Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (23 page)

“Nay, we’ll meet in the main library.”

Keosqe frowned. “But doesn’t the library close after dark?”

“Oh, yes, of course it does.” Tristen gave a small laugh. “We’ll move to Argil’s rooms afterward. You remember him? His family provided him with a large apartment near the University.”

“Yes, I remember him. It’s fortunate he has spacious lodgings nearby. Well, I hope your group manages to meet the deadline.” Keosqe managed a smile. “By the way, I bumped into Eiren yestereve. He told me you show so much promise, he’s pleased he agreed to take you on as an apprentice. Needless to say, I’m very proud of you. I want you to know that.”

Tristen stared at him and then abruptly turned his face away. Keosqe saw him blink hard several times.

“Tris? Is something wrong?”

The youth blew his breath out. He looked at Keosqe, his comely face troubled. Tristen’s lips parted as if he were about to say something. But he apparently changed his mind and, with a shake of his head, said, “Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired.”

“Of course.” Keosqe bit his lip and then murmured, “Good night, Tris-
min
.”

“Good night,
Dyhar
.”

Keosqe watched him hurry out of the room. His heart inexplicably heavy, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the rose-hued contents of his glass. He brought the glass to his lips and absently sipped the wine. Unbidden, he thought,
I can check on him tomorrow. Just to be sure he’s telling the truth
.

He caught his breath at the uncharitable idea. Veres almighty, he trusted Tristen. It was unmeet of him to even think of spying on his lover. Uttering an imprecation, he set the glass down and rose to his feet. Perhaps it was best he made an early night of it too. It was only then he realized how Tristen had addressed him before he left.

Dyhar
.

Why had he used the high honorific? At the start, Tristen had often done so out of propriety despite Keosqe’s request that he dispense with formalities. In more recent times, the youth resorted to its use as a subtle form of protest or chastisement when Keosqe said or did something that displeased or discomfited him. Keosqe did not really like it, but he accepted it as part of the coded speech between lovers.

So what had he done to displease Tristen now? Or was the youth uncomfortable about something? He frowned as a nagging suspicion took root in his mind.

Why should either displeasure or discomfort always stem from something Keosqe had done? What if… He closed his eyes, unable to suppress his suspicions or explain them away.

What if Tristen had acted thusly because of something
he
had done?

Chapter 14

Blunder

Two nights later, Tristen sensed something was off when he returned to the townhouse nearly three hours past his usual arrival time. Not only had Keosqe sent all the servants to their quarters including the butler, he’d waited for Tristen to get home. However, he hadn’t waited upstairs in his study, but in the spacious front foyer. Tristen jerked to a stop when, after locking the door behind him, he turned around, took a few steps forward into the dimly lit foyer and espied Keosqe seated on the long reception couch. In the dark.

“Saints! You gave me a start!” he softly exclaimed.

Keosqe merely shrugged and rose to his feet. “Did you finish the paper?”

Tristen peered at him wonderingly. His tone was different somehow. Almost artificial for all its geniality.

“Yes,” he replied. “Argil will submit it for the group tomorrow morn.”

“Excellent. Well, you must be hungry.”

Keosqe mounted the stairs without waiting for Tristen, forcing the youth to hasten up after him.

Tristen suddenly felt nervous. “I’m not that hungry,” he said.

“I had your favorite dish prepared,” Keosqe continued, paying him no mind.

“My favorite…?”

“Tomquail soup with wild mushrooms.”

“Oh, yes…”

Keosqe led the way to the dining room. Tristen saw the dining table had been set with one wide bowl, a soupspoon, and a wine glass. There was also a tureen, a small cutting board with a knife and half a loaf of bread on it and a bottle of wine. Keosqe uncovered the tureen. The aroma of gamey tomquail and earthy mushrooms wafted their way to Tristen’s nostrils. Keosqe patted the back of Tristen’s customary chair.

“Sit down,” he invited. “The soup is still very warm.”

“Um, thank you.” Tristen wondered how to turn down the meal without sounding ungrateful. Keosqe had ordered the dish for him and then waited up for him. “But you really don’t have to … I mean, I can serve myself and…”

Keosqe did not respond as he ladled some of the soup into the bowl. He picked up the knife and proceeded to cut a couple of slices from the bread. Tristen had no choice but to take his seat.

“So, did you have any difficulties finishing the paper?” Keosqe asked as he poured Tristen a glass of wine.

Tristen shrugged. “Quite. There were a number of revisions to make.”

“But you were able to make all the necessary revisions?”

“Yes, we were.” Tristen made a stab at levity. “I for one was quite inspired.”

“But of course you were.” Keosqe smiled. “Your inspiration was tall, golden-haired, handsome…”

Tristen rolled his eyes. “Saints above, you are such a conceited—”

“And all of thirty-two with blue eyes and a gift for honeyed words.”

Silence slammed down on the two of them like a ton of rubble. It was several heartbeats before Tristen could speak.

“Wh-what do you—?” he stammered.

Keosqe smoothly cut in. “I can’t imagine how you managed to finish that paper considering your hands must have been occupied otherwise. Not to mention your mouth and arse.”

Tristen felt the air whoosh out of him as if he’d been punched in the belly. “I don’t know what you’re—” he wheezed.

“Can you still feel him?” Keosqe asked, his voice now hard as granite. “Did he make you sore?” Tristen gaped at him in sheer shock and horrified comprehension. “That’s the real reason you didn’t want to make love with me the other night. Not because you were feeling sick, but because your arse couldn’t take another pounding.”

Suddenly nauseated, Tristen started to rise from the chair. He wanted to get away, to hide, to do anything but confront the frighteningly cool and collected Deir before him.

Keosqe’s voice stopped him. “Sit down, Tristen.”

“I’m really not that hungry—”

He nearly cried out when Keosqe slammed his fist down with such force on the tabletop the entire furniture visibly shook.

“
Sit
.
Down
.
Tristen
.”

Tristen swallowed in panic. Keosqe had never used that tone of voice on him. Cold. Pitiless. Threatening. He sat down, staring up at his lover, eyes wide with fear.

Keosqe straightened and, in a hideously conversational voice, said, “I’m going to bathe. When I come back, I expect most of this to be gone and I don’t mean out the window or into the garbage bin.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Tristen had to take a few minutes to calm down his frantically beating heart and wait for the roiling of his insides to subside a bit. All the more was he averse to eating anything, certain he would vomit if he did. But Keosqe’s tone and manner had brooked no resistance and he did not dare disobey. So he forced spoonful after spoonful down his constricted throat and popped bits of bread into his mouth with shaking fingers. Several times he nearly choked but he made himself go on. He did not want to find out what Keosqe would say or do if he left the food untouched. The wine he swiftly drank, coughing violently when some went down the wrong way.

Keosqe returned a mere quarter of an hour later, clad in tunic and boots, a cloak slung over his arm. Tristen stared at him. Surely he was not going out? It was close to midnight.

“Where are you going?” he ventured.

Keosqe ignored the question, his gaze going to Tristen’s still half-full bowl.

“I suppose fine cuisine can’t compare with roast meats and a tankard of ale,” he said sarcastically. “Oh, and fried bread. Mustn’t forget the fried bread.” Tristen blanched as Keosqe ticked off everything he’d had that evening with Mirdan. “And a slice of cranapple pie must taste especially good when it’s shared. Ah, yes, I followed you around like the pathetic lovesick fool I’ve degenerated into.”

“It isn’t what you think—” Tristen tried to protest.

Keosqe cut him off brusquely. “Of course, afterward, you’ve got to do something about your overstuffed bellies. But I seriously question the wisdom of exercising in a cramped dormitory room.” He smiled grimly when Tristen paled even further. “Unless of course you indulged in some strenuous activities on the bed. Tested a few horizontal positions while at it, too, I presume? A bit of advice though—if you want to keep your clandestine activities a secret, learn a little discretion. Such as taking a nice hot bath to wash away the evidence of your exertions.”

As he practically spat out the last sentence, Keosqe turned on his heel and began to walk away. Tristen hurried after him and dared to block his way.

“Kes, let me explain…” he desperately said, reaching out to clasp Keosqe’s arm.

Keosqe jerked away with an expression of such distaste, Tristen felt as if he’d been slapped.

“Would you at least care to tell me why you decided someone else’s bed would be more comfortable than ours?”

“It isn’t like that—”

“Tell me!”

“It’s just that Mirdan—”

“Ah, you’ve finally named him your lover.”

“He isn’t my lover. You are.”

“No longer.”

“Veres almighty, don’t do that—”

Keosqe came close to exploding. “Don’t do what? What did I do that you decided to cheat on me?” He advanced menacingly on Tristen prompting the youth to step back apprehensively. “Did it give you a thrill cuckolding me like that? Did you laugh behind my back thinking what a dunce I was to be so easily fooled by a sweet and innocent face such as yours? Holy saints, I should have known better than to fall in love with you!”

Tristen threw reason to the wind then, stung by Keosqe’s contemptuous appraisal. “Who are you to talk?” he countered. “You’re never home nowadays either. Always out somewhere with never time to spend with me. Or coming home at Veres forsaken hours and smelling of drink and expensive scents I don’t recognize. How do I know
you
haven’t been keeping other Deira on the side?”

Keosqe glared at him. “Is that when you started sleeping with Mirdan? Because you thought I was cheating on you? Well, plague take you, Tristen Marante!” he snarled. “I’ve been meeting with Rohyr and Gilmael everyday and most nights! I smell of drink? What else would Rohyr have served while we talked and ruminated? Scents you don’t recognize? I hardly think being cooped up in a room for hours on end is a deterrent to taking on the odors of one’s companions! Here I’ve been doing my duty to sovereign and country and all this time you were busy cheating on me.”

Tristen’s found it hard to breathe as the enormity of his folly struck him. “I-I’m sorry, Kes, I—” he stammered.

Keosqe brusquely elbowed past him and left the chamber. Regaining his balance, Tristen started to follow, but Keosqe returned almost at once and threw two packs and a small bag onto the dining table. They had held Tristen’s belongings when he moved into the Deilen house.

“I want all your things out of here,” Keosqe said. He tossed two keys on a small metal ring at Tristen, forcing the youth to catch them. He then slapped a piece of parchment on the table with what appeared to be an address scrawled on it. “I promised Veare I would house you so those are the keys to an apartment in the east district. I leased it this afternoon and had it furnished and stocked. It’s just three blocks away from the Hospitallers’ center and a coach ride to the Public Hospital. One key is for your quarters, the other is to the front door of the establishment so you can let yourself in after the landlord has locked up for the night.”

“Kes, don’t—” Tristen tried to grab his lover’s arm but Keosqe evaded him. Tristen held out his hands in abject supplication. “Don’t send me away … please…” he pleaded. “Mirdan means nothing to me. You have to believe me.”

“He’s everything now!” Keosqe finally exploded. “He
knows
you! Kissed you, touched you.
Fucked
you! Don’t tell me he means nothing to you because if that’s true, then I never meant anything to you either!”

Tristen blanched at the accusatory words thrown at him. Stunned by Keosqe’s venom, he could not speak or move. He could only stare at his lover, mutely absorbing his rage and anguish.

“You are a liar and a cheat,” Keosqe said more quietly but with no less anger.

Tristen shook his head helplessly. He tried to speak but found he could not, his throat constricted by the huge lump that had wedged itself halfway down.

“How can you think that I could still want you, now that I know you’ve been warming someone else’s bed?” Keosqe continued, his voice soft but icy. “When I return, I want you gone.”

He made to leave but stopped then glanced at his left wristlet. To Tristen’s dismay, he unclasped the wristlet Tristen had given him. The wristlet he never took off save when he bathed. He walked back to Tristen.

Tristen put his hands behind him but Keosqe simply stuffed the wristlet into his tunic. Frosty violet eyes met Tristan’s searching gaze.

“Don’t come back,” Keosqe curtly said. And then he strode out of the dining chamber.

After a moment’s stunned hesitation, Tristen hurried after him. But Keosqe was already halfway down the stairs by the time Tristen reached the end of the hallway. He heard the sound of the front door slamming shut.

Shocked into acquiescence, he returned to the dining room and retrieved the packs and bag. He went to his bedroom and mechanically did as Keosqe had ordered. It was only afterward, when he stepped out of his room with his belongings that everything registered on him in full.

Tristen sank down on his haunches when his trembling knees gave out. He hugged himself in a bid to still his body’s violent shudders. He fought to keep his tears from spilling over but just barely. After a long, miserable while, he rose to his feet and picked up his packs and bag and headed for the stairs.