Cethe (30 page)

you won’t be so lucky!”

“Big talk,” teased Michael.

“There’s a stream near here,” said Stefn, turning his horse in that direction, “and a place where you can climb and see for

miles. I used to come here before Father ordered me confined to Shia.”

He led Michael uphil through the trees. They heard the stream before seeing it. It tumbled down from somewhere higher in the

hil s, ice-cold and clear as glass. They drank alongside their horses, washing the dust from their hands and faces.

Here and there, great boulders and outcroppings of rock thrust up through the forest floor. Stefn showed Michael a particularly

large outcropping near the top of the hil . They clambered onto it, laughing and cal ing to each other like a couple of schoolboys. At

the top, they threw themselves down, breathless, to stare up at the sky.

Michael was the first to recover and sit up. “You’re right!” he exclaimed. “I can see al the way to Embry. It is Embry, isn’t it?”

Stefn sat up, looking the direction Michael indicated. “Yes. There’s the abbey on that hil over there and the Shia river.”

“What’s out there?” asked Michael, pointing to the northern curve of the hil s.

“I don’t know,” Stefn admitted. “The Targa Road continues for about ten miles before reaching the river. The Shia’s very wide

and fast there, with dangerous currents. Long ago, there was a bridge, but it’s in ruins now. From what I’ve read, it was destroyed

during the war to keep naran reinforcements from coming south.”

“Reinforcements that never came.”

Stefn nodded. They sat in companionable silence for awhile, enjoying the view. Michael lay back final y, hands behind his

head, and closed his eyes. It would be nice to stay here forever, thought Stefn, untouched by al the political intrigue and naran

sorcery complicating his life. After awhile, he looked over at Michael. The h’nar appeared to be asleep, eyes closed, lips slightly

parted, chest rising and fal ing rhythmical y. An unexpected warmth flooded through Stefn’s veins. Tentatively, he touched a long

strand of Michael’s pale hair come loose from its tie. It was warm and smooth.

Stefn’s gaze returned to Michael’s face, lingering on his mouth. Unconsciously, Stefn touched his own lips, remembering the

kisses that had set him aflame in spite of his fiercest intentions. What if he were to lean over, to cover Michael’s mouth with his own,

to….

“Stefn?”

Stefn, horrified, realized he was inches from Michael’s face. Those grey eyes were open, fil ed with bemusement. He tried to

straighten, but Michael reached up and pul ed him down, fulfil ing Stefn’s half-formed impulse.

It was a kiss unlike any he had received so far, gentle, even tender. The tip of Michael’s tongue traced the outlines of Stefn’s

lips, then slid deep into his mouth. The warmth became a tingling and he felt himself getting hard.

Michael’s knee pushed up between Stefn’s legs, pressing firmly against him, tearing a groan from deep in his throat. He

unbuttoned Michael’s shirt and waistcoat with eager, trembling hands, revealing the smooth, muscular chest beneath. Even as

Michael let out a long sigh, even as Stefn lowered his head to suck at a tiny, caramel-colored nipple, he wondered dimly at himself.

What was he doing? This wasn’t like him!

Stop it! You fool!

But the tiny voice of reason had no chance. Michael’s nipple hardened under Stefn’s tongue. Stefn yielded helplessly to the

rush of pleasure as Michael’s hands slid down his back to clutch his buttocks, pushing him down harder. Stefn nipped the tiny bud in

his mouth and Michael cried out softly, back arching. Fingers tangling in Stefn’s hair, he pul ed Stefn’s head back and reclaimed his

mouth.

“God, but you’re beautiful!” Michael whispered. “I can’t get enough of you!”

His hands worked at Stefn’s waist, unbuttoning his breeches, pul ing them down. Stefn gasped, freed of the constriction. He

rubbed his cock along Michael’s hard thigh, gut tightening unbearably.

Michael undid his own breeches and for a time, there was no sound but their harsh breathing. Flesh against flesh, bodies

tangled, they rode the waves of pleasure until Stefn could stand it no longer, crying out, his cock jerking with the force of spending

himself, his thoughts shattering like glass.

The breeze on his sweaty back roused him at last from his daze. He rol ed off Michael. Michael lay without moving, arms flung

wide, eyes closed. Overhead, the clouds thickened and the wind was picking up.

A sudden, fierce pain, like a sword, went through Stefn’s heart. He was abruptly, vividly, wretchedly, aware of the lethet.

None of it was real. The tenderness, the sweet words, it was al naragi magic. Without it, Michael Arranz would never have

looked twice at the puny sin-catcher of Shia.

“Let’s go back,” he said, swal owing the ache in his throat. “It looks like there’s a storm blowing up.”

Among the most repulsive and depraved of naran practices was that of taking lovers from among one’s own sex. Nowhere

in naran society was this vice more celebrated then among the cursed naragi. The carnal appetites of the naran sorcerers is

legendary, with many of them maintaining harems of beautiful boys, both human and naran, for their pleasure.

from:
Demons Among Us
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1390

It was expected that the Crown Prince should come and go from Tantagrel with as much pomp as possible, but Severyn was

not like the princes who had gone before him. His coach bore only a smal imprint of his coat of arms on the door and his outriders

were his friends. It was al the formality he could stand.

Tantagrel was older and much smal er than Lothmont. According to history, it was the true seat of the Lothlain family.

Unquestionably, it was a human city. Not a chunk of cloud-stone was to be found anywhere among its low timber and limestone

buildings. Lothlain House, the royal residence, occupied the city center, surrounded by parks and wide, tree-lined streets.

Timkins and a group of hand-picked servants had gone ahead to make everything ready for their prince’s arrival. He waited at

the enormous front door to take Severyn’s hat and gloves. The marble hal was ablaze with candles and uniformed servants stood

stiffly at their posts, imitating statues.

“Report?”

While servants came to take the outer garments of the others, Timkins brought him up to date, succinctly and in a low voice.

“The list of Petitioners is two hundred names long. Fifty of them are highblood. From the wide variety in their complaints, it appears

your brother is no longer holding formal audiences with anyone other than those in his immediate circle.”

Two hundred? At this rate, if he didn’t overthrow Aramis soon, someone else would! Worse, it would be a month before he had

a chance to return to Shia. “Give me some good news, wil you, Tim?” he asked, sighing.

“There’s peach cream for dessert, Your Highness.”

The two men exchanged glances. Severyn grinned. “Good man.” The servant bowed low and hurried away to attend to other

matters.

Severyn said good-bye to his friends early the next morning and, steeling himself for the coming onslaught, left the house,

crossing the park to the great Petitioner Hal . The Lord Hal master waited just inside, practical y hopping up and down in his anxiety.

“Your Highness! Assembly is in an hour!” he exclaimed, flapping a sheaf of papers at Severyn. “Do you have your address

prepared? If not, I have taken the liberty of preparing…”

“Cancel Assembly,” said Severyn.

Nedby squeaked in horror. “C-cancel?”

“Have you seen the length of the list, man?”

“Y-yes, but… cancel the Assembly?”

“Where’s the list of Petitioners?”

Lord Nedby had been Tantagrel’s Hal master for fifty years. Reeling from the unprecedented break in protocol, the old man

handed it over. As usual, he had ordered people by rank rather than the length of time their petition had been pending. Severyn

handed the list back. “Damn it, Nedby. First come, first served. Re-order the list according to my wishes and I wil see the first

Petitioner in one-half hour.”

It was a long day, made longer by the obvious discontent of his long-suffering Petitioners. Most of the cases should have been

handled by Arami months ago, being matters of highblood inheritance or land disputes. Severyn would have been entirely within his

rights to send them back to Lothmont, but he hadn’t the heart. Nevertheless, with determined focus and a missed lunch, by evening

he’d made considerable headway down the list.

At his late dinner, Timkins reported a much improved atmosphere over in the Petitioner Hal . “I swear to you, Highness, if you

were to declare yourself king tomorrow, most of Tanyrin would be with you.”

“Most, but not al . Lord Harding stil gets his petitions heard at court, as does Anthony Raile. My brother is a fool, but not so

much as to alienate his generals.”

And now there was the Church to worry about, as wel .

The next day went smoothly. Severyn, much encouraged, began to hope he might make his way through the damned list by

the end of the week. He had started to think fondly of dinner when a commotion at the other end of the hal made him look up from

the latest dossier. Instead of his next case, a disgruntled mil er versus the vil age tax col ector, a group of Hunters strode in, ignoring

old Nedby’s attempt to cal them back. In the antechamber behind them, the mil er and tax col ector shouted their protests.

With a start, Severyn recognized one of them. The darkly handsome captain Remy came straight up to the dais and bowed.

His two comrades, lieutenants, bowed from their positions several steps behind him.

“Is there an emergency?” Severyn asked.

“I bring a Petition, Your Highness.”

“Real y? How remarkable! What a pity I’m scheduled to hear the petition of Master George Potts first. I can’t imagine what one

of your Order could need from me.”

He could, of course. Unless he was very mistaken, Severyn knew Arami had done as he’d promised.

“I bring it in the name of the Church. Surely that supersedes the squabble of some commoner?”

Severyn kept his composure with an effort. “In my court, I do things my way. Please see Lord Nedby for a Note of Order. I’l

hear your petition then.”

“I wil be brief, Your Highness.” Remy’s jaw tightened. He, too, was holding on to his temper. “It is a matter of utmost

importance.”

“They usual y are. Nedby?” Severyn straightened, careful y moving aside his open dossier.

“Would you please give Captain Remy a Note? How many more petitioners are in front of him?”

Visibly quaking, the Chamberlain approached, holding out a slip of paper as if expecting to have his hand bitten off. Face

reddening, the Hunter snatched it away. His angry bow was barely more than an incline of his head. Turning on his heel, he strode

from the room. His lieutenants, throwing dark looks over their shoulders, hurried after him.

Severyn sat back. With faint surprise, he realized he had the arms of his chair in a death-grip.

Damn you, Locke.

“Your Highness?” Nedby’s sharp tones brought Severyn back to the present. The earnest, grateful faces of his next petitioners

were arrayed before the dais. He slid the dossier back in front of him and smiled at them as they bowed. “Good afternoon. I do