by A. C. Smyth
“I…” The words caught in Sylas’s throat. He tried to steady his voice. “I think if you do, you have decided you are Irenthi, more than you are changer.”
Casian frowned, his fingers stopping their stroking. Sylas was glad they had stopped, and yet wanted them to continue.
“So you are changer more than you are Chesammos? Do you feel forced to choose?”
“What do you think?” Sylas winced at the bitterness in his voice. “The Chesammos are going against the king, trying to kill his sons. They are causing trouble between the Aerie and the lord holders. I am damned by the colour of my skin as soon as I walk into a room. If I can be a changer, I can escape that. I can be accepted. At least as much as a changer can be accepted.”
“But you have such lovely skin,” Casian said, his fingers wandering once more, loosening the ties further to reveal Sylas’s chest with its dark red markings. “It is the colour of dark honey heated slowly over a flame. And your eyes—your eyes are like knotted braele wood. You are such a beautiful man.” Sylas shivered as Casian’s fingertips made their way down his chest, tracing the red dots of blood elder. Casian smiled at the expression on his face.
“And you, you have hair like the moon.” The moment he said it he felt he had betrayed Jaevan. That was what he had thought about Jaevan when they first met. He had sworn Jaevan his loyalty, but Casian had his love, his heart, his desire.
Sylas had a momentary feeling of disquiet. Ayriene had only just left. She trusted him. But oh, the feeling as Casian’s lips caressed his skin. It was so warm in their room. His skin heated and he could feel the beginnings of a sheen of sweat, the moistness of Casian’s breath. He had a momentary pang of guilt as Pietrig’s face swam before his, then a moan caught in his throat as Pietrig was forgotten. Casian’s hands and mouth coaxed the response from him; he let instinct drive him. It would be so sweet to submit. So sweet.
If Sylas had not needed to give Jaevan the potion that evening, he would have stayed curled up beside Casian, enjoying the feel of skin on skin. As it was, he had to wash and dress before attending the prince. Casian would have to go with him—Sylas was not allowed out of the room by himself, far less to see Jaevan—but Casian was sound asleep when Sylas rolled out of bed and studied himself in the mirror above the wash bowl.
He poured water into the bowl and examined his reflection more closely. The marks of Casian’s nails showed red on his shoulder. There was salve in his pack that would help them heal, but they would do as they were for now. He lathered the soap, then paused before applying it to his face. Casian said he was beautiful—if that description could even apply to a man—but when Sylas looked in the mirror all he saw was the hated golden skin. Yet Casian cared for him and he—his stomach turned over—he loved Casian.
He glanced at the bed. It was empty, the covers pushed back. Casian stood behind Sylas in a silk robe, watching him in the mirror. He rested his hands on Sylas’s hips.
“You’ve been looking at yourself for ages. I never took you for the vain type.” He kissed the nape of Sylas’s neck. The fabric felt smooth and sheer against Sylas’s back. He had never owned a garment so fine, and for it to be a chamber gown, not to be worn outdoors, made it all the more luxurious.
“I was thinking.”
“About me?”
Sylas snorted. “Now who’s vain?” Casian’s face in the mirror took on a look of disappointment. “Of course about you. Who else would I be thinking about?” Other than Jaevan, maybe.
“Did you miss me?”
What sort of question was that? “Of course.”
“You could stay here, you know. With me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway.”
“No, but when Jaevan is being tutored and does not need his potions any more, you will be off. You have been here, what? Ten days? Two weeks? When did you last stay so long in one place with her? When will I see you again?”
It was true. They rarely stayed more than a day or two in any one place, and Ayriene preferred towns and villages over the cities. She preferred to tend those folk with no regular healer than city dwellers with ready access to herbalists and apothecaries.
“I am an apprentice healer. I go where my mistress goes.”
Casian looked at him in the mirror, watching the blade scrape stubble from his face.
“I came to Banunis with no servant. My old servants were taken into my father’s household while I was at the Aerie, and he did not offer me anyone when I left. It is not seemly that a man of my status should be unattended. Stay with me. Be my manservant and let us be together.”
Sylas splashed cold water onto his face, turning this way and that to check he had not missed anywhere. “I have an obligation to Mistress Ayriene.”
Casian snorted. “And has she let you tend to anyone yet? Or do you just carry her books and boil leaves for her?”
“I do what I am capable of. I still have much to learn.”
“And in the meantime you draw her pictures. Does she mean to make you a healer, or are you with her to get you out of the council’s sight?”
That plunged a blade deep into Sylas’s own insecurities. He had stitched and bound wounds, and applied poultices, but little more. Did Ayriene not trust him with anything more complex? He shook himself. She trusted him to give Jaevan the elder root potion; she must trust him. But yet, he only had to give a goblet of potion once a day—a potion he had made with her watching for errors.
“I want to be a healer. I want to show the council that I am good for something.”
“Oh, you are good for something. I can vouch for that.” Casian’s eyes twinkled in the mirror and Sylas let his gaze fall to the wash bowl. He was flushing again; he could feel the heat in his cheeks. Was that all he was to Casian? A willing bedmate? Whenever Sylas mentioned his ambitions, his desires, Casian laughed them off as unimportant.
“I want you to stop marking. I have taken careful inventory of all the marks on your chest, so don’t think I won’t notice. I don’t want to risk those side-effects you mentioned, not now I have you to myself at last.” The heat spread to Sylas’s neck and Casian laughed out loud. “Will you never grow out of that? Not that it’s not endearing, in its own way.”
“What about your father?”
Casian shrugged. “I told you. He does not want any child of mine to inherit Lucranne, and he encourages our relationship since no potential heirs will come of it.”
“I will think about it,” Sylas said. He really did want to continue studying with Ayriene. A trade of his own would make him more secure than being Casian’s body servant, especially since he was afraid Casian would tire of him in time. The novelty of a Chesammos lover would fade and then Sylas would be left in service with no prospect of anything better. Maybe turned out of Lucranne service altogether and forced to take whatever menial job he could find to keep himself. He would not end up shovelling shit in the streets of Banunis, not if he could help it.
But that churning feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he loved Casian and wanted to be with him. With Casian’s arms around him he felt secure—as if he were where he was meant to be. So why did the thought of staying with Casian make him so uneasy?
He turned, brushing Casian’s hands from his hips and offering the Irenthi a quick kiss. “I have to get dressed and go give Jaevan his brew. And so must you, since I am not trusted beyond the doorway on my own.”
And as he tugged on his homespun tunic and breeches, he wondered how his life had taken this strange turn. And where it would end up.
Sylas and Casian went to the royal apartments, Sylas’s mind still spinning with unfamiliar emotions and future possibilities. His dream of staying at Banunis seemed a heartbeat away, but only at the cost of disappointing Ayriene, giving up his healer training and ultimately his dreams of b
ecoming a changer. If he completed his training, would Casian be waiting when he came back, or would a new toy have taken his place?
As if Casian could read his thoughts, the Irenthi laid a hand on his arm. Sylas jumped, and the potion slopped around the goblet, a drop or two escaping and running down the edge of the goblet to stain his hand. In the dim light, it looked like blood. Sylas shuddered. Next time he would bring it in the stoppered flask. In his current mood, he was all too likely to spill it. He remembered the ink in the library. It seemed Jaevan made him prone to spilling things.
He observed Casian out of the corner of his eye, the Irenthi’s movements silky and catlike, the beginnings of a beard on his cheeks. Sylas would have thought him unattainable, this heir to a great house, had he not just spent the last several hours in his bed. Casian caught his eye and smiled. Omena’s wings, maybe the man could read his mind. Was it certain Casian was not an empath, or were Sylas’s thoughts so obvious?
Jaevan’s face lit up when he saw Sylas. The young prince was truly worthy of being described as beautiful, but still a boy. Casian was a man, taller and broader, if not as stunning in looks.
“It is time for the blood elder, Highness.” Casian was always so proper. Sylas would have used Jaevan’s name and Casian likely knew it. He could not resist emphasising the differences between them, and Sylas’s disregard for propriety made him look like an ill-mannered oaf beside Casian. But at the Aerie, Casian had made a point of using the masters’ names without their titles whenever he could get away with it. With the masters, Sylas had always minded his manners.
“Can I try it first?” He took a sip and pulled a face. “Ayriene warned me it was vile. I’m going to add some of this,” Jaevan held out a pot of honey with a wooden honey-dipper. He added a lot of honey, stirring with the dipper. He still had a boy’s sweet tooth, and he licked the drips from his fingers like a child. “Marklin says he wants to be a changer too, but I’ve told him he has to drink nasty medicine each night if he is. I think he’s reconsidering. Father would certainly prefer if he were not a changer, I think. Especially after Rannon.” His face clouded at the thought of his little brother, and Sylas thought he saw a hint of tears in his eyes. “Is Father still keeping it secret about me?”
“I think so,” said Sylas. “Although if you go to the Aerie to study, he may not be able to.”
“Many children from the noble houses of the mainland come to the Aerie to study, Highness, and they are not changers,” Casian said. “It is a sign of high social status for them to finish their education there. Your father will have it be known that you are building diplomatic ties, and no one will think any different. Or if they suspect, they will hold their tongues for fear of causing trouble between your houses.”
“I suppose so,” Jaevan said, raising the goblet to his mouth and taking a mouthful. He winced, then drained it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It is still vile, even with honey. Maybe I should give Marklin a taste to put him off his wild ideas. But I think it would be worth it, to fly like a bird.” Jaevan became wistful. “Tell me what it is like to fly.”
Casian told him. He had flown many more times than Sylas, and his first form of a great white owl with a stripe of dark grey across wings and feathers was truly remarkable. If that were his lower form, Sylas wondered, what would his higher form be? An eagle, maybe? Sylas was sure Casian could be one of the great changers given the chance. Sylas could not comprehend why Jesely had held him back.
Sylas offered a few comments, but mostly Casian spoke, with Jaevan dreamily speculating what his bird form might be. He would like to be an owl like Casian, he thought, but if that was as rare as they said, then a crow like Sylas might not be so bad. It was with Casian telling him of swooping and soaring and joining with the kye that the young prince’s eyelids drooped and finally closed altogether.
As they crept out of the prince’s bedchamber, nodding to the guard on the door when he asked if Jaevan slept, Sylas hoped that Ayriene would be back soon. For his first experience of acting as a healer without Ayriene’s supervision to be on the crown prince of Chandris was intimidating, to say the least. Even with Casian there, Sylas was uncomfortably aware of the responsibility.
Three days at the outside, she had said. He hoped she was right.
Chapter 26
The Aerie’s reply arrived in the afternoon while Casian and Sylas were otherwise occupied. Casian had bribed the messenger to convey the message only to him, and so it was late evening, after they had administered Jaevan’s potion, when Casian called at Deygan’s apartments.
“How dare they refuse me?” The table shook under Deygan’s fist, sending ripples across the surface of the red wine in his goblet.
Up till now, Casian had thought Deygan not weak, exactly, but certainly not anyone to fear. Now, standing before him and feeling the blast of his anger, he knew Deygan was not to be trifled with. He still thought the plan might work, however. A tired Deygan intoxicated after his nightly flagon of wine should, in theory, be more easily compelled than one in full possession of his wits.
“They say changers are always welcome in the Aerie, Sire, and that those who sought sanctuary from Cellondora denied any involvement in the act against you and your sons.”
Casian had heard the accounts of the destruction of the village from the messenger’s own lips, and they had turned his stomach. The survivors told of children spitted, women with their heads dashed open, bodies strewn through the village. Elyta had used her talent to truth-tell them, the messenger told Casian. It had happened as they said.
“They would deny it, wouldn’t they? I gave orders for the whole bloody village to be killed as an example. What sort of an example does it give if I allow them to hide at the Aerie?”
“There were old people and women among the survivors, Sire. I am sure they had no part in it.” Two of the escaped changers were far advanced in years, and had spent time in the infirmary recovering from the flight. One of the changers who had left Cellondora had never reached the Aerie. She had been old, too. The survivors believed she flew herself to death crossing the desert.
“No part, you say? Yet were they ignorant of it? If they knew of it and did nothing, they are as guilty as the rest. The whole damn village was a rats’ nest of rebels. The Aerie cannot do this with no fear of retribution or they make a laughing-stock of me.”
“The Aerie are arrogant, Sire. They believe they have as much influence over the island as you do, maybe more.” Casian hesitated. This next step would remove him from the changers forever. “Your people mutter that the Aerie were behind the attack on Your Majesty and his sons, Sire. They ask how simple desert Chesammos could have sufficient knowledge to use poison against you. They look at the healer in your court, and they ask questions.”
Deygan’s eyes hardened and Casian wondered if he had pushed his talent too far. The king was open to suggestion against the Chesammos and the Aerie, and Casian’s compulsions found fertile soil. He had not as yet established how far Deygan had turned against Ayriene, but the king absorbed the idea that Ayriene plotted against him like water into cloth.
“My people ask this? They think I am being duped by the healer?”
Casian spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“What do they know, Sire? If you believe in Ayriene and her abilities—believe her to have acted in good faith towards you and your sons, then you know best, of course. But they wonder that she had with her a Chesammos who knew the attackers. That the Chesammos had knowledge of the poison used—”
“Enough!” Deygan roared. “The Aerie think they can outwit me. Well, I won’t have it! I won’t, I say!”
“Indeed, Sire. It does seem to me, though, that Sylas was used as a dupe in this. He has a genuine affection for your son, and I do not believe him directly involved.”
Deygan waved his protestations
away. “The boy is of no importance. If he pleases you for the moment he can be dealt with later. It is the masters who are a danger to me. Do you have the men ready, Casian? Are they ready to march on the Aerie?”
“They are, Sire. Three companies of foot and horse will be ready to march in the morning, and the machines with them. If the Aerie will not hand over the traitors we will take them by force.”
“Thank the Creator I have a loyal liege man who has set aside his own unfortunate nature to serve me. If they surrender, Casian, you shall lead them. I will have Donmar’s head on the Banunis city gates and you will lead an Aerie loyal to me, and answerable to the King of Chandris in perpetuity.”
Unfortunate nature, indeed! Deygan had tried to persuade Casian to renounce changing altogether. While Casian had, he hoped, given the indication of agreement, he had stopped short of promising that he would no longer transform. It was too useful to him, and besides, he enjoyed it. The sensation of flight, as he had explained to Jaevan, was truly indescribable to one who had never experienced it. He did not intend to set it aside, even for Deygan, but he would have to be discreet about its use. Everything was coming together nicely. Very nicely indeed.