(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters, A. Ellas [primary phonics books .txt] 📗

take some time.” He slipped off the bed.

Jethain straightened his bed clothes. After Rak walked out, Scorth said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me,” Jethain said. “You were just honest.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” said Scorth earnestly, “But we’re different species. We don’t fit together. You’re not in any condition for a mating flight even if we could.”

“Mating flight? So your wings can fly?”

“Of course.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You can fly while Araken can only glide?”

“I’m a member of a superior race. Are we going back to sleep or not?” Scorth asked. “It’s the middle of the day. Should be sleeping like normal beings.”

“I want to wait for Jisten,” said Jethain stubbornly. “Your lover…hey! If you can’t mate with us humans, then you and Araken can’t be lovers!”

“It thinks!” Scorth smiled as if to take some of the sting from his words. Jethain debated telling the man that his fanged smile didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of being reassuring, it made the recipient feel like they were in danger of being eaten.

“But you’re soul-bonded!” wailed Jethain. “Araken told me so! All the ballads say that only lovers can soulbond!”

“All the ballads lie,” snorted Scorth. “And when was the last time you saw a soul have sex?”

Jethain was confused. “Then what is the nature of your relationship to my brother?”

“Soul bonding without sex. Should I write that down for you?”

“How can you soul bond without sex? That’s the part I don’t get.”

“Humans! Do you do nothing but screw and write?” Scorth asked. “And write bad ballads?”

“Only some of us write bad ballads,” said Jethain, starting to enjoy the demon’s odd humor.

“While the rest screw and write books?”

“And compose bad poetry,” affirmed Jethain.

“I assumed that the bad poets were writing the bad ballads. There are two populations of bad writers? Amazing!”

“They are often separate. The worst is when the bad poets and the bad balladeers get together. Then you end up with ridiculous songs about dragons stealing slaves.”

“The worst,” Scorth concluded. “I tore out the throat of the last person who sang it.” He licked his fangs for emphasis.

“I wonder what the dragon did with the slave,” mused Jethain. “Did he eat it? I can’t imagine the slave was a virgin…”

“Humans taste terrible. I have it on good authority.”

“I hope you aren’t speaking from personal experience!” Jethain hastily added, “Although ripping out the throats of bad minstrels is acceptable.”

“No, I learn from the mistakes of others of my kind,” Scorth said.

“Ripping out throats?” Jisten asked from the doorway.

“Jisten! There you are! Did you know that Scorth isn’t Araken’s lover?”

“Why are you even discussing that?” Jisten asked cautiously.

Jethain blushed and stammered, “The subject of uhm, compatibility came up somehow.”

Jisten eyed Jethain. “Somehow? And what else was said?” Jisten looked at Scorth next.

Scorth grinned fangily. “Souls don’t have to have sex to bond.”

“Ah, the soul-bonding came up,” Jisten sat in the chair next to the bed. “Hence the throat ripping of bad minstrels.”

“You humans, always mating. It’s amazing that you find the time to write bad songs. Or is that part of the mating ritual?” wondered Scorth. “Does singing bad songs help acquire mates?”

“I’m beginning to think Araken keeps you around for the comic relief,” said Jethain once he’d finished laughing.

“Only after a sufficient amount of alcohol has been consumed,” Jisten said. “Speaking of which, my prince?” Jisten gestured to the wine bottle.

“Please,” said Jethain warmly. Jisten poured two goblets and offered one to Scorth as well. Scorth declined with a shake of his head.

Jisten set the goblet on the bedside table. “Perhaps S’Rak will want some later. It’s his bottle, after all.”

“Where did Araken go?” asked

Jethain, because to not ask might seem odd since his brother had been sleeping in the room earlier. Now Jisten was present, and Rak was gone.

“The stable, to check on—I almost forgot!” Jisten said. “Nielle foaled!”

“What?” Jethain sat bolt upright. “When? Is she okay? Was it a colt?”

“A fine colt,” Jisten said. “Would have died with his dam if not for S’Rak.”

“What?” Jethain nearly screeched. “Tell me everything!” He’d been waiting a year to see that foal.

“Lie down and I’ll tell you about it.” Jethain grumbled, but he complied, snuggling against the black furnace.

“The foal was breech,” Jisten said. “Bharis was at his wit’s end.”

Jethain winced, stomach in a knot. “Couldn’t turn it?”

“He tried. Asked S’Rak to try. Even S’Rak couldn’t turn it.” Jisten smiled, drawing out the story.

“What happened?!” Jethain squirmed.

“It was the dam or the colt, for S’Rak wasn’t sure he could save both. The stable boys were arguing, but S’Rak made up his mind. He was forced to break the colt’s legs to save Nielle.”

Jethain flinched and moaned, and his heart felt broken, but he nodded. “Is Nielle okay?”

“The colt was born and S’Rak called down his power to heal the exhausted mare,” Jisten said. “The colt hung onto life while his mother was healed. When S’Rak finished, he found he did have enough left in him to save the foal.”

“He healed them both?” Jethain felt thunderstruck. “They’re both okay? Help me up! I want to go see them!”

Jisten groaned. “Sun scorch it,

no,

my prince!”

“Is he red like his sire, or black like his dam? Jisten, I’m sick and tired of this bed! I want to see Nielle’s colt!”

“I will bring the colt here before I let you out of this bed!” Jisten challenged.

“Then bring him!” Jethain replied. “I’ve waited almost a year to see him!”

“As you wish, my prince.” Jisten stood up and saluted formally.

“You are every bit the horseman I took you for the day we met,” said Rak from the doorway. He led Nielle into the room, the black colt with Saber’s white feet and blaze trotting at her side.

Jisten sidled over to Rak. “Most impressive.”

“I am sure the servants will be cursing my name for a week to come,”