by J. C. Owens
Raine lay there, sprawled out, watching with cold resignation as Taldan began to disrobe. Naked, the man was no less formidable, indeed it was as though he were stripped down the core of his power, the base of all he was.
He was beautiful, the way a predator was. One you admired but wished to view from a safe distance. Being that predator’s prey was completely terrifying.
He remained still, trying to breathe steadily, slowly, to appease the hunter with no resistance. The Taldan he was familiar with—cold, withdrawn and fully in control—had changed completely into a creature with intense, hungry eyes, that stalked him across the bed.
Raine struggled to swallow, had to remind himself to breathe, as Taldan loomed over him on all fours, staring into his eyes fiercely until Raine had to turn his head aside and offer his neck in a gesture as old as time itself.
Hot breath fanned over his skin, and he fully expected a bite, prepared for the pain.
Instead, a tongue laved over his flesh, a growl echoing in his ear. He shuddered.
“So you do have a backbone. I was beginning to wonder.”
“Don’t take the magic of last night and turn it into something else,” Raine whispered. “I want to treasure that memory, not replace it with something that I have no choice in.”
Raine gathered his strength, closed his eyes. The emperor was the power. Raine was merely the Chosen. Despite the wonder of the night before, he had to remember…
A hand stroked over his cheekbone, slid down to cup his jaw.
Raine let out a small gasp, his eyes flying open, his fear rising.
Taldan was motionless. His expression had become neutral, watching Raine with a small frown between his brows as he often did when he was thinking fiercely.
“You defy me.” The anger was banked now, tightly controlled, but no less potent for all that.
“I find myself backed into a corner and cannot help wishing to make things better for myself, for you, for what this relationship can be. In light of that, I am not able to be silent,” Raine whispered, waiting for the explosion, for the fury to be released upon him.
As had so often happened in his life.
Yet Taldan was silent, still, and something told Raine that the other man was honestly considering his words. Not what he had expected from an Emperor of Anrodnes.
“You tell me you want honesty,” Raine pushed on. “That is entirely reasonable given how you felt about Hredeen and what was hidden from you. But perhaps you only want honesty from certain people. Not others. Not me.”
Raine could feel Taldan’s breath upon his face, feel the cage of the man’s arms on either side, the large body looming over him.
He drew a trembling breath, keeping his gaze steady, offering no resistance, letting Taldan think this through.
Taldan let out a sigh, then let his head gently lower forehead to forehead with Raine’s.
“There is that within me that I fear. I was raised to control my emotions, that they are not appropriate to an emperor, who must be cold, must be above such things. I’ve been trained to believe emotions are dangerous. Yet, there are times when fire rages in my mind, and I can scarcely think. There are times when my control is as thin as a razor’s edge.”
They breathed each other’s air. Raine finally dared to raise his hand, to let his fingers comb through Taldan’s short white strands. He could feel Taldan’s turmoil through their link. His frustration and uncertainty and need. His heart went out to his emperor, but he would not take back what he had already said.
“You have the courage of a lion, my Chosen,” Taldan said softly. “Few have ever stood up to me, and I believe that such a thing has not done any good for me. When you speak, it is like I can feel the honesty in your words, like they reverberate within me.” He raised his head a little, his gaze troubled. “You calm the beast in a way that no one else has managed since I took this…power…into myself.”
Raine gave a wan smile. “I have plenty of training in managing beasts. In light of what I grew up with, you are a welcome change. You possess a nobility that restrains your primal responses. My family had no such control.”
Taldan grimaced. “Let’s agree to never, ever compare me to your family again. If nothing else, that persuades me to change my ways.”
Raine gave a little choking laugh. “Agreed.” He could feel his fear ebbing away, the danger passing.
Taldan leaned in and kissed him softly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the epitome of the tyrants that my ancestors were. If I want to help my people, perhaps it would be best to first work with, and understand, my Chosen.” His lips curved into a rueful smile that lit his eyes.
Raine felt his heart swell, his chest tighten.
Whatever he had felt for this man before, it was becoming something more, something powerful and quite frankly terrifying.
* * *
Naral
Naral read through the report from the guards. It was brief and to the point and so it immediately made him question whether it was truly documenting what Fagan DeLorne had told them.
Somehow he doubted that anything Fagan said was brief and to the point. Therefore, the guards had only written down the basics, not the details. Naral wanted details. He was well aware that often it was the little things that spoke the loudest when a person was attempting to know the truth of a matter.
The brief report certainly gave a description of the problem, but was too stark to begin to reason out what was really happening in the poorer quarters.
Taldan had wished to work on solutions within the year of his ascension, but with all the issues surrounding the attempted assassination, not to mention the Odenar war, the whole matter had been thrust aside and could well take much longer.
He dithered for a moment, but had to admit to himself that he not only wanted to prepare a proper report for Taldan to use in the future, but he wished to meet Fagan once more, if only for the entertainment value.
He finished the morning’s paperwork, leaving the signed copies on his aide’s desk, before thankfully leaving the palace and walking down into the town, heading for the policing complex. He would need to speak to—
A lean, lithe form dropped from the rooftop of a merchant’s shop, landing crouched in front of him. Naral had his sword in his hand a heartbeat later and shifted into a fighting stance, only to straighten with a scowl as Fagan DeLorne stood and dusted off his clothing, grinning shamelessly at Naral.
“A move like that could get you killed, boy,” Naral growled, somewhat put out at having been so easily surprised. The head of security was not allowed to be surprised. He was sure it was in a rule book somewhere. With his luck, someone important had seen this happen and would be throwing that rule in his face later.
He sheathed the sword with a swift, impatient move, then scowled at Fagan, who didn’t seem the least fazed by his hostile reaction. Naral had to wonder if much fazed the young man at all.
“Do you read minds?” Naral snapped. “I was just going to find out how I could contact you.”
“And here I am, my lord.” Fagan swept into an impressive bow, better than half the court was capable of achieving. Only the gods knew where he had learned it, or more plausibly, emulated it.
“I saw the guards deliver the message last night. Thought you were probably too busy to read it before this morning, so I kept my eye out for you. And here you are!” Fagan threw out his arms to emphasize his words, narrowly missing a passerby who ducked and threw a curse Fagan’s way.
The young man never took his eyes off Naral, but offered a rude gesture that had the rich-looking bystander gaping in shock. The stranger would have furthered the encounter if his clenched fists were any indication, but once he realized that Naral was standing there, he suddenly changed his mind, giving a brief bow and stalking away.
Fagan glanced after him, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, before he looked back at Naral.
“See? I help you, you help me. It’s the way of things
in our fair city of Persis, right? If you had not been here, gods know what could have happened to me. Thank you for your protection.”
Naral snorted, folding his arms over his chest. The lack of proper deference that Fagan was displaying should have been insulting. Instead, it was almost a relief. Naral had not grown up with formality, had not really encountered it until he came to be Taldan’s companion. It could grow tiresome.
“You’re a sweet talker.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Fagan sounded proud. “Some call me the sweetest talker that has ever lived. I don’t want to claim that, since I am a humble sort, but if so many say it, it must be true.” His grin turned crooked as he tilted his head to view Naral. “You didn’t think the report contained enough information to satisfy you. So you want to find me to learn more. I’m impressed.”
Naral raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed you came to that conclusion.”
Fagan’s smile grew an edge. “I’m poor, my lord, not an idiot. There are many in the poorer quarters that have more intelligence than you might expect.”
Naral inclined his head briefly, accepting the rebuke as warranted.
A flash of surprise crossed Fagan’s expression, before the now-familiar grin came back to rest in its natural position. “You’re a man of honor. I had not expected that. Most of those I deal with in this area are anything but honorable.”
Naral’s eyes narrowed. “Turn out your pockets.”
Fagan tilted his head. “Whatever for?”
“Do as I ask. Turn your pockets out.”
Fagan sighed, a long, dramatic, and put-upon sound, before he obligingly turned one pocket out. Various items fell into his palm; a rather large diamond and ruby ring, a sapphire studded key, three diamond bracelets of various quality, and a handful of gold coins, none of which would exist in poorer areas of the city.
Naral sighed, holding out his hand. “Give them to me. Turn out the other pocket.”
Fagan pouted, outright pouted, giving Naral a sad, disbelieving look before doing as he asked.
More items, several of them gold.
Naral tucked the first lot into the pouch at his hip, before putting out his palm. “Those too.”
Fagan carefully tipped the loot into his hand, then tucked his pockets back in, a frown on his brow.
“I cannot believe you would be so callous as to deny me my livelihood. You’re doing your job. I am doing mine. You’d think you would understand.”
Naral struggled to close the lip of the pouch over the last of the items, before glaring at Fagan. “Don’t try to work your wiles upon me. I’m on to you.”
Fagan’s head jerked up, a wide smile back on his face. “You think I have wiles?”
Naral rolled his eyes. “Come with me.”
He strode off with Fagan trotting at his side. The smaller man kept up a rolling line of patter the entire time, some of it pure nonsense, some of it observations about things they passed.
It was entertaining and no doubt served the thief well in his line of work. People would be so overwhelmed with his nonstop talking that they would miss the exact moment—
He snagged the thief’s hand before it could reach his pouch at the back of his belt, frowning darkly at Fagan.
Fagan ducked his head sheepishly, pulling his hand back when Naral released it and dramatically rubbing his wrist. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Don’t make me tie your hands behind your back,” Naral warned, annoyed.
“Ooh. I like the sound of that.” Fagan ran hot eyes up and down Naral’s frame. “I’ve never done that for coin, but I would for you, if you’re interested.”
Naral eyed him, then released a put-upon sigh. Now he completely understood how the guards had felt. The young man could try the patience of a priest. Patience was nothing that Naral was known for, yet he found himself reluctantly amused at Fagan’s antics. The thief had a charm about him that did not feel like the lie it probably was. It felt more like it was his true personality, layered on top of what his life had made him.
Gray eyes peered at him, then Fagan imitated his posture, marching along with a cocky swagger that made Naral’s lips twitch.
When Fagan became aware that they were heading for the policing complex, he shot a wary glance Naral’s way. “You’re not arresting me, are you? There are far better ways of getting information out of me, I promise.”
Naral frowned at him. “I’m returning your ill-gotten gains so that my men can return them to their rightful owners.” He put particular emphasis on “rightful.”
Fagan slumped, dragging his feet sadly along the cobblestone street. “All that work. Gone to nothing. They won’t even notice those things are gone, you know?”
“That is hardly the point.”
“What is the point?”
Naral’s eye twitched. “The point is that theft is not allowed in Persis. The law covers all of Anrodnes for that matter.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like the rules get passed out in Rivergate. Perhaps you should start a campaign of information in the poorer quarters.” Fagan sounded aggrieved.
Naral gave him a glare that temporarily silenced the thief. They reached the policing complex in blessed silence, but Fagan balked on the stairs of the building, eyeing it with trepidation.
“I’m not exactly their favorite person, my lord. Perhaps I will…”
“You’ll come with me to my office or lose out on the chance to speak your mind.” He snorted. “Even more than you usually do.”
Fagan perked up.
“Why didn’t you say so, my lord? Let’s go then. Time’s wasting.” He bounded up the stairs like an over-rambunctious deer.
Naral followed in his wake, already feeling worn out, and the day had hardly commenced.
They entered the building and men bowed to him but stared at Fagan with startled recognition, eyeing the lack of bindings or other restraints on the thief.
Naral ignored the whispered comments as he went to the head desk. His second in command, Branter, looked up from his work, leaping to his feet as he realized Naral was present.
“Good morning, sir…” His gaze went past him to where Fagan was standing at Naral’s elbow, almost behind him, giving a cheerful little wave.
Branter groaned. “By the gods, what has he done now, sir?”
Naral emptied his pouch upon the desk, the plethora of items clattering and rolling over its surface in profusion.
Fagan gave them a wistful glance, sighing.
Naral and Branter shared a look. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll see these are returned to their owners.” He emphasized the last word while glaring at Fagan, who simply shrugged bashfully.
“I will be questioning Mr. Delorne in my office,” Naral informed his second.
Branter shifted uneasily. “Would you like a guard to be present, sir? To keep an eye on your things?”
Naral’s stern stare caught Fagan’s gaze. “He will behave himself or our conversation, and any appropriate actions will be nixed. Is that clear?”
Fagan nodded, something serious and dark within his eyes for the briefest of moments. “I swear to behave, and my word is my bond.”
That seemed to hold more weight to Naral than it probably should. A thief’s word held little value, but something in Fagan’s tone told him differently.
“Send in some food and drink when you have a moment.”
Branter nodded, eyeing Fagan grimly as the little thief turned away, cheerful once more, waving to various guards and referring to them by name.
Naral had to bite back a smile that threatened to break free. Fagan was utterly incorrigible.
They entered his office. Naral closed the door behind them, gesturing Fagan to a comfortable chair in front of his desk.
He went around to the other side, pushing some papers aside to clear the surface and sinking into his own well-worn chair before eyeing the thief expectantly.
Fagan eyed him back, then sighed. “So no convers
ation then, just straight to business. All right. I can do that. I can,” he stated, more to himself than Naral.
He straightened his shoulders, sitting painfully upright in the chair, folding his hands neatly upon his lap.
“I know that life is far superior in Anrodnes than elsewhere, my lord. I know that from those who have come from elsewhere seeking refugee status.” The humor had fallen away, and the darkness in his eyes told of terrible things seen, felt, endured. This was no innocent, no high-born citizen blind to the atrocities that could happen beyond the guards, the rules, the laws. This was someone who had lived outside the protections in the darker underbelly of the city that had long been ignored by the emperors and certainly by the richer courtiers.
“I have heard that the new emperor seeks to make changes, that he is actually speaking about us. He is the first to take an interest in changing things.”
Naral nodded for him to go on. Fagan hardly needed any encouragement to continue.
“You are his friend, his confidante. He will listen to you. By all I have gleaned, you are a good man, true to your word, with a concern for all those of Anrodnes, not just the rich. I know the problems of Rivergate and the other poor quarters are difficult to change. I don’t expect miracles in a day. What I hope for is a gradual improvement of conditions that will ease everyone into a basic state of living that does not include poverty, hunger, or rampant disease. It is said that the new emperor, before he ascended, was the one who sought to make changes in that area. I know he created a hospital strictly for the poor, and that was truly amazing.” The little thief sucked in a breath to steady himself. “No one could believe that he would even think of us, much less take action.”
Naral stayed respectfully silent. This was not a time for interruptions or questions. The greatest gift he could give to this man was to listen.
“The problem, you see, is that there are a great deal of mental issues within those areas, and until they are dealt with, there are many who will not come out of the shadows, not seek help in any form. They don’t trust anyone, have had that beaten into them over the years. That is why they won’t speak to guards, won’t use the laws to protect themselves.” His lips thinned. “There are those in Rivergate who prey upon them, who command the area with no more mercy than a pack of wild dogs.”
