Kaeleer, Dharo Territory, city of Bunta
The Queen's Son, Part 2
The bill was paid, and he took a polite leave of his host. He took a cab back to his lodgings, instead of walking. But it was a long way and the wine made him a little tired.
It wasn't until Beron was cleaning his teeth that he realized he had never gotten an answer to his question.
Ah, well. The High Lord had such seductive, easy charm, along with so much social polish that the younger man could only admire the ease with which the man could avoid a question he didn't want to answer. The High Lord seemed so...human. An odd thing to say about a Guardian, but then he'd never met any other except for the Keep's Librarian, who had made a much younger Beron feel inexplicably tongue-tied.
And this was his own decision, wasn't it? No one else could make it for him, so it wasn't right to be asking somebody else what he should do. No doubt a man as brilliant as the High Lord knew that, and so took a tactful way to remind Beron that he must make his own decisions about what path to follow.
But he did hope that some day he might find someone who might be more than just a lover. Someone he could talk with, the way the High Lord had talked with him last night...umm, maybe not quite like that formidable man.
Someone who loved art and music as much as he did. Or at least knew something about them, other than what was currently fashionable.
Beron sighed and picked up his pad. It had been fun last night, but he had to get back to his studies. He had come to a decision, though. He would give it another two years – one year to work and save some more money, and then a year at a decent school to see how he did.
He chose oil chalks this time. He began outlining the scene outside his window. He noted that he was making some progress, at least – he was much quicker to rough out the scene than before. And he thought he had done a good job this time capturing the expressive lines of the gesturing shopkeeper as he haggled with a buyer. Tearing off that page, he dated it and slid it in back of the other pages. Then he began to idly draw a face.
It was only as he picked up a light brown stick to add tone to the drawing that he realized he'd drawn the High Lord.
He loved portraiture. It intrigued him how people's faces changed from moment to moment, as the light changed, as their expressions varied. It was a crowded field, artistically speaking, which was why he was having such trouble breaking into it. But studying the drawing, he did think he'd captured a certain essence of the Prince, and that lifted his spirits.
Smiling, he dated it and added it to the other loose sheets tucked in the back. For a moment he toyed with the idea of sending it to the High Lord with a thank-you note, then he scolded himself.
Talk about presumption! The High Lord could afford any artist in the Realms. If he wanted a portrait of himself, he could commission one from Keldaar, who was the most fashionable portrait artist now that Dujae had Faded. Not that Beron especially liked Keldaar's work. He admired Dujae much more, although it was said that Dujae's greatest works were hidden away at the Keep and at SaDiablo Hall, where few were allowed to see them.
Still, it was a good reminder about his manners. Beron took a few minutes to write a formal thank-you message for last night. He thought about sending it to the Keep, then remembered the High Lord had mentioned he was staying at the SaDiablo townhouse for a few more days.
The townhouse was on the way to the bootmaker and bookshop, both of which he needed to visit today. He could drop the note off after he did his errands, have a late lunch, then go on to the park to spend a few hours in drawing practice.
People often stop to watch over one's shoulder, so it didn't bother him to sense yet another observer behind his left. He continued to sketch the little girl playing with her brother on the swings, intent upon capturing the exuberant joy, that excited laughter. It was getting late, anyway. Everyone would be going home soon and he'd have to stop.
It wasn't until a deep voice said, "Not bad, boyo," that he realized it was the High Lord of Hell standing behind him, leaning on his cane.
"Oh! Sir—I mean, High Lord!" Shit. Beron had jumped a foot out of his own skin when that distinctive voice had come out of nowhere.
Flustered, he realized his hands were filthy with oil chalk, which meant he couldn't shake hands. Grabbing for a cloth to wipe his right hand, he dropped his sketchpad, but ignored it as it fell to the ground. Hastily he scrubbed his fingers, then extended his hand in belated greeting.
"High Lord," he managed a bow, even though his face felt aflame. "I—I wasn't expecting to see you. It's a pleasure to see you again." Or would be, if I weren't as grubby as Mikal when he plays in the dirt. "I'd like to thank you again for dinner last night. I left a note with your butler, so you might have read it already. Anyway, I had a wonderful time. You were an amazing host." Stop babbling, you idiot.
Prince SaDiablo, High Lord of Hell and Prince of the Darkness, nodded, touching Beron's hand lightly and then dropping his fingers again. His gaze flicked over the young man, from head to toe.
And continued to stare at his boots.
Confused, Beron looked downwards. To his horror, several loose pages had fluttered free of his pad when it had fallen – and one of them was the partially-revealed sketch of the High Lord.
He had to make a choice on the instant.
Pretend nothing happened, gather his things, then make his apologies as quickly as possible, while hoping that a blast of Black-Jeweled power didn't fry him to a crisp as soon as his back was turned.
Or, apologize profusely, tear the sketch up into little pieces on the spot, and promise never to draw anything again.
Hands shaking, Beron knelt to pick up the incriminating evidence. As he rose, the High Lord extended his hand, not saying a word. He handed them over, swallowing hard.
The High Lord looked at the sketch of himself. Something, some emotion, flitted across his face, too quickly for Beron to identify. Impassive again, he looked through the half-dozen drawings from the past two days. Then he went back to study his portrait again. Still no expression, no words.
Finally he looked up at Beron. "You're good, boyo. Better than I thought you would be."
It took a moment for his words to sink in...but when they did, Beron felt the ground heave up beneath him and then sink again.
"You – you liked it? I mean...Mother Night, High Lord, I'm sorry—" the tumble of words was stopped by a slender raised hand.
"I like all of them, although I'd say you're better at people than at landscapes," said the High Lord coolly. "You do need training, that's obvious. Your perspective is off, and although you're not bad at capturing the moment, you lack the technique to interpret details. Those will make the difference between a good piece of art and a great one."
He handed it all back to Beron, who took the papers as if they might break. "Thank you, High Lord!" he stammered, the realization finally hitting him that he'd been given praise – of a sort – from someone who did know his art. "I'll—I'll study harder, I promise I will. Did you—do you want to keep your portrait?"
A smile twisted those chiseled lips, and Beron flushed. Hurriedly he added, "I know it's not great art, but I thought about sending it to you with my note this morning, just in case...I mean, I didn't want you to think I would publish it or anything."
"That hadn't occurred to me," the older man said, although Saetan realized it should have.
"Thank you," he told Beron. "I would like to keep it, yes."
The High Lord left to take a cab to an appointment with his man of business. Beron practically ran back to his lodgings, breathless with an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment, excitement, and anxiety churning his insides.
He had liked the drawing. He said Beron had talent at drawing people, more than expected. And the High Lord knew his art, knew so many famous artists, even Dujae.
Dropping into his chair, panting, Beron gulped down a glass of ale to calm himself. Mother Night, he'd never dreamt of anything so exciting! That the High Lord thought it was worthwhile for him to get more training was the best news he'd ever had!
But where could he get that training?
He clenched his fists. He would get it somehow, he wouldn't give up. Not when he'd finally been encouraged by someone whose opinion was valuable.
Four days later he was still trying to decide if he should pack up and move to Terreille, when he received another letter. This one had the logo of the Trevanis Arts Academy. His first thought was that they had reconsidered their refusal and agreed to put him on their waiting list. Excited by the idea, he ripped open and read the short letter.
Stunned, almost unable to comprehend the words, he read them again. And again, for the third time.
They were admitting him as a student. Starting the very next semester!
But...why?
It didn't make any sense, Beron realized as his excitement faded. He didn't have any better credentials, or better references, than he'd had four months ago when he sent in his original application.
The only thing that changed was he had a little more practice, a bit more knowledge.
And had given a sketch to the High Lord of Hell.
Hell's Fire, Mother Night, and the Darkness be merciful. Surely the High Lord hadn't—
But if he had...no one, not even the select Trevanis Arts Academy, was going to ignore a request from Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo.
A smile touched Beron's mouth as he looked back at that excited, nervous twenty-three-year-old former self.
Saetan had contacted the admissions committee at Trevanis on his behalf. No one outside the Family knew, but Saetan was the original founder of the school. He had started it years ago, dissatisfied with the current state of art instruction in Kaeleer.
Studying at Trevanis changed his life. Beron could ask all the questions he wished, and there were people here who would happily answer them. Everyone was doing creative, interesting things, and the exchange of ideas was everything an apprentice artist could want. He could draw for hours, and be encouraged to continue.
And then he met the man he would lose his heart to.
When he returned to Halaway for his mother's wedding a year later, Beron was introduced to Lord Rainier. He was a handsome man, with green eyes and brown hair. He limped a little, the result of a serious injury he had received when a madman tried to kill some of the SaDiablos. Rainier still retained a dancer's grace, although there were some dances he couldn't do any longer, with the limp. Beron was told that Lord Rainier and Lady Surreal worked for Prince Sadi, traveling around the Realms and trouble-shooting for him.
"Now that must be an interesting job!" Beron observed. Everyone around him laughed.
"It is," smiled Rainier. "And not too dangerous. No spooky houses, anyway."
Surreal grinned, but it was a scary feral grin. Beron couldn't imagine anyone getting into bed with this woman unless she swore on her Jewels she wasn't going to murder you afterwards. She fit in well with her SaDiablo cousins!
"How are your classes coming, Beron?" Lady Angelline asked kindly. "Have you decided on your final year project yet?"
He shook his head. "I have a few ideas, but I need to pick one. I thought I'd ask the High Lord for advice, but I believe," he glanced across the room at the newly married couple with a smile, "he's got his mind on other things besides art."
Everyone laughed again, even Prince Sadi, who was breathtakingly beautiful in a black suit with a gold silk shirt.
Then Beron got the shock of his life when Rainier asked Sadi to dance.
And Sadi said yes!
He couldn't help glancing over at Sadi's wife, Lady Angelline. But she was grinning, clapping her hands as though she was looking forward to the sight of her devoted husband dancing with another man!
Sensing someone coming up on his left, Beron found his mother and the High Lo—Uncle Saetan, rather; standing beside them.
"Oh, good," said his mother, sounding pleased. "Did you convince Daemon to dance, Jaenelle? I was hoping to see him and Rainier dance again. They're so perfectly matched on the dance floor."
Beron managed to keep his jaw from hitting the ground, but it wasn't easy. His mother wanted to see two men dance together? One of whom was married to Witch?
Then the music started.
And for the first time, he saw why Prince Sadi was also called the Sadist. His father had given Sadi that seductive feline grace. But in the Hi—Uncle Saetan, it was not exactly muted, but more low-key. Like breathing, it was simply a part of him.
The Sadist, however, used his seductiveness like a weapon. A twisted, terrifying sword of sensual flame. To first heat a person's blood...and then burn them to ashes.
Come into my web, the Black Widow whispered. And I shall show you the greatest pleasures you have ever known.
And then I will kill you.
And you will die screaming.
The dance ended and the two men walked off the floor, still arm in arm. Sadi was smiling. Rainier was smiling as well but there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"My lady?" Sadi bowed to his wife, extending his arm in a courtly gesture. "Our waltz, I believe."
Lady Angelline stopped to give Lord Rainier a kiss on the cheek. "Poor darling," she said with a smile. "You're a sweetheart, Rainier, to indulge Daemon in his love for dancing. I'm sorry I can't share him, though."
Lord Rainier chuckled, seemingly recovered from that Dark dance. "My Lady, you're the one who's kind enough not to mind the sight of your husband dancing with another man. And seeing as how you're also the Healer who put me back together enough to dance at all, I believe the debt will be all on my side for the rest of my life."
Then Saetan and his mother excused themselves with a smile to join the other couples on the dance floor. Lord Rainier was left with Beron.
"Do you like to dance, Beron?" Rainier asked politely. "I'd ask you to waltz, but if it would upset you to dance with a man, it's not a problem. We can stand here and exchange social chit-chat, if you prefer. Not everyone is like Prince Sadi."
That was such an understatement, Beron choked on a laugh. "I do like to dance, but if you don't mind, I think I'd like to just watch this one and recover my breath. Mother Night, I can't imagine how you had the courage to dance with that man! I've never seen anything like what you two did on the dance floor. I think I would wet myself if he even touched my hand. Now I don't know who scares me more, Sadi or his father."
Rainier grinned. "Terrifying, isn't he? But so beautiful a man. And that dance was mild compared to what he can really do." The Warlord Prince sighed. "But Witch got him first, and she's everything to him. No one means to him what she does."
Beron watched as Sadi and Uncle Saetan exchanged a look of affection across the room as they whirled past one another with their wives. "He loves his father, though. And Uncle Saetan loves his children. He shows it, too." There was a hint of wistfulness in Beron's voice that made Rainier glance at him.
"So you're an artist," he said, tactfully changing the subject.
Beron demurred, saying, "Well, I'm trying to become an artist. Right now I'm just another student at Trevanis, about to start my final year."
"You're at the Academy?" Rainier's eyebrows rose. "Then you are an artist. Not many are allowed into that school, and all who do are talented."
"It's kind of you to say so," Beron answered. "However, I've always had the sad suspicion that the only reason I got in was because I did a sketch of the High Lord once, and he liked it. Or said he did, anyway."
Rainier blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Smiling, Beron explained their first meeting, and the subsequent meeting in the park when he gave his sketch to the High Lord. "I mean, he's always refused to say he did anything, but he doesn't say that he didn't, either. And you must admit it's obvious he must have done something, when the Academy had turned my application down, only to reverse themselves and admit me at the last minute, three days after I gave him a drawing."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Rainier interrupted him. "Did you – are you the one who drew that oil chalk picture of the High Lord? The one that's in Sadi's study?"
"Oh, is that where it is?" Beron was surprised. "I didn't know what the High Lord – I mean Uncle Saetan – did with it. It wasn't very good, just a quick sketch I did. I wasn't actually sure if he liked it, or was going to tear it up when he got back home. Someday I'd love to do a formal portrait of him, I admit. Maybe with his sons. They have such interesting faces, don't they? Like different facets of the same dark Jewel."
"Now that," Rainier declared, "is the statement of an artist. I don't think I've ever heard anyone describe the SaDiablo men so perfectly as you just did. And by the way, that is an amazing likeness of the High Lord. Daemon and Jaenelle both treasure it."
It was a thrill for Beron to hear those compliments. The two men continued to talk. They did dance together later that evening. It was fun, along with the excitement of daring because Beron had never publicly acknowledged before his sexual preference.
They didn't become lovers right away. But they would stop to talk or have a coffee whenever they met in Halaway, when he was visiting his family and Rainier was around.
And Rainier and Surreal always came by to say hello when they were in the vicinity of Nowles, which happened on a regular basis since Sadi had numerous businesses both in Nowles and the surrounding area.
Beron quickly got over his fear of her, although he was always going to treat her with a healthy amount of respect. Surreal had a wicked sense of humor and loved to tease, but he saw she was a steadfast friend to Rainier, and he liked that.
Not everyone was so tolerant of others who were different.
During the final year at the Academy, the students could specialize. Some of them chose to help in the classroom, others took apprenticeships. Some, like him, picked a project to work on.
He didn't know, even now, what had made him decide to paint an entire wall with important scenes from the Blood's long history.
Perhaps it was his frustration with so many people who only had a garbled idea of what had happened over the last few millennia. Or maybe it was his yearning to repay a little of the High Lord's kindness, a man who was reviled by many, feared by everyone, and misunderstood far too much.
Or perhaps his senses were just insulted by such a plain, blank wall sticking out like an unwanted child, when all the surrounding buildings were graceful and visually pleasing.
Nowles was a beautiful city, not large but well designed. But that one blank wall was just...wrong.
Really, it had been a stupid idea. He had only completed a quarter of the wall painting when examination time came around.
At least he could show the detailed scroll he'd created as a miniature of the wall painting, which also served as his guide. That alone had taken him four months to create, so looking at it objectively, it was surprising he had finished as much as he had.
The instructors came to examine his wall, studied his miniature, talked amongst themselves in muttered growls as they cast glowering looks at him and the wall. Then they left, leaving him limp with anxiety.
Hell's fire, his graduation depended upon completing this project! But he wasn't anywhere near finished. Not even a six month waiver would get him to more than the halfway mark.
Disgusted, he threw down his paintbrushes (large-sized) and went off to a local tavern to get drunk.
The next morning – rather late when he crawled out of bed, but still morning – he received his evaluation. To his amazement, they had approved his graduation, and also extended the support of his project for as long as it would take him to finish it!
If nothing else he would probably forever hold the record as the longest-attending student at the Academy. A good thing the wall wasn't larger, or he never would have finished the damned project.
As it was, it took him almost three years to complete.
He had the uncomfortable suspicion that a certain Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince might have influenced their decision, but he couldn't prove anything. To this day he still wasn't sure how much his stepfather had been involved with it. He was grateful, though, for any support he could get in those days.
And the wall painting made his reputation. People began to come by periodically to see what progress he'd made.
There was talk of it everywhere, especially when it leaked out that the Academy believed it had the potential to be the finest work that any student had ever created. Then everyone wanted to take a look at it, even half-done. When it was finally finished, a huge ceremony was held. Lady Angelline herself came to cast the preservation spells that would hold it intact for centuries to come.
After that, commissions showered down on him. He took them all to his new stepfather, who was kind enough to help him figure out which ones to take and which to decline.
But Uncle Saetan never would confess his part in Beron's schooling, although Beron tried to thank him several times. "You've made the most of your opportunities, boyo, and still remained an honest man. Your success is your own, all of it."
Three years later he and Rainier decided to move in together. One more year passed before they entered into a partner bonding. Uncle Saetan gifted them with a small but lovely townhouse in Dharo, complete with a large artist's studio.
"Except that I'll grow old and gray long before you get your first wrinkle," Rainier remarked lightly. But Beron recognized the fear inside, and kissed him.
"You get to be distinguished looking, while I still look wet behind the ears," he retorted. Then he gripped Rainier's hand. "You know, Uncle Saetan told me that love is a rare thing. He said one should take it when it comes, no matter whether it's for a year or a century. And he's right, darling. I'd rather be with you as many years as we can enjoy, than to ever be apart. As long as you feel the same way, that's all that matters."
Rainier relaxed into his arms, returning the kiss with a skill that fired both men's passions. "You are everything to me," Beron whispered as they undressed one another.
"As you are to me," Rainier murmured, taking his partner's face between his hands. Then he gave Beron another passionate kiss, which had led to...
Then a voice broke into his memories. "All right, all right, I'm ready! I suppose you've been ready for the last hour, at least." Rainier looked at him curiously. "Beron? You've got the oddest look on your face. Whatever are you thinking of?"
The Queen's son smiled at his lover and partner. "I'm thinking how much I love you. And how lucky we are to be together, to help celebrate the twenty-fifth wedding anniversary of my mother and stepfather."
Rainier took his arm. He was still handsome, even with white hair threading through the brown and smile lines at the corners of his eyes.
"We are lucky, and so are they. Come, darling, let's be off or we'll be late. And that won't be lucky for either of us, if Lucivar gets hold of our necks!"
