The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  He did all he could, all he knew how, to bring Savarin pleasure, and took absolute delight at every small evidence of that pleasure. When Savarin spilled down his throat with a cry, he eagerly swallowed it down. He wanted to bury himself in Savarin and find his own pleasure, but he couldn’t. Savarin collapsed back against the pillows, panting and loose-limbed. Loriot crawled back up the bed and smiled at the sleepy, utterly satisfied look on Savarin’s face. He pressed a light kiss to Savarin’s neck, his cheeks, his lips, before drawing back to dress Savarin in his sleep pants again.

  Savarin roused himself enough to reach for him, but Loriot shook his head. “No, not tonight.”

  “But what about you?” The words ended on a stifled yawn.

  “Another time.” He kissed Savarin again, quick. “Sleep now.”

  “You’ll be here?”

  Something inside Loriot warmed, melted at Savarin’s sleepy-voiced sentiment. “Yes. I said I would.”

  Savarin nodded and snuggled into his pillows, already half asleep. Loriot watched him for a moment and then eased from the bed. He went around the room, extinguishing the candles, pulling the curtains, and shedding his clothes once more before climbing back into the bed beside Savarin and pulling the covers over them both. He let a gentle hand smooth Savarin’s hair back, and allowed himself to whisper, “I love you.”

  Chapter 27

  SAVARIN DRIFTED on a haze of pleasure and fatigue. He heard Loriot move about the room, felt the bed dip beside him as Loriot got back in, just as he said he would. His exhaustion blunted some of the embarrassment he was sure to feel later at his clingy display. That wasn’t him, or at least that wasn’t the behavior he showed to anyone. But he trusted Loriot, he realized, more than he’d ever trusted anyone in his life.

  And he was afraid.

  Not so much at the realization of how much Loriot had come to mean to him, or even at the whispered confession of Loriot’s feelings that he thought was real but might have only been a fatigue-induced dream, but at his own weakness. He’d drained himself before, used his Talent to the point of exhaustion, or he thought he had, but he’d never felt anything like this. Never been unconscious for so long. To the point where there had been fear that he might not wake.

  And even after so long unconscious, he was still so weak. The trip back to his house from the palace had left him shaking and barely able to stay on his feet long enough to make it to his bed, and eating a bowl of soup had almost taken more energy than he had. He’d offered to give Loriot pleasure, but truth be told, he doubted he’d have been able to do much for him.

  So he was afraid. Because he’d never felt so weak before in his life, and he should have been recovered, or at least more so than he was. He wondered if he would ever fully recover. If he would ever be able to use his Talent again, if it would ever regain its full strength. He’d wanted to light the candles tonight, but that had been thoughtless. He doubted he could have managed so simple a magic in his current state.

  What would happen to him if he didn’t recover? What would he do? Who would he be?

  Would Loriot still love him then? Did Loriot really love him now, or was that just a figment of his hazy imagination?

  “Savarin?” Loriot whispered. “You’ve gone tense. Are you awake?”

  “Sort of.”

  Loriot huffed out a laugh, the sound a dear one. “What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated, afraid to say it, even to Loriot, but finally he whispered the words into the dark. “I’m scared.”

  Loriot shifted—Savarin could just see him in the moonlight that filtered through the gap in the curtains—but he didn’t sit up or reach for a light, for which Savarin was grateful. “Of what?”

  Loriot kept his voice to a whisper as well. Conversations and confidences like these were meant for whispers in the dark, maybe because only in the dark could people feel comfortable enough to make them. But he’d failed to think of how intimate a whisper in the darkness was, and he wasn’t sure he could continue.

  But Loriot was waiting, patient and kind. Loriot, who had been helping him since he stumbled out of bed in the infirmary, caring for him without making him feel weak, or worse. Loriot, who loved him unless Savarin’s mind had made that up. He sighed and let the words out, even though saying them, even in a whisper, felt scarier than thinking them. “I’m afraid I’ll never be well again, not the way I was. That my strength and my power will never come back.”

  Loriot was quiet for a moment, and then his hand found Savarin’s in the dark and squeezed. “Do you really think that might happen?”

  He was relieved Loriot hadn’t given him empty reassurances, but he hadn’t really expected them, not from Loriot. “I don’t know.”

  “Why are you worried it might?”

  “Because I’ve slept for six days, and I’m still so weak, my Talent still so drained…. It’s never been like this before.” Savarin closed his eyes, a desire to hide washing over him.

  There was another pause. He could feel Loriot’s eyes on him in the dim light, could almost feel Loriot thinking furiously beside him. “But you also said you’ve never performed magic like that before. Nothing so complex and involving so much power. I can’t pretend to know anything about it, not more than you’ve told me, but wouldn’t that affect your recovery? Wouldn’t it take longer after using so much power?”

  It likely would, but the urge to lash out at Loriot in the face of his logic was almost impossible to resist. What did Loriot know anyway? What gave him the idea that he could make any kind of logical conclusion about what the effect of magic on Savarin would be? But he forced his anger back down, to wherever it came from, again. He recognized how irrational the impulse to lash out was. Loriot was only trying to help, and his conclusion wasn’t without merit.

  “It might,” he admitted with some reluctance. Every use of Talent drew on the sorcerer’s own power and energy. The more a Talent was used, the more tired the person using it became. Savarin had felt the fatigue of overusing his Talent many times before, especially before he had a good sense of what he was capable of. So, yes, Loriot might be right. Working with the protection spells, bending them to his will, strengthening them, had taken more power and time and will than any other magic he could remember performing. “Perhaps.”

  “Then why not give yourself some time to recover?” The tenderness in Loriot’s words made Savarin ache. “Jadis said it would take more time and more rest. Give yourself the time, and try not to worry yet.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” He wasn’t normally one who worried this way, but how could he not? “What happens to me if I don’t recover? If my Talent doesn’t come back to full strength?”

  Loriot pulled him close, into Loriot’s arms. He struggled halfheartedly for a moment, but subsided when Loriot wouldn’t let go and allowed Loriot to arrange him as he would, with his head pillowed on Loriot’s shoulder, Loriot’s arms secure around him. “If that happens, you’ll figure it out, you’ll cope with it. You’re more than just your Talent, Savarin.”

  “Am I?” Sometimes he wondered. He was the most powerful sorcerer in Tournai and had been for so long. His Talent had defined him since he was practically a child.

  “Yes.” Loriot’s voice rose above a whisper for that one word, driving its importance into Savarin’s mind. “I saw you, came to love you, despite your power.”

  There was that word again. So he hadn’t been dreaming when he thought he heard Loriot say it. He still couldn’t quite believe Loriot had said it, not once but twice. Then he felt the fine tremor move through Loriot’s body. His brave captain wasn’t as calm about what he’d said as he appeared. Savarin cuddled closer. He wasn’t sure he could say the words back, not in the state he was in, but he wanted to reassure Loriot. He didn’t want Loriot to worry that his admission was unwelcome. Loriot’s arms tightened around him in return, so he hoped his message had been understood.

  “So yes, I know there’s more to you than magical power, and if the wor
st happens, I know you’ll survive and more, thrive.” Loriot kissed his forehead and ran a hand up and down his back, soothing. He shouldn’t like the coddling, but he rather did. “But I don’t think it will come to that. I trust Jadis’s skills. He says you need to rest and let yourself recover. So let yourself rest and recover.”

  “And if I still don’t recover fully?” He couldn’t shake the fear that this weakness was too much for a simple draining, but he might be letting exhaustion compound his feelings irrationally.

  “If that happens, we’ll figure out what to do then.”

  “We?”

  “Of course.” Loriot’s hand never stopped its movement, and Savarin was beginning to feel sleepy against his will. “I’ll be right beside you, helping all I can. But don’t think of it yet, it may never happen.”

  Savarin tried to stifle a yawn as fatigue dragged at him. His eyelids drooped closed before he even realized it. “I’ll try.”

  “Good.” Loriot’s hand was still moving in sweeping motions up and down his back, and lips pressed to his forehead again. “Sleep now. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  LORIOT WAS there in the morning, and each of the following mornings. Savarin wondered if he should have found it presumptuous that Loriot kept returning, but in his state of exhaustion and fear, he found Loriot’s presence a comfort. And really, exhaustion made it far too easy for him to drift without thinking too much about Loriot’s presence or his declaration or what both might mean for the two of them. Or what his own feelings very likely were.

  He slept the majority of the first couple of days. It annoyed him to keep drifting off, but he was helpless to prevent it, like when he’d had a particularly persistent fever when he’d been young and slept days away. Now he was merely tired, not ill, but the difference seemed negligible when he felt so wretched about everything.

  When he began to be able to stay awake for longer periods of time between naps, he read. When he became sick of his bedchamber, he moved to the couch in the sitting room next door, perhaps the only piece of furniture in the house other than a bed long enough for him to stretch out on. It was also about as far as he wanted to walk. Never had he cursed the size of his house as much as he did now. But Loriot brought him stacks of books from his library, and he even trusted Loriot to retrieve some of his papers from his study so he might work when his ability to focus returned. Loriot even returned to the house in the evening with a few new books for him, including a novel of his sister’s, which Loriot said she’d insisted he bring Savarin. Loriot seemed slightly apologetic, but Savarin knew him to be proud of his sister’s accomplishments. So Savarin read the book and enjoyed it more than he thought he would.

  Every day he wanted to use his Talent, He hadn’t realized how often he used it, relied on it for a dozen little things, until he couldn’t. He was frustrated every time he thought to do something with magic… and then fearful that he’d never be able to again.

  Jadis came to see him and examined him again. Savarin put on a front of impatience, but what he really wanted was for Jadis to tell him everything was—would be—fine. But he couldn’t just ask. It was one thing for him to show his vulnerability to Loriot, and even then the thought of it made him vaguely uncomfortable, it was quite another to reveal that same vulnerability to Jadis.

  “You’re getting stronger. I assume you can feel it?” Jadis sat back in his chair beside the couch Savarin sat on.

  He could. “Not enough. I’m still more tired than I should be after so long.”

  “Savarin. You drained yourself to nearly nothing with this working. I’m not surprised you’re still feeling the effects of it.” Jadis fixed him with a pointed look. “You’re feeling better than you were yesterday, I’ll assume, and better still than you were when you woke. Give it time, and you’ll be back to your normal strength.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Now Jadis looked concerned, and faintly surprised. “Yes. But if you’re truly worried, I can call in a fellow healer who teaches at the university. He has expertise in cases like these, and he might be able to reassure you more than I can.”

  He hadn’t wanted his need for reassurance to be quite so obvious, but the question had slipped out without his consent. “No. There’s no need.”

  “Are you certain? It wouldn’t be any trouble, and he’d be happy to help.”

  “I’m sure. We’ll give it some more time, as you said. If I don’t improve, we can send for him.” All he needed was someone else knowing about his weakness. No, he’d wait.

  Loriot arrived not long after Jadis took his leave, and Savarin called for the maid to serve dinner in the sitting room while Loriot changed out of his uniform. Loriot returned just as the maid finished setting the small table near the window. It would be the first time Savarin ate a meal on anything other than his bed or the couch since he came home, and he’d probably be tired at the end of it, but he wanted one night of normalcy. Though seeing Loriot walking around his house in a casual shirt and breeches, bare feet peeking out the pant legs, was something of a shock and not at all normal. Or it hadn’t been before Loriot had helped Savarin home and insisted on staying.

  He couldn’t decide how he felt about it. Part of him enjoyed it, thrilled to see Loriot so comfortable in his house. The rest of him didn’t understand what was happening.

  “You’ve been here quite a bit the last few days,” Savarin ventured after they’d been eating for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure why he said it; the statement had escaped without his permission.

  Loriot merely smiled. “I told you I would be here as much as I could. You’re not going to start arguing with me about that again?”

  “No.” The memories of his first protests were a bit hazy. Fatigue was playing tricks on him. “I just don’t like to think of you missing time with Alain for me.”

  “I’ve still been seeing him. During the day when I can get away or on my way here from the palace in the evenings. Remarkably, he understands my absence.”

  “Does he?” He didn’t have a lot of experience with children, though he cared for his nieces and nephews. He didn’t know how well a child of Alain’s age would understand his beloved father’s prolonged absence. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him you’re ill and you need my help right now. He seemed to think that was a good enough reason for me to be away.” Loriot grinned again. “He likes you.”

  He found himself unsure what to say, but he was touched by the child’s consideration. “Well, I’m honored.”

  Loriot laughed. “You should be. He wants to visit you. He’s been asking.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, as I said, he likes you. Though who knows why.”

  He glared at Loriot. “Very funny.”

  “In all seriousness, he does like you and he’s been worried. I’ve told him you’re on the mend, but he still didn’t like that you were ill, which I suppose is why he’s happy for me to be here caring for you.”

  He had no idea what to say to that. He’d only met Alain a few times. He hadn’t realized Alain had become so attached.

  Loriot didn’t seem to be aware of Savarin’s loss for words. “He’s been bothering me and Joceline to bring him to visit you.”

  That snapped him out of his stupor. “He wants to visit?”

  “Yes. I haven’t said anything to you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated when you should be concentrating on resting.”

  Would he have felt obligated to allow Alain to visit? Was that what he was feeling now? He didn’t think so. “He can visit.”

  Loriot jerked his head up from where he’d been looking down at the fish on his plate. “You want Alain to visit?”

  Did he really? But why not? Loriot’s son was a sweet boy, and Loriot loved Savarin—Savarin probably loved him back despite his still not having said it—and he should get to know Alain a bit better. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well….” Loriot seemed to grope for words. “You’re recovering and h
e’s an active child.”

  And Loriot still wasn’t certain what Savarin thought of Alain, that was plain to see. Perhaps he even worried that Savarin wouldn’t accept Alain or wouldn’t like him. He’d certainly been surprised enough to meet the child in the first place. But he wasn’t at his sharpest at the moment so he might be wrong. “I don’t think a short visit will hurt.”

  “All right, if you’re certain. But only a short visit. He’ll be happy to see you, but I don’t want him tiring you out.”

  “I’ll be happy to see him too.” Savarin was rewarded with Loriot’s smile before they both turned back to their dinners.

  The next afternoon Joceline and Alain arrived for a visit. Savarin had made an effort to present more of his usual appearance that day, instead of the far scruffier one he’d made while lying around the last few days. Being better dressed lifted his spirits. Even while feeling miserable, he hadn’t liked looking it. That probably made him vain. Loriot would tease him if he knew. Who was he kidding? Loriot probably already knew all about Savarin’s vanity.

  One of the maids showed Joceline and Alain up to the sitting room. She barely stepped aside before Alain exploded into the room with a glad cry of Savarin’s name. It surprised a laugh out of Savarin, and the maid jumped. He didn’t manage to get to his feet before Alain was on him, throwing himself onto Savarin’s lap.

  “Alain!” Joceline hurried into the room after Alain, leaving the bewildered maid behind her. “Don’t do that. It isn’t polite.”

  Savarin dismissed the maid with a few words and turned to his guests, one of whom was still bouncing in his lap though looking more contrite and unsure. “It’s all right. I don’t mind,” he said to reassure Alain and keep Joceline from scolding him further. “Good afternoon, Lady Joceline, and good afternoon to you, Master Alain. I apologize for not standing to greet you. Please sit.”

  “Good afternoon, Master Savarin. Think nothing of it.” Joceline perched on the edge of the chair near the couch. “I trust you’re feeling better? We’ve all been concerned since Loriot told us what happened.”