Cethe (62 page)

was powerless against his need for Stefn and his determination to save his cethe from the vengeance of the Church.

A snap of a twig sent Michael’s heart into his mouth. He pul ed Remy back, arm around the other man’s throat. “Not a sound,”

he whispered.

A figure pushed out of the bushes and came down the stone steps. With a start, Michael recognized him. Auron Chal ory went

straight to the boat, then looked around “Mick?” he cal ed in a low voice. “I know you’re here! Show yourself!”

Michael didn’t move. He felt Remy’s rapid pulse against his wrist. The thought of turning his power against his friend made him

sick at heart, but he would not be stopped!

“Damn it, Mick?” hissed Auron, peering this way and that through the moonlight. “I’m on your side, man! I came to help!”

Michael drew a deep breath. Was it true? He knew Auron had developed a fondness for Stefn, but to defy Severyn, too?

Abruptly, he made up his mind. He propel ed Remy forward.

Auron jumped up, grinning broadly. “Ha!” he chortled softly. “I knew it!”

“You idiot!” was Michael’s reply. “What are you doing?”

“Same thing you are, going to get Eldering.”

“But Sev…”

“Has plenty of help, just like you said.” Auron ran back up the steps to rummage in the bushes. He hauled out a large leather

and canvas pack and took it back to the water’s edge, dropping it into the rowboat. “Let’s go before anyone realizes we’re missing.”

“How did you know? Does anyone else suspect?”

“Nah. I figured you’d go after him, no matter what Sev or your icicle of a grandfather says. You’re in love with him, right?”

Michael opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I… ”

“Of course, you are! And Eldering’s in love with you, too, although I can’t for the life of me understand that one! Stil , never let

it be said that Auron Chal ory is not a champion of true love!” He paused, striking a dramatic pose, adding, “Besides, I’ve always

wanted to see the East.”

“You’re a raving lunatic,” marveled Michael, but a great weight lifted from his heart. “Do you think you can shut up long enough

to help me get Remy into the boat?”

Guards took Stefn into the bowels of the Domicile to a bare, cold stone room where, under their watchful eyes and mocking

jibes, he was stripped naked and ordered to clean himself. One of them noticed his foot and the jokes became even crueler.

It was a disorienting return to the past, to stand shivering and scrubbing himself with rags, cold water and harsh soaps. They

would not let him dress afterwards, but herded him down another bleak corridor, opening a door and thrusting him into the room

beyond.

He crept to the corner of the tiny cel , curling up facing the door, and waiting for whatever might come next. No one came,

however, and after awhile, his weariness overcame his fear and he slept.

Some time later, a boot in his ribs woke him. He was dragged roughly to his feet and thrust out into the corridor. He stumbled

and fel while their harsh laughter echoed around him. Another door opened. This room was wel lit, with a large mirror and vanity set

up and several grey-clad Penitents standing alongside one wal , hands clasped behind them and their heads bowed.

“His Eminence wants him prepared for Service,” announced one of Stefn’s guards. “We’l be back within the hour.”

They left and silence fel . Stefn began to shake in reaction, trying to take in his new surroundings. When the h’nara came

toward him, he shrank away. One of their number took hold of his arm firmly. “Please don’t give us trouble,” he said. “We don’t wish

to harm you.”

Stefn swal owed hard, staring from one Penitent to the other. Al of them were young and al were male. Furthermore, like the

Penitent serving the archbishop upstairs, each was exceptional y handsome.

“Leave me alone,” he whispered, pul ing away.

“If you resist, we wil cal the guards!” one told him, scowling.

“Please!” another pleaded, looking anxiously toward the door. “If we do not prepare you in time, we too, wil be punished!”

Stefn bit back his retort. They looked frightened and upset. He clamped his lips together and sat on the stool they pushed

forward, his back rigid, facing the mirror. They moved in around him.

He sat in silent, angry misery as they set about brushing his hair and rubbing scented oils into his skin. His foot caused much

consternation among them. His sixth toe had grown out completely in the past year, twisted and misshapen, covered by a spiderweb

of scars from the many amputations he’d endured. Final y, after much whispered consultation, they brought a wide silk ribbon, pink,

like his skin, and wound it around the offending limb.

One of them brought a tray upon which a variety of smal pots were arranged and set about applying the cosmetics to Stefn’s

face, darkening his eyelids and blackening his eyelashes. They even put rouge on his cheeks and daubed red on his lips. But when

he was told to slide forward on the stool and open his legs, he balked. Eyeing the handful of fine gold chains in the hands of one of

the boys, he shook his head violently.

In the end, they had to cal for the guards, for he refused to let him put their thing on him. He kicked and thrashed wildly,

cursing them al , while they tried to wrap the awful contraption around his genitals. Final y, one of the guards swore and struck him a

glancing blow, knocking him to the floor where he lay stunned. At once, the slaves threw themselves on him, pinning him there.

Helpless, he could do nothing while they fondled his sex, pul ing and squeezing until, in spite of the pain, it hardened. They wrapped

the foul thing around it. The chains cut deep into his sensitive skin and when they wound more of them around his testicles, he wept

with the humiliation and pain of it.

They dragged him to his feet, at last, and he prayed it was over. Alas, Loth had never been much interested in answering his

prayers. He was bent over the stool and, a moment later, a slick, cool finger was thrust into his anus. Stefn clung to the rungs of the

stool, teeth clenched on angry sobs as he was roughly fingered. He couldn’t help the cry of shock and pain when the finger was

removed and something very large was thrust up into him.

Trembling violently, he was pul ed upright again. He swayed, breathing in short, shal ow gasps.

No more! Please, no more!

But they were stil not finished. While the guards held his arms, the Penitents came with smal jeweled rings. The rings pul ed

open and he watched in horror as they were placed on his nipples and al owed to snap closed. The pain made him fling his head

back, eyes going wide and flooding with tears.

Final y, they locked jewel-encrushed bands of steel around his wrists and fastened them together behind his back.

“Very nice,” one of the guards said, grinning and looking him up and down. He reached over and squeezed one of Stefn’s

pinched, swel ing nipples. Stefn whimpered, trying to shrink back.

“Leave him alone,” said the other guard. “We’re late as it is.”

They took him, lost in a daze of dread and horror, back to the upper regions of the Domicile. He barely noticed when, at last,

he found himself in a large, luxurious bedroom. The guards departed and the door closed, leaving him in silence.

“My lord?” came a soft voice from the shadows of the room. Charles, the Archbishop’s Penitent, appeared from an adjoining

room. He was not unsympathetic, but neither did he hesitate to take Stefn’s arm and lead him to the large bed dominating the

chamber. He sat Stefn down on the edge of it. “Open your legs, my lord,” he said quietly, “so his Excel ency may see exactly what is

available for his pleasure.”

Stefn gave him an anguished look, but Charles only shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you must obey.”

Stefn’s abused nipples twinged painful y. The softness of the mattress was not enough to ease the pain of whatever they’d

forced into him. He did not resist when Charles pressed his knees wide apart.

“Lie back,” ordered the Penitent.

Stefn obeyed, staring up into the canopy, wretchedly aware of being utterly exposed. Tears leaked from the corner of his

eyes.

“Do not move,” said Charles. “You must be in that position when His Eminence chooses to visit you.”

He listened to the h’nar’s footsteps crossing the room. The door opened and closed, fol owed by silence. Despair settled into

Stefn’s heart like a poisonous fog.

Michael.

Closing his eyes, Stefn conjured the h’naran lord’s image in his mind, the shining hair, the quick, boyish grin. He remembered

the gentleness of Michael’s touch, the softness of his lips.

Help me!

But there would be no rescue from this nightmare, no raging h’naran lord to storm the fortress of Loth’s knightmages.

He was truly lost.

Remy was gone. A panicked Corliss brought Severyn the news at breakfast.

“Are you sure?” Severyn asked, even though he knew damn wel Corliss would hardly be mistaken about such a thing.

“The cel door was locked, Majesty, but the prisoner is no longer within. Nor was there any sign that his irons had been

broken. Whoever took him had a key, I’m afraid.”

“Impossible!” Severyn muttered. Only one other man beside himself and Corliss had one.

Reaching across the toast-holder, he picked up the smal , golden bel and rang it. A servant appeared at once.

“Find Lord Michael,” said the prince, a hol ow feeling settling over him.

The servant took some time in returning; the delay told Severyn what had happened even before the servant returned to say

Lord Arranz was nowhere to be found.

Even then, Severyn couldn’t accept it. He sent a messenger to the Watersedge Hotel, where Lord Damon and his marshland

h’naran vassals were staying. The messenger returned, Lord Damon hot on his heels.

By then, Severyn had completed a search of Michael’s rooms. He handed the note he’d found there to the duke. Uncle

Damon read it quickly, handsome face paling. When he handed it back, he appeared speechless, tiny white lines etched deep at the

corners of his mouth and between his eyebrows.

“Auron is missing, as wel ,” said Severyn.

“The fools!” Striding across the room, Lord Damon glared out the window. “They cannot have gotten far. You’ve sent men after

them?”

“No.”

The duke spun around, eyes wide with disbelief.

“He’s in love with Eldering.” Saying it aloud brought a lump to Severyn’s throat. The ache in his chest intensified. “I’ve known

it’s true for a long time, I just refused to see it.”

“Absurd!” Lord Damon’s lip curled. “It’s the Bond, nothing more.”

“What if it is? What difference does that make? His feelings are just as strong! We threw them together, my lord! This is the

result!”

Tension showed in every line of the duke’s tal , youthful form. The winter-grey eyes, so like Michael’s, burned with cold fire. “I

thought he was wise enough to know the difference…”

“Maybe he is. Maybe it’s we who weren’t. He confessed to me once we know very little about the naragi. Even you, I daresay,

have only what legend and tradition have left to you.”

“It sounds as if you’re making excuses for my graceless grandson.”

“Not just anyone can be a naragi’s cethe. Maybe the Bond is only a manifestation of something deeper.” Severyn floundered,

trying to put order to his thoughts.

Uncle Damon made a sound of disgust. “Regardless,” he said, “Michael risks catastrophe by going into the stronghold of the

Church! We need him, Severyn. You have the throne, but the path to uncontested power wil not be easy. My marsh witches cannot