The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  Savarin didn’t seem to have the same problem.

  The maid was back, replenishing their supply of towels and gathering the used ones. She reached for the clothing in his arms. “I’ll take those from you, sir.”

  He relinquished them into her hold. “I’m afraid we’ve made something of a mess. The floor is quite wet from the clothes, and us.”

  “I’ll mop everything up, sir.” She bobbed another quick curtsy and left with the wet clothing and towels, shutting the door behind her.

  Left him alone with Savarin, who seemed to be relaxing, eyes closed, in his cramped bath. “Are you going to use the water they carried up here for you or just stand there all night?” Savarin asked suddenly.

  “I thought you were asleep, though I don’t know how you could be in there.”

  Savarin’s lips quirked into almost a smile. “It isn’t the most comfortable of tubs. The one at home is much larger. I can stretch my legs in it.”

  He didn’t need to think of whatever luxurious tub Savarin had at home or Savarin in it. Was he really expected to just bathe next to Savarin as if it was nothing?

  “Seriously, though. Are you going to use your bath? If not you could add some of the hot water to mine. But you must be cold. It’s summer but it hardly feels like it out in this storm.” Savarin still didn’t open his eyes.

  Irritation rose in Loriot at Savarin’s offhand remark, fed by irritation at his inability to ignore Savarin tonight. “And whose fault is it that we were caught out in it to begin with?”

  Savarin’s eyes flew open, and he glared at Loriot. “Excuse me? How is that my fault?”

  “You were the one taking far too long this afternoon. We would have beaten the storm here if it weren’t for that.”

  Savarin struggled to sit up straighter and twist to face Loriot but seemed to give up when he realized there was no room for him to do so. “What I was doing out there was our whole purpose for being on this journey.”

  “Yes, but then you stopped doing it to think about it and pace around. Which you could have done here and not gotten us soaked by the rain.”

  “The storm arrived far earlier than even the weatherworkers anticipated. I can’t be blamed because it caught us off guard.”

  “But if you had kept the time limit we agreed on, we might not have nearly drowned out in it,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “And now you’re just being overdramatic. We were far from drowning. We got wet.”

  “We could barely see out there! We might have wandered off the road and gotten ourselves killed.” He probably was being ridiculous, but he didn’t care. Savarin had to admit his fault in this. He couldn’t just arrogantly go about doing whatever he pleased.

  “The light I made guided us. We wouldn’t have wandered off the road.” Savarin’s eye roll sent Loriot’s irritation shooting into anger.

  “Do you not understand how dangerous that storm is?” As if to punctuate his words, thunder boomed, and he could have sworn the whole building shook. For an instant, everything froze, but the inn didn’t fall down around their ears. “Your friend warned you about how dangerous they would be. It’s why we’ve been planning so carefully. To make sure we were safely here before the storms and not trying to ride around or camp out in them.”

  “I’m quite aware of what Gemella said.”

  He stalked closer to Savarin. “Then why are you being so arrogant and ridiculous about this?”

  “Ridiculous?” Savarin’s voice went quiet, and he stood in the tub, long legs unfolding beneath him. “Did you just call me ridiculous?”

  “I see you have no objection to my calling you arrogant.”

  “I’m arrogant? You need to listen to yourself. You arrogant, smug—”

  Loriot had no idea which of them moved first. Maybe they moved together; he didn’t know. What he did know was that one second Savarin was hurling a litany of insults at him and the next they were kissing. Only kissing was too tame a word for what they were doing.

  He and Savarin were devouring each other.

  Their tongues dueled, their teeth clashed. Savarin’s hands were strong on his shoulders, pulling him close. Savarin’s mouth was punishing on his, bruising even as it ate at his lips. Heat roared through him. His own hands were at Savarin’s sides, his fingers digging into the slick skin and sleek muscle there, though he didn’t remember reaching for Savarin. He pushed into the kiss, fighting for control of it, not knowing who had control, who was driving this crazy, fantastic moment. But he didn’t want it to stop. He only wanted more and closer and now. He reached up, burying one hand in Savarin’s hair, pulling him down.

  Thunder crashed again, right on top of them.

  They jumped apart. He jumped—Savarin just reared back, as he was standing knee-deep in a tub. Loriot’s heart was racing, almost as much from the shock of the thunder as from the kisses. Though the kisses had been shocking as well. Savarin was watching him with gray eyes gone wide and blank. He doubted he looked any less struck by what had just happened between them. And he had no idea what to say. They stared at each other for long, silent moments.

  A brilliant flash of light and another crack of thunder jolted Loriot again. Savarin shook his head and said quietly, “Your bath is cooling.”

  “I—yes, of course.” He took another step back, putting more distance between him and Savarin, and turned to the other tub. At some point during their torrid kiss, he’d lost the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. Something else he hadn’t noticed at the time. No matter.

  He stepped into the tub and sank down. While he wasn’t as tall as Savarin, he was still too tall and too wide for the tub. But at the moment he didn’t care. The tub felt like a sanctuary of some kind, or at least a purpose. Ironic when just moments before he’d thought having to take a bath beside Savarin would be far too much to deal with. But he would take his bath. He would ignore Savarin getting out of the tub next to his and drying off, would ignore the sounds of Savarin moving around the bedchamber behind him, just for a few moments.

  What had just happened?

  Chapter 13

  WHAT DID he and Loriot just do?

  Savarin didn’t look at Loriot. He climbed from the tub, dripping onto the towel spread on the floor before he grabbed up his own towel and dried off. He hurried through it and stepped away from the tubs and Loriot, though a glance showed him that Loriot was staring blankly into the fire. He seemed as stunned as Savarin felt.

  Savarin extricated his bags from the pile near the wardrobe. The leather of both his bags and Loriot’s was sodden. Savarin’s bags were spelled to keep the contents dry so he had no worries that his clothing or books would be wet or ruined, but he didn’t know if Loriot’s had the same protections; he regretted he hadn’t thought to ask. Savarin dug through a bag for a clean shirt and breeches. He tossed the clothes on the bed and returned the bags to the floor. He’d unpack and sort through his things tomorrow, see what needed to be laundered. He doubted they’d leave before the day after that anyway, not with the storms as strong as they were.

  He didn’t bother going behind the screen to dress. Loriot wasn’t looking at him, and really, after that torrid kiss, what did it matter if Loriot did see him? He pulled on his breeches and slipped a shirt over his head. It was enough for the moment. He’d make himself more presentable when he needed to leave the room, which he would at some point for food unless he asked the maid to bring something up for him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to face a crowded room of people who might have seen him lighting their way through the stable yard with magic. He wasn’t certain he wanted to deal with stares or questions that evening.

  Water splashed and dripped. He glanced over to Loriot, but he was still sunk as far as he could be in the tub. Savarin hadn’t expected what happened between them. He’d noted Loriot’s attractiveness when they first met, certainly, and he’d been thinking on that observation since the breathless moment they’d shared at the beginning of their journey. Not conscio
usly, not really. It would just pop into his head sometimes when his mind was unoccupied and distract him from the problems he should be solving. Reminding him that Loriot was a good man, and a good-looking one, not blindingly handsome or breathtakingly beautiful, but quite pleasant to look at with the most arresting green eyes and a body muscled and honed through years of physical training.

  A knock on the door interrupted his musings. With a glance at Loriot, Savarin went to the door and pulled it open to reveal the same maid who’d been helping them all evening. She carried a tray and had more towels draped over her arm.

  “Hot mulled wine for you and some bread and cheese, sir,” she said as she walked into the room and set the tray on the table. “Is it a good time for me to wipe up the water on the floor for you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Loriot said before Savarin could.

  She bustled behind the screen with a few rags and was quick about cleaning up. Only a moment later she was back. “Is there anything else I can bring you, sirs?”

  “Not at the moment,” Savarin told her.

  “Just ring if you need something, and please ring when you’d like us to collect the tubs, or we can do so when you’re down at dinner if you’d prefer.” She gestured to the bell pull and gathered the wet towels and rags, leaving as quickly as she’d appeared. The service at the inn really had been quite efficient. It almost made up for not being able to secure two bedchambers for the night—though he should be grateful they’d managed to find one. He wasn’t sure what they would have done if the inn had no room left for them.

  “Would you like a hot drink?” he asked Loriot.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Savarin poured them each a cup from the pitcher and took Loriot’s to him, forcing himself to keep his gaze on Loriot’s face as he did so, or at least above the level of the water. He handed Loriot the cup and stepped back, returning to the table to pick up his own.

  “Thank you,” Loriot said.

  Silence fell over them while they both took long drinks from their cups. The warmth of the liquid, both from temperature and strength of the drink itself, spread through him. If he’d had this before, he might not have needed the bath at all to warm up.

  “That is stronger than I expected.”

  Savarin huffed out a laugh. “Yes. Good thing she brought food too.”

  “Good thing.” Loriot raised the cup to his lips again. “I suppose I should get out of the bath.”

  “When you’re ready. Relax.” Another possibility occurred to him. “I could go—downstairs or somewhere—if you want privacy. I should make some notes.”

  “It’s fine. Make your notes here.”

  “All right.” Savarin dragged one of the chairs farther from the tubs in front of the fireplace and turned it to face the bed. It would give them each the illusion of privacy at least. He retrieved his notebook from his bag and settled into the chair, propping his bare feet up on the edge of the bed. For a while, the bedchamber was quiet but for the crackle of the fire, the lap of water, and the howl of wind and rain outside. Savarin let the noises recede and made his notes from that day’s experience with the protection spells.

  What little he’d learned.

  It was endlessly frustrating. He knew he was missing something. He could see the protection spells when he used his Talent, but he couldn’t get into them, at least not far. He’d thought with time and study he’d be able to figure out how to get in, to see how they worked, but he was beginning to wonder if that was possible. He might need more research into the origins of the spells and how they were set, but the problem, what had sent him out to examine the spells in the first place, was that no record seemed to exist of these spells—not how they were set or when or by whom. Which he understood. To record anything about so important a spell would be to risk letting it fall into the wrong hands, which would in turn put Tournai at risk.

  Understanding the reasons didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated.

  But he had learned some things about the magic, and he was almost positive it was protecting itself—had guards built into it—to keep others from tampering with it. Which was a fascinating and skillful use of magic by the crafter of the spells, but if he couldn’t find a way past the spells’ protections without destroying them, he wouldn’t be able to strengthen the spells and repair what had been done to them.

  “What’s troubling you?”

  Savarin jerked in his chair. Loriot patted his shoulder as if to calm him, perhaps to apologize for startling him, and then sat on the edge of the bed near Savarin’s feet. He’d dressed much as Savarin had, but his shirt hung open. Savarin hadn’t even noticed him get out of the bath, let alone find clothes and dress. “What?”

  Loriot smiled. “I asked what was troubling you. You’re frowning.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t realized, and Loriot was looking at him oddly. “It’s just—the protection spells. I’m having more trouble than I anticipated figuring them out. Puzzling out how to get into them so I can figure them out.”

  “I doubt I can help you there.” Loriot smiled in a way that was both charming and self-deprecating. “Why not leave it for a little while? Come downstairs with me and have something to eat.”

  He declined the invitation, planning on spending some time with his books despite having already been over what he had with him too many times with no helpful results, but still somehow found himself prodded into putting on shoes and a jacket and following Loriot down to dinner. The common room was crowded and bright. If all the guests at the large inn weren’t there, then a great majority must have been. Serving girls and boys moved briskly between tables with food and drink. The room was noisy, but most of the crowd seemed in a decent humor and the noise drowned out some of the howl of the storm outside.

  He and Loriot squeezed into chairs at a small table near the large fireplace. A fire crackled cheerfully, something not normally necessary at this time of year but welcome with the chill and damp the storm had brought. They accepted bowls of venison stew and crusty bread and wine from a serving girl and ate quietly. Savarin let his mind wander, expecting it to drift back to the problem of the protection spells, but he found himself contemplating his companion instead.

  Loriot mopped up the last of the stew in his bowl with his bread, then looked up, and Savarin blinked, pinned under Loriot’s inquiring gaze. “All right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “The food was good. A benefit if we’re going to be here for a couple of days.”

  “You think we will be?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve always known it was a possibility, and with the strength of this storm, it seems likely. We can try to use the mirror to talk with Gemella and see if she has anything new to tell us.” She’d be busy, monitoring the storms with the other university weatherworkers, holding herself ready to blunt the effects if they worsened, but she’d find a few moments for them.

  “I’ll have Ruban send her a message. See when she can speak with us.” Loriot sipped at his wine. The serving girl had left them the bottle, and Savarin refilled their glasses. Someone had started singing in one corner, and the men at the table next to theirs produced a deck of cards. Everyone finding ways to amuse themselves while they were stranded by the storm. He could only hope most of them didn’t decide getting drunk would be an appropriate way to pass the time—that would make his own days less pleasant with them all cooped up inside and nowhere to escape except a bedchamber he shared with Loriot. Actually it might become trying even if their fellow guests weren’t drunk.

  “I wish I had more books with me. I could continue my research while we’re here instead of being idle.”

  “I can’t imagine you idle even without more books,” Loriot said. “Are you ever?”

  “Am I ever what?” he asked pulling his attention back to Loriot.

  Loriot smiled slowly. “Idle. Do you ever relax and do nothing?”

  He knew he must be looking at Loriot blankly, a supposition that was confirmed when Loriot laughed. �
��I have work to do with these spells.”

  “You can’t work on them every moment. Take the evening off. Step away from it for a while. It might give you a fresh perspective when you go back.”

  He didn’t want to admit that Loriot might have a point. He’d thought of little else for weeks; a night not thinking of it could leave him refreshed to begin work again. “And what would you have me do? Join a card game or a song?”

  The lone man singing in the corner had been joined by his entire table, turning them into a jolly, if loud, group.

  “As much as I would love to see you stand up there and sing, I had something else in mind.”

  He snapped his head around to meet Loriot’s gaze. Was Loriot asking what Savarin thought he was? Heat smoldered in Loriot’s eyes, and Savarin was thrown back to their kiss and the passion of it, even if it had been fueled by their irritation with each other. He wondered if they could have the passion without the argument that prompted it. “Intriguing.”

  “I thought so.” Loriot watched him steadily. “Upstairs?”

  “Yes. Let’s go upstairs.”

  Loriot stood, his glass still in hand, and snagged the half-full bottle from the table. Savarin rose as well and followed Loriot from the room with his own glass in hand. They passed a few people in the corridors and exchanged nods of greeting, but they didn’t stop to speak with anyone. Even with the long walk, they were back in their chamber in moments. Loriot let them in, and Savarin pushed the door shut behind them, flipping the lock with a small use of his Talent. The small things always took more control, more skill, than the large ones with a Talent as powerful as his, and they’d taken him so long to master when he was younger that he’d delighted in doing them once he had. While the childish delight had faded, the habit had not.

  Loriot prowled into the room and set the wine bottle on the small table near the fireplace. The efficient servants had been there in their absence, the room tidied and the tubs emptied and removed. The table and chairs were back in their original position in front of the fire, and the linens on the large bed had been turned back in preparation for sleep. Or whatever they were about to do in that bed.