The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  The silence after his words was terrible. Zev had no idea what to say. The expression he’d seen on Tiral’s face in the shuttle was back and worse than before. Now he wasn’t just masking sadness; he was masking a feeling more terrible, one that Zev struggled to name.

  “I love you, and you would rather have a tawdry affair and never see me again than declare it back to me.” Tiral exhaled and shook his head, clearly reading rejection into Zev’s silence. “I am not enough, something in me drives away men that I love. What more is there to say? I am worse than a tragic hero in one of those melodramatic plays that are so popular now. At least their love was returned. Mine was not, is not.”

  “No…” Zev breathed, caught between horror and guilt. There was no way that Tiral could be blaming himself for Zev’s own failings. He’d seemed so accepting about their liaison at the house. He’d even seemed eager for what he now termed a tawdry affair. Acute danger did have a way of sharpening the mind.

  “I suppose I’m grateful that I at least am not physically repugnant to you as well,” Tiral said. “But, I own, being emotionally snubbed feels worse.”

  Zev wanted to reach for him, but he was all the way across the room, and the expression on Tiral’s face said only that he was resigned to his fate, which he saw as being unwanted, unloved, and alone.

  The words came out of him as though drawn from impossibly far away.

  “But I do love you,” Zev said.

  Tiral blinked, his expression adorably shocked. “What?”

  21

  Tiral was sure that, after all the shocks he’d gone through recently, he was going mad. He blinked at Zev, but Zev’s expression remained unchanged. The man looked as though he’d been stabbed, his expression open and surprised.

  “I love you,” Zev repeated. “Dearly. In all my years, I never thought I would meet someone who I felt this way for. I want you, yes, but I love you, too.”

  Aware that his mouth was open and he was gaping in shock, Tiral strove to think of anything to say to such an open declaration.

  “I love you, too, you know,” he repeated, feeling dazed.

  “I know, and I’m sorry that my own affection has been kept so close that you could ever believe I hold you in anything less than the highest esteem,” Zev said. He moved closer at the words, striding across the room in a rush. Kneeling before Tiral, he gripped Tiral’s clasped hands tightly in his own.

  “I don’t understand,” Tiral said, then swallowed until he could speak without his voice cracking. “You love me and thought it fine that I believed you to feel only… lust? Lust and no more than passing friendship?”

  “I thought you understood that without being able to offer you marriage, I dared not speak my true feelings,” Zev said.

  “Marriage!” Tiral spat. He pulled his hands out of Zev’s and fisted them on his thighs. “Were you so afraid that I was after your fortune? That I was some fortune-hunter who only wanted to serve my own needs?”

  “No,” Zev breathed, shaking his head, but Tiral felt the anger of all his unrequited longing burning in his chest. He knew he should be celebrating that his love returned his affections, but all he could think was how unhappy he’d been. How it felt like Zev had left him to his loneliness rather than utter words that would have saved them both the ache of miserable solitude.

  “I am still alone,” Tiral said, realizing the truth as he spoke. He reached out and cupped Zev’s face. Even if Zev loved him, it changed few things about their situation. “You will not marry me and without that promise, how can I believe you are serious in your affections? We might have a few months together, even a few years, but what security is there in that for me? I will be left again, and look the fool again, with the only difference that this time I am older and wiser and should have known better.”

  Zev shook his head and then leaned into Tiral’s palm. His face felt hot, and Tiral could feel his jaw clench in some unnamed emotion.

  “I cannot promise you marriage. It is not in me. I can promise you fidelity and love — even money if you'll allow me to help you hold fast to what's yours.”

  “I desire the security of a promise, before everyone, that you will love me and cherish me until death,” Tiral said, heart aching with an emotion between anger and acceptance. “I desire someone who is willing to stand up and tell me that. It was my love for you, and my lack of love for Yun, that proved to me that I deserve that.”

  Shaking his head, Zev drew back, standing and turning his back on Tiral. From the stiffness in his shoulders, Tiral knew something great was weighing on him. After a long moment, he said, “You do deserve that. You deserve someone eager to marry you and have your lifelong companionship.”

  Watching Zev in agony, Tiral wanted to take back his angry words, but he knew he couldn’t. They were too hard-won. He could not live his life by halves anymore. If he had to give up his earldom to find a full life with love and happiness in it, he would.

  “I once almost married,” Zev said, his voice quiet.

  Tiral strained to hear.

  “It was years ago, when I was little more than a boy,” Zev continued. “I’d come to Lus because that was what one did, if one was a wealthy bachelor in search of a spouse. The company had recently begun to be successful. We were still just a local shipping company, but we had the potential to be what we are today.”

  Zev was still turned away from him, but his words grew stronger. He spoke with a sort of control that meant he was hiding some larger emotion that Tiral hesitated to name.

  He was aware that at any moment they were going to be interrupted. One of their kidnappers was going to return and they’d be left with a half-finished conversation and the ache of knowing that someone else had heard their most intimate secrets.

  “Zev,” Tiral said, clearing his throat. “When we get out of here, you’ll tell me the story.”

  Zev turned, his brow furrowed, but he swallowed down whatever feeling he’d had and nodded. Tiral knew that they had to have their conversation, but they couldn’t exist in that tense emotional state if they were to survive.

  “And if it’s a good enough explanation, I might even forgive you,” Tiral joked, lightly.

  With a snort, Zev went back to searching for anything to use to pry open the door.

  “So all it took was the promise of a story to revive you,” Zev said mildly.

  “All it took was a promise of an explanation from you,” Tiral corrected. “How are we going to get out of this fix?”

  “Without getting killed,” Zev added.

  “I thought that went without saying,” Tiral said. “Getting killed would rather defeat the purpose, don’t you think? How are we to spend the next week in bed if we are in separate coffins?”

  “So if one of us is in a coffin or we are both in the same coffin that would be fine?” Zev asked.

  “It would certainly solve the logistical problems, although I’ll admit necrophilia leaves me on somewhat unhappy terms with my stomach,” Tiral said. “I think the only solution is that we both survive and then explore your predilections at a later date.”

  “My predilections,” Zev said. “Now see here —”

  Tiral stood and pulled Zev closer. His whole body sang with the knowledge that he could do so now. “Is the door mechanical at all or merely strong?”

  “As far as I can tell, it’s merely a well-built door,” Zev said. “Although it does ring as though made of metal.”

  “Well, if it’s mechanical we can hack it, but I’ll admit, brute force is not my forte. I’m much more of an academic than a sportsman.”

  “You forget that I’ve seen you down to your shirtsleeves repairing a flyer,” Zev said. “And I find that falsehood hard to swallow.”

  “Although I may look the part, I’ve never been cast in such a role,” Tiral said primly. He knew his smile gave him away, but he strove to keep as much of his amusement to himself as possible.

  “I know flummery when it’s told directly to my face
,” Zev said. He turned more serious after a moment. “I think that we will need to use our strength to get out of this mess.”

  Tiral bit his lip. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of losing you after gaining you just now.”

  “I love you,” Zev said. “We will survive this.”

  “Promise me,” Tiral said.

  “I promise that we’ll survive this hell and laugh about it later,” Zev said obediently.

  “Well, that’s a stretch,” Tiral said. “After all, we’re neither one of us great comedians.”

  At that, Zev did laugh, and said, “Now I know you’re funning, but that is the most base bit of nonsense I’ve ever heard. Find something to help me pry at the door with.”

  They searched the room and found that, short of breaking the furniture, there was no helpful crowbar lying around or anything stronger than the fireplace poker, and even that turned out to be more decoration than help when it bent after they attempted to pry the door.

  “I think we might be forced to take your position and simply wait,” Zev said unhappily.

  Tiral hummed and continued knocking on the door, trying to determine if it was mechanical or simply metal. His search was cut short when the door was opened from the other side.

  “Ah, Lord Gret,” a man said. His voice was familiar and the accent niggled at Tiral’s memory. “I’m pleased that we were able to finally meet.”

  Tiral wished he was strong enough to immediately push past the man, but the man’s politeness stayed him. The man was speaking as though they were in a ballroom and it was hard to ignore those ingrained habits.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” Tiral said, a frown marring his brow.

  “Of course,” the man said and made an appropriately low bow. “Vee Ollir, at your service.”

  “I can’t say that our acquaintance is best served by the kidnapping,” Tiral said mildly. “Perhaps we can meet at my house back on Lus where I’ll be happy to speak on whatever topics are so important that you’ve felt the need to incarcerate us.”

  “Better yet, let’s talk now,” Ollir said. His smile turned menacing as he looked at where Zev had been slowly making his way towards them. “I’m afraid, Mister Yuls, that I’ll have to ask you to wait here.”

  Ollir jerked his head and someone came from behind him with a raised gun. Ollir gestured Tiral out of the room with an open hand and left the other man standing in the doorway, a clear threat to both of them. Tiral had no choice but to follow.

  22

  Tiral followed his host down the hallway, aware of the man at his back holding a gun and the one that they’d left behind, threatening Zev. He tried to focus on details that would save him: how far they’d gone, what he could see through the open doors they passed. He realized that either they were in a private area, or Ollir had enough power that he’d cleared the rooms of anyone who wasn’t one of his gun-toting accomplices.

  The rooms were well-appointed, and from what he could tell no expense had been spared on either furniture or decoration. There were either some very expensive prints, or originals of some paintings that Tiral knew for a fact didn’t leave their museums, hanging on the walls. With a shake of his head, Tiral focused again on Ollir.

  He realized that he’d met the man before. At the garden party, certainly, and then again at the masquerade. What he’d taken for the rotund figure of a wealthy lordship more used to eating than physical exertion, he now realized was likely the thick muscle of one who was more used to giving and taking a beating. Tiral swallowed and called on all his skills to keep his face neutral.

  Opening a door on the far end of the hall, Ollir ushered him in. The office was large, decorated in deep reds and dark woods that gave it the impression of being an older man’s office. Ollir sat behind his desk, throwing his feet up on it so that Tiral could see the bottom of his boots. Ollir looked at ease.

  Glancing at the man behind him with the gun, Tiral took a seat, and waited for Ollir to begin. He refused to look around the room again, aware that Ollir was used to using the massive space to overwhelm anyone sitting before him. He’d seen some incredibly overcompensating offices in his time, but this one was the most extreme; he was aware of how the high ceilings and large portrait of Ollir on the wall behind the man himself towered over them and gave the distinct impression that Tiral was very small.

  “Want a drink?” Ollir finally offered, gesturing. The man with the gun rushed to the sideboard, holstering his weapon, and made one drink, which he presented to Ollir.

  “No, thank you,” Tiral said.

  “Pity,” Ollir said. “I stock the good stuff, better than you can afford. Or so I hear.”

  “And how are you aware of my finances, Mister Ollir?” Tiral asked mildly. He watched the man’s eyes narrow and Ollir shrugged.

  “Good help is so hard to find these days. And a household as large as yours has a lot of leaks, or at least people who are willing to let their tongues wag for a bit of blunt.” Ollir waved his hand. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” Tiral countered as if his stomach weren't sinking. He wondered if he did have someone in his household willing to sell out his secrets or if Ollir was just covering his own involvement in Lecc’s financial failures and subsequent death by implicating his staff.“Although I do thank you for the knowledge that I need to do some housecleaning.”

  “Of course,” Ollir said, his smile turning to a smirk. “You’d be shocked to learn what details about you are so easily purchased. Your relationship with your man there. Your… tutor?”

  “Zev has nothing to do with this,” Tiral said quickly.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t,” Ollir said. “They never do, but they do provide a good bit of leverage, wouldn’t you say?”

  Tiral had the sudden realization that Ollir — who already had Lecc's blood on his hands — wouldn’t have to hurt him at all. He could merely apply a small amount of pain to Zev and Tiral would do whatever he wanted. He felt himself go stiff, aware that it was all Ollir needed to see to know that he’d hit on a weak spot. He tried to come at the problem differently, steering his thoughts away from the image of Zev in pain. If Ollir killed him, at least Gret would be in good hands with Edah. Perhaps Socis would be more willing to acquire the estate given that her own affections were entangled now with his sister’s.

  No, he reminded himself, it would never come to that. Ovi was probably sending a whole mercenary platoon after them as they sat there. She’d probably seen how their vitals had spiked and was on her way at the head of a team of cold-blooded, murderous mercenaries to rescue the two of them.

  “What do you want?” Tiral asked.

  “Like I’ll fall for that,” Ollir said. “You think you can fool me? You know exactly what I want. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  “What?” Tiral said, and didn’t have to pretend; his confusion must have painted his face.

  “Oh, of course, my lord, you don’t know anything about your dear brother’s death,” Ollir said sarcastically. “I probably did you a favor and if I could trust that you would see it that way, then maybe I’d let you be, but you're about to sell your estate and I know what you’ll do with them once you need a bit of balsam.” Ollir was growing redder as he spoke and Tiral found himself shaking his own head in bewilderment.

  “You have me on my back foot,” Tiral said. “I honestly haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.”

  “Well, let’s say, then, that if you’re here, you’ve likely figured out who was responsible for your brother’s death,” Ollir sneered.

  “What?” Tiral asked, raising his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting that it was you who arranged Lecc’s accident?”

  “A gunshot wound isn’t an accident, and we both know it,” Ollir said. “Let’s drop the niceties, my lord. You know I killed your brother and you likely know it was after he invested a tidy sum with me. In a venture that, tragically, failed.”

/>   “I’m sure,” Tiral said. “What venture was this?”

  “Another station,” Ollir said. “How terrible that after he’d invested all of his money and it had been spent, the project did not receive the necessary permits from Lus. No one could have foreseen such an outcome.”

  “Ah,” Tiral said, looking around. He could see how the station might have attracted Lecc. It would have been just the sort of venture that appealed to him. The station was grand and flashy, and Lecc would have been able to show it off as his investment. “And how did my brother react when the venture failed?”

  “I tried to make it clear that it had always been a risk and that I had never guaranteed his money…”

  “But I’m sure he didn’t take your business plans as uncertain.” Tiral returned his stare to Ollir. The man grinned, white teeth contrasting with the look in his eyes when he spoke.

  “No, he didn’t. When he returned, we had an argument that ended with him threatening me. I shot him in clear self-defense,” Ollir said gravely. “Unfortunately, I’m too familiar with Lusan politics to know that if a regular sort like me kills an earl, there’s little that won’t get him sent to have his neck stretched.”

  “So the only logical thing was to make it look like an accident,” Tiral said, as though this was in any way obvious. How stupid his brother had been. First getting involved with a man like Ollir and then taking anything the man said as less than a threat on his life.

  “The money is gone,” Ollir said. “It was spent on the project. However, there is some money I have been able to scrape together. With that, I would be willing to purchase the recordings that the late Lord Gret made.”

  With those words, so many things fell into place. The break-ins on Lus and on Gret, the shaded threats and questions about Lecc’s legacy. All of it tied back to the fact that Lecc, in his stupidity, had threatened a man used to dealing out threats rather than receiving them.

  If there were recordings, Tiral knew that they likely would be hidden somewhere no one would ever find them. Lecc would have hidden them in a safe-deposit box at an anonymous bank, or perhaps secreted them under the floorboards in one of the estate’s properties. Tiral had no chance of finding them and his hope of simply talking his way out of the situation was dashed.