By Chance Met (9 page)

“My, but you’re testy. What did Naeth do this time? Aside from flaunt that pert arse of his without realizing it.”

“Kei…”

“Or are you still recovering from your talk with Rohyr and Zykriel yesterday?”

Reijir scowled. “So you heard?”

“I made sure I did,” Keiran cheerfully admitted. “Rohyr’s right, you know.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“How can you be when you’re not the least bit impartial?”

“Oh, and you are?”

“Far more than you.” Keiran sat himself on the edge of the desk. “Take heart, brother dear. Zykriel said it best. When Naeth turns thirty, you won’t have to worry any longer about accusations of taking advantage of a minor in your care.”

“I have no intention of bedding him, for Veres’ sake!” Reijir huffed in frustration.

“The situation is unbelievable. He knows next to nothing about the art of enticement, but saints above, you wouldn’t know it from the way he flirts with me. I shudder to think what he’ll be like when he does learn how to properly seduce a fellow!” He groaned.

“Deity’s blood, had I known how difficult it would prove having him so close by day after day, I would have thought thrice before taking him in.”

“Is it truly such a hardship?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Damn it, Kei, he should know better than to wish to cavort with the likes of me. Better for him if he looks for someone closer in age with similar desires to his.”

Keiran snorted. “I will concede the age difference, but desires? Are you truly so unalike? That isn’t what I gleaned from what you said just now.”

“You know what I’m referring to,” Reijir shot back. “His background is so far removed from ours, it’s almost foreign. He knows naught of our way of life beyond what he’s learned in his brief time here, and I certainly have no experience of his. We have precious little in common, and I’m not eager to teach him the facts of blueblood life.”

“So you don’t want him to lose his innocence,” Keiran murmured. “Yet he will lose some of it when he embarks on any relationship regardless of who he has it with. We all change, Rei, especially when we share ourselves with others.”

“But perhaps the changing will be slower if he associates with Deira of comparable history to his,” Reijir insisted. “I pray he does. It would be a great weight off my

conscience.”

Keiran guffawed. “You admit you have a conscience? Will wonders never cease?”

That earned him a mild swat.

“You’re hopeless,” Reijir grumbled as he got to his feet and strode to the door.

Naeth scurried away at the sound of their approaching footsteps, ducking into the empty guest room next door just as the brethren exited the study. He waited until they were past before he came out and cautiously followed them to see where they would go.

The two made for the stairs and descended it. There was a murmur of voices from downstairs followed by the opening and closing of the front door. Naeth headed for his bedroom.

Once within, he leaned back against the door, his eyes closed. Misery, shame and guilt washed over him as he recalled Reijir’s words.

I should have realized what I was doing to him
, he dejectedly thought.
I should have
noticed what a burden I’ve become.

Naeth opened his eyes, but for several minutes, he saw nothing beyond the blur of tears that threatened to flow. He blinked them back determinedly. He could not afford to break down now. He had to set things right and that meant keeping a clear head unclouded by grief or self-recrimination.

He fought for some calm. Upon managing to dredge up a morsel of it, he sat himself at the writing desk and composed a letter of gratitude and farewell. Naeth tried to keep it as dispassionate as possible lest he unwittingly foist feelings of guilt on Reijir. He refused to impose any further on the Herun than he already had. But just in case a sense of obligation compelled Reijir to go after him, Naeth wrote that he would return to Losshen.

That way the Herun would not look for him in Rikara itself.

It pricked his conscience to make the fabrication, but he firmly shoved the discomfort aside.
It’s for his sake
, he told himself.

As soon as the ink dried, he folded the note and placed it on his bedside table. One of the servants would be sure to spot it and deliver it to Reijir. He only hoped his benefactor would not think too badly about him.

Naeth went to his wardrobe and pulled out the small shoulder pack in which Ruomi had placed his belongings when he fetched them from the Vomare a year ago. Next he brought out all that remained of those belongings and placed them on the bed.

He selected the plainest of the tunics and donned it. Its long sleeves concealed the fitted cut of his shirtsleeves, but the shorter length barely covered the hem of his shirt and did little to hide the fine material of his breeches. Looking himself over in the mirror, Naeth decided that no one would notice the discrepancy between the costly breeches and the simple tunic.

It was fortunate he had not discarded his old tunics. He did not feel comfortable about walking into the Vomare and asking to work there while sporting the latest in
enyran
fashion. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was nothing he could do about the shorter style save to wait for his hair to grow long enough to braid once more.

His suncrystal stud gleamed golden in his left ear lobe, and he reluctantly removed the earring and laid it down on his writing desk by his money pouch. Rifling through the

thin wad of bank notes in the pouch that was the remnants of his allowance, his fingers touched something hard. Naeth withdrew a gold coin and stared at it.

It was the coin Reijir had given him after the fight at the Vomare. He tightly clutched it in his hand a moment then put it down beside the earring. He could sell the earring and exchange the coin for bank notes. Much as he hated to part with either, he would likely be forced to dispose of them in order to survive. That became painfully clear when he checked what was left of his allowance. It would see him through a few days at most if he was very careful.

As despair threatened to disable him, Naeth forced his attention on his clothes. He stuffed the pack with the tunics he’d earlier selected and a few shirts, breeches and undergarments, careful to choose only the oldest and plainest ones. Fighting back his tears, Naeth blindly snatched up the money pouch and thrust it into his pack. He hoisted the pack and headed for the door.

Leaving the residential wing, he waited until the main hallway was empty. He hurried past the many parlors and descended the curving stairs. Luck was with him for the servants were apparently busy elsewhere.

Naeth made for the door and opened it. He hesitated a moment before taking a step outside. But he did not look back. He feared his resolve would falter if he did.

And so he slipped out of the Arthanna house with nary a soul’s knowledge or, so he believed, a heart’s care.

Chapter Seven

“You want work?” Lemael sneered. “What happened to that fine lord you took up with? Did he tire of you already?”

Naeth flushed angrily. Bad enough that Camrion was away on a visit to family back in Losshen. To have to contend with his bellicose mate made matters nigh unbearable.

But he was in no position to quarrel with Lemael. And so he swallowed his pride and the sharp rejoinder he was aching to serve up.

“I didn’t take up with Lord Arthanna,” he said as evenly as he could muster. “He only made sure I finished my last year of schooling, that’s all. Out of gratitude.”

Lemael regarded him disbelievingly. “And then he tossed you out on your ear?” he scoffed. “Really, why not just admit that he found a new doxy to warm his bed?”

It was too much. Naeth could not keep from talking back.

“His Grace is no lecher to bed a youth below the age of consent,” he retorted. “No decent Deir would.”

To his surprise, Lemael turned red in turn and looked away. Naeth wondered if the tavern keeper had gone so low as to seduce a minor in the past. Or had he done what he now accused Naeth of doing? In any case, he knew a moment’s satisfaction over Lemael’s discomfiture. But only a moment. Lemael turned even more hostile when he found his tongue.

“There’s no work for you here,” he haughtily stated. “We have more than enough competent helpers. There’s no need to take in an untrained one out of mere pity.”

Naeth bit back another angry reply. It would do him no good to further antagonize Lemael.

“When will Camrion return?” he asked.

Lemael scowled. “I told you, there’s naught here for you to do! Stop relying on Camrion and look elsewhere for work. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

He disdainfully turned his back on Naeth. But before Naeth could speak up again, a Deir came to the bar. He gave Naeth an appreciative once-over that left him feeling naked and dirty.

“Ho there, Lem!” the Deir exclaimed. “Do introduce me to this comely lad.”

Lemael swung around, cursing in annoyance. But when he saw the Deir, his face cleared, and he suddenly grinned.

“Who’s watching your shop while you gallivant about, Davon?” he asked.

Davon shrugged. “It’s a slow night. The lads can manage without me for an hour or so.” He regarded Naeth with a salacious grin. “Who’s your friend?”

Lemael snorted. “He’s no friend, only one of Camrion’s strays.” His eyes suddenly glittered unpleasantly. “He’s looking for work. Maybe you’ve got something for him.”

Wilfur, one of Naeth’s former fellow servers, had come to the counter to fill an order and heard Lemael’s words. His appalled gasp warned Naeth any work offered by Lemael’s friend would be far from decent.

Lemael noticed Wilfur’s incredulous stare. He shoved the filled mugs back at the server.

“What’s it to you?” he snapped. “Get back to work!”

After an angry Wilfur stalked off, Naeth warily looked Davon over. He was less than impressed. The Deir’s clothing was expensive, but he looked gaudy nonetheless. And his

deportment was far from cultured.

“Your clients prefer them young, don’t they?” Lemael went on. “Well, he’s not even thirty yet.”

“Really?” Davon’s eyes lit up further. He appraised Naeth more intently. “What’s an
enyr
doing around these parts?” he asked, raising a hand to touch the ends of Naeth’s short hair.

Naeth hastily stepped back. “I’m not an
enyr
,” he said. “I was required to cut my hair at my previous place of work.”

“He talks like he’s had schooling, Lem,” Davon remarked. “Who’d you work for, boy? A blueblood?”

“The Herun of Ilmaren,” Lemael supplied.

“Gaw, really?” Davon stared at Naeth with even more interest. “He must be well trained from what I hear of his lordship’s tastes.”

Naeth gritted his teeth. “I did
not
sleep with Lord Arthanna!”

“Then you’re still a virgin,” Davon said. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Very good. You’ll fetch a fair price your first time out.”

Naeth stared in horror as it dawned on him just what Davon did for a living. “I’m not a
felka
!” he protested, aghast that they would even think he would consider entering into prostitution.

Lemael and Davon looked at each other and snickered.

“You’re not much good for anything else,” Lemael gibed. “Besides, Dav’s no brute pimp, if that’s what puts you off. He runs a sporting house on the Row.”

Naeth blanched at the confirmation of Davon’s profession. Granted the Row was the south district’s least disreputable street; that did not change what a sporting house offered its patrons. He shook his head vehemently, trembling a little with shock. He wanted nothing to do with Lemael’s friend or his sordid business.

The Deir must have noticed his fear for he drew back a bit and said, “He’s obviously unplowed, Lem. I’ll give him time to get used to the idea. You just drop by my establishment when you’re ready, lad. Lemael knows where it is.” He leered at Naeth once more. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in high demand. Lots of Deira who’ll pay through the nose for the chance to break in a beauty like you.”

Davon winked at him then waved goodbye at Lemael before departing.

Naeth slumped against the counter, his knees weak after being confronted with the possibility of selling himself in order to survive. He tried to steady himself, jamming his hands inside his tunic in an attempt to stop their shaking.

Someone handed him a glass of brandy. It was Tovan. The Deir made him sit down and urged him to drink the liquor. Naeth did and felt a little better a few minutes later. He glanced up when Lemael came to stand in front of him.

“How much for the brandy?” Naeth dully asked.

“Nay, it’s free,” Lemael unexpectedly said. He hesitated, glancing cautiously at Tovan and the other tavern servers. After a tense while, he grimaced and said, “You may have your old room for two nights. But it will cost you some. We can’t afford to feed you for free.”

Naeth stared at him in surprise. And then he realized Lemael was uneasy. Perhaps the disgusted expressions of the Vomare employees worried him. Who knew what they might say to Camrion when he returned?

Lemael had not suddenly developed compassion for him, Naeth deduced. It was only his sense of self-preservation surging to the fore. But whatever the cause for Lemael’s sudden civility, Naeth was relieved.

“I understand,” he said.

Two nights would not be enough for him to find other lodgings in addition to work that would pay enough for him to afford the rent on even the cheapest rooms in the city.

But for the immediate present it was still better than sleeping in the alleys or abandoned buildings of the district. All too often, those without shelter did not pass the night unscathed. Indeed, many did not awaken to see another day.

Ruomi continued searching Naeth’s wardrobe. “As far as I can tell, only some undergarments and a few shirts and breeches, none new. And none of the tunics either.

Since his pack is missing and it held the last of his old clothes, I suspect he reverted to
sedyran
fashion.”