A protective impulse he hadn’t expected welled up inside him, and he reached out before he even realized what he was doing to brush a fingertip over her little fist. He drew his hand back immediately and gripped the crib rail.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Adeline said, fondness warming her voice.
“Yes, she is.”
“Thank you.” The voice came from behind them, and Etan whirled around to find Tristan standing in the doorway. He had no idea how long Tristan had been there. He hadn’t heard the other man approach. And he had no idea what to say to Tristan now.
THE DAY Tristan first met Etan was etched in his memory, clear as glass even after more than two years, but not only because it was the day he met Etan. He’d just returned from a long trip with his father, his first, and so far only, experience with travel outside Tournai, and he was seeing his best friend for the first time since he’d left without saying good-bye.
His best friend who he’d just found out was going to marry the crown prince.
His best friend who he was in love with.
Not that he told Amory that. He’d denied any feeling deeper than friendship and done it rather convincingly too, or at least he thought so. He’d come home from his travels thinking maybe there could be some sort of chance for him and Amory, despite Amory’s moving into the palace as the prince’s lover—after all, Amory and the prince had known each other so short a time while he and Amory had been friends their entire lives—and arrived back in Tournai to find out that Amory was no longer the prince’s lover but his intended. Tristan had a moment of hope, of thinking maybe Amory didn’t really want to marry the prince, but that hadn’t lasted past his first glimpse of a happy Amory. So he’d lied, because he couldn’t lose his friendship with Amory too.
Quite a bit of that day was a mess of nerves and confusion and disappointment. He’d talked to Amory; he’d met the prince, which was intimidating, or the prince was. The man obviously knew about Tristan’s history with Amory and was understandably wary. But the prince had been polite, too, and fair.
In the midst of that jumble, and so focused on appearing happy for Amory and properly courtly for the prince, he almost missed Etan. But then Etan had been introduced to him. It was a shock to his system, a frisson of… something moving through him.
He was so distracted, in fact, it took him too long to realize it was attraction. That there was something about the way Etan looked, the way he looked at Tristan, that provoked something in him, some heat curling in his belly. Etan’s body with his broad shoulders narrowing down to slender hips, and long, lean legs in clinging dark gray breeches. The dark hair waving around a face of classically handsome features, and large golden brown eyes that seemed to stare right into Tristan.
He thought he saw an answering gleam of interest in Etan’s eyes before they were quickly veiled by long, thick, dark lashes. And when they all sat, Etan chose to sit beside him, to sit perhaps a little closer than he had to or was strictly proper. Tristan had no complaints when he did, though the attraction, once identified, was a constant distracting presence as they discussed his travels.
But Etan did nothing more, did nothing overt to express his interest. If he had, Tristan had no doubt he wouldn’t have hesitated to take the man to bed. He might have been more than a little in love with his best friend, but Amory was out of his reach, and his unrequited feelings hadn’t stopped him from enjoying himself with a man or two while he was traveling. They wouldn’t have stopped him from finding pleasure with Etan, if Etan had indicated he wanted the same.
But Etan hadn’t, and as time went by, Tristan began to think he’d imagined the interest on Etan’s side. Oh, Etan was friendly, always going out of his way to include Tristan, making sure Tristan felt welcome even at court, and the two of them became friends, good friends, over the months following their introduction. If he thought he saw some glimmer of attraction from Etan during that time, he learned to ignore it, because every time he subtly indicated his own interest, Etan didn’t seem to notice.
Tristan came to value Etan’s friendship on the same level that he valued Amory’s, something he didn’t realize until it had disappeared, right when Tristan needed it the most. At first, Tristan thought he was imagining it, but when far more time had passed than he usually ever went without seeing Etan, when his notes inviting Etan to go riding or to the theater or for some other outing were answered one after another with polite refusals, Tristan had to believe something actually was wrong. Etan just seemed to disappear from Tristan’s life. He remained in Jumelle, in the palace, at every event held at Philip’s court. He just didn’t spend any time with Tristan at any of them.
Etan’s absence left behind a hole in Tristan’s life. And he had no idea why Etan disappeared.
But Etan was here today. Which wasn’t surprising and didn’t mean anything. Etan came for the same reason the prince and Cathal did—not because they were terribly close, though they were all friendly, but because it was polite and because they were kind to Amory’s oldest friend. Tristan couldn’t attribute anything more to Etan’s presence than that, not after his long absence from Tristan’s life. As much as he might want to.
Finding Etan in his daughter’s nursery with Adeline was a surprise. Giving his condolences to Tristan, even mingling downstairs, fulfilled a social obligation. Coming to see the baby didn’t.
Her face falling into lines of concern, Adeline moved away from the crib, toward Tristan where he remained in the doorway. From his family, the concern was becoming stifling. He felt ungrateful thinking it, but theirs was more pity than sympathy and more inclined to manage and smother. Adeline’s concern was genuine and undemanding. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m all right. A bit tired of the crush downstairs.” He should go into the room, check on his daughter, but he stayed where he was, frozen. Fatigue and emotion made everything around him thick and heavy, made him slow and tired. He’d been fighting through it downstairs well enough, but suddenly, it was as if he hit a wall. “Needed a moment.”
“Etan was too.” Adeline shot a fond look over her shoulder at Etan, who still stood near the crib. “So I brought him up here to show off the babies while I checked in on them.”
“We can go, give you that moment alone,” Etan said.
Tristan shook his head. Alone wasn’t really what he wanted. If he was alone, he wouldn’t have anything but his own thoughts. “I thought I would look in on her.”
“She’s sleeping. They both are.” Adeline stepped aside to let him walk past her to the crib.
“Good. That’s good.” He forced himself to move to the crib and looked down at his sleeping daughter. The entirely unexpected love he had for her hit him again, as it always did when he looked at her. It was good she slept so peacefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do….”
“You’ll learn what to do, as we all do, every day,” Adeline said, and Tristan realized he’d spoken his last thought aloud. He hadn’t meant to. But Adeline’s voice held no pity, no judgment, just the rueful, newly gained wisdom of a mother of an infant herself.
He didn’t look at Etan. He didn’t want to know what Etan thought of his unintended admission. And didn’t know why it mattered so much. They were quite obviously no longer friends.
Chapter 2
ETAN SETTLED at his desk early the next morning. Cathal wasn’t in yet so he had the office to himself, which he liked sometimes. Not that Cathal was a disruptive presence generally and not that he didn’t love his brother, but he and Cathal had different personalities and different approaches to their work, and sometimes a little time on his own allowed him to accomplish more than he would otherwise.
Etan had never known how much Cathal did until he came to the palace to take over his duties for a while. Oh, he’d always known Cathal was busy, that he did real, important work (unlike their father who had always derided Cathal for being a glorified secretary), but he hadn’t known the breadth of Cathal’s duties and the weight
of his responsibilities until he’d taken them on himself. Cathal seemed to be involved in everything—domestic affairs of the kingdom, treaty negotiations, so many other areas of government. He stood in for Philip when necessary, liaising between the prince and various groups in and out of Philip’s government. Etan had scrabbled to catch up at the beginning, despite his early training in such things from his father, but he’d done it, and he didn’t think anyone had noticed his frantic moments.
Etan always assumed he’d leave when Cathal returned—and as angry as he’d been at his brother for deserting his position and their cousin, he’d always known Cathal would come to his senses and return. Etan had been eager enough at the beginning to leave the palace for the university—happy to help Philip, certainly, but still anticipating a return to academic life. He’d thought to continue his studies and begin teaching, a path his father wouldn’t have liked one bit, not that Etan cared much what his father thought. But Etan had surprised them, and himself, by liking the work and staying.
His life had become a bit of a balancing act in the last year and a half or so, but he’d carved out a place for himself, sharing the work Cathal originally did on his own and combining it with work with Amory, who was coming more and more to the point of being co-ruler to Philip and not just consort. He still had time for his studies—both into Tournai’s history and legends, and the more private ones into the history of the royal family’s Talent. He researched and attended lectures at the university; he wrote books and papers and lectured in turn. And found himself fulfilled in that area of his life.
Fulfilled in most areas of his life. He resolutely pushed Tristan and the idea of finding someone to love—as Cathal and Philip had done—out of his mind. He was fine on his own anyway, fine with his life as it was.
And he had far too much to do this morning to let himself woolgather.
He turned back to the work he’d left undone the night before, but before he could get started, someone rapped on the office door.
“Enter,” he called out. He didn’t have any appointments until later this morning, and he’d already spoken to his secretary on the way in. He wondered what crisis was about to fall down upon him.
And was utterly shocked to see Savarin walk through his office door.
Savarin was the most powerful sorcerer in Tournai and often did work for the crown, but Etan was unaware of any assignment that would bring him to Etan’s door. Etan’s secretary Tommo hovered behind Savarin. Tommo seemed to be bouncing a bit in a not entirely dignified way to be seen over the shoulder of the unusually tall Savarin.
“Master Savarin didn’t have an appointment, but he insisted on coming in, my lord,” Tommo said. Of course Savarin would. He had a certain amount of arrogance, but his scholarship and the strength of his Talent, and his willingness to use it for the good of Tournai, tended to smooth over any annoyance his arrogance caused.
“It’s fine, Tommo. Thank you.” As Tommo retreated, Etan turned to Savarin. “Good morning, Master Savarin. Please sit.”
“Good morning, my lord.” Savarin seated himself across from Etan’s desk, every movement precise and elegantly accomplished. Savarin carried himself well, projecting an aura of worldliness and sophistication, likely a result of his education and extensive travel. Etan had more than once admired Savarin’s stylish, well-tailored clothing. He’d admired Savarin himself more than once too, but as handsome as Savarin was, he was just as intimidating. Etan wasn’t a person who was easily intimidated, but still Savarin’s demeanor hadn’t encouraged him to try to acquaint himself with the sorcerer on a more personal level.
“What can I do for you?” he asked once Savarin was seated and hoped that whatever Savarin had brought to him wasn’t a crisis. But if Savarin was bringing a crisis to the palace, there was a decent chance he would bring it directly to Philip and Amory.
“I’ve heard of your studies into Tournai’s history, of course, and your interest in its legends of magic.”
“Yes?” His scholarly pursuits weren’t uncommon knowledge, especially for someone who spent as much time at the university as Savarin did. From what Etan had heard, when Savarin wasn’t traveling, he did much of his research there, took on students, and gave lectures.
“How much do you know of the magical protections that surround Tournai?”
Etan blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. “Some. Not as much as I’d like.”
“I feel the same. I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the protections—not the legends of the cats, you understand, just the protections,” Savarin said. His voice was almost dismissive when he spoke of the legend of Tournai’s cats—man-sized cats who defended Tournai in battle long ago—but his gaze was sharp on Etan when he said it. Etan tried not to look the way he felt, as if a sudden shock of ice flowed through his veins. Did Savarin know the truth behind the legends? It wasn’t knowledge Etan, or any of his family, wanted to be public. No one was to know that the legends stemmed from the royal family’s unusual Talent, which allowed those who possessed it to transform into cats, often huge, fierce creatures of the kind that could go into battle for their country.
Etan was of the opinion that was exactly what had happened. He hadn’t been able to completely confirm it, but there were journals, accounts of those long-ago wars that had cemented Tournai’s existence and its sovereignty, that alluded to members of the royal family of Tournai discovering their Talents and using them to protect their country. Nothing explicit, just vague clues throughout his family’s history, but he was doing his best to put them together.
“I know there is some sort of magical protection around Tournai that’s been in place for hundreds of years, possibly as long as Tournai has existed.”
“Yes.” Savarin’s eyes sparkled with his interest in the topic. “Whether or not the rest of the legends can be verified, the protections do exist. I’ve felt them while crossing Tournai’s borders in my travels.”
“Really? Interesting.” Now his own curiosity was caught. Etan had never been outside Tournai, never crossed its borders into neighboring kingdoms. Would he be able to feel the protections as Savarin had? He’d often wondered if they were somehow related to his own Talent, but he had no reason, no evidence, as to why that might be the case.
“I thought so as well. I’ve also noticed that the protections feel weaker in some spots than in others. Not that any of it is dangerously weak, but it’s not consistent even in the small spots I’ve seen.”
Etan frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. Tournai’s magical protections—and the legends surrounding them—were part of what kept Tournai secure from the potential ambitions of its neighbors. Their portion of the world was peaceful now, and had been for quite a while, but they couldn’t afford to lose the protections. “Do you know what’s causing it?”
Savarin shook his head. “Not yet. It didn’t feel like an attack, but it could be that someone has been testing the barriers and it’s worn away at their strength in spots. Or they could have eroded over time.”
“They’ve been there for a very long time,” he mused. But he didn’t like the idea of the protections eroding on their own no matter how old they were.
“Yes. We don’t know how old or who put them into place. Or how they were put into place at all. The original spells have been lost to time, if they were ever written down to begin with.”
Savarin had probably searched the university libraries for information before he came to Etan, but Etan knew from experience that in all the books in the libraries, very little was written about the magical protections, and what did exist was theory and speculation by the few sorcerers and theorists who tried to pursue the matter years later even without information. “You can’t blame whoever put them into place for not writing those spells down. Think of the danger to Tournai if they fell into the wrong hands—knowledge of a spell can lead to knowledge of how to break that spell. I have no Talent for sorcery, and I know that.”
“True, and everyt
hing you’re saying makes sense. I just want to know more. Spells don’t often last as long as these have, so they were obviously crafted exceedingly well by someone, or several someones, of great power. Maybe even tied to something to keep the spells grounded and working—Tournai itself?” Savarin shrugged, the movement more frustrated than anything else. “The lack of knowledge does make things difficult for those of us who come along later and try to help.”
“Is that what you’d like to do?” Etan asked.
“What I’d like to do is study the protections, figure out how they work, as much as I can, and more importantly, how to strengthen them.”
He couldn’t say he was surprised. He’d doubted Savarin was coming to him with a purely academic exercise—he wouldn’t put such a thing past any number of scholars at the university, but for all Savarin’s arrogance, he tended to be a practical person. “Do you think you can?”
“Possibly, probably. It will depend on what I can find about them—by either studying their history and origins, of which I haven’t found much, or the protections themselves, which I’ve barely tried.”
“Why come to me with this?”
“As I said, my lord, I know of your academic interests. You seemed most suited to both understand the background and see the implications of my work. I’d prefer to have authorization to work on this as the protections do affect the safety and security of Tournai.”
“Do you expect to do anything that would lessen that safety and security?” Because that wouldn’t do. However the protections were put into place, they acted as a deterrent for anyone desiring to attack Tournai.
“No, not at all. I don’t plan to do anything yet except gather information about them, which should lead me to how to strengthen them.”
The Scholar's Heart (Chronicles of Tournai Book 3) Page 3
