Caged Bird - Ekleipsis #2 (Fantasy Romance, LGBT, MxM, WxM)

Chapter 1.1

The bird did not fly. It sat in its cage all day long, ruffled up and sullen, sometimes hiding its head under its deformed wing. It was a messenger bird of the finest breed, capable of covering a hundred miles in a day, of cleaving storms and hurricanes with its wings without difficulty. Before, it was strong, lively; its feathers shone darkly like a multi-layered Kimdiss blade. Like an arrow shot from an elven bow, it used to always find its destination. This time too, it did — and fell on the porch of the addressee, like a heap of crumpled, dirty feathers. The broken wing had healed, the feathers had grown anew, but the bird never again took to the air, as if ashamed of the failure.

By what miracle had it managed to break out of the raging Storm Belt and overcome fifteen hundred miles of the open sea? It brought no letter; was it lost during its journey or was it never written? The pitiful state of the bird led to terrible thoughts. It was enough to give in to despair, and in his mind he saw the masts collapsed, the ship wrecked, the deck swept over with the sea waves, and the cage with the messenger bird opened by a slender hand adorned with a ruby bracelet, to let at least one living thing escape the terrible shipwreck. The bird let out a plaintive cry, because it was not given a letter, circled over the sinking ship until the masts disappear under the water...

Oh, thinking such thoughts was pure madness! He could bring disaster on his loved ones who were still alive and well, even if their ship had sank and the messenger bird had been sent without a letter. He was absolutely sure they were alive and well. He was a seer, one of the Ancient Race. But... Maybe... Maybe the Storm Belt had interfered with his gift... Maybe the world behind it was a different one, with different laws of nature. Maybe time itself was different there...

After all, twelve years had passed.

Twelve years ago the two-masted Leopard left Trianess harbor and headed southwest, with the intention of crossing the Storm Belt somewhere just above the equator, where it was believed to be less impenetrable. The ship was built specifically for the journey: small, maneuverable, with no protruding or fragile parts, with reinforced masts and strong sails woven from Jinnjarati spotted coconut fibers. Like the last ray of sunshine, it flashed across the sea waves and disappeared over the horizon.

What was twelve years for an immortal elf? A mere moment. He had lived twenty times as long before he even knew he was destined to fall in love. The skill of patiently waiting was in the nature of the Ancient Race, as well as the habit of rational thinking. He himself agreed to that temporary separation, even suggested it. Knowing full well that every day, every hour apart would be a knife in his heart. Now, after twelve years, his heart was cut to pieces.

Only in the memories did he draw solace. And he has accumulated more than twenty years' worth of memories. But not by much.

A hundred years of memories of their life together would not be enough to drown out the longing. But he believed — sturdily, passionately believed that they would have those hundred years yet. Because nothing was impossible for a sorcerer, a seer and a shapeshifter.

Alva Ahayrre, a Creedan nobleman, brilliant courtier, Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, famous poet, handsome dandy, sorcerer who tamed fire.

Ithildin, Prince of the Ancient Race, born from the bloodline of the kings of the distant past, gifted with the ability to see the future, understand the languages of sentient beings, and see the truth.

And Kintaro, a barbarian from the steppe, the Essanti tribe chief, great warrior, master of the sword, skillful seducer, deflower of innocents, shapeshifter, wereleopard.

Nothing was impossible for them, except for one thing — not to suffer while separated.

Was it really necessary for Ithildin to stay in Creede? It was a human habit, not one of the Ancient Race — asking oneself the same question over and over again, and giving it the same answer.

Yes, it was.

Once upon a time, when Chevalier Alva Ahairre was twelve, his father left him and set sail in search of Irshavan, the land of dreams of many seafarers since ancient times. Since then, he had been presumed dead. Alva Ahayrre's son was also twelve when Alva set sail in search of his father. This was his path, from which he could not turn. And Kintaro followed him like a loyal bodyguard. Knowing the barbarian, there was no doubt that Alva's body would be under his strict vigilant supervision day and night (especially night).

And Ithildin stayed behind to look after his nephew, Alva's son. A sister's child was believed to be the closest relation for a male elf; closer even than a child of his own, because the elves thought a child inherited much more from its mother than from its father. This was Ithildin's path, from which he also could not turn. Leaving the lands of humans, his sister Itheldain entrusted her son to his care.

At first, people of Trianess wondered how Chevalier Ahayrre managed to persuade an elf girl to marry him, despite the fact that he didn't even think of breaking up with any of his two lovers; then people wondered why the elf girl returned to the Great Forest, leaving the two people dear to her — the father of her son and the son of her father (since rumor was that elves didn't love their children). But the entire Ancient Race was always mysterious, their ways foreign for humans, their motives unknown, and their actions incomprehensible. Secrecy was Chevalier Ahayrre's constant companion, the matters of his household strange even for lively, dissolute capital of Creede. Only a few friends had earned his trust. Only those few people, now scattered across the whole Creede, were close enough to Ithildin, and he could turn to them for consolation.