The Merchant's Love Page 8

  “What’s that?” Alexander came to look over his shoulder, but Faelen was used to that by now.

  “I don’t know.” But he wasn’t going to wait to find out—he had his own share of curiosity. Inside the package, he found a book. It was an adventure tale he’d never heard of. There was a note too.

  Maxen’s handwriting filled the page.

  I was in the bookshop and thought I would help you start your library. This is new and seemed intriguing. I bought a copy for me too. Perhaps we can discuss it over lunch (or just pastry)?

  Faelen smiled, touched at Maxen’s thoughtfulness.

  “Hmm,” Alexander said, reminding Faelen that he was reading over his shoulder. “That was sweet of him, and he knows two of your weaknesses already.”

  Faelen flushed, though Maxen had said much the same. He still didn’t know what to do with the statement. Maybe if he ignored it, no one would mention it again.

  “Something you’d like to share?” Alexander’s tone was arch.

  “No.”

  Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “I meant there’s nothing to share. We’re friends. I’ve told you that.” He said it as firmly as possible.

  “I know. I just wondered if more was developing. Maxen seemed interested from the first time he saw you.” The teasing tone was gone. Alexander always had been good at seeing when Faelen was uncomfortable. “I thought something might have changed for you. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s fine.” He briskly refolded the note and tucked it inside the front cover of the book. He’d start reading it later. “We need to change for dinner.”

  Alexander stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. I just worry.”

  “Stop worrying.” He gave Alexander a smile and a hug. “I’m fine.”

  “All right. Go and change. Before we’re late.” Alexander bounced toward his bedchamber.

  “You’re the one who’s holding us up!” He glared after Alexander and shook his head. Best to just let it go.

  Sitting at the dining table in his mother’s house, Maxen tried to pinpoint exactly when meals there had become so awkward. Sometime after Father died, certainly, Mother became more and more unreasonable. Somehow, it had come on so slowly he hadn’t noticed until it had gotten bad—or perhaps he’d been too wrapped up in grieving Father and trying to find his own place in the world.

  Really, Mother’s behavior had become obvious when she began a single-minded pursuit to find Tristan a bride she deemed suitable as soon as his wife had died. She’d been adamant that Bria needed a mother, and then had been convinced that if Tristan wasn’t going to give Bria one, she would be better off if Mother raised her. That whole time was best not thought of at all—though it could hardly be forgotten by any of them, especially when they all sat around the same table.

  Tristan seldom went to dinner at Mother’s house, and Maxen couldn’t blame him for it. He’d been surprised to see Tristan and Etan arrive that evening, less surprised to see that they hadn’t brought Bria with them. Mother immediately latched onto the subject of Bria’s absence and returned to it often throughout the meal. Maxen was certain that she still felt Tristan had done a disservice to Bria by marrying a man, even though she was happy Tristan had married into the royal family. It was as if her desire for social advancement warred with her firmly held belief that girls needed to have mothers.

  “I do wish you had brought her,” Mother said again as the soup course was cleared away. “I see my granddaughter so seldom these days.”

  “Yes, it’s been too long since we’ve seen Bria,” Selene chimed in, agreeing, as she always did, with Mother. “She must be growing so much.”

  Maxen and his brothers remained silent at the table. The younger boys looked down, probably wishing they had food in front of them to concentrate on—Maxen did. Tristan seemed outwardly calm, but Maxen knew him well enough to see the irritation he was trying to hide. Etan did as well, if the way he moved minutely closer to Tristan was any indication.

  “It’s late for her to be out. Her nursemaid will be putting her to bed around now,” Tristan said mildly and thanked the maid who set the fish course in front of him.

  “She could have slept here,” Mother said.

  “We wouldn’t have wanted to risk waking her when we left,” Etan said. He turned to his food, probably hoping the matter would be dropped. Maxen could have told him that was unlikely.

  “You could have left her here.” Mother seemed not to see the problem with what she said, which should have been surprising, given the number of times she’d spoken of or tried to take Bria to live with her. The rest of them saw it—except perhaps Selene, who’d followed Mother’s lead in assuming all was forgiven and good.

  Tristan set his fork down with a clatter. “No. Bria will not be spending the night here.”

  “Oh, but I would love to have my granddaughter here for longer than a few minutes, Tristan. Why, she hardly knows me.”

  “You should have thought of that before you tried to take her. She isn’t going to be here at all, out of my or Etan’s sight. That’s my final decision.” Tristan pressed his lips together, as if to stem the flood of more words, and then smiled at Etan when he laid a hand on his arm.

  Mother lapsed into resentful silence.

  Maxen had done his best to keep family matters from troubling Tristan. He was coming to believe there was no changing Mother, not if she wouldn’t listen to Tristan as head of the family. But he could try to mitigate the effects of her edicts and whims on his siblings. He could only be grateful Etan had come with Tristan.

  Despite Mother’s protests, Tristan, Etan, and Maxen all decided to leave immediately after the dessert course—a chocolatey pudding Maxen thought Faelen might have liked. Thoughts of Faelen calmed Maxen and allowed him to soothe Mother enough to let Tristan and Etan make their escape. He then took his own leave, promising Didier that he would go riding with him in a few days and Thierry that he would take him to a bookshop the next afternoon.

  The promise of a bookshop reminded him of Faelen once more, and as he rode through the crisp air of an autumn evening, he wondered if Faelen had received the book he’d sent—it was too soon to expect a note—and what he thought of the gift. Maxen had only thought to send something Faelen would enjoy, though afterward, he wondered if it might seem too forward, too much. There was nothing that said a friend couldn’t send another something he hoped would be enjoyed. If part of him still wanted Faelen to see him as something more, he’d have to work on burying it. Faelen was becoming too important to Maxen for him to ruin what they had.

  He looked forward to talking about his new book with Faelen soon. He was almost as excited about that as about going home and sinking into the story, letting the adventure and the dream of faraway places carry him away from the sick feeling another painful family dinner had provoked. One day, he would see those places in person, not just in books.

  Staying up half the night reading had not been Faelen’s smartest idea ever, but he couldn’t regret it either, even as he dragged himself around the next morning. He’d told himself he would only read a few pages of the book Maxen sent him the night before, but—of course—he hadn’t. It was late when he finally fell asleep, but he still woke at his usual early hour, sprawled across his bed with the book on his chest.

  He’d tried to sleep a little longer, but it seemed he was too used to waking up at a particular time. So he tumbled out of bed and shuffled to the bathing room and then the dressing room. Not worrying about what he wore, he dressed slowly. He considered going back to the book, but his mind was fuzzy, too fuzzy to give it the attention it deserved. The story was so engrossing he’d been swept away into it before fatigue had taken over last night.

  After throwing on a coat, he picked up the book and left his rooms. The corridors were empty but for the guards, and Faelen grumbled to himself. Why did he have to be awake?

  The crisp
air of an autumn morning slapped him in the face when he went out onto the terrace. He sucked in a sharp breath and stood still for a moment, letting it begin to clear the fog of sleep from his mind. He took the steps down into the garden slowly and wandered the paths. A few gardeners were working, but otherwise he saw no one on his meandering walk. He hadn’t thought about where he was going or what he would do, and then he found himself on the edge of the small wood at the back of the vast garden.

  He and Alexander had loved these woods when they were children, loved scampering around in their quiet, shaded confines. They’d loved even more that most people seemed to ignore them entirely. He’d learned since his return that the spells safeguarding Tournai were centered in the clearing in the middle of them—set there long ago and somehow still best accessible in that spot. Faelen couldn’t pretend that he understood all of what Etan and Savarin had explained to him, but he’d comprehended enough, including that there was some sort of spell on the woods that kept those without royal blood from noticing them at all, unless they were specifically shown the area.

  It explained why there had never been anyone in them when he was a child.

  He let his feet carry him into the trees. There was a path, barely discernible under the blanket of fallen leaves and evergreen needles. The evergreens were dense enough that even with the other tree branches becoming bare it was difficult to see too far ahead. He’d never understood how the path didn’t become overgrown since none of the gardeners ever worked here, but perhaps there was a magical explanation for that too. He hesitated to ask Savarin or Etan about it because he didn’t want to sound stupid if there was some other, more mundane explanation. And really, did it matter? The path was clear, and the area was protected, which made it a safe place, especially when he wanted to use his Talent.

  Which hadn’t been his aim when he came out this morning, but had a certain appeal. Curling up as a cat, maybe in a pleasant patch of sunshine, sounded perfect.

  A murmur of quiet voices broke the silence as he approached the clearing. An entirely ridiculous sense of disappointment dragged at him. He hadn’t planned to come here, hadn’t been looking for solitude—what he’d been looking for escaped even him—so why he’d be disappointed to find himself with company was a mystery.

  When he arrived in the clearing, he found Amory and Flavian with easels set up, absorbed in their painting. He hesitated, but Amory looked up at him and smiled.

  “Good morning, Faelen.”

  It took a nudge from Amory for Flavian to look up, but he didn’t seem to have been ignoring Faelen—he’d just been so intent on his work that he hadn’t even noticed. There was a smudge of dark green paint on his cheek. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you both. I didn’t realize you were here.” Not the most intelligent statement but about all Faelen’s mind could manage at the moment.

  “Flavian wanted to paint here this morning.” Amory lifted his hands in a speaking gesture and let them drop.

  “There’s something about this place that I need to capture. You didn’t have to come with me if you didn’t want to.” Flavian’s tone was just a bit tart.

  Amory didn’t seem bothered. “I didn’t say that. I only said that you wanted to paint here. Though very soon it’s going to be too cold to paint outside early in the morning.”

  Flavian shrugged fluidly. “Perhaps.”

  Amory looked at Faelen and rolled his eyes as Flavian studied his work. “What brings you here this morning?”

  Faelen swallowed back the laugh that Amory’s expressive and exaggerated gesture provoked. “I was up late last night reading and needed to clear my head. I was walking and thought I’d come here and use my Talent for a bit.”

  “Feel free,” Amory said. “Though you don’t need our permission.”

  Flavian murmured something about staying in bed if he’d been up half the night. Amory rolled his eyes again, but his smile was indulgent.

  “I don’t want to bother you while you’re working.”

  “You won’t,” Amory answered. “Right, Flavian?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no, probably not.”

  Amory laughed, but Flavian didn’t seem to notice. He was painting again, and Amory picked up his own brush. “Do whatever you like, Faelen. You won’t bother us. We can’t stay all morning—or at least I can’t—I have to sit in on a meeting. I don’t know what Flavian will do, and there’s little point in asking him when he’s working.”

  “Thank you, Amory.” Faelen came closer, though he didn’t try for a look at the paintings and wouldn’t unless invited.

  “No need. This is more your place than mine.” He continued before Faelen could find any response to that. “Do you have to go up to the archives this morning?”

  “No, which makes the fact that I’m exhausted slightly more bearable.”

  Amory laughed again, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “Well, that’s good. How are you finding the work?”

  “It’s so interesting. What Master Savarin is doing is fascinating. We all hear the legends, and, of course, I was told about our Talent and the possibility that I might inherit it, but we had no idea about the protection spells or how our Talent relates to them.” He was probably talking too much, telling Amory more than he wanted to hear in answer to what was just a polite question, but he couldn’t help it. “I had no idea the archive even existed, let alone all the information and history it contains. It’s unbelievable how much knowledge about our own Talent we’ve lost over the years.”

  Amory looked a little surprised at the flood of enthusiastic words, but he didn’t seem irritated. “It’s sad that you have, and it’s good that you and Etan are trying to recover as much of it as you can. Not only because it might help in Savarin’s work, but because it will be good for all of you—and for Julien someday—to know more about your Talent.”

  “I’m happy to be able to do it.”

  Amory tilted his head to the side and studied Faelen with a keen eye. “What are your plans? We haven’t talked in a while.”

  “Oh, well.”

  “It’s all right if you’re not certain.” Amory smiled. “Take as much time as you need to figure them out. It sounds as if you’re enjoying your work in the archive. If you decide to find a place for yourself at the university one day, that’s fine, as long as it’s what you want. But I sound as if I’m giving you permission. I don’t mean to.”

  Faelen smiled too then, relaxing when he saw that Amory had only asked because he cared. “I know. Thank you.”

  Amory shook his head. “I was wondering if you planned to go into diplomacy like your father one day. With your skill in languages and facility at court, it seems as if you’d be good fit.”

  Faelen was shaking his head before Amory finished, his heartbeat kicking up again, a sick feeling starting in his stomach. That was the future his parents had always planned for him. “That isn’t for me. I love studying languages. But the rest…” He shook his head again. “I just want a life here. One that has some permanence to it. I hated that we never knew where Father might be sent next. I just want to be home somewhere, you know?”

  “I do. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to push you into anything. I really was just wondering.”

  His cheeks heated. “It’s all right. Sorry I was so…vehement.”

  Amory waved away his apology with another kind smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you going to paint or talk all day?” Flavian asked sharply.

  Amory laughed. “I didn’t think you were even listening.”

  “I’m not. I’m painting, which is what we came here to do. So paint.”

  Faelen tried to stifle a smile as he ducked around Amory and Flavian. On the other side of the clearing, Faelen stopped, standing still and breathing deeply, searching for some calm after an exchange that had been more upsetting than it should have been. After a moment, he reached for his Talent, nudging it until the magic rose up, sweeping through him in a warm, familiar
wave.

  When he opened his eyes again, he stood on four legs instead of two. He stretched his whole body, even spread his front paws, letting his claws come out and dig into the dark earth. He wandered around the clearing and the trees directly surrounding it for a little while, giving the other two men a wide circle so as not to disturb them, though he caught Amory glancing his way once or twice. Finally, he found a spot where sunshine streamed through a break in the tree canopy and made himself comfortable.

  Almost without his permission, his body relaxed, lulling his mind as well, as he’d known would happen. He wished Alexander were there. When they were younger and first coming into their Talents, they would often use them at the same time, romping around to play or just nestling together to sleep like kittens. They still did sometimes, especially if one of them needed comfort. Faelen didn’t need that his morning, though. Mostly he was just tired, but maybe he could rest now. He’d barely completed the thought before sleep was tugging him under.

  Two days later, a brisk breeze snapped through the city, kicking up fallen leaves and swirling them in a graceful dance, as Faelen walked into Jumelle to meet Maxen. He’d been inordinately disappointed that they’d been unable to manage to see each other before today, but Maxen’s work had kept him busy. Faelen was happy they’d found this time, and not only because Maxen greeted him with a parcel of cinnamon twist pastries sticky with sweet icing.

  Though he was happy about those.

  They strolled as they ate and talked, catching up on the details of the last few days and remarking on things they saw in shop windows. The rambling conversation turned to the book Maxen had sent Faelen. He was surprised to find that Maxen had finished it as well—Faelen seldom found anyone who was as voracious a reader as he and was delighted to discover Maxen was also. Delighted too with the discussion. They’d both enjoyed the book, but Maxen had noticed different things and brought different perspective to their talk. Faelen was sorry it had to end.