The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  But it seemed he couldn’t remain forever. A hazy awareness returned before full consciousness. He drifted awhile longer in that half state, but he could hear things from time to time. Noises it took him longer than it should have to identify. Bird song. The murmur of voices, there then gone. Someone moving about close by.

  It occurred to him that he should be worried about having an unknown person near when he was unaware and vulnerable. But it took too much work to pull himself closer to wakefulness. When he finally managed it, though he wasn’t quite able to drag open his eyes, he shifted slightly on the… mattress—he must be in a bed? Wasn’t he in the woods?—and everything ached. He groaned.

  Movement next to him, the creak of a chair, and then, “Savarin?”

  The voice… he knew the voice, knew it well in all its permutations, or thought he had. There was a tightness to it now that was new. “Loriot.”

  He barely recognized his own voice. The one word, the beloved name, came out a croaked whisper. But it seemed Loriot heard him. A broad hand brushed the hair off his forehead and settled at the side of his head, warm, comforting. “Can you open your eyes? Have some water?”

  He realized suddenly he was parched. The water sounded much better than the first suggestion, but it seemed as if the provision of water might be conditional on his opening his eyes. He forced heavy eyelids up. It took far too much to raise them even a little, but he did, for Loriot, and for the promised drink of water.

  Loriot’s face slowly came into focus above him. Loriot must have seen haziness clear because he smiled, a gentle, almost soft smile. “There you are.”

  Before Savarin could say anything, Loriot brought a cup to Savarin’s lips, helping him raise his head when Savarin grunted at the effort it took. The cool water was blissful in his dry throat. He wanted to gulp the cupful down and demand more, but Loriot only allowed him measured sips. “Not too fast” came Loriot’s whispered words. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

  “I’m thirsty.” His voice was still rusty, but the water helped.

  “I should think so, but a little at a time for now.” Loriot suited actions to words and gave him another small sip of water. He took it gratefully but glared at Loriot—who chuckled, the bastard. “Healer’s orders. So don’t give me that look. But I am glad you’re awake to give it to me.”

  A warm glow spread through Savarin’s chest, but he tried not to let the pleasant feeling show. “Worried about me?”

  “Well, Alain has been asking after you. He’s quite fond of you for some reason, I’d hate to tell him something happened to you.” The teasing gleam in Loriot’s eyes couldn’t hide the worry there, and Loriot became serious again almost immediately. “Yes, I was worried about you.”

  “Why? Surely Jadis told you it was only exhaustion after the magic. I just needed to sleep for a few hours.” He struggled to push himself up to a sitting position with limbs that were stiff and aching. Loriot moved to help, sliding an arm around Savarin’s shoulders and lifting him then moving the pillows and easing Savarin against them. Why was he so weak? Perhaps he needed to sleep a while longer. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He didn’t like the way Loriot was studying him. “What is it?”

  “Savarin, you haven’t been asleep for a few hours. You’ve been unconscious six days.” Loriot watched him, but Savarin’s mind went blank hearing those words. Six days? He’d never slept so long after using his Talent. When he said nothing, Loriot continued, “Jadis couldn’t wake you. He tried after you’d slept a full day. When he began to worry, I began to panic.”

  Loriot snapped his mouth shut and looked away, and Savarin’s mind caught up enough for him to realize what Loriot had said. Panicked? Really? He couldn’t imagine the competent, controlled captain of the guard panicking, but the way Loriot wouldn’t meet his eyes and the faint coloring of his cheeks told him Loriot spoke the truth. Loriot had panicked, had worried that something horrible had happened to him. And in some ways, that was almost more inconceivable than the panic itself, that Loriot might feel deeply enough for him to be so scared. He’d have to think about it at some point, just as he’d have to think about what Loriot had said to him before he began to work with the spells, words he’d thought at the time had been at least half in jest. He wasn’t so sure anymore. He only knew that he didn’t like Loriot being scared; the thought of it, of Loriot’s fear being caused by him, made him feel a little ill.

  He put his hand on Loriot’s knee, only now realizing that Loriot was perched on the edge of the bed beside him. “I’m sorry.”

  Loriot turned back to him, a faint surprise coloring his green eyes. He covered Savarin’s hand with his own and laced their fingers together. “You didn’t do it on purpose. Or I assume you didn’t.”

  Savarin stared at their hands, fingers twined together. Marveled at them. He hadn’t done much handholding in his adult life, nor much in his childhood either. But Loriot’s hand felt good in his.

  “Savarin? This wasn’t your intention was it? To worry us all like this?” Loriot’s prompting recalled Savarin to the present conversation.

  “No, no of course not. I knew I’d be tired after, but I never expected… six days.” And to be so insensible that he couldn’t even be roused—he couldn’t fathom it. He shook his head, and regretted it when the movement set off a dull throb behind his eyes.

  “I’ll get Jadis. He should look you over. You don’t look well.”

  He snorted, but carefully so he wouldn’t jar himself further. “Well thanks for that.”

  Loriot chuckled. “You know what I mean. Besides you’re far too handsome for your own good anyway, and you know it.”

  “Maybe I just like hearing you say it.” He gave Loriot the best flirtatious grin he could manage under the circumstances.

  “You can’t be too badly off if you’re saying that.” Loriot squeezed his fingers. “I’d still like Jadis to take a look at you.”

  “It’s not—where am I exactly?” he asked, only now looking around and seeing the small room, bare but for the cot he lay in, a nightstand, a small table, and a chair.

  “A room in the palace infirmary. Jadis wanted you close until he made sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine, just tired. Drained from the magic.” It was a danger of working magic. Everyone used their own power and strength when using their Talents. Granted he’d never been this drained before, but he’d never experienced a working as complex and powerful before either. “I needed the rest. I probably just need a little more.”

  “That may be, but I would feel better if Jadis examined you.” Before he could protest that it wasn’t necessary, Loriot leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “Please just let him.”

  Savarin stared at Loriot, a bit shocked at the kiss. As fast and almost chaste as it was, it was still a kiss, and the only one they’d ever shared in a place that wasn’t private. Loriot stared back at him, his gaze level and intense, his hand still holding Savarin’s. He was caught by that gaze, unlike any he’d ever seen from Loriot, but familiar too with the warmth of intimacy that he was growing to crave from this man. Loriot must have been extremely worried about him to kiss him so openly, to look at him this way when anyone might see them.

  “All right,” he said, but he made every word grudging. It wouldn’t do to give in too easily, no matter what magical, precious thing might be happening between him and Loriot.

  Loriot smiled, and the smile melted some of the worry in his eyes into relief. “Thank you. I’ll get Jadis so you can get it over with.”

  “Good. Then maybe I can go home. My own bed is far more comfortable than this thing.”

  Loriot looked as if he could see right through Savarin’s complaints, but he only nodded and kissed Savarin lightly. “I’ll be right back.”

  He waited until Loriot reached the door. “Loriot.”

  “Yes?” Loriot asked.

  “Thank you for being here.”

&
nbsp; Loriot returned to Savarin’s side and kissed him again, longer and harder this time, right to the edge of stealing Savarin’s breath and his wits along with it. Loriot was grinning when he straightened and made for the door again. This time Savarin let him go.

  Savarin waited for the door to close and then smiled, letting the pleasure of the exchange wash over him. It was a good feeling, one that almost let him ignore the physical aches that plagued him.

  LORIOT MAY have admitted to being frantic over Savarin, but even he hadn’t realized how panicked he was until Savarin opened his eyes and spoke to him. Only then, with a tidal wave of relief rushing through him, did he realize how scared he’d been that Savarin might never wake. Because after four days of Savarin being unresponsive, Jadis had reluctantly divulged the possibility to him and the princes.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t wanted to even think it, but the fear had taken root anyway, simmering under the surface all the time as he forced himself through his duties, as he put on a brave, happy face for Alain when he went home, even though it tore him apart to have to leave Savarin’s side. As if his presence could keep Savarin there with him, could make Savarin wake.

  Last night he hadn’t even left the palace. Joceline told him not to come home when it became obvious where he wanted to be—needed to be, really. And he listened because he knew she understood that he wasn’t deserting Alain and her to sit by Savarin’s bedside. He wasn’t even sure Savarin would want him there.

  But he had to be there.

  By now Jadis had to know there was something between him and Savarin. How could he not with Loriot’s hovering and worrying? Jadis even let Loriot spend the night in the chair at Savarin’s bedside without one question or comment. The princes probably knew too. Prince Amory was almost too observant, and Prince Philip always seemed to know everything.

  So much for not allowing their personal business to intrude.

  He wondered what Savarin would say when he found out people knew about them. Whatever they were exactly. He hadn’t been so concerned with figuring it out before, but after the scare Savarin gave him, he rather wanted to know.

  Leaning against the wall by the door, Loriot kept quiet and watched Jadis examine Savarin. Jadis ignored him, and ignored Savarin’s protests and grumbles, as he went about his business. Finally Jadis stood back from the bed and stared down at Savarin through narrowed eyes. “I don’t like how exhausted you still are.”

  “I’m fine.” The protest snapped from Savarin’s lips with some of the arrogance that had infuriated Loriot not long ago—and still did from time to time. But Savarin was pale and rumpled sitting in the narrow cot, nothing like the well turned-out figure of a man in his fashionable clothes and haircut. His appearance would have been enough to make Loriot worry all on its own.

  “You’re not. You’ve slept for days. I would expect you to be more fully recovered than this. And you can’t tell me you aren’t hurting.”

  Savarin didn’t appear cowed in the least by Jadis’s stern tone. “I think that’s at least partly because I was unconscious so long without moving. It’ll get better as my muscles loosen up again.”

  “Perhaps. I still don’t like how tired you are. Sleeping should have restored you more.”

  Savarin sighed and slumped back against the pillows slightly. “The magic was complex and delicate. And long, though I don’t know exactly how long.”

  “Hours,” Loriot said. He would have said the longest hours of his life, but he’d had longer waiting for Savarin to wake.

  “Hours,” Savarin repeated. “I thought so. Hours pouring my Talent into complicated magics. It’s no wonder I’m exhausted.”

  “You were unconscious six days. I expected you’d be less exhausted than this when you woke,” Jadis said.

  “I would have too, but I’ve never drained myself to this point before. It may just take more time.”

  Jadis didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look as if he had better ideas either. “We’ll give you a few more days’ bed rest, and then we’ll see.”

  Loriot wasn’t certain what Jadis would see then or what he thought he would do, but Savarin nodded. “I won’t argue, but I’ll be having my bed rest in my own bed in my own house.”

  Savarin’s statement provoked a brief argument between Savarin and Jadis, who wanted him to stay where Jadis could keep a close eye on him. Loriot wasn’t surprised when Savarin got his way, but he almost wished Savarin hadn’t. He would feel far more reassured if Savarin recovered under the watchful eye of the chief of the royal healers. As it was, he’d have to keep Savarin under his own watchful eye, which included making sure Savarin did whatever Jadis told him since Loriot knew next to nothing about recovering from an—injury? ailment?—like this one.

  After Jadis’s reluctant acquiescence, Jadis left to order a carriage for Savarin, and probably to report to the princes as well. Prince Philip and Prince Amory had been concerned for Savarin and asked after him regularly. Loriot went to the table where Savarin’s clothing had been left in a neat pile while Savarin slept. He turned back with the stack in his arms to find Savarin mumbling curses as he eased himself from the bed. Savarin managed to get to his feet and immediately wobbled, swaying dangerously. Loriot tossed the clothes on the bed and grabbed Savarin, steadying him and pulling him close to Loriot’s chest. Savarin cursed again, a few terse, vicious words, but didn’t protest being held. On the contrary, he leaned into Loriot, letting Loriot take some of his weight.

  “Are you certain you’re well enough to go home? Perhaps you should stay here another night.” He made the suggestion tentatively, but he didn’t like how unsteady Savarin was, how much he seemed to be hurting.

  Savarin shook his head almost before Loriot finished speaking. “I just want to go home.” The words were plaintive, perhaps more so than Savarin intended or wanted, but they’d been said, and Loriot couldn’t argue.

  “All right. Let’s get you dressed, then.” He helped Savarin sit on the edge of the narrow bed and proceeded to help him into his clothes, each movement gentle and slow. Each action filled with the care he wanted to give Savarin.

  “I think I like it better when you’re undressing me,” Savarin said once Loriot finished.

  Loriot laughed. “Me too, but we’ll have to wait until you’re feeling better for that.”

  Savarin pulled a face more appropriate to a petulant child than a powerful sorcerer, and Loriot bit back a smile, but Savarin’s expression smoothed out again quickly. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “As you should. Let’s get you out to the carriage.”

  He thought it somewhat telling that Savarin didn’t protest that he was all right to ride the short distance back to his house, but Savarin wasn’t stupid even if he was stubborn. It was probably more telling that he hadn’t asked after the spell and the state of Tournai’s border protections. Or perhaps he knew already. Loriot didn’t know how these things worked. He didn’t think any of the others in the clearing, the members of the royal family who had helped in the spell, knew whether it had worked.

  Savarin had to lean heavily on Loriot during the walk out to the carriage. The grim set to Savarin’s mouth told Loriot more eloquently than words how he felt about having to accept Loriot’s help. A twinge of hurt made itself known, but Loriot pushed it aside. He knew Savarin and his pride, even understood it now that he knew of Savarin’s origins and his struggle to become what he was. He just wished Savarin didn’t still have the lingering defensiveness that made him reluctant to accept Loriot’s help.

  One of the royal carriages waited for them outside. Loriot walked Savarin to the carriage door held open by a servant. He’d thought originally to put Savarin in the carriage and send him home, but he couldn’t do that, not when Savarin looked as he did, not even with the reports waiting for Loriot in his office. He had to practically lift Savarin into the carriage. The pained, embarrassed look that crossed Savarin’s face made Loriot wish it wasn’t necessary. Once Savarin was
settled on one of the seats, Loriot turned to the servant standing blank-faced at the door and gave him a message for Ruban. Then he climbed into the carriage. He’d planned to sit in the seat across from Savarin, but even in the dimmer light of the carriage interior, he could see Savarin was pale and shaking. He sat beside Savarin as the servant closed the carriage door, and they got under way.

  Loriot slid an arm around Savarin, wanting to anchor him against the jolts of carriage wheels rumbling over paving stones—and frankly to hold him—but Savarin shook his head, pulling away slightly. “Stop it,” Loriot murmured. “No one’s here but us. No one can see you lean. So just stop it.”

  “Everyone saw me stumbling through the corridors.” Savarin’s protest came out in a mumble, but he didn’t pull away when Loriot once again tugged him close. Just let out a huff, grumbled something too low for Loriot to hear, and rested against Loriot’s shoulder during the short trip. Loriot turned his face toward the window to hide his smile and watched the city pass by outside.

  When they arrived at Savarin’s cavernous house, Loriot helped Savarin down from the carriage, steadying him when he swayed. He dismissed the carriage with a few words and slid a supporting arm around Savarin’s waist. He took much of Savarin’s weight, though he was taller than Loriot, and walked him through the front door and across the large entrance hall, their footsteps echoing. He turned them toward the stairs and, with a deep breath, got them climbing the long, steep flight.

  About halfway up, he wished the climb wasn’t necessary, but unless Savarin was to sleep on the floor or a much-too-short piece of furniture, they had to make it upstairs to the bedchamber. Their progress was slow and halting, Savarin trembling against his side, and he was sweating as much as Savarin was by the time they made it to Savarin’s bedchamber.

  Savarin practically collapsed on the large bed when they reached it. Loriot reached for Savarin’s shoes and set about undressing him. He went to the dressing room and searched until he found a pair of loose sleep pants. Before he returned to the bedchamber, he stopped into the bathing room and retrieved a damp towel and a dry one. Savarin hadn’t moved or opened his eyes, and worry swept through Loriot again. Perhaps Savarin should have stayed at the palace under Jadis’s supervision. What if Savarin fell unconscious again and didn’t wake? What would Loriot do then?