Honor, duty, lust.

  Captain Jisten is a man divided. Honor, on the one hand, and love, on the other. It’s difficult to balance the needs of his partner, S’Rak, and the needs of the prince he serves. It doesn’t help that the prince is acting oddly and growing increasingly jealous of the time his captain spends with the high priest. But then Jisten is drawn into the dark world of S’Rak’s past, where he is forced to confront his deepest fears. Racial pride and heritage war with his need for sanity and decency.

  Will Jisten learn to accept S’Rak for who he is and face his internal demons, or will he withdraw behind the shield of duty and abandon the man he loves?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Rak and Jisten

  Copyright © 2013 AC Ellas

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-512-4

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

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  Rak and Jisten

  The Dark Servant Book 8

  By

  AC Ellas

  To those who supported me when I needed it the most.

  Chapter One: Day Terrors

  Jezaia leafed through the papers in the drawer. Her husband was sleeping like he usually did after sex, so she had plenty of time. Arrest warrants, gaol orders, limited powers of the crown, orders of knighthood, but no manumissions. She had assumed that Owain would have a few pre-signed manumission forms, gods knew he had enough of all the other forms that the palace used.

  It dawned on her that she had wasted her time seducing her husband. Owain wouldn’t free a slave no matter how much it had pleased him. Therefore, it stood to reason that he wouldn’t keep pre-signed copies of that form. Jethain, on the other hand…Jezaia closed the drawer and flounced out of the king’s suite.

  Half an hour later, Jezaia held up the manumission form with triumph. Her son had four pre-signed copies of it in his desk. It was the work of moments to fill in Essina’s name and slave number. Virien would not profit from going behind her back. She folded the form, dripped wax on it, and sealed it with Jethain’s personal seal that she’d found in his desk drawer.

  Jezaia slipped into the Library, which wasn’t a single room, but an interconnected series of rooms that seemed to grow with every passing year. Bookcases lined the walls while tables, desks, and a large assortment of chairs cluttered the floor space. Towards the back there were smaller rooms set up for the scribes that industriously copied manuscripts before the originals faded to illegibility.

  Each scribe had an assigned working area with their name neatly engraved on a small brass plate that was nailed to the left hand corner of the desk’s edge. The Librarian claimed this practice reduced territorial squabbles among her workers. Jezaia thought that chaining the slaves to their chairs would work as well, but at the moment, the name plates were very useful to her. It took less than five minutes to find Essina’s desk. She set the sealed manumission scroll on the empty workspace.

  * * * *

  Scorth sat on the couch in the parlor. Rak was in his lap, and he stroked his rider’s back and wings, offering what comfort he could. The pain made sleep difficult for Rak, and every time he did fall asleep, the dreams would wake him up again, screaming about Xaethien, chaos priests, Narvain, the Unmaker…it was enough to unnerve even Scorth.

  The dragon had given up on sleep, or on Rak sleeping, and had brought his rider out here, and here they stayed. Inspiration dawned, and with a quick mental effort, Scorth summoned Jisten. It didn’t matter to him that it was late watch, an hour before dawn. Scorth soothed Rak again, for the priest had caught the edge of his sending to Jisten. Scorth wasn’t able to totally shield his soul-bonded rider from his broadcast thoughts.

  “Jisten is coming,” said Scorth, soothingly. He could sense Rak’s acceptance of that. He could also sense the Valer Captain’s rapid approach. It wouldn’t be long before the man came, and then he would work his magic on Rak, and Rak would be content and happy again. Scorth totally approved of the Valer’s effect on his Loftoni.

  “What’s wrong?” Jisten asked as he strode in, not even breathing hard, though Scorth knew he’d run the whole way. He pushed back stray hair that had escaped from his careless ponytail and straightened his untucked shirt.

  Scorth studied the Valer and then gestured to Rak. “He’s not having a good night.”

  Jisten slid into a sitting position next to them and stroked Rak’s near wing. “Night terrors? Or day terrors that haunt your nights?”

  “Do not let Xaethien have me,” Rak pleaded, only half in the real world. He turned his head towards Jisten.

  “He shall not,” Jisten declared. “Remember him ablaze. Remember the light from the sky.”

  Scorth slid the unresisting Rak onto Jisten’s lap now that the Valer had the Loftoni’s attention.

  “Do you remember? The column of burning fire up to one of the heavens?” Jisten stroked both wings once he could reach them, and settled the smaller man against himself.

  “I ‘member,” said Rak, his speech slurred from the morphea Scorth had given him. “But he was there. Yes’erday. Hurt me ‘gain.”

  “That was his lesser child,” Jisten said. “Soon to be as dead as his elder.”

  “He is dead?” Rak blinked up at Jisten trustingly.

  “Xaethien is dead,” Jisten said as he stroked the wings more. “Remember the fire?”

  “Pretty fire,” murmured Rak. “A col’mn of gold’n flames up to the sun.”

  “Yes, yes. Scorth and I are here now. You should always call us when you need help. Promise?” Jisten soothed. “Promise your dragon? Promise your Valer?” Jisten propped up his legs. Scorth could tell that Rak was comfortable, with his head on Jisten’s shoulder, pressed torso to torso, wings easily accessible to the man.

  “Don’ let him hurt me again?”

  “No, no, but you must remember to call us, yes? Call your dragon? Call your Valer? You can do that, yes?” Jisten stroked Rak’s wings against his back.

  “Ai, I can call my Valer. If I am blocked, Scorth can call you for me. He can talk to you. You must have Loftoni blood. Tyll cannot hear him no matter how loud Scorth shouts.”

  “You are so clever,” Jisten said. “Why don’t you sleep? Your dragon and your Valer are right here.”

  Rak murmured something inaudible and fell asleep, despite what Scorth knew were his intentions to stay awake and avoid further dreams. Jisten leaned his head back on the back of the couch and also drifted off.

  Scorth was very pleased. Jisten’s presence would keep the bad dreams away. That meant his hunch was right and they were bonded. Scorth approved—it was no more than the Gods expected. Dragon, Loftoni, and Valer are a triad meant to be together. Scorth stretched, coiled himself on his end of the couch, and fell asleep.

  * * * *

  Musday, the 39th of Evphormon

  It was just after dawn when Rak awoke. Despite the pain, he felt comforted, and knew Tyll was there. He could feel his spouse’s empathy soothing him, and he was delighted that Tyll had come. He’d missed his gentle bard so very much. Rak smiled and opened his eyes to see not Tyll, but Jisten. They were on the couch, and now Rak vaguely recalled Scorth summoning the poor captain. Rak shifted position and hissed as even that slight motion set off a wave of pain.

  Jisten winced. “What hurts? Do you want morphea this early?”

  “Ix. I want breakfast,” Rak said to deflect the captain, although the thought of food further churned his stomach.

  “How are you? You were suffering a waking dream when Scorth called me. And you’re hurting now.”

  “I am fine.” Rak turned his head to look up at Jisten more easily. The man’s body made a warm, firm pillow that he was loathe to relinquish. “How long have you known about your empathy? Who trained you?”

  “I’m no empath!” Jisten exclaimed. “You’re the only one I have ever felt. And the only one that I wish to.” He smoothed a rustling wing and smiled down at Rak.

  Rak studied Jisten’s face, so unlike that of Tyll’s, yet the feelings that soaked into him were so alike. He was reminded of Varkaris, who also had known how he felt, although the feelings from his dance instructor and adoptive father hadn’t been nearly as strong as from Jisten.

  Rak swung off the couch. The pain nearly doubled him over. He took deep breaths as he brought his training to bear and shunted the pain away. It still hurt, but it was a distant thing, not attached to him. But when Jisten offered him morphea in wine, he accepted it.

  “I am hungry and wish to eat before the morphea nauseates me,” Rak said.

  * * * *
  Essina touched the papers again. Her freedom. She had trouble believing it, but the form was filled out correctly. The prince had freed her. That much surprised her, since it was the dark priest who had promised it. Perhaps the prince had signed so there’d be less question of legitimacy.

  She tucked the scroll into her document case, then stuffed it into her pack. The dark priest had given her enough money to get to Okyro, and she wasn’t about to wait. If she was pregnant, she would become a pawn, for her baby could well stand in line to inherit. It was better to slip away, to vanish, before her status became certain. She regretted that she hadn’t told Tebber. He had been out of the palace with duties and she dared not leave a note.

  She knew Rak, like herself, would prefer her to raise their child, if there was a child, in the freedom of Okyro, where slavery was illegal. She picked up her pack and walked out. She would purchase passage on the large riverboat currently in port, a Riverlands trader out of Chloi. In Chloi, she would buy passage on another boat that would take her to the border of A’filozenoi. After that, she would join one of the pilgrim convoys that guided travelers safely into Okyro. Scorth’s instructions on how to travel to Okyro had been meticulous and detailed.

  If only she could take Tebber with her, if only they could wed and be a family. But that was a fool’s dream, and she was practical. Her freedom, money and a life without whips was more than she had dreamed. Tebber was free and served the dark one now, so he would return to Okyro with the high priest. She hoped he wouldn’t hate her by then.

  She slipped out of the palace and headed for the delivery gate off the kitchen yard. Essina hoped the kitchen guards wouldn’t take an interest in her, but a servant walking out with a laden pack still drew attention.

  “Halt!” commanded the guard. She sighed as she complied. Then she smiled when she saw who had stopped her. Fentri used to bounce her on his knee when she was a small child. “Essina?” he asked, voice incredulous. “What are you doing?”

  “Fentri,” she said, “please, I want to do this quietly. I’ve been freed, and I want to leave before Lord Virien finds out.”

  Fentri glanced at the palace, then said, “Let me see the paper.” Essina had left it on top for this very reason. She presented it quickly. Fentri looked it over, then handed it back with a nod. “Godspeed, little one.”

  Essina couldn’t resist hugging him before she continued out of the gate. She emerged from between the gateposts as Hasaviz rode into sight, approaching the palace. Hoping that he hadn’t seen her, Essina merged into the flow of foot traffic heading down towards the docks.

  Chapter Two: Dragon Mythology

  “Raw eggs?” asked Scorth, peering at a shallow bowl filled with speckled brown chicken eggs. “That’s a bit much, even for me.”

  “I think they are boiled,” said Rak. He cracked one on the edge of the bowl. When egg innards didn’t splatter, Rak turned the egg over and showed Scorth the white inside. “See? It is cooked.” Rak put the egg on his plate, and took another.

  Scorth added a few extra slices of bacon to his already generous serving. Tebber finished pouring the café into his mug, looked at Scorth’s plate, and said, “Ham, chicken, two different kinds of sausage, and a slab of bacon. And you wonder why I think you like meat?”

  “I assure you, I haven’t the slightest idea what has given you that impression,” replied Scorth.

  Tebber rolled his eyes at Scorth, but addressed Rak, “If you don’t mind, sir, I promised Dacil I’d eat with him.”

  “Of course I do not mind.” Rak waved the young man off to join his friend and Tebber left.

  The two men and the dragon pretending to be a man addressed their food. Rak peeled the boiled chicken eggs and set the shells aside. Scorth chomped through his meats. Jisten kept the pancake syrup away from his bacon, a process Rak watched with amusement. After the men had made inroads on their food, removing the first edge of hunger, they began to talk.

  “The Valers teach that at the birth of a Loftoni, the dragon egg hatches and the two newborns are cradled together,” said Jisten. “The baby dragon keeps the infant warm.”

  Rak choked on his café. “I assure you, I was born, not hatched.”

  “What?” asked Jisten, perplexed. “I said the Loftoni was born and the dragon hatches.”

  “Uhm. The hatchling dragon requires a lot of care and attention.” Rak mopped up the snorted café.

  “Are you saying that’s wrong?” Jisten looked interested. “What does happen then?”

  “The baby is born in the usual human style,” said Rak dryly. “It is fussed over by far too many relatives, shown off to half the temple, and then everyone settles back down.”

  “And the dragon baby?” Jisten pressed. “Isn’t everyone fussing over it as well?”

  “A clutch of dragon eggs is tended to by the dragon parents, and their riders, and any other hapless souls they can commandeer. When the eggs hatch, every Loftoni in the area arrives, the hatchlings are fed, and cleaned, and fed, and oiled, and fed. Did I mention that they are fed? Eventually we get them to curl up under their mother’s wings with only hourly snacks.”

  “Then how are the infant and the baby dragon put together then? When is the hatchling given to the baby?”

  “They are not put together,” Rak said in a mystified tone. “How can that be? How much free will can an infant display?”

  “Free will? The Loftoni and dragon are bonded,” Jisten said. “They love and cherish each other for life. I’m not sure how free will plays into it.”

  “We have no way of knowing which dragonling the gods have intended for which baby,” Rak said, glad for a topic that took his mind away from the pain. “The dragon and the Loftoni do not normally bond until after the Loftoni’s wings have emerged. And they do not have to bond. It is a choice they must make together, at puberty, or thereabouts.”

  “If they don’t bond,” Jisten asked, “is that what makes some dragons go wild and eat virgins?”

  Rak snorted more café. “Have you been speaking to Scorth?” he accused once he could breathe again.

  “There are tales, among non-Valers of course, of dragons ravaging villages until they are given a virgin to eat. Valers think it’s nonsense, but it sounds like we have our own misconceptions.”

  “I haven’t eaten a virgin in at least a month,” Scorth said. “And I am partial to green ones.”

  “Green virgins?” Jisten asked in confusion.

  “No, not green virgins. That would not only be disgusting, they would taste horrible. Green dragons,” Scorth replied. “Since you brought the subject up.”

  Rak gave Scorth a look which the black man ignored. Jisten grinned at the dragon.

  Rak wondered if it was safe to finish his café. He’d already snorted it twice in a remarkably short period of time. “There are wild dragons. Those that have yet to find their rider, those that lost their rider before they ever bonded, and those that chose not to bond. Dragons, as sarcastic as they are, do not require virgin sacrifices. They might take the virgin, just to tweak the villagers, and let her go in some other place.” Rak eyed Jisten with great caution as he sipped the café again.

  “So I suppose the tale of the Loftoni and dragon losing their virginity with their respective mates at the same time is untrue as well,” Jisten said with his usual shyness about anything sexual.

  Rak swallowed very hastily, and although he did not snort it this time, he did choke. He spent several minutes coughing and trying to recover his breath, a process made much more difficult by the gales of laughter trying to escape him.

  Scorth helpfully pounded on Rak’s back in time to his snickers. “Lose,” snicker, “virginity,” snicker, “at the,” snicker, “same time.”

  Jisten appeared mortified, as if he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. Rak waved a hand about in an attempt to console the man.

  “Sorry, Jisten,” he managed at length. “I just was not expecting that.”

 

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