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Lyr calling him Master makes Damon’s breath hitch. He thinks of Lyr calling him Akai. Begging in Magaar. “Would you rather speak in Magaar?” Damon says heavily.
Beg for me again in Magaar.
“No. I enjoy Artemian. And your Magaar is,” Lyr smiles, “not as good as my Artemian.”
“I can speak Juran,” Damon says, in Juran.
“You can, it is better than your Magaar,” Lyr says. His voice is playful. No one speaks to him the way Lyr does. “But my Artemian is better still.”
“How did you learn Artemian so well? Did Jareleezi teach you?”
Lyr takes a breath. “Not teach me exactly. But she had many books in Artemian. Much of her study was of Artemia. I suppose I picked it up.”
They walk a little further. At the end of the herb garden is another gate which opens into an orchard of apple, plum and cherry trees. All of them are heavy with fruit. Damon thinks he must ensure Kres sends some men out here soon to collect the harvest before Surrus Moon.
“Your house is very grand. You are a rich man,” Lyr says.
“Did you not expect me to be rich? I am the son of the Crown Prince of Azuria.”
“I know that. But you made pains to inform me that you were the bastard son, entitled to nothing of your father’s wealth.”
“Yes.”
“You are the son of a prince and a whore. But here you are far more prince than whore.”
Damon smiles. “You know, a scullion should not speak to me that way.”
“I am not really a scullion.”
“No. You are not.” Damon pauses. “All this wealth is from Emperor Selim. He favours me because of all the people I have killed for the glory of Azuria.”
“Perhaps you could kill enough people to become emperor yourself.”
“I don’t think that is how it works.”
“Isn’t it? I thought that was how most people become emperor.”
“Indeed,” Damon says with a small laugh. The way Lyr speaks to him is shocking. No one else would dare be so bold as to say to his face he should commit treason to become emperor. But he feels so light in his heart. Lighter than he has done in a long time. It's so easy to be with Lyr. He thinks of Inez’s frown the first night he was home when he claimed himself too tired to lie with her, and her almost tears when he begged the same excuse on the second night.
This kind of pleasant easy conversation should be something he shares with his wife, not some male scullion that the whole household believes him to be, if not already fucking, then certainly eager to bed.
But no one else makes him feel like Lyr. So at ease. He feels young when he is with him. Like the youth that was stolen from him has been returned.
Damon finds himself saying, “I was given this house and an income to pay for it by Emperor Selim, for my part in taking Jur-Mattan. But years ago, when I took back Pluma-Ferris he gave me an island.”
“An island. A whole land.”
“It’s not a large island. Not like Klish.”
“Klish is many islands. Some are very small.”
“My island is called Sanvicta. It’s off the western coast of Vashti. All that is there is one small keep. But it is very beautiful. It’s wild. And at nineteen, I was amazed to even have land at all. Sanvicta is mine for life and for all my sons. Sanglora I simply hold for the empire, Sanvicta is mine forever,”
“Sanvicta,” Lyr says softly. It sounds beautiful in his mouth. “That means blood and victory. All Selim’s gifts to you have blood in the name.”
“For the blood I spilt for him.”
“Or the blood you have in your veins,” says Lyr. “I would like to see it. Sanvicta.”
