The Scholar's Heart (Chronicles of Tournai Book 3)

by Antonia Aquilante

  The Scholar’s Heart

  By Antonia Aquilante

  A Tale of Tournai

  Youngest son of a royal duke, Etan is a scholar at heart who juggles his work for the prince with his studies of the history and legends of Tournai, something of particular interest to him because he shares the magical Talent that runs in the royal bloodline. Etan’s peaceful world turns upside down when his best friend—the man he secretly loves—unexpectedly marries a woman. Though Tristan values his friendship with Etan and has always been attracted to him, he is a dutiful son, raised to shoulder responsibility for the family business one day. That day comes far sooner than anticipated, and he makes a deathbed promise to his father to marry the woman his father chose and become head of the company and family.

  A year later, Tristan is a widower with an infant daughter and a mother who demands he marry again quickly—something Tristan resists. Circumstances throw Etan and Tristan together, and even as they succumb to the desires they’ve always harbored, Etan battles his feelings, wary of being cast aside again. When Tristan’s daughter is kidnapped, Etan and Tristan must come together to find her, find the person responsible, and support each other through the ordeal… and maybe beyond.

  To everyone who feels happiest and most at home while surrounded by books, as Etan does. And to Steve, who asked to be a character in a book.

  Prologue

  One year ago

  “THERE YOU are!”

  Tristan’s musical voice made the simple sentence something special, or perhaps Etan’s feelings made it seem so. Etan smiled as he looked up from his book, a glow of warmth and welcome lighting him up inside.

  Tristan strode into the small room that Etan had claimed for his own in the palace’s labyrinthine library. He had a desk in the university library as well, but these days, out of necessity and preference both, he conducted most of his work in this cozy little room. Obscure history books filled the shelves lining the walls. The table in the center of the room held Etan’s notes on his studies and projects, all neatly organized so he could find anything he wanted quickly. But this morning he slouched on the comfortable couch instead, book propped in his lap.

  He sat there, book forgotten as he watched Tristan, the morning sun streaming in through the window and glinting off Tristan’s bright gold hair. Tristan seemed to bring the sunshine into the room with him, brightening what had been an ordinary morning until that moment.

  “Good morning, Tristan.”

  “Good morning to you.” Tristan sent a flirtatious smile in his direction and skirted the table, coming closer.

  “It’s good to see you.” He probably sounded ridiculous, but he hadn’t seen Tristan in a few days, and, well, he’d missed him.

  Tristan’s smile warmed, turning a bit softer. “You too.”

  Etan frowned as Tristan flopped on the couch at Etan’s side. Not at the action, but at the look in Tristan’s eyes. The bright blue seemed shadowed somehow. “Everything all right?”

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. You just seem a little….” Etan shrugged. He couldn’t quite put a word to it, and he couldn’t very well say he didn’t think Tristan’s eyes sparkled as much as they usually did. “Troubled, maybe.”

  Tristan was quiet for a moment, then scooted closer and rested his head on Etan’s shoulder. “I’m fine. A little tired. What are you up to?”

  “Doing some reading.”

  “For work or pleasure?”

  Etan suppressed a shiver at the way Tristan’s voice shaped the word pleasure. Certainly it had to be unconscious on Tristan’s part, but it put ideas into Etan’s head that he didn’t want there, not yet, not when he and Tristan hadn’t spoken of feelings between them beyond friendship. But he could see those feelings were there. Perhaps he should just come right out and kiss Tristan. Tristan seemed to be over what feelings he’d had for Amory, Tristan’s lifelong friend who was now married to Etan’s cousin. Etan didn’t see any of the emotion or longing he used to in the looks Tristan sent Amory’s way. Maybe Etan had waited long enough.

  He’d certainly paused long enough before answering. “A bit of both. Want me to read to you?”

  He’d read to Tristan before, many times, sometimes with Tristan sitting as he was now, snuggled up against Etan’s side, sometimes with Tristan lying with his head in Etan’s lap. Tristan seemed to like when Etan read to him, seemed to enjoy the legends and histories Etan habitually occupied himself with, seemed to even enjoy when Etan forgot himself and ran his fingers through Tristan’s soft hair as he read. Etan hadn’t read to anyone before except for his youngest sister, Meriall, but reading to Tristan was a far different experience from reading bedtime stories. He liked it, liked having Tristan close and hearing Tristan’s comments and reactions.

  “I’m not sure I can sit still today. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” He’d realized early on in their friendship that Tristan was an athletic person who enjoyed being active and outdoors. Etan came to treasure the moments of stillness and quiet, when he saw Tristan’s intellectual side and his softer side in equal measure, but he enjoyed sharing the other more active times with Tristan too. Tristan always made the rides through the countryside and the hikes along the cliffs and the rambles over the beach fun. “What would you like to do?”

  “Will you go for a ride with me?”

  He thought briefly of the work awaiting him in the office he shared with Cathal, of his plans to spend the morning with his books and his studies before he returned to that work. And tossed it all aside with one look into Tristan’s eyes. As he always did. His books would still be there when he returned to them later.

  And he wasn’t convinced Tristan really was all right.

  “Of course. Shall we go now?”

  When Tristan agreed, Etan set his book aside and tidied away a few papers. On the way to the stables, they stopped in Etan’s suite so he could change into riding boots, but they didn’t dally otherwise. Stable hands saddled their horses quickly, and they mounted up. They rode together out of the palace gates and through the city, an easy conversation flowing between them. Once they left the city, Etan let Tristan lead. When Tristan took the road that would lead them out to the cliffs, Etan knew his suspicions about Tristan’s state of mind were correct. Tristan seemed to prefer a gallop along the cliffs when he felt he needed to escape something, some pressure in his life. He talked to Etan about it sometimes, at least a little, but only after the ride.

  As Etan expected, Tristan veered off the road as they neared the cliffs. The path he chose wound through some trees until it ended in the meadows overlooking the sea. Once they were through the trees, the view opened up before them, with fields dotted with wildflowers and a rocky precipice tumbling down to the vivid blue of the sea. The area was one of Etan’s favorites. He’d rather walk along the cliffs or picnic at the top so he could better appreciate the view, but riding was exhilarating too. Well, any ride with Tristan was. Tristan was a skilled and fearless rider, who ended each ride flushed and smiling. Etan always wanted to grab him close and kiss him when he saw Tristan that way, to see if he could make Tristan breathless for another reason entirely.

  Maybe today he would.

  He put that thought out of his head as best he could for the moment as Tristan urged his horse into a gallop and took off parallel to the cliff edge. Etan hurried to follow. If he thought about it too much, he risked falling off his horse, and that would certainly end any chance of kissing Tristan today.

  Instead he concentrated his thoughts outward to the sea- and flower-scented wind blowing in his face, t
o the sunlight warming his skin. The day was perfect for spring, a little cool early in the morning but pleasant as the sun climbed. The sky was clear, the sea calm. There would be fishermen out in their boats, working to bring in the day’s catch. But they weren’t close; no one was close enough to intrude on his solitude with Tristan.

  He looked at Tristan, riding slightly ahead of him. Tristan really did ride well, better than Etan did, but then Tristan probably spent most of his childhood trying to get on a horse while Etan spent his sneaking off to the library. Or using his Talent to change himself into a cat and climbing trees. But most often, the library. And given where Tristan had found him this morning, not much had changed. But he did come out when Tristan asked. Unlike when he was a child and his brothers would come and pounce on him and drag him from the room.

  Though if Tristan wanted to pounce on him, that would be another story entirely.

  After a while, Tristan began to slow his horse, and Etan followed. Upon reaching the point, they paused to take in the view and then turned back for home, riding side by side at a much more leisurely pace. Etan expected Tristan to be more relaxed, even laughing, after the long gallop as he so often was, but if anything, Tristan seemed more pensive.

  Etan let Tristan have his silence, though it pained him to do so. He wanted to help, to make whatever it was right again. Tristan had cheered him up often enough, and they’d bolstered each other’s strength through bad times. But Tristan had to speak in his own time, and he’d never actually ask for help even when he did.

  Tristan didn’t speak until they were almost all the way back to Jumelle. “My father wants me to marry.”

  Etan’s brain stuttered. He had to have heard wrong. He whipped around to look at Tristan, but Tristan was still staring straight ahead. “What? Did you say he wants you to marry?”

  “He’d dying, Etan,” Tristan said in a small, quiet voice that made Etan hurt.

  “Tristan. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Tristan looked up at the sky for a moment, and Etan gave him his privacy to pull himself together, or what passed for privacy when they were riding side by side. “He wants me settled, since I’m to run the business when he’s gone. He wants the business settled too.”

  Tristan’s family business was the largest shipping concern in Tournai, and as Tournai was a country rich in trade, owing in part to a quirk of geography, the business was a prosperous one. Etan could understand somewhat Tristan’s father wanting Tristan settled down if he was to be both the head of the business and the head of the family. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but there was probably some real concern for Tristan in his father’s desire too.

  Etan worked himself up to suggest that perhaps the two of them could wed. Not right away, but they could make an agreement and use a betrothal period to see if they would suit. Etan knew they would, but he was already thinking of ways to convince Tristan and Tristan’s father, if necessary. Etan’s own father would be difficult, he was sure—as a duke, his father would want Etan to make a more advantageous marriage to a lady of noble birth—but he could deal with Father later.

  But all those thoughts—all the hope that came with them—screeched to a halt when Tristan spoke. “I’m to marry a daughter of a friend of Father’s, Dariela. They think it will be good for the business.”

  “You already know—you’re marrying a woman? That woman?”

  Etan had no idea who she was—she might be a perfectly lovely person—but he couldn’t understand Tristan marrying her, or marrying any woman. Tristan preferred men, the same as Etan did. Etan had hoped Tristan might just plain prefer him.

  “Father thinks it’s best. For the family and the business.”

  “Yes, but—what about you? What do you think?”

  Tristan shrugged. “I must live up to my responsibilities to the family and the business. I have to run everything as Father would want. He shouldn’t be dying so young.”

  “I know he shouldn’t. It’s awful.” Etan scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s been to see the healers? I’m sure Jadis would see him if I asked.”

  “He has, and Amory already had Jadis examine him. This illness has gone on too long undetected and untreated. His heart is too weak now.”

  “I am so very sorry, Tristan.” He wanted to pull Tristan into a hug, to hold him and try to bear some of the pain and grief for him, but they were on horses. And Tristan was about to marry someone else. “Are you sure about this marriage, though?”

  “I don’t see a reason not to marry her. Do you?”

  The statement was a stab of pain to his gut. He had to bite back a gasp, it seemed so real, so physical. He managed to murmur something that might have been an agreement, because what else could he do? If Tristan didn’t see a reason not to marry this woman, Etan could hardly give him one.

  By the time Etan arrived back at the palace, he felt as if a yawning, empty hole had opened inside him. His head was buzzing, and he couldn’t seem to think quite straight. His feet carried him to his office. But when he walked into the empty room, he just dropped down into his chair and stared at the polished top of his desk, clean of papers since he’d tidied up yesterday.

  Tristan was getting married.

  He and Tristan would never be anything more than friends, and Tristan obviously wanted it that way, was fine with it. Perhaps Etan had been wrong about Tristan’s feelings all this time.

  “Etan?”

  Etan looked up, but it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. He hadn’t even heard the door open. “Cathal.”

  Panic, an emotion he seldom saw in his stoic older brother, flooded Cathal’s face. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Tristan is marrying.” Pain spasmed through him as he said the words, but he had to say them, had to get used to hearing them. Tristan was marrying, and all chance Etan might have had with him was gone.

  Chapter 1

  Present

  HIS WIFE was dead.

  Tristan kept hearing the words echoing in his head in his mother’s emotionless voice. She’d only said it a few moments ago, but it was the last thing he’d heard clearly. Everything else his mother was saying—something about arrangements to be made—had to filter through that statement, that dawning knowledge, that Dariela was dead.

  “What happened?” he asked, cutting her off midsentence.

  She drew herself up and back. “It’s not appropriate to tell you the details of—”

  “My wife is dead,” he said, biting out each word. “I will know how it happened.”

  Mother stared at him mulishly for a moment, then nodded. “She bled too much during the birth. The midwife couldn’t stop it.”

  “And the healer?” Amory had sent the head of the palace healers to attend Dariela at the birth. Surely Jadis could have done something.

  Mother sniffed. “We sent him away when he arrived.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. “You sent away the most powerful healer in Tournai? Who was graciously sent to us by the prince’s consort?”

  “A man had no place in that room. Only women should be present. Family and midwives. That’s how it’s done—how it has always been done.”

  “And Dariela might still be alive if you’d consented to doing it differently.”

  Mother looked away, as well she should. “We don’t know that,” she said after a pause, her voice stiff.

  He dismissed that with nothing more than a glare. He wanted to be compassionate, wanted to believe his mother might feel guilty for her choice—certainly Dariela’s mother, presumably still upstairs with her daughter’s body, had to be devastated—but Dariela didn’t have to die. A healer could have saved her.

  He might not have loved his wife, but he’d liked her, and she had deserved a better chance. A chance to know her child at least.

  Mother had started speaking again, explaining their choice, it seemed, but he didn’t need to hear her justifications. “What about the baby?”

  He
’d heard a baby’s cry not long ago. He’d expected someone to rush down to tell him the happy news but there had only been silence until his mother appeared.

  She stopped speaking, her brow furrowing.

  “Mother, the baby?” he prompted.

  “The baby survived. A girl.”

  A girl. He had a daughter. “Where is she?”

  “With her nursemaid, but I’ll have her packed up quickly.”

  “Packed up. Why?” His confusion seemed to surprise Mother for some reason.

  “So I can take her home with me.” Mother said it as if it were utterly obvious, but Tristan was still confused.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Now Mother looked confused. “Because you can’t take care of her yourself, not with Dariela gone.”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ve hired a nursemaid and a wet nurse.” The wet nurse had been at both his mother and Dariela’s mother’s insistence. Dariela had wanted to nurse the baby herself but had been overruled. “They’ll be doing far more than I will for her, but she will stay in her own home.”

  “But, Tristan, really.”

  “You should get home, Mother, before it gets too late. Dariela’s mother can stay as long as she likes with Dariela, of course.”

  She protested that she should stay or take the baby with her, but Tristan managed to bundle her off home in the carriage. He scribbled a quick message to Amory about what had happened and apologizing for his mother’s disrespect in rejecting the healer, and sent it to the palace.

  Only then did he climb the stairs to the nursery with slow, heavy steps. The distance to the room they’d set aside as a nursery seemed far greater than it was, and yet even dragging himself down the corridor, he arrived at the closed door all too soon. He took a deep breath and forced himself to open the door and walk inside.

  The nursemaid, whom his wife had liked immediately, was a slightly plump woman with a kind smile. As he stood in the doorway, she turned and bobbed a quick curtsy. She gave him her condolences, but he had eyes only for the small, white-wrapped bundle in her arms. Trepidation and curiosity warred within him, churning and twisting in his guts. Finally, he stepped forward, raising his arms awkwardly as he said, “May I….”