The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5)

by Antonia Aquilante

  “And have you learned anything about his employer?” Philip asked.

  “Well dressed, well spoken. He’s playing off his employer as just some wealthy man, whose identity he doesn’t know or care about, trying to make it appear as if he didn’t pay much attention. I’ll get more if there’s more to be had,” Marcus said.

  “And you believe he knows more than he’s saying,” Bastien pressed.

  Marcus spoke slowly, obviously weighing his words and choosing carefully. “I can’t be positive, but yes, I do believe there’s more to be learned.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  LATE THAT NIGHT, Corentin lay sprawled on his stomach in Bastien’s bed. After they’d left the palace—guards and Griffen in tow—he and Bastien had had a strained discussion about Corentin’s continued presence. He’d insisted once more that he wasn’t going to let Bastien out of his sight, which Bastien had called impossible and impractical. Corentin might have let annoyance goad him into snapping at Bastien if it weren’t for the slight tremble in Bastien’s hands. Bastien was trying to present a calm, unconcerned front, but he wasn’t as unruffled as he appeared. Corentin remained firm, and the speed with which Bastien gave in only told him he was right.

  They’d eaten dinner with Bastien’s siblings. It was a tense affair for the most part; clearly, Bastien’s brothers and sister were worried about him and unsure of Corentin’s presence. Ligeia, Bastien’s youngest sibling, was the most welcoming, trying to engage him in conversation throughout the meal. Bastien grew more uncomfortable toward the end of the meal when it became obvious Corentin had no intention of leaving, but his siblings said nothing. Ligeia was serene, and Mathis more bothered about Bastien’s edict that he not return to the university library that night. Corentin understood Bastien’s reasoning. No one knew if the person who wanted Bastien dead would go after one of his siblings, and it was best not to give them more of an opportunity.

  Mathis had stalked off to his bedchamber—Corentin thought Bastien might have found a more tactful way of handling the situation, but it wasn’t his place to say. Ligeia frowned after her brother for a moment before rising. She brushed a kiss over Bastien’s cheek and then walked around the table to do the same to Griffen. After bidding Corentin good night, she disappeared after Mathis. Griffen had shown no inclination to follow his siblings from the room but instead watched Bastien with a steady, assessing eye.

  Corentin couldn’t be certain what was between the brothers, but he had a guess, which hadn’t made it any less awkward to sit with them and try to make conversation. He could barely hide his relief when Bastien asked if he was ready to retire.

  The awkwardness had slowly faded when they’d gone up to Bastien’s rooms and readied themselves for bed. The door firmly shut between them and the outside world had Corentin far more calm than a thick panel of wood should have been able to manage. Bastien was safe in his bedchamber with locks and guards between him and any who might try to harm him, and he slowly became himself again, shedding the heavy mantle of earl. Even after so short a time, Corentin hated watching Bastien hold on so tight, try so hard; he wanted Bastien to be who he was, and he was convinced that how Bastien cared about his family would smooth the way.

  They made love slowly but passionately, every protective instinct of Corentin’s coming to the fore. He wanted to care and cherish, to shield Bastien from everything outside the bed.

  Corentin was drowsy and sated now, the warmth from the fire and the blankets keeping out the chill of the autumn night, pleasure making his limbs heavy. He didn’t want to move, barely wanted to open his eyes, but the bed shifted beside him, and then he felt Bastien’s fingertips on his back. They seemed to be dancing over his skin in random patterns, the touch light and tantalizing.

  Corentin’s eyes popped opened when he realized what Bastien was actually doing.

  Bastien lay beside him, head propped up on one hand as he traced the patterns of Corentin’s dragon markings with the other.

  “What is this?” Curiosity fizzed through Bastien’s languid voice. “I thought it was some kind of tattoo when I first saw it, but it doesn’t look like it. Not that I have much experience in what tattoos should look like.”

  He chuckled despite himself and relaxed into the touch. Bastien knew everything important, or nearly; sharing a little more wouldn’t hurt anything. Something he had to remind himself after keeping so much secret for so long. “I wouldn’t think so. But you’re right. It isn’t a tattoo.”

  Bastien continued to trace the scale-like pattern, his gaze intent on the movement of his fingers and what lay under them. Corentin shivered, unable to hold back the reaction as heat seemed to build under Bastien’s hand and spread out through Corentin. The corners of Bastien’s mouth turned up. “What is it then? It’s beautiful. It looks like it’s…shimmering.”

  He had to admit he liked the admiration in Bastien’s voice, but more than the superficial warmed him. Bastien was reacting to a part of Corentin that he’d had to keep hidden, and just like Bastien’s reaction to his dragon, it did something to Corentin, provoked an emotion so profound he couldn’t put a name to it. Or maybe he wasn’t ready to, not yet. “It’s a mark of my Talent.”

  “What does that mean?” Bastien’s fingers never faltered even as he kept up their conversation. He seemed to want to trace every line and curve, and Corentin had no intention of denying him.

  “I told you that the dragon Talent can take different forms and be stronger in some than others, didn’t I? Some who possess the Talent are like me and can change into a dragon, but some only have the other magics associated with it. Marks like these denote someone who will have the ability to transform.”

  “So you know when you get the marks that you’ll be able to?”

  “You know from birth. Babies are born with the marks or not. There’s no developing them later.” Those without the dragon marks didn’t know until late childhood or early adolescence, when the Talent generally manifested, whether or what aspects of it they might develop. But those who would be able to change grew up knowing they only had to wait.

  “Can you change into a dragon right away? Or is it like other Talents even though you have the marks?” Bastien asked.

  Corentin might have thought Bastien’s attention wasn’t on the conversation, he was so absorbed in Corentin’s back, but it seemed his focus was sharp. “The marks are only an indicator. The Talent doesn’t manifest until later, the same as other Talents.”

  “When did you change for the first time?”

  “I was eight, so a bit earlier than most but not overly so.” Corentin closed his eyes, letting himself be lulled by Bastien’s touch and the memories of that long ago day.

  “You’re smiling.” There was a smile in Bastien’s voice too.

  “Just remembering. It was a good day. A surprise, of course, to be playing outside with my brothers one moment and then be sitting on the ground as a befuddled dragon the next, but it was good. I had to learn to control it, learn to change back and forth under conscious control. Learn to handle the other aspects of my Talent and what I could do with them. Learn to fly.” That first test of his wings under his father’s watchful eye and the sheer joy that filled him as he took to the sky were vivid in his mind.

  “It must have been amazing.”

  “It was. And there—back home—you can soar openly, often with others.” It had been so long since he’d been able to fly without fear of discovery—whether on his own or in company.

  Bastien must have heard something in Corentin’s voice. The movement of his fingers paused briefly and then picked up again, the touch more soothing than before. Corentin shivered when Bastien’s lips brushed over the nape of his neck in a soft kiss. “You miss it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you leave home?”

  “I wanted to further my studies and see a little more of the world, so I went to study at the university in Teilo. I liked the idea of traveling when I started a life as a sch
olar. Our king was concerned about knowledge of us getting out and also about others with our Talent living out in the world who might not know that our home exists, so he asked me to help. It’s why I came here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your Lord Etan is gaining quite a reputation in scholarly circles, and he’s been looking into the dragon legends for some time.”

  “You were afraid he might get too close.” Bastien stopped stroking Corentin’s back. “What would you have done? Or have you done?”

  “Nothing dire!” Corentin wanted to laugh at the trepidation in Bastien’s voice, but a sharp stab of hurt also made itself known. “I would have nudged him in another direction in his research if necessary. Warned the king back home if I thought we were going to have a problem.”

  Bastien resumed his caresses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would do anything to him, not really. But you have to admit the way it sounded.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “So you didn’t plan to stay long?”

  “Not when I arrived, but I liked Tournai and the university.” So much so that he hadn’t disappeared when he should have, when Savarin had found out. He was cautiously optimistic about that situation, though. “I decided to extend my stay.”

  “But you’ll still go home someday.”

  “I always planned to.” When, he hadn’t been sure—whenever he tired of travel and keeping secrets or when the king no longer had need of him, he supposed. Now, though, the idea of leaving Jumelle—of leaving Bastien behind—was an unpleasant one.

  More than unpleasant, it was almost painful to think. How had that happened?

  A FEW DAYS later, Bastien was heartily tired of being followed around by guards and watched constantly by Corentin and his family as if something might happen to him at any moment. Corentin had done as he promised and hardly left Bastien’s side, including practically moving into the house, about which Bastien remained conflicted. But there had been no further attempts on his life, nothing suspicious happening around him. He’d gotten the feeling once or twice that he was being watched, but that could easily have been his own paranoia. He jumped at shadows and spent his time outdoors looking around him for anything out of place.

  He was heartily tired of being afraid too.

  Marcus came to see him, asking about Bastien’s actions since he’d received the letter at Ardesia. The enigmatic man was kind about it, but he was relentless too, not stopping until he had wrung out of Bastien every memory of where he’d been and who he’d spoken to. Bastien had wracked his brain for what felt like hours, trying to think of every person he’d visited or seen at a social event or met with to discuss business.

  “Do you really think someone I spoke to had something to do with this?” Bastien asked as he saw Marcus out. “I assumed they found out about me because of the letter.”

  “We have to consider all possibilities.”

  Marcus’s face and tone of voice gave nothing away, and Bastien wondered once more about this man. He’d seen a whole new side to him after the attempt on Bastien’s life. Was Marcus really some sort of spymaster? If so, Bastien didn’t think he wanted to know more.

  He thanked Marcus and showed him to the front door, catching a glimpse of the guard stationed outside. The sight was enough to send a twist of anxiety through his gut. Marcus stopped to speak with the guard as the maid shut the door against the autumn wind. Bastien stifled a sigh and turned away, walking back down the corridor toward his study. He felt a little like a prisoner in his own home. The guards wouldn’t prevent him from leaving, but they’d tell him if they deemed his planned outing unsafe. His sister and Corentin directed looks of naked worry at him every time he decided to leave the house, which made him feel more guilt than he could have imagined.

  And then of course, there were his own fears and anxiety about what might happen. But he couldn’t let fear trap him.

  Perhaps he’d go out later. He had nowhere pressing to be, but he should make himself, for the principle of it. He’d take the guards with him, of course—he wasn’t stupid, but he couldn’t let himself become a true prisoner either.

  “Everything all right?” Corentin’s voice came from behind him, making him jump. Bastien cursed himself for it. There was no reason to be so jumpy in his own house. Corentin slid his arms around him from behind, pulling Bastien’s back flush to his chest and cradling him there. “I’m sorry. I thought you heard me coming.”

  “It’s fine. I was just thinking.” Bastien was torn between the urge to burrow in and to push away, so much so that he was paralyzed and only stood stiffly in Corentin’s arms.

  Ever since Corentin had told him his reason for leaving his home and his plan to return, Bastien had been struck by the distressing futility of their affair. Corentin was going to leave, and sooner rather than later, probably, as it didn’t sound as if Corentin had planned to stay as long as he already had. Corentin would be off to the next place, and Bastien would be left here. Bastien was inextricably tied to Tournai. And he wouldn’t be free to continue their affair indefinitely, to make it a permanent arrangement, even if Corentin did stay. Bastien had put off Uncle Ormand because he had no intention of marrying his cousin, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have to marry and provide an heir for the earldom at some point.

  “Are you sure? You’re very tense.”

  “Someone is trying to kill me. Tense is the very least of what I am.” Bastien extricated himself from Corentin’s arms and strode to his study. Guilt flooded him for the sharpness of his tone, one he hadn’t used with Corentin in a long time. He didn’t like that he’d used it now. That wasn’t how he was with Corentin.

  Corentin followed him into the study and closed the door with a decisive click. Even the silence seemed puzzled and hurt, something mirrored in Corentin’s violet eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Corentin asked.

  “Someone wants me dead, Corentin. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Of course it is. But it’s unlike you to snap.”

  “It’s exactly like me. Ask Griffen.” His brother would be more than willing to tell Corentin all of Bastien’s failings, if he hadn’t already.

  “No, it isn’t. Not really. I know you by now, Bastien.” Corentin’s expression melted into one of such concern that Bastien’s heart broke a little.

  He slumped against the edge of his desk and thrust a hand through his hair, tugging on the thick locks. With a sigh, he gave in and poured out his feelings to Corentin. His fear, his anxiety, his frustration at being trapped in his own house. “Lord Marcus is asking me about people I know, thinking that one of them might be involved or might have said something to the person who’s behind this—I don’t know. Someone means me harm and we have no idea who, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. Waiting and not knowing. It might never end.”

  “It will. Captain Loriot and Lord Marcus will find out who is trying to hurt you, and it will end. Until then, I’ll be right here with you.” Corentin took a step forward, but Bastien shook his head.

  “You can’t really promise that, can you?”

  “What do you mean? Yes I can.”

  “But you can’t. You don’t know how long this might go on, and you aren’t planning to stay in Jumelle.” Whether Corentin went on to some other place, some other university, or returned home, he’d never meant to stay, and Bastien wouldn’t ask him to. “Tournai isn’t your home. You have a home you love somewhere else. And I have my life here. You can’t stay, and I can’t go.”

  Corentin froze at Bastien’s words. He stared at Bastien for long moments before finally speaking. “None of that means I would ever leave you while you were in danger.”

  “But this, what’s between us, has to end.”

  “Someday, perhaps.” Corentin shook his head. “What are you saying? Do you want to end our affair?”

  “No. I didn’t say that.” Bastien closed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair once more. When he opened his eyes again,
he could no longer read Corentin’s expression; it had gone utterly blank. “I don’t want this to end now, but we both have to admit it’s going to.”

  “Do we? So what do you propose then?” The words were clipped and almost cold.

  “I…I propose we enjoy ourselves together until it has to end because you have to leave or I have to…that we enjoy being together until then,” he finished rather lamely. After a moment of silence he added, “Say something.”

  “I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “I…see.” But he didn’t really. “What do you want? What did you expect from this? From us?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know if I can go along with this, knowing that at any moment you could say it’s time for you to marry and fulfill what you see as your strict duty to your earldom.” Corentin shook his head before Bastien could say anything. “I only said I don’t know. But I won’t leave while you’re in danger. I can’t do that.”

  “I see,” Bastien repeated, at a loss for words. What else could he say?

  Corentin seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but he only sighed when Bastien remained silent. “I have to go to the university for a few hours. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Be careful while I’m gone.”

  “I will.”

  Corentin waited a moment—perhaps hoping for more from Bastien—and then bid him good-bye. As soon as he was gone, Bastien sank into the chair behind his desk, slouching into the cushions.

  Where had that come from? Corentin had to understand that their affair couldn’t possibly last forever. He would return home sooner or later even if he’d left off his travels for the moment—travel apparently ordered by his king—and they would part. And there were constraints on Bastien’s choices too. Yes, Cathal had married a man, pushing off the obligation to produce heirs for his dukedom onto his brothers or sisters. But Bastien couldn’t do that; he couldn’t rely on the chance that Griffen would settle down to marriage and fatherhood.