By Chance Met (6 page)

Appending it to someone’s name conveyed not only a difference in age and rank between two Deira, but also implied the intimacy found in close relationships. Only his parents and older brothers had ever addressed him thusly.

“The servants say the same of you, Your Grace,” he shyly replied.

“Do they?” Reijir shrugged. “Put on something warm. It’s quite cool this morn. I’ll wait for you at the garden porch.” He made to leave but then briefly paused at the door and, looking over his shoulder, said, “By the way, you may address me by name.”

Naeth was unable to respond, struck mute by the realization that he had just been granted a rare privilege.

Only close kin or Deira of similar or higher station could address a fief-lord by his birth name. Naeth did not know all the legalities of the relationship between a guardian and his charge, but he was fairly certain a ward did not count as family any more than stand on equal footing with his conservator. Especially if said ward was a commoner and

a
sedyr
and his guardian a True Blood who was also a scion of the Royal House of Ylandre.

Naeth winced as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Keiran stood at one shoulder while a barber stood at the other, comb and scissors poised in readiness.

“But I won’t be able to tie my hair back if he cuts it any shorter,” Naeth protested.

“I believe that’s the point,” Keiran wryly said.

“Why is the length of my hair so important?”

“Because it’s not the current fashion amongst
enyra
to wear their hair long, let alone tie or braid it.”

“But I’m not an
enyr
.”

“Your schoolmates don’t know that.”

“But many
sedyra
attend the Academy, and they don’t cut their hair.”

“And look at how many of them are picked on by True Blood students who think too highly of themselves,” Keiran reminded him. “Who do you think coined the terms
enyr
and
sedyr
in the first place?”

Naeth stared at Keiran in the mirror. “Students?”

“Students,” Keiran affirmed, lapsing into his role as university instructor. “More specifically, university students from the great Houses who thought their purer bloodlines made them superior to schoolmates of diluted ancestry. Unfortunately, neither the terms nor their prejudice remained limited to their ranks but spread throughout all levels of society and eventually to the other lands. Granted the prejudice abated somewhat with the passage of time, but traces of it still exist everywhere.”

“Interesting though how it’s no longer as prevalent at the State University considering that’s where it all started,” Keiran musingly remarked. “I think it has to do with the mentality of bullies. Since youth and immaturity have much to do with it, it stands to reason that there would be more bullies in secondary school than at the collegiate level.”

Naeth rolled his eyes at the treatise on social interaction in an academic setting. “But surely it isn’t so bad as you paint it,” he skeptically said. “I hear the Ardan’s lover goes about with his hair past his shoulders.”

Keiran snorted. “There’s a world of difference between a royal concubine and a legal ward. No one would dare cross Rohyr by insulting his lover. And Lassen Idana sports the earring of a king’s leman—that protects him from offensive speech and aggressive behavior. You, on the other hand, carry no such talisman, and you’re obviously not a Rikaran and you don’t hail from a prominent
sedyran
clan.” When Naeth still balked, Keiran tartly added, “Would you have Reijir constantly coming to your aid whenever some idiot decides to harass you for being a Half Blood?”

Naeth blushed and bowed his head in defeat. “Nay, of course not,” he mumbled.

“That’s settled then,” Keiran said, suddenly all smiles and twinkling eyes. “Cut the rest off,” he told the befuddled barber.

The metamorphosis startled Naeth even though he had witnessed Keiran make the sudden transition from stern autocrat to charming and indulgent benefactor many a time in the month of his residence at the Arthanna townhouse. Naeth oft wondered how Ruomi

coped with Keiran’s mercurial personality. He could only conclude that perhaps the
sedyr
liked the elder Arthanna’s quicksilver temperament.

He did not look up again until the snip-snip of the scissors ceased. When he did and with all trepidation, he could not suppress a groan. The shorter style did not so much look bad as felt odd. It was disconcerting to feel his nape so exposed and lack the weight of a fall or braid of hair upon his shoulders or back.

“It suits you, kitten,” Keiran declared with satisfaction.

Naeth wrinkled his nose and half glared at him. “Kitten?”

“Reijir had a pet cat years ago, when he was still a student,” Keiran said. “You remind me of that pretty puss when it was a mere kit and not yet grown up and regal. It was all big blue eyes and a pert nose and fur the same color as your hair. And how he loved to cuddle against Reijir.” Ignoring Naeth’s indignant gape, he remarked with a dash of mischief, “I dare say when he looks at you, Reijir remembers his kit, too, and the way he used to share his bed with him on cold winter nights.”

Naeth closed his mouth and turned even redder. “I do
not
look like a cat,” he muttered.

“I didn’t say you do,” Keiran countered. “Only that you remind me of that one particular cat.” He gestured to the barber to brush Naeth off. “Look for Ruomi Garvas,”

he instructed. “He’ll take care of your fee.”

Once the barber departed Naeth’s bedroom, Keiran headed for the wardrobe and flung open its doors. After a quick look around, he pulled out a biscuit-hued tunic and chestnut brown breeches and tossed them to Naeth.

“Get dressed, kitten,” he instructed. “Then meet me in the blue parlor.” He turned and headed for the door, still talking all the while. “This afternoon, it’s off to the tailor with you and tomorrow morn the shoemaker and after that the glover and—”

As his litany of schedules faded away into the distance, Naeth shook his head in some amazement. Keiran was so different from his brother in personality that, were it not for their facial similarities, one would think the older Arthanna son no blood relation but a winsome changeling.

Cringing at the probability of a scolding should he keep Keiran waiting, Naeth hurriedly changed attire then barreled out the door. He slammed into someone, bounced off that someone’s hard, unmoving frame, and nearly fell on his backside. But he was caught by the waist and pulled upright and against whomever he had bumped into.

The combined scents of herbaceous lavandra and woody oakmoss stirred a memory of a costly tunic faintly infused with the same seductive fragrance. Naeth gulped, stiffened, and hastily pulled away to look up into a pair of forest green eyes.

“Unless there’s a fire in the house, I see no reason for such haste,” Reijir mildly rebuked.

“Nay, it isn’t—I mean, he’s waiting—And he’ll scold me and I—”

Reijir stopped the flow of Naeth’s stammered explanation by placing a finger on his lips. Naeth almost gasped at the familiarity of the gesture.

“I assume you’re referring to my brother,” Reijir said.

“Y-yes, Your Grace. I mean, Reijir-
dyhar,
” Naeth quickly amended when the Herun gave him a pointed look. He also became conscious that he was still standing in the circle of Reijir’s arms. He did not know whether he wanted to escape them or stay put and that served to fluster him even more.

Reijir gazed at him with an expression Naeth could not place. At length, the Herun removed his arms from around him and stepped back.

“Keiran won’t scold you,” he said reassuringly. “In fact, he’ll likely keep you waiting a while. My brother isn’t known for punctuality, especially when something—or someone—distracts him along the way.”

In spite of himself, Naeth felt a grin tug at his mouth. “Ruomi?” he ventured.

“Who else? He caught Ruomi as we were exiting my study.” Reijir placed a hand on Naeth’s head and almost playfully ruffled his hair. “Keiran can be high-handed at times.

But he’ll back off if you stand your ground. Except for that,” he said when Naeth ruefully touched the ends of his shortened locks where they neatly brushed his nape. “I trust he explained the reason for the new style?”

“He did,” Naeth admitted. “I’m just not used to it yet.”

“It suits you,” Reijir said, echoing his brother’s earlier compliment. “Indeed, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly slid a finger under Naeth’s chin and lifted it, compelling Naeth to look at him. His voice low and just this side of sultry, he murmured, “Keiran’s right.

You remind me of my cat from way back. Especially your eyes.”

Had his heart stopped beating right there and then, Naeth would not have been too surprised, so stunned was he by the impact of the Herun’s sheer beauty and uncommon impact on his senses.

He fought for breath as he tried to overcome the spell of silence that seemed to have taken his tongue. He finally managed a nigh strangled, “Tha-that’s nice to know. Thank you, Reijir-
dyhar
.”

Reijir chuckled and released Naeth from his gaze. He walked past Naeth, ruffling his hair once more as he did. Naeth remained where he was for the longest while, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

Saints above, will I always react to him this way?
he thought with dismay.

At length, Naeth inhaled deeply then headed for the blue parlor where he would await Keiran. He fervently hoped his color would return to normal before the latter joined him. Because if it didn’t, he was all but certain Keiran would subject him to an interrogation the likes of which Naeth knew he would never withstand.

Chapter Five

Stirrings

“Hey, Orosse! Join us! We’re going out to celebrate!”

Naeth smiled at the student who’d hailed him but shook his head. “I can’t, Javari,”

he said when the latter and his group neared him. “His Grace asked me to be home early today. He wishes to fete me for graduating on time.”

A youth behind Javari spoke up, his mouth curved in a smirk. “Why? Is His Grace so stingy that he would begrudge you any extra time to finish this last year?” he drawled.

“And here I thought him a generous soul. How disappointing to discover otherwise, eh, Orosse?”

Naeth stifled the impulse to snap back. “His Grace
is
a generous soul,” he pleasantly replied. “Hence his guardianship of my humble self. What he is not is profligate, which I understand is the bane of many a formerly rich Deir. Isn’t that so, Semrel?”

He knew a welling of satisfaction when the insolent youth flushed an unbecoming red. It was well known around campus that Semrel’s sire had depleted the family coffers due to an addiction to the gaming tables.

“At least I‘m not an impecunious nobody in need of a generous patron to see him through school!” Semrel crossly shot back.

Naeth felt a familiar stab of anger mingled with sorrow. “Yes, how fortunate for you to still have family for that purpose,” he retorted.

Javari slapped the back of Semrel’s head. “That is beyond the pale, oaf!” he muttered. “We beg your pardon, Orosse. You know how it is with Semrel—his wits seldom keep apace with his tongue.”

“And thus ensures his foot is almost perpetually stuck in that big mouth of his,”

another student quipped.

Before Semrel could react, Naeth said, “I hope you enjoy yourselves. But I really must go.”

He dipped his head to them then briskly walked away, ignoring the imprecations that spewed from Semrel’s aforementioned big mouth.

Truth be told, he was not going home but headed for the exclusive training hall a few blocks away from the Arthanna townhouse where many of the city’s bluebloods honed their fighting skills. While Reijir and Keiran usually preferred to pit themselves against the seasoned soldiers who frequented the Citadel exercise yard, they occasionally joined aristocrats of their acquaintance in the training hall for the greater variety of fighting styles including the brutish tactics displayed in the violent brawls that nightly took place in the streets and taverns of the south district.

Ordinarily, Ruomi acted as valet to both the Arthannas, but today he requested that Naeth take over as Reijir’s attendant. Right after his practice bout, Keiran would go home to freshen up then head for a meeting with his solicitors over a dispute involving one of his properties. Reijir always insisted that Ruomi accompanied his brother to potentially contentious meetings to minimize the risk of a heated argument erupting should Keiran’s volatile temper be ignited.

But even had he not been instructed to meet the brethren at the hall, Naeth was not interested in drinking the afternoon away. He knew his schoolmates would celebrate the start of their gap year by getting as inebriated as possible before they headed for their

respective homes. It was the only form of mature recreation Deira their age could legally partake of.

By and large, sexual encounters, including the patronage of prostitutes, were strictly forbidden until one reached thirty summers, the age of consent. The only exceptions to this rule were with regards to wedlock and lawful concubinage. As for gaming and backstreet sports, one had to wait until the thirty-fifth year and attain one’s majority first in order to be able to indulge in either.

Of course, these laws were mostly observed among Deira of respectable families and unsullied names. Enforcing said laws among the slum dwellers was difficult to put it mildly. For the lowest class, engagement in illicit activity often started in childhood.

Naeth did not stick his nose up at his peers’ notions of entertainment, but neither did he care to waste his time or precious allowance on such unproductive pastimes. And a further waste it would be if he had to keep company with the likes of Semrel.

The Arthannas had been correct about the prejudice underlying the social structure of school life. That was not to say that all the True Bloods at the Academy behaved as execrably as Semrel any more than it was right to assert that every Half Blood was subjected to discrimination by their
enyran
counterparts. But the bigoted few—Naeth had quickly discovered they were the minority—tended to be outspoken and determined to let their displeasure and supposed superiority be known. And when they did, it was unpleasant all around.