The Scholar's Heart (Chronicles of Tournai Book 3)

by Antonia Aquilante

  “All right,” he said, the words dragged out of him despite all his reasoning.

  “Thank you.” Etan took his hand and raised it to his lips, heedless of Flavian’s presence. “Now, the garden as Flavian suggested? Or something else? We need to do something, or we’ll all go crazy waiting.”

  “Cards?” Flavian suggested as he walked around Tristan to face him and Etan. “I could give you a painting lesson?”

  Etan chuckled, and Tristan found himself joining in, which he assumed was Flavian’s intention, as Flavian didn’t look insulted at their laughter. “I doubt that would be anything but frustrating for us all. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

  “I heard you were musically inclined,” Etan said. “That’s creative, if not exactly artistic.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Adeline. She was telling some story of how you used to play while Adora sang,” Etan said. “It was a sweet story. Adora seemed a little embarrassed.”

  “Adora is shy.” Tristan wondered if Adeline had told that story before or after Tristan’s mother tried to get Tristan to marry Adora. If it was after, Adora might be embarrassed by any mention of Tristan, but she’d seemed all right with him last he saw her.

  “She is. Now, what should we do? How should we distract ourselves?”

  He wished he were feeling more himself. On any other day, he would have an excellent idea as to how to distract himself and Etan. It involved a bed or any flat surface or maybe even just a wall, and Flavian would have to go. But Tristan wasn’t feeling himself, certainly didn’t feel like going to bed with Etan—and he never thought that would happen.

  Etan smiled, as if he knew what Tristan was thinking, and squeezed the hand he still held. Flavian watched them both, his gaze seeming to take in and assess everything that passed between Tristan and Etan. Not that it mattered; Etan had amply demonstrated there was something between him and Tristan anyway.

  Tristan sighed. “I don’t think I have the attention span for cards, not today.”

  “Then we should definitely play for money,” Flavian responded in a bland voice that had Tristan’s slow-moving thoughts confused as to whether he was joking for a moment. But Flavian smiled slightly and Etan shook his head.

  “A walk, then, just for some air and to clear your head,” Flavian said, nothing if not persistent.

  “Fine. Let’s walk.” Neither Flavian nor Etan was going to let him find an empty room and sit alone with his fears. They wanted to try to distract him. It wouldn’t work, but he couldn’t talk them out of it, and now that he really looked at Etan, he realized Etan might be in need of distraction himself. Etan’s face was tight with worry, his eyes clouded with fear. Tristan couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t noticed it before now. Well, he could. His own fear was so overwhelming. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Etan was being so strong for Tristan. He hadn’t seen that Etan’s strength hid fear too.

  But perhaps Flavian with his observant artist’s eyes had seen and wanted to distract them both.

  He let Etan and Flavian lead him outside into the sunshine. The heady scent of flowers surrounded him as soon as they stepped onto the path. Opulent and bursting with color under a flawless blue sky, the palace gardens looked as beautiful as they always did. Even in all his travels, he’d never seen another garden as beautiful as these. When he first saw them, he couldn’t believe his oldest friend lived here, among the beauty of the gardens and the splendor of the palace. He still couldn’t quite believe it, even as he grew more accustomed to visiting the place.

  And now he loved Etan, and Etan loved him. Etan, son of a royal duke, cousin to the prince, and resident of the palace. He hadn’t thought too much about what would come next if Etan did want to be with him. Would they end up like Cathal and Flavian, living here in the palace? Would they move into Tristan’s house? They’d have to take Bria into account, of course—

  Bria.

  Well, for a moment, Flavian’s attempt at distraction had worked. For the barest moment, he’d thought of something other than Bria and the fear at what could be happening to her, the fear that he might never see her again. How could he forget, even for an instant?

  His baby girl.

  “Tristan?” Etan’s voice was filled with concern, and Tristan realized he’d stopped walking in the middle of the path. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He didn’t want Etan or Flavian to know his thoughts, neither that he had been distracted and disturbed by them nor what distracted him. Certainly that last would only lead to a discussion he didn’t want to have, not yet, not now. Not when he didn’t know where Bria was or if—when—he would get her back. Not when he didn’t know Etan’s thoughts on the subject. That conversation might have followed when Etan appeared on his doorstep last night—was it only last night?—if Bria hadn’t been taken. As it was, Tristan didn’t know when they would talk about it. If they ever would.

  Etan and Flavian were still watching him. “Really, it’s nothing.”

  “If you say so,” Etan said, his eyes still holding skepticism and worry.

  “I do,” Tristan said and began walking again. He hated how sharp his words had been, but the concern, the doubt, began to grate on his nerves.

  Etan and Flavian caught up with him quickly, flanking him and starting a conversation about a play they’d all seen, likely meant to distract him. He let it all wash over him as he kicked himself for snapping at Etan. Etan and everyone—Amory and Philip, even Cathal and Flavian—were all being so kind, so helpful and caring and supportive, but he snapped and was generally ungrateful in the face of their kindness. In the face of everything they did for him, for Bria and Selene, bringing resources to the search that he didn’t have access to on his own, he snapped at Etan. He should be thanking them for everything they did; he should express his gratitude in every way he could. Because he didn’t know what he would do without their help.

  They stopped as Flavian examined something that caught his eye, Tristan wasn’t sure what and wasn’t sure he cared, and muttered that he needed to bring his sketchbook out tomorrow. Etan leaned close to Tristan and whispered, “What’s wrong? Or, what else is wrong?”

  Tristan almost smiled at Etan’s amendment to his question. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “What? No.” Etan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I understand. You’re scared and feeling helpless. If it helps you to—”

  “No. I don’t want to take out my fear on you. That isn’t fair, not with all you’ve done, are doing, for me.”

  “I’m here for you because I love you. We’re all here for you because we care. We want to see Bria back in your arms.”

  “I know. I know you do.” A sob caught in his throat. “Do you think we will? Do you think I’ll hold her again? Do you think she’s all right?”

  “I believe we will. I have to believe we will.” Etan pulled Tristan forward into his arms, wrapping him up against the strength of his chest. Tristan let himself melt against it, leaning on Etan, relying on Etan’s strength to bolster his own, which was flagging more than he liked. He buried his face in Etan’s shoulder and breathed the familiar scent of him, calming with each breath.

  Etan held him firmly, patiently, never pulling away or encouraging Tristan to let go. Another thing Tristan had to be grateful for. Etan’s thoughtfulness, his care. “Thank you,” he whispered into Etan’s shoulder. He only realized Etan heard him when Etan’s arms tightened.

  “No need for that. I love you.”

  Tristan nodded against Etan’s shoulder. “I love you too.”

  He finally lifted his head and looked at Etan, who examined him closely as if searching for something in his expression, some sign Tristan was all right. Or was at least holding himself together as best he could under the circumstances. He nodded at Etan, not really able to find words, but hoping Etan could see he was hanging on—for Bria, for Selene, for Etan.

  Etan put a hand on his cheek, gently cupping the side o
f his face, and looked at him for another moment before he nodded too. “All right.”

  They released each other slowly, by degrees, until they stood with their hands linked. Only then did Tristan look around. Flavian had wandered off down the path. He could have seen something else that sparked inspiration for a painting, but when he cast a furtive glance back toward them, Tristan realized Flavian had walked away to give them privacy. Gratitude welled inside him. Etan kept hold of Tristan’s hand as they began walking again, and he was grateful for that too.

  Flavian turned to face them as they walked closer, studying Tristan with large, blue-green eyes. The scrutiny was casual, but Tristan could tell.

  “Thank you,” he said softly as they came up next to Flavian.

  “Not at all,” Flavian said.

  Chapter 16

  THEY WALKED through the gardens for a good part of the morning. Etan wasn’t sure exactly how long, but the sun climbed in the sky and the air warmed as they aimlessly strolled the garden paths. He had no destination in mind, and he didn’t think Flavian did either. His only aim was to keep Tristan moving, to try to distract him with talk of anything but what they were all thinking about.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about it, so he knew Tristan couldn’t either.

  There were no reports from Captain Loriot in the time they were outside. Tristan fretted after a while that perhaps no one knew where to find them. The guards knew, and Etan had asked a servant to leave a message for Philip and Amory letting them know where they’d gone. But it was easier to think that perhaps no one could find them than that there wasn’t any news to be had.

  Etan wanted there to be news. He wanted Captain Loriot to stride into the palace with Bria, safe and unharmed.

  They finally turned their steps back toward the palace, walking with more purpose than they had in all the meandering they’d done that morning. Tristan insisted on checking to see if there was any news, and Etan thought Tristan should eat something. Breakfast had been hours ago, and he hadn’t eaten much of it in any case. Neither of them had. Etan wasn’t very hungry, and he doubted Tristan was, but they needed to eat.

  “I won’t be able to,” Tristan said as they approached the stairs to the west terrace.

  “You need to,” Flavian said bluntly. “You need to keep your strength up. To get through this for your daughter and your sister.”

  Tristan scowled at him but ultimately capitulated under Flavian’s fierce glare. “I’ll try.”

  “Good.”

  They climbed the steps briskly and strode across the terrace and into the palace. They were barely three steps inside when Tommo stopped them. Bowing, he said, “My lord, your lunch guest has arrived and has been escorted to the room you specified.”

  “My lunch guest?” It took Etan far longer than it should have to realize what Tommo was talking about. When he did, he had to bite back a vicious curse. “I forgot all about it.”

  “I apologize, my lord. I should have reminded you and asked if you wanted me to cancel the appointment.”

  Etan sighed. “Not your fault.”

  “Shall I tell your guest you’ve been detained?” Tommo asked.

  “No, thank you. He’s come all this way. I’ll tell him.” Etan turned to Tristan and Flavian as Tommo bowed and walked away. “I’m sorry. I need to deal with this. Why don’t you go on and start lunch and I’ll join you?”

  “What happened?” Tristan asked.

  “I forgot I was supposed to have lunch with Corentin today to discuss some of his work. Apparently Tommo did as well. I thought all my appointments were canceled.”

  Tristan looked away. “You can meet with him if you like. I don’t want you to put everything into disarray for me.”

  He did not believe for one moment that Tristan wouldn’t be upset if Etan left him to have lunch with another man, even an innocent lunch with another scholar, at a time like this. Not that Etan would ever consider it. “No. This isn’t urgent. We were just going to share some of our studies. But I can do that another day.”

  “If you’re certain….”

  “Of course I am,” he said before Tristan could continue to protest. “I just want to explain personally and apologize. Corentin came all the way up here when I’m sure he has other things he could be doing today.”

  “All right. Tristan and I will go on to my suite and have lunch sent up. You can join us after you’ve spoken to your guest,” Flavian said. “Shall we, Tristan?”

  Tristan looked at Flavian and then back to Etan. “We can walk with you. We’re not in a hurry, are we? Nothing to do today but wait for Captain Loriot to send word. We’ll go with you, and then we’ll eat lunch. Not that I’ll be eating much.”

  “Oh, um.” He had no idea why Tristan seemed so adamant about accompanying him to see Corentin and convey his regrets, but he didn’t want to argue, not today and not in the middle of the corridor. And not over something so trivial. “That’s fine, if you like. It won’t take long.”

  They walked together through the halls to the room he’d instructed Corentin be brought to when he’d put the lunch on his schedule originally. It wasn’t a large room, but it was comfortable and had a pretty view of the rose garden. Neither of those things was why he’d chosen the room for Corentin. He’d asked that Corentin be brought there because the art in the room was all themed around the legends of Tournai. The legend of the cats was painted in stunning, glorious color across the ceiling, and paintings were hung on each wall depicting other stories. Glasswork and carvings all centering around the same themes were displayed around the room as well.

  And no one outside the family who came into this room knew the legends were based on a kernel of truth.

  The newest addition to the room’s art was a stunning depiction of Tournai’s cats and the legendary dragons of the northeast in vivid colors and an almost dreamlike style, a painting Flavian had recently finished that now hung in a place of pride over the ornately carved mantle. Corentin stood in front of the fireplace staring up at the painting, his face almost pensive, but he turned when the door opened and Etan stepped inside, followed by Tristan and Flavian.

  “Good afternoon, Corentin.”

  “Etan, good afternoon,” Corentin said in his deep, lightly accented voice. His gaze, still startling in its violet shade, flicked to Tristan and Flavian. “I didn’t know we were to have company.”

  “Corentin, you remember Tristan, I trust. And this is Flavian, my brother by marriage and the artist of the painting you were admiring.”

  Corentin had been nodding, but his eyes lit with interest when Etan explained who Flavian was. “An honor to meet you, my lord. I was greatly admiring your painting. It is an intriguing piece of art.”

  “Thank you. It’s a favorite of mine.” Flavian looked at the painting with fondness. Etan wondered briefly if it was fondness for the painting or for the depiction of one of Tournai’s legendary cats—it could be either as Flavian knew of Cathal’s Talent.

  “May I ask what inspired you to paint it?” Corentin’s eyes were sharp with his curiosity, an expression Etan had seen more than once over the course of their admittedly short acquaintance, usually in conjunction with something of scholarly interest to him.

  “The stories that fascinate me. I wanted to depict them, blended together.”

  The legends of his adopted country and that of Flavian’s birth. Which Flavian wouldn’t explain to someone he didn’t know, since he tried to keep that he was born in Ardunn quiet. Etan was certain Flavian’s project had been also about reconciling the parts of himself—the part that had grown up in Ardunn and knew nothing except the empire and the part that felt at home in Tournai and eager to make a home here. He’d never said that to anyone. He wasn’t sure if Flavian was even aware of what his purpose had been or if he wanted to discuss it if he was. Or perhaps he was wrong and Flavian really had just painted a picture inspired by the stories. He’d probably never know, since he wouldn’t ever ask Flavian. For all that he�
�d calmed in his time with Cathal, Flavian still had a sharp tongue when provoked.

  Tristan shifted beside him, his arm brushing Etan’s. He hadn’t noticed Tristan move closer since they entered the room. He must have been lost in his thoughts for a moment because Corentin and Flavian were still talking about the painting and what stories of dragons Flavian knew. Remorse flooded Etan; he’d promised they’d be quick and here he was letting Corentin interrogate Flavian about the legends that made up the inspiration for his painting.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, breaking into Corentin and Flavian’s conversation. “I apologize, Corentin, but I’m afraid I have to ask you to reschedule our lunch. There have been some… developments over the last day that have upset my plans.” Understatement if there ever was one.

  “I’m disappointed, of course, but I hope everything is all right.”

  “Actually, it’s not.” Etan glanced at Tristan and saw no objection on his face. “Tristan’s daughter and sister are missing. We’re waiting for word from the guard captain on the search for them.”

  Corentin’s expression melted into one of compassion. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have children, but I do have a sister, and I would be terrified to find her missing.”

  “So you can understand why I need to reschedule our lunch. I wouldn’t feel right leaving Tristan, and I wouldn’t be able to give our conversation my full attention even if I did.” As much as he tried to distract Tristan, and himself, he knew he wouldn’t succeed on either front. There was no distraction good enough on a day like today.

  “I understand.”

  “I apologize that you made the trip here. I meant for you to be contacted before, but as you can imagine, I am not as organized as I should be today.”