04c Dreams of Fire and Gods: Gods (6 page)

Jekh looked shocked, but he assisted the
dekan
in standing and stepping out of the bath onto the towel that lay on the stone floor. Then he handed Sael a second towel to dry himself with. “Your hair, sir….”

Sael knew that his hair was half wet and still tangled from sleep, but he was too angry to care about that. “Master Koreh has been dead less than two weeks, Jekh! I can’t believe you would….” He trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the thought.

But the valet didn’t need clarification. “I’m very sorry, Your Lordship. I meant no disrespect to the memory of Master Koreh. But you seemed…. I thought it might help….”

Sael toweled himself off, conscious for the first time that he was standing completely naked in front of the man. Hang it all! He’d felt completely at ease with Jekh. The young man had been the perfect valet. Why did he have to spoil everything with an attempt at seduction?

“Is this why you insisted upon being my nurse while I was ill? In the hopes that I would take you on as a concubine?”

Jekh seemed unable to think of a response, which confirmed Sael’s suspicions. He felt himself blush, embarrassed not only by memories of Jekh cleaning him and bathing him, but also by the knowledge that Jekh had done so not out of loyalty, but with the intent of advancing his position in the house of Menaük. The personal valet of a royal already had considerable power among the household staff, but becoming Sael’s concubine would have added yet another layer of prestige in that circle.

Sael wasn’t completely naïve. He knew his brother had had several sexual encounters with female servants before his marriage. It wasn’t uncommon in noble houses for those types of relationships to go on behind closed doors. Perhaps Jekh had been used to that with his previous employers. He was a very attractive young man. Sael could see that. But the thought of touching anyone other than Koreh nauseated him.

“Jekh,” Sael said, attempting to rein in his anger, “your service has been exemplary….”

Jekh’s face went pale at that, and Sael realized the valet was expecting to be dismissed. If Sael chose to make an issue of this incident, Jekh might never find a comparable position in a noble house. His career as a valet would effectively be over.

Sael couldn’t do that to him. Damn it, he
liked
the man! Jekh knew that, and it was most likely why he felt his advance would be welcomed. That he was wrong didn’t make Sael dislike him. He could choose to dismiss the valet with good references and fabricate a reason for wanting a different valet. That would allow Jekh to find another position. But the more Sael thought about it, the less he liked the idea of breaking in a new valet along with everything else that was going on in his life right now.

He sighed and said, “Jekh… I need you to understand. Koreh wasn’t just my lover. He meant everything to me.”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

Sael saw a faint flicker of hope in Jekh’s eyes, perhaps wondering if he might be allowed to at least retain his position. But before Sael could say anything further, the bell hanging by his sitting room door rang. It sounded as if someone were pulling on it impatiently.

Jekh looked torn between going to answer it and waiting for Sael to finish with him, but Sael welcomed the distraction. “Please answer that, Jekh.”

The valet rushed off and came back a moment later, closing the sitting room door behind him and speaking in a low voice. “The
vek
is requesting that you join him, sir.”

Oh bother!
Sael was still naked, clutching a towel in front of his crotch, and there was no way he could dress himself properly without Jekh’s assistance. Walking out there in his dressing gown was inconceivable. “Help me dress, please.”

It took some time before Sael was presentable, but he at last entered the sitting room, where his father was waiting impatiently by the fire.

“Are you just crawling out of bed
now
?” the
vek
demanded. “It’s past midday!”

Sael saw no way to deny it. “Yes, sir.”

“There will be no more of that. Master Geilin and your Taaweh healer assure me that you are fully recovered, physically.”

Physically, yes
, Sael thought. He doubted he would ever truly recover. But his father was a practical man, not particularly interested in hearing about heartbreak. “I will instruct Jekh to wake me earlier from now on.”

“Please do.” The
vek
seemed to consider the matter settled, because he took a seat in one of the winged-back chairs near the fireplace and poured himself some water from the decanter on the small table beside it. Jekh might normally do that, but Sael had asked him to leave them alone.

Sael sat in the seat opposite him. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that this was the first time he and his father had been completely alone with one another since they’d fought about Koreh being Sael’s lover weeks ago.

“I’ve had an official proclamation posted this morning,” his father said after a long silence. He took another sip of his water before continuing. “It acknowledges your marriage to Koreh—before the day of the siege. It claims that the marriage was done privately, with the intention of holding a public ceremony after the conflict, but Koreh was recently killed on a covert mission, and you are now in mourning.”

Sael tried not to gape at him in shock, but it was difficult. He was uncertain whether to be happy that his father was finally acknowledging the most important relationship he’d ever had, notwithstanding how brief it had been, or angry that it had come too late. He also knew there had to be a political reason for it, and in that his father did not disappoint him.

“Gossip about Koreh has become the local pastime,” the
vek
complained. “As I feared, it’s become common knowledge that the two of you were caught in bed together. Though that pales by comparison to the exaggerated tales of his appearance in the council chamber—”

“Exaggerated!” Sael interrupted. “He appeared in a thunderstorm—inside the chamber—surrounded by Taaweh warriors. Isn’t that enough?”

His father smiled ruefully and set his glass down upon the table. “Apparently not. Some of the local gossip has him striking out at the generals with lightning from his fingertips, whisking the
ömem
up in a whirlwind, and spinning them about the room.”

He made a motion with his index finger as if he were stirring a pot with it, and Sael couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of those old women tumbling ass over teakettle as they sailed about the council chamber struck him as hysterical. Apparently his father agreed, because he likewise burst out laughing. It was the first time Sael could ever recall seeing him laugh.

When they had both regained their composure, there was a momentary embarrassed silence before his father said quietly. “I loved your mother very much, Sael.”

Once again, Sael was stunned into silence. Here was yet another subject they had never spoken about. It was turning out to be a day full of surprises, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“When she died, I wanted to die as well,” his father continued. He glanced up at his son, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before he looked away into the fire. “And I felt Seffni’s loss more than you could know. I cannot help you…
deal
with your grief… but I do understand it.”

Father and son sat in silence for a bit longer, both staring into the fire, too uncomfortable to look at each other. Abruptly, the
vek
stood. Turning toward Sael, he withdrew a small roll of parchment from his tunic and held it out to Sael. “You can read the proclamation, if you like. I have some things to attend to. Master Geilin has begun training some apprentices in this new ‘school of magic’ he’s created. I’ll be meeting him in the courtyard this afternoon to discuss it. You may wish to join us.”

“I will,” Sael replied, relieved by the change of subject. He stood to see his father to the door.

His hand on the doorknob, the
vek
stopped to turn back and say, rather awkwardly, “You’ve done well, Sael. I confess I had my doubts about your ability to step into Seffni’s position, considering that you had never been groomed for this, but… I’m proud of the way you’ve conducted yourself. However, part of the responsibility you’ve taken on means putting the needs of your people ahead of your own. Grieve for Koreh and mourn him as he deserves to be mourned. But you cannot fall apart. Harleh needs you.”

Their eyes met, and Sael felt as if he were truly seeing his father for the first time. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“I expect to see you this afternoon.”

With that, he departed.

Sael returned to his seat by the fire, feeling drained. That had been the most exhausting conversation he’d ever had with his father, yet for once they hadn’t fought.
He’s proud of me?
It was such an alien concept, Sael had difficulty wrapping his head around it. It felt good, yes, but… strange.

He unrolled the parchment to read it. Koreh, it seems, had been a Taaweh ambassador. And a minor nobleman at that. The marriage had taken place as part of the treaty signed by the
dekan
of Harleh and the Taaweh.

Sael sighed and rolled the parchment back up. It was all to save face for the Menaük family, of course, and that was irritating. But Sael still took some comfort in the last lines:

His Grace, the Vek of Worlen, grieves with his son, the Dekan of Harleh, Sael
dönz
Menaük, for the loss of Lord Sael’s beloved husband and
nimen
, Lord Koreh, Ambassador to the Taaweh. May Lord Koreh find peace in the next life.

K
OREH
sat on the hill overlooking the small farmstead as the shadows began to lengthen and Kiishya dipped below the far mountains. Chya had been sitting patiently beside him for a considerable time, but now he stirred. “Why do you hesitate,
iinyeh
?”

Koreh couldn’t articulate why he feared closing the short distance between him and the front door of the house, but his stomach had been in knots all day. “It can’t be them,” he said, even though he knew it
was
them. But he’d watched them die, slowly and painfully, one by one. He’d wished for death himself after that, when the nightmares tormented him in his sleep and he woke to a reality that was even more horrible. But his body had refused to give up, no matter how much he’d longed for it to end. Eventually he’d found a kind of peace as the years went by and the nightmares lessened.

Until now. Over the past several nights, whenever Koreh and Chya had camped alongside the road, the nightmares had returned. He’d woken last night screaming in horror as he’d relived watching the withered, old-woman’s body of his youngest sister, Rügind—only four years old—finally gasp her last breath. Chya had tried to comfort him, but Koreh had been unable to sleep again for the rest of the night.

“Come, Koreh,” Chya said, standing and holding his tiny hand out to him. “They are your family, and they have been expecting you. There is nothing to fear. They are well and healthy. There is no sickness here.”

Slowly, Koreh stood and allowed the boy to take his hand.

They walked down the road until they came to a wooden gate, beyond which was the flagstone walk that led to the cottage. There, Koreh stopped again. The house wasn’t the one from his childhood, yet it was familiar. In the capital, Koreh’s family had lived in one of the tiny huts near the market district. But his parents had dreamed of owning a cottage in the country—one large enough for all the children to have their own rooms; warm in the winter, with walls of wattle and daub, instead of thin, weather-beaten boards with gaps that let the drafts through. They’d described the cottage so often to their children that Koreh instantly recognized it. Too, he recognized the small stable off to the side of the cottage and the orchard beyond. His mother had loved apples.

But still he refused to believe his eyes until a young boy came walking along the road, a crude fishing pole resting on one shoulder and a wet leather pouch bulging with fish weighing down his other shoulder. He looked puzzled as he drew near, unsure of who was standing at the gate. But Koreh recognized the boy instantly.

“Emik?” he asked quietly, his hand releasing Chya’s as he stepped forward.

The boy stopped walking a moment, and then he gasped and dropped both rod and pouch in the road. He ran forward and shouted, “Koreh!” just before throwing his small arms around Koreh’s waist.

Koreh was too stunned to move for a long while. His arms wrapped around the small shoulders of their own accord, and he felt the solid warmth of Emik’s body clinging to him and the softness of his hair. The boy had been just ten when he died, his unruly mop of hair having nearly all fallen out. That had been seven years ago. Koreh had aged, but Emik hadn’t. When Koreh was at last able to move, he pulled the boy away to look into his face, so much like Koreh’s at that age. Not a single blemish from the blisters remained, and his hair was as thick and full of cowlicks as it had ever been. Emik beamed up at him with a bright, perfect smile.

Koreh crouched down to put himself at the boy’s eye level and forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat. “I never… thought I’d see you again.”

“Mum said you’d come!” Emik said with a laugh. “Someday.”

Koreh nodded. “I suppose I had to.”

“Come on!” Emik said, tugging at his tunic sleeve. “She’s in the kitchen.”

“What about the fish you dropped?” The pouch had fallen open, spilling most of the large trout onto the dirt road. At least, Koreh thought it had. When he glanced back at the road, he could no longer see the pouch there.

Emik didn’t seem to think it mattered much. He pulled harder on Koreh’s sleeve and said with the exasperation he’d so often used with his older brother, “That can wait. Come on, you dumb
donegh
!”

Koreh allowed himself to be led up the walkway. He could hear the heartbreakingly familiar sound of laughter coming from inside the cottage—the laughter of a little girl. The front door was open, and they passed through into a clean, comfortable interior smelling of freshly baked bread. The little girl laughed again, and a woman’s voice said gently, “I’m baking bread today, as if that wasn’t obvious. If you want cookies, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”