For Lord and Land

For Lord and Land
By: Delilah deSora
Part 3

Chapter 2

**

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What do you think of it?”

“Umm . . . its a leviathan?”

“Of course it’s a leviathan. What do you think of it?”

“It looks . . . Sibley it looks like a leviathan. Good job. What else am I supposed to say about it?”

“Guh, you really don’t have an artistic bone in your body do you?”

“Sib. . .”

“Look at the design! Every scribe has his own personal design. That’s how you recognize who did it.”

“Oh. It’s very . . . twisty.”

“Twisty? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yeah. Now how about we talk about something I do know how?”
?”

“Like?”

“Like how lovely your eyes are when you’re exasperated with me.”

“Oh, flatter me more.”

“If you insist . . .”

-Summer 2031


**


Sibley cried out and woke to an empty bed. His hands clenched the heavy blanket as his heart fluttered unsteadily. He gulped for breath and pressed his eyes closed, trying to calm his body. Panic made his hands shake uncontrollably and he sobbed in frustration, gritting his teeth together. After an eternity hisrt rrt regained its rhythm and his breath slowed.

He lay limp, keeping still lest the slightest movement cause the budding ache between his temples flare into all out pain. Flashes of his dream flickered behind his closed eyes and he relaxed, just letting them play out as they would.

He watched as the characters on his latest document moved. The dragon wrapped about the Leviathan as it curled in on itself and fell to the corner. The dragon took wing and was suddenly torn from its flight by the peacock. Red jaws opened and the entire document went up in flame.

Sibley forced his eyes open and flung the covers off of his legs. He crossed the small chamber he had been given to the chest that sat along the wall. Pulling it open he dug through the meager possessions he’d brought until he found the small black box at the bottom. Opening it he carefully removed the two vials from it. Prying the first one open he frowned at how little of the powder was still left. He was going to have to find an apothecary soon else he would be forced to deal with the headaches without the soothing powder.

Pouring himself a glass of wine he added the powder and, with a grimace, drank it. He disliked anything that impaired his ability to think but water was scarce in this dry country and he was forced to make do. He sighed and glanced back at his bed, numbness from the powder beginning to course through his body. His hands still shook with the aftereffects of his vision and he knew he would sleep no more that night.

Gathering a heavy robe and a pair of slippers he drifted out into the deserted hall. The guard at the crossways between halls eyed him and he spared a faint smile as he passed. He wondered what they thought of him, always wandering the halls late at night. Hopefully they chalked it up to a strange man from a strange society. He would hate to be seen as a threat.

That thought made him sighed. He was sure the Emperor already saw him as a threat of some kind. Why else would the man stare at him as he did? Perhaps he had been too bold at their first meeting but he had been weary from a long journey and the moment the Emperor had walked in the door he had known that the man was the fire in his dreams.

The dreams had been coming more regularly now, disturbing his sleep more often than not. They had changed subtly but still portrayed the one thing he needed to know. The Emperor was still in direct contact with Dante.

And yet he had not been able to find any semblance of his love’s presence anywhere in the palace. He had inquired as to other Aquilaens in residence but none of them had been the man he’d been looking for. The Knights he’d run into had expressed sorrow at the loss of his lover, causing him no little bit of distress.

If the very knights themselves did not know of Dante’s presence what hope did he have finding him?

He must be in the palace for the Emperor never left its walls. Sibley had ghosted his steps for a few days, hoping to find a clue but it had all been for naught. The Emperor went nowhere he hadn’t searched before, except his room. Since then he’d been trying to please the Emperor in hopes of being given a new clue but every gesture he’d made had been met with narrowed eyes and barely concealed hostility.

Sibley shook his head sadly. He’d been expecting to be relieved of his position, so great was the Emperor’s ire, but the summons never came. He couldn’t quite understand it. Why would the man keep him on if he hated him so? There was much the Emperor did that he did not understand and it frightened him to think that Dante was forced to be near the erratic man.

The night before he had left Wyrllyr had originally questioned how wise it was of him to make this journey. After all, did his visions not tell him that Dante would find a lover that needed him more than he? However he couldn’t ignore the pain and loneliness that radiated from the visions of his trapped lover. He didn’t care how much the Emperor needed Dante, if he was causing him pain he did not deserve him.

“Scribe!”

Sibley blinked and pulled himself from his thoughts. He turned to peer at the man hurrying towards his side. “Yes?”

The man stopped, breathing heavily. “There is something I need you to do for me. I know it’s late but . . .”

Sibley shook his head. “I do not mind. What is it?”

The man indicated for him to follow. “A lord just arrived with an addition to the Emperor’s harem. We can’t add her until a record has been made and of course none of us know how to write. Isn’t that how it always is?”

Sibley smiled softly at the man’s attempt at humor. “I see. I will need my things.”

The man nodded and waited patiently for his return. Together they moved to an audience room where five sets of eyes stared at him. He moved to the desk and carefully straightened a fresh piece of parchment. “Your names?” He asked.

The white haired man sat up straight. “Raelius deLunnen.”

He nodded. “Ventae?”

The man gave him a pointed glare and Sibley shrugged. “One must always check. What is your reason for the visit?”

Raelius gestured to the veiled woman at his side. “A present from the deLunnen family to the Emperor to show our . . . good will and hopes f fru fruitful future.”

Sibley kept his peace, forcing his eyes to stay on the document he was writing on not on the woman at the man’s side. Slavery was a disgusting thought to him, as it was to any Aquilaen. He had to remind himself he wasn’t home and that the Ardae did things differently.

“And your name?” He asked, looking up at the woman. Under the veil he saw her mouth open to answer him but it was the man who sat forward, giving her a sharp glare as he answered.

“Andaluca.”

Sibley’s quill paused. When no more was forthcoming he glanced back up. “Family name?” He inquired.

The man snorted. “She doesn’t need a family name.”

Sibley glanced at the man who had brought him who shrugged. With a shrug of his own he moved on. The woman at his side proved to be the matron of the harem and she provided him with a “description” of the condition of the gift, leaving her mark next to the declaration that the woman was of Ardae blood and good health. He held the quill out to the lady before him and he gave her an encouraging smile as she hesitated before taking it. When her companion made no move to protest she pushed back the veil, giving him a view of long auburn hair and a pair of large brown eyes. She must have had Ventae blood in her from somewhere for her facial structure was far more fey like than that of the normally blockier Ardaen design. Then again, Sibley mused as she scribbled her mark, the Emperor himself didn’t show the normal Ardaen form. The Aidan’s had probably been breeding themselves purposely to appear different from the common Ardae male.

He completed the document and set to work creating copies. One set he gave to the matron and one he passed to the man as proof of his gift. The other two he kept for himself. In the morning he would present the Emperor with the original and the final copy would go in his own collection, lest anything should happen to the original.

He was thanked and after a moment found himself alone again. He sighed and rose, gathering his supplies. With nothing left to occupy him he decided to return to his room, though he knew sleep would not come to him.

**

Ardel allowed himself to drift slowly back to wakefulness. The pillow under his cheek was sinfully soft and there was a warm body against his back. He smiled sleepily and buried the crown of his head more firmly under his Leviathan’s chin, curling happily in the strong embrace. For the first time in his life he felt content and he wasn’t in the mood to let it end anytime soon.

He had just started drifting back to sleep when a tremor ran through the body behind him right before a cough was torn painfully from his lover’s throat. He held still as Dante’s body tightened around him as it was wracked with a deep barking cough. The fit finally ended and Ardel turned in the embrace. He could hear the breath wheezing in his Leviathan’s lungs and he frowned, sitting up.

Blue eyes peered up at him wearily as he reached out to touch the pale face. Dante murmured something and turned into his touch. Ardel shook his head at the realization that for the first time his skin was cooler than that of his lover’s.

“Enough of this,” he chided gently, “you’re going back on that medicine.”

Dante didn’t even both to argue with him, telling Ardel quite clearly how bad his stubborn lover was feeling. With a parting caress to the flushed face he slid from the bed. Stripping the heavy robes from his body he gingerly stepped down onto the first step of the pool. He stared at his feet to keep from the unsettling sight of having the whole pool stretched out before him as he took each step carefully. By the time he reached the bottom water was lapping at his waist and he was clinging to the side of the pool.

**

With a grimace of distaste he sank down and let the water close over her head for a few brief moments before he resurfaced, spluttering and trying to chase the water from his face. He heard a soft chuckle and he glared through the sopping mat of hair.

“Quiet you.” He growled, rubbing his hands over his body to rinse away any dirt or sand that had collected under his robes. “Someone might as well use this thing.” He grumbled as an after thought.

His Leviathan shook his head in amusement before rolling onto his side and drawing the covers practically up over his head. Ardel dunked himself under one last time before scrambling up the steps and back onto dry land. He padded silently back to his own room and languished before the fire, drifting sleepily as it dried him. Eventually his p was was shattered, as he knew it would be, by a firm knock. Yawning he rose and bade his servants to enter.

Dante’s were behind his and he chased them off as he had done for nearly a week. What little physical care he needed his lover could perform well enough for himself and until he was feeling better Ardel felt inclined to let the other cares required for the Leviathan to be left unperformed. After all, he certainly wasn’t about to risk his lover’s ill-tempered wrath by trying to prod him out of bed and what kind of Emperor would he be making others do what even he didn’t dare?

He riffled through his desk until he found the list made out by the healer. He handed it to his senior page, biding him to take it to the apothecary. He pointed out the note on the bottom of the list that indicated that the patient was Aquilaen and made sure to inform the page to point it out to the apothecary as well. The healer had been adamant about the fact for there was apparently cheaper substances that could be used as substitutes for a few of the ingredient but which had proven to be disagreeable to people of Aquilaen decent. The note was supposed to forestall any attempt at using the cheaper substitutes.

The page nodded his understanding and Ardel sent him on his way. Finished with the preparations he paid a final visit to his ailing Leviathan before slipping away.

Back in his room Dante listened to the sound of the servants moving about, probably cleaning up before leaving. His head ached fiercely and he groaned, burying his face into his pillow and wishing it would end. He hated being ill. It only served to make him irritable.

He drifted back to sleep until slippered feet moving over the stones in his room brought him back to full awareness. He glared in irritation on the servants who were moving about, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened and gathering the remainder of Ardel’s wardrobe. With a growl of annoyance he flung the covers away from him and stormed passed them into the other room.

Ardel had left the fire leaping happily into the air and Dante had to pause as the sudden heat made him light headed. Snatching a basin of water from the vanity he flung it over the flames, banking them down until they smoldered, the small flames looking like angry childrhat hat had just been scolded. Sniffing at them he dropped the basin on the table, knocking one of Ardel’s documents to the floor. Sighing he stopped to pick it up.

Droplets of water clung to it and he cursed. He carefully unwounded the document and spread it on the table so he could soak up the loose droplets before they made the ink run. Gently he flipped it over to inspect the writing, hoping he hadn’t ruined it.

Golden protectorates winked at him in the light and he took a minute to admire the decorations. His eyes traced over the prominent dragon before glancing over the peacock and the wolf at the bottom of the scroll. Under his thumb was a fourth creature and he tilted the scroll to get a better look at it.

And froze.

How many times had he seen that exact design curling about underneais fis father’s signature? How many times had it danced across the boarders of a letter sent to him as a reminder of all he’d left behind when he’d become a knight?

A hundred?

A thousand?

He searched the document frantically for the scholar’s mark but, to his frustration, he could not find any. Dizziness struck him for a second time and he forced himself to close the scroll. It was ridiculous, he told himself as he set it aside and climbing into the Emperor’s bed. Ardel had known he was looking for his missing friend. Sibley could hardly have been playing his scribe without him knowing it. Ardel knew all of his scribes. He would have surely noticed the soft-spoken Aquilamonamong their number.

Dante sighed and forced the questions out of his mind. It was just a scribe with a similar style; that was all. When he woke he’d look over the scroll again and realize that it was not Sibley’s design at all. With that thought winding through his mind he let his weary body lull him back to the strange half sleep of the ill