Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (3 page)

“It is a terrible pity,” he quietly agreed. “Would that we could foresee disaster before it strikes.”

The lad seemed to think about it before he shook his head. “It’s
Aba
’s ill judgment and reckless gaming that killed them. If he hadn’t gambled away his fortune, we would still reside in Nivare and there would have been no need to travel such a treacherous route in the first place.”

Bitterness underlined Tristen’s words and his eyes darkened with anger for a moment before giving way to sorrow once more. Keosqe regarded him with compassion and not a little sadness at Tristen’s painfully earned insight. But before he could respond, Veare hurried up.

“Kes, may I ask a favor of you?” he asked without preamble.

“Anything.”

“There isn’t enough drink to go around. Would you be kind enough to send your people into town and fetch more wine and ale from the vintner?”

Keosqe scanned the room. There were indeed more visitors than usual.

“Of course.”

“And would you mind if I presented you to our guests? It would do me and Tristen a world of good if they saw we still have friends in high places.”

Keosqe felt rather than saw Tristen cringe beside him. Truth be told, he did not enjoy being used as a form of enticement either. But he did not voice his distaste and acquiesced to Veare’s request with as good grace as he could muster. When Veare left to welcome another group of newcomers, he turned to take his leave of Tristen. The youth was frowning with displeasure.

“What is it?” Keosqe asked.

Tristen huffed. “He’s been asking you to do all sorts of things since you arrived, Keosqe-
dyhar
,” he muttered. “And using his connection to you that way—it’s isn’t right.” He shook his head. “I’ve just realized how inconsiderate he can be with you and how much he takes you for granted. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, since you allow it. What I don’t understand is
why
you let him treat you so.”

Tristen’s frown had deepened into a scowl as he listed his brother’s failings. Keosqe could not help feeling grateful to the youth for being indignant on his behalf.

“It’s a habit,” he said.

“A very bad one,” Tristen pointed out.

Keosqe’s mouth tightened. “You’re likely right,” he murmured. Across the room, Veare motioned to him to join him and he rose to his feet. Before he walked away, he smiled at Tristen.

“Thank you, Tris-
min
,” he said, his use of the diminutive term expressing his gratitude to the lad as well as his familiarity with him.

Tristen looked at him in puzzlement. “For what?”

“For caring enough.”

Keosqe fondly ruffled Tristen’s hair, chuckling softly when the latter loudly protested. He left Tristen and joined Veare.

“I think you comforted him well,” Veare said, indicating his brother.

“On the contrary, it was he who consoled me,” Keosqe averred.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nay, it’s nothing.”

Veare stared, obviously baffled. But he quickly seemed to forget about it and proceeded to introduce Keosqe to a number of Deira, all eager to ingratiate themselves with the heir apparent of Sidona’s ruling lord.

Keosqe stifled an impatient sigh. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter 1

Reacquaintance

Rikara in the 3004th year of the Common Age

The afternoon was waning by the time Tristen Marante returned from the State University in Rikara’s north district. He had applied for admission to the venerable institution’s medical college and it had taken nearly the whole day to complete the paperwork. He would have to return for a number of interviews before they would consider placing him on the waiting list. After that, if he did get listed, he would wait a few months before learning if he’d been accepted or refused entrance.

In the meantime, he would use his gap year to hone his inborn skills by assisting the town healer back home. However, if the University accepted his application, he would enroll at once, even if it meant beginning his courses in the second term. The sooner he got started, the sooner he would complete his studies, become an earning physician and cease to be Veare’s dependent. He knew Veare did not resent his reliance on him, but he had an unfortunate habit of harping constantly on the hardships of being his little brother’s guardian and provider. Tristen loved Veare but, oh, how he yearned for the day when he could stand on his own two feet and not be beholden to anyone for his sustenance.

He hailed a public carriage and clambered on board. There were only two other passengers, a father and his child. Tristen took care not to stare at them though the adult piqued his fascination.

The Deir was slender and somewhat rounded of shoulders and there was a delicacy to his features and manner that had naught to do with weakness or refinement but rather effeminacy, an extremely rare trait in the world of Aisen. Verily, he bore all the hallmarks of a throwback to the past, when the Naere, the Deira’s forebears, first came to Aisen and shared it for a while with its indigenous people. The gelra had once walked the very streets of Rikara, male and female alike, before they were assimilated by the Naere and ceased to exist as a race apart.

The Inception it was now called—that period of engineered racial evolution wherein the Naere sought to adapt themselves to the world to which they had fled amidst the death throes of their ancient home. They systematically mated with the gelra, or rather with the males of that now vanished race. For the dual-gendered Naere had no need or liking for the female of the species being themselves capable of conceiving progeny, as well as begetting them on one another.

This selectivity resulted in their evolution into a stronger, more resilient people while retaining the Naere’s longevity and ability to withstand physical hardship. It also ensured that they remained androgynes, though they slowly lost almost all traces of the softer lines and facial features that had heretofore distinguished the Naere from the gelra males. However, it heralded the death knell of the gelra as a race and especially the extinction of female-kind. Ylandre saw the passing of its last female almost two millennia ago. None now existed in any of the five continents of Aisen. But every so often, a Deir would be born bearing the marks of the androgynous Naere and the female gelra of old.

Born with a healer’s instinct and curiosity, Tristen could not help being intrigued by this deviation from the usual. He surreptitiously studied the pair as the carriage rumbled its way down the main avenue of the capital, his would-be physician’s mind tidily tucking away every detail for future retrieval. He wondered if the child would grow up to be like the parent who had sired him or his birthing father—Tristen could not think of the Deir before him as being other than a child bearer. It simply boggled his mind to imagine otherwise. In any case, he came away from the experience all the more certain he was meant for the healing profession.

At length, he disembarked and trudged down the narrow street to the inn where he and Veare were staying for the duration of their fortnight in the capital city. They chose the inn because it was reasonably priced and situated in the east district, rather than the seedy south. The other reason was Keosqe Deilen’s current absence from the city. Had the Sidonan noble been in town, Tristen did not doubt Veare would have asked him to let them stay at his townhome.

He did not tell his brother so, but he’d been relieved to learn Keosqe was away. He was uncomfortable with Veare’s sense of entitlement when it came to asking anything of Keosqe. And there was also the matter of his aversion to being in debt to anyone. Keosqe was Veare’s good friend, but Tristen could not banish the fear that the Deilen heir might one day decide enough was enough and demand recompense for all he’d done for the Marantes.

He reached the inn and, crossing the small front foyer, hastened up the narrow stairs to the second floor of the three-story building. He walked the length of the corridor to the room he shared with Veare—the rear chambers were slightly larger and had wider beds and more spacious closets.

It was a fairly comfortable inn and the owner kept everything spic and span. But like many old establishments, plumbing was primitive. There were three rudimentary bathing rooms on the ground floor—water was brought in daily from the public spigots outside. There was no indoor commode, only an outhouse in back of the building. However the owner did provide washbasins and chamber pots in every room.
Which is more than we could have expected had we been forced to stay in the south district
, Tristen concluded.

Nearing the room, he noticed the door was not completely closed. That meant Veare had not latched it. Tristen shook his head over his brother’s carelessness. He pushed the door open and strode in.

“I’m back, Ve…” He stopped and gaped.

Veare was seated on his bed, a book in hand, and by his side, his head on Veare’s lap and one arm draped across his legs, was Keosqe Deilen. Clad only in a jerkin, close fitting shirt and long breeches, he hardly looked the part of a young lord and even less a cousin to the Ardan Rohyr Essendri, Ylandre’s sovereign. Tristen spotted a pair of fine leather boots on the floor beside Veare’s shoes, while a costly tunic had been flung across his bed. He closed the door without taking his eyes off his brother and their unexpected visitor, who appeared to be fast asleep.

“I thought he was away?” he blurted, looking from Keosqe to Veare.

“He just arrived,” Veare replied. “Indeed, he came straight here from his house when the staff informed him we passed by.”

“I reprimanded them for turning you away.”

Tristen started when Keosqe raised his head to look at him. He regarded the noble with some irritation.

“Why did you do that?” he tartly asked. “They were only doing their duty.”

“But they also know Veare is a very dear friend and that he always stays at the house whenever he’s in Rikara,” Keosqe said.

He sat up and swung his long legs off the bed.

“Well, that’s just fine when you’re in residence,” Tristen pointed out. “Otherwise… I’m sorry, Keosqe-
dyhar
, but I really don’t think it proper to impose on an absentee host.”

Keosqe gazed at him from under slightly lowered lids. For some reason, the searching look brought on a rush of heat into Tristen’s cheeks. He wondered how red his face was and scowled at being made to blush.

“It’s never an imposition if it’s Veare,” Keosqe said at length, standing up. “Or you.” Tristen wondered if he was an afterthought and bristled a little at the idea. “I do understand your discomfort, Tris. However you should set your reservations aside when it’s I you’re dealing with.”

He suddenly grinned. The sight had a surprising effect on Tristen. The noble had always been a prime example of physical attractiveness, but Tristen did not remember being blindsided by his beauty before. He groaned inwardly as he felt his face turn hot once more.

“He’s grown some since I last saw him,” Keosqe remarked to Veare as the latter also got to his feet. “And filled out, too. But he’s still not as tall or well-built as you. It’s rather hard to believe you’re brothers.”

Tristen scowled. “I know I’m not as comely as Veare, but you don’t have to be so rude to say it in front of me!” he huffed.

“Who said you aren’t?” Keosqe asked.

That startled Tristen into momentary speechlessness. “Um, I’ve heard people say so,” he muttered.

“They must be very poor of sight, then.”

Veare beamed. “There, see? I told you not to pay them any mind. Surely Kes is a better judge of beauty than those fools.”

Tristen rolled his eyes. Oh, he was sure Keosqe was a veritable connoisseur if one were to believe Veare’s tales of his conquests. Then again, with looks like his, Tristen doubted Keosqe would have trouble luring any Deir he desired into his lair. Who could possibly resist his compelling violet eyes, silky pale-gold hair, sensuous mouth and swoon-worthy body?

That last train of thought filled him with horror. What in Aisen was he doing dwelling on Keosqe’s attractions? He cast around for something to distract him from such disturbing ideas and the images they conjured.

“Why are you here,
Dyhar
?” he abruptly asked.

“Tris!” Veare said reproachfully.

But Keosqe replied, “I came to invite you and Ver to stay at my house.”

“And I accepted,” Veare added.

“There’s no need for that,” Tristen protested. “We aren’t staying long.”

“I insist,” Keosqe firmly said. “This is no place for a
thein
and his family.”

“He’s right, Tris-
min
,” Veare concurred. “Come, pack your belongings as quickly as you can. Let’s not keep Kes waiting.”

Realizing there was no gainsaying either Deir, Tristen reluctantly acquiesced.

* * * *

When he once visited the Deilen townhouse several years before, Tristen had pondered the absurdity of calling so large a structure thusly. True, it was only about a fifth of the size of the Deilen mansion back in Sidona but that was not surprising given the Sidonan property sat on a huge estate the size of a hamlet. However, the townhouse was considerably bigger than the Marantes’ original home in Nivare and that had been a substantial dwelling. Really, a fourteen-bedroom, six-parlor residence was no mere townhouse, especially when half of those bedrooms were suites, complete with sitting rooms and built-in bathing chambers, two of the parlors served as function rooms for small parties and the main reception hall was so capacious it almost took up one wing of the building.

Many of the lots in the north district were large, allowing Rikara’s affluent residents to build three-or even four-story homes with expansive gardens and spacious stables in back and enough room below the stairs and occasionally up in the attics for the virtual armies of servants needed to maintain such dwellings. Such was the lot of the moneyed of the land. Yet despite childhood memories of wealth and high social standing, Tristen did not feel comfortable in such settings.