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

  He smiled. He wouldn’t change her. “Didn’t you say you were going to pack?”

  “Yes, I started to, but then I wanted to check on Crimson,” Ligeia said and flopped down into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “How is she?”

  “Better—enough so I won’t feel too bad leaving tomorrow.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Their family had bred horses, the best horses in Tournai, for generations, but Bastien doubted any who had come before had loved or devoted as much to those horses as Ligeia did.

  “That’s good.” He paused and studied her. He’d been her guardian and stand-in parent since their parents’ deaths; he knew her. “You do have to go to Jumelle. I wouldn’t make you if it wasn’t necessary.”

  She looked up at him, her features soft and almost sweet, the image of their mother, but the look in her eyes was sharp and very reminiscent of their father. “I know. It’s a royal wedding. We can’t exactly decline the invitation. And I don’t want to anyway. I like Etan.”

  He did too. While they weren’t strictly related—Etan was Prince Philip’s cousin on his father’s side, while Bastien was Philip’s cousin on his mother’s—Bastien had always been friendly with Etan, if not as close as he was to Etan’s older brother, Cathal. So he certainly wasn’t opposed to attending the wedding of a friend, even if it was taking him away from home.

  “And I do understand why we’re going early. I have nothing appropriate to wear to a wedding like this one. I probably don’t have anything appropriate to wear to a wedding at all.” She paused as if to consider the statement and then shrugged. “So it’s for the best. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  “I could have sent for seamstresses to come out here from the capital. I mean, not now, because we don’t have the time, but you shouldn’t hesitate to ask…”

  She smiled. “You know I wouldn’t, but it hasn’t mattered. I haven’t had need for formal gowns. Not since Philip married Amory anyway. I might have worn the same gown now if it still fit.”

  Only his sister wouldn’t care about being seen in the same gown at two such events. But in addition to the dress being too short and tight on her, he could only imagine it would be a bit young for her now too. Bastien knew next to nothing about ladies’ clothing, but he knew Ligeia was of an age to be dressing more like a woman than a girl, as disturbing as the thought was.

  “You can have some things made up along with the gown for the wedding. You could probably use some new dresses.” He took her to Jumelle infrequently, both because he only traveled when he had to and because she seldom wanted to go. In fact, he didn’t think she’d been to Jumelle since the princes’ wedding almost three years ago. They hadn’t even attended Cathal’s wedding, which had been a small private affair in the wake of Cathal’s investiture as duke and other more tumultuous events Cathal probably wanted to forget. But perhaps for Ligeia’s sake, visits needed to be made more often. She was a young lady after all, and he’d probably been failing her in that respect.

  “Maybe a few things. Elodie wants to help me, but I’ll have to try to rein her in if I can. From her letters it sounds as if she’s looking forward to helping a little too much.”

  Ligeia frowned, and Bastien had to bite back a laugh. Princess Elodie, Philip’s younger sister, was by all accounts quite fashionable, and it sounded as if she wanted to share that with Ligeia.

  “Get what you like. Just don’t bankrupt us while you’re doing it.”

  Ligeia snorted delicately. “Oh, very funny.”

  “Who’s being funny? I’m making a serious plea.”

  Ligeia’s lips curved into a smile. “I like it when you tease. You do it far too rarely these days.” Before he could respond to that assertion, she sobered and continued. “Are you worried about leaving for so long? The stewards are all capable of running the estate in your absence.”

  “I know.” And he did, but he couldn’t help wanting to be here to make sure everything was run properly.

  She obviously saw his doubts. “I could stay here, and then you wouldn’t have to be away so long. You wouldn’t have to go early. Would that be better?”

  He would feel better not being away from home as long, but he didn’t only have a responsibility to the family property, he had one to the family as well. He had to care for Ligeia and make sure she had everything she needed, which included time with other young people and all the experiences that went with being a young noblewoman. Experiences she wasn’t getting out here spending all her time with their horses. Never mind that she was excellent with them.

  “No. We’ll both go. We’ll visit with family. You’ll have your new gowns. And we’ll celebrate Etan’s marriage. Thank you for offering, though.”

  She watched him for a moment, probably trying to confirm his sincerity, and then nodded. “I suppose I should finish packing, then. Are you packed?”

  “I am. Just waiting on you.”

  “Ha. I’ll be ready to leave in the morning as scheduled.” She stood and walked to the door. “See you at dinner.”

  He murmured a reply and turned back to the window as the door closed. After another long breath, he went to his desk. He might be packed, but he had many other tasks to accomplish before they left for Jumelle in the morning.

  He almost wished there was a way to send Ligeia to Jumelle on her own and stay behind himself, but he wouldn’t shirk his duty to his family, even if it meant juggling others.

  TIME PASSED. AND Corentin fumed, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

  He wasn’t a sorcerer in the way Savarin was; he didn’t have the skill or the proper kind of Talent to break the spell. He’d examined every inch of the barrier in the doorway, running his hands along its invisible surface, and found no break in it. The only other way out of the office was the window, but he found the same barrier in place there, and he was far too high up to climb out without hurting himself anyway.

  His own Talent couldn’t help him either. He had no room to transform inside, not that it would aid his escape, as flying to a safe landing brought with it too great a risk of discovery. And his fire would do nothing. He might be able to burn the building to the ground, but that would only kill him and anyone else who remained inside.

  How could Savarin do this?

  The man had no right, not even in some misplaced defense of country.

  Corentin would have a difficult time restraining himself from doing murder when Savarin returned. He’d worry that Savarin wouldn’t, leaving him here to rot, but Corentin knew he would come back—he was far too curious not to. And if Corentin didn’t miss his guess, Savarin had a theory. Perhaps not fully formed yet, but he had one. He would come back to try to confirm it.

  If only he knew what that theory was. Savarin had given no clues away, not that Corentin had seen. But just because Corentin hadn’t seen it didn’t mean Savarin didn’t know something, or think he did.

  Corentin paced his office like a caged beast.

  He let out a short, bitter laugh. He was a caged beast.

  Over an hour later, when Savarin finally reappeared in his doorway, Corentin didn’t bother hiding his rage, but before he could say anything, Savarin spoke.

  “The delay was unavoidable I’m afraid, but now we can talk.”

  “Are you mad?” Corentin roared. “You’ve imprisoned me in my own office, and you expect me to talk to you? To answer your questions?”

  “That was unavoidable as well.”

  The arrogance, or perhaps obliviousness, of the words was astounding. But Savarin was smart enough to stay outside the barrier he’d created. Otherwise Corentin would have been hard-pressed not to throttle him.

  “You are mad. Who do you think you are to do this to another person?”

  “Someone who is trying to protect his people. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

  He would do quite a bit to ensure the safety of his people, and had. “What you’ve done has nothing to do with the safety
of Tournai. You’re trying to satisfy your own curiosity at my expense.”

  “I told you when I first heard of the magic you performed, I was curious. But then you acted so suspiciously by avoiding me, and I became concerned.”

  “If you were that concerned, I would have had agents of the crown beating down my door already.” He didn’t know why he said it, practically daring Savarin to do just that. But Corentin didn’t think he would.

  Savarin shrugged. “I didn’t see the need then.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I’m formulating an opinion. Because now I think I know more about your magic.”

  “Oh?” Cold dread again, but he clung to the anger. “What do you think you know?”

  “Before I came upon you today, I assumed you knew some magic I hadn’t encountered yet. Then I saw your back.”

  Anger. He had to stay angry. “I can’t see what my tattoos have to do with magic.”

  “Because those are not tattoos.”

  “I think I would know better as they belong to me.”

  “And I know you’re lying.” Savarin continued speaking before Corentin could deny the allegation, despite its truth. “Those marks made me remember something. I’ve heard stories of dragons and the people who supposedly lived among them, perhaps caring for them, perhaps controlling them. When I left here to go to the palace, I thought perhaps you were one of those people and the markings identify you as such. But now, I don’t think that’s it.”

  At the mention of dragons, Corentin’s anger disappeared, replaced by icy fear rushing through his veins. It was everything he didn’t want to happen. “That’s absurd.”

  “You haven’t heard the stories?”

  “I’ve heard many stories. It’s part of my work, of what I study. It doesn’t mean all—or even most—of them are true.”

  “I know that well. And so little is known about dragons, though I’ve heard Lord Etan has taken an interest in the stories.”

  “So he’s said.”

  “I haven’t spoken to him of it. Dragons aren’t generally something I take an interest in.”

  “Then why are we discussing them?”

  “Because I have a theory. A new one, one I could never have dreamed of before today. I wonder if Lord Etan’s reached the same conclusion about dragons with his research and knowledge.” Savarin stared at him, gray gaze intense and searching. “I don’t think you’re a man who lives with dragons. I think you are a dragon.”

  Savarin’s words fell into the silence, shattering it, stark and loud and echoing. Corentin stared at him, aware of the scrutiny he was being subjected to in turn. How had he come to that conclusion? As much as Corentin worried that someone might find out, he hadn’t believed Savarin would come up with the right answer.

  “You could deny it,” Savarin continued. “But I won’t believe you, and if you say nothing, we both know that’s an admission too.”

  “You’re giving me very few options.” Corentin forced the words out as normally as he could.

  “I know, and I’d apologize, but I don’t think you’d believe in my sincerity.”

  “Would it be sincere?”

  Savarin grinned, lightning quick and then gone. It was stunning on his almost too-handsome face—and completely shocking. “I’m not sure. If even some of the stories of dragons and dragon hunts are true, I can understand, I think, the desire to keep such a thing secret. But I know what you are. I don’t know how such Talents, such magic, are possible, but I know you possess one.”

  He wasn’t sure what to do with Savarin’s curiously candid statements. They were quite different from those he made before he’d trapped Corentin in his own office. An action that did not inspire great trust. “And what will you do with these things you think are true?”

  “Nothing.”

  Corentin let out a short, sharp laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t like to know more, and I’ll be alert for danger to Tournai, should you prove untrustworthy. But you’ve done nothing to harm anyone yet, and as I said, I can see your need for secrecy, and I can respect that as far as it goes.”

  “Big of you,” Corentin said, his voice dry.

  One side of Savarin’s mouth curved up. “I won’t lie. I want to know more—I want to know everything—but you don’t trust me enough to tell me everything.”

  “You’ve trapped me in my office using magic I can’t counteract. I don’t see how I would trust you at all.” Corentin drew himself up to his full height, a match for Savarin’s own tall stature. Though he couldn’t see how he would be at all intimidating behind an impenetrable wall of magic controlled by the man outside it.

  “I hope someday that will change. I would very much like to hear your story. For now, I’ll bid you good day.”

  Corentin’s mouth dropped open as Savarin turned and walked away. He rushed toward the open door. “You’re just going to leave me here? Are you hoping I’ll starve to death?”

  “Go where you like. I’m not preventing you.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes and reached out a hand, expecting to be stopped by the magical barrier, but his hand passed easily through the air. He growled and stepped forward. “That’s it? All this and you’re just leaving?”

  Savarin was already halfway down the corridor. “Yes,” he tossed over his shoulder. “You aren’t going to talk, and I have important work I need to do today. So that’s all.”

  Corentin stood in the doorway and watched until Savarin reached the stairs and began to stride down them. Then he went back into his office and closed the door. And stood in the middle of the small room.

  What had just happened?

  Savarin knew about him, knew what he was if nothing else. Corentin wasn’t sure how. More troubling, what would Savarin do with the information, how much did he have, and would he try to find out more? Corentin didn’t dare hope that Savarin would give up, but he could hope that whatever had pulled the sorcerer’s attention away today would hold it long enough for Corentin to figure out what to do.

  He had to do something; he couldn’t leave things as they were. At the very least, he had to discover what was out there for Savarin to find. He hadn’t spent as much time in the university’s libraries researching dragons as he would have liked, reluctant to draw attention to them with Etan already so interested. But Corentin needed to know what had led Savarin this far, and what might take him further along a path to discovering more about dragons. If there was such a path. Corentin could only hope that Tournai’s libraries contained only the usual stories and scraps he’d found in other libraries he’d visited in his travels. He still might be able to refute any claims Savarin might make to others, if he was prepared. If he knew what there was to be found about dragons. If he knew more about Savarin himself.

  It was time for him to search out more information, figure out who he could trust in this country, if anyone.

  Chapter Two

  BASTIEN TRIED TO remember the last time he and all three of his siblings were under the same roof for any length of time. Perhaps Philip’s wedding. He didn’t think it had been sooner, and even then, they’d only been together for a few days. Really, it had been before their parents’ deaths five years ago that they’d all lived together. They’d gotten along well when they were young, running tame on their family’s estate. It became obvious very quickly after Bastien and Ligeia arrived in Jumelle that they’d lost the knack of how to live together harmoniously. Or perhaps too much had changed for them to ever be so close again.

  The changes were sad in some ways, but perhaps necessary. Bastien was earl now, and as such, the head of his family. He had to take care of his siblings and their holdings. He couldn’t afford to act as he had when his father was earl, but he didn’t think Griffen, Mathis, or Ligeia truly understood that. Perhaps they never would.

  Bastien only wished their time together could be a little more comfortable. But Mathis fled to the universit
y library at every opportunity, and a strangely subdued Griffen spent more time out of the house than in it. On the rare occasions they were all together, tense was the only word Bastien could think of to describe the atmosphere in the house. But he couldn’t let them all go their separate ways—it wouldn’t be right—so he mandated they at least eat dinner together, barring obligations elsewhere. And he was suspicious of any excuse Griffen or Mathis brought him. He didn’t trust those two to do as he asked. Mathis and Griffen lived together in the family townhouse in Jumelle and seemed far too used to answering to no one, not even each other.

  Mathis spent all his time studying and was marginally reclusive as well. Griffen was in no way reclusive—he was perhaps too social, always with friends at parties or the theater or wherever. Somehow, Griffen and Mathis had worked out their living arrangements after Griffen was sent back to Jumelle from his first assignment abroad. Bastien hadn’t been—and still wasn’t—certain his flighty brother was well suited to diplomatic work, but Philip kept Griffen on with the promise of another posting outside Tournai in the future. Bastien wondered if Philip ever really planned to send Griffen out again, though Philip also wasn’t given to stringing anyone along unnecessarily. Perhaps he saw something Bastien didn’t.

  After a few days in Jumelle, Bastien realized that Griffen and Mathis lived together so peacefully because they were seldom home at the same time, except to sleep.

  Ligeia was far more excited about attending the wedding and preparations for it than Bastien had expected. Elodie’s favorite seamstress presented herself at the house the day after they arrived in Jumelle, with Elodie not far behind. Bastien made a point of being there to greet his cousin. He hadn’t seen the princess in quite a while, but she was as vivacious as ever, her eyes sparkling with anticipation for the task ahead. Elodie was always perfectly and fashionably dressed—though he supposed, as sister to the prince, she more often than not set the fashions rather than followed them.