SHORTLY AFTER THE FALL of Light, Corvin and Esor found themselves standing on the same walkway overlooking the gardens. Amezuz grew oversized succulents, which cherished the year-round Light and frequent island rains. Plump-leafed plants grew in florets big as wagons with inflorescences arcing gracefully toward the Everhalls. They were tall enough that Esor could smell the flowers’ perfume from the mujan. Occasionally, Corvin reached over the railing to slip his fingers in the well between flower petals on one blossom, gathering pollen he could stir into his wine. “Do you like it?” Corvin asked.
“Dinner was excellent,” said Esor. His gaze tracked the motion of Corvin’s hand. “Lord Melio? is a generous host who serves nothing but the finest.”
“Yes, that is true,” said the Lord Mayor, sucking the wine off his fingertips. “But this, all of this, everything else—do you like it?”
Esor liked how well he slept on Amezuz, freed from any need for Kit?anve’s potions or Dwarrow dreams. He liked the warmth, the clothes, the company. He sensed that wasn’t what precisely Corvin meant. “I do like it.”
“Good,” said Corvin. “It pleases me to hear that. I’ve been generous, and I can be more generous...if you like it.”
“I’m grateful you brought me.” Esor ventured to change the topic to one which might make him feel less tight-bellied. “May I ask after the nature of those Marked by Tosvodos? It appears heritable.”
“I can go anywhere,” pressed the Lord Mayor, ignoring his question. “In some decade near, I’ll visit the Emperor in Xaxen Tuv across the ocean, and there are more lands to explore there too. More beasts to hunt. Delicious foods you’ve never imagined. History books from Republics that are close cousin to Belarion, yet have long been outside your grasp. And that is only the next of many adventures in my life—and the lives of everyone who are close to me.”
“I see,” said Esor.
“Do you?” asked Corvin. ?Have you any idea what I can offer you??
Esor saw that the Lord Mayor was drinking again, and he had a habit of speaking too familiarly when he was drinking. But in his inebriation, he didn’t notice that Esor was gazing at him with inappropriate familiarity, too. Esor admired the spill of wet winter moonlight over Corvin’s hair, mussed so that some curls had flipped over the frontmost prong of his antlers again. Esor wondered at the path of sweat drawing a line down his collarbone to vanish behind his neckline.
“Yes,” said Esor abruptly. “I like this a lot.”
He remembered his answer later when he was thrashing sleepless in the guest bed chamber, wondering how he could dare to speak like that now, when he should have known better, when he knew the cost of doing the wrong thing among the L?sàlvare. He couldn’t stare. He couldn’t flirt. He couldn’t yearn.
~
THE JURY OF LORDS CAME to a conclusion about àstin an Galefar the same Night as that dinner.
~
IN EVERY WAY, LORD Melio? was more of a proper àlvar than his Kovenor kindred. His hunting lodge was appropriately decorated to honor Nam? and the Church of the Path, though he covered Eternal Crosses with veils to avoid offending his elder cousin. Sometimes, Melio? bit back some ritual acknowledgment of the All-Mother, and he winked when Esor noticed. Appropriately for one of the High, Melio? spent Nights in seclusion, likely meditating in his private Devero. The lord was graceful, serene, and melodic, though he was polite enough to only sing toward other L?sàlvare, using atonal speech with Dokàlvare.
Esor was comforted by an àlvar who seemed equally confused by the ?elasdur Kovenor, so when Melio? invited Esor to a luncheon, it was only natural to agree. Esor took the meal with the lord, his wife, and two lovely concubines. He was intimidated by the prestige of his company, and Esor didn’t hesitate to say as much. “Your generosity toward one so humble as myself is staggering.”
“You are a friend while at our table,” said Lady Luidoras. She served tea beginning with Esor, inquired after his musical preferences, and commanded the harpist to play for him.
Lord Melio? asked Esor about his father and seemed pleased to know Amen was both manumitted and in possession of a fine home. “When you next visit, please extend my fond regards to Amen,” said Melio?. “I recall his presence in my childhood with nothing but warmth.”
Then he surprised Esor by asking after the duration of his contract.
“When do I stop teaching for Lady Ilare?” Esor echoed, taken off-guard. “I believe she takes her test next summertime.”
“Rumors of your companionable nature have reached far,” said Lord Melio?. “Between my wives, we have enough children of my own to need a teacher. Your skills would be appreciated here.”
Esor was stunned by the offering. He promised that he would give it consideration, which pleased Melio? and at least two of his wives. They were a welcoming choir of lovely tanned does in their fertile years, no less friendly for the keroterase who shadowed them. Their shoulders and bosoms were exposed. Their throats flexed subtly when they sang to their lord’s command, providing aural pleasure publicly before their evening duties would unfold privately.
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That Night, Esor dreamed shameful, fleeting images of being entangled with three different does in àstin’s office. He imagined them writhing against him as footsteps thundered in the hallway outside. Run, begged Esor in his dream. Don’t let them catch us like this. They’ll take me away.
But you are among friends here, said Lady Luidoras. Her fingers loosened the strings on her robes to expose her bosom. The skin was soft and fragrant against Esor’s cheek, as vivid as if memory, and fear surged when he realized he could not escape.
When the door to the office opened, Esor faced himself. He had discovered his own sins. And he was no longer friends with any of the High.
Esor awakened in a cold sweat on a cool island night. Humidity made clothes cling to his body, so he was sleeping bare, and he felt as though he had just rolled out of an ice bath. He was sickened and aroused in equal measure.
“Hex these Kovenor!”
They were the ones who had put these sorts of thoughts in his mind. It was ?elasdur again, twisting his dreams even from afar.
He kneeled in front of the window with the Eternal Cross on his necklace and prayed until Light rose, but still, Esor was not purified of those hungering dreams for does above his class. They haunted him.
~
THE FINAL WEEK OF VACATION arrived too soon. Esor declined to join the last hunt for ivenmu. “I’ve planned an alchemy lesson for Ilare using local ingredients. The ambient temperature is too low in ?elasdur,” he said. “This will fulfill specific elements of the entry exam for the alchemy program, so it must be priority.”
The Lord Mayor said, “The keroterase locked her into her bedchamber for stealing wine. You’ve nothing better to do today than hunt.”
Esor had no choice but to let the servants dress him in sensible shoes and clothes best for riding elk. He left with the party. A dozen, there were—Corvin and Melio?, yes, but also footmen, a cook, a healer, a few Drakalban, and even a pair of Inquisitors. Esor took the presence of staff as reassurance nobody actually expected him to hunt until Corvin handed Esor a knife.
“If you find yourself alone with the ivenmu,” said Corvin, “aim for the eyes. There are two pairs of them. Any of the four will do.”
“Why would I be alone with the ivenmu?” asked Esor.
Corvin laughed and flicked the reins to urge his elk on. Esor tried to position his hand on the knife so that it looked like he knew how to hold one.
“Embarrassing,” said Dak.
Esor hadn’t noticed him nearby. He blushed hotter than hot, shrinking under the loose hood shielding him from Light. “I know. Blessed I am, traveling with the likes of you all to protect me—though I’d be more blessed still if I could have stayed at the lodge.”
The footman rode alongside Esor to show him how to hold a knife. Dak revealed himself to be patient with Esor’s clumsy handling, explaining which parts of an animal to target when one lacked technique. “It’s a good effort,” Dak said. “Don’t go seeking a fight and you might have a chance of surviving.”
Amezuz Island was large enough that it took a half-day’s ride to reach the rockier southern side, which the local elk navigated on their broad cloven hooves with ease. Esor managed not to fall off, nor did he stab himself with any knives.
Most of a hunting trip seemed to require managing boredom. They spent hours after arrival waiting for rangers to determine which den the ivenmu occupied. Everyone sat quietly, trying not to scare off all the wildlife, and Corvin brooded at the horizon as if visualizing the kill the entire Light in advance.
Esor pined for his books.
When they found the den, a flurry of activity led the party to a narrow ravine.
Esor tried to follow Corvin on the lower trail. Patrician Melio? gripped Esor’s shoulder to stop him. “Stand back, young master,” said Melio?. “We’ll remain on the ridge.”
“He gave me his knife,” said Esor, feeling like a fool. “Are we not meant to engage?”
Melio? laughed at the idea. “Ah, you haven’t seen him fight. What a treat.”
Flustered by such attention from a Patrician, Esor said, “You are correct. Please don’t concern yourself with me. I shall stand back with the servants.”
“Nonsense. My esteemed cousin told me to treat you with all the courtesies deserved by a Lord of our Great House, and so I shall,” said Melio?.
“I am no Lord.”
“And yet.” Melio? shrugged. “It’s not one of the most eccentric demands Corvin has made. He gets everything he wants. You’ll understand why soon enough.”
Confusion became trepidation when Esor stood alongside the rest of the hunting party to watch Corvin enter the ravine. What had seemed to be a protective contingent now seemed an audience jeering the Lord Mayor of Ildòrian as he advanced upon the maw of death. Esor clutched at the Eternal Cross under his shirt, pulse throbbing.
“Be not afraid,” said Melio?. “Have you not heard that Corvin is legendarily unkillable, like Amalen? They are protected by the most powerful, primal magicks of the land.”
Corvin shed the lighter overrobe, slithering to the ground over the train of his longer underrobes. Black linen remained puddled in his wake. He untied his belt and let it fall too.
He carried neither blade nor bow. He wore nothing but the robes below his waist, shoulders and chest exposed to Light, sweat marking his muscles like river over stone. A few layers of skirt would provide no protection.
Corvin may as well have been naked.
Esor was too flustered to look and too afraid to look away. “Why isn’t he armored?” The Patrician laughed again.
An ivenmu emerged with sharp eyes, a slinking gait, and a hulking form. Scales covered the flesh that was not obscured by tattered feathers. Each paw could have covered Esor’s chest.
Corvin lunged. The beast startled, unprepared for such a pounce. It darted. The àlvar caught it. They tangled. It was a battle of strength as much as speed. Every swipe of ivenmu claw could have disemboweled, yet Corvin moved like smoke.
His bare hands found opportunities to slam the great predator into rocks. When the ivenmu, already bleeding from its eyes, attempted to bite, Corvin charged with antlers that tore its jaw clean off the skull. Esor ached to think how much the impact should have hurt—yet the Lord Mayor showed no sign of pain while the ivenmu writhed upon the ground.
Retrieving another knife from his abandoned belt, Corvin ended the ivenmu’s misery. He sliced its throat wide open. It stopped moving.
He cracked open its chest and lifted its heart in his bloody hand.
The hunting party cheered.
Slowly, blood dribbled out of the ivenmu’s many wounds, soaking into the dirt, glistening only briefly red before fading to unremarkable brown.
Despite the distance and the dipping sun, Corvin’s eyes found Esor’s. The Lord Mayor turned as if to offer the heart to him.
