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

by Antonia Aquilante

  “He believes it’s likely, so much so that he needed to give his attention to it today. We felt it best for him to continue, especially as he implied he had strong suspicions he was trying to prove.”

  “Then we need to hear from Marcus.” Philip held back a sigh.

  “And we’re sure that whoever took Bastien is the same person who sent those men to kill him?” Cathal asked.

  “There’s no reason at this point to think the two events are unrelated, Your Grace,” Loriot said.

  “It does go a little far to believe that two people might wish Bastien harm for entirely separate reasons. He can be irritating at times, but he isn’t that annoying.” Etan’s attempt at humor didn’t manage to lighten the mood as he’d probably intended, but Philip gave him credit for trying.

  “Why do you think he was taken, Captain?” Philip asked, bringing them back to the topic at hand.

  “They must have decided they need him for some reason, as I told Lord Griffen, Lady Ligeia, and Master Corentin. To be blunt, Your Highness, if they wanted to kill him, they could have done it right there. They took him for a reason—leverage or information they think he has. It could give us the time we need to find where he is.”

  “Let’s hope it gives us enough time, and that Bastien is all right when we find him.”

  A knock came on the door connecting the sitting room to the study. At Philip’s call, Donatien stepped inside. “Lord Marcus is here, Your Highness.”

  “Send him in.”

  Donatien disappeared into the study, and a few seconds later, Marcus came through the doorway, stopping to bow before Philip beckoned him forward and gestured toward a chair. Loriot never sat, but Marcus generally would. “Lord Marcus, Captain Loriot tells us that you may have something for us.”

  “I do, Your Highness.” Marcus glanced around at everyone assembled in the sitting room, but at Philip’s nod, he continued speaking. “I may know who is behind the earl’s kidnapping.”

  Philip sat up a bit straighter as Amory tensed beside him. The entire atmosphere in the room changed tangibly with that one statement. “Who is it?”

  “Your Highness, I believe it is your uncle, Lord Ormand.”

  For a moment, no one said anything; it was possible no one even breathed. The fire in the fireplace popped and crackled, fabric rustled as someone shifted—the noises all suddenly loud.

  Amory found his voice first. “Why do you believe so?”

  “It stands to reason that someone trying to harm Lord Bastien would be doing it because of the information contained in the letter. I’ve looked into other possibilities, but I can see no other reason than his potential knowledge of those events.”

  Philip made no remark about Marcus’s investigation of Bastien’s life. He knew by now that Marcus knew or could find out almost anything, and it was best to let him do so and trust in his discretion. He nodded for Marcus to continue.

  “Lord Bastien met with Lord Ormand more than once since his arrival in Jumelle. He was one of the people Lord Bastien tried to subtly speak with regarding what happened to his parents and Their Highnesses. From everything we’ve learned, Lord Ormand was one of the people who tried to get close to both you and Lord Bastien, Your Highness, after the death of your parents. It was possible he hoped to gain power and influence afterward.”

  Philip remembered his uncle’s many notes and visits, though that whole time was something of a blur. Uncle Ormand had tried to get close, but Uncle Umber had stayed closer still. Philip hadn’t turned away Uncle Umber’s counsel, but he hadn’t let anyone take on his responsibilities or guide him too closely. Had Uncle Ormand been pushing for more influence? Had he done the same with Bastien? Bastien’s title was old, and his family lands and wealth were extensive, though not to the same measure as the royal family’s.

  “To think that someone—family—would do such a thing,” one of the twins whispered.

  “Some people do,” the other answered, also in a whisper.

  Philip couldn’t tell their voices apart in that low tone. Marcus glanced up, studying them over Philip’s shoulder, but returned his attention to Philip quickly.

  “I have other evidence as well, which I will give to you in a written report. None of it is conclusive, however.” Marcus paused for a moment, but when no one said anything, he continued his report. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Your Highness, but Lord Ormand has made his primary residence in Jumelle since his marriage. He hasn’t left the city for more than a couple weeks at a time in all those years, and never without his wife and children. His trips were generally to visit family and involved quite a bit of preparation and a large traveling retinue.

  “Today, Lord Ormand seemed tense, and he rode out of the city late this afternoon suddenly, leaving his wife and children behind and taking a only small bag. He went alone.”

  Philip heard the murmur of another whisper, but he couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t ask how Marcus had learned all of this; he didn’t want to know. “Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”

  “I have men following him. From the direction he took, I surmise he’s going to a small piece of property he owns not far outside the city. It isn’t one that he often uses, as the house is old and not very large. Despite its proximity to Jumelle, it’s rather secluded, surrounded by dense forest.”

  “Not a bad place to keep Bastien, then.” Cathal sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. Flavian put a hand on his back. “I assume that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I am. My men will send word when they confirm that Lord Bastien is being held there. In the meantime, I’ll try to find some indication of what the property really looks like and the layout of the building. I don’t have anyone on the inside there, and it’s going to be difficult to place someone quickly—he has very few servants on the property.”

  “Do I want to know how many of your men you have in noble households, Lord Marcus?” Philip asked idly, his mind still trying to catch up to everything Marcus had told him.

  “Some of them are women, but probably not, Your Highness,” Marcus said.

  “Fair enough.”

  “How is he keeping Bastien there at all if there are servants on the property?” Etan asked. “How would he hide that he’s holding someone captive?”

  It was an excellent question, and probably not entirely motivated by the horror and skepticism that someone related to Bastien by blood might be doing this.

  “That’s something we need to find out.” Marcus said. “He either has somewhere private to hide Lord Bastien, or he’s dismissed the servants—or perhaps it’s something else entirely. My men will find out what they can, and I’ll do my best to get someone closer. I need more information in order to formulate a plan to get Lord Bastien back.”

  “Then we won’t keep you from your work, Lord Marcus. Thank you,” Philip said.

  No one spoke as Marcus stood and bowed and then left the sitting room on silent feet. Even after the door closed behind him, they remained quiet for a few moments longer. If everyone else present was feeling anything similar to what Philip felt, they were all reeling at the strong possibility that Uncle Ormand—a member of the family if not a close one—had kidnapped Bastien and was behind the attempt on his life.

  “At least we have some idea where Bastien is,” Etan said, though he spoke the words in a thin voice, his worry apparent. “That’s better than the alternative. Marcus will find more information, and he’ll get Bastien out.”

  The confidence and optimism were welcome, if a little difficult to believe.

  Philip chose to try. “Marcus is good at what he does, and Loriot will know the best way to use the information he finds.”

  “Who is this Lord Marcus?” One of the twins again, in a whisper that wasn’t quite soft enough. Philip thought it was Alexander.

  “Hush.” That was certainly Faelen.

  Amory’s lips twitched, and Philip bit back a laugh.

  “Does Lord Marcus have so
far a reach?” Flavian asked. “It sounds as if he has people everywhere.”

  “I think it best not to ask.” Cathal pulled Flavian closer to his side. “Marcus is frighteningly good at what he does. If there’s information to be found, he’ll find it.”

  “But how long will it take him?” Tristan asked and flushed. Poor Tristan still wasn’t used to speaking up in gatherings that included Philip and his family, even when the gatherings were informal. Even after living in the palace for months. Philip hoped he would become more comfortable with them in time. He’d probably only spoken this time because of the similarities to his daughter’s kidnapping. This situation had to bring up unpleasant memories for him.

  Etan took Tristan’s hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. “He’s working as quickly as he’s able, I’m sure.”

  “I know. I know he must be. Still.”

  “Tristan’s right, though,” Vrai said into the brief silence that followed. “Lord Marcus is looking for a way into Lord Ormand’s property to confirm that Bastien is there. I’m sure he’d like to know Bastien’s condition, and the best way to get to him too.”

  “Of course, my lord. No one wants this to turn into a violent confrontation if it doesn’t have to,” Loriot said.

  “Then we need that information.” Vrai looked at each of them in turn. “I can get it.”

  Cathal shot off the couch so quickly he nearly spilled Flavian onto the floor. “What? How? No.”

  Vrai tilted his head and gave his brother a look. “You know how. I’ll use my Talent.”

  “What?” It took Philip a moment in his utter shock to realize that he had spoken that time. But he was almost positive the exclamation had been lost in the cacophony of the rest of his family expressing their reactions. “Quiet, everyone. Vrai, what are you thinking?”

  “I’ll use my Talent.” The royal family’s unique—odd, if Cathal described it—Talent gave them the ability to change into cats. Not everyone inherited it, and not everyone’s Talent was strong, though recently they’d learned just how important their Talents were to the safety and security of Tournai. Still, there was no way of knowing who would display the Talent and in what form. Some of them, Philip included, could turn into huge, powerful cats, while others could only turn into smaller ones. Elodie could only become a cat about the size of a large kitten. Vrai’s was somewhere in between. “I’ll go in as a cat and see what I can find.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous,” Cathal said. Flavian had taken his hand and was trying to coax him to sit, but Cathal seemed rooted to the spot, an intense gaze fixed on Vrai, who hadn’t moved from his seat.

  “It does seem rather risky,” Etan said, almost apologetically, but his concern for his brother was clear. “If you were caught, it would be disastrous.”

  “I won’t be caught. No one is going to think anything of a cat prowling around, if they even see me. It’s dark out, and my cat is black.”

  “Vrai, I know your cat isn’t huge, but it’s still larger than an ordinary one,” Philip said, breaking in before Cathal began yelling in his concern for Vrai. “People would be able to tell.”

  “Not that much larger. Besides it’ll be night, and I’ll keep to the shadows. I can slip closer as a cat than any man Marcus could send in there at this point. Anyone showing up after Lord Ormand orchestrated a kidnapping will be under suspicion, but a cat, even if they catch a glimpse of me, won’t be remarked upon at all. You know I’m right.”

  Philip couldn’t figure out if Vrai was presenting a valid alternative or not. Fear and worry for Vrai overshadowed everything, including his logic. “Captain, what do you think?”

  “Philip, you can’t be considering this!”

  “Try to be calm, Cathal. Let’s see what Captain Loriot has to say.” Philip could trust Loriot to present an unbiased opinion, or close to one, considering the captain’s charge was to protect the royal family.

  If Loriot was as taken aback by Vrai’s suggestion as the rest of them were, he didn’t show it. “I think Lord Vrai presents an interesting idea, and he does make a point about anyone Lord Marcus might try to put into place. I don’t think someone can infiltrate the estate, not in the time we have, though Lord Marcus has surprised me before. Most likely, he’ll have to send someone in to scout without being seen. It would be easier for a cat to go unnoticed than a man, even one experienced in such matters. However, I do have some concerns with Lord Vrai’s participation in such an endeavor.”

  “I have more than just some concerns. I don’t know why we’re even considering this,” Cathal said.

  “Because I can do this,” Vrai snapped at his brother.

  Flavian stood and took Cathal by the arms. “Cathal, we all have concerns, but sit for a moment and listen to what Captain Loriot has to say.”

  Flavian’s gentle but firm urging got Cathal to sit, and Philip turned his attention back to Loriot. “Please continue, Captain.”

  “As I said, I do have concerns, Your Highness. Of course, if Lord Vrai were to go, I would accompany him as far as I could, but there is risk involved in this undertaking, and he hasn’t had any training that could help him. While he might be able to slip past unnoticed, there is the risk that someone will see him and realize he isn’t a normal cat. I don’t like putting a member of the royal family into a situation like this at all.”

  “I would think it should be my choice.” Vrai’s voice was quiet but firm. He spent far less time at court these days than he used to, as he ran the estates Cathal had inherited with the dukedom. Philip wondered if he’d somehow missed Vrai gaining much more maturity in that separation.

  “We’re worried about your safety, Vrai,” Cathal said, more quietly as well. “You could be hurt or killed. You could be caught, and then what?”

  “Then they’ll have caught a larger-than-usual cat, and I will wait until I can escape or until Captain Loriot comes to get Bastien out.”

  “Don’t be flippant about this.” Cathal’s tone sharpened, and Flavian put a hand to his leg.

  “I’m truly not. I believe I can do this, and I don’t believe that anyone will see me or that I’ll be caught. Or that anyone will learn our secrets from me.”

  “Our secrets aren’t our first concern, Vrai,” Philip said finally. “We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Something already has happened to Bastien,” Vrai answered steadily. “Let me help.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  BASTIEN WOKE TO blackness.

  Panic rose within him, clearing the fog from his mind, and he flailed, blinking repeatedly. Finally, he saw the faint glimmer of a difference in the darkness which resolved itself into the barest light coming through the gap at the bottom of a door, showing him he hadn’t been struck blind. Willing his heartbeat to slow, he continued looking around and was met with more blackness and the faintest outline of what might have been a shuttered window.

  He closed his eyes and slumped back to the floor. Because he was on the floor. The stone was smooth and cold under his hands. He ached, as if his whole body was a mass of bruises. How did he end up on the floor in a pitch-dark room in such a state?

  He’d been in his study after he and Corentin had argued. He scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to focus. They’d argued, but he couldn’t think of that now. Because after they’d argued and Corentin had left, someone else arrived, and before he’d gotten the barest look at the man, Bastien had been knocked out. Some kind of magic. There was no other possibility.

  But what had happened then? They hadn’t killed him, as he’d feared in the instant he’d had before he’d been rendered unconscious. They’d taken him somewhere. Had they done anything to the rest of his family? He thought only Ligeia had been in the house then; they hadn’t hurt her, had they? But there was no reason for anyone to have gone after Ligeia. She, Griffen, and Mathis would be—were—fine. They had to be fine. Corentin would take care of them. No matter their argument, Bastien believed
that Corentin would watch over his family.

  He forced himself not to think too hard about Corentin.

  He didn’t even know how the man—men?—who’d taken him had gotten into the house. There were supposed to be guards. Bastien rubbed at his face roughly once more. There was no sense getting angry about it now and no sense trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He wouldn’t learn that until he got out of here and was home again.

  So he needed a way to get out and get home.

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position and waited for the world to stop spinning. How long had he been unconscious? The question sent cold fear rushing through his body. But he couldn’t think about that either. He staggered to his feet, body screaming at him as more bruises made themselves known, and everything spun again. He couldn’t see anything in the blackness, nothing to grab hold of, nothing to orient himself by, but the thin line of light at the bottom of the door was in front of him. He lurched the few steps forward until his hands connected with rough wood.

  Ignoring the quick bite of pain as a splinter drove into his palm, he moved his hands over the door, pushing at it, searching for latch or handle. But even when he found a handle, it was in vain. The door refused to open, not that he’d actually thought it would. His kidnappers would have been stupid to leave him in a room with an unlocked door. Knowing that didn’t stop the small kick of disappointment.

  Fine. He’d keep looking. He kept his hands on the wall—uneven blocks of stone—examining it as best he could as he moved slowly toward the faint outline of what was likely a window. The wall itself yielded little of interest and nothing of use. He found what felt like a metal sconce, but it held no light globes or candles, so would provide him no relief from the darkness that pressed against him. It was an almost tangible force, overwhelming everything, overwhelming him.

  By the time he reached the window, his breath was coming fast, as if he’d been running full out. He tried to calm himself, to slow his breathing before he passed out, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Fumbling with fingers gone clumsy, he examined the shutter—more rough wood and more splinters. But this time, when his fingers found the latch, it gave under his determined push. With a squeal of hinges, the shutter swung out, and chilly night air hit Bastien in the face.