Well that was mysterious. Something to do with the undivulged family matter, perhaps?
Griffen didn’t seem affected by the look. “That is no reason for you not to go out and enjoy yourself for an evening.”
“After everything we’ve all been through this afternoon, I believe it is,” Bastien countered with an air of finality.
One that Ligeia decided to ignore. “We’re fine, Bastien. Or we will be. I plan to have a quiet evening here, but there’s no reason for you to stay in for my sake. Griffen? Mathis?”
Mathis shook his head. “I have studying to do.”
“I’m staying in as well,” Griffen said. “You should go. Enjoy the play and Master Corentin’s company. We’ll be quite all right on our own for an evening.”
Bastien’s eyes narrowed, and a significant look passed between the two brothers. Corentin couldn’t interpret it, but it left Bastien thoughtful. Corentin hoped thoughtful turned into an acceptance of his invitation. He’d received the tickets and had no way of politely turning them down. Despite wondering about the motive behind the gift, he’d immediately thought of Bastien as the companion he wanted for the evening, and here he was.
He’d thought of sending a note, but somehow he knew he’d get a better result if he asked in person. Bastien seemed easier to persuade to put his work aside face-to-face.
Bastien looked between Corentin and Griffen. Finally he said, “Thank you, Corentin. The theater sounds lovely.”
Corentin couldn’t help feeling that he’d won some sort of victory, but he had no idea what it was. Or maybe Griffen had won. The dynamics of the situation between the siblings were beyond him at the moment, and he could only take some comfort in Mathis’s furrowed brow. Perhaps he wasn’t the only confused one.
No clarification came, but Corentin let the matter go. He was far too curious about Bastien for his own good, and he knew it. Yet here he was, asking Bastien to the theater, hoping for more, when perhaps he should have put some distance between them.
He didn’t want to.
They ended up at an eating house near the theater. The food was good and the atmosphere rather boisterous, much different from where they ate the last time, and Bastien seemed almost out of place. Corentin noticed his reserve, his air of aloofness from the first. He was beginning to understand that it stemmed not from any sense of Bastien’s own importance but from his dedication to his family and position. Corentin was interested to find out what was hidden beneath that surface.
He set about getting Bastien to relax as best he could with amusing stories about his students and university students in general. They could be an odd bunch. Just that morning, he’d witnessed a magical mishap out in the open that had left the water in the fountain and the area around it iced over and snow falling from a small cloud hovering directly above it. Passersby, probably fascinated by winter weather they seldom experienced in Jumelle, gathered to gawk, and the three students involved had gotten quite the tongue-lashing from Savarin and Gemella, one of the university’s weatherworkers.
“Master Savarin and Gemella are yelling at these students who are standing there taking it, because what can you do when someone like that is dressing you down?” Corentin said. “Master Savarin and the weatherworker are standing outside the circle—it was a perfect circle somehow—of odd weather because they’re smart. But the three boys are inside it. They’re shivering as snow is piling up on their heads. One of them takes a step, perhaps to try to get away from the snow, but stops quickly when Master Savarin glares at him. And his feet go out from under him and he falls to his backside on the ice. And Gemella doesn’t even pause in her lecture.”
Bastien had been smiling throughout the story, but at that he laughed, long and loud. It was a nice laugh, full and uninhibited, and the sound thrilled Corentin and gave a him a warm glow that he’d caused it. He got the feeling that Bastien needed to laugh more often.
The play helped with that effort, though Corentin had to stomp out an odd feeling of disappointment that he wasn’t the one bringing the smile to Bastien’s face. What nonsense. Especially when Bastien turned to him to share the joke, mirth dancing in his eyes. A smile curved Corentin’s lips, far more for the sight of Bastien’s sparkling eyes than the play, though it was amusing.
There must have been something in his face because Bastien tilted his head, a small wrinkle forming between his brows as he looked at Corentin quizzically. The puzzled look was adorable. Corentin couldn’t help himself. He closed the small distance between them and kissed Bastien.
Bastien drew in a sharp breath and then melted into the kiss. Corentin let out a groan and pulled Bastien as close as he could with them sitting side by side. Bastien’s hands came to rest on Corentin’s shoulders, moving over them and clinging, setting fires in Corentin’s body just from the touch of fingers and the press of lips. He indulged himself in lingering kisses, but they couldn’t continue. Not where they were.
Their seats were in one of the theater’s small private boxes on the upper floor. They had the curtained box to themselves, and it was unlikely anyone would see them kissing in the darkened theater, but Corentin didn’t want to risk the temptation to drag Bastien to the floor and have his way with him. Or have their way with each other. That wouldn’t go unnoticed so easily, and Corentin would rather not have an audience.
With reluctance, he dragged his lips from Bastien’s. Bastien made a little sound of protest and want that hit Corentin in the gut. But instead of taking his lips again, Corentin forced himself to put a little more distance between them. “Not here,” he whispered. “We shouldn’t here. We should watch the play. And then later…”
Bastien blinked a few times and then nodded, eyes widening in a kind of horror, as if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone. And maybe he had, sitting in the shadowy box, his focus narrowing only to the man with him. Understandable, as that was what had happened to Corentin too.
“Yes, of course.” Bastien let his hands slide from Corentin’s shoulders and turned back to the stage, his posture stiff, his focus absolute.
But Corentin couldn’t have that. They couldn’t get carried away here, but he didn’t want Bastien forgetting him entirely. He faced the stage as well and, without a word, took Bastien’s hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bastien jerk and glance at him, but he didn’t acknowledge it, just kept a firm grip on Bastien’s hand. Bastien didn’t try to pull away, and soon he relaxed again, settling into the cushions of his chair and letting his hand rest in Corentin’s.
With a small smile, he waited a few moments as they watched the actors on stage and then began to play with Bastien’s fingers—running his fingers over each of them, drawing slow patterns on the back of his hand, caressing his palm with deliberate provocativeness. Neither of them looked away from the stage below, but Bastien’s breathing sped up. Corentin loved that small indication of Bastien’s interest, that he wasn’t indifferent to his attention.
Everything blurred except the warmth of Bastien’s hand in his, Bastien’s presence at his side as he kept up his slow exploration of Bastien’s hand.
They were still sitting that way when the play ended and applause exploded from the audience, swelling to an almost deafening sound. Corentin jumped; Bastien did as well, and they looked at each other and laughed. Corentin reluctantly released Bastien’s hand so they could add their appreciation to that of the rest of the audience. His only consolation was that Bastien seemed disappointed, perhaps as disappointed as Corentin.
As the curtains closed on the stage and the theater brightened, Bastien leaned over, closing the distance between them. He whispered, “I shouldn’t admit this, but I have no idea how that ended. Do you?”
Corentin laughed. “I like that you admitted it. And I have no idea either.”
Bastien huffed out a laugh. He looked out over the theater as people began to move around again and shot Corentin a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. “We may have to see it again.”
&
nbsp; “Perhaps we will.” Corentin paused for a moment. “I can’t promise that the same won’t happen again.”
“I would be very disappointed if you did.”
Bastien’s voice was soft, but Corentin had no trouble hearing him. Pleasure worked its way through him at the words, at the anticipation they provoked. He smiled, a slow curve of lips he couldn’t have stopped even if he tried.
BASTIEN WASN’T CERTAIN exactly what was happening between him and Corentin—well, he sort of knew, but if that was all it was, he’d have assumed they’d have ended up in bed already. They hadn’t, even after the theater when he was nearly positive Corentin was going to suggest it. He didn’t like the confusion. Too many other things in his life were uncertain, not the least of which was the ongoing investigation that seemed to be going nowhere.
Corentin’s pursuit—was that the word? was he being pursued?—was, if nothing else, a novel distraction from his recent frustrations and the growing tension between him and Griffen. But it was more than a distraction; Bastien had to admit that, even if it was unclear exactly what it was or what it could ever be.
He’d assumed after the play—after Corentin had spent much of it tormenting him in quite a pleasant way—that Corentin would invite him home, but he had only asked if Bastien wanted to have a drink somewhere. He’d agreed, rather dully, and they’d sat together in a quiet tavern sharing a bottle of wine and talking, about the play—what they remembered of it—and others they’d seen, books they’d read. It was a rambling and enjoyable conversation, and there had been a few long kisses in shadows on the walk back to Bastien’s house, which left him feeling rather warm.
He wondered if Corentin was trying to make him crazy.
Over the next few weeks, they had lunch together several times, meeting at various eating houses or even in the market, where a very good meal could be had from the many stalls. They didn’t see the play again, though Corentin kept mentioning the possibility with a spark in his eyes that made heat curl inside Bastien.
If he had that reaction to every mention of the theater, it would be inconvenient. Not that he attended much, since he wasn’t often in Jumelle, but he found himself reluctant to think of his departure. And now, this was not only because of the unanswered questions surrounding his parents, but also because of Corentin, which did nothing to alleviate his confusion.
Corentin had sent a note around to Bastien’s house that morning, asking if he was free for lunch and if so, could they meet at Corentin’s office. Considering all that had happened over the last couple of days, Bastien was happy to receive it. Bastien had met with Philip the day before, but little had come of the meeting except more frustration on both their parts. Loriot apparently had some sort of clue about the letter writer—possibly—from Savarin’s magical examination of the note. Bastien would have liked to know more about it, but he’d simply been told to trust Loriot. He was rather tired of that answer.
He’d been catching up on estate business that he was juggling while in Jumelle, a less-than-ideal situation as he didn’t have someone employed to manage those matters for him. He preferred to be present and take care of them himself. His mind kept wandering to the latest update from Loriot and what he himself might do to hurry things along, which only made it even more difficult to manage his work. Corentin’s note provided a distraction he couldn’t afford but dearly wanted.
Since the day was sunny, he set off for the university on foot, using the walk to clear his head. He considered speaking to Uncle Ormand again, but he’d gotten little from him when he first arrived in Jumelle. And he hadn’t spoken to Uncle Lonzo, his mother’s brother, at all. Perhaps he should see if he was in Jumelle. It couldn’t hurt to meet with him and try to subtly turn the conversation to those days. Uncle Lonzo had been around quite a bit in the aftermath. Bastien had no idea how much time his uncle spent at court back then, but he might be able to provide some insight into Bastien’s parents’ actions at that time.
Bastien pondered it as he strode through the university grounds. It would probably gain him nothing. A waste of time in the sense of information gathering, though he probably should see his uncle if the man was in town. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited with Uncle Lonzo and his family, which meant it had been too long. And even longer since he’d seen his grandfather, who didn’t care to travel in his old age, but it was difficult finding time to journey to the other side of Tournai. He couldn’t do anything about having shirked his familial duty to see his grandfather, but he’d visit Uncle Lonzo if he could, and serve two purposes when he did.
Finding where Corentin’s office was housed took a while. When he arrived at the old stone building, he didn’t think he’d ever seen it before, but his time at university had been short—he’d worked hard and completed his studies as soon as he could, returning to Ardesia to work with his father. Corentin’s building was tucked away at the back of the grounds. The area around it was quiet, unlike most of the grounds which, even on cool days, were crowded with students.
He climbed the stairs up to the top floor and wandered along the corridor looking for Corentin’s office. The polished wood of the floor creaked slightly under his feet, loud in the quiet. Wasn’t there anyone else on this floor? Toward the end of the hallway, he found the door labeled with Corentin’s name. He rapped on it lightly and received a call for him to enter.
Corentin looked up as Bastien stepped into the room. The smile that lit Corentin’s strong, handsome face warmed Bastien more than it should have. “Bastien, come in, please.”
The office was small, the furniture—the desk and its chair, a second chair, a cabinet, and a bookcase, all in dark wood polished to a gleam—barely fit in the room. One window with diamond-paned glass let in sunlight. The walls were bare, but books and papers crowded the bookcase and the desk’s surface. He would have expected something a bit…more from Corentin, something that seemed more like him.
“Why is your office hidden away up here?” Bastien took the chair across from the desk. “Is anyone else on this floor?”
“There are a few occupied offices, though I think one of the scholars is traveling now.” Corentin shrugged, an unexpectedly graceful movement for such a powerfully built man. “It’s quiet here. I like that.”
“There is something to be said for it.” Bastien could certainly appreciate quiet these days, living in the house in Jumelle with all of his siblings. “As long as you’re happy. Lunch, then?”
“I don’t even get a kiss hello?” Corentin’s smile turned slightly wicked as he stood and came around the desk, without bumping into any of the furniture. Bastien thought it quite a feat, or perhaps he was just trying to distract himself from the sound of that deep, smooth voice washing over him. “I think I deserve that, don’t you?”
“If we kiss now, we won’t make it to lunch in a timely fashion.” Snatching quick kisses always seemed to turn into something far more. He smiled up at Corentin, a bit surprised at the flirtatiousness he put in it. “And I’m hungry.”
“Then I should feed you.” Corentin took Bastien’s hand and gently tugged him to his feet and in close, but he didn’t wrap him in his arms. Bastien was disappointed despite his protests. Corentin chuckled, and Bastien wondered if he saw what Bastien was thinking. But Corentin only dropped a light, quick kiss on Bastien’s lips. “Come on. Have you ever eaten in the scholar’s dining hall?”
“I haven’t.” He’d completed his basic university course but hadn’t stayed on to study and lecture. He wouldn’t have been at all suited to doing so, and only the resident scholars and their guests could eat there. “I’m no scholar.”
“You’re something else,” Corentin said simply and ushered Bastien toward the door. “I only wondered if Lord Etan or some other friend had invited you before.”
Bastien shook his head. He was so seldom in Jumelle there was little opportunity for invitations. And really he didn’t know why they would come anyway. Etan was extended family in a way, a
nd a good man, but they weren’t close friends who would meet for lunch regularly. “No.”
“Well, I thought we could eat there today, if you don’t mind. I have students to see and a lecture to prepare this afternoon, so it would be helpful to stay close.”
“We could have had lunch another day if today is difficult for you.” Why had Corentin even invited him if his day was so busy?
“No.” Corentin glanced at him as they started down the stairs and something flickered in his eyes. “I wanted to see you, even though it’s a busy day.”
Corentin looked away immediately. Bastien wasn’t sure what to make of Corentin’s admission, what it meant. It was hardly the thing one said to a friend, but they weren’t really friends, or not only friends. He wished he knew exactly what they were.
And yet.
“I’m glad you did.”
Corentin flashed him a smile, and he returned it even as his stomach did a slow loop. What was he doing? It was easier to forget that question when they were kissing—maybe they should have stayed in the office and done more of that. But no, there was more to whatever this was than kissing.
The scholar’s dining hall was a large, wood-paneled room with a soaring ceiling and tall stained-glass windows. The glass glowed jewel bright with the sun on this late autumn day, leaving patterns over the long oak tables that spanned the room. A fire crackled in the enormous fireplace. It was early for lunch, so the dining hall wasn’t full, which Bastien liked because it allowed him and Corentin to find a place at the end of a table far from other people.
The food was excellent, but Bastien didn’t think Corentin would have brought him here, expedient or not, if it wasn’t. The conversation was even better. It surprised Bastien how easily he could slip into a conversation with Corentin about anything, or nothing. He was beginning to like it though.
“Tell me about your morning,” Corentin said as they ate their soup. “What did I pull you away from?”
Bastien was shocked at how tempted he was to tell Corentin about the mystery surrounding his parents’ deaths and his own quandary about what to do. He swallowed the words down. “Catching up on estate business. Nothing particularly interesting.”
The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5) Page 15
