don’t you think?”
Draken lifted his head. “I don’t know about you, but I heard the word ‘detained.’”
“Appearances,” Osias said. “She won’t hold you for long. I’m more concerned over my King’s message to her.”
“It sounded fair plain,” Draken said, retreating to a bench and pulling his tunic back over his head.
“I didn’t share the entire truth to the Queen—or with you.” Osias pursed his lips. “My King is missing. It’s why I’m away from home. I’ve come looking for him. So if he did not send the message, who did?”
Draken leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Any ideas as to his whereabouts?”
The Mance shook his head. “We’ve wandered in circles since last Sohalia, and now with the bane, I wonder…” He paused and looked at Setia. “Could it be King Truls has something to do with the freed bane?”
“More likely a weakening of the gates,” she replied, “with both you and he away. Message Eidola. Your brothers will see to it.”
Osias nodded, but he stared distantly at the fire.
“They ignored you in the throne room,” Draken said to Setia after a few moments, cupping his chin in his hand. “Why?”
“They thought me your slave.”
“Mine? Why?”
“Because many Brînians keep half-breeds as slaves.”
Draken shook his head. “You’ve aligned me with those who keep slaves? I might not have much honor left, but I will not tolerate slavery.”
“Of all the horrible things the banes did, before Mance confined them in Eidola,” Osias said, “their worst was to combine the races in order to conceal themselves—often through rape. Sundry are considered descendants of banes, weakened by their influence, and so are not trusted. It is the rare sundry who is not a slave.”
Draken frowned. It was something he’d never heard. “I fought in the Decade War. I hunted the Akrasian invaders afterward—most were Brînian and indebted to the point of slavery themselves. I thought I knew…well. Anyway, sounds like a cradle tale to me. Hardly an excuse for slavery.”
“I do not disagree,” Osias said, “but you felt the bane. What would you have done under its influence?”
***
Osias and Setia slept, but Draken could not relax as the afternoon stretched into evening. The air in the room felt close and humid. Late in the day, he interrupted his pacing to open the shutter again. The relief of cool air swept across his chest. Night had come and the sky had gone pitch.
“The moons come late in this phase, so close to Sohalia.” Setia spoke softly as she joined him at the window. “Their light is brighter than ever.”
“We’re well into Last Moon,” Osias agreed, his voice rough from sleep. “One more fullrise before Sohalia.”
Sohalia. Day of the Dead. Who would tend Lesle’s grave, light the candles, lay coins on her altar? How would she rest while her killer walked free? Draken must find him. Five of the Seven Eyes stared down at him, accusing, and he stalked away from the window.
“Rest now, Draken,” Osias said. “Come lie with us.”
That conveniently distracted him from his larger problems. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“They will be curious if you do not sleep with us. Brînians sleep many to a bed.”
Draken had been no different than any young sailor when on shore leave in towns filled with women looking to make extra coin. He’d seen and done much, though life had settled since he’d married Lesle, these six Sohalias past.
“Are you two more than… friends?” he asked.
“We share intimacies beyond ancestral, but we are not bound by children.” Osias removed his tunic as he spoke. Toned muscles slid under his pale expanse of skin. Draken jerked his eyes away. As beautiful as Osias was, there was something disproportionate about him. And his intrigue with the Mance irritated him.
“I shall watch,” Osias said. “You may rest easy.”
“Come, Draken. How long has it been since you’ve had a night’s
Draken lifted his head. “I don’t know about you, but I heard the word ‘detained.’”
“Appearances,” Osias said. “She won’t hold you for long. I’m more concerned over my King’s message to her.”
“It sounded fair plain,” Draken said, retreating to a bench and pulling his tunic back over his head.
“I didn’t share the entire truth to the Queen—or with you.” Osias pursed his lips. “My King is missing. It’s why I’m away from home. I’ve come looking for him. So if he did not send the message, who did?”
Draken leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Any ideas as to his whereabouts?”
The Mance shook his head. “We’ve wandered in circles since last Sohalia, and now with the bane, I wonder…” He paused and looked at Setia. “Could it be King Truls has something to do with the freed bane?”
“More likely a weakening of the gates,” she replied, “with both you and he away. Message Eidola. Your brothers will see to it.”
Osias nodded, but he stared distantly at the fire.
“They ignored you in the throne room,” Draken said to Setia after a few moments, cupping his chin in his hand. “Why?”
“They thought me your slave.”
“Mine? Why?”
“Because many Brînians keep half-breeds as slaves.”
Draken shook his head. “You’ve aligned me with those who keep slaves? I might not have much honor left, but I will not tolerate slavery.”
“Of all the horrible things the banes did, before Mance confined them in Eidola,” Osias said, “their worst was to combine the races in order to conceal themselves—often through rape. Sundry are considered descendants of banes, weakened by their influence, and so are not trusted. It is the rare sundry who is not a slave.”
Draken frowned. It was something he’d never heard. “I fought in the Decade War. I hunted the Akrasian invaders afterward—most were Brînian and indebted to the point of slavery themselves. I thought I knew…well. Anyway, sounds like a cradle tale to me. Hardly an excuse for slavery.”
“I do not disagree,” Osias said, “but you felt the bane. What would you have done under its influence?”
***
Osias and Setia slept, but Draken could not relax as the afternoon stretched into evening. The air in the room felt close and humid. Late in the day, he interrupted his pacing to open the shutter again. The relief of cool air swept across his chest. Night had come and the sky had gone pitch.
“The moons come late in this phase, so close to Sohalia.” Setia spoke softly as she joined him at the window. “Their light is brighter than ever.”
“We’re well into Last Moon,” Osias agreed, his voice rough from sleep. “One more fullrise before Sohalia.”
Sohalia. Day of the Dead. Who would tend Lesle’s grave, light the candles, lay coins on her altar? How would she rest while her killer walked free? Draken must find him. Five of the Seven Eyes stared down at him, accusing, and he stalked away from the window.
“Rest now, Draken,” Osias said. “Come lie with us.”
That conveniently distracted him from his larger problems. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“They will be curious if you do not sleep with us. Brînians sleep many to a bed.”
Draken had been no different than any young sailor when on shore leave in towns filled with women looking to make extra coin. He’d seen and done much, though life had settled since he’d married Lesle, these six Sohalias past.
“Are you two more than… friends?” he asked.
“We share intimacies beyond ancestral, but we are not bound by children.” Osias removed his tunic as he spoke. Toned muscles slid under his pale expanse of skin. Draken jerked his eyes away. As beautiful as Osias was, there was something disproportionate about him. And his intrigue with the Mance irritated him.
“I shall watch,” Osias said. “You may rest easy.”
“Come, Draken. How long has it been since you’ve had a night’s
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