The Sorcerer’s Guardian

by Antonia Aquilante

  SAVARIN AWOKE to a headache and no idea what time it was. He forced his eyes open. His head gave one painful throb, then settled back into a dull, constant ache. Not terrible, not the worst headache he’d had by any means. He blinked and studied the section of bedchamber he could see without moving his head from the pillow.

  The drapes had been pulled mostly shut, which he couldn’t remember doing, and sunlight filtered through the edges of them, illuminating the bedchamber enough for him to see but not enough to be uncomfortably bright. He shifted a little, uncomfortable, and realized he was still dressed but for his shoes. Why was he… oh, yes, he’d dragged himself up to bed for a nap and couldn’t be bothered to change. How long ago was that?

  His thoughts were fuzzy, disconnected. And he was still tired. Perhaps he’d sleep for a while longer.

  The bedchamber door opened, and he turned his head on the pillow quickly, wincing at the sharp stab of pain. But only one person would enter his bedchamber unannounced, and sure enough, Loriot stepped into the room. “You’re awake.”

  “You’re here.”

  “I said I would be.”

  “Yes, but, after….” He tried to pull some shreds of his dignity together.

  “We’ve had this conversation before.”

  “We have? When?” A hazy half memory of Loriot standing over him in near darkness floated into his consciousness, but that couldn’t be real.

  “Last night.”

  “Last night?” But they couldn’t have a conversation last night about an argument they wouldn’t have had yet. That couldn’t be right. Unless…. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “I’m not sure when you fell asleep. Sometime after the princes left yesterday afternoon. It’s morning now.” Loriot came to the side of the bed and put a hand on Savarin’s forehead, and Savarin had another flash of that vague memory, of Loriot’s hand on his forehead, stroking his hair, and the warmth of comfort. “I think you have a fever.”

  “I came up not long after you left.” He shook his head before he realized it would make his headache worse. “I can’t have slept so long.”

  Loriot gently pushed him back against his pillow when he began to sit up. “You did, and you feel warm. I sent a message to Jadis asking him to come have a look at you.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I don’t feel sick.” Not really. A little headachy, a little tired. Achy, but he’d slept tangled in his clothes. Not anything he’d call ill. “I’m sure I just overdid it yesterday.” That had to be it: he’d felt better and pushed too much, visiting with Joceline and Alain, meeting with the princes. Arguing with Loriot. Once he rested he would feel better again.

  “Indulge me. If nothing’s wrong, you can tell me you told me so for the rest of the day.” Loriot went to the windows and opened the curtains, letting morning sunlight flood the room.

  “Don’t you need to go to the palace?” He pushed himself higher on the pillows, but didn’t try getting up again. It wasn’t worth tussling with Loriot over it, especially when a tussle could lead to nothing enjoyable. And just the slight movement made everything tilt for a moment anyway. He closed his eyes and waited for it to pass.

  “I sent a message that I would be late today. We’ll see what Jadis says. My second can be in charge for the day if necessary.”

  Savarin stared at him, unable to find words for a moment. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I said I would.”

  Maybe he was ill because he couldn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t what he expected to wake up to. He hadn’t expected to wake up to Loriot at all. “But yesterday, what you said, and what I said….”

  “Yes, but I said I’d help you, and I will. We’ll talk about yesterday after Jadis sees you.” Loriot stared at him with narrowed eyes until Savarin nodded. “Let me ask for some breakfast for you. Jadis will be here soon.”

  Loriot left the bedchamber, presumably in search of a servant to send off for Savarin’s breakfast, though he didn’t doubt that Loriot might walk down to the kitchen to get it himself. He got the impression that Loriot did such things in his own smaller, more relaxed household. He wouldn’t have thought someone born into the nobility, even minor nobility, would, but Loriot continually proved his thinking wrong.

  And confused him. As Loriot was today. What was going on? Truth be told, he hadn’t expected Loriot to come back, at least not so soon. And when Loriot did return, Savarin had expected him to be angry. Or more overtly angry. He didn’t think Loriot had gotten over their argument any more than Savarin had, but Loriot was still here, still taking care of Savarin, even if he was more stiff than usual.

  Why was he so pleased to find Loriot here anyway? He wasn’t over his anger at Loriot trying to tell him what he could and couldn’t do. But it had hurt too, watching Loriot leave yesterday, and waking to find that Loriot had come back last night—soothed that hurt some.

  Part of him wanted to tell Loriot to leave if he still hadn’t realized that he couldn’t tell Savarin what magic he could and couldn’t perform. Part of him was too happy to have Loriot here. And he was irritated at himself for feeling so happy when he should still be angry. Nothing helped to alleviate his confusion.

  When Loriot returned with a breakfast tray, Savarin pushed it all aside and ate what Loriot put in front of him. His thoughts were too unfocused and jumbled to weed his way through the logic he’d need for him to understand what was happening with him and Loriot. He was starting to believe he actually was ill.

  “All right?” Loriot asked as Savarin picked at his food.

  “Hmm? Oh, fine.”

  Loriot frowned. “Jadis will be here soon. Do you want to change? You’re still in yesterday’s clothes.”

  “Yes, I think I will.” He lifted the tray from his lap, and Loriot took it, setting it aside on the bedside table. Savarin thanked him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam as soon as he stood. A hand gripped his elbow, steadying, and the room slowly settled back into its proper place. “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps you should lie back down,” Loriot said.

  “No, I’m fine. Just stood too quickly. I’ll just go change.”

  Loriot hesitated but nodded and let go. Savarin missed the warmth of his hand immediately, but he said nothing. He took a few slow, careful steps, but the dizziness didn’t return. He probably had just stood up too quickly after being in bed so long. Loriot didn’t seem to agree. He lurked outside the door of the dressing room the entire time it took for Savarin to change into clean, less formal clothes.

  He heard Loriot letting a maid into the bedchamber and the beginning of a murmured conversation between the two. He used the connecting door from the dressing room into the bathing room and cleaned himself up there before returning to his bedchamber. Two maids had obviously just changed the bed sheets. One carried the bundled linens from the room as he entered, the other followed with the breakfast tray.

  Loriot made no attempt to hide that he studied Savarin as he walked into the room, seeming poised to jump to Savarin’s aid should he need it. But he felt somewhat better in fresh clothes and after washing his face.

  “Back to bed.”

  “I’d rather not.” He’d had his fill of lying about in bed feeling tired and out of sorts.

  “Just until Jadis checks you out.” Loriot’s lips firmed into a stern line, and Savarin could suddenly see how Loriot might be when Alain misbehaved.

  “You can’t order me around. I’m not a child.”

  “Then don’t act like one.”

  He glared at Loriot, opening his mouth to let out as blistering a retort as he could think of, but a knock on the bedchamber door interrupted him. “Yes?” he called out.

  A maid opened the door. “Sir, Master Jadis is here to see you. He said Captain Loriot sent for him.”

  “Yes, thank you. Show him up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 30

  NEITHER HE nor Loriot moved or said anything as they wai
ted for Jadis. He felt as if they were poised on the edge of another argument, or perhaps a resurgence of the same one.

  Jadis stepped into a silent room and looked between them, but to his credit, he didn’t ask. “Good morning, Savarin, Loriot.”

  “Good morning, Jadis,” Savarin said, and Loriot echoed his words.

  “Loriot said you’re ill?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said.

  “You slept from yesterday afternoon through to this morning, and you feel like you have a fever.” Loriot spoke to Savarin but the words were obviously for Jadis’s benefit. “And you clearly have a headache. You’ve been wincing.”

  Jadis broke in before Loriot could go further or Savarin could argue. Which he was about to do because the tone Loriot used made him bristle. “Well, I’m here now so I might as well examine you.”

  “Fine.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and stayed still, letting his eyes fall closed when Jadis put his hands to Savarin’s temples. Jadis’s healing magic slid over him, warm and tingling, as soon as Jadis’s fingertips came to rest against Savarin’s skin. He had no healing Talent of his own, couldn’t so much as fix a paper cut, but he could feel the magic, see it as he could other types. And healing magic always felt warm, the intensity of it depending on the strength of the healer’s Talent. Jadis’s Talent was strong, the strongest healing Talent Savarin had ever encountered, and the feel of it was correspondingly intense. He didn’t fight when Jadis’s magic swirled through him, blanketing his skin in warmth, questing for what might be wrong, but he did kept his eyes shut. He’d seen healing magic before, but it was disorienting to see it at work on himself.

  Jadis seemed to take his time, but Savarin realized Jadis wasn’t only examining him but was using his healing magic in other ways. He might have been able to figure out how if he used his own Talent, but then again, he might not—healing magic was very different from his own Talent. He could sense it, feel it more than others could, but following the pathways of it as he could other types of magic wasn’t as easy for him.

  Gradually Jadis’s magic ebbed out of Savarin until the warm presence of it disappeared. But it took his headache and some of the weight that had dragged him down with it. He opened his eyes. Jadis still stood in front of him, his hands falling away from Savarin’s temples. Loriot lurked in the background.

  “You did manage to pick up a fever. Nothing serious, and you probably wouldn’t have ever sickened with it if you were at your usual strength, but your fatigue and drained state made you more susceptible. I don’t want you to sicken further so I used some magic to take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Jadis.” Though it galled him that Loriot had been right about him coming down with something.

  “I have a potion for you to drink. You’ll sleep a few hours after, but then you’ll be back on the mend.”

  He balked at the very idea of more sleeping. “All I’ve done is sleep for days. I’m sure I can do without more. I feel much better.”

  “Then a few more hours won’t make much of a difference.” Jadis frowned at him, a stern frown that probably quelled any number of troublesome patients, but Savarin wasn’t so easily placated.

  “I’ll rest, of course, but I don’t feel the need for more sleep. I just woke up.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told if you don’t want to relapse.” Jadis’s voice snapped out at him, very different from the soothing tones Jadis usually used as a healer. Savarin nearly reeled back at the shock of it. Jadis turned to his bag on the bedside table and pulled a vial from it. As he spoke, he poured the contents of the vial—an amber liquid—into a glass and mixed it with water. “I know you’re chafing at the restrictions on you, but the spells drained you badly. You need to give your body and your Talent time to regain their strength. A fever is not the way to do that, especially when your body isn’t able to properly fight off the illness. Take your potion and sleep. You can get out of bed after, and I’ll come back later to make sure you don’t need another dose.”

  “Another dose? You said this would take care of it.”

  “It should. If you sleep.” Jadis thrust the glass at him with a hard stare.

  He held out another moment, but he didn’t know why he was being so difficult. He knew better than to argue with healers. He was just so tired of feeling ill and exhausted. Heaving a sigh, he took the glass from Jadis. The potion didn’t taste as wretched as he’d expected, but it wasn’t pleasant. He couldn’t stop himself from wrinkling his nose.

  “What did you expect?” Jadis asked. “It’s medicine, not sweets. Did you want me to add a bit of sugar to it like I do for children?”

  He split his glare between Jadis for his teasing and Loriot for his soft snicker. But his head started swimming before he could find the words to berate them both for it. He put his hand to his head and jerked his eyes open. When had they closed?

  “The potion works quickly. Lie down and sleep now.”

  His eyes were closed again, and hands pushed him gently back against the pillows, helped him swing his legs up onto the bed, covered him carefully with a blanket. The murmur of voices came from nearby, but sleep was pulling him under. It closed over him before he could even figure out what they were saying.

  “WILL HE be all right?” Loriot asked as Jadis eased Savarin down against the pillows. He shook out the blanket that was folded on top of the chest and handed it to Jadis. “He fell asleep so quickly.”

  “The potion works fast. I have to give him something that will work that way so he won’t have the chance to fight it.” Jadis covered Savarin with the blanket, the gentleness of his actions at odds with the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “Savarin is too stubborn for his own good sometimes.”

  Loriot huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. “That I know.”

  “It seems you do.” Jadis studied him over his shoulder. Loriot forced himself not to fidget under the scrutiny, but Jadis relented and turned to his bag, packing the potion bottle away and tying the bag closed again.

  “It’s not difficult to miss, especially when you spend any amount of time around Savarin.”

  “True. And to answer your question, he will be all right. The healing and the potion will take care of the fever, and the sleep will do the rest. When he wakes, he’ll be feeling much better.”

  “Good.” He didn’t like the relief he was feeling when he was also so irritated at Savarin, but irritation, frustration—even anger—didn’t negate his love for the man. “Will his strength return?”

  “No reason it shouldn’t. It’s a slower process than Savarin would like, but this isn’t something he can bend to his will. He needs time to build his strength again.” Jadis laid a hand on Savarin’s forehead for another moment.

  Loriot watched Jadis with Savarin, his mind whirling until the words overflowed out of him. “Did you know this could happen? Did you know Savarin could end up drained this much? Did he warn you?”

  Jadis faced him slowly and was silent longer than Loriot was comfortable with, especially under the force of Jadis’s level stare. “I’m not a sorcerer, but I’ve been a healer for a long time, and I’ve had experience with sorcerers overextending Talents and the effect it has on their bodies. So with the complexity and difficulty of what Savarin was attempting, I knew there would be some effect. I didn’t know how severe it would be. I doubt he expected it either.”

  Loriot didn’t know how to reply and settled for nodding.

  “I take it you didn’t know,” Jadis said.

  “How would I? What do I know of magic?”

  Jadis’s gaze turned shrewd. “More than most people would expect you, someone with no Talent, to know. But I can see that you might not know the degree to which something like this could affect a sorcerer. You didn’t see it when you traveled with Savarin?”

  “Not like this.”

  “I shouldn’t think so. This isn’t common by any means. I doubt Savarin expected it, and he certainly isn’t
pleased with it now.”

  “He still should have told me—us. The princes weren’t happy.” He didn’t much care for Jadis’s too patient stare, but, then, he didn’t much care for his own admission either.

  “You care for him. Perhaps he should have,” Jadis said, neatly ignoring Loriot’s statement about the princes. “But he wouldn’t have realized that, and it isn’t because he doesn’t care for you.”

  Loriot bit his tongue. He shouldn’t be having this conversation with Jadis, or anyone at all.

  “I never married,” Jadis continued, unbothered by Loriot’s silence, and with a statement that seemed abrupt, but Loriot knew had to connect somehow. “I’m a healer—my studies, my work, always took precedence. It comes first in my life. I do my work as I see fit. I don’t need to inform someone else of what I do or when I do it. I don’t need to limit my work for anyone. Of course I also don’t have anyone of my own. It’s not ideal, I recognize that, but it is what it is. A sorcerer of Savarin’s power, who has devoted himself to studying magic and using it to serve his country… I can’t see him as much different.”

  “So what are you saying?” he asked, despite not wanting to ask the question at all. He wanted to thank Jadis for coming and show him out, but he couldn’t seem to do that—both because Jadis’s words were rooting Loriot to the spot, and because this wasn’t Loriot’s house, a fact he was acutely aware of since he and Savarin argued.

  Jadis’s gaze was sympathetic, compassionate, but not quite pitying. “I’m saying that Savarin is used to his Talent being his life. He’s used to answering to no one but himself in the majority of things. It’s difficult for someone so used to that to let anyone else in, to know when he should. You’ll need patience, and you’ll need to push, but you also need to know when you shouldn’t.”

  “Meaning?” he bit out.

  “Meaning that you can’t expect him to inform you of everything he’s going to do, of every possible consequence, because he doesn’t know he should. And you can’t expect him to stop practicing magic because you would prefer it.”