“If we can teach him to eat ruffled shirts, he’l be perfect,” Jisten said as he unnecessarily tucked in an edge of the covers.

  “I would fear the ruffles would make the hound il,” said Jethain.

  “Speaking of my brother, where did he go?”

  Jisten took Jethain’s pulse. “With the king, I believe. He’s supposed to meet me for sword practice later.”

  “Realy?” Jethain looked jealous. “That is so unfair.”

  “You’l get your turn,” Jisten said. “In a month or so.”

  Jisten's guard shot up higher as a crafty expression crossed Jethain's face. “After you two practice, you need to take him to the tavern. Araken needs to know which guards can be trusted.”

  Jisten carefuly placed Jethain’s arm back on the bed. Then he changed his mind and tucked Jethain’s hand under the covers. “I hadn’t thought of that,” Jisten said. “I suppose the tavern would be the best place.” It crossed his mind to take Rak somewhere more private. It shocked him so much that he shoved the thought away.

  “Araken told me they didn’t brew ale in Okyro,” said Jethain encouragingly. “But I think he enjoys it.”

  “Perhaps in a few days, then,” Jisten demurred, not realy trusting his prince to be sensible. “You can’t be left alone.” He fluffed Jethain’s pilow.

  “Oh, don’t change your plans because of me,” said Jethain. “I’l be just fine.”

  “Until the nobles have at you,” Jisten said.

  “No noble is going to get past the death hounds my brother has set to guard me. I swear, I have the distinct the impression that he’s set on keeping me guarded at al times. And Araken’s done nothing but work since he got here.”

  “He should rest,” Jisten agreed readily.

  “You should take him out. Let him enjoy a night in the tavern. You could use a night off yourself,” said Jethain shrewdly. “The envoy needs an escort to prevent anything unfortunate from happening.” He worked a hand free to scratch the hound’s massive skul. “You’re practicing sword work tonight, so take him out afterwards. He doesn’t like the palace cuisine.”

  “I…suppose…” Jisten said.

  “I’m sure he’l enjoy it. Realy. And the two of you seem to have a connection. Just so long as you don’t throw me over for him.”

  “Never, my prince.” Jisten straightened, convinced against his better judgement. Whether or not the prince would behave in his absence, the envoy did need to get out of the palace, and Jisten did need to introduce him to the safe tavern the guards caled theirs. He looked closely at Jethain. “Do you need anything? I can always send a messenger to cancel the practice.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. I’m fine. I’m just going to lie here and heal,” said Jethain.

  “Wine? Soup?” Jisten asked.

  “I’l be fine,” Jethain repeated. “The thought of food doesn’t appeal at the moment.”

  “The summoning bel is right here,” Jisten said. He placed the ornate bel even closer to the bed.

  Jethain puled his other hand out from under the covers and proved he could reach it. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t agree with that, Jisten said, “But…”

  Jethain widened his eyes slightly. “You and Araken have fun, okay?

  “Sword practice, my prince,” Jisten corrected, “Then escorting your brother to where and what he needs.”

  “How is that not fun?” wondered Jethain. “I would be delighted to be able to practice with him.”

  “You wil. In a month,” Jisten said. “Your work is healing right now.”

  “It’s stil fun and you know it,” muttered the prince.

  Jisten smirked, smoothed the covers again, double-checked the placement of the bel and walked to the door. At the door, he turned and said, “Are you quite certain that you need nothing?”

  “I’m sure,” Jethain repeated. “If I do need something, help is only a bel ring away.”

  Jisten’s face showed concern, and reluctance, but he did finaly leave.

  Rak stared up at the leaden clouds with his arms outstretched as the downpour soaked him, washing away his tears, his humiliation, and his shame. He stood in an open square of green grass bordered on two sides by flowerbeds, artfuly manicured trees on the third, and the palace on the fourth. Happiness filed him as the rain continued to wash over him and brought with it a sense of the immense love Zotien bore him.

  Rain, Scorth, rain! he shared his joy with the dragon.

  Scorth was watching from the window. Yes. It’s raining. You're doing a most excellent job of convincing the Koilathan court that you're insane. Even the courtiers have enough sense to stay out of the deluge, unlike certain Loftoni I could name.

  Like you aren't planning to change form later so you can play in the storm winds, Rak retorted.

  That's different, Scorth informed him loftily. Lightning flashed nearby, brightening the grey gloom. For a moment, the individual raindrops glowed like stars. Thunder rumbled and Rak’s laughter rose above the storm. He chanted a hymn of praise to the Storm Lord.

  The next lightning bolt struck Rak, but he was prepared. The ecstasy of Zotien’s divine presence filed him. He channeled the power about himself, alowing the God to surround him before sending it back up into the heavens. The courtiers saw the lightning bolt smash into the dark priest and flash electric, emerald green. Then it thundered straight back up in a column of green flame that swirled and wove into itself. The more perceptive swore that they saw green dragons twisting upwards.

  The power wisped into the heavy blanket of clouds, leaving only the wet gloom that seemed darker than it had been, and the steady downpour of the rain. Rak, unharmed by the power of the storm, was silent now, simply enjoying the sensation of the rain beating against his skin and wings.

  Owain stalked down the corridor, Jisten at his elbow. "I've heard some nonsense about my son, my heir, dancing in the storm."

  "I'm sure it's nothing, Your Majesty," said Jisten. He knew the prince was stil abed. They reached a window where a bunch of courtiers stood gawking and peered out into the gloom. It wasn't Jethain standing out in the rain like an idiot, but S'Rak. They arrived in time to see the priest's games with the lightning bolt.

  "At least he is not dancing. Stil, this won’t do." Owain turned and said, “Captain, have my heir come in before he catches his death of cold.”

  “Yes, your majesty.” Jisten nodded and marched out in haste to appease him. Rak seemed perfectly happy, so Jisten wasn’t worried. He knew that Zotien was the Storm Lord, and he was sure that the God’s high priest would take no harm from the storm. He also figured that Rak, a desert dweler, probably didn’t have many opportunities to play in the rain.

  The rain soaked Jisten’s uniform, darkening it to forest green by the time he reached Rak’s side. The priest was sodden, but he was grinning ear to ear, and his wings were spread.

  “The king thinks that you wil catch cold. He is your father and can’t help but act like one.” Jisten smiled in response to Rak’s huge grin.

  Amusement sparkled in Rak’s eyes. “Scorth thinks I am creating a scandal. Am I?”

  “If by scandal you mean that everyone thinks you are daft, then yes.”

  “Daft?” Rak laughed. “Is this storm not wonderful?”

  Jisten looked up and let the rain spatter his face. Raindrops hung on his dark lashes as he turned his face back to Rak. “It has a certain charm.

  Moreso if one can be struck by lightning and send it back as green dragons without getting hurt.”

  “I am Thezi,” Rak replied with contentment, but his answer didn’t explain anything. “Were you sent out here to fetch me, Captain?”

  “If you wish me to stand out here guarding you, I can do that.” Jisten grinned, for Rak’s joy was infectious in more ways than one to the Valer.

  “But daddy is worried.”

  “I suppose that I have had my fun,” Rak alowed. “Far be it for me to discomfit the king… much.” He set a hand on Jisten’s arm. “Lead the way, Captain,” he said, as if he wasn’t perfectly capable of finding the door himself.

  Jisten looked very military and proper marching back, despite the sodden uniform dripping runnels of water. Women and men alike admired the body outlined by the wet cloth, although Jisten was oblivious to their looks. Rak squelched along at his side, the silk clinging tightly to his own physique. If anything, he was more oblivious than the captain to the evaluating eyes.

  “We stil have a date to practice sword work, yes?” Jisten asked.

  “Of course we do. Thank you for the reminder. Alow me to change, first? My clothing seems to have gotten wet.” The mystified tone to Rak’s voice caused Jisten to guffaw.

  “Of course. I’l wait for you, and then we can stop by my quarters for my change, for it’s closer to the sale.”

  “That is an excelent plan.” They left a trail of water on the floor al the way to Rak’s suite.

  Jisten’s practice armor had seen better days. The leather was battered, but wel maintained. Fine lines of stitches closed too many cuts, and the many patches of newer leather sewn on to reinforce it gave the armor a mottled appearance. Jisten’s wooden practice sword was also older, but the finely grained golden oak glowed with the care it was given. Only a few nicks broke up the smooth line of the wood blade.

  Rak buckled on his own leather practice armor, the black hide showing little wear. He walked to the other side of the practice ring holding practice wands of dense ironwood. A true swordsman, he had wooden practice wands for both his sabre and the short swords.

  Once both men were ready, Hyal signaled the beginning of the bout.

  Jisten attacked with a whirl of cuts delivered at high speed, and for the first few moments it was al Rak could do to block him. Jisten had a longer arm, and used a longer blade, and he wasn’t above making ful use of that advantage.

  Rak sidestepped, changing the line of attack, breaking the pattern of cut, parry, and riposte. Jisten wrenched out of the way right before the wooden wands passed through the space his torso had occupied. The captain lunged to take advantage of an opening in Rak’s guard. The priest brought one of the short swords up in time to deflect Jisten’s longer blade upwards and stepped inside the arc of the captain’s arm.

  “Yield!” Rak caled, the wooden point of the second short sword pressed against Jisten’s abdomen.

  Jisten cheerfuly yielded, the two men returned to their ends of the ring, and both looked at Hyal for the signal to resume.

  Hyal waited until the two men looked calm and prepared before he gave the signal. As the practice session progressed, Hyal caled out advice to the fighters, correcting shoddy footwork and drooping guard positions. The two kept at it until they were both tired.

  At the end of the session, they shook hands and thanked Hyal for his time. Hyal left them to whatever post-practice rituals they had. It was getting late and his wife was the type to fret.

  Rak sat down on a bench and began to clean his armor. Jisten settled next to him in companionable silence. Rak enjoyed the scent of leather soap, and the quiet meditative aspect of tending to the armor, but once he started, he would do it al. He started sharpening his sabre next. The whetstone was slicker than he expected, and his hand slipped. Rak inspected his bleeding thumb, muttering about careless fools and blades.

  Jisten nearly dropped his armor to press a rag to the thumb. “Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding,” he intoned.

  Rak hissed as the mineral oil infused in the rag made the cut burn. He jerked his hand away.

  “S’Rak, the blood!” Jisten dropped an amulet in Rak’s lap. “Quick!

  Staunch the blood and cover the wound!”

  “What? Why?” Rak looked from his bloody thumb to Jisten. “And why did you drop that thing on me? I can feel the day magic of it.”

  “To ward off the flies, S’Rak. Blood cals them. Didn’t anyone warn you?”

  “And they cal me crazy? It is just a little blood.” Rak roled his eyes.

  “Flies, indeed. What is there to fear from flies?”

  “I suppose the name is misleading. These are no ordinary flies, but carnivorous insects that can drain the body of blood in a matter of seconds,” Jisten said

  “Surely you jest. Creatures like that only live in A’filozenoi, not Koilatha.”

  “Perhaps they belong there, but here they are, and here they stay and terrorize the Koilathans. Any Valer who becomes stranded in the city is given a crash course in flies,” Jisten said. “You should have been given the same course.”

  “Flies!” Rak stil oozed with disbelief. “Even night wasps, deadly as they are, do not instil terror in an entire people! Insects are so close to mindless that even I have trouble contacting them. You fear a mindless creature that acts on instinct alone?” A night flame danced along Rak’s thumb, consuming the blood and healing the cut.

  “One that consumes a deer in under three minutes, yes.” Jisten watched the night flame with interest. “I pray that you never run across them.”

  Once his hand was healed, Rak used a silk handkerchief to remove the day magic amulet from his lap.

  Jisten took the amulet. “Sorry about that. Reflex.” He stuffed it back into his pocket. He reached across Rak to put the oil away, and his rough braid fel across Rak. Irritated, he shoved it back. “I prefer your short hair. Much more utilitarian.”

  “Practical, as wel, in a desert. But half your problem is in how you braid it.” Rak fingered the braid. “Loose and coarsely woven, with little care. You appear to pay more attention to polishing your buttons than you do to your hair.”

  “The buttons I care about. They are on my uniform,” Jisten said, as if that explained everything.

  “Your hair is part of you, and you should have a care for it,” said Rak.

  “What do your rules say?”

  “Just back, off most of the colar. It’s not important. Not like your wings.” Jisten’s eyes gleamed with interest.

  “My wings?” repeated Rak in surprise. The indicated appendages spread a little as if they knew they were being talked about.

  Jisten studied the newly revealed patterns.”Amazing, those colors.” He looked more closely and got too close. The soft suede membrane of the near wing brushed against his cheek. He leaned back, embarrassed.

  “Please excuse me. I overstep my bounds.”

  “Do not worry about it, captain.” Rak’s wings drew back in. They had spread further while Jisten had been looking.

  “You certainly are approachable for a high priest. Ylion Forael is a good and likeable man, but he is surrounded by acolytes, junior and senior priests. Sometimes I think that he doesn’t like it.”

  “I managed to leave most of them at home. They were not happy about it, but I needed to travel fast.”

  Jisten jumped to a more interesting topic. “That dry patch on your wing needs oiling.” He stroked the spot, expression dreamy. Then heat rushed to his face as he realized that he was touching the envoy. He stood up and started putting things away.

  “Aı́, it does,” replied Rak. Remember, remember , he silently pleaded with the captain. The man’s touch invoked the memory of their lovemaking and his fires burned hotter. “They are a hassle to keep oiled.”

  “Do you have enough oil? Or did your journey deplete your supply?”

  “I would like some more sandalwood infused oil.”

  “I’l get it.” Jisten’s eager words cut across Rak’s.

  Rak set his cleaned armor on the stand so it could dry. “So, Captain, we discussed taverns earlier, do you remember?” Rak hoped that Jisten remembered a good deal more than the tavern discussion.

  “Absolutely. I can take you there,” Jisten hesitated and looked intimidated. “I mean, I could show you where it is. I don’t have to take you, take you.” Tiny beads of sweat reformed on the captain’s brow. “No taking! Sorry! I don’t know what demon sprite has my tongue! We’l go together and you freely choose your companionship!” Jisten rubbed his brow with the oiling rag and left a smear of oil on his forehead.

  “That is an easy choice to make,” muttered Rak. He dabbed at Jisten’s oil smear with a damp cloth.

  Jisten roled his grey eyes to look up at his forehead. “Thank you. Do you want to go now?”

  Rak cleaned the last speck of oil off Jisten and smiled at his sily roled-eye look. “I would not have asked were I not hungry.”

  Jisten grinned back, “Yes, that’s true. I’m not thinking clearly. Let’s go.

  It’s not a formal place. We’l be fine as we are. Not that you look bad!

  No, you’re gorgeous! Wait, I mean you look fine.” Jisten started to sweat again. This time he rubbed his brow with his sleeve. “This way.”

  Rak tucked his hand in the crook of Jisten’s elbow without thinking. “I am looking forward to seeing your tavern,” he said.

  Once they left the sale, Jisten lowered his arm with a regretful look at Rak. “Not safe here.”

  Rak tucked his hand into his sash. “I understand.” But his return look was just as regretful.

  Chapter Thirteen: The Ful Pint

  Dåftåra Atålio, Tålyssa Fångari

  2nd day, 2nd week, Telyssa’s moon

  The tavern was wel hidden, even though it was less than ten minutes walk from the palace gates. It was reachable only by traversing several side streets off the main road. The traditional sign hung out front. It was supposed to be a graphic representation of the tavern’s name and this one displayed a painted glass of foaming ale.

  “The Foaming Tankard?” Rak asked.

  “The Ful Pint,” Jisten replied. “Not the half pint.”

  Rak groaned at the joke. Jisten grinned at him as he opened the door, spiling light and sound onto the cobblestone street. The common room was ful of highly polished red oak furniture and soldiers. The plastered wals were painted with frescoes of martial scenes. Here, cavalry charging in line. There, the defense of a castle. Men marching through the woods.

  A melee of sword and spear. Each painting was done in a different style and Rak guessed that different hands had produced them. Perhaps it was a visual history of the Koilathan army.