“Once upon a time,” Corentin began, trying to make it sound like one of the tales he studied, “dragons were plentiful in the world. Those that had the Talent could change from human to dragon with its use, and sometimes possessed other abilities that went along with the Talent. Others carried the blood of the families who possessed it but didn’t inherit the Talent to change themselves. Some knew of the dragons, knew of the extent of the Talent, and lived in peace with them. But stories about them filtered out, and some weren’t so comfortable with such magic. They either wanted it for themselves or wanted it eradicated.
“And so the dragon hunts began. Many who had the Talent were hunted down and killed. Others fled with those who carried the blood and potential for the Talent and some who didn’t but who stood by them and fought at their sides. They found a place, a safe place, away from the world that was hunting them, and they settled there. Once they created their own society, once they were able to survive, once the stories of who and what they were became legends, they began to filter out into the world again, to learn, to trade. To try to find others who might have hidden in plain sight, to let them know that they weren’t alone.
“But they never forgot the blood that was shed because the wrong people found out what they were and wanted to use it for themselves.”
Savarin watched him, his face impassive, but Corentin thought he saw a glimmer of something—understanding? compassion?—in his gray gaze.
When the other man said nothing, he continued, “You’ve made some assumptions, Master Savarin, about who I am and what I can do. But I can’t give you more information than that, not when I don’t know what you or your princes will do with it. Those who possess the Talent would be put in danger, and I can’t allow that to happen, certainly not to indulge your curiosity.”
“I understand,” Savarin said. “I believe Prince Philip and Prince Amory would understand as well, perhaps far more than you think.”
“I can’t take that risk. I don’t know you or your princes, and I can’t bring harm to my people any more than you could yours.”
“I see.” After several moments, Savarin nodded. “I can only hope that you will trust me, trust us. And in time, feel that you can tell me more.”
“I can’t give you anything that might strengthen that hope, Master Savarin.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, but I do hope you change your mind. I believe Lord Etan might be interested in knowing more about your unique Talent as well. He’s shown an interest in dragons lately.”
Corentin huffed out a laugh. “Why do you think I came to Tournai in the first place?”
Savarin went blank with surprise but then laughed, the uninhibited sound startling. “Of course. If I’d known about Lord Etan’s interest sooner, I might have wondered.”
Corentin inclined his head, accepting Savarin’s words, or at least choosing not to argue with them.
“I haven’t told anyone about you, and I won’t, not unless I have reason to. I hope you can come to trust that to start.”
“Trust must be earned and proven. And it’s very difficult to come by when history has proven so many untrustworthy,” Corentin said.
Savarin nodded. “Understood. But I believe we’ll prove you wrong in time.”
“We’ll see.”
When he left the study, the toy horse was no longer on the floor in the corridor, but a white one stood on the table. Corentin laughed quietly as he strode down the stairs. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his meeting with Savarin. In other circumstances, Corentin thought he’d enjoy conversing with him, but as it stood, he was wary. Nothing had been settled, but he believed Savarin for some reason. He thought there had been some glimmer of understanding in his eyes when Corentin spoke to him about what his people had been through.
No, nothing had been resolved. But he would stay a while longer. Wait, watch. See what came of Savarin’s knowledge, if anything. No one would find his homeland based on the information Savarin possessed, so it was safe enough to hold off a while longer.
And possibly to get to know Bastien—
Who was standing in the middle of Savarin’s entry hall when Corentin reached the bottom of the stairs.
He hesitated, a brief hitch in his step, before continuing into the hall. From the look on Bastien’s face, he was as surprised as Corentin. He walked up to Bastien, holding out a hand. Bastien blinked but put his hand in Corentin’s.
“Master Corentin, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Nor I you, but I’m happy I have.”
Bastien drew back slightly. “You are?”
“Very much.” He squeezed Bastien’s hand gently. “I said I wanted to see you again soon, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Bastien seemed almost wary, as if he didn’t trust Corentin or what he said. Well, Corentin had said that trust was earned; he’d have to earn Bastien’s.
“When last I saw you, you were having some trouble. I hope the situation has improved?”
A cloud flitted over Bastien’s face. “Not really, but thank you for your concern.”
Corentin didn’t like the too-controlled tone of Bastien’s voice. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Surprise again, just for an instant and then covered. “No, but thank you.”
He threw reason to the wind. “Well, then have dinner with me.”
Bastien almost reared back, looking absolutely flabbergasted. “Excuse me?”
Had no one ever expressed interest in Bastien before? Corentin could not believe that. The man was gorgeous, if slightly stiff in manner.
“Have dinner with me. Tonight. I may not be able to help you with your troubles, but perhaps I can give you a brief distraction from them.”
“I—I have to speak with Master Savarin. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
He didn’t know if it was an excuse or genuine concern, but he chose to believe the latter. If Bastien wanted to say no, certainly he could do so.
“I’ll wait for you. I don’t mind.”
“I—oh, well—” Whatever else Bastien might have said was interrupted by the arrival of the maid.
“My lord, Master Savarin can speak with you now. I’ll show you up,” she said. She then turned to Corentin and handed him his coat. “Here you are, sir.”
It didn’t seem Bastien’s meeting with Savarin was a planned one, then. Corentin’s curiosity was piqued, but he stifled it for the moment.
“I’ll wait for you. I passed a small park when I came here. Just up the lane.”
“I know it,” Bastien said.
“I’ll be there when you finish. We can decide where to go for dinner.”
Bastien hesitated. “All right.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
Bastien nodded and allowed the blank-faced maid to lead him across the entry hall and up the stairs.
Once Bastien was out of sight, Corentin turned away and swung on his coat. Stepping out into the dusk, he was happy to see the rain hadn’t returned while he was inside. His promise to wait outdoors in the park would have made for an unpleasant time if the rain had started again. The weather, so mild in Tournai, had finally turned, it seemed; autumn was on them, with the chill of winter on its way. Still, the bracing walk up the lane to the small park wasn’t unpleasant. He was used to far colder temperatures than those he’d encountered in Tournai. If he were home in Ivria, he’d be walking in snow most likely. Snow would cover the ground from around now through the whole winter and early spring. He hadn’t thought he’d miss it, but he did.
He found the small park deserted, which was no hardship, and took a turn around the circular path. In the warmer months, it was probably an oasis of shade and cool in this part of the city. As it was, it made a comfortable enough place to wait until Bastien came to retrieve him for dinner. He settled down on a bench to think about his meeting with Savarin, and anticipate the evening to come.
BASTIEN FOLLOWED THE maid through Savarin’s house whil
e he tried to put the encounter with Corentin—and his acceptance of Corentin’s unexpected dinner invitation—out of his mind. But was the invitation unexpected really? Corentin had demonstrated his interest from the first moment they met.
He shook the thought from his head again. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, which was why dinner was a poor idea to begin with, but he could think about it after he met with Savarin. Something told him that going into a meeting with the sorcerer while distracted wouldn’t help Bastien’s cause.
He’d heard nothing after his meeting with Philip, and he decided he’d have to go looking for information if he wanted to be a part of the investigation. The letter had come to him and concerned his parents’ deaths; he had every right to be involved. Why he had to justify that fact to himself, he had no idea.
He could have gone up to the palace and asked Philip what news there was, certainly, but his cousin was busy, and Savarin had been given the letter to examine. Going directly to him made sense. Perhaps Bastien’s boldness would gain him some information.
The maid admitted him to the study and left, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
“My lord.” Savarin stood from the chair behind his desk and bowed slightly, exactly the correct amount for respect to an earl but no more.
“Master Savarin.”
They’d only met once or twice before, and only in passing. In approaching the man, Bastien could trade on little other than his relationship with Philip and his title, which were probably all that had admitted him to this room. If even half the stories surrounding Savarin were true, Bastien doubted he allowed just anyone into his home with no advance warning.
“Please, sit. What can I do for you, my lord?”
Once Bastien had seated himself in the indicated chair, Savarin sat as well, in the larger, more ornate chair behind the desk.
“You were given a letter I received that makes allegations about the deaths of my parents and of Prince Jeton and Princess Franca. You were to see if magic could provide us with any information as to the sender.”
Did Savarin’s posture stiffen, or was it Bastien’s imagination? He couldn’t be certain—Savarin wasn’t easy to read by any means.
“I am in possession of the letter, yes.”
“Have you examined it?”
“I have.”
Frustration bubbled up inside Bastien. Did Savarin have to make this so difficult? “I’m glad to hear it. What did you find?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, my lord.”
Bastien was left utterly speechless for a moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“With regret, I am unable to inform you of my findings, my lord.” Savarin looked as impassive as ever, and not regretful in the least.
“Why not?”
“My assignment regarding the letter came from His Highness Prince Philip, through Captain Loriot of course, and it is to Prince Philip that I must report my findings.”
“I am the prince’s cousin.”
“I am aware of that, my lord. However, I still must report to His Highness.”
Bastien narrowed his eyes at Savarin. “That letter came to me, not to Prince Philip, and concerns my parents as much as it does his. I deserve answers, and I am just as entitled to what information you glean from the note as my cousin the prince is.”
“Be that as it may, my lord, I was given this task by Prince Philip, and I cannot betray the trust the crown puts in me by giving out information when I am unauthorized to do so.” Savarin’s voice was never anything other than calm, but it was implacable nonetheless. There would be no changing his mind, no matter how much the situation infuriated and frustrated Bastien. “If Prince Philip gives his permission, I would be happy to explain all I did and what I found, but otherwise, I’m unable to do so. I do apologize.”
Bastien had no idea if Savarin’s apology was sincere or a way of placating an irritated nobleman, but either way, he found himself out on the street again not long after and with no new information. Another man might have yelled and demanded, but Savarin didn’t seem the type to give in under those sorts of demands even if Bastien had been the type to make them. And Savarin’s orders did come from Philip. Bastien couldn’t believe Philip wouldn’t want him to have the information, but perhaps it was unreasonable to ask Savarin to make that determination.
He would have to go to Philip and ask what had been found so far, not only by Savarin but by Loriot and Marcus. He had to know; he couldn’t sit and do nothing.
Evening had fallen, made darker by the thick clouds. At least it hadn’t started raining again. He’d walked to Savarin’s house, and he didn’t particularly want to get soaked on the way home.
He wasn’t going home, though, was he? Corentin was waiting for him, and they were meant to have dinner together. He shouldn’t—he should go home, or to the palace to see Philip. But he had no idea of Philip’s schedule and if he would be available or at some social event or other. Home, then, to check in on his siblings. But Ligeia was with Meriall and one of Amory’s sisters—Adora, he thought—and had planned to stay to dinner with them. She would be fine there. Meriall was a sensible girl, and from what he’d seen, Adora was as well. Mathis was probably still at the university. Bastien had no idea what Griffen was up to, and part of him didn’t want to.
Would it be so bad if he did go to dinner with Corentin? The man was charming, no doubt about that, and he displayed plenty of interest in Bastien. He had too much to worry about to engage in an affair, but with his siblings occupied and nothing for him to do about the investigation, a dinner might be possible.
Bastien’s feet had made the decision for him because, by the time he reached the end of his convoluted reasoning, he was already at the entrance to the park. He glanced around, wondering if Corentin really had waited, but his gaze soon lit on the man, lounging on a bench in the glow of a lamp. Bastien took a moment to appreciate Corentin’s tall, powerful frame, well-defined even under a coat suited to the weather.
Corentin looked up and smiled. Somehow Bastien could easily see the glow of his violet eyes even across the distance, and it froze him to the spot. Before Bastien could shake off the odd paralysis, Corentin rose and glided over to him.
“Ready for dinner?”
“I—yes, I am.” And suddenly he was. Not only ready, but looking forward to the distraction a meal with a handsome man would provide from all that worried him. He got so few opportunities for it, allowed himself so few. He could this once, couldn’t he?
Corentin took his arm, cupping his elbow, and led him from the park. The warmth of Corentin’s large hand seeped into his body, and Bastien fought a shiver, but he wasn’t sure he was entirely successful in suppressing it.
“Where shall we go?” Corentin asked once they were back on the street. “There’s an eating house or two I like over by the university. But if you prefer somewhere else, I’m happy to take your suggestion. I haven’t explored as much of the city as I’d like, even though I’ve been here for months now.”
“I have a suggestion, if you don’t mind trying somewhere new.” The place he had in mind had excellent food but, more importantly, was closer than the university quarter and would probably be a good deal quieter than the eating houses there.
“Not at all. Lead on.”
They walked in the direction Bastien indicated. Corentin didn’t relinquish his hold on Bastien’s arm, and he didn’t ask him to, not even when they reached a busier street. He liked the feel of Corentin’s hand, the closeness of his body and the heat it radiated, far too much to move away. Far too much, period.
“Has the university kept you too busy to explore Jumelle?” Bastien asked when the silence got to be too much. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable, but the tension between them seemed to grow with every step, and Bastien needed it to ease.
“I have been busy, yes, and it’s been easier to stay closer to the university.”
“Understandable.” He did the same, pulling in an
d keeping to a routine when busy. Of course, he was mostly on the estate, so his options were limited even if he did want to find outside diversions.
“But not ideal. I’ve been here since the spring, and I should have used some of the time in warmer months to explore the city and countryside. I’m sure winter isn’t the ideal time to be out and about.”
“There are activities you won’t want to undertake, but there will still be plenty to divert you in Jumelle over the winter months.” Bastien shrugged, but not enough to throw Corentin off. “Winter will be chilly and the rains unpleasant, but we rarely get much, if any, snow in the city.”
“Different from home, then.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I ever asked where you’re from. Somewhere north, I assume, if you have a lot of snow?”
Corentin took a moment to answer as they turned a corner. “North, yes, and east. Winter begins early and lasts a long time there, and brings with it a lot of snow.”
They’d arrived at the eating house while Corentin was speaking. “Here we are.”
Corentin glanced through the windows and nodded. He opened the door and gestured for Bastien to precede him inside. Bastien did so, chiding himself for being disappointed that Corentin had to let go of his arm. The disappointment eased when Corentin followed him inside and stopped close behind him, closer than necessary. The warmth of Corentin’s body blanketed his back, and this time, he didn’t even try to suppress the shiver.
The proprietor bustled up and greeted them. He led them through a maze of rooms, all dimly lit and filled with tables. The front room was the largest and a bit louder, but the room where they ended up was quiet though most of the other tables were occupied. Bastien was pleased with the little table tucked away in the corner near the fireplace.
A serving girl arrived almost as soon as he and Corentin sat, and for a few minutes, ordering wine and food occupied them. Then she disappeared, and they were alone again. Bastien looked across the table at Corentin, who was bathed in the soft golden glow of candle and firelight. Something inside him turned over in a slow curl, and he swallowed hard.
The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5) Page 10
