by J. C. Owens
Raine only nodded, taken aback by the fervor of Sarnwa’s words.
“Be there for him, Raine,” Sarnwa finished, leaning back and closing his eyes. “That was my duty. That is yours as well.”
Raine stood on shaking legs, understanding that those words were all he would get from Sarnwa. He headed for the door, his thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced at Taldan, and his determination flared up like a fire roaring to life. If Taldan needed his Chosen, then Raine would not let him down. He had read about Chosen who had failed their emperors. He would not do the same, and he would not be bound by history either.
Raine was done with the past. He had read as much as seemed relevant, but from here on in, he had a choice. Either he was going to have to forge his own path or remain the ghost he had always been.
He was no ghost.
* * *
Hredeen
There was a stillness after the battle, as though the violence had rended the very air. Now that the conflict was over, there was a sense of displacement, as battle-heightened senses honed to an edge came back down to something approaching normal.
Hredeen stood among the carnage, the smell of blood heavy in his nostrils.
He crouched down, took the tattered remnants of an Odenar flag, and cleaned his sword with it. The familiar motions calmed him, bringing him back into himself as something other than the destructive killer that he had shown.
He had never fought in a battle before. Assassin training was for stealth, never to work with others. This had been so different, his senses and abilities stretching as never before.
Perhaps his trainers, his masters, would have been proud of his performance.
As for himself, he felt off balance, something he had never encountered after any kill before. This had not been a single target, but desperate men fighting for their lives. In the end, it had been more slaughter than any act of glory or song.
He took a shallow breath, trying to purge the scent of blood and excrement from his nose.
The dead lay everywhere. Hundreds.
He rose to his feet, glancing around. Zaran had disappeared. So had Ralnulian.
Hredeen felt a surge of anger, at what he had no idea, only that this scenario, this amount of death had never needed to happen. So many innocent lives had been lost. So many people had suffered. Greed had fuelled this atrocity from the beginning until enough blood had been shed to finally stop it.
He left the battlefield behind with long strides, not glancing at the bodies he stepped over. He needed to be free of it all.
He walked in silence, alone, as he had always been before his introduction to Taldan.
The idea that this was his future, whatever path he chose being solitary, made his chest tighten, a sense of desperation rising.
Distance passed under his boots almost without his knowledge, and before he knew it, he was back, far back, where the wagons had pulled in to start setting up camp. Already the smell of cooking was rising in the air as the servants prepared for hungry men. Tents had been raised for the wounded. Surgeons and healers worked tirelessly on the casualties.
He did not pause, striding to a familiar wagon and giving a great breath of relief as he saw Cermin sitting on the tailgate, one leg tucked under him, immersed in his art.
The boy looked up, almost smiling, then his expression changed to fear and distaste intermingled. It was only then that Hredeen realized how he must look, covered in blood and gore. What had he been thinking to display himself in such fashion to a child? Especially to a child who had undergone such trauma?
He turned away in shame. He needed to wash, needed to—
A small hand on his arm drew him to a standstill.
Cermin seemed to have overcome his initial shock. Instead, there was a fierce edge to his gaze, a need for something. “They are dead?”
Hredeen went to one knee before him, meeting him eye to eye. “They are.”
Cermin let out an explosive breath before tears rose in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “They can’t hurt anyone. Not ever again.”
Hredeen nodded, wishing he could hold the boy but not wanting to taint him with what covered him from head to toe.
Cermin eyed him, gathering himself with a strength that Hredeen could only admire in one so young.
“What will you do now?” Cermin asked. “I am going to Anrodnes with Prince Zaran. The prince wants you to come. As do I.” There was a longing in the words. He tilted his head, met Hredeen’s stare with one of his own. “They tell me that you are an assassin of the War Guild. That assassins are fighters without equal.”
Hredeen only nodded. His heart was beating fast. He would not lie to the boy, even if he wished Cermin hadn’t learned the truth of what he was.
“Will you be the one to protect the prince?” Cermin continued, watching him with those big eyes. “Protect me?” There was finally a quaver to his words, as his strength waned and he became the boy he was, traveling to an unknown future, his past in tatters.
He threw his arms around Hredeen, and the assassin drew him close, hugging him tightly.
Could he walk away now? Return to the guild as were his orders?
Taldan had exiled him…
If he returned…
He buried his face against Cermin’s soft hair.
In every direction lay pain.
* * *
Taldan
Taldan felt more content than he had since his ascension.
He and his father had worked together seamlessly, with agreement and idea sharing that he would never have imagined before. It seemed so odd given that his father had always been remote, never giving him the slightest encouragement and certainly never sharing his thoughts. He had been nothing but a cold, golden mask for all of Taldan’s life. Now Taldan wore the mask. He had expected to feel resentful of his father’s aid, as though Demarin were pushing into Taldan’s reign, influencing Anrodnes despite leaving the throne.
Yet it had not felt like that. Not at all. They had been cautious and prickly to begin with, but their way of reasoning was remarkably similar, their love of Anrodnes both deep and tireless.
Taldan had wanted to thank him after the work was done and the strategies outlined, plans made, and lists compiled. The look of satisfaction on Demarin’s face was probably identical to his own.
Yet he had said nothing. His father had obviously not expected him to, for he simply nodded, gestured to Sarnwa, and the two men left.
Now Taldan and Raine were alone.
He removed the mask and gloves, feeling a surge of relief, laying them down gently. The mask felt so heavy to wear, and that wasn’t simply its physical weight. Yet, when he didn’t wear it, sometimes he had trouble controlling the flood of memories and experiences of past emperors. That was part of the power of the Illumitae, which he had not yet mastered. It was almost as though the mask held some place in the control of it.
He tidied up the papers and cleaned the quills of ink. The familiar motions always calmed his mind, and he would allow no other to do this simple, messy task. Once done, he cleaned his hands with the fluid provided and turned to view Raine.
His Chosen’s body posture was telling. Raine’s blank stare showed he was miles away in thought, and by his expression, it was not a good place to be.
He felt a sliver of concern that surprised him. Since the ceremony, he had seen Raine as a convenient sexual release, and surprisingly, a sharp mind that aided his endeavors. He had been pleased that they had meshed so well. Raine was more than he would have expected, mild, but not submissive, strong, yet not vying for dominance.
It made for a more peaceful coexistence than Taldan had been expecting, certainly during the initial phases of their bonding. They had been growing closer, the connection between them deepening.
Yet right now, Raine was not conforming to the expected behavior for a Chosen.
Taldan paused. Neither had Sarnwa for that matter.
Was it p
ossible that there could have been many more through history? That the Chosen and their emperors had hidden the truth to conform to expectation?
He took a seat across from Raine, eyeing him with fresh perspective. Sarnwa had told him his own story for a blatant reason. His father’s Chosen wanted Taldan to know that he could forge a new path, one that might lead to a future where a Chosen would be seen as a true partner, not a virtual prisoner.
Taldan wished to change so many things for the better, to step away from the violent past that had molded Anrodnes into the powerful country it now was. He held no illusions that they could step back from their beginnings. He respected what his father and so many other emperors had done. After all, in times past, strength and martial ability had been the cornerstone for a great many cultures, had brought them into strong leadership.
Now, he could envision something more. He would not lessen their military strength, never that. No other country would doubt their power. But there were other areas where so much could be gained for the average citizen. If he could not care about them, if he could not improve things for them, then he would consider himself a less-than-stellar leader.
“You had a long talk with Sarnwa,” he said to Raine.
Raine startled, staring at him wide-eyed as though he had not even been aware of Taldan’s presence.
“I just wanted to understand how Sarnwa could have hidden what he was so completely.” Raine seemed to realize what he’d said and slapped a hand over his mouth, fear in his expression, obviously dreading Taldan’s reaction to his blurted words.
Taldan eyed him, then leaned forward and cupped Raine’s jaw, gently drawing him forward. He kissed him, softly, feeling a surge of fondness. He was growing to care deeply for this young man, beginning to learn who he was.
When he ended the kiss, he looked into his Chosen’s eyes and smiled.
“I find myself asking the same thing. Knowing what they went through, it seems foolish to continue in such a way. I am emperor. I have waited for my ascension to change so many things. Why not the role of Chosen as well?”
Raine was silent, appearing shocked, but there was a gleam in his eyes, a hint of hope. A bit of admiration that warmed Taldan’s heart. This man had hero-worshipped him. Perhaps he should prove himself worthy of such an honor, not merely expect Raine to maintain that feeling without any support.
He was finding he wanted that admiration, that he liked when Raine looked up to him.
The feel of the younger man in his arms, his warmth cradled against him at night, was a balm to his grief. It helped calm him, helped him maintain his needed control. It was different with Raine than it had been with Hredeen. More like Raine was his, fully his, in a way that the concubine never was. Hredeen was too powerful a presence to ever seem like he could be possessed by anyone at all.
His insistence on maintaining the concubine/prince dynamic had been part of that. He had never slept in Taldan’s rooms. Even if Taldan managed to persuade him to have sex there, Hredeen had always returned to the harem to sleep. Now, he wondered if that had been to maintain his distance, keep his purpose in mind.
So perhaps Taldan should learn from his example and keep his own purposes in mind. Part of that would be controlling the raw surge of feeling inside him whenever he thought of Hredeen. He had a man here, in this room, that needed him.
And perhaps Taldan needed his Chosen just as badly.
“We are bonded in the eyes of man and gods,” he said to Raine. “But I find myself impatient with the roles the empire and all its history has thrust upon us. On you, as a Chosen. On me, as emperor. They expect me to wear a mask. They expect you to wait in the shadows, unseen and unheard.” He leaned forward, looking deep into Raine’s eyes. “Shouldn’t the Chosen be something greater, something special?”
Raine seemed speechless, but there was a deep longing in his expression, and why wouldn’t there be? He had never had a relationship that gave him anything pleasant. That was a haunting realization.
The thought that Taldan could give him more, change his life in pleasant ways instead of with forceful dominance was surprisingly attractive.
“Anything you want, I will try to provide,” Raine cleared his throat, a flush rising on his cheeks. He was clearly overwhelmed by Taldan’s positive response, and so he should be. Generations of tradition were being mangled at this very moment.
Taldan’s lips curved into a smile.
He could almost imagine his ancestors spinning in their graves.
Later, they walked down the silent hallways, empty this late at night. Behind them, the Shadows kept back, retaining a discreet distance that Taldan appreciated.
The two of them began spiraling downward through descending palace corridors, moving through an area unknown to any but the priesthood, the Shadows, and the royal family themselves. The atmosphere held the feel of divinity long before they ever reached their destination.
Taldan had no idea what he was doing, or why, but it seemed important. They had pledged their bond, finalized it, within the sanctity of the temple of the gods, hidden deep within the rock that the fortress had been built upon.
The rain had blessed them, shown the bond as true.
Now, after so much between them, it felt as if it needed to be pledged once more, if only to prove to both of them that this was right and good.
Whatever this need was, it seemed the gods wished it done, because he could not settle down, could not think of anything but this.
Raine’s hand was warm in his. A bit of confusion showed in his Chosen’s expression as they trod the way taken once before.
The priest of the inner sanctum met them partway, no question in his manner, guiding them forward calmly.
Raine glanced at Taldan inquiringly, a brow raised, but he just squeezed his Chosen’s fingers, and Raine subsided, trusting him. That trust needed to be honored.
The priest opened the chamber door and let them in, then smiled softly and touched his heart before closing the door silently in their wake. The Shadows remained outside. He took off the mask, set aside the gloves. Raine watched him in silence.
For the first time, they were alone. No Shadows, no witnesses.
The altar gleamed softly in the light of torches, a pristine mattress lying in wait. Like the ceremony had never taken place.
Fresh, clean.
They needed to reforge their bond into the new pattern that they both desired.
Taldan nodded, relieved at the revelation. That was why they were here. It was a worthy purpose.
Without even looking at each other, they removed their clothing piece by piece finally standing naked before the altar, bowing their heads as the presence of the gods began to fill the chamber, a sense of power, of wonder and divinity that seemed impossible to fully comprehend.
Yet Taldan felt a surge of understanding, a knowledge that had been passed down through his ancestors, a remembrance of the gods’ faces, of their protection through time. Of power…and yet more. A part of the Illumitae that had been promised and lost…
Taldan raised a hand and gently touched the mark of the kiss that was burned upon his forehead.
Soft blue sparks flickered from his fingertips, and he held his hand out, fascinated as the Illumitae flowed over his hand, twining down his arm and dancing over Raine’s fingers where he touched his Chosen.
Raine gasped, a look of childish wonder evident in his expression.
Taldan knelt on the edge of the altar, helping Raine up, both of them settling upon the soft mattress. They lay face to face, watching the blue light with wide-eyed fascination. Taldan felt it course down his body, making him arch slightly, pure, undiluted pleasure bursting over his senses.
Raine gave a wondering smile, letting his fingers play in the blue flames, tracing Taldan’s body lightly. It was as though the Illumitae fed Taldan’s passions, made him feel everything more intensely.
He gave a disbelieving laugh, pulling Raine closer, tasting his Chosen with a fee
ling of happiness that was foreign to his personality. It felt as though what they had chosen to achieve between them was the right path, as though it made the gods themselves joyful.
It was heady, this feeling of completeness, of success.
He tasted his Chosen’s lips, loving the feel of Raine’s heartbeat, his warmth, his stirring passion. The kiss, like their joy, consumed them, the link swelling into something greater, stronger.
Above their heads, the faint colors of the setting sun had given way to soft gray clouds, the distant sound of thunder promising a night of rain.
~ About the Author ~
Writing has always been of the utmost importance to me, often a means of expressing frustration, anger and grief during terrible times in my life. It was also there for the joys and triumphs, a faithful companion through it all that never failed me. I do indeed love to write and have over twenty books sitting idle in my computer, waiting… I started off writing under the name of J.C. McGuire with three historical books, “My Name is Aelida” Book 1 & 2, (a two part novel of Arthurian Briton and the strength of a woman in a world where men rule and her ancient bloodline is more important than her happiness. These books have been re-released as a four part series with Etopia Press, The Ascension, The Gloaming, The Conquered, The Triumph), and Shadow of the Sun, a very emotional novel of Alexander the Great and his lover Hephaistion. Done from Hephaistion’s viewpoint, (we all know that he dies in the end) it was the hardest thing I have ever written. I still get tears when I read it. I still love all of those books and actually read them as if someone else wrote them!
“Shadow of the Sun” got me into the male/male genre and I began to write under J.C. Owens. I enjoy writing of the beauty of men loving men, plus the conflict in what a person thinks they want, versus what they truly need to become themselves.
