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

by Antonia Aquilante

  He breathed in deeply for a few moments, letting the smell of trees and woodsmoke and the sight of the sky with clouds clearing and stars and moon coming into view calm him. He’d known he wasn’t going blind, but somehow he hadn’t gotten that knowledge down to the core of himself. The relief that washed through him at the sight of those stars was almost pathetic.

  Once he was reasonably calm, he assessed his situation. It was glaringly obvious why the window hadn’t been locked. Though it was wide enough for him to squeeze through, he was too high up. The fall would surely kill him, or at the very least injure him severely, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could climb down the side of whatever he was in…a tower? Something tall, and outside the city. There was some sort of clearing below him and the glow of lantern light, perhaps from near the door to whatever this building was.

  Beyond the clearing were trees as far as he could see.

  He’d need Corentin’s wings to escape this tower and flee for home.

  The thought of Corentin’s wings triggered the memory of the one and only time he’d seen them. He wallowed in that memory for a moment, closing his eyes and seeing Corentin’s large, beautiful form, remembering his pleasure and awe. He remembered being held protectively in the circle of Corentin’s large wing, so similar to the feeling of being held against his broad chest. That feeling—as if nothing in the world could touch him—had warmed him through, and did again now.

  He wished Corentin were here. He wished they hadn’t fought. What if that fight was the last time he saw Corentin? He didn’t want that to happen. He wanted to see Corentin again, wanted to be held by Corentin again, wanted to kiss Corentin again. They’d fought over the end of their affair, but he didn’t want it to end—hadn’t wanted it then. But he didn’t know what to do with what he felt for Corentin in the face of what he had to do for the earldom.

  And what he felt for Corentin… Was there any reason to keep lying to himself about it, about what it was and how strong those feelings were? He might never get out of this place. Certainly he’d been kidnapped by the people who wanted him dead, who’d killed his parents and his aunt and uncle. If they hadn’t balked at killing the prince and princess, they wouldn’t balk at killing an earl. Why he was still alive? He could only assume they wanted something from him, but he couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be.

  Something clanked at the door.

  Perhaps he was about to find out. He turned as the door swung open.

  TIME PASSED SLOWLY for Corentin as he prowled Bastien’s house. Each moment without news of Bastien, when he was left to worry and pace, was agonizing. He wanted out; he wanted to leave and storm into the palace, to demand information, to fly out and up and away. To find Bastien and take him into his arms and never let him go, no matter what Bastien said.

  Mathis had arrived home not long after Loriot and Savarin left. He came in complaining about his family’s lack of respect for his studies, but Griffen cut through it quickly, and as soon as Mathis learned why he’d been called home, he was contrite and as worried as the rest of them. They remained in the parlor as afternoon waned into evening and then night. Servants brought food for them, unasked. Corentin forced himself to eat something because he knew he needed to if he was to be of any use to Bastien. He urged food on Griffen, Mathis, and Ligeia as well, but they only picked at what he gave them.

  “Can’t you find him?” Mathis’s words fell into the silence and made them all jump.

  It took Corentin a moment to realize that Mathis was talking to him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I heard that you helped find Etan’s husband’s baby by using magic. Why can’t you do the same for Bastien?”

  “I would if I could, but the magic doesn’t work that way.” His own Talent gave him an affinity for fire and the magic that could produce it, and the baby came from a family of fire Talents, the potential for it running in her blood. That connection was the only reason he was able to help, and even then, he couldn’t tell exactly where she was. Bastien didn’t have a fire Talent, leaving Corentin’s magic useless. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

  Mathis looked like he was about to demand more—more explanations, more reasons—but Griffen quieted him.

  “I think Corentin would have done something by now if he could have,” Ligeia said. “With the way he feels about Bastien.”

  He looked at her sharply, but she only looked serenely back at him, or as serene as she could be with her face drawn with worry. He was saved a reply when a maid came into the room to announce Savarin’s arrival. Mild surprise was about as much as Corentin could feel at the unexpected arrival of the sorcerer. He’d assumed Loriot would return to give them more information, not Savarin. And they’d all hoped for an update sooner.

  Griffen was on his feet before Savarin had gotten one step inside. “Master Savarin, what news do you have for us? Captain Loriot isn’t with you?”

  “Captain Loriot accompanied a man to where we believed Lord Bastien is being held to confirm his presence.”

  “You know where he is?”

  “Do you know who took him?”

  “And did you?”

  “Is he all right?”

  They all spoke at once, and the words tumbled over each other into a jumble of loud voices, but Savarin remained unruffled in the face of it. He also looked directly at Corentin for an instant before he answered the most important question. “Captain Loriot’s man only caught a glimpse of him standing at a window, but he seemed to be fine. As for where he is, he’s being held outside Jumelle in an old— We’re not entirely sure what it used to be. Perhaps it was the old house that used to be on the land. It’s an old stone building with a tower. Lord Bastien is at the top of the tower.”

  Corentin wanted to remark on how trite it was that Bastien was being held in a tower, like something out of a silly tale. But it made sense too. Easily defensible with presumably only one way out. Remote, unused, he assumed. Yes, it made sense.

  “Who has him?” Griffen asked. “Do you know?”

  “I do, but it isn’t going to be easy to hear.” The hesitance in Savarin’s voice filled Corentin with dread. What he was about to say had to be bad. “Your uncle, Lord Ormand, had Lord Bastien kidnapped.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” Mathis said as Ligeia shook her head, disbelief written all over her face. “Family wouldn’t do that.”

  “You have proof of this?” Griffen’s expression hardened.

  “We do. Lord Marcus’s investigation led him to Lord Ormand. I can tell you what I know,” Savarin said.

  Griffen shook his head, whether in refusal or denial Corentin didn’t know.

  Mathis spoke again, his words revealing just how young he was, the sheltered young man intent on his studies. “But he couldn’t do that. He’s our uncle. Why would he have Bastien kidnapped?”

  “Best to ask why he would try to have Bastien killed, or have our parents killed,” Ligeia said in a flat voice. “Because he did that too, didn’t he? There’s no other reason he would have kidnapped Bastien.”

  Ligeia had a good head on her shoulders, and she wasn’t stupid. She saw the connection immediately, and she was beginning to accept what Savarin was telling them. He wouldn’t be speaking to them about this unless Loriot, Marcus, and the princes had examined the evidence and agreed. They knew that Ormand had kidnapped him. She could see it, even if Mathis wasn’t there yet.

  Anger rose inside Corentin. He wasn’t naive—he knew that shared blood didn’t always mean what it should. It didn’t always mean that family cared for each other and supported each other. But family shouldn’t hurt each other this way. To think of Bastien betrayed in such a way—both now, with his fear after the attack and even more so when he was taken from his home, and years ago, with grief for his parents and the responsibility that had fallen onto his shoulders at such a young age. Corentin wanted to hurt people—Bastien’s uncle Ormand, to start—but he wanted Bastien back in his arms more.

/>   “How are they going to get Bastien back?” Corentin asked. They could talk about motives later, though Corentin could guess. Motives never changed.

  “They’re working on that now.” Savarin turned his attention back to Corentin, and though he was the one being questioned, the intensity of his stare made it seem as if the situation was reversed. “The tower only has one entrance, which is guarded. There’s a window, but it’s too high. Captain Loriot would prefer to accomplish a rescue with as little bloodshed as possible. Bastien would only be in more danger if the guard went in force without securing him first.”

  “But you don’t know how you’re doing that yet?” Griffen asked, voice sharp.

  “Not yet,” Savarin admitted. “As I said, they’re working on it now.”

  Corentin’s mind spun as Savarin and Griffen spoke. Bastien had to be gotten out before the guard went after his uncle and his uncle’s men. With only one entrance to the tower, that was going to be easier said than done. But Savarin had said there was a window. “How big is the window?”

  “The window?” Savarin repeated quizzically.

  “The window in the tower. How big is it?”

  Bastien’s siblings looked puzzled and impatient, but a glimmer of understanding lit Savarin’s gray eyes. “Is it big enough for Lord Bastien to climb through, do you mean? From what they said, I believe so.”

  “What does the window have to do with anything? He can’t get out that way. He’d kill himself trying,” Mathis said.

  But Corentin kept looking at Savarin, his gaze steady. “I can get him out.”

  Savarin contemplated him for a long moment while Bastien’s siblings clamored for their attention. Both he and Savarin ignored them. Corentin couldn’t think of them right now; he could only think of Bastien and what he could do to help. Savarin watched him. “You’d reveal your closest held secret for him.”

  “I’d do far more than that for Bastien.”

  “UNCLE ORMAND?”

  Bastien couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His uncle, his father’s only brother, stood in the open doorway of his prison with two heavily armed men behind him. Bastien wanted to believe that his uncle had somehow discovered his captivity and come to free him, but he couldn’t. If the first couldn’t be true, he wanted to believe that his uncle had been taken captive as well, but his uncle wasn’t a prisoner. For one thing, Ormand had casually issued orders to the two armed men, and they’d obeyed.

  Bastien straightened further, drawing himself up to his full height and shaking off the last of his shock—burying it deep. He could bring it out later, along with the dawning sense of betrayal, and examine them. For now, he had to deal with the situation. He drew on every bit of what he’d learned over the years in how to carry himself as an earl. “Why am I being held here?”

  “I’d think you would have figured that out by now.” Ormand stayed in the doorway with the two men at his back.

  “Perhaps you’d better enlighten me.”

  “I never took you for stupid, Bastien. You received a letter not so long ago, a letter telling you that your parents, Jeton, and Franca were murdered.”

  “I did. Yes.” Dread made him sick to his stomach, but he knew what was coming. He just didn’t want to believe Ormand had murdered them all. But Ormand had. He’d killed four people, two of whom were his own siblings, and assassinated the prince and princess. “Why did you do it?”

  “Who did you tell about the letter and your little investigation?”

  “Is that why I’m still alive?” Bastien was suddenly struck with an almost reckless boldness. But it was the only question that really mattered at the moment. “You decided not to kill me too because you want to learn what I know before you do.”

  “If you cooperate, perhaps you might be spared altogether. I don’t want to have you killed, Bastien.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You killed four people years ago. But that has to be only the start of it—there has to be more. You couldn’t make that boat wreck on your own. You needed help, and I can’t believe that you would have let people live who might be able to incriminate you. You killed them, and you’ll kill me too as soon as you get what you want from me.” The words flooded out. He knew they were true, and he worked to say them without letting his voice shake.

  “But you’re my nephew. I feel almost paternal toward you. I don’t want to harm you if I don’t have to. In fact it would be far easier for me if I didn’t have to.” Ormand spoke almost negligently, as if ambivalent about the outcome. “If I kill you, I’d have to do something about Griffen at the very least. He’s flighty in his personal affairs, but I can’t see him doing the same in matters of the earldom. He’d take control of business matters and be a problem for me. Mathis is wrapped up in his studies for the moment, so I might be able to work around him and your sister. Possibly. But not Griffen, I know that much.”

  “Are you saying you would kill me and Griffen? To what end? To gain control of the family holdings?” Could he really believe his uncle had killed his parents, would kill him and his brother, for control of the earldom? Would he really do that to family?

  “Of course. We could have avoided this entirely if you’d just allowed me to guide you when your parents died.”

  “When you killed them.” Anger began to burn through the shock, because Ormand had done this. He’d slaughtered multiple people, all for his own gain. “And when you killed the prince and princess. What were you hoping to gain there? You have no claim to the throne.”

  “But my young nephew inherited the throne, and it would only be natural for him to turn to his uncle for guidance. Guidance I would have been more than willing to provide.”

  “Only he didn’t ask you for help.” Philip had taken advice from his father’s brother when he first took the throne, but he hadn’t relied heavily on him. Philip had wanted to rule on his own as Bastien had wanted to care for the earldom on his own. “Neither of us did as you wanted. Did you really expect us to give everything up to you? Did you really murder your own flesh and blood for power and influence?”

  “The question you should be asking is how to preserve your own life.”

  Bastien had been coasting on the snap of anger, but his uncle’s reminder of his own peril stopped him short. He stared at Ormand, waiting, but it seemed his uncle would wait as well, wait for him to ask. “What would I have to do to preserve my life?”

  “I’m so glad you asked, Bastien,” Ormand said, his expression melting into avuncular pride. “The first thing you’ll do is tell me everything I want to know about your little investigation into your parents’ deaths. I need to know everything you did and who you’ve told. Then, once the mess you’ve made is under control, you will turn the running of the family lands and business over to me. From here on, I will make the decisions and hold the power over the earldom.”

  “You still wouldn’t be earl.” Bastien didn’t understand why he was provoking Ormand, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself either. “Whether you kill me or not.”

  “No, but I would have the power, the wealth, the influence of the earl. And after you marry Patia, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that my grandson will become the next earl.”

  What was chilling was that Bastien couldn’t tell if Ormand assumed his grandson would grow up to be the earl, or if Ormand would simply have Bastien eliminated as soon as there was a grandson to inherit. It would be far easier to control a child than it would be to control Bastien.

  If that was Ormand’s plan, he gave no indication of it, though Bastien studied him as closely as he could in the low light. Bastien wasn’t about to agree to this deal of his uncle’s anyway. It was ludicrous to think that a man who had slain multiple people would let him live when he knew so much. But he couldn’t stand the idea that Ormand would go after Griffen, Mathis, and Ligeia if he refused. He couldn’t leave them in danger.

  “Think about your answer carefully. But don’t try to trick me. I’ll know, and it won’t
go well for you,” Ormand said after a long moment of silence. “I’ll come back for your answer in a few hours.”

  The heavy door clanged shut behind him, leaving Bastien alone again in the dark.

  Alone with an impossible decision.

  He couldn’t actually do what his uncle wanted. But he couldn’t put his siblings in danger either. What would Ormand do if he found out how many people actually knew of his crimes? The problem was that none of them knew Ormand had done it, and who would suspect him? He was family, and family was everything to so many of them. Bastien would die, and Ormand would be concerned and helpful. Perhaps Griffen would meet with what looked like an unfortunate accident, and then Ormand would be even more helpful, even more attentive, until he could insinuate himself exactly where he wanted to be.

  Could Bastien trick him? Could he pretend to go along with his uncle’s plan long enough to get back to Jumelle and alert someone—Philip, Loriot, anyone—to what Ormand was doing? But he’d said Bastien wouldn’t be able to lie to him. Bastien didn’t understand how that could be—except his uncle obviously had a sorcerer working for him. Perhaps a spell to show if he was telling the truth or to make him tell the truth? Could that even be done?

  Bastien slumped back against the wall.

  He had no idea what to do. But he knew what he wanted, and desperately: to be lying warm and safe in Corentin’s arms. Bastien tried to think of what Corentin would advise him to do. What would Corentin do with these impossible choices? He would probably tell him to find a way out, but a way to escape wasn’t presenting itself at this time, and his uncle wouldn’t leave it long before he returned.