by Xenia Melzer
Renaldo grinned. Giving Casto his freedom had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but it had been the right thing to do. The longer he thought about it, the happier he was that he’d finally taken that step. Casto wasn’t suited for slavery; it was better to bind him with other, less obvious chains. “That he is doing. I better start thinking about the gifts I’m going to get him for the ceremony.”
“Knowing Casto, I don’t think you need a lot. He’s surprisingly immune to finery.”
That too was something Canubis thought strange about the capricious blond slave. In the beginning he assumed that Casto refused presents out of sheer stubbornness, but he’d had to revise that opinion. Casto really seemed oblivious to the riches Renaldo had showered on him. He only showed true gratefulness for the books he was allowed to choose on a regular basis. Everything else was seemingly of no interest to him.
Whether Renaldo knew how pointless it was to give Casto presents or not remained a mystery to Canubis, who usually knew his brother inside out. Renaldo’s next words didn’t shed any light on the puzzle.
“He’s very modest. That’s why it’s vitally important to get him something special.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the right thing.” Canubis toasted his brother in mocking salute.
Both content with how things had turned out, they emptied their cups in one go.
Treason
1. Noran
“I CAN’T believe it! He’s really given him his freedom!”
Assani was trembling in righteous rage. When the Pack had returned to the Valley, the news about Casto no longer wearing a collar had spread like wildfire. As well as the rumor that he had been honored because he’d fought as a hero in Ki’t.
Damon was deeply amused by the slave’s indignant reaction. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least. I actually expected it from the moment I first saw those two together. The more worthwhile question is, why is Casto still here? Considering that he’s a free man who could already be somewhere in the plains by now. But he has returned with the bastards, which is unexpected.”
Assani regarded him with small eyes. She hated it when Damon patronized her like that, but she could tell he was keeping something important from her, so she refrained from going against him. “You know something.”
“No, I’ve got a hunch. A suspicion, if you want. And it’s becoming more and more substantiated. I still have to check a few things, but if I’m right, the Good Mother’s victory is close.”
“But you won’t tell me.”
“That would be premature. And it could be that I’m wrong. Plus, I like keeping my secrets. This way, I minimize both our risk.”
Assani spit on the ground. She wasn’t a patient person to begin with, and Damon managed to draw her out on a regular basis. “You are, and always will be, an abominable power seeker. Don’t think you can fool me.”
“And you’re a whore who’d stop at nothing for your own benefit. We’re a match made in heaven, don’t you think so?”
“YOU LOOK displeased, free man.” With raised eyebrows, Renaldo watched Casto’s unsettled tread.
Casto fell onto one of the lounges with a sigh, and a few strands that had gotten loose from his leather hair tie at the back of his head flew up. “I’d have never thought the only difference between a slave and a free man could be a collar around the neck.”
Renaldo smiled mildly. “I take it from your words that today was taxing?”
“You take it right. I don’t seem to be able to remember my own name anymore. I even had to cancel the ride with Lys.”
Renaldo hugged Casto in alarm. He knew how important the daily ride on the black demon was for his lover’s mental well-being. If Casto had to relinquish it, it dampened his mood, to put it mildly. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
Like a young cat, Casto snuggled into Renaldo’s arms. It made him happy that Renaldo showed concern for him so openly even though he would never admit it. “You could tell me that Cornelia has baked some honey cake. That would be a good start.”
“I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, my own. No honey cake today.” Casto vented his displeasure with a sigh, which caused Renaldo to pull him even closer. “No sweets. But if you promise to show me a smile, I’ll see what I can do to lift your spirits.”
“I promise.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Renaldo took his lover’s face in both hands and kissed him deeply. It didn’t take long until Casto had forgotten all about the day’s hardships under Renaldo’s knowledgeable ministrations.
Their relationship had deepened considerably after Renaldo gave Casto his freedom. There were prolonged phases of peace during which they treated each other with loving care. Those intervals were disrupted by fights that had, oddly, gotten fiercer than before.
Although Casto was officially a free man, their affiliation hadn’t changed. To his own amazement, Casto still saw himself as Renaldo’s slave, a fact that made him sometimes claim the proof of his independence in a reckless manner. Renaldo reacted with his usual dominance and thus fueled an explosive mixture they were only able to handle in bed, like at the beginning of their relationship. There were days when their physical interaction was so violent that Casto would carry the proof on his skin for days.
The precarious master-slave balance they had fought so hard to obtain had been shattered with Casto’s release. They had to rediscover their position in regard to each other, a feat additionally complicated by their deepening feelings for each other. To outsiders they seemed like two dancers who were trying to find the right step sequence with their eyes blindfolded and an unknown melody to guide them. The outcome was an emotional mix of harmony, heated discussions, and open violence that the other members of the Pack tried to avoid as best as they could.
TROUBLED BY Casto’s complaint, Renaldo saw to it that Casto’s workload was reduced drastically in the following days. In no case did Renaldo want to risk losing his lover because he felt overworked.
And thus Casto found time to devote himself to the history of the Valley and its inhabitants again.
According to the chronicle, the next one to join the divine brothers had been Noran, and although Casto had no sympathy for the dark, brooding master smith, he was still curious about how a man like him had come to fit into the Pack.
STUNNED, NORAN stood in front of the ravine that led to the famous Valley of the Gods. Full of awe he stared at the mighty cliffs that presented an insuperable obstacle to anybody who wished to enter the place unseen. Their sheer size reminded him how insignificant and evanescent human life truly was, and their rough beauty, born from untamed ferocity, touched his heart. Noran had always had an eye for aesthetics, and here, in this unwelcoming but hauntingly beautiful landscape, he was rendered speechless at almost every turn. The sight of the light alone, when it broke on the rocks and glowed like fire, was worth a painting. The rocks contained mica that permeated the stone like veins and glowed in the sunlight, and Noran was so fascinated, he simply stood there and took in the unique beauty. He was in paradise.
A threatening growl interrupted the silence and woke him from his admiration. In front of him, a gigantic gray wolf had appeared seemingly out of nowhere—the biggest wolf he’d ever seen, as stunning as the landscape around them. Its fur was like silk, and its golden eyes gleamed almost as brightly as the sun. Less stunning were the impressive fangs the wolf presented with its lips drawn back in a snarl. Should it decide to do so, the animal was certainly able to crack a man’s skull like a nut with the strength of its jaw.
Noran had been traveling on his own long enough to know he was in trouble. Wolves rarely hunted alone, and he didn’t fancy meeting the rest of the pack if they were like that one. Slowly his hand wandered down to his belt where a long dagger sat sheathed in an intricately decorated scabbard.
The growling grew in intensity.
“If I were you, I’d stop right now. He can’t take a joke.”
Noran�
��s head whipped around.
From the entrance to the Valley, a tall, good-looking man approached. In Noran’s vocabulary the term good-looking was usually reserved exclusively for women, but the stranger was more than just easy on the eyes or handsome—both words suitable, for Noran, to describe a male. No, the man was outstanding. Perfect. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders in a shimmering cascade, gray eyes stood dominant in his harmonious, flawless face, the lips were an invitation for kissing, and the athletic, elegantly muscled body moved with the grace of a predator.
Noran lowered his hand, bewitched by this wonderful sight. The stranger was like the landscape around them, rough and strong, fascinating and perfect, a dream incarnate, and deep in his bones, Noran knew he would never grow tired of admiring it. “I didn’t really think I’d stand a chance. But I also didn’t want to end with my throat torn out. That would have been embarrassing.”
A bright smile parted the soft lips, showed blinding white teeth, and made the stranger’s eyes light up like stars in the night sky. “You’re lucky I happened to drop by. My name’s Renaldo. What do you want here?”
Noran took the hand offered to him, and at the same time he tried to bow, rather awkwardly. A free man, he wasn’t used to lowering his head, but he instinctively realized that the stranger deserved the sign of respect. “My name is Noran. I’m a smith, and I’ve heard there’s work for the likes of me here. My lord.”
The man had given his name, and Noran scolded himself for not recognizing him. The rumors about Renaldo’s beauty didn’t do him justice.
The Angel of Death was regarding him sharply. “Your information is correct. Our last smith left us, and my brother would like to replace him before winter comes. You’re aware we’re looking for somebody who’s in it for the long run?”
“That’s how I understood it. I don’t have any ties or duties that could pry me away, so I’m the ideal candidate.”
Happy laughter sounded, as untroubled as that of a child, as if this man weren’t the most dangerous warrior on the continent but a mere boy delighting in a joke.
The fascination about the contradictory character traits would never cease to entertain Noran for the rest of his life.
“How ideal you are will be Wolfstan’s decision. He’s our armorer. Let’s go. It’s quite a trek to the main hall.”
HALF A year later, Noran stood behind his anvil, working on his Spring Ceremony present for Renaldo.
About four months after Canubis had taken him in, Noran had started a steamy affair with the Angel of Death. They shared the bed in irregular sequences, mostly when Renaldo was fed up with his constantly changing partners. Noran had known from the beginning that it wouldn’t last; he simply wasn’t able to give Renaldo what he was seeking so frantically. By then he seriously doubted if anybody could accomplish that feat.
Whatever it was Renaldo needed so desperately, it was directly linked to the fire burning deep inside him, the fire that made it impossible to deal with him sometimes. Despite those problems, they’d managed to develop a deep friendship that could be mistaken for love. Intercourse was an outlet to them, for Renaldo to escape his loneliness, and for Noran to generate a kinship he craved almost as fiercely as Renaldo did his unknown target.
Noran’s parents had died early, and he’d grown up with a distant relative who taught him blacksmithing and the meaning of coldness.
Noran couldn’t complain: his mother’s great-uncle had never left him lacking. Noran was always well fed and clothed. But a boy of eight years needed more than just food and clothing, something his uncle never understood. To avoid the coldness in his new home, Noran buried himself in work and set out to become the best at his craft. He had an eye for beauty, and it helped him achieve his goal at an early age.
By then Noran could claim that no one could match his skill with a hammer. Sometimes he asked himself whether it had been worth the price, but it was useless to muse about that. Things were the way they were, and he had never been the type of person to dwell on what-if questions. Before Noran came to the Valley, he’d been traveling for five years, always trying to learn something new and to better himself. He’d never stayed at one place for long—an inner restlessness always forced him to keep going.
With the Pack he found tranquility, a home, and a family for the first time since he lost his parents, although the strict hierarchical structures had deterred him in the beginning. But he found out quickly that while those structures were important for coherence among the Pack members, they played a surprisingly small role in daily affairs. That was why it was possible for a simple master smith like him to have an affair with the powerful demigod, the Angel of Death, without anybody batting an eyelash.
Noran was grateful. Being with Renaldo gave him a feeling of being appreciated, of being loved for who he was, something he hadn’t known until then. The sex was a bonus or perhaps an excuse for the closeness he craved so badly, he couldn’t really tell.
Noran was genuinely happy with the way things were at the moment, and nobody could ask more of their lives.
With pliers he lifted the work piece to his eyes, inspecting it. Renaldo loved simple but elegant things, probably a reaction to his own outstanding beauty. For that reason the dagger would be bare except for some sparse patterns on the blade. A weapon that convinced with its functionality and was not overloaded with ornaments such as those often seen among people who mistook conspicuousness for status.
When he lowered the pliers again, a woman Noran had never seen before stood in front of him. Her skin was as pale as marble, and her black eyes and red lips stood out starkly from the noble, strangely lifeless features. Her snow-white hair hugged her body like a veil.
With fingers as cold as ice, she caressed the back of Noran’s hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Noran Mastersmith.”
Noran put the dagger down. More than one alarm was going off in his head, but somehow, at the same time, he knew that the woman posed no danger to him. His insecurity stemmed from a different source, more primal, something he wasn’t able to name.
Quickly he ended the embarrassing moment. “That’s very kind of you, my lady, but you have the advantage of me. Unfortunately I don’t know who you are.”
A smile parted the wounded-looking red lips, and again Noran wondered if he should be afraid, but he couldn’t find out of what. The woman was beautiful, so beautiful that small discrepancies didn’t matter, provided you didn’t look too closely.
“My name is Ana-Isara. I am the Empress of the Dead.”
The words cleared Noran’s feelings at one stroke. Naturally he felt uneasy in the presence of a goddess. Till now he had regarded the stories that Canubis and Renaldo were of divine origin with skepticism, but he didn’t doubt the beautiful lady’s words for a second. Reverently, Noran bowed to the goddess he had already heard so much about in the Valley. “I’m honored, my lady.”
“It is my honor as well, Noran. I am very glad you have found your way to the Valley. My sons have been impatiently awaiting your arrival.” She extended her hand invitingly. “Come here so that I can welcome you to the family.”
Meekly, Noran obeyed the goddess’s order. Her hands lay cold on his face, and he lost himself in the depths of her black eyes, which he then noticed had no iris.
“You know my son is not the one you are looking for?” Hypnotically, Noran nodded. “You’ll find your love, that I promise, Noran. But be careful. Inside you is a great darkness, and it has the power to vanquish your light. You cannot let that happen. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Do not be afraid. My sister and I are guarding you. From now on, you will never be alone.”
Then she placed a kiss on his cheek, and it burned with ice-cold fire.
TREMBLING WITH rage, Casto tossed the book aside. He couldn’t believe that the Barbarian had had an affair with the grumpy, cranky smith. Even less could he believe that the Noran from the story should be identical with the one l
iving in the Pack, the man who had once tried to beat him up.
Casto had always known Renaldo hadn’t lived a life of celibacy, and up until then, it had left him mostly unperturbed about who had warmed Renaldo’s bed. But Noran was a different story. Casto didn’t like the grumpy man, maybe even hated him. It had always been Casto’s policy not to squander his feelings, be it of hate, or love, or friendship, but the smith made his skin crawl. Whenever he met Noran, he had to restrain himself from challenging him, because he loathed the way the man viewed the world. It nettled him no end that Noran had shared with Renaldo what Casto had viewed as his exclusive right until then.
Angry with himself for getting so worked up over the information, he left the library. If possible, he would have gone for a ride with Lys, but night was already descending on the Valley. If he was late, Renaldo would certainly make a fuss again.
Casto stopped abruptly.
What did it concern him when the Barbarian got angry? He clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles shone white while he answered himself—it concerned him a lot. He didn’t want to cause the Barbarian trouble. He wanted to serve him appropriately.
With a furious scream, Casto started walking toward the main house again. How on earth had it come to this? Why had he bound himself to a Barbarian? He’d been born free, and nobody could enslave him!
Agitated, Casto entered Renaldo’s chambers.
Renaldo was waiting for him. “Casto. You’re late today, my own. I’ve been waiting for you so we can take our bath together.”
“Don’t touch me! I want to be left alone!” Casto spat the words as if they burned his tongue.
Stunned, Renaldo retreated. He had accepted a long time ago that Casto’s mood swings were as unpredictable as the weather in springtime, but it had been some time since Casto was so fierce. Only a year ago, Renaldo would have backed down to give him the breathing space he needed to calm down. But the growing intimacy of their relationship made Renaldo reckless. “What’s the matter? You look as if you’ve stepped into a wasp’s nest.”
