f—“
“Dane.” The familiar, deep voice calmed him. Grounded him. It was Bastian, his eldest brother. He‟d come from somewhere inside the central area of the temple and now stood framed in one of its several arched doorways. He wore a loosely belted exotic dressing gown of Persian design, which he‟d no doubt acquired on his extensive travels to various archeological sites throughout this world. Beyond him in the inner temple, Dane glimpsed pillows and furs spread about in a lush, haphazard manner. Several goblets lay here and there winking dully in the dimness, empty and forgotten. Dane scented the woman his brother seemed to have forgotten there as well.
An inch taller than Dane and five years his senior, Bastian had the same silver-gray eyes and muscular stature, but he wore his dark hair closely cropped instead of wild and tousled. And unlike Dane‟s raw, rugged nature, there was an air of refined intelligence about him.
“Shouldn‟t you be down in the Forum brushing dust away from some newly discovered bit of pottery right about now?”Dane snapped.
“The digs can wait,” Bastian said, eyeing the coil of parchment Dane held.
“Fuck it.”Dane ripped open the scroll and unfurled it. Then he frowned, tilting it so the others would see that on its surface there were but a few words and numbers. “This is what you came all this way to bring? An address?”
“The entirety of the message entrusted to us may be shared only when all concerned are present,” he was told.
Bastian angled his head over one shoulder and shouted, “Sevin!
Get out here.”
Within seconds, their middle brother appeared from the far side of the portico, fastening rumpled trousers he‟d obviously just donned.
“What‟s so important?”he growled. “It‟s fricking dawn and I was in the middle of something.”
“Two Shimmerskins?” Bastian hazarded.
Sevin shrugged, but a telling grin curved one side of his lips. This was the Sevin that Dane remembered from their youth, sweeping in with his usual humming energy, his dimples in evidence. With the looks of an angel, he‟d been gifted from a young age with the luck of the devil.
Gentlemen lost their money to him at every sort of game of chance. Their wives offered him their best biscotti and cannoli, and pressed fond kisses on his cheeks. And their daughters offered him far more than just kisses.
Dane had been thirteen when he‟d left his brothers for ElseWorld.
Sevin had been fifteen then, and Bastian seventeen. Though they‟d been apart for twelve years, the three of them had quickly fallen back into their boyhood roles in the two weeks they‟d been reunited.
Sevin flicked a glance toward the messengers and his face turned teasing. “Nereids, Dane? Didn‟t know you had it in you.”
Dane favored him with a long-suffering glance and a rude hand gesture, both of which only served to widen his brother‟s grin. When he tossed the scroll onto the altar, Sevin nodded toward it, a question on his face.
“It‟s an address as usual,” Bastian told him, shrugging one shoulder. Sevin rolled his eyes. Dane‟s brows rose, finding his brothers‟
reactions inexplicable. But before he could query them, the messengers sought everyone‟s attention.
“We bring a communication from the Council of ElseWorld,” they announced in tandem. Steepling their fingers under their chins, both bowed their heads in the traditional salute afforded to ElseWorld sovereigns, having apparently been informed that all the brothers bore more than a hint of royal blood in their veins.
“Go on, then, if you must,” Dane grumbled, for it seemed as if they awaited an invitation.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, they began reciting their message from memory:
A good Moonful Dawn to you Lords of Satyr,
We write today to express our concern over the recent unexplained deaths in Rome—nine Else bodies found in the Tiber in the past year alone. Add to that a host of minor indiscretions in the use
“Dane.” The familiar, deep voice calmed him. Grounded him. It was Bastian, his eldest brother. He‟d come from somewhere inside the central area of the temple and now stood framed in one of its several arched doorways. He wore a loosely belted exotic dressing gown of Persian design, which he‟d no doubt acquired on his extensive travels to various archeological sites throughout this world. Beyond him in the inner temple, Dane glimpsed pillows and furs spread about in a lush, haphazard manner. Several goblets lay here and there winking dully in the dimness, empty and forgotten. Dane scented the woman his brother seemed to have forgotten there as well.
An inch taller than Dane and five years his senior, Bastian had the same silver-gray eyes and muscular stature, but he wore his dark hair closely cropped instead of wild and tousled. And unlike Dane‟s raw, rugged nature, there was an air of refined intelligence about him.
“Shouldn‟t you be down in the Forum brushing dust away from some newly discovered bit of pottery right about now?”Dane snapped.
“The digs can wait,” Bastian said, eyeing the coil of parchment Dane held.
“Fuck it.”Dane ripped open the scroll and unfurled it. Then he frowned, tilting it so the others would see that on its surface there were but a few words and numbers. “This is what you came all this way to bring? An address?”
“The entirety of the message entrusted to us may be shared only when all concerned are present,” he was told.
Bastian angled his head over one shoulder and shouted, “Sevin!
Get out here.”
Within seconds, their middle brother appeared from the far side of the portico, fastening rumpled trousers he‟d obviously just donned.
“What‟s so important?”he growled. “It‟s fricking dawn and I was in the middle of something.”
“Two Shimmerskins?” Bastian hazarded.
Sevin shrugged, but a telling grin curved one side of his lips. This was the Sevin that Dane remembered from their youth, sweeping in with his usual humming energy, his dimples in evidence. With the looks of an angel, he‟d been gifted from a young age with the luck of the devil.
Gentlemen lost their money to him at every sort of game of chance. Their wives offered him their best biscotti and cannoli, and pressed fond kisses on his cheeks. And their daughters offered him far more than just kisses.
Dane had been thirteen when he‟d left his brothers for ElseWorld.
Sevin had been fifteen then, and Bastian seventeen. Though they‟d been apart for twelve years, the three of them had quickly fallen back into their boyhood roles in the two weeks they‟d been reunited.
Sevin flicked a glance toward the messengers and his face turned teasing. “Nereids, Dane? Didn‟t know you had it in you.”
Dane favored him with a long-suffering glance and a rude hand gesture, both of which only served to widen his brother‟s grin. When he tossed the scroll onto the altar, Sevin nodded toward it, a question on his face.
“It‟s an address as usual,” Bastian told him, shrugging one shoulder. Sevin rolled his eyes. Dane‟s brows rose, finding his brothers‟
reactions inexplicable. But before he could query them, the messengers sought everyone‟s attention.
“We bring a communication from the Council of ElseWorld,” they announced in tandem. Steepling their fingers under their chins, both bowed their heads in the traditional salute afforded to ElseWorld sovereigns, having apparently been informed that all the brothers bore more than a hint of royal blood in their veins.
“Go on, then, if you must,” Dane grumbled, for it seemed as if they awaited an invitation.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, they began reciting their message from memory:
A good Moonful Dawn to you Lords of Satyr,
We write today to express our concern over the recent unexplained deaths in Rome—nine Else bodies found in the Tiber in the past year alone. Add to that a host of minor indiscretions in the use
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