The Dragon's Devotion (Chronicles of Tournai Book 5)

by Antonia Aquilante

  And Bastien would probably never see Corentin again. The thought stabbed through him, a hot piercing pain he wasn’t prepared for. He closed his eyes against the knowledge that his last words to the man he loved—yes, loved—had been in anger. Of everything he’d ever done or said, that final conversation with Corentin was probably his greatest regret. He’d spent so long craving Corentin’s company while trying not to develop deeper feelings for him, wanting to pull him close but also keep him at a distance. He’d wasted so much time. And now he would never see Corentin again.

  Unless he could find a way out of this mess. Which, admittedly, seemed impossible at the moment. He didn’t like thinking it; admitting he had no way of getting out seemed an awful lot like quitting. And now was the time to keep fighting, so he could take care of his siblings, so he could see Corentin again. He sank to the floor and braced his back against the wall under the open window. It was chilly with the window wide open, but he wasn’t going to close the shutters and be plunged back into blackness. He folded his arms over his drawn up knees and rested his head on them. He had to come up with something, to decide what to do, before his uncle returned.

  How long had he sat in the cold, bare room, his stomach rumbling, his body aching? His mind turned over his situation, coming to no new conclusions, and all the while he waited for a sound outside the door signaling the end of his time.

  When a sound shattered the quiet of the night, it didn’t come from the door but from the roof above him. His head snapped up at the odd scraping sound, and he scrambled to his feet. He leaned out the window and twisted around, hoping for a look at whatever had made the noise…and came face to face with a dragon. He could just make out the glitter of dark scales and the flash of violet eyes in the dark.

  He stared for an instant. “Corentin?”

  The word came out on a gasp, and was ridiculous as well. How many dragons would be landing on the roof of his prison?

  “Are you all right?” Corentin’s voice was probably as low as he could make it but was by no means quiet. Would someone hear it? For that matter, had no one else heard him land? Was everyone asleep? Shouldn’t someone be guarding him?

  “Fine. I’m fine. What are you doing here?” It occurred to him as soon as he spoke that it might sound as if he didn’t want to see Corentin when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “I’m here to get you out of there. Can you climb out the window?”

  Bastien stopped himself at the last moment from looking down. He was already hanging too far over the long drop for comfort.

  “I won’t let you fall, Bastien.”

  “What happens when I climb out the window?”

  “I’ll bring you up here, and you’ll climb up on me and hold on. Then we’ll fly away from here.”

  Corentin made it sound so easy, and perhaps it was. It was certainly the only viable plan Bastien had for getting out here alive, but it meant he would have to put his life in Corentin’s hands. Perhaps that should have been something he needed to think about more than he actually did.

  The worst part was the actual climb because he had to look at the ground below, the glow of the lantern at the base of the tower showing him just how far away it was. But Corentin’s hand was there, the large scaled fingers tipped in sharp claws gentle as they grabbed Bastien and lifted him up beside Corentin on the loose roof tiles. Bastien didn’t look at the ground then; he looked at nothing but Corentin and climbed as quickly, yet carefully, as he could onto Corentin’s back.

  “Ready?” Corentin asked. At Bastien’s affirmative, he said, “Hold on.”

  Bastien leaned forward, practically laying himself along Corentin’s back and wrapping his arms around Corentin’s neck. Corentin was hot beneath him, the warmth of his body seeping into Bastien and alleviating some of the chill of the night. A moment later, with a mighty push from powerful legs and beating wings, Corentin took to the air. Bastien clamped his lips tight against the yelp that wanted to escape at the rush of air and sense of sudden weightlessness. He squeezed Corentin tighter, trusting that if he could hold on, Corentin would get them safely away.

  Bastien thought he heard a yell over the rush of wind in his ears. Corentin flung a single ball of fire at the ground below them and flew swiftly away. In a moment, they were over the trees and not slowing. Bastien doubted anyone would be able to catch them though he didn’t want to imagine what would happen if stories of a dragon spread.

  Then he was far too distracted to think about anything except that he was flying.

  Corentin climbed in the air, well above the treetops. Bastien opened his eyes, surprised he’d closed them in the first rush of fear—because it was glorious. He wished it was day, so he could see more; he wished this promised flight wasn’t his rescue from kidnapping. He wanted to savor the excitement of it with Corentin whose strength and power exhilarated him. But Bastien couldn’t forget that the only reason they were soaring through the air was because his uncle had kidnapped him and threatened to kill him, and possibly his siblings too. And had killed his parents.

  Bastien sighed, the sound lost to the wind. He tried to move a bit closer to Corentin, but he was already plastered against the warm scales of his back. Just the act of it gave Bastien some comfort, though. At another time he would have shied away from the thought, but now he couldn’t. He loved Corentin, for whatever good could come of it, and he clung to the comfort his presence provided.

  Jumelle came into view, the lights on its walls and streets sparkling from the air, but Corentin veered away from the city. Bastien realized after a moment that of course a dragon couldn’t fly into the city unseen. Bastien assumed Corentin would land out at the cliffs where they’d gone that night not long ago, but Corentin flew on, following the cliffside farther from Jumelle.

  Perhaps Bastien should have been worried about where they were going, where Corentin was taking him, but he wasn’t. He was too tired to work up much more than mild curiosity, and he trusted Corentin to get him to safety.

  Bastien wasn’t sure how much time passed as he held on and looked out to the dark sea, the beats of strong wings keeping them aloft in the brisk night air. What might have been hours or moments later, he realized Corentin was making a slow, careful descent.

  Bastien glimpsed something that looked like a small castle perched on the cliffside as Corentin approached. It was lit both outdoors and in, perhaps as a beacon for Corentin, who otherwise would fly with only the weak light of the moon to guide him in. Bastien kept his gaze fixed on the building as they circled it. Corentin glided on graceful wings, bringing them closer and closer with each pass until they seemed to hover briefly, even with the top of the castle’s tower. Then, he lowered them gently into a courtyard. Corentin held still and steady once he’d landed, and Bastien slowly straightened to a sitting position, his muscles screaming after being locked in one position for so long. A shiver wracked him now that he no longer lay along the warmth of Corentin’s dragon body.

  “Let me help you down.”

  Bastien jerked at the unexpected voice. Searching out the source of it, he found Savarin standing at his left, hand held up to him. “Um…thank you.”

  He grasped the hand and still only managed a graceless slide down Corentin’s side. At least he landed more or less on his feet.

  Savarin steadied him until he could stand on his own. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bastien saw the shimmer of light as Corentin used his Talent to change back. “I’m fine.”

  Even as he said it, he swayed, suddenly exhausted and more than a little numb. Had this day actually happened or had it been some strange nightmare?

  Strong hands caught him around the waist and drew him back to lean against Corentin’s broad chest. “You don’t seem all right.”

  “I’m only tired. And bruised. And cold,” he added as he shivered again.

  “Oh, is that all?” The sarcasm was obvious in Corentin’s voice, but so was c
oncern, maybe even affection. Did he have any right to even hope for that last? “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed. Are you hungry?”

  “I suppose, but more tired.” Bastien allowed himself to be guided and leaned some of his weight into Corentin when he wrapped an arm around Bastien’s waist. Savarin led them inside the castle.

  “All right. Sleep first, then.”

  But before he could sleep, he seemed to have to walk miles and climb an inordinate number of stairs. By the time they reached a bedchamber, Bastien was shuffling along, barely lifting his feet and leaning even more heavily on Corentin. He dragged his eyes open when they drooped shut, doing the same again seconds later. The warmth of the room—welcome and pleasant though it was—wasn’t helping him stay awake. The walk to the bed felt surreal, more as if he were floating.

  Bastien was guided down to the bed, the words being spoken to him fading into a hum he couldn’t quite make sense of. Someone pushed him gently back against soft pillows, and he let familiar hands strip him of clothes he never wanted to see again. He must have dozed because when he became marginally aware of his surroundings again, a warm, damp cloth was making slow passes over his face, and then his neck, chest, and arms, a dry one following before he could get chilled. The cloth finished its work, and blankets came up to cover him to his chin. Bastien murmured something and snuggled down into the pillows. The last thing he heard before he slept was a low chuckle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BASTIEN WOKE SLOWLY and with extreme reluctance. He was warm and cozy under blankets and smooth sheets, the pillows and mattress just soft enough beneath his sore body. He couldn’t think of one reason to get up yet, couldn’t have been sleeping very long to begin with. Stretching a bit, he turned over and burrowed down into the pillows, catching the hint of Corentin’s scent on them. He reached out a hand, but the space beside him was empty. He would have liked to snuggle into Corentin’s warmth and doze for a while, then maybe do something else for a while. Why had Corentin gotten up and left him here? Had Corentin gone to the university?

  But this wasn’t Bastien’s bed.

  Everything that had happened came flooding back to him in a rush, and he sat bolt upright, pillows spilling over the side of the bed. The bedchamber was unfamiliar but perfectly pleasant from what he could see. A couple of chairs in front of a fireplace made a comfortable sitting area, and curtains drawn over the windows blocked out some of the sunlight, but the room was by no means dark. He must have slept well into the morning—or afternoon, for all he knew.

  Where was he? He vaguely remembered a castle and Savarin after Corentin landed. It was all indistinct, fuzzy, like a dream. The dragon ride seemed like a dream as well, which was a shame. He’d been looking forward to it ever since Corentin promised it to him. But the last thing he’d have expected was for the promised flight to be a rescue, and Bastien had been exhausted on top of it. Silly to be disappointed about something so trivial when compared to the rest of his situation.

  With a groan he couldn’t stifle, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and then was disconcerted to realize he was naked. A vague memory surfaced of someone—Corentin—undressing him as they put him to bed. He hoped it had been Corentin because the thought of Savarin doing so was…bizarre.

  It didn’t hurt to move as much as he’d feared; perhaps he hadn’t been as badly bruised as he’d assumed. He managed to open the curtains without standing naked in front of the window. A quick glance around the room showed him a pile of clean clothes folded on top of a dressing table, the half-open door next to it proving to be a bathing room. After making use of it, he returned to the bedchamber to dress. When he picked up the shirt, he realized the clothes were his. He could ask later how they’d gotten there. For the moment, he dressed.

  He was fastening his shirt when someone knocked softly on the door, as if to alert him if he was awake but avoid waking him if he wasn’t. “I’m up,” he called out and hurried to do up the rest of his shirt. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and Jadis stepped through, his gaze assessing as he took in Bastien. “It looks like you’re feeling well, my lord.”

  “I am, thank you.”

  “I looked you over when you got here. I doubt you remember it—you were mostly asleep at the time,” the healer said. “Bruises were the majority of it, and exhaustion after your ordeal. But no major injuries and no ill effects from the spell used to render you unconscious. I eased the bruises some, and we left you to sleep.”

  Bastien stared at him, not sure what to say. And then questions flooded out without his permission. “Who else is here? What are you doing here? Where is here exactly? And how did anyone know where to find me?”

  Jadis blinked but otherwise didn’t react to the deluge of words. “I was asked to be here in case you were injured. If you’re feeling up to it, come down to the dining room. There are others who can answer the rest of your questions better than I could. You must be hungry anyway.”

  “I am. I don’t know how long it’s been since I ate.”

  “You were brought here close to dawn. It’s now late afternoon.”

  “I slept that long?”

  “You had something of an ordeal. And sometimes the spell they used can make you sleep more in the day or two after. It’s nothing to worry about.” Jadis’s voice was soothing, and Bastien let himself be reassured for the moment. “You weren’t the only one to sleep a good part of the day. We were up all night, so as soon as messages were sent back to Jumelle that you were safe, all of us took to our beds for a while.”

  Bastien nodded. “The last time I ate was lunch yesterday.”

  “It’s about time you did eat, then.”

  Bastien followed Jadis out into the hallway, keeping pace with him on a winding walk through corridors and down stairs. He glanced around as they walked, taking note of the eclectic art and the fanciful carvings of beasts from tales in the stonework—even some with dragons, he was amused to see. This little castle was impeccably, if eccentrically, decorated, and meticulously kept. “Where are we? Surely that’s a question you can answer?”

  Jadis huffed out a bit of a laugh. “This is Savarin’s estate. Less than a day’s ride from Jumelle on the coast.”

  Bastien’s mouth dropped open. Master Savarin, the most powerful sorcerer and one of the most intimidating men in Tournai, owned this jewel box of a place? He couldn’t imagine it. Jadis made a turn through a set of double doors standing open, the murmur of voices and clank of cutlery coming from inside.

  They entered an exquisitely but not ostentatiously decorated dining room. Wide windows looked out to sea, the stunning view framed by tied-back blue curtains. Bastien might have enjoyed contemplating it longer—though he didn’t care much for the sea anymore—but he was far more interested in the men at the table.

  “Lord Bastien felt up to joining us,” Jadis said to Savarin and Corentin. They sat at the table, Savarin at the head, Corentin to his side, with what looked like a late lunch in front of them.

  Corentin’s gaze latched on to Bastien immediately. Bastien could almost feel it, like a touch against his skin. He wanted to fling himself at Corentin, wanted Corentin to wrap him in his arms and not let him go. Only last night, he’d thought he’d never see Corentin again, but here he was. Looking into those beloved violet eyes, Bastien wanted nothing more than to be held and kissed until the ache inside caused by the betrayal by one of his own blood went away. If it ever did.

  But he couldn’t. He didn’t know where he stood with Corentin—though it had to say something that Corentin had come for him, didn’t it? Especially since he’d taken a terrible risk in doing it as a dragon. And Savarin and Jadis were present, and Bastien didn’t want to throw himself at Corentin in front of them, didn’t want to share that with them.

  “Lord Bastien, I trust you’re feeling better today,” Savarin said.

  Bastien tore his gaze from Corentin with some effort. “I am. Thank you.”

  “Sit, p
lease. You must be hungry.” Savarin turned to the maid who had set another place next to Corentin. “Please bring Lord Bastien some breakfast.”

  “No need to go to any trouble,” Bastien said, but the maid had already bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the room.

  “I’m sure you’d prefer breakfast to lunch after waking,” Savarin said.

  He would, actually, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be more of a bother to servants who had already prepared a meal. There didn’t seem to be any reason to protest further when it was all but done. Bastien rounded the table and took the chair next to Corentin’s, and if he moved it a fraction closer as he sat, if he contrived to brush against Corentin to take comfort from that small contact, no one else would know. And when Corentin seemed to lean just a bit closer still, something quieted inside Bastien. He shouldn’t lean, shouldn’t look to Corentin for comfort, since nothing between them had changed, but he needed it.

  “My uncle kidnapped me,” he said after the maid brought his food and left the room again. “He killed my parents and Their Highnesses.”

  “We know, Bastien,” Corentin said, his voice low and filled with compassion. He laid a hand over Bastien’s arm, the touch brief but warm, filling some of the cold emptiness that had hollowed him out since yesterday—had it only been yesterday?

  “How did you know? How did you find me?”

  “Mostly, it was Lord Marcus and Captain Loriot.” Corentin told Bastien about Griffen discovering him missing and everything that had happened after, with Savarin filling in a few details. “Captain Loriot got someone out there to confirm where you were, but they worried about what would happen to you if the guard moved in and your uncle’s men resisted.”

  “So you offered to come for me.” He wanted to say something about the risk Corentin had taken for him. Exposing his Talent—his people, potentially—for Bastien. Only, what he could say? He knew what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure he would ever utter those words to Corentin, and if he did, it wouldn’t be with Savarin and Jadis looking on. Instead, he tore himself away from looking at Corentin once more and focused on his plate. He ate a few bites and then asked a question he hated the need for. “Has my uncle been apprehended?”