“I said you have strange priorities if you’re more concerned about my manners than about the hungry, mostly untamed zywern approaching his rut a few steps away from you. Get out of the stall, Your Highness. You’re making him agitated.”
Jamil stared at him, kind of unable to believe that his employee dared to talk to his prince about an animal’s rut. It was nothing short of scandalous.
But he did take a few steps back, eyeing the zywern warily. Untamed zywerns really were dangerous, and untamed zywerns in rut were doubly so.
“If he’s approaching his—his mating season, you’re breaking safety protocols even more,” Jamil said as calmly as he could manage. He could be calm and rational. He was nothing but calm and rational. He didn’t know why this man made him behave so unlike himself. “You’re never supposed to feed a wild zywern by hand, no exceptions. You’re supposed to use teleporters to transport food to him.”
“I’m building his trust in me,” Rohan said. “How do you expect me to tame him if his only positive relationship is with a teleporter?”
“Other trainers somehow manage it without breaking safety protocols—they’re there for a reason. Zywerns can eat grown men, you arrogant berk!”
“Which is precisely why I told you to get out of the stall, Highness,” Rohan said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “You’re starting to look very tasty to him.”
The zywern’s violet eyes were really fixed on Jamil and they didn’t exactly look friendly.
“And you are not?” Jamil said, pushing back his unease.
“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have noticed that I’m covered in a scent-blocker. To him, I don’t smell like anything, but you smell like a very good, tasty piece of meat.”
Jamil fought a blush. Now that he looked beyond Rohan’s scandalizing state of undress, he could see a thin layer of what looked like dirt on his skin and pants, which somewhat explained his state of undress.
“You’re still breaking safety protocols,” Jamil said, stepping out of the stall to get behind the safety of the force field. “Other trainers—”
“Other trainers don’t have such a short time to work with,” Rohan said. “I don’t have half a year for taming one zywern, so traditional methods ain’t gonna cut it.”
This was a great opening if there was one.
“Then why did my stable master employ you for just three months?”
“I don’t take longer contracts than I need,” Rohan said, shrugging. “Three months is sufficient.”
“We rarely employ new staff. Why you?”
“Why don’t you ask your stable master?”
Jamil took in a deep, calming breath. He counted to ten before slowly exhaling the air from his lungs, trying to push out the frustration as well. “I’m asking you, and I’m ordering you to answer.”
Rohan snorted. “You can’t order me to answer. We live in a democratic world.”
“I can. I’m your employer. You will answer my questions if you don’t want to get fired.”
“Fired?” Rohan murmured, something like amusement in his voice. “I don’t precisely need this job. If I lose it, I have more than a dozen others lined up. There aren’t many zywern trainers who can tame a zywern within a few months, much less tame a zywern approaching its rut. Your stable master needs me.”
Jamil’s frown disappeared as the pieces finally clicked together. It looked like his stable master had bought a zywern that was approaching its rut and needed to tame it, and fast, until the rut hit. Zywern’s rut happened once in eight standard years and was the only time they could reproduce. Zywerns were one of the few creatures that couldn’t be reproduced by artificial means: they released a mix of hormones that were needed for successful reproduction, and the scientists were still struggling to recreate those hormones artificially. That was why a zywern in rut was so prized for breeding purposes. But an untamed zywern in rut was extremely dangerous. It was no wonder that Jamil’s stable master had employed Rohan di’Lehr if the man really could tame a zywern in such a short time.
“My stable master knows I’ve wanted a black zywern for ages,” Jamil said, wincing a little. His stable master was a good, loyal man. He probably wanted to cheer him up after Mehmer’s death. The thought made Jamil more than a little uncomfortable. It appeared he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he’d thought.
Rohan snorted and muttered something under his breath.
Jamil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t quite catch that, care to say it louder?”
“This beast isn’t exactly suited for promenades in Skyline Lane.”
Jamil’s fists clenched. Skyline Lane was a fashionable hover park in central Calluvia, one of the few places on the planet that allowed zywern flights and catered to rich and powerful. It was very popular with high society, used by members of aristocracy to show off their zywerns to each other and engage in idle gossip. Serious zywern riders didn’t go to Skyline Lane, because it was too overcrowded for real flight. Rohan di’Lehr clearly thought he was nothing but an empty-headed social butterfly, that his interest in zywerns was that shallow and superficial—that Jamil was that shallow and superficial.