giddy. He sat with Auron late at the dinner table, recounting the past weeks and disasters.
“Thank god Shia is built on high ground,” he said. “It’s muddy, but nothing is under water. The troops have been invaluable in assisting the refugees. So has the Church.”
“The Church?” Auron shook his head. “You astonish me!”
“They had little choice, fortunately.” Stefn grinned, remembering the abbot’s choleric reaction to the appearance of soldiers on his doorstep.
“You’ve grown uncommonly bold,” Marin noted. “Lake gave me a full report earlier. Don’t cause any trouble. The Church could make things damned uncomfortable, if they chose.”
“It’s Mick’s influence,” retorted Auron. His eyes gleamed with mischief. “He would never keep his head down, either.”
“Do Prince Severyn and Lord Arranz plan to come to Shia soon?” Stefn asked, trying to make his voice light and unconcerned.
His question brought a quick exchange of glances from Auron and Marin. Stefn felt a quiver of unease.
“I can’t speak for Sev, but Mick should be here soon,” said Auron finally. “There was a bit of a dust-up in Lothmont. Why? Do you miss him?”
Marin said something under his breath. Stefn’s face burned. “No,” he said too quickly. “Of course not.” Hastily, he changed the subject, telling them what he’d learned of the abbot’s plans.
“A few dozen Penitents working the abbey’s fields would be the perfect excuse to return Hunters to the parish,” Auron said thoughtfully. “How many slaves did Drummond expect to receive?”
“He didn’t say, but he’d set aside three good-sized barns to house them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Auron said lightly. “After all, you forbade him to bring any Penitents into Shia. They wouldn’t dare go against your orders, would they?”
The question hung in the room, making Stefn squirm inwardly. “They might. It was why I hoped the prince would be coming. Drummond wouldn’t dare go against his wishes!”
“I’m sure Sev will support you in any confrontation with the Church,” Auron said. “It’s just that things are a little, er, busy right now in Lothmont.”
Another exchange of looks. Stefn felt a flare of irritation. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” He remembered suddenly the moment of vertigo and panic on the rainy road to Embry. “A week ago or so?”
Marin looked amazed. “How the hell did you know that, m’lord?”
“By God!” Auron leaned forward across the table, eyes going wide with realization. “He’s Mick’s sathra, of course!”
Auron knew?
“Er, well…” Marin gave Stefn a helpless look. Stefn wanted simultaneously to hit Auron in the nose and sink into the earth.
“I’ve wondered at such a close friendship!” Auron hooted triumphantly. “I remember our catechisms! What did all naragi have in common, well, aside from being able to work the Dark Stream?”
Auron knew Michael was a naragi?
Furious, Stefn pushed back his chair and got up. Auron, laughing, reached out and caught his sleeve. “No! Don’t go! Sorry, old man! Truly. We’ll tell you everything.”
Reluctantly, Stefn sat back down and listened in growing astonishment to their tale. Michael had been abducted? Expected to perform in his marriage bed in front of witnesses? The poetic irony of it all made Stefn choke with bitter laughter.
“Yes, I was amused, too,” Auron said. “Our haughty Lord Arranz, his virtue threatened by a wisp of a girl and another sathra. I thought you might appreciate it.”
“A-another cethe?”
“Ah, yes. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? Locke’s right-hand man has the Blood, or so Michael claims. He was Mick’s way out of the situation, as it happened.” Auron clearly enjoyed telling the tale. Marin, alternately blushing and snorting, listened in silence, avoiding Stefn’s eyes.
Stefn should have found the tale gratifying. If anyone deserved a taste of his own treatment, it was Michael Arranz. But instead, the story disturbed him. He found himself wanting badly to see Michael. That night, his dreams were even sharper and more erotic than usual.
Auron spent the next few days with Captain Lake, seeing to the training and preparation of the troops already in place. Although his absence saved Stefn from the embarrassment of facing Auron’s wicked sense of humor every day, it left him with little to do. He’d read all the new books Prince Severyn had added to the library. The rain made riding more chore than pleasure. He would have liked to oversee the management of the refugees, but his reputation as a sin-catcher made him obviously unwelcome among them.
“Do you think I could order more books?” he asked Marin one night after dinner. “If I can’t travel, I’d at least like to read.”
“I don’t see why not? Can you use some of your household money?”
Household money?
Marin smiled indulgently. “See Hanson about it.”
Hanson was surprised to be queried, but readily revealed there was plenty in the household accounts to add to the library. Did His Lordship wish for the staff to send for reputable booksellers? Stefn had never even considered the idea, but as the earl, naturally they would come to him! Feeling cheerier than he had for months, Stefn hurried off to compose a list of preferred titles.
The afternoon was fair and mild, a light breeze stirring the lush green grass. Michael’s coach pulled up the winding drive and through Shia’s open gates. Hooves echoing against the castle’s inner walls, he approached the main house. Several small carriages and covered wagons were drawn up before it. He eyed them curiously as he descended from his own vehicle.
Hanson greeted him with a bow and the murmured news that His Lordship was in the formal parlor with the tradesmen.
“Tradesmen?”
“Booksellers, my lord.”
Michael nodded, grinning. “I’ll announce myself,” he said.
The main parlor was a large, long room. Usually it featured a dignified arrangement of formal seating circles, with objects d’art displayed tastefully here and there. No longer. The couches and armchairs had been pushed to one wall, while every table, regardless of shape, height or size, had been pressed into duty supporting piles of books.
Michael walked into the fray. The merchants hovered in the midst of their stock, eagerly observing the progress of a slight, familiar figure at one end of the room. Several noticed Michael and gaped. He walked on to Stefn, ignoring the silence spreading in his wake.
The earl turned and froze at the sight of him. Michael’s heart sank. Then Stefn recovered. Color ran swiftly to his cheeks. “Lord Arranz!”
“Good afternoon. Keeping busy, I see.”
“Marin said it was all right.”
Michael heard the defensive edge. He shrugged. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“History.” Stefn held a large book, quite old from the looks of it. “Preferably books writ
ten before the war.”
“How interesting.” Michael paused to pick up one of the volumes lying nearby. The yellowed frontispiece declared its print date to be shortly after that time. “Any luck?”
“Some.” Stefn’s gaze lingered on him. Michael lifted an eyebrow and Stefn’s already deep color deepened. He looked away, opening a book and fidgeting with its pages. Michael devoured the clean, chiseled outline of Stefn’s profile, the way the soft, dark hair looked against his skin.
“How long are you planning to stay in Shia, my lord?” asked Stefn finally.
“I don’t know,” replied Michael honestly. “How do things go on here?”
It was surreal talking like this, surrounded by books and booksellers, when all Michael wanted to do was to strip Stefn naked and have him. He heard himself make light, witty conversation and, without quite realizing how or why, soon found himself following Hanson up to his room, alone, with the promise to meet Stefn and Auron at dinner.
Dizzy, he sat on the edge of his bed. The setting sun filled the familiar room with a ruddy, golden glow. His body tingled.
Michael’s reaction to Remy had not been like this. It was so easy to imagine Stefn’s body against his, where each curve and plane of it fitted. He could vividly see that beautiful head thrown back in a breathtaking arch of ecstasy.
Stefn could not fail to know why he was here. Why not just dispense with the foolishness of appearances? He should just take the damned earl and be done with it, then get both of them away from Shia and deep into Blackmarsh.
Instead, he called for a bath and dressed with special care for dinner. When he went to the small parlor, Auron was already there. He, too, bore the marks of the recently-bathed, dark hair still damp and escaping from its clasp. His neckcloth was carelessly tied and he looked Michael up and down with frank appreciation.
“The Lothmont ladies, and no few of its gentlemen, I suspect, are bereft tonight,” quipped the insufferable bastard. “Welcome back, old boy. How do you find things?” This was followed by an elaborate wink.
For the first time, it occurred to Michael that Stefn might have been apprised of events in Lothmont. His eyes narrowed, but he had no time to ask. Stefn arrived. Michael noted with surprise that he, too, dressed in black. His snowy neckcloth was held in place by an oval of polished moonstone, as white as the folds of starched linen, yet showing ever-shifting veils of color when he moved.
They made small talk, but again, Michael felt curiously detached from it all. His awareness was focused on Stefn. He went with them into the dining room where Stefn took the seat at the head of the table. Michael sat across from Auron, and the conversation flowed, his own responses automatic. Food arrived. Conversation went on and on.
“And afterwards, the h’nara will eat all the human babies…”
Michael, in the middle of a nod, started, and looked in astonishment at Auron. Blue eyes open wide, Auron smiled back at him serenely. “What do you think, Mick?”
Michael looked over at Stefn. Eldering sat, wooden-faced.
“I never thought to see such a thing with my own eyes,” Auron said, shaking his head. “It’s really true. All the stories about naragi and their cethe. Your eyes haven’t left Eldering all night.”
Michael, shocked, fought for composure. “Honestly, Auron. Have you no discretion whatsoever? We’re at dinner.”
“I’m not the one drooling into my wine.”
The noise of a chair scraping across the floor interrupted them. Stefn was on his feet, crimson. “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said in a strangled voice. He was gone a moment later, nearly knocking over a startled servant.
“Oh, dear. You’ve had a spat?”
“He knows you know, about what happened, I take it?”
“Well, er, yes. Sorry.” Auron’s expression sobered. “He’s not willing?”
Michael shook his head. “Go ahead, glare daggers at me, my friend. For what it’s worth, I regret everything, but what’s done is done.”
“I rather thought you two liked each other. He talked about you frequently.”
Michael was surprised to hear it. He waited for the servant to leave, then: “As you’ve rightly surmised, he’s my cethe, but nothing more. It’s how we taints and sin-catchers survive, by making the best of untenable situations.”
For once, there was no sardonic amusement in Auron’s expression. Evenly, he said, “Shouldn’t you go after him?”
“I don’t think he wants to see me.” Michael picked up his spoon. His stomach was queasy, but he was determined not to let the damned Bond rule him. “I’ll talk to him later.”
The feeling of detachment returned, stronger than ever. Michael struggled to pay attention to Auron, but later could remember almost nothing about their subsequent conversation. Finally, his friend took himself reluctantly back to the armory for a meeting with Lake. Michael wasted no more time. He went straight to Stefn’s room.
It was empty. For a moment, a flood of anger nearly overwhelmed him. Michael clung to the doorframe and fought it until it died away.
The tower was empty, as well. Michael threw open his senses at once and found Stefn’s bright, distinctive presence nearby. He followed it halfway to its source before realizing he was headed for his own bedroom. Flinging open the door, his eyes went straight to the line of tall windows framing the Shian sunset. Standing in front of them was Stefn. He was clad in a long, red velvet robe tied at his narrow waist. His feet were bare beneath the robe’s hem. The dying light flashed and sparkled off the jewels around his neck.
Michael closed the door. Stefn continued to look out the windows. “Does everyone know?” His voice was thin and strained. Tired.
“Probably. I didn’t tell them, but they could hardly have come to a different conclusion.”
“It’s because of what you did in Lothmont. You cast another naragi spell.”
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t care? They didn’t care that you were naragi?”
“They care, but they understand why I did it.” Michael steeled himself. “You know why I’m here?”
Stefn nodded. He fumbled at the sash and the robe fell open. Michael’s whole body leapt.
“How very… accommodating,” he murmured, paralyzed by what was revealed. “Come to me.”
Slim hands clenched, then relaxed. Stefn came to Michael, head down. The robe billowed open as he walked, exposing the nude, slender body beneath, his handsome sex already stiffening. Michael pushed the soft, gleaming fabric off Stefn’s shoulders, leaving him naked to the sunset.
“How beautiful,” whispered Michael, transfixed.
Stefn’s green gaze was quick and filled with pain. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your lover. We know what I am. Just do it and be done.!”
“I’ll say what I feel!” Michael caught Stefn by the arms, his fingers digging deep.
Stefn’s breath hitched and he tried for defiance. “Then so shall I! Go ahead, see if — mmrg…”
Michael’s tenuous patience vanished. He kissed Stefn ferociously, possessively, demanding everything. Unexpectedly, Stefn’s rigid body loosened. He pressed against Michael, his arms winding around Michael’s neck. His response was as hungry and fierce as Michael’s.
Surprise made Michael draw back, his pulse thundering, to look down into Stefn’s thin, flushed face. Stefn whispered something, reaching up to tangle his hands in Michael’s hair, pulling his head back down. Their tongues met and danced.
Michael devoured the slight, dark-haired man, lips finding all the sensitive hollows of Stefn’s throat, his ears, his naked shoulder. The robe was a puddle of crimson in the middle of the darkening room. Stefn didn’t resist when Michael took him to the bed and had him kneel on it. He watched with half-closed eyes while Michael undressed, and when Michael stepped forward, Stefn opened his mouth, pliant and willing, to engulf Michael’s erection, to tongue and suck on it.
Lost in ecstasy, Michael’s knees buckled
against the side of the bed. Trembling hands forced Stefn back. Without being told, the earl went to his hands and knees, fingers gripping the matellasse coverlet, anticipating.
Michael had barely the wits to prepare his cethe; he was shaking when, at long last, he could do what he’d imagined a thousand times these past months. Slipping deep into Stefn, his body sang with the joy of it. With superhuman effort, he was still. He eased Stefn gently up until he sat, impaled, his back to Michael, breathing hard.
Reaching around, Michael let his fingers stroke up and around Stefn’s cock. Rock-hard, purple, it quivered at his touch. Stefn moaned, body arching, his head falling back against Michael’s shoulder.
Caressing, teasing, Michael tormented his cethe’s captive sex. Stefn writhed and gasped, incoherent pleas tumbling from his lips. Each twist and squirm drove Michael closer to the edge. He abandoned subtlety, fist closing around Stefn’s cock and pumping hard.
Stefn came with a long, shuddering sob, forcing Michael past his own control. The familiar rush of orgasm overwhelmed him and with it, a flood of k’na.
Union with Remy had been nothing like this, only the palest of imitations. The strength and warmth flooding through Michael left him breathless. He wrapped his arms around Stefn, needing the other body for support while the room spun and k’na filled every crevice and niche in his soul.
They fell together, still joined, across the bed. Michael drew away, but he was too relaxed, too comfortable, too sleepy, to move otherwise. So was Stefn, apparently. Aside from awkwardly manipulating the blanket to cover them, he made no effort to leave the bed. The last thing Michael remembered was shifting slightly when Stefn rolled over and snuggled in close.
PART XXII
In the Year of Loth’s Dominion 1323, King Aramis I signed the order for the establishment of a great Library to be built in Lothmont. The library covered nearly a quarter square ell of land and was three stories high. It boasted nearly ten thousand books, including rare naran collections reputed to have come from the cities north of the Lothwalls. In YLD1350, disaster struck. A fire broke out in one of the storerooms in the cellars of the library and in spite of the heroic efforts of the Guard and neighbors, the library burned to the ground, destroying everything within it, including the original manuscripts of The Chronicles of Tanyrin.
