Dichotomy: Companion
Chapter Twenty-One: Home

Helm Eodor
Final Month of the Cycle of Edda

The days at Helm Eodor settled quickly into a slow routine. Kier dedicated the first several days to what he loved: the horses. Logically, he knew he should have started with the paperwork and record-keeping, so that he could take breaks from that by checking on the breeders and stock, but even he sometimes gave in to the call of fun over logic. The land closest to the castle had been set aside for the breeding stock he and the others had brought with them from the old Blackwatch Estate; large, strong beasts bred for temperament and longevity. These pastures and stables were maintained by people such as Reed, who had transplanted from the estate, already experts on the stock under his father. Leland Blackwatch had loved the horses as much as his son did.

Kier reveled in it. He never traveled more than a couple of hours from the castle, and could spend hours in slow conversations with the men and women in his charge, learning all the comings and goings of the last several months. Many of them had known him since he was born, though a disproportionate number were only his age and younger.

The first few days, he approached Adrian the night before and invited him to come along; Adrian always agreed, but in the faint light of dawn his enthusiasm waned. "Adrian," Kier murmured each morning, already up, bathed, and dressed, his hair wet against his neck. "It’s time to get going."

"Mmmmgurgle," Adrian would mutter, or something similar, rolling over and squinting into the semi-darkness. Kier didn’t waste candles in the morning, as he didn’t have the estate producing them yet (though the beehives were coming along nicely now), so there was only a hint of purple sunrise creeping across the broad bed. Hair rebelling against the braid Adrian used to keep it out of the way at night, bare-chested and occasionally still smelling faintly of sex and relaxation, Adrian’s squint would change to an angry narrowing. "‘S early."

"Yes." Too often, Kier chuckled at this, which would earn him a swat as Adrian mutinied and snuggled back into the down pillows. "Which means it’s time to go and check on the south pastureland."

"Go tomorr’ah."

"You can’t complain that I didn’t take you when I get back."

"‘S fine. Go tomorrow." Then Adrian would, without fail, steal Kier’s pillow, curl around it, and be instantly asleep again.

So Kier went about his work alone, seeing Adrian largely in the evenings. Adrian usually chattered a bit about his explorations of the castle. Since the castle took some time to explore properly, Adrian generally had a good bit to say. If not, Circe had put him to work, which taught him more about the innards of the castle and the way the immediately surrounding land functioned under Circe’s guiding hand. Circe was a stern but fair taskmaster, carefully arranging schedules for all the individuals who worked with her on Helm Eodor’s grounds. Rhys, who managed the people away from the castle itself, was by necessity more laid-back in his approach. He had to expect them to manage their own time because he couldn’t be there to oversee them each day. While Kier spent four days exploring the pastures and horse stock, Rhys stayed close to his side.

It reminded Kier of his childhood, when for several years he had been the only child at Blackwatch Castle. His earliest memories were of being strapped to his father or Rhys, exploring the small estate and visiting amicably with the men and women who worked it. Often, Leland Blackwatch had dismounted and put both himself and his small son to work; Kier couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known the feel of chalky earth between his fingers, or the pull in his shoulders from carrying items that would have been heavy for a four-year-old. Yet Helm Eodor couldn’t really be compared to such memories; the land was different, his estate reaching as far as the eye could see and beyond the horizon. The people were older. His father was gone.

He could hear nothing in his mind of the men and women he to whom he spoke.

He knew they had no idea that he felt broken and crippled as he spoke to them. He gave no indication that for every word they said aloud his mind screamed and ached to sense something, anything. Some hint that they were really standing there and not just figments of his imagination. Sometimes even Rhys seemed imaginary, a long-familiar fixture in some dream that would disappear at any moment and leave him standing in an empty void with nothing left but Kier and his young Companion.

"It’s so lovely to see you home, Lord Kier!" one woman cried, and then actually grabbed his hands, beaming up at him. He could remember her doing the same at a time when she had to smile downward and called him "Young Master," and she had meant the warmth and familiarity every time; but now it seemed fake. He didn’t hear her happiness, so he couldn’t know if it was true. For all he could tell, underneath her smile she felt nothing but resentment over his three month absences twice a year. It was the same with all the others. Their warmth sounded forced when he didn’t have the guarantee of their emotions to support it.

He could tell even without his powers that Rhys sensed something bothering him. Only a handful of people would be able to sense anything from Kier, and Rhys certainly wasn’t one of them, but he knew. He hovered at Kier’s elbow, which he hadn’t done since those early trips on the old estate of his childhood, and watched him with thick brows drawn in a "V" of concern. By the end of the third day, Kier knew he would press the issue soon. Desperation made Kier press it, himself.

". . . Rhys?" he asked as they worked by candlelight one night. They sat together at the scarred old desk that had once belonged to Leland Blackwatch, rich with memories and smooth topped from use. Between them they had spread dozens of papers, each one more boring than the last, with all the meticulous notes Rhys had taken concerning the fields and supplies while Kier was away. Their goal was to make the New Blackwatch Estate as self-sufficient as possible; they were well on their way.

"Hm?" Rhys didn’t look up.

The muscles in Kier’s back and shoulder twinged with pain as they tightened; he had been tense for so long that his whole body ached. "You . . . worked at the Center."

Rhys’s head lifted, hazel eyes narrowing in automatic warning. Kier knew himself to be treading on dangerous ground; though Rhys had been his constant companion until he joined the military at age 17, he had never actually mentioned his time serving in the Center. Circe had told Kier, when Kier wondered aloud one time why Rhys so hated the Companion system. Since there had been no Companions on Blackwatch lands until Adrian’s arrival, there hadn’t been cause for Rhys to speak of it often. "Yes," he answered, noncommital.

Kier’s hands clenched together on the desk, his eyes staring resolutely at the papers without really seeing them. "When you were there, did you ever work with the newly bonded pairs?"

"The bonded pairs? ...Ah." Rhys slowly set down the quill he’d been holding, settling the top on the small earthenware jar filled with ink that sat near his left hand. For a long moment, Kier felt Rhys’s gaze studying him, but the lord didn’t look up. "Usually Miltsian workers weren’t allowed near the Companions in training, and I was only fourteen at the time. I served mostly as an errand boy in the Miltsian workers’ wing. But once the Companions were bonded it was a little different; sometimes I brought the new pairs their food."

Kier shifted, trying to think of what to say without showing all the anger under his skin, the pain firing along his clenched muscles, but no calm would come to him. "I’m mind blind, Rhys," he ground out in a rough voice. His hands clenched painfully in the hair at his temples. It seemed ridiculous to complain about such a thing to a man who had been born mind-blind, but there was no one else. Circe would have worried and fussed too much, and she knew less about Companions than Kier did now. "I can’t hear anyone but Adrian."

"Yes. That’s usually what happens once bonded."

Nails dug into his scalp painfully, then one hand released Kier’s head to pound the table with an uncharacteristic show of force. The two mugs set carefully away from the expensive paper quaked. "How long?!" Kier demanded, glaring across at the older man. "It’s driving me mad, Rhys! It’s been almost two months! How long do I have to live like this?!"

Rhys’s eyes met his. "I don’t know," he answered, voice clipped. "I’ve never been a master."

Ice settled in Kier’s stomach and he started to stand without thinking, palms pressing to the familiar grooves of the desktop. "Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked-"

A hand on his stopped him, then Rhys’s voice, gentle again. "No. I’m sorry. Sit down."

Kier eyed him, not sure he could keep the reins of his temper firmly in hand. "It’s different for different people." Rhys waited, watching him until Kier slipped back into the leather-backed chair. "They always stayed and the Center until it was over and the bond had settled. In the time I was there, one pair only stayed a few days. Another stayed nearly two months before they were told to head back home. For another pair, it took a couple of weeks." His hand tightened on Kier’s, then let go. "The powers always came back, as far as I know. Maybe it has to do with how powerful you are, or how powerful the boy is, or both."

Kier shook his head slowly, eyes unfocused as he looked inward, reaching. "I don’t know. But it’s just . . ." there weren’t words, "cavernous. In here." He rubbed a temple, drowning in the silence. Somewhere at the edge of his mind, he heard Adrian humming and the warmth of the water he’d poured in the bath before climbing in. "Alone. Except for Adrian, and I can’t block him out when I want to." Rhys chuckled low in his chest.

"Dammit, Rhys," Kier snapped, hurt. "This isn’t funny! I can’t do my job. Not here or out there. I can’t think. I’m completely distracted because I keep trying to reach and nothing’s there - not in the soldiers, not in the people here. Just. Nothing!"

"No," Rhys agreed, his expression serious. "It’s not funny, and I didn’t mean to make light of it." He stood and crossed to the fire burning low in the fireplace on the other side of the room. Gently, he lifted off the kettle and poured fresh hot water into the teapot they were sharing before pouring Kier a fresh cup. "Here. Drink this and take a deep breath. Just breathe a moment."

Kier sighed. "I’m not a child, Rhys," he said, trying desperately not to sound broken or self-indulgent. "I haven’t been for a long time." He picked up the tea nonetheless, blowing lightly on it before taking a sip. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of his breathing: an old technique of Circe’s designed to help block his people out, not distract him from realizing no one could come in.

Rhys smiled and stood beside him, hand falling to squeeze Kier’s shoulder with loving familiarity. "I wasn’t making fun of your situation, Lord Kier. I was amused because I can’t block Circe out when she wants me to hear her, either. So I do know a bit about that." He circled the desk and sat down, sipping his own tea. "The longest I saw anyone stay at the Center was two months. A major, as I recall, and with quite a nasty temper. She wasn’t very happy about it either, or so I gathered through gossip at the time.

"But at the Center it’s different. She wasn’t passing through towns and encampments, surrounded by people she should have been able to hear like you were, and are. However, your power will come back, Lord Kier. Not that it’s any consolation right now."

Kier took a slow breath and looked up, biting back the urge to say "Really?" as if Rhys would lie to him about something so important. "I hope so," he said instead, "because . . . I’m crippled, Rhys, and I’m trying not to show it. I can’t afford to, really, though it’s less important now than when I was out there." He tilted his head to the side, as if to encompass all of Helmriche outside his large estate with the gesture. "But it’s hard. I thought I was a good judge of character, and I’d learned from the lessons you gave me in reading body language and verbal cues, but I can’t. I’m horrible at it. People don’t even feel present, much less like they’re giving things away when they talk."

"I wish I could understand, but being born mind-blind and coming into it when you’re almost thirty are very different things. You’ve always relied on your power because it’s part of who you are. People don’t learn to compensate for blindness until they become blind; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just remember that it’s not permanent." Rhys reached out, sweeping the piles of papers into a neatly organized stack. "I think this is enough torture for one evening. We’ll finish tomorrow and set up for your stint as record keeper." He studied Kier, still sitting lost in thought.

"As to blocking Adrian, I’m sure that will come with practice, but you may have to ask Circe about that." He closed the papers into the leather portfolio, keeping his hands busy as he spoke. The same tension that had pressed on Kier at mentioning Rhys’s time in the Center now tightened Rhys's movements. ". . . You could block Master Somerled when you wanted, couldn’t you?" he asked in a would-be-casual tone. It might have been years since that name had been spoken aloud in Kier’s presence, and the tightness in Rhys’s voice betrayed his uncertainty in mentioning Somerled now.

Kier’s eyes didn’t flicker, and Rhys’s surprise showed clearly on his face. "I get more from Adrian than I did from Somer."

"Master Somer was a gifted telepath as well, and knew how to block his thoughts. Adrian doesn’t have that. Give it time. You’ll figure it out, when you’re not distracted by mind-blindness." Kier pushed to stand, fussing a bit with the items on the desk. Rhys watched with amusement, knowing that Kier would leave his mug to be magically cleaned away, but would take care of anything else on the desk himself. "I’d wondered if marriage bonds are different from Companion bonds. Apparently they are."

Kier’s hands stilled a moment, then moved again, shifting the inkwell a bit to the side before he plucked up and cleaned the quill. "Well . . . most people high enough level for a marriage bond don't go insane when their spouse dies, but Companion bonds often end that way. I suppose I should have stayed for the lectures, but we weren’t actually bonded then."

They moved together to snuff the candles, moving with the precision of people who didn’t need words to communicate. "You went there intending to turn him down." It wasn’t a question.

"Yes," Kier confirmed anyway. "You never told me that they were punished if they weren't accepted."

"Murdered," Rhys bit out, and Kier flinched. The thought of Adrian being killed would have been abhorrent before he actually got to know him; now, it sent a pang of pain through his chest. "It’s barbaric. The whole system." He waited in the doorway as Kier put out the fire. "I suppose . . . I didn’t want to think about it too much."

"I know the feeling," Kier responded, his tone carefully dry as he followed Rhys into the dark hallway.

"Well, he doesn’t seem mindless."

Kier stopped at that, then laughed; a free, open sort of laugh that he didn’t give in to very often anymore. Rhys looked charmed and amused at once, turning to take in the rare expression as it gave way to soft chuckles of amusement. "I’ll take that as a, ‘No, he isn’t.’"

"He’s the single most opinionated person I’ve ever known. He puts both you and Circe to shame. Fiercely intelligent and creative."

"Scary," Rhys commented. Kier moved around him toward the stairs. The darkness was nearly total, but they both moved through it with the ease of familiarity. "He seems good for you."

"Not for my nerves," Kier murmured. Counting back, he knew logically that he and Adrian had only known each other seven weeks; so much had happened that it seemed far longer. He stopped abruptly on the stairs and the older man bumped into him with a little "oof" of sound. Kier turned toward Rhys, eyes glittering in the faint moonlight peering through one of the high windows. "I meant it when I said I didn’t rape him, Rhys. We weren’t bonded when we left the Center. He asked later, for safety reasons."

"I know," Rhys said quietly. "You’re a good man, Kier."

The lack of the honorific everyone insisted on wasn’t missed by Kier, and he smiled into the darkness. "No. But I’m working on it."

As the days passed, Adrian watched Kier relax back into the role of Lord of Blackwatch. Through some careful questioning (largely directed at Circe, who obviously saw right through his careful wording but answered anyway), Adrian learned that Kier’s life had an odd rhythm to it. His year was divided into fourths according to the traditional Helmrichian 12-month calendar. Three months he spent at the estate, then three abroad, three back at the estate, and three abroad. The answer as to why Kier was allowed to do this when generally first born sons and daughters weren’t allowed to join the military was never forthcoming, however. Adrian began to suspect she didn’t actually know, but didn’t want to admit to that.

Either way, Kier apparently played the role of lord as well as he did the role of general; he left early and returned late, dedicating his waking hours to ledgers and trips throughout the estate. Despite the fact that everyone in the immediate vicinity called Kier "lord," an unfamiliar sense of relaxation settled around him. His rare smiles came a bit faster, and he spoke with a hint less formality during those late evenings when he and Adrian would meet over dinner. This new ease of manner made it easier for Adrian to never quite get around to moving out of Kier’s room. The fact that Adrian had somehow come to feel safe near Kier was an issue he chose not to think about too deeply.

Adrian, on the other hand, grew increasingly fidgety as his first week in his new home slipped by. He spent the first couple of days exploring the castle, which mainly involved finding that most of the rooms were shut up but clean, filled with furniture hidden under pristine cloths. One room in particular managed to take up a few hours of his time, as it was filled with paintings of people who looked absolutely nothing like Kier. After taking a few minutes to appreciate (or not) the artists’ works, he made a mental note to ask how Kier Blackwatch came to own this castle. He’d figured out that it obviously hadn’t been a birthright, but somehow came to Kier through some alternate means. He just had to decide whom to ask and how to phrase the question.

At night, Adrian’s untapped energy kept sleep at bay. He knew that Kier had to be weary, traveling as he did throughout the day, but Adrian felt overwhelmed by the need to do something, and Kier’s bed provided the only activity to tire his mind and muscles. Each night Kier bathed, then slipped into the bed, and Adrian would reach across to touch the lord’s warm skin. Always, Kier proved tired but not exhausted, his mouth opening to Adrian’s restless tongue, body responding to the younger man’s urgent hands. He showed Adrian anything he wanted to know, and Adrian’s innate curiosity somehow shoved away any awkwardness he felt he should feel at wanting so much to burn out his energy with Kier’s body.

One night, Kier didn’t make it as far as the bed; Adrian slipped into the water of the tub with him, luxuriating in the faint steam and suds from soap Circe made with the scent of cucumber. Kier showed Adrian that night how to tuck them together just so, using the wet and heat to create a slick friction that drove them both to breathless climax. On others, Kier would smile and take Adrian in his mouth, silver hair highlighted by moonlight as in some erotic painting. Eventually, he taught Adrian how to mind his teeth, to use his hands to keep from choking and his tongue to encourage low-pitched moans out of Kier that filled the younger man with a sort of wild pride at having produced them. Adrian sputtered and scowled after his first successful attempt, pulling a disgusted face at the taste that flooded his mouth; Kier chuckled, liquid and warm, and slipped out of the room wrapped in nothing but a sheet, leaving Adrian both confused and annoyed. He returned with an unfamiliar, dark brown sweet in a bit of paper. "Never swallow if you don’t want to," he admonished with a kiss, and Adrian bit Kier’s lip in embarrassment. With a look more devilish and young than Adrian had seen on the lord’s face before, he slipped a sliver of the odd looking concoction on Adrian’s tongue, then melted it by sliding in his own. The stuff tasted pretty bitter itself, but a hint of citrus and sugar effectively banished the more unpleasant bitterness of Kier’s climax.

Kier, endlessly patient in the daytime, could hold on to that tolerance through Adrian’s queries and experiments, but always lost rhythm and voice in the moments before release. Soon, pushing Kier to that point became a game that could keep Adrian entertained until they both fell into a fairly contented sleep. When daylight came, Adrian generally chose to blame his unwillingness to wake up and join Kier at his duties on the lord himself, ignoring the fact that he generally initiated their midnight sessions and participated with full enthusiasm.

With the castle explored, an exercise that took a full week once he included the drafty east wing, Adrian soon turned his attention to the surrounding grounds. There were more people to be found working in the stables, as well as the vegetable gardens on the east side of Helm Eodor’s inner curve, but they obviously felt uncomfortable with him. When he came near, the Miltsian stable hands and gardeners always became suddenly busy, bending until their noses were buried in manes or thick brown earth. Experience suggested that Adrian not push the issue, though the discomfort settled low in his back and twisted into painful knots along the line of his shoulders.

On the outer line of the curved castle, guarded by a high stone wall, Adrian investigated the garden he had spotted through the mist as they rode into Helm Eodor. While the vegetable patches were carefully maintained, he was dismayed to find that these gardens were largely neglected. Designed for beauty rather than function, flowering bushes and vines grew together in cacophonous disarray. Splashes of vibrant colors among emerald green attested to the health of the plants, but their unchecked growth had tangled the plants together and stunted their ability to produce large blooms. Dim memories of his mother’s small rose garden gave rise to indignation at this obvious disregard, and he spent the first few days of the second week at his new home crawling amongst the flowers, wearing an old shirt of Kier’s on top of his own, nearly nonexistent vest.

"Hello, Adrian."

Adrian jumped then hissed in annoyance and pain as his hand tangled in the sharp points of a rosebush. He glared up at Kier, backlit by the orange and violet layers of sunset. "Where’d you come from?" he demanded. He’d suffered his share of injuries since deciding to dig around in the dangerous confines of the flower gardens, but the fact that he could blame it on someone else and not his own clumsiness made him snap delightedly. He’d be surprised to see Kier so close to the castle when he was done being accusatory.

Kier studied him a moment. "My mother once told me I appeared in a basket delivered by a star crane," he answered, expression utterly calm and serious. "I had on a purple bonnet."

Adrian rolled his eyes. Trust Kier to suddenly develop a sense of humor only to reveal it was a horrible one. Though, admittedly, the thought of one of the large, delicate river birds carrying a squashy faced, silver-haired baby in his beak did have a certain comic appeal. "You know that’s not what I meant."

"I know." Kier moved around him, kneeling beside him with his customary grace. "I just returned from surveying the main stables. The herd’s growing magnificently. We’ll be selling four yearlings to the king next month." A smile softened the line of his jaw, and an unfamiliar emotion shimmered in the air between them.

Pride, Adrian realized after a moment. He’s actually proud of the horses. That made sense in a way; though the rest of the castle seemed dark and old, his brief foray into the stables had shown them to be new and immaculately managed. "Like Scead?" he asked.

The smile widened. "Yes, like Scead. He’s Old Blackwatch stock." He reached out, touching a small white rose that shivered delicately in response. "What are you up to?"

Adrian shrugged, biting down the urge to snap Nothing! Like always! "Just looking at the garden."

"You’re a bit dusty for just looking."

"Oh." Adrian looked at his hands, rubbing them briskly together in an attempt to clear away the incriminating earth. "Right. Well. I was clearing away the weeds. The flowers are blooming and all, but they’d do better if they had some room to breathe."

"Hmm." Kier touched the flower lightly again, then lowered his head for better balance in his awkward position. "I’m afraid we’ve under emphasized this portion of the garden in favor of the vegetables."

"Neglected is more like it!" Adrian corrected automatically, voice rising with indignation. "This place - the castle, the garden - it’s all . . . gray."

Kier smiled a bit at his Companion’s forceful defense. "When the previous owners left, they were angry. They essentially destroyed the gardens and the bulk of the nicer furniture. They even burned down their stables," the smile disappeared, "with the horses still inside. It’s taken the last several years for us to improve the castle grounds and return stability to the tenants. Things like aesthetics tended to fall to the wayside."

"Yeah, well . . ." Adrian almost asked for more information, but decided not to press the issue at the moment. "It wouldn’t be too hard to maintain this garden, too."

"Why don’t you take it over then?"

Adrian blinked, lifting his gaze to meet Kier’s. The lord was watching him with mild curiosity, one silver eyebrow raised. "We-I-" he started, stopped, surprised at the sudden offer of a job that would be, given the size of the garden, a large one. "I’d . . . need some supplies. Seeds and rakes and . . ." it occurred to him that he didn’t really know that much about gardening, "clippers and such."

"We can afford supplies. Just make a list for Rhys, since we’re sending a few wagons into Renweard and Cadell soon, and put in some requests for some more clothes too. They ones you made are expert, but they won’t last being worn every day." Kier watched with carefully hidden pleasure as Adrian blushed at the light compliment. "Rhys and I will find you some assistants, as well."

"Assistants?"

"It is a large garden. The clean up’s going to be something of a challenge, I’d imagine."

"Oh." Adrian cursed under his breath at his idiotic urge to repeat that word over and over. Standing, he dusted at his pants in a futile attempt to remove some small amount of the black earth clinging to them. "Right. Assistants."

Kier followed suit, stretched up on his toes. "You should speak to Ainmire." Adrian started toward the castle, knowing that with the coming dark, dinner would be ready for them.

"Ainmire?"

"Colby Ainmire. He’s in charge of the vegetable gardens, but he likes flowers. He’ll be pleased to hear you’ve taken an interest in the gardens and will probably spare you a couple of people to help clean everything out." Kier’s steps shortened to match Adrian’s as they walked slowly back to the castle. To the west, the sky was ablaze with all the shades of fire.

"I went to the vegetable gardens." Adrian paused. "I didn’t stay long."

"Why not?"

"Telepaths."

Kier glanced over at the flat reply. "You know, Adrian, most Miltsians can’t read anyone’s mind without a blood relation or express permission. Much less someone with some training - even a few weeks’ worth - in shielding, and bonded to a high level telepath."

Adrian put all his doubt about that theory in an indelicate snort. "It’s not that. I just . . . never mind." He didn’t want to put his feelings into words. "Anyway, how many horses do you have? Are they all like Scead?"

Unaccustomed enthusiasm laced Kier’s voice as he answered, going into a fairly detailed explanation of chargers, drought horses and palfreys. He raised chargers, warhorses of medium build but with good speed and stamina. "The original stock came from the Old Blackwatch Estate, but we didn’t have enough quality land to let the herd grow. Since I moved here, I’ve been able to expand the gene pool. I even have some palfreys - those are the lighter, faster horses that are used more by messengers - to try and speed the stock up a bit."

Adrian couldn’t help but warm to the unusual exuberance in Kier’s voice. "Have you bred Scead?"

"I have. He has two foals at the moment, actually. The filly’s looking to have a gentle temperament like her mother. I thought you might like her when she’s old enough to ride. She’d be faster than Kaoin, if less sturdy."

"I like Kaoin. I mean . . . she’s fine for me." Adrian stepped forward to open the wooden gate that led out of the walled garden. "Can I . . ." Kier slipped past him and he closed it again, listening to the clang of the metal lock sliding through the stone. "Can I go with you sometime? To see the estate?" He made a face. "If I promise to wake up this time?"

Kier nodded. "I was hoping you would, actually. The maps I have are over fifty years old, and I’d like one that’s more accurate and lists the holdings of the tenant families." He took a slow breath. "And I feel better when you’re nearby." He didn’t explain why.

Adrian stopped, a slow smiling lighting his mouth and eyes. "Yeah?" he asked, pleased.

The lord stopped as well, studying Adrian as the fiery oranges of sunset gave way to the violets of twilight. A small step closed the distance between them. Adrian’s heart sped as Kier leaned down as their mouths met in a slow kiss.

"I’m sorry," Kier said quietly, not quite pulling away. Somewhere in the kiss, Adrian’s hand had risen to tangle in the lord’s cotton shirt. "You must have been bored-"

"Lord Kier!"

Kier straightened but didn’t step away as Reed ran at top speed toward them. "Yes?"

The man padded to a stop, then bowed hastily. His chest moved in quick pants for air. "Master Adrian, Lord Blackwatch. There’s a messenger, sir." He shook his head sharply, as if clearing his mind. "A military messenger."

Surprise rose in the back of Adrian’s mind. "I wasn’t expecting anyone," Kier returned, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"He says it’s an emergency, sir." Reed’s dark face fell into a dark scowl, tension resettling in his shoulders after his run. "His horse is exhausted, nearly run into the ground. I’m not sure she’ll make it without immediate care. I'm to fetch you immediately to the front entrance."

Kier turned on one heel and took off toward the main gate at a light run. Adrian’s hand fell at the movement, and he stood uncertain a moment before he broke into a run as well. Given their differences in height and leg length, Adrian found himself putting in a good deal more effort than Kier. Another stable hand walked by, carefully leading a slender red horse. The horse’s head hung almost to the ground, her flanks heaving for air as sweat ran off her hair in rivulets. Adrian’s heart ached for the beast - she looked as if she might fall over at any moment.

Kier, knowing more about horses, felt a flash of mingled concern and fury. The military knew better than to run a horse like that. He sped up his run, hearing his Companion swear softly behind him as he came around the west wing of his castle to the front entrance. "Hoy!" he called at the sight of a young man dressed in the green and black of His Majesty’s Army. "What brings you to Helm Eodor unannounced?"

The boy turned. He couldn’t be much older than Adrian, and he looked nearly as exhausted as his horse. "Sir." He saluted, somewhat sloppily. Sweat rolled into his eyes and he blinked painfully up at Kier. "General Kier Blackwatch, sir." He held out an envelope, carefully closed with an unfamiliar waxen seal. "You’ve been ordered to the southern border immediately. All the information is enclosed."

Adrian skidded to a stop beside them, one hand reaching out automatically to touch Kier’s arm. "What’s going on?"

Kier slid a thumb under the flap, snapping off the circle of wax, carefully curved into the shape of an elegant buck. "I’m on hiatus to see to my lands," he commented, most likely unnecessarily, as he glanced over the paper within. Besides a map and a sense of urgency, there were no hints as to why he was being called away from his lands. "After five months of active duty."

"It’s . . . it’s an emergency, sir. I was told only you could be called."

"I’m an overseer, not a combat general-"

"Black circles."

Kier froze. At first, Adrian assumed it was due to the lord’s being unaccustomed to anyone interrupting him; but when he spoke, his voice sounded low and dangerous. "Black circles?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir. The major told me to tell you. They found black circles." The messenger looked as confused as Adrian felt.

"Why?" Adrian’s hand tightened on Kier’s elbow, shocked at how tightly the muscle clenched beneath his fingers. "What are black circles?"

"There were . . ." the messenger bit his lip, nervous. "There were at least a dozen. I was to tell you . . . a dozen black circles."

Kier turned suddenly, caught Adrian’s hand. His voice when he spoke sounded rough, raw, and unfamiliar. "Tell Rhys and Circe I’ve gone. Take care of things here."

"What?! You can’t leave me here!" Adrian demanded, but the lord was already running for the stables. "What is he-?" he turned on the exhausted messenger, but the boy didn’t know any more than Adrian.

Less than three minutes later, Scead tore by with his master leaning close over the stallion’s neck.