Canes and Scales Read online

  “The offering looks nourishing and delicious.”

  “Excellent. My Prince, I offer you red or white wine from this land’s bountiful grapes.” Alasdaire paused; then he cocked his head. “If I may be so bold, this year the estate’s white tastes truly charming.”

  “Then yes, Alasdaire, let me sample the white.” I settled into the comfortable window-side chair and kicked off my short boots and silk socks. Ahh, freeing my feet made me feel oddly carefree.

  After he deftly conquered the cork, Alasdaire poured a brimming measure and handed the cool crystal vessel to me. I sampled the wheat-hued liquid and smiled in satisfaction. Crisp, light yet heady and potent. “Mmm, this wine tastes accomplished. The vintner definitely understood his grapes. Thank you, Alasdaire, it’s a fine recommendation.”

  “Excellent, my Prince.” Alasdaire offered me another slight smile but his violet stare never met mine. Instead he arranged food on a plate, shook out my napkin, and displayed my silverware. “Do you need me to taste the food, my Prince?”

  “There’s no need.” My personal ward spell told me nothing tainted the food.

  “Then enjoy your meal, my Prince.” Alasdaire’s smart little bow ended before his hair met the floor. He stepped back and stood by the table’s far end. The young man’s gaze focused on something outside the large window, something distant and impossible. Sunrays played over his noble cane twists and made them look nearly iridescent. It appeared my intriguing companion switched off and merely awaited my instructions. Sad. I wanted him to react to me, not follow dreary protocol.

  As I sampled my first mouthfuls, I examined his sculpted face. Who did this striking wonder resemble? Someone seductive from my long ago youth, yes, someone who… by the Powers, the hazy memory solidified into focus. Recognition struck me like a jagged mountain boulder. I almost choked on a black olive. Alasdaire’s swarthy coppery coloring, curly, long black hair and exotic Elven markings threw me off the memory. But the defined facial structure down to the stubborn chin and classic profile alerted me. I should have recognized the long, arrogant nose. Despite the lacking height, the compact build looked correct. Asking Alasdaire felt rude, but I sensed he was the bastard son of a lover from years ago, a handsome, haughty noble who lived mere miles away. Unless my accurate memory failed me, the seed from Leonardo’s loins stood staring into eternity. Fascinating. Fascinating yet exceptionally strange. Why was Alasdaire a slave at Keith’s manor? Leo lived nearby, so why did Alasdaire reside here? Who was his mother? When I enjoyed my affair with Leo Tyrone, I knew his carnal interest spanned the genders, but this lad looked old enough to have arrived soon after our passion. During my twenty-fourth summer we enjoyed wanton infatuation with no attachments or regrets. A heady time, before my mad brother descended into his mental abyss and I assumed my shadow rule.

  So many memories. All right, I needed clues. I gestured to another chair. “Alasdaire, please sit down.”

  Instead of complying, Alasdaire stiffened and respectfully shook his head. “My Prince, to sit down in your royal presence while you dine is a punishable offense.”

  What archaic nonsense. I snorted in rude dismissal. “Pish, I certainly will not punish you. You standing over me acting so mute and remote unnerves me. I feel like I share the room with a pretty automation, not a flesh and blood man.”

  His raw unease assaulted my hearing. “Please, my Prince, if Anders….”

  Enough protesting. My fingers angrily swatted the air. “Lovely Alasdaire, listen well, the only way cranky Anders will find out is if he spies on this room. If he dares to act so disrespectfully toward me, he’ll feel sorry for his rude action. If you are to serve me during my stay, I at least desire friendly conversation.”

  “You wish to converse with a lowly slave, my Prince?”

  Ah, there, the lurking bitterness leaked free. “No, with a fellow living being. You are living, correct? Beating heart, flowing blood, all the practical essentials that makes one alive?”

  My words provoked an unexpected response. Alasdaire stared directly at me and cocked his head. Despair infected his deep violet eyes. “Am I truly alive, my Prince?”

  This young Halfling owned issues with the world. His position as noble slave carried a terrible burden. Again I knew a tragic story lurked behind the resentment. Time to urge my new companion to discuss his complicated life. I pointed at the embroidered chair. “Sit down so we may discuss the important matter. Sit down or leave me alone while I eat, but do not hover over me like a somber crow.”

  Further hesitation followed. Alasdaire shifted on his feet; then he settled onto the chair and shook his head in sorrow. “My Prince, please forgive my atrocious actions. I fear you should request another slave more suitable to your needs.”

  “Tell me, Alasdaire, how do you know my needs?”

  The confused Alasdaire stared at me before his fingers fluttered against his cheek rank in helpless bewilderment. “I fear you wish to be entertained during your holiday. My Prince, trust me, I am not the proper slave for the task.”

  This moping beauty needed something to shake off his self-pity. No wonder; his diminished status in life promoted a dismal humor. I swallowed strong Pratago cheese, ahh, no mistaking that tart flavor. Bluntness supplied the best attack. “Why aren’t you the companion for me? Tell me, are you exceedingly dull, stupid and boring, lacking in any social grace?”

  A quick flash of insult challenged me. “Not at all, my Prince.”

  There, I appreciated his anger. Time to act blunt. “Do you like warming beds?”

  A long silence followed until Alasdaire shook his head. “My Prince, may I be so bold to ask to savor wine?”

  Perfect: we shattered the wretched master and slave wall. I filled the second glass and handed the cool weight to Alasdaire. He stared, and then a true smile, sunny and fresh, broke through his nervous worry. “Thank you, my Prince. So you are as gracious and kind as everyone claims. To your eternal fine health, sir. The world needs more noble men such as yourself.” He saluted me, and then he sipped and examined the wine. When he looked at me his expression displayed remarkable honesty. “I feel quite proud of this wine. Since he knows drifting around the manor awaiting a guest’s pleasure bores me, Lord Keith lets me work in the greenhouses and the winery. During the past two years I supervised the mixing of the estate’s white grapes. So this wine is my accomplishment, minor but still mine.”

  “It tastes delicious. There, if you were not alive you would not understand how to craft such a vibrant wine.” I hesitated; then I shook my head and revealed my knowledge. “Alasdaire, you occupy an uncomfortable position in life. Being a noble bastard son is cruel, especially since you span two races.”

  Alasdaire twitched so hard I feared his tense fingers might crush his delicate wine glass. “My Prince?”

  “When I first saw you, I thought I recognized your features beyond your unique Elven beauty. I know Lord Leo.”

  Alasdaire’s body spasmed in distress. He acted like someone had applied a hot steam blast against his spine. Wine entered his lips until he drained his glass and carefully set it on the table. I leaned over and refilled the glass. “Were you permitted to eat your lunch or did they make you sit and wait for me?”

  A bitter laugh tainted the air. Long fingers vaguely gestured toward the floor. “You know the pecking order all too well, my Prince. Harriar, the deputy butler, made me sit in the side room beginning at nine. Unfortunately, when you arrived, I had just returned from relieving myself, so his scolding provoked my shameful outburst.”

  “Then tuck in.”

  During the fresh silence, Alasdaire stared at me in frank appraisal. “Please tell me, why do you treat me like an equal, mighty Prince?”

  I parried back. “You are a noble Totandian and the son of a Lord. Why do you want me to treat you like an unwanted stray?”

  Vivid silence descended and collected until Alasdaire sat back in his chair and slowly shook his head. His riotous mane trailed across his sh
oulders. “How much do you want to know, Prince Linden?”

  “Well, I wish to eat and you need to speak, so feel free to talk to me.” I speared more beef and shrugged. “Tell me what you wish. I sense you need to speak to someone and I enjoy listening.”

  Instead of speaking, Alasdaire filled his own plate and nibbled on the robust green-veined olive cheese and roast chicken slices. After he enjoyed a few mouthfuls he sighed. “My Prince, I enjoy my sexuality when I possess the choice, which is a rare event. I do not enjoy pleasing wretched guests seeking to inflict pain. As you know my Lord entertains many nobles, and he thinks he knows their desires, but they hide their cruel nature from him. The lecherous degenerates look forward to abusing a Halfling. They think me something along the lines of a mysterious sprite, so surely I possess special magical skills to make them feel ecstasy. When they feel I do not please them, they own the right to whip me bloody for their failure. Is it my fault their shriveled old cocks act useless as dead twigs? My mouth cannot create a physical miracle. Since I am a slave, I am beaten.” Alasdaire’s teeth determinedly tore into a chicken slice. I imagined he wished he could treat certain noble cocks the same way!

  His story bothered me. “Wait, Keith lets his guests abuse you? He usually does not condone violence.”

  “Forgive me for speaking bluntly, my Prince, but I doubt if Lord Keith cares how I am treated as long as I please his noble guests. Naturally I protest about my torment to Anders and he claims I deserve what I receive since I am a haughty, insubordinate disgrace who does not understand his true place in the world. Being judged by a bigoted butler insults me, especially since Anders feels after what I did, I should feel happy to even breathe free air.” Once his bitter words hung in the air, Alasdaire instantly halted and inhaled a distressed breath. He returned to examining the far off view.

  Instinct told me this young man’s tale turned dangerous. I arched a brow in inquiry. “Well, since you entered the risky territory, I need to hear further details.”

  The view seemed more important than looking at me. Words emerged in a choked whisper. “My Prince, I fear if I tell, you then you will turn me away and I do wish to stay with you. I appreciate your kindness. Your kindness makes me feel whole.”

  Good to hear Alasdaire understood my efforts. I cocked my head in fresh question. “Why would I turn you away? Did you murder a noble?”

  As I watched in alarm, Alasdaire’s smooth flesh somehow looked paler under his coppery hue. He appeared to fade before my sight. His chin tucked to his chest. “When I was fifteen, I tried.”

  Well! I finished my wine and refreshed the contents. My thoughts pointed at something shadowy. “Bah, you rash idiot. Let me guess; you tried hurting your father for a supposed slight.”

  He leaned toward me, his face anguished. “No mere slight, my Prince! My father left my noble mother to die in horrible pain!” Alasdaire slumped back and shuddered in distress.

  My legendary soft spot welled open in anticipation. “But your mother was a noble Elf.”

  “Yes, but one captivated by love. My grandfather Afratair is Duke of the South. Can you imagine this common bed slave is descended from the Supreme Duke of the South? Tragic. But my mother was a rebellious female, and Elven court, from what she told me, offers a single female strict and tedious lives colored by pure obedience. She claimed her culture smothered her. When he visited the Totandian court in search of valuable healing herbs, my craven father wooed Mother. She told me she appreciated his effort, since to woo a noble Totandian involved danger on his part. He finally convinced Mother to flee her family’s tyranny. The clever seducer spoke of marriage in the future, so Mother ran away with him. Foolish, so foolish.”

  Silence fell. I waited for more words. Alasdaire obviously hated telling this tragic tale. I sensed silence helped him continue.

  His soft words were barely audible. “Elven culture is a delicate dance. In truth my Mother truly loved Father, so she ignored the nasty circumstances and believed the best of that soulless dog. He did not marry her, although Mother told me he often hinted about it until my birth. Then the thing disgraced her. I arrived within two years of her living at the manor. Once I arrived, the dog moved Mother into a snug cottage away from the manor. My bold royal canes and true coloring threatened the coward. Since she was female, Mother appeared paler, plus her few canes were easily hidden under clothing. I emerged fully branded as male Totandian royalty. Imagine, in Totandian culture I outranked him. My bloodline is more ancient.” Fingers traced his cheek canes and Alasdaire’s lips tightened. “We existed in a strange twilight world, not truly part of the estate. Father hired a tutor to teach me reading and writing, but regarding accepting me, ha, I rarely saw him. His promise of raising me as a true son vanished. Mother grew weak and sad. She spent time dreaming in bed, unable to accept her rejection. When I was twelve, he threw us to the mercy of the estate. He turned us out from our cottage without notice to move someone new in.”

  “He threw you out?”

  A painful nod answered my question. “One autumn morning guards arrived and told us to leave. I tried to fight them but naturally they subdued my feeble threat. We did not know what to do! We retreated to a hut behind the barn, sans a real fireplace or solid furniture, but at least no one turned us away. My delicate mother felt completely betrayed. Imagine being promised to be cared for then being dumped like garbage. Luckily the cook pitied us so she smuggled me food.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “When an exceptionally bleak winter set in, Mother began coughing up blood. I begged to see my father, begged for a physician and instead I was told if I tried entering the house, I’d be horsewhipped. Despite their threat I tried and was beaten bloody. So I sat and helplessly watched my mother die from a combination of cold and heartbreak. I buried her in the forest.”

  My recent tasty lunch stirred in my stomach in pity. “Are you sure Leo was even home?”

  This time Alasdaire’s lips twisted in rage. “Bah, he was home. One morning while my mother suffered, I saw him leave in his carriage. I ran, screaming and begging, but I could not keep up.” Alasdaire shook his head. A low snarl emerged. “After Mother’s death I became a common slave, working in the barn. I feared running away since I would be regarded as a slave no matter where I fled. My heritage cursed me. Returning to Nerdean would have meant my death since the Totandian Elves despise Halflings even more than humans. Amazing how everyone at the manor pitied me. If not for them I might have gone mad.”

  “So they taught you not everyone in the world acted cruel.”

  Hands slammed against the table. Another snarl emerged. The Halfling descended into feral rage. “How wonderful, eh, my Prince? How wonderful to become a filthy slave after being promised to be treated like a true son!” A low gasp followed. “Forgive me for my impertinence, my…”

  I waved away his servile words. “I asked you to tell me your tale. I understand anger is part of the tale. Go on.”

  Alasdaire sighed, sipped again and frowned into his wine. “Three years later a chance for revenge presented itself to me. My Father so wanted to travel to the Eastern war. All I heard from the other servants was how eager he felt to be at the front serving under mighty Prince Linden. He fancied himself quite the potential hero commanding the war dirigible. He proposed one last hunting trip. By ill luck I prepared his horse. My hatred overwhelmed me. I located a harness tack and positioned it under his stallion’s saddle so when the saddle shifted, it pierced the horse.” Alasdaire sank back in his chair. His voice recaptured lost regret. “My illustrious Father was thrown and shattered his leg. They found the tack in the horse’s hide so they knew who committed the deed. I finally received my promised horsewhipping from the stable master. After I was horsewhipped, he locked me in a shed until I was dragged before the lord of the manor. Once he stared into my face again, my Father halted in his vengeance. Instead of severely punishing me, Father sold me to Lord Keith with the condition I must remain a slave.”

  Just as I t
hought, so young and rash. “Alasdaire, your outlandish act could have thrust you in a grave next to your Mother!”

  As he leaned forward, Alasdaire’s violet gaze acquired near-sparkling brightness. “My Prince, would you have killed your own son?”

  I drew back from his power and frowned in dismissal. “No.”

  Crows screeched beyond the window. I savored more wine and thought yes, Keith supplied me a challenge. I sipped and awaited further revelation. Alasdaire watched the crows streak across the sky. He sipped his wine and sighed. I tried imagining his tormented life and failed. His soul wanted revenge.

  After long minutes Alasdaire slowly shook his head. “This is the worst memory of all. When my so-called Father came to the stable joking with his cronies, he never acknowledged me. Please, I am hard to miss! If he had offered me one kind word, one hint of fatherly recognition, I would have never sabotaged his saddle. No, instead he treated me like any other slave, then he dismissed me from his life.”