The Pleasure Rites Series

by Ines Johnson

  Khial shook his head. There were no such things as accidents or coincidences where his mother was concerned. "I've spent all these years trying to make up for it. I've dedicated my life to you, for her crimes."

  "Are you trying to tell me you never loved me? That you were only with me out of obligation?"

  Khial looked at Dain horrified, but he could tell the other man didn't believe the words he'd spoken.

  "Khial, you have filled my life with more happiness and love than any being deserves. My parents saw it, and thanked the Goddess every day for you. Chanyn sees it, too. It’s why she agreed to come into the bond. Take care of her when I'm gone. Her and the baby."

  Dain had gone delirious. "There is no baby, Dain."

  Dain only smiled. He was struggling now to keep his eyes open.

  Khial panicked. "Dain! Wait! I love you. I love you, damn it!"

  Dain focused once more on Khial, a burst of sunshine before an eclipse. "You think I didn't know that. I knew you did from the first moment you looked at me. I knew I loved you before I walked into the door of the music room. I thought, only the most beautiful human being could make those beautiful sounds. And I was right." Dain smiled and closed his eyes.

  "Dain, no. Please don't leave me."

  "I'm not leaving. I'll never leave you. I'm going to the Goddess, but I'm leaving my heart. You'll share it with them, won't you Khi?"

  Khial would agree to anything to keep Dain's eyes open. "Yes, Dain. I'll share it."

  Dain opened his eyes once more. They were so full of love. Khial held that look. He held it for as long as he could. He held it until the light went out of Dain's eyes. And in the end, it was by Khial's hand that Dain's lifeless eyes were closed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jian watched the contractors depart through the front doors of the temple. The new roof was complete, along with many other repairs that had been neglected for the past few years. Jian watched from the doorway as the men piled their tools into the back of their conveyance and then climbed into the front. One man turned back and shouted something.

  Jian pointed to his ear, trying to indicate that he couldn't hear the man.

  The contractor beckoned Jian forward.

  Standing at the edge of the threshold, Jian shook his head. His lips pressed together in a grimace.

  The contractor frowned as he hefted himself out of the conveyance and came trudging back to the doorway.

  "My apologies," said Jian. "I am bound to the temple. I may not cross the threshold."

  The man's face straightened in understanding, but then frowned again. How could he understand a man being confined without bars or restraints? This confinement was of Jian's own choosing. The vow of celibacy came with total dedication to the temple and the Goddess.

  The contractor reminded Jian of the necessary follow up service dates and then took his leave once more. Jian watched the man go. The car went in the direction of Lord Dain's manse. Jian allowed himself one more second in the cool open air, and then he retreated into the sanctuary.

  The exterior of the temple received a fresh coat of paint, but when Jian looked closely, he still saw the cracks and crumbling in the brick. The roof was repaired, but Jian still needed to sort out the refuse above his head in the attic. As the building received work on its exterior structure, there was much work to be done for the inner workings to return to their former glory.

  Jian escaped into the heart of the temple, the Sanctuary, where all the monks met daily to show their devotion to the Goddess. The room was empty now, at midday. Jian stood for a moment in the silence.

  Elder Gerry appeared beside Jian. "We have two more new recruits today, my brother."

  Four young males had been brought to the temple by families. Proof that word of Jian's success with Lady Chanyn had spread.

  "You've done it, my boy." Elder Gerry glowed with pride.

  It took everything Jian had to muster the briefest of smiles.

  "I think it was a wise decision to take the vow," the elder man continued. "Now you can put all of your heart into training the next generation of hounds."

  All of his heart? Jian looked around at the empty Sanctuary. He couldn't tell the elder man that he'd left his prized teaching tool with the woman responsible for his success. Jian urged away the thought of Chanyn's smile, her body, the feel of her lips on his. He did not berate himself for the thoughts, only the timing.

  Tonight, he promised himself.

  Like all nights. He would lie in his bed and remember every moment he'd spent with her, in detail. He gave another gentle shove to the memories.

  Tonight, he promised.

  "Speaking of the next generation," Elder Gerry turned and faced Jian, his excited face now somber. "I received a note. Your patron, Lord Dain, has returned to the Goddess."

  Jian's breath ceased. He saw Lord Dain in his mind's eye. The picture of golden health. He hadn't fully believed Lord Dain when he said he was dying.

  "We will light a candle in his memory," said Elder Gerry and then he moved on.

  Sadness fell on Jian. He'd known Lord Dain a short time, but the thoughtful, generous, kind man left a strong imprint on Jian. He was a model of compassion. Had Lord Dain not been a first son, he would have made an excellent hound. Lord Khial would be devastated at the loss of his mate. So would—

  "Elder Gerry."

  They had moved to the common area of the temple. Bowed heads rose and turned to face Jian. He had spoken at a normal volume. Normal was too loud in the quiet temple.

  Jian took large steps, in lieu of running, to catch up with his mentor. "Elder Gerry," he said, at a more agreeable volume. "Was there any news of the lady?"

  Elder Gerry's eyes went sad as he nodded his head once more. Jian's gut clenched, alerting him before words passed Elder Gerry's lips that something was amiss.

  Elder Gerry put his hand on Jian's shoulder. The weight of his hand heavy. "The lady lost the child."

  Ice ran down Jian's back. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  Elder Gerry's eyes widened in surprise. Jian's voice had risen to a shout.

  "It was during the time you took your vows and were in seclusion."

  Jian felt hollowed out.

  "Where are you going," Elder Gerry called after him.

  Jian hadn't realized his feet started moving. He headed back to the front door of the temple. The life-giving sun sat low on the horizon. Jian could see it’s decent into darkness. His foot bumped a ceremonial rug as he approached the threshold. With each step his heart pounded to life in his ears. If he made a step over that threshold, he'd break his vows. He might never be allowed to return to his home.

  His feet never slowed as they stepped over the threshold and onto fresh grass.

  He ran the distance to Lord Dain's, now Lady Chanyn's, home. Heart pounding louder with every step closer to her.

  When he reached the door the manservant, Rianald, didn't look surprised to see him. He looked relieved.

  "She's in her room," he said and closed the door behind Jian.

  Jian took the steps two at a time. Arriving at her door, he paused. It was silent inside. He raised his hand and knocked.

  No response.

  He knocked once more.

  Still no response.

  He opened the door.

  She lay in the bed, staring off into space, her hand cradling her belly. Jian noticed an untouched tray of food on a stand near her bed. He supposed he wasn't her first visitor, and that's why she didn't startle at his entry.

  He went to the bed and sat down. That caught her attention.

  She blinked up at him. Once, then twice before her face broke into recognition.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hello," his voice croaked.

  "You're here."

  "I am," he agreed.

  She reached for his hand. Once it was within her grasp, she held it tightly to her heart, and closed her eyes once more.

  Jian ran his free hand up the side of her
face. His memory had done him a great justice. He'd remembered the angles of her jaw, the softness of her cheeks, the arch of her brows exactly, perfectly.

  "I'm so sorry, my love." Jian stretched his body alongside hers and brought her into his arms.

  "Don't be," she sighed. "He..." She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, Jian saw a sad sort of joy. "He was truly blessed. His entire life, everything and everyone he touched. I will miss him every day for the rest of my life. But I will also be thankful for every day of his life that I got to share."

  Jian tucked Chanyn's head into his chest and rubbed her back.

  "I thought you took your vows?" she said.

  "I did."

  "But you said you couldn't leave again, after you took the vows."

  "I couldn't ignore my heart breaking." He placed his hand over the space on her chest. She gripped it as though it were a lifeline.

  He leaned down to kiss her, but at the last second, she pushed against his chest. A shudder went through her body. She clasped her hand over her mouth, leaped out of the bed, and dashed into the bathroom.

  Jian heard the sounds of purging. He rushed to her side. Kneeling on the tiled floor, he held her hair. When she finished, he grabbed a towel and cleaned her up.

  Then he studied her. "They told me you'd..."

  "I did lose the first child."

  "First?"

  Chanyn nodded. "Then we tried again."

  An irrational sweep of jealousy passed through Jian that Chanyn had engaged in love making without him present.

  "I felt her, Jian," Chanyn's eyes were bright. "The Goddess. I felt her move through me to create this life inside me." She cradled her belly, her eyes filling with tears. "She gave us this life, and then she took Dain."

  Jian looked down at Chanyn's belly. There was no bump through the fabric of her dress. The child in question couldn't be more than a few days old, but Jian didn't doubt the baby's existence.

  He finished cleaning Chanyn up. Then he gathered her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. He bent over and laid her down gently. When he went to straighten, she clung to him.

  "Stay," she pleaded.

  When Jian left the temple nearly a half hour ago, he'd given no thought to where he would end up after he made certain Chanyn was well. Breaking vows was taken seriously, and Jian might very well not be invited back into the only home he ever knew. But he couldn't stay in the home of a bonded lady either.

  "Where's your mate? Where's Lord Khial?"

  Anguish returned to Chanyn's face. "I don't know," she said.

  The man was grieved. He was likely out assuaging his grief. "I'll stay until he returns." Then Jian would have to figure out what to do with his life.

  "That might be a long time," Chanyn said. "He hasn't been home in days. Not since Dain..."

  Jian played Chanyn's words over again in his head. They couldn't be right. The man wouldn't abandon his pregnant wife. It was simply unheard of.

  Jian's own plight would have to wait. There was only one thing for him to do. "I'll find him for you."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The moon pulled anchor and sailed high into the heavens while the sun released its hold on the horizon and sank. Somewhere between the two celestial bodies, Khial drifted. He'd wandered around for days. Two days? Three, maybe? Time scattered around him, stretched and distorted like the pieces of a popped balloon.

  Looking up at the moon left Khial light-headed. The white orb filled the sky, its body swollen, its seams set to burst. Memories of old swirled in Khial's head, sending him back to boyhood.

  As a boy, to escape the incessant mind games played by his parents during mealtimes, one day Khial ventured out into the street market. Khial's first trip to the market was also his last. He clutched his throat, watching a man fry gray meat in a grease-laden pan. His toes curled at the screeching of a three-piece, musical ensemble. He flipped up his collar at the sight of two scrawny, unwashed street boys near his age.

  Turning his back on them, Khial spotted a blue orb. The balloon stretched and yearned for the sky, but was tethered to earth by a silver string. Its captor, an old man with gray hair and clear gray eyes, like a reflecting mirror, gazed down at Khial. His gnarled hands twisted oblong balloons into animal shapes.

  Khial reached in his pocket and withdrew a piece of copper. In exchange, the old man handed him a contorted balloon in the shape of a lion. Before turning away, Khial cast one final glance at the captive blue balloon. It bobbed and weaved, testing the restraints of the string. And then suddenly, it was yanked down, free.

  Khial blinked as the gnarled hand placed the string before him. He reached into his pocket before reaching for the proffered balloon, but the old man shook his head. He released the balloon into Khial's hand, with a wink.

  On the way home Khial's hands were full. He cradled the lion in one arm, in the other hand his five fingers wrapped around the silver string, tight. No one had ever given him a gift before.

  Khial returned home to the sounds of fists popping jaws. His fathers were fighting over his mother once more. His mother, Lady Danyell, stood at the top of the stairs monitoring her mates' progress.

  Early in his young life, Khial believed his mother was the Goddess, Herself. Her skin was as dark as the fertile earth, her hair a fluffy cloud that haloed around her face. The vacancy in her eyes proved his infantile theory wrong.

  Lady Danyell held no tablet in her hands to record whatever experiment she'd set into motion. She possessed a photographic memory that catalogued and compartmentalized everything she witnessed, read, or heard. His mother was fascinated with the emotions of jealousy. Not being able to feel the emotion herself, she doubted, its existence and used her husbands to test its variables.

  The crash of one of Khial's fathers falling startled him, and his grip relinquished the silver string. His gift sailed up to the high ceilings, far beyond his reach. His face fell. His eyes teared. Before he could correct his mistake, his mother appeared before him.

  Danyell's calculating gaze looked from her son's face, to the floating balloon before settling on the contorted material still in Khial's arms.

  "Why are you crying." There was no inflection in her voice to indicate that the statement was a question. For Lady Danyell it was a problem, a hypothesis she meant to investigate.

  "It’s still present," she indicated the floating balloon. "It’s simply beyond your reach."

  She cocked her head to the side at her statement, turning it over and over again in her clockwork mind. She held her hand out for the contorted balloon that remained in Khial's hand. Khial knew it was fruitless to deny her. He shuttered himself against further loss and handed the balloon over. Without preamble, his mother squeezed the balloon until the air burst from it, rending the elastic into pieces. The stretched and distorted pieces landed on the floor in a quiet crash.

  "This one is also still present." She held up the pieces, ticking off the variables. "This one is in your reach. Though its function is now useless."

  Danyell tick-tocked her head in the opposite direction, investigating from a different angle. Khial focused on his mother's shoulder, his head high, his teeth grit, his face blank.

  "So, why is it that you cry? Is it the loss of function or the loss of proximity?"

  Khial didn't answer. They stood there for a long, silent moment. Until another crash broke her contemplation. Lady Danyell tick-tocked her head in the direction of her mates and followed in the wake of their debris.

  Khial ran out of the house and hid in the woods. That day he stayed in his hiding spot until it grew dark.

  It was dark out now. Khial didn't know where he was, nor how he'd gotten here. The last thing he remembered was the light go out of Dain's eyes and the silence that crashed around him. Dain's body remained present, perfectly intact, but empty and beyond Khial's reach.

  Khial glanced up at his surroundings. He was far from the clean, wealthy side of town where women lived. He was beyo
nd the market where the rich and working class bartered. The three story high-rises crunched together on dirt patches of land signaled that Khial's wanderings had brought him to the end of genteel civilization. Only male bodies, young, mature, and elderly, littered these streets. The discarded thirds and enterprising second sons ruled these outskirts. Many hungry, calculating, desperate eyes landed on Khial like a swarm of flies on a carcass. What little self-preservation he had left told him he needed to get off the streets if he wanted to make it to morning.

  Khial stood still.

  He'd drifted for days in an effort to untether himself from this world. Perhaps if he stood still long enough, someone would come by and pop him off. The idea held merit, but Khial's legs wobbled. Perhaps in the morning, he would stand firm in the middle of the streets and wait for oblivion. For now, Khial ducked into a boarding establishment.

  Though the Sisterhood had no care for or reach into the outskirts, their charity provided a number of free shelters where males could get a cot and a warm meal for the night. Looking around the interior of one such establishment, Khial realized he'd never seen so much squalor. He could make out each grimy fingerprint on the wall. Cakes of dirt decorated the corners of the room. Filth stained the cot mattresses, a chorus of rusty springs sang lullabies. The men all smelled. Khial took one look in the showers and turned the other way.

  It baffled him. He'd always thought women held high standards for the shelters of the city's discarded boys. He'd been told the discards lived in clean homes and received three square meals a day. His stomach protested as it tried to digest the stale bread, bruised vegetables, and questionable meat.

  He couldn't complain too much. In truth he'd taken a step down when he came to live with Dain and his family. Dain's family home had been a small cottage compared to the splendor that was his mother's royal estates. Khial never felt a sense of belonging amidst the jeweled fixtures, the priceless art, and the antique furnishings of his status. He walked away from all of that to be with the boy he loved and his infamous parents.

  Color vibrated from every corner of Dain's home. Nothing in glass, nothing broken. Shouts of joy rang out morning, noon, and night. His family gave gifts frequently, never taking them back to measure a child's response or condition a behavior.