Despite his solid tone, his heart jumped when the soldiers fell into lines around them, weapons drawn, their professional scowls leaving no place for any emotions. Diel swallowed hard and followed them to the nearest staircase. His stunned calm eroded as they climbed. His mind browsed through the multitudes of terrible outcomes this attack could have led to. Had Branwen already left when the soldiers had arrived? What did Lord Allastam know, and how long had he been planning this? He’d organized this, obviously, but which Dathirii had he enrolled in his treasonous plot? Diel prayed it wasn’t Yultes. His stepbrother spent a lot of time in House Allastam, and Diel knew he valued them as family, but this coup … it couldn’t be him. Diel refused to believe that. Even if their relationship had worsened over the last month, Yultes wouldn’t go that far.
But despite his best efforts to focus, one question looped ceaselessly to the front of his mind, squeezing his chest so hard it made breathing painful.
Was Jaeger safe? Had they hurt him?
Diel pressed his lips together as they arrived at his office door. He struggled with the idea that a family member had betrayed him, and that he hadn’t foreseen it. But whenever Diel thought about someone striking Jaeger, a thick layer of rage added itself to the guilt. A hostile takeover, he could deal with. Jaeger wounded—hurting—though … not that. Some lines should never be crossed.
He shoved the door open, slamming it against the wall and drawing surprised exclamations from the guards flanking him. They scrambled after him as he strode into his office, Garith slipping behind them. Diel ignored them all, his chin high, his outrage burning strong.
When his eyes fell upon Lord Hellion Dathirii sitting on top of his desk, he stopped. A wave of relief briefly buried his spike of hatred. Diel had been so terrified to find someone he’d thought of as an ally, someone close to him, that his response flew on its own.
“Oh. It’s only you.”
Of course it was Hellion. Who else would even consider superseding all of Isandor’s customs and betraying the implicit trust between family members to organize a coup with their enemies? Who else would dare to call himself Lord Dathirii mere hours after striking against his peers, as if the mantle had always belonged to him? Diel ran a hand through his hair as the guards once more surrounded him, and exhaustion pressed down on his shoulders.
“Desist now, Hellion, and I might be lenient.”
Hellion scowled, anger and incredulity struggling for supremacy in his expression. “Lenient? What do you think is going on here, Diel? You don’t have the power for magnanimity anymore.” He motioned at the soldiers, and they grabbed both Diel and Garith. “I’m in charge now.”
“For how long? House Dathirii won’t let you control it.”
Guards shoved Garith against a wall before Diel continued, and his nephew’s pained moan extinguished his desire to mock Hellion. Every little squirm from Garith dropped a stone in his stomach, a reminder that if he wasn’t careful, others could get hurt in Hellion’s game.
“What foolish deal did you strike, Hellion?” he asked. “You’re Lord of Nothing—we’re no longer nobles, and you’ll be lucky if half the family recognizes you as a leader.”
“They won’t have any choice.” Hellion slid down the desk and strolled to Diel, his smile sweet and confident. “You surrounded yourself with weak sentimentalists, Diel. What do you think they’ll do if they know you’ll pay for their disobedience? What will you do, knowing Jaeger will pay for yours?”
Diel lunged for Hellion, but strong hands squeezed his shoulders and held him back. Blood rushed against his temples, and all of a sudden, the ground seemed distant under his feet. He forced a whistling breath inside and glared at Hellion.
“Where is he?”
Hellion clacked his tongue, and he lowered his gaze to the floor, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Recovering.”
Diel glanced down, and a cold horror crept up his spine as he noticed the blood patterns. He repressed a cry of anger first, then one of anguish. They’d already touched him. He’d been here, waiting for Diel, and they’d attacked him. Hellion moved closer, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You see, Diel, all I really need is to know which levers to pull and to be willing to do it.” He sidestepped and motioned at the desk that had been Diel’s for over a century. “Perhaps you should use it one last time and write a letter of resignation. If you refuse …”
Diel squared his shoulders and glared at Hellion. He wanted to see Jaeger, to hold him into his arms and apologize for everything. “Do you truly believe a piece of paper will give you the power you need? Sure, a handful of friends will call you Lord Dathirii, but it takes more than that to lead. It takes courage and heart, and you seem to have misplaced yours.”
Hellion laughed and wrapped an arm around Diel’s shoulder, as one would an old friend. “This is why you lost, dear cousin. Heart is a hindrance. It takes cunning to rule, and the ruthlessness to see your plans through. Now … I’ve already punished Jaeger once for his stubbornness. You wouldn’t want me to punish him for yours, would you?”
Diel closed his eyes, struggling to cool his rising panic and think through his options. His heart urged him to yield now and spare Jaeger another beating—to give in to Hellion’s demand and resign. Who cared about the title if it meant sacrificing his beloved? Except … why would Hellion abandon his leverage over Diel, even after becoming the official Head of the House? Resigning gave him a free pass to do whatever he pleased and no obligations to free Jaeger. He would continue to use him against Diel to keep him in check. Giving up never solved anything. Jaeger had already known that—what other stubbornness would Hellion have punished him for? Stepping down offered no protection to Jaeger, only guilt at being used. Diel had to believe that because his heart shrivelled as he met Hellion’s gaze.
“Your terms aren’t good enough,” he whispered.
Hellion’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed a small “what?” Diel gritted his teeth, and apologized to Jaeger in his mind before clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders. In a single breath, all the prestige and countenance acquired over years as Lord Dathirii—Head of an old and noble house, proud representative of his family—all of it flowed into him as he declared loudly and firmly, “Your terms aren’t good enough.”
Before either of them could add anything, a third voice joined the conversation—snide and self-satisfied, the same that had led the charge against him today, and from which Diel had hoped to be freed for a time.
“His terms are too generous.” Lord Allastam strode into the office and sniffed with disdain as he examined his surroundings. “Thankfully, Diel’s fate has already been decided.”
“Milord?”
Hellion obviously didn’t know what that meant, and his confusion alarmed Diel. He threw his cousin an annoyed glare. Didn’t he plan any protection against Lord Allastam? Anything to ensure he’d retain control over the Dathirii Tower despite the soldiers now overrunning it? Diel pinched the bridge of his nose, a terrible headache ensnaring his mind. This situation could only worsen, and he had little say in anything.
“Out with it, will you?” he said. “I’m here, I’m defenceless, and I have absolutely no patience for games and charades. Assuming you also double-crossed Hellion—”
“He didn’t—”
Lord Allastam’s bark-like laugh cut off Hellion’s protest. “Of course I did. Partially. Nothing you need to worry about, my friend,” he added for Hellion’s sake. “Focus on pulling your finances upright, and you’ll have my support. A seat on the Golden Table should be well within your reach.” He waved his hand midair as if to dismiss the topic. “Was the Brasten freak here, Hellion?”
“I’m afraid not. He must have left the tower.”
“You bet your ass he did,” Garith said, his voice muffled as the soldiers pressed his face against the wall. He fought to look over his shoulder and glare at Hellion, and Lord Allastam motioned for them to ease up. Garith turned around, rubbing
his jaw. “Too bad neither of you two despicable worms know where to.”
A thin smile reached Diel’s lips. Garith had always struggled with staying silent, and while insults wouldn’t help, they soothed him. It would take more than being shoved against a wall to crush his family’s fighting spirit. The answer amused Lord Allastam, who pushed the tip of his cane against Garith’s chest.
“We will soon enough,” he said. “Thankfully, I’m sending your uncle to a master of information extraction. He was quite adamant to have that as a clause in our brand new deal.”
A new deal? Diel scowled, but his expression turned to a horrified grimace as Branwen’s long and detailed rants about what Master Avenazar could do—how he’d dug through Varden’s mind to discover she’d been in the enclave—flooded back. Information extraction. A tame way to put it. What had Lord Allastam said, when Diel had first come to him for soldiers? That he regretted not forging an alliance with the Myrians, and that neutrality was the best Lord Dathirii could expect of him. His legs weakened, and for an instant, Diel believed they would give underneath him.
“No … You’re …” He couldn’t say it, could barely form the thought.
“Oh, but yes.”
“You’re sending me to my death.”
Diel’s voice broke. Not just any death, either. His mind blanked, words failing him, and he turned towards Garith. Pale and shaky, his nephew leaned on the nearest guard for support.
Hellion stepped forward, flustered, no longer smiling. “Lord Allastam, that was never part of the deal!”
His meagre protest was brushed aside with a dismissive wave. “You did not specify anything. Care to stop me, Lord Hellion? Think you can?” Silence followed—an admission of defeat from Hellion. “Don’t forget to whom you owe your new position, or I might leave with the guards. Your brother would love that.”
If Diel needed one more piece of proof Hellion had unwittingly sold House Dathirii to the Allastams, that was it. They had trapped him, and he was about to be shipped like vulgar cargo in a trade. How had they fallen so low? Diel closed his eyes, fighting his rising nausea and tears. He could cry when they dumped him alone in a cell. For now, he must stay strong. Garith was watching him, and his nephew would need courage in the coming days. Besides, he had one important thing to do before they sent him away.
“Please let me see Jaeger.” Diel clenched his fist then unfurled it slowly, forcing calm and control back into his voice. “One last time.”
Lord Allastam allowed several seconds to trickle by before he answered, each of them an eternity to Diel.
“Granted,” the noble said, “but let’s get this over with. Your escort is waiting.”
✵
Pain lanced through Jaeger’s body, supplied by dozens of bruises and cuts. He sat on his bed, pressing a bloodied rag to his nose, staring ahead. He had too many wounds to count, and yet none hurt as much as the cold numbness in his mind. He couldn’t think, couldn’t formulate a plan to warn the other Dathirii or a way to be useful. His brain had shut down, obliterated by the acute pain at the base of his skull, as if someone had run a nail through it. Anything except staying awake, seated, and silent was now beyond his ability.
How long had they stayed alone in this room? A few minutes? Hours? Hard to tell when pain stretched seconds into an eternity, or when his mind blanked and extensive lapses of time passed in a blink. Yultes had remained with him, fussing over his wounds, switching between apologies and justifications. His excuses had petered out after a blank stare from Jaeger, but despite the burning sense of betrayal swirling at the bottom of his stomach, the silent company helped the steward’s mood. When little remained to be done, Jaeger looked out the window. The sun was gone now. Winter nights came so early. Yultes must have caught his glance outside because he squeezed his shoulder.
“He’ll be fine.”
Yultes’ tone held no conviction—he was too pessimist by nature for that. Jaeger was preparing to repeat the words with more certainty when the door to his quarters opened.
And there was Diel, small and pale, his smile forced and unconvincing. It vanished the instant he noticed the swollen eye, split lips, and countless bruises. Jaeger cast his gaze down, unable to quell his shame.
“Yultes, if we could have a moment?” Diel asked.
Yultes jumped to his feet, hurrying across the room, toward Diel and the door. He slowed down as he passed him and cleared his throat. “Diel, I … I didn’t plan this with him, I swear, and I tried to stop …”
Diel tore his eyes from Jaeger, turning to Yultes. His shoulders tightened, and Jaeger thought he saw anger and hope flash through his expression. Hard to tell, which was perhaps the most surprising part of this. When had Diel ever been so controlled?
“The second desk is yours, isn’t it?”
A pause. Yultes looked away. “Yes.”
“Make good use of it. Hellion may give orders, but you execute them. Think about how much power is in your hands now and what you want to do with it.” He waited until Yultes raised his head and met his gaze. Did Diel trust him to differentiate between right and wrong? Jaeger doubted Yultes even trusted himself—he’d always referred to Hellion’s dangerous advice when faced with problems. “I know you can be a great architect, Yultes. It’s up to you to decide what you build.”
Yultes stared at his stepbrother, shaken and uncertain. “I-I’ll leave you alone.”
He hurried out as Diel thanked him. Something in his love’s tone pushed Jaeger’s exhaustion away, clearing his mind of the cobwebs of pain. Tears. He could hear the tears Diel refused to shed in the thickness of his voice. They flowed the moment Yultes closed the door behind him, a heavy and rapid flood. So much for composure—Diel had barely held it together, forcing a fake and fragile strength to the surface for Yultes’ sake. There was no need for that between the two of them. Jaeger tried to stand, but pain shot through his back and glued him to the bed.
“Don’t move!” Diel hurried his side, climbed on the mattress, and knelt next to Jaeger. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then ran his thumb over Jaeger’s split lip, his expression hardening. “Hellion did this to you.”
Jaeger picked up Diel’s hand and squeezed it, ignoring the jolts of pain through his body. He smiled at his own earlier defiance. “He wanted me to call him Lord Dathirii.”
Diel responded with the expected chuckle. A weak, bitter one, but a chuckle nonetheless. It didn’t last. “I don’t have long, Jaeger. Please, look at me.”
Jaeger forced himself to meet Diel’s eyes. He knew the green he perceived differed from everyone else’s, but Jaeger loved to think Diel’s eyes were unique to him. No one saw them like he did, and no one ever would. If only they weren’t filled with fear and sadness.
“I’m okay, Diel. I’m okay.”
“Liar.” Diel gathered his courage with a deep breath. The spectre of terrible news hovered between them, and Jaeger willed time to stop, to keep the inevitable blow away. “Lord Allastam pulled strings behind Hellion’s back. As part of a new deal with the Myrian enclave, he is sending me to Avenazar.” Jaeger’s heart squeezed, and he started to say something, but Diel put a finger on his lips. “Let me finish. Please, I need you to hear this.”
His voice cracked. Jaeger leaned closer, enduring the stinging pain every movement caused. He resisted the urge to pull Diel into his arms—they ought to do this face to face. It … it sounded like goodbyes. A confused laugh escaped Diel, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m such a mess, I don’t know where to start,” he said. “I want to thank you. Thank you for the hundred forty years together, for being there and being you. I don’t understand how I ever deserved you. I hope … if I never make it back, I hope there will be someone else for you. Just stay safe, okay? You need to make it through this.” Diel paused to wipe his tears again. Jaeger squeezed his hand. He wanted to protest even considering Diel might not return, but denying it wouldn’t make the danger vanish. He woul
dn’t waste their time with such words. Diel had to know he was thinking them. “I would ask one last favour, too. Hellion isn’t forever. This family … it has always been yours, too, and Garith and Branwen will need your help. I meant for them to lead. I groomed Garith to handle diplomatic meetings and numbers, and Branwen to discover and love the city beyond its politics. She’s the decisive one, and I trust her to understand the right thing to do. This won’t be easy for them—not for anyone—but if I know you’re there …”
“I will be. Of course I will be.” They’d become his only family fifty years ago when his parents had moved away from Isandor and farther south. Jaeger had no idea where else he’d go.
Diel closed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to leave.”
Jaeger stared at Diel in silence, trying to think of something to say, of words that could encompass the growing void inside of him. His strength was slipping out of this new hole, vanishing as his mind slowly accepted the idea he might lose Diel. So much had seemed unreal today, from Yultes’ help to Hellion’s betrayal and the brutal attack that had followed, but through it all, he’d always known he at least had Diel. Not anymore, not for long.
“Diel, I …”
Jaeger gave up on words. When had speeches been his strength anyway? Stubborn pride and pushing his limits for Diel—that, he could do. He hooked trembling fingers in Diel’s outfit and pulled him closer, ignoring his screaming muscles to press their lips together. Jaeger had wanted to tell him it wasn’t about deserving someone—that he’d loved every moment by his side, every laugh and caress, every crisis and every new flutter of Diel’s heart. He had loved watching their dynamics change and evolve as a third joined their romantic lives, to see Diel happy and be the frequent source of it, to grow with him. His time with Diel and his family had brought him more than he could put into words, and Jaeger knew better than to try. He held onto Diel, clinging to his clothes and to the warmth of his kiss, until he found himself crying too. Jaeger didn’t want him to go either. He needed some hope to hang onto. He drew back, his mind reaching for the first sliver of it he could imagine.
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