Prince's Master, page 24
Perhaps he really was tired.
“You need rest, Castien,” she said. “Go get some sleep. The Order will not fall apart if you do.”
He nodded—and turned to the reports again.
Shaking her head in dismay, Amara walked out.
In some ways, Castien was as bad as Zaid.
They certainly shared their lack of respect for their elders.
Well, it was a good thing she knew what would help. She might be old, but she knew a thing or two about men.
***
Javier took a deep breath before knocking on the door of Master Idhron’s study.
He was nervous.
He was a servant with experience, and he was rarely nervous before a job, but this time the circumstances were a little unusual. Normally his services were hired by a Master who wanted them, not by a third party.
He had no idea how Master Idhron would react, though in Javier’s experience men didn’t turn down the offer of sex with him.
He told himself he had nothing to worry about. All right, he had something to worry about. After all, he hadn’t serviced Master Idhron in nearly two years, and the man’s tastes could have changed.
“Enter,” Master Idhron said.
Javier entered. He dropped to his knees, dropped his gaze, and murmured, “Master.”
He felt Master Idhron tense up. The air in the room seemed to thicken with something terrible. It wasn’t desire or lust, but something else, something that made Javier’s skin prickle with discomfort.
“What are you wearing?” the Grandmaster gritted out.
Javier’s stomach dropped. Master Amara had been so certain that he should wear an apprentice’s blue robes.
“Do my clothes not please you, Master?” he said shakily. “I can take them off.”
There was a long, strained silence.
Finally, Idhron sighed. “That interfering old woman,” he muttered under his breath before saying more loudly, “Get up.”
Javier got up, his eyes still lowered respectfully.
Idhron made an irritated noise. “Look at me.”
He lifted his gaze, unsure what the hell was going on.
Javier wasn’t stupid. He might be just a servant, but he could put two and two together. Master Amara had clearly thought that Master Idhron would appreciate it if Javier looked like his former apprentice. The physical resemblance between them was quite obvious as it was, but in an apprentice’s clothes and with his hair styled with a mock thaal, he looked even more like Eridan; Javier knew it.
If the rumors about Master Idhron and Eridan had been true, Idhron should have liked his attire.
And yet there was no lust in Idhron’s cold eyes. Instead, there was something almost hateful in them.
Javier licked his lips. “Do you want me to leave, Master?”
Another long, terrible silence.
Finally, Idhron said, “No.” He motioned toward the armchair by his desk. “Go sit there.”
Confused, Javier did as he was told.
He looked expectantly at the Grandmaster, waiting for more orders, but there were none. The man seemingly returned to his work, paying him no attention.
No, that wasn’t correct: he could feel that part of Idhron’s attention was always on him, Idhron’s telepathic presence agitated and tense. It made goosebumps run up Javier’s spine, and not the pleasant kind. He felt like he was in a room with a dangerous beast that might attack him any moment.
The tension built, and built, and built until Javier felt almost sick to his stomach.
His fear seemed to anger the man even more, his telepathic presence becoming darker. Scarier.
“Get out,” Idhron bit out.
Javier flinched so badly he nearly fell out of the chair. “Master?” he said uncertainly.
“Get out,” Idhron snapped, his eyes blazing as his telepathic presence lashed out.
It felt like he was struck with a huge wave of ice-cold water. Javier staggered out of the room, gasping for air and so damn scared he nearly wet himself.
He slammed the door shut and literally ran out of the house.
He ran and ran until he could breathe normally again, and the nauseating feeling of wrong inside him finally disappeared.
What the hell was that?
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rewritten
He’s walking through the Initiates’ Hall. Everywhere he goes, other initiates give him hostile looks, exuding jealousy, bitterness, and resentment.
Eridan knows there must be a reason for that, but try as he might, he can’t remember. All he knows is that no one wants to be his friend. Others talk about him behind his back, speaking in derisive, bitter tones, and fall silent when he approaches them.
He just wants a friend. One friend. Is that too much to ask?
He just wants to have someone who will want him around, who will care for him.
Someone who will like him.
Someone just his.
But there is no one. There will be no one for years and years and years until his brother comes back for him.
***
A mouth slams against his, a tongue forcing its way into his mouth.
Nauseated, he bites hard on the tongue, causing Tethru to howl and remove his vile mouth. “You little piece of shit,” Tethru hisses, grabbing his hair and yanking his head aside. He latches onto Eridan’s neck, biting so hard Eridan cries out in pain. Tethru laughs, shoving him against the wall. “Cry. I like it when little boys cry.” He grinds his erection against Eridan’s stomach. “Can’t wait to stick it into your cunt.”
“Help!”
Tethru laughs. “No one will come. No one will hear you. By the time I’m done with you, you will be sloppy with my semen, and no one will ever want you.”
Panic, rage, and disgust fills his senses, his vision going red, and before Eridan knows what he is doing, Tethru’s making strangled noises.
And then he is dead.
Eridan shoves the body away, shaking so badly he feels like crawling out of his skin. He feels dirty. He is dirty.
A murderer. He killed him. He killed a person.
Eridan sinks to the floor as his knees give out. He hugs his knees and rocks himself back and forth, staring at the dead body in horror, tears blurring his vision.
He will be arrested and locked up for this. He killed the Grandmaster. He is dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty.
The door opens—
And no one enters.
There is no one there.
No one will help him.
No one will hold him or comfort him.
He is alone. There is only him and the body.
Eridan woke up with a sob, breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably.
Just a dream, he told himself. Just another nightmare about something that had happened ages ago.
He hugged his pillow to his chest, trying to breathe through his panic and only succeeding in short, sharp gulps.
It was all right. He was all right.
He was all right.
***
Warrehn stopped pacing when Ksar entered the room. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said. “I know you’re busy.”
Ksar just gave a nod, his silver eyes flickering toward the closed door to Eridan’s room. “I’m not sure I can help him. What you described sounds like a severe case of depression. That’s not exactly something I can fix.”
Frustrated, Warrehn ran a hand over his face. “I know. But can you at least try, see what’s wrong with him? He refuses to talk about what’s bothering him and doesn’t want me to see what’s inside his mind. I want to know if Idhron damaged him somehow when he erased his memories.”
Ksar gave him a steady look. “Did your brother actually agree to this?”
Warrehn heaved a sigh. “He did. I guilt-tripped him into allowing you to take a look at his mind. He’s still not exactly happy about it, but…” He shrugged. “He isn’t happy about anything these days anyway, and I figured it can’t get worse. He’s waiting for you.” Warrehn gestured toward the door.
Ksar disappeared inside, and the wait began.
Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Ksar emerged, a frown on his face.
“Well?” Warrehn said impatiently. “Did Idhron mess up?”
Ksar shook his head. “From what I could tell, Idhron did exactly what your brother requested. I couldn’t find a single memory of him. And that’s the problem, Warrehn.” He grimaced. “Your brother’s mind… physically, it’s completely healthy, but the problem is Idhron was such a prominent part of Eridan’s life for years that taking him out of Eridan’s memories seems to be too traumatizing. The brain is a complex organ that tries to mend the gaps in memories by coming up with something that didn’t actually happen, something that’s usually based on one’s subconscious fears. That’s why your brother is suffering from a severe depression.”
Warrehn rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you help him?”
Ksar gave him a flat look. “Of course I can’t. I’m a Class 7 telepath, not a therapist. He needs a mind healer.”
Warrehn bristled. “You can’t seriously suggest—”
“Look, Warrehn,” Ksar said, his expression a little tight. “I have no love for the High Hronthar, but even I have to admit that there are things mind adepts are legitimately good at, and that’s healing mental trauma.” He looked Warrehn in the eye. “Are you aware your brother was the subject of an attempted sexual assault and that he killed his assaulter?”
What?
“I don’t have to tell you how traumatizing that would normally be,” Ksar said. “Luckily for Eridan, at the time, he was bonded to the best mind adept of the Order. For all Idhron’s faults, he did the kid good and healed his trauma. Until now. With every memory of Idhron gone, everything even remotely related to him was erased from Eridan’s mind, including all the healing and trauma treatment. That’s why he’s falling apart now. He needs help. As soon as possible.”
“You’re a Seven,” Warrehn ground out in frustration. “You really can’t help him?”
Ksar’s lips thinned. “Raw power isn’t everything. I’m no mind healer. I have no experience with something like that. If it were as simple as you think, I would have healed my own brother when he was suffering from a mental illness that was slowly destroying his mind. I might be more powerful than Idhron, but I don’t have a fraction of his knowledge and expertise.”
Warrehn sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know you’re right.”
Ksar turned toward the door. “Give Idhron a call. I doubt he’ll refuse to help his former apprentice.”
Warrehn frowned. “But Eridan must have wanted to erase his memories of him for a reason.” He had his suspicions about it, even though he tried not to think about it too much.
“Whatever those reasons may be, they can’t be more important than his mental health,” Ksar said dismissively. “If Idhron restores at least a few memories relevant to the assault, that alone should help significantly.” Ksar glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late. I’m supposed to leave for Planet Eila and help them resolve their civil war.”
Warrehn nodded distractedly. “Thanks for coming,” he said, already thinking about how he was supposed to convince Eridan to see a mind healer.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Damn it.
Chapter Thirty: An Act of Selfishness
Warrehn was an overbearing prick.
A well-meaning prick, but an annoying one, nonetheless. No matter how many times Eridan had told him that he was fine, Warrehn wouldn’t leave him alone, hovering over him like an overprotective mother hen.
Eridan had refused to see a mind healer. He was sick of someone constantly messing with his brain and body. It was bad enough that he felt like he was put together wrong, which, according to Warrehn, was the consequence of having the throwback part of his brain blocked off. It raised another question: Why would he do it? Why would he consent to modifying his brain, and essentially his body? Sure, he had never liked being a throwback, but it was part of what he was. He didn’t understand why he would do it, especially considering how wretched he now felt, both physically and mentally. His body felt strange, and his mind was full of disjointed, depressing memories that didn’t quite make sense. The nightmares didn’t help, and the way he felt shaky and small after them for hours wasn’t exactly fun, either, but it wasn’t the worst part.
He felt like he was missing something, as though whoever had messed with his mind had forgotten to put back something essential when they remade him.
It sounded so over-dramatic, but it really felt that way. It felt like there was an emptiness inside him that he couldn’t explain. A hollowness that nothing could fill.
An ache for something he couldn’t name but wanted just the same.
***
Eridan stared at the purple gemstone in his hand, frowning deeply. There was something about it that felt almost familiar, teasing a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. He had no idea where he had gotten the gemstone. It was immensely frustrating. He had no idea why he felt so attached to it, either. It made no sense. It was far from being the prettiest piece of jewelry he owned, but there was something about it… Something comforting. He felt a little bit better when he wore it, his mood inexplicably lifting and the unease under his skin lessening. It was just one more thing he didn’t understand about his own mind. His own past. He wanted to punch the person who had messed with his memories, except apparently that person had been him. It had been his own idea, according to Warrehn.
“Your Highness, you have a visitor,” the palace AI announced.
Eridan slipped the gemstone back under his shirt, letting it rest against his chest. “I’m not accepting callers, Rasul,” he said.
“That is what I told him, but he was quite insistent, Your Highness.”
Sighing, Eridan said, “Who is it?”
“The High Adept, Your Highness.”
Eridan frowned. He searched his memories, but he didn’t seem to even know who the new Grandmaster was after Tethru… had died.
Shoving the thought out of his mind—it didn’t matter, it happened years ago, he was fine—Eridan forced himself to focus on the present. Whoever the new Grandmaster was, he was unlikely to be paying him a social call. What if… what if the Chapter knew?
Swallowing, Eridan breathed deeply, in and out.
Everything would be fine.
They couldn’t possibly know, after all this time.
“I will see him, Rasul,” he forced out. Whether they knew about him killing Tethru or not, turning away the new Grandmaster would just piss him off.
Eridan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
The sound of the door opening made him look up.
There was a man staring at him from the doorway.
To Eridan’s surprise, he was familiar. It was the very same man who had kissed him on the forehead and wished him happiness. The one with blue eyes. Eridan had thought of him more than once in the past month, wondering, but Warrehn had been very tight-lipped about his identity.
So this was the new Grandmaster.
Slowly, Eridan got to his feet, unsure.
He knew the customs. As a prince, he was supposed to give the High Adept of the High Hronthar a shallow bow, but for some reason, it felt wrong.
He was rooted to the spot as the man finally moved toward him.
“Your Grace,” he managed. The title felt strange on his tongue. He felt strange, too, his skin tight and his telepathy oddly restless.
Something flickered in those blue eyes. “Your Highness,” the Grandmaster said.
It sounded as unnatural as Your Grace did.
Eridan pursed his lips, feeling terribly off-balance, but also inexplicably comfortable at the same time. He knew this man.
“I know you,” he said. It was a statement, even though it felt like a question.
The Grandmaster’s nostrils flared, his eyes peering into Eridan’s face intently. “You remember me?” he said, his telepathic presence reaching out and brushing against Eridan’s in a way that was shockingly intimate and greedy.
Eridan stepped back, a little disconcerted both by this man’s shocking conduct and the fact that he didn’t feel disconcerted.
“No, I have no memories of you,” Eridan said. “Except for the time you…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the mind adept who messed with my mind.”
“I did it at your request,” the other man said. “My name is Castien Idhron. I am—was your Master.”
Eridan frowned. What was he talking about? “I never had a Master. I was never chosen.” He tried not to sound bitter. He wasn’t sure how successful he was.
Idhron’s expression became a little tight. “You were chosen, Eridan. You were my apprentice for nearly four years.”
Eridan pursed his lips, looking at him uncertainly. This man didn’t look like someone who would joke about such things—would joke about anything. But…
“Then why don’t I remember it?”
“You made me remove all your memories of me.”
“Why?” Eridan bit out in frustration, his heart speeding up. Warrehn had claimed that he didn’t know why he had done it, but Eridan could see in his brother’s eyes that he had a theory that he simply refused to share with him. This was his chance to finally solve the mystery. “Tell me. Please.”
Idhron gave him a long, intent look.
Eridan tried not to show how flustered that look made him feel. There was something almost… greedy about that look. Something almost indecent. One wasn’t supposed to look that way at a prince, especially when one was the High Adept of the High Hronthar.
