The Sorcerer’s Guardian

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The Sorcerer’s Guardian Page 32

by Antonia Aquilante


  The breakfast room was at the back of the house with a set of glass doors that opened onto the terrace and a view of the garden. It was an airy, pleasant room in summer, the windows and doors able to be thrown open to a breeze. Not quite as pleasant in winter but heavy velvet curtains pulled over the windows and a fire in the hearth did well to dispel the chill. He had been working on a spell to ward off drafts… but he wouldn’t think of that now. The rectangular table in the center of the room seated six but only two of the chairs were occupied tonight. Loriot sat across from Alain, to each side of the place at the head of the table, which had been set for him.

  Loriot swiveled to greet him when Savarin entered the room. “We didn’t wait. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m sure you’re both hungry.” He rested a hand on Loriot’s shoulder—in thanks and love—letting it slide off as he made his way around the table to his seat. Alain was eating his soup with evident enjoyment, but he stopped to watch Savarin as well. He realized after a moment that Alain must have been worried he was angry with him, and he felt even worse. He had no idea what to say when confronted with Alain’s little face looking at him so worried and hopeful.

  He wanted to look to Loriot to save him, but he couldn’t rely on Loriot’s help with Alain, not if Alain was going to be living with him. And he couldn’t stay silent much longer or Alain really would think he was upset with him. Going on instinct, he ruffled Alain’s hair and was rewarded with a giggle. “How’s the soup? Good?”

  Alain nodded enthusiastically. “Good.”

  “Then eat before it gets cold.” He glanced to Loriot as Alain went back to his dinner and got a small smile and nod. It had been a long time since he looked to anyone for approval, and it was another odd, uncomfortable feeling to be doing it now, but he had to take the help he could get. He gave Loriot a slight smile in return and sat.

  And nearly laughed out loud when he saw that Alain was sitting on a thick cushion to bring him up high enough to see over the table. He swallowed down the laugh and looked to Loriot again. Loriot only shrugged, as if to say what else could he do, but his eyes were lit with amusement.

  A maid brought his soup as soon as he sat and then disappeared from the room, leaving them to eat. Savarin tasted the soup and agreed with Alain, it was good. He was sure the rest of the meal would be just as good, and he was proven right a while later when the soup bowls were cleared and the fish brought out. Alain poked at the white fish for a moment, but Loriot gently urged him to try it, and soon he was eating the fish as eagerly as he had the soup.

  “Have you told him?” he asked Loriot once Alain was occupied with his food.

  “Not yet. I thought I’d wait for you in case you wanted to tell him with me.” Loriot glanced toward Alain. Savarin followed his gaze, but Alain didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them whatsoever.

  “I should have asked how you think he’ll react. Maybe I won’t want to be here.” He said it as a joke, but there was a small kernel of trepidation lodged in his chest. Loriot’s son was the most important thing in the world to Loriot, something Savarin had discovered quickly.

  “Very funny.”

  “Shall we tell him, then?” He tilted his head and regarded Loriot, wondering if Loriot would want to tell Alain or wait. Would one of them back out if they waited? He didn’t plan to, not after all that had happened between them.

  Loriot sent him a wry smile, as if he knew what Savarin was thinking. He kept his eyes on Savarin even as he spoke to Alain. “Alain?”

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “How would you like it if we lived here, with Savarin? Because he and I love each other very much, and we love you too. And we’d like for all three of us to live here together.” The steady strength of love in Loriot’s eyes ignited a warm glow inside Savarin.

  “Live here?” Alain asked, and Savarin tore himself away from Loriot to look at Alain. His gaze darted between Loriot and Savarin. “What about Aunt Joceline?”

  “Well,” Loriot said slowly, “that would be up to her and Aunt Oriana, but you’d still see them all the time even if they don’t live with us. Aunt Oriana would still give you music lessons, and Aunt Joceline will want to take you out the way she does all the time.”

  Alain nodded, his brows drawn together in a little wrinkle. “I’ll miss them.”

  “So will I, but we really will all still see each other even if we don’t live in the same house. All right?”

  After another moment, Alain nodded. “All right, Papa.”

  “Good.” Loriot’s smile was tinged with more than a little relief. Alain probably didn’t realize how much Loriot worried about his reaction, but Savarin could see it.

  “I’m very happy you’ll both be living here with me,” he said, feeling some need to be a part of the conversation but also horribly inadequate for what he had to add.

  Alain didn’t seem to mind. He only smiled, wide and bright. “Me too!”

  He let out his own sigh of relief and glared at Loriot when he laughed. He reached for his wineglass and took a long drink.

  “Should I call you Papa Savarin now?”

  Chapter 34

  SAVARIN NEARLY spit his wine out at Alain’s question. He swallowed it in a gulp so hard it hurt his throat and set the glass down before he dropped it. Beside him Loriot was coughing, either choking on his own wine or on stifled laughter. He bent over as he coughed, trying to catch his breath.

  “Is Papa all right?”

  “Yes, he’ll be fine. Just swallowed wrong, I’m sure.” Savarin patted Loriot on the back firmly. “All right. Slow breaths. I don’t know why you’re choking. I should be the one shocked over this. Here, take a drink. Slowly.” He held the wineglass up to Loriot’s lips, keeping it steady with some trouble. “Slow. You don’t want to choke on something else.”

  After a moment Loriot’s coughing slowed and he took the glass, holding it on his own. “Thank you.” Loriot’s voice was a bit raspy from the coughing. “Papa Savarin?”

  He hoped the gesture he made was eloquent enough to convey that Loriot should be asking Alain and not him about that name. He must have managed it because Loriot turned to his son. “Alain, where did that come from? Calling Savarin ‘papa’?”

  “You love each other, and you love me. Doesn’t that make Savarin my papa too?” The logic was straightforward even if Alain had made a few leaps.

  Loriot shut his mouth abruptly, his brow furrowing. He seemed caught out by Alain’s response, or perhaps he was just struck by its odd logic too. Either way Loriot didn’t look as if he was about to say anything else. So it fell to Savarin.

  “Alain,” he began, and then stopped. What should he say? He didn’t want to upset Alain. So he did the only thing he could, he asked a question. “I—do you want to call me Papa Savarin?”

  “Yes.”

  He hadn’t expected so succinct an answer, not from a boy who could chatter like a magpie when given the chance, and it hadn’t much helped. A glance at Loriot showed him Loriot was still at a loss as to what to say. “All right. Can I ask why you want to?”

  “Because you’re going to be part of our family, and I love you too.” Alain flashed him a smile and went back to his food, as if he hadn’t just shocked them again.

  Savarin looked to Loriot and saw a swirling mass of emotions in Loriot’s eyes, recognized many of them in himself. But most of all, he felt… humbled and warmed through at the words of a little boy. Who wanted him to be his other papa. He had no idea how it happened, how Alain had come to love him or when he’d started to want that, but it had and he could only be honored. Loriot must have seen something on his face because he smiled and nodded.

  “Alain,” he said, and this time he didn’t have to stop. “I would love it if you called me Papa Savarin.”

  “All right,” Alain said, not even looking up from his plate.

  Apparently his agreement wasn’t all that important, or at least not as important as dinner. He and Loriot
laughed and briefly clasped hands on the table before going back to their own meals.

  It was when the maids cleared the plates that Savarin noticed that Alain had his little toy horse on the table beside his glass. He stared at it as the maid brought in dessert, a decadent trifle probably made specially because Alain and Loriot were in the house. Savarin had realized a week or so ago that his cook and servants liked Loriot and their hearts had been stolen by Alain. They seemed to always have some treat prepared for him.

  Alain dug into this dish with no urging required, and Loriot laughed and teased him. But Savarin heard it all only distantly. He was still staring at the tiny little horse with its delicate, intricate carved and painted details. It was obvious Alain treasured it and took care of it. And he’d loved it when Savarin made the horse run.

  Could he do it again?

  The first time he’d done it he’d barely had to think about what he was doing. He couldn’t help thinking about it over and over now. His Talent had always been a finicky thing, more in line with large uses of power and less with smaller work. He’d had to refine his control to be able to use his Talent in all ways. If his Talent was back to strength but he’d lost some or all of his control, he could do damage trying to play with the little toy. But on the other hand, if it wasn’t back to full strength, he might not even be able to make the spell work.

  And he’d never know for sure either way if he didn’t try.

  He focused on the little toy horse, on what he wanted it to do—run just one little lap around the glass—and reached for the power inside him. He nudged the tight ball of his Talent, trying to draw it up and out, something that had always been as easy as breathing. Too easy at the beginning—it was controlling how much of it escaped that had been the problem back then. But it had become as easy as breathing. Not so now. He had to focus on that tight knot of power, on teasing some of it out, just enough to make the little toy horse do what he wanted it to do. Sweat slicked his brow, and his fist tightened around the spoon he held. He would do this.

  His focus was so absolute he didn’t even realize he succeeded until he heard a gasp and the delighted shriek of a laugh. He opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and took in the little horse galloping in loops around the table. Bouncing on his cushion, Alain had left off eating to clap his hands and watch. Savarin smiled to see Alain’s delight, pleased that he could give him happiness even in just a small thing.

  Loriot’s hand came to rest on Savarin’s arm, and he tore himself away from watching Alain to look at Loriot. Loriot was smiling too, but he seemed rather bemused. “I didn’t think you were ready yet.”

  “I didn’t think so either, but you were right. I couldn’t hide from it forever. After everything else that happened today, I thought I might as well try.” He shrugged, but it really had been quite an eventful evening.

  “I’m glad you did—I’m proud you did, if that doesn’t sound ridiculous.”

  “It doesn’t.” He leaned over the table and pressed a light kiss to Loriot’s smiling lips. He would have liked to sink into a longer kiss, but they were at the dinner table and Alain was right there, though his attention was on his toy and his dessert.

  “And it worked,” Loriot said, still smiling.

  Savarin blinked. It had. It worked. He’d almost missed that realization for a moment in Alain’s delight and Loriot’s pride. His Talent was still there, and he was still able to use it. His power had been slow to awaken to his command and hadn’t quite done as he’d wanted—the horse was galloping around the table still when he’d only been trying for one lap. And making the toy move had only been a small thing, but he’d managed it. If he could manage this one thing, perhaps he could manage more.

  He would manage more. There was no other option, maybe there never had been, but now that he’d used his Talent again, he was embarrassed that he’d given in to his fears for so long, but Loriot wasn’t looking at him as if he should be embarrassed. Loriot was smiling and happy he’d overcome his fear, that he’d used his Talent again.

  An elated feeling swept through Savarin, and he laughed, easily as delighted as Alain was if for a slightly different reason. Loriot watched him and then laughed as well, as if it was pulled out of him by Savarin’s and Alain’s. Savarin couldn’t help it; he kissed Loriot once more, basking in the glow of that laughter.

  THE MONTH was busy for all of them as they combined their households. The bulk of that fell on Loriot. Savarin threw open his home and made Loriot and Alain feel as welcome as he could.

  They turned one of the guest suites into a nursery and a bedroom for Alain’s nursemaid. The work went quickly—but it would with the amount of people he hired to deal with it. Savarin wanted to help more, but Loriot assured him there was little for him to do, and Savarin allowed himself to be reassured, especially when he saw Loriot often deferring to his sister on the organization of the packing and unpacking. She seemed to feel the need to do something in the whole process. Joceline and Oriana decided not to join them in their move, and instead, were staying in Loriot’s house, taking it over as their own. Savarin couldn’t say he was surprised they’d decided on that course, but they weren’t as calm about the separation as they insisted. He foresaw a lot of visits in their future.

  When everything got truly hectic, Savarin happily closeted himself in his study and workrooms. With the one small victory of spelling a child’s toy to move on its own, he was filled with eagerness for his magic again. But as much as he wanted to, he didn’t let himself jump back into magic with both feet. Back in his workroom, he began with small works of magic, nothing that took much power or would have given him any trouble before—nothing that had given him trouble even when he was first learning. In the course of working through them, he realized that his Talent hadn’t disappeared or burnt out, but it was slow to wake after being so drained. He needed to coax it up and out again, accustoming himself to using it once more. He could feel it strengthening, filling him again, little by little, one spell at a time.

  The real problem, he found, was control. He had to push so hard, use so much effort—something that had never been a problem for him—that when the magic worked, it was too strong. Like Alain’s horse, which had galloped about for hours instead of the brief moment he’d intended. After accidentally incinerating a chair in his workroom, he confined himself to uses of his magic less likely to cause damage to people or property. His workrooms were warded to keep magic in, but he wouldn’t trust the wards if his Talent flew out of control at full power. Caution had to be his watchword, despite his impatience.

  Each day brought him new confidence and new enthusiasm, but he remained careful and meticulous. Once he got his initial excitement under control, remaining calm wasn’t difficult. It was the only way to make sure his Talent came back to its full strength without either retreating again or flying out of control, and it took work, leaving him tired and frustrated at times. But he refused to stop working now that he’d begun, and slowly he saw progress, pulling his Talent back under his control bit by bit.

  In between trials, he reviewed his notes on the projects he’d been working on before his recovery and caught himself up on university business and news. He even committed himself to taking on new students later in the fall and winter. He’d been considering traveling over the winter, perhaps to Kavalas to the south, but that was before—before his work with the protection spells, before he and Loriot began, before he knew Alain existed.

  And so plans changed. He couldn’t see himself leaving on a long journey now, not when everything was still so new and Loriot and Alain were just getting settled. And not when he still had so much to think about and work through with the protection spells. Perhaps someday he would travel again, but at this point, he was happy where he was, with Loriot and with his work. And with Alain, who actually had started calling him Papa Savarin, which both terrified and secretly thrilled him.

  He visited Gemella while at the university one day, hoping for a sympa
thetic ear, but had to endure her gentle chiding at his disappearance first. They hadn’t seen each other since before he performed the spell, nor had they had much contact with each other, which was unusual when he wasn’t traveling. He soothed her annoyance as best he could and then her concern when he explained the reason for his absence. And he promised not to cut her out again if something similar ever happened. Only then did she listen to him talk about Loriot and Alain. Her smile grew bigger and bigger the more he spoke, pleasure and amusement dancing in her eyes. It should have annoyed him, but by the time he stopped speaking, his own thoughts had straightened themselves out and he was too happy to be irritated with her.

  Somehow amid the chaos of a man, a small boy, and the boy’s nursemaid moving into the large house he had once lived in alone, he found himself steadier and more in control than he’d been in weeks. His life felt more settled, and his Talent was functioning as it should. So it was time for him to visit the palace, or more specifically, to visit the woods in the back of the palace garden.

  Chapter 35

  WHEN SAVARIN left the house late in the morning, Loriot had already gone up to the palace, or wherever his work took him, and Alain was gleefully ensconced in his new nursery, organizing and reorganizing his books and toys with his nursemaid. Savarin rode up to the palace in the rush of warm color and cooler air autumn brought to the city.

  The palace guards allowed him through the main gate without pause and with pleasant, respectful greetings. He spared a thought for whether the guards knew about his relationship with Loriot, but he dismissed it just as quickly as unimportant. Their relationship wasn’t a secret but nor was it anyone’s concern. Even if he preferred discretion in front of Loriot’s guards—and was certain Loriot would too—he wasn’t ashamed of Loriot and their relationship.

  He left his horse with the stablehands and turned his steps onto a bricked path that ran from the courtyard near the stables around the side of the palace and into the gardens. The change of season was even more dramatic in the gardens, and he wished he were there to just wander and take in the beauty of it. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to wishing for, especially not while working, but his life was more than his studies and magic now, and the new way of thinking seemed to have spilled over into other aspects of his life.

 

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