Anger rose inside Loriot, a quick, hot snap. He reined it in through long-practiced force of will. “I never said I wanted Savarin to stop practicing magic. We shouldn’t be discussing this.”
“You’re probably right, but if you need an ear, you know where to find me.” Jadis picked up his satchel and slung the strap over one shoulder. “I’ll come back to check on Savarin this afternoon.”
Loriot murmured something vaguely polite, and Jadis left the bedchamber without another word. Which was good. Loriot’s irritation at Savarin had extended itself to Jadis. Why had Jadis chosen to meddle? They weren’t close confidants. Not close enough for Jadis to offer unsolicited opinions of Loriot’s affair with Savarin. And more than that, to suggest that Loriot wanted Savarin to give up using his Talent….
He didn’t want Savarin to give up magic. He didn’t. He just wanted Savarin to think before he jumped into a dangerous spell just because it was interesting, to be honest about the risks when he talked about the work he wanted to undertake. To talk with the people who cared about him—with Loriot—about the work he wanted to undertake beforehand. Because Savarin had Loriot now, and was well on his way to making Alain fall in love with him entirely; Savarin didn’t have only himself to think about anymore.
But none of those desires meant he wanted Savarin to stop using his Talent altogether. Did they? No.
Savarin seemed so relaxed in sleep this time. Jadis’s potion at work, no doubt. Loriot went to the bed and straightened the blanket over Savarin, smoothing it and making minute adjustments… that would make absolutely no difference at all. He shook his head and forced himself to stop fussing, to refrain from smoothing Savarin’s hair back from his forehead. He couldn’t hold back the exasperated sound, but he turned and strode from the room. He considered leaving, but he knew he wouldn’t as soon as the thought occurred to him.
He went into the sitting room next door and pulled his enchanted mirror from his pocket. In a brief conversation, he instructed his second to have his paperwork packed up and brought to Savarin’s house so he could work until Savarin woke. Afterward, he slipped the little mirror back into its velvet bag but paused before returning it to his pocket.
Weighing the little mirror in his hand, he began to pace. He could admit to himself that he was leery of magic—most magic anyway. Less now that he’d spent so long watching Savarin use it, but still wary. And why shouldn’t he be with what he’d seen and read magic could do? Magic could have devastating effects and could easily be used against the unwary and unTalented. Yes, there were laws in place, but that didn’t mean people didn’t try to harm others. Magic could be a powerful weapon. Any intelligent person would be wary. Savarin himself should be wary—he’d harmed himself with his own use of magic, and he’d been using his Talent to strengthen protection spells of all things. Savarin needed to be more careful.
Loriot stopped. Savarin needed to be more careful. He was too reckless with himself. But wanting Savarin to be careful, to have a thought for his own safety, wasn’t telling him to stop using magic entirely. At least he hadn’t meant to, but had Savarin taken it as such? Would Savarin see any concern for his well-being as an attempt to tell him what to do?
If so, Loriot wasn’t sure how they would manage to have any kind of relationship at all.
CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED slowly, and Savarin was able to take stock of his condition. His head no longer ached. Neither did his body—a pain he only realized the extent of in its absence. And he wasn’t as exhausted either. He felt almost refreshed, if not ready to climb mountains.
He blinked his eyes open. The bedchamber was dimly lit but not in a way that told him it was evening. He turned his head carefully on the pillow, but his headache didn’t return. The curtains had been drawn across the windows, but sunlight peeked through the small gap left by whoever had closed them.
“Awake? My timing is excellent, as always.”
Jadis’s voice drew his attention from the windows to the healer walking into the bedchamber through the open door.
“Feeling better?” Jadis asked, but the twinkle in his eyes told Savarin that he didn’t need to answer. Jadis knew, and his smug expression, his knowledge that he’d been right, annoyed Savarin more than he could say.
He glared, but Jadis just laughed as he crossed the room to the curtains and pulled them open. Light slanted across the bedchamber floor. From the angle, Savarin could tell it was afternoon. His stomach told him the same thing, reminding him with a grumble that he’d had little to eat in the last day or so.
“You look better,” Jadis said once he stood at Savarin’s bedside. He made no move to prevent Savarin from sitting up as he had that morning. “Let me see, then.”
Savarin didn’t argue when Jadis’s fingers came to rest lightly on his temples, easier just to let Jadis do what he’d come to do. He closed his eyes at the first tingle of magic and waited while it swept through him again.
“All right.” Jadis’s hands fell away.
Savarin opened his eyes. “Well?”
“The potion and the healing have done their work. The fever is gone, and you’ve regained much of the strength the fever sapped. I won’t say I told you so.” Jadis said the words lightly, almost teasingly, but leveled a stare at him that was eloquent in what it conveyed.
“Of course you won’t.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You were right. The potion and the sleep did me good.”
“I’m shocked you acknowledge it.” Jadis grinned, but Savarin caught the truth behind his statement. He wasn’t that bad, was he? “Take a few more days of rest and extremely light activities and then begin to gradually build up. Your strength is returning, but you don’t want to overextend yourself.”
“And my Talent?”
Jadis’s gaze sharpened. “You would know the state of your Talent better than I, but it should be returning to strength as your physical strength returns. Is it?”
“I suppose. I haven’t tried to use it.” He’d felt Jadis use his own Talent, though, which had to mean something. That his Talent wasn’t burnt out to nothing at the very least.
“Nor would I advise you to, not yet. Though we can consult someone with more experience in this if you’re worried. I’ve told you I know someone who could help.”
“I’ll let you know.” He wasn’t yet willing to put himself in the position of vulnerability that someone else knowing of his condition would create. He could trust Jadis, had to trust the royal family, and Loriot… he didn’t know what exactly was between him and Loriot any longer, but he could trust Loriot not to use the information against him. “Thank you.”
Jadis nodded and hesitated. When he spoke, it was slowly, each word chosen with care. “While you were asleep, Loriot asked me if I knew the work you did on the protection spells would affect you this way.”
The sudden heat of anger snapped Savarin’s spine straight. He was off the bed before he’d even thought to move. Jadis put a hand on his arm, the other raised in a placating gesture. “Calm down. I said you should be resting, remember?”
“The gall of the man, to ask you such a thing.” And after Savarin had already explained, or explained as much as he planned to. More than he needed to. He fumed, but he let Jadis stop him from storming from the room.
“He plainly cares for you. It’s easy to see how concerned he is for your well-being.”
“He’s trying to dictate what I can and cannot do.” He enunciated each word clearly to keep from shouting them at Jadis, who should not be the recipient of his ire, and to keep his anger under control. His Talent had first manifested itself when he was angry, and he’d learned to control it first off, long ago, because if his control went, he didn’t know what he would do. His Talent didn’t stir now, and the disappointment and cold fear that caused twined with his anger, leaving him off balance.
Jadis either didn’t notice his discomposure or didn’t realize the reason for it, but how would he? “If he is, I’m sure you’ll let him know how unacceptabl
e that is, but if he isn’t, you might drive him away by shouting when you should talk.”
“I don’t owe him anything.”
“I didn’t say anything about owing him, but perhaps you owe yourself something. It’s almost as obvious that you care for him in return, and if he makes you happy, you might want to hear him out, hear his motivations, and explain your feelings to him before you toss him out of your house on his ear.”
Savarin wanted to snap at Jadis that it was none of his concern, but he swallowed the words. Jadis was overstepping his bounds, true, but the brunt of Savarin’s anger wasn’t for Jadis’s meddling. And some of what Jadis said resonated a little too much. He did care for Loriot, and he thought Loriot cared for him—those whispered words in the dark indicated Loriot more than cared for him. He didn’t want to lose Loriot. But he couldn’t let Loriot try to control him either. He took a deep breath. “Is he here?”
“Yes. I don’t think he wanted to leave while you were ill, despite being angry at you as well. I’ll see myself out. Try not to overexert yourself.” Jadis’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Either in the discussion or in the making up.”
Savarin glared, wishing he could let himself turn Jadis into something unpleasant. Jadis turned and walked from the room, leaving Savarin alone with his thoughts and his anger and his need to talk to Loriot. None of which made him any happier.
Chapter 31
SAVARIN FOUND Loriot in the sitting room. He sat at the table by the window, papers in tidy stacks covering the table’s small surface. It was so quiet Savarin could hear the scratching of Loriot’s pen as he wrote on the page in front of him. Savarin stepped into the room, and Loriot looked up from his work.
“You’re awake.” Loriot stood to face him.
“Yes, and feeling much better. Jadis just left.” He walked farther into the room, surprised that he’d hesitated to do so immediately, and closed the door. It was his house, his sitting room, that Loriot was in.
“It’s good you’re feeling better.”
Silence fell thick and awkward between them, and they stared at each other for long moments. Savarin wanted to speak, wanted to yell, but he couldn’t quite find the words. Especially because, as much as he wanted to yell at Loriot, he didn’t want to say something he would regret. The past day—had it really only been a day?—was a jumble of emotions and reactions that made no sense to him and seemed out of character for himself. He was having trouble understanding them. He wanted time to do so, to put everything in its proper place so it would all make sense again, but he didn’t have it, not with Loriot in his sitting room staring at him.
He wanted that time, but he didn’t want Loriot to leave either. He didn’t think he did anyway. Why was he so confused?
“We don’t have to talk now,” Loriot said, perhaps sensing some of his struggle. “You must be hungry. Why don’t you eat something, and we can talk later or tomorrow?”
Loriot’s offer of a way out of the conversation was tempting, and he wanted to take it. But if he did, they wouldn’t talk at all. They’d pretend all was well and it would seem normal again and they’d just go on. Until there was another spell that Loriot deemed too risky or too dangerous or who knew what, and they’d be back here again.
“I am, but we should still talk.”
Loriot nodded but didn’t move, and another moment passed with them staring at each other in silence.
“I can’t have you telling me what I can and can’t do with my Talent, Loriot.” The words burst out of Savarin as the silence became too much, the tension too tight. “I’m a grown man, a trained sorcerer. The most powerful sorcerer in Tournai. Only I determine what I do with my Talent.”
Loriot’s mouth turned down in a grimace, and he took a deep breath before he responded. “I am perfectly aware of your training and the strength of your Talent, and I’m not trying to keep you from using it.”
“It certainly seems as you if you are.”
“I’m not, I promise you. I’ve thought on this a lot since yesterday. Your Talent is a part of you, a part of your life, and I can’t ask you to stop.”
“You’ve always had a problem with magic. I saw it,” he said, marveling at how even his voice was. No anger, no skepticism. He wasn’t sure how he managed that.
Loriot glanced away but only briefly, his green gaze latching back on to Savarin almost immediately. “I’ve always been cautious of magic, especially powerful magic. I have no Talent of my own, Savarin. No one in my family does, but I know the things that magic can do. In the hands of a person intent on doing evil, yes, and through its effects even when not used for harm. I’ve spent my career in the royal guard learning all I could about how to protect against magic—to keep the royal family safe, to keep my own family safe—even as I used the benefits of magic in my duties.”
“I’m happy to hear you admit there are benefits to magic.”
“Of course I know there are, but in my position, I’m much more likely to see or hear of the less beneficial uses.” Loriot scrubbed a hand over his face, the first cracks appearing in his calm front. “But I’ve spent time with you. I’ve seen you do a lot of magic, and I’ve become more comfortable about it.”
Savarin had to grudgingly admit that what Loriot said was true. Loriot’s unease in the face of Savarin’s Talent had diminished considerably since they’d gone on their journey together. “You have.”
“I’m not trying to keep you from using your Talent. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. But, Savarin, what happened could have killed you.” Loriot’s forceful statement fell into the quiet of the room like a boulder. “You have to see that, and you didn’t see fit to even tell me of the risks you were taking.”
“I needed to do that work. As much as your duties could carry you into danger, so could mine, but I don’t ask you to stop doing them. I had to do this, for Tournai.” And for himself, but he didn’t need to say it—Loriot knew Savarin was attracted to interesting magic; he’d thrown the accusation at Savarin already.
“But you didn’t even say anything to me, to anyone, about the risks to yourself.”
“What does it matter?” He flung the words out at Loriot. “I had to do it.”
“Maybe you did this time. Maybe there was no other way, or maybe there was, I don’t know. But magic isn’t the only thing in your life, Savarin. Perhaps it was before, but not now. Now you have me, and I love you, Savarin. I think Alain already loves you. I hope we’re an important part of your life. If we’re not, I need to start easing Alain away. I can’t have him hurt.”
His mind blanked, leaving him momentarily speechless, stuttering and fumbling for words before he finally found something to say. Something that needed to be said. “Of course you are. Both of you.”
Loriot seemed to sag a bit. In relief? Was he that worried about Savarin’s answer? “Then you need to act that way. You need to give us a share of your life.”
“Magic has been everything for so long.” His everything, his whole life or at least the center of it. It was terrifying to think of that slipping away and being replaced with something else. But somewhere along the line, Loriot, and Loriot’s son too, had become just as important.
“I know.” Loriot closed the distance between them, coming to stand in front of Savarin. “But can you try? Just don’t forget us. Just talk to me.”
“I can do that,” he said slowly. “But you have to know there are going to be times when I have to use my Talent in ways that will involve risk to myself. I won’t be able to avoid them all. I can’t. Just as you can’t avoid all danger to yourself, not and remain captain of the royal guard.”
“I know,” Loriot repeated, reaching up to rest his hands on Savarin’s shoulders. “But I should know when that’s the case. If what’s between us is to be real and not temporary, I need to know, as you need to know the risks to my work. Do you want that? Do you want there to be more between us than enjoying ourselves in bed?”
He stared for a moment, stunned into
silence again. What was between him and Loriot hadn’t ever been intended to be serious—or permanent. But it had become something more along the way. And even more when he’d met Loriot’s son, and Alain had become fond of him. He’d become fond of Alain too. He couldn’t let them go. He looked into Loriot’s eyes, felt his hands burning through the fabric of his shirt. “Yes. Yes, I want there to be more.”
He got a glimpse of Loriot’s blinding smile before Loriot pulled him into a fierce kiss. Loriot hadn’t kissed him this way in so long. As if he would devour Savarin, as if they might devour each other and enjoy every minute of it. He groaned and clutched Loriot close, not ready for it to end and almost afraid Loriot would pull away before he could get enough of the kiss. Would he ever get enough of a kiss like this?
No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
So of course it ended.
Loriot broke the kiss, pulling back from Savarin despite his efforts to hold on. “We can’t,” Loriot said, the words panted out. “You’ve been ill.”
“I’m fine.” Savarin’s voice was breathless too, but that was the kiss, not any remnant of illness.
“You had a fever all night. You slept for hours today.” Loriot evaded Savarin’s efforts to pull him closer, but he didn’t let go of Savarin.
“Jadis healed the fever, and I’m not even tired.” He managed to pull Loriot close enough for a quick kiss before Loriot jerked back again.
“Not until you’re feeling like yourself again. I don’t want you overtiring yourself again.”
“I think this would make me feel much better.” He grinned, trying to make it as innuendo-laden as he could. “I’ll sleep more after.”
Loriot raised an eyebrow. “You’re offering to nap voluntarily?”
“If it’ll get you in bed with me.” He pulled Loriot closer, and this time Loriot allowed himself to be tugged against Savarin’s chest. “Don’t make me beg.”
Loriot’s lips quirked into a half smile that made Savarin’s stomach do a long, slow swoop. “That might be interesting to see.”
The Sorcerer’s Guardian Page 29