Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr Read Free

shackle ourselves over the years.”
    “We need heirs,” said Nick.
    Raine and Lyon stared at him in surprise.
    “My thirtieth year approaches. You trail me by only two years, Raine. And you by merely four, Lyon. Who else are we to sire sons and daughters on if not these FaerieBlends?” Nick demanded, gesturing toward the parchment. “They are by nature half breeds, a blend of EarthWorld and ElseWorld, like us.”
    “But unlike us, Feydon’s daughters have Faerie blood in their veins,” Raine reminded him.
    “And the Faerie are volatile,” added Lyon. “Who knows what diverse bag of tricks they may possess?” He shuddered.
    “My material point is that while Human women might find certain of our ways strange or distasteful, a Fey wife would be less apt to present any objection to the manner in which we might presume to quest for heirs,” said Nick.
    “But what sort of heirs will they provide?” Raine asked, shaking his head. “A half-Satyr husband mating a half-Faerie wife? What kind of children can come of it?”
    “If we don’t intervene, it’s probable the FaerieBlends will marry and mate with Humans. What offspring do you imagine might come of that?” Nick asked pointedly.
    Lyon rammed his hands into the pockets of his sturdy trousers and sighed. He dressed the part of a vintner, wearing rumpled trousers, a nubby cotton tunic, and greatboots. “You’re right. Neither they nor their children will know what to make of their abilities. That could prove disastrous.”
    A brittle tension settled over the room.
    “The Satyr have always looked after the Faerie,” Nick said decisively.
    Lyon sighed. “It appears settled we must marry them. Bacchus, what if mine is stupid? Or offensive? How will I stand to bed her?”
    “As I understand it, marriage and protection are our only obligations,” said Raine. “Feydon’s missive stated no requirement to mate or sire offspring.”
    Nick’s eyes sharpened on him. “True.”
    “You would bind your wife to a childless marriage?” asked Lyon. “Bind yourself to one?”
    “The choice will be hers, the facts put to her before we marry,” said Raine. “I want no Blended children who will suffer the alienation of finding one foot in EarthWorld and one in ElseWorld while not properly fitting in either.”
    “What of the wine?” asked Lyon. “Our heirs must carry on our work in the vineyards when we’re gone.”
    The vine-covered hills at the center of the Satyr compound produced grapes, which were made into wine each season. Labeled Lords of Satyr, it was hotly sought by the wealthy and titled throughout Europe and beyond. Some whispered that Satyr wine possessed magical properties, which it in fact did.
    The brothers’ trio of estates was strategically placed at triangulated points along the borders of an ancient forest, like guard towers at three corners of a fortress. At the center of each estate stood an ancient castle with extensive gardens and grounds that met and eventually mingled with the trees of the magnificent old-growth forest. The forest in turn ringed the base of the sloping hills of the vineyards, which formed the central core of their lands.
    Theirs was ancient ground chosen by their ancestors for a special purpose—to serve as a sacred joining place for ElseWorld and EarthWorld. In centuries past, many Satyr had secretly dwelled here, protecting the portal that led between worlds. Now there were but three.
    Raine flicked a speck of dust from his immaculate jacket, the expression in his gray eyes opaque. “Your offspring are welcome to my share. Let that settle the matter.”
    “For now,” Nick relented.
    Raine shrugged.
    “Then it’s only left to determine which daughter we select,” said Lyon.
    “Rome is most convenient for me,” said Nick. “Any objections?”
    “None. I’ll take Paris,” said Raine. “Damn, I abhor traveling.”
    “Traveling? To Paris? I’ll remind you I’m left with Venice,” said Lyon. “The