The Spirit Inheritance, c1

Stefan watched Fyraka sleep and marveled at his chest, rising and falling. He had snuck into Fyraka's hut after dark, nigh on midnight, and for a few moments, was too transfixed to move. Fyraka was on the couch, not on a bed, and displaced in the living room, rather than in his own room.

The infant in its blankets kicked and whimpered, jolting Stefan back to reality. He ceased watching his partner and commenced shaking him.

"Fyraka...Fyraka..." Stefan hissed. "This is important. Wake up."

Fyraka rolled over onto his side, but did not wake. Stefan looked at baby Iliyich, blissfully asleep, and shook him harder. Fyraka curled his body into himself and, were the moment not so urgent, Stefan might have let his mate sleep. Instead, he straddled him on the couch and slapped him. It was a sharp, harsh sound and Fyraka awoke, staring bleary eyed at his companion.

"Stefan?" Fyraka said, once his eyes adjusted. "Did you just...slap me?"

"No time for that," Stefan said briskly, moving off him. "Gather your things and meet me on the outskirts of the village in twenty minutes."

"What? Where are we going?" Fyraka said, throwing the blanket off. His brown eyes searched Stefan's in the darkness.

"I'll tell you when you get there. We don't have much time. Go. Go now," Stefan said. He gathered Iliyich's blankets and held the boy close to him. Fyraka's eyes widened.

"Is that...a child?" Fyraka whispered. "Stefan, what on earth are you doing with a child?"

"Never mind that," Stefan said. "I will explain everything later. Get up, get dressed, and gather everything you can't leave behind. I'll see you in twenty minutes."

He disappeared the way he had come, loping through the living room, and out the front door. Iliyich whimpered, fidgeting again, and Stefan shushed him. He stroked the boy's black hair and pecked him on the forehead.

"You must be quiet," he told him. "We must leave before we are missed."
...

Fyraka threw everything into a leather bag, including cloth diapers his mother had in her room. His eyes narrowed and he snorted. His mother rolled over on her large bed. Why his mother had saved the cloth diapers, Fyraka didn't know, nor did he know why the hell Stefan had brought a child with him. Stefan wasn't the sort to kidnap children and he was far too young to have one of his own. He was, after all, only eighteen.

And if there was a child concealed, shouldn't Fyraka have known about it? It cried, didn't it? Magic could still its shrieks, true, but what about the pregnant woman? How had they concealed her for months? Had the whole village kept the ploy from him? Unless the child was from another village, but, no, that made no sense either.

And didn't Stefan know Fyraka didn't like children? They were so needy, so demanding, so impulsive. Fyraka threw his bag over his shoulder and took one last look at his mother. He debated hugging her and telling her he was going, but then she might sound the alarm. He wouldn't miss her much, anyway.

He backed out of his mother's room, swiveled the bag around to shut the clasp, and gazed for a few seconds at the hut he was leaving behind before stepping out the door. Outside, the air was crisp and clear, the full moon high in the sky, and thousands of stars twinkling. He walked along the path, delineated by shaped wood on either side, and a few inches below ground level. He walked, looking around suspiciously, half expecting to run into Denalia or another Elder. His brisk walk abruptly transformed into a sprint, which turned into a full run by the time he reached the village's outskirts.

Heart pounding, he didn't realize he hadn't been pursued. Stefan's eyes narrowed. When he looked at him, that critically, he reminded Fyraka of Stef's father, Baror. Only Baror could pull off disdain with such aplomb.

"Why do you have a baby?" Fyraka panted, hands on his knees.

"You're late," Stefan retorted. "And we will make much better mileage flying, not on foot."

"What?" Fyraka said. He stared dubiously at his best friend. "You can't fly. It's madness."

Stefan thrust the baby blanket bundle at Fyraka's chest and ordered him to stand back. He disrobed quickly, packed the clothes into his bag, and, before Fyraka had much time to marvel at the way the moonlight hit his friend's pale bare skin, he shifted. It happened in the space of seconds. One second, there was an elf standing in front of him, and now, a large, black dragon the size of a building was in front of him.

Get on, Stefan commanded in Fyraka's head. And please don't drop the baby. He's my son.

Fyraka's mouth fell agape and he gawked at the dragon. Rolling his now yellow, draconic eyes, Stefan seized Fyraka with his teeth and flipped him and the baby onto his back. Magic hummed around them, wisps of blue, and Fyraka felt like he was glued to the dragon's back. Their bags were glued to Stef's back and the baby was cemented to Fyraka's lap. Fyraka rolled the blankets back and coursed his finger up and down the little ears, ending in a pointed elfin tip.

"You don't have a son." It was odd to be speaking aloud, when his best friend was going to be speaking in his head. It almost felt like airing a private conversation half in public.

Stefan whipped his wings, dashing to gather speed, and took flight. The ground rapidly fell away, until all Fyraka could see of their village were the tree tops. It was still quite dark and aside from Stefan's wing beats, utterly quiet. Not even an owl screeched.

"And since when are you a dragon?"

I'm half dragon. You knew that when we first met; I told you. My father recently showed me how to shift. Because he hadn't learned how to screen out certain thoughts, he added, The single most useful thing my father ever taught me.

"How...but...your son?" Oh, how eloquent he sounded after only being awake a half hour.

Yes, he is my son. Stefan banked to the right, soaring, and chuckled. Fyraka could feel the pure joy Stefan felt in simply gliding along, now far away from the village they had called home.

Think on it, Fyraka. We are far from that captivity! We will never again have to face unrealistic demands, never again be commanded to perform on demand. No one will ever look down on us or condemn us. We are FREE.

"But...your son...?"

Yes, him. Stefan sighed in Fyraka's mind. I had him over a year ago. I was commanded to keep him secret, but Denalia planned to announce it sooner or later. We were going to have a large wedding procession and then be presented to the Rebel Alliance, to take down the empire.

"But...you don't...you aren't attracted to..." Fyraka was flabbergasted. He swore he wasn't usually this inarticulate.

I did my duty, siring him. He really is my flesh and blood, I assure you, Fyraka. He even bears the Spirit inheritance.

"I don't understand. What empire and what Rebel Alliance?" Fyraka said. There, that sentence didn't make him sound like a halfwit.

They wouldn't have told you, the insular bastards they are. The Elders want to topple the empire and put up their own government. They wanted my help to do it.

"Your father's too?"

No. Father doesn't know about the Elders' ambitions. Stefan shivered in mid air, though it might have been from plowing through a late flying bevy of birds. If he did, he would have destroyed them.

"Particularly Denalia?" Fyraka said and Stefan laughed.

We won't have to worry about her ever again.

"But where are we going to go? What are we going to do?"

Anything. Everything. The only thing we can't do is seek asylum in Utah's court. Father told me to stay far away from her.

"Why?"

That...I don't know. Father never mentioned Utah beyond that. Something about a mad emperor, however... Stefan climbed higher, spinning around to show off, and ducked beneath the cloud cover. Far off in the distance, Fyraka glimpsed an island chain.

After this stop, we'll plan for our future. Father spends most of his time on the island, when he's not in our village. However, I doubt we'll see him. Mother says he's disappeared again, and not to the islands. I don't know where he goes.

The baby yawned, snuggling up to Fyraka, and Fyraka gaped.

"Who's the mother?"

A most loathsome woman. You probably know her. It doesn't matter now. Iliyich will never see her again.</b>

"His mother isn't Denalia, is it?"

Stefan snickered. She wishes. No, Fyraka, his mother is an elf, not a faerie.

"What if your father is there?" Fyraka asked.

Then I'll tell him about the Elders' plots. He won't touch you, I promise. He dislikes you, but he won't do anything to you. You're beneath his contempt.

"Thanks," he said tartly.

You're welcome.

Stefan fell silent then, flying toward the islands, and Fyraka was too excited to sleep. He disliked children, but this was no ordinary child. It was Stefan's offspring. He marveled at the tiny little fingers, the chubby cheeks, the beautiful black eyelashes. Fyraka bent over and kissed Iliyich on the forehead.

I thought you might like him.

"Only because he's yours."

Stefan inclined his head.