Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (24 page)

As he descended to the front hall, he did so with anguished finality and a sense of loss and abandonment beyond description.

Chapter 15

Reflections

A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows to displace the stuffiness wrought by an unseasonably warm and airless spring night, but Tristen took no notice as he made ready to leave his apartment. Despite his anger and sense of betrayal, Keosqe had procured for him a spacious, comfortably furnished one bedroom unit with a sitting room and partitioned off dining area and easy access to not one but two bathing rooms with modern plumbing at either end of the wide hallway. The rooms were conveniently located on the second floor of a well-maintained establishment.

Only affluent students could afford these large non-university affiliated apartments. The deference shown him by his landlord indicated he was considered upper class and therefore to be treated with respect and caution.

It only made him feel worse, this consideration Keosqe had shown him. Tristen’s shame knew no bounds and he wanted desperately to do something, make amends to his lover, grovel if that was required. But Keosqe did not care to see him now, much less listen to his explanations and entreaties. Indeed, his attempts to contact the noble had been in vain.

His letter had been returned unopened and his attempt to meet Keosqe in his office at the Ministry of Internal Affairs building had been unfruitful. He still wondered if Keosqe had really been absent or instructed his staff to turn Tristen away should he show up.

Tristen closed his eyes in doleful remembrance of Keosqe’s anger and pain. His failure to be truthful had eroded his lover’s trust in him, perhaps irrevocably. He could insist all he wanted that he was innocent; claim he had done nothing wrong. It would be for naught. If he had been capable of lying about his whereabouts and activities to keep Keosqe from preventing him from doing as he liked, then why should the noble believe him about anything else?

What Tristen had done was too grave to set aside so easily; too painful to forget or forgive so soon.

After shutting the windows against attempts at unlawful entry, he slung his small pack of books over his shoulder and stepped out of the apartment, locking it securely behind him. He personally had nothing of great worth within he would regret losing, but he was not about to make it easy for a thief to steal anything that bore Keosqe’s mark. It was there in the choice of beddings and dining utensils. No establishment that rented out rooms would trouble to provide feather mattresses and downy pillows, soft sheets, and a cozy counterpane for its guests. And the plates, glassware, and cutlery though plain had all the hallmarks of quality. Tristen suspected they were from the Deilen pantry.

That Keosqe took the time and made the effort to personally provide for Tristen’s needs touched him deeply, but it also made him even more acutely aware just how undeserving he had proved himself of the noble’s love.

He found Mirdan waiting for him across the street under the shelter of the shed provided for passengers of the city’s public carriages. He trudged his way to his friend. Mirdan regarded him with concern.

“Four days running and you look even more morose than when you transferred here. If that’s even possible.”

Tristen shrugged. “I’m not exactly proud of the circumstances that put me here.”

“That’s all it is? Embarrassment?”

“Of course not!” Tristen exhaled. “It pains me that he and I parted the way we did. Keosqe was always kind and generous toward me and I can’t believe I made him so angry at me.”

Mirdan snorted. “So you mourn the loss of your patron, eh?”

“Among other things.” Grimacing, Tristen shook his head and said. “Nay, that isn’t true.” He looked away. “I miss our nightly talks, our walks home, our…” He stopped, unable to openly admit his yearning for the intimacy he’d shared with Keosqe. He exhaled and softly said, “I suppose I miss …
him
.”

“You do? Even the way he’d tease you to high dudgeon?”

“Even that.”

Mirdan tut-tutted. “Alas that we often realize certain things only in hindsight.” He eyed Tristen curiously. “Are you going to try and get back in his good graces?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Tristen straightened his shoulders, his pride reasserting itself. Only pride had kept him going during the worst of times following his parents’ deaths. That was not about to change now.

“Besides, it isn’t all bad,” he said with a touch of defiance he did not really feel. “I don’t miss the way he used to try and immure me at home and I need a well-deserved rest if you get my meaning. There is such a thing as too much ardor.”

He swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his mouth that came of uttering falsehoods. Keosqe was right. He
was
a liar. Even to himself.

“But he is a good lover, yes?” Mirdan said with a smirk. “He taught you well?”

Tristen rolled his eyes. “He is a good lover. Whether he taught me well, that’s not for me to say, is it? I will concede he showed me how best to meet his needs.”

“How reluctant you are to extoll his virtues!” Mirdan exclaimed. “Tell me, if he really doesn’t suit you, if you find him tiresome, why did you agree to sleep with him in the first place? Indeed, why did you stay with him as long as you did?”

“I never said he’s tiresome!” Tristen retorted. “And he does … did suit me well.”

“Yet you oft told me how annoying he could be. Why, the day you moved here you ranted about how overbearing and unfair he is. An unreasonable, one-track-minded child you called him.”

Tristen flushed. “That was uncalled for. I was just so angry and … and frustrated. In truth, his virtues outweigh his sins. But that isn’t to say he isn’t infuriating at times. Nevertheless … I’d rather live with his flaws than without.”

“My, you’re really in love with him after all.”

“I am not!” Tristen snapped, falling back on his usual answer.

He flushed as he realized he might have uttered another falsehood. In the week since parting from Keosqe, he’d found himself alone more than he was used and in his solitude had started to examine his feelings for the noble. Only now was he finally admitting to himself he should have done so from the start. But deeply ingrained fears and prejudices were not easy to overcome and he’d had his fair share of them loath though he might be to accept this aspect of himself.

“You doth protest too much,” he heard Mirdan say, a hint of goading in his tone.

His temper getting the better of him and his ever deepening sense of loss stripping him of patience and courteousness, Tristen testily said, “Oh stuff it, Mir. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s done with me. And perhaps it’s best I learn to live on my own. Relying on him all these years may have done me a disservice. It isn’t as if we would have wed or that he would take care of me for the rest of my life.”

Mirdan looked skeptical. “Are you sure you weren’t headed that way?” he asked as he hailed an approaching carriage.

Tristen scowled. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything any longer. Can we not talk about this, please? I’m in dire need of some peace right now.”

He did not wait for Mirdan to respond but clambered aboard the conveyance and plopped himself down between two other passengers. Mirdan sat facing him and spoke no more on the matter. Whether out of delicacy or in reaction to his dark mood, Tristen did not care.

Shrouded by the unfamiliar tension, they rode to the University in silence.

* * * *

Dylen Essendri hesitated and then raised his hand and gave Keosqe a slight thump on the nose with his finger. Keosqe started and, looking sideways at his cousin, stared at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry but it appears only your body is present,” Dylen said. “Your mind seems to be elsewhere.”

Keosqe opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw Rohyr, Gilmael, Jareth, and even Yovan Seydon were regarding him with the same questioning look. He sat back, rubbing his nose a little ruefully.

A meeting with one’s monarch and fellow government officials was no place to be absent-minded. Even if said monarch and officials were all kin. It simply was not done. And it was particularly worrisome, not to mention embarrassing, when the security of the kingdom was the topic at hand.

Dylen and Riodan Leyhar’s mission had ended at the conclusion of the previous year, following the death by assassination of Malkon Ferrenda, the Varadani pretender’s heir and, as it turned out, far from beloved spouse of Prince Sivar, the Asmaran sovereign’s son. The machinations of Jubal Ferrenda had come to naught in the South Vihandran kingdom and the collusion of the principality of Teraz had been exposed.

Of course, the shrewd Amir Halvan had ensured his kingdom continued to maintain relations with both Ylandre and Teraz, despite the two realms being at each other’s figurative throats. Jubal, on the other hand, found himself out-played by Sivar and his cousin and revealed long-time lover Prince Laral. And Riodan had managed to make amends to Dylen for whatever offense he’d committed in the past that had driven a wedge between the two for so long. Unfortunately, the young ambassador also paid a high price for the success of the mission, his back forever scarred by the terrible burns he’d suffered while thwarting an attempt on the life of Laral.

“Uncle Yovan asked you the same question twice and you didn’t so much as bat an eyelash in response,” Gilmael explained. “What’s wrong, Kes? You’ve never been this inattentive.”

“Trouble at home?” Yovan asked.

“Sidona is perfectly fine,” Keosqe replied. He noticed Rohyr was gazing at him steadily and flinched.

But Rohyr narrowed his eyes and said, “I don’t believe Uncle Yovan was referring to Sidona. What’s happened between you and Tristen Marante? And, nay, I didn’t read your mind else you would have known it.”

Keosqe shook his head. “I wasn’t going to accuse you of that.”

“But you acted as if you thought I might.”

“Did I?” Keosqe exhaled tiredly. “My apologies, Roh. But rest you, it wasn’t because I believed you would. It was only … instinct I suppose.”

“You’re that afraid to reveal what’s troubling you?”

“Not afraid. I just … would rather not discuss my problem.” He looked down at his hands. Realizing he was clenching his report so tightly, the sheets of parchment had badly creased, he loosened his hold. He said in a low voice, “I haven’t quite recovered.”

Rohyr reached over and gripped his hand. “You don’t have to tell us the details, but at least enlighten us to the situation. I for one need to know why one of my most capable officials is suddenly not up to par.”

Keosqe’s mouth tightened. “Why do you think it has to do with Tristen?”

“Because you deliberately tried to divert our attention to Sidona,” Rohyr pointed out. “Which can only mean the problem lies in town. And since young Marante shares far more than meals and small talk with you, it stands to reason he’d be the cause of your preoccupation. I hardly think you’d be this affected by anyone in your staff.”

There was a brief silence. At length, Keosqe quietly said, “He doesn’t live with me any longer. I had him leave four days ago.”

The others stared at him in surprise.

“You had him leave,” Jareth repeated. “He must have offended you deeply for you to make so drastic a move.”

“Deeply enough,” Keosqe said under his breath.

“Where is the lad now?” Yovan gently asked. “Did he return to Sidona?”

“Nay, I leased an apartment for him. I promised his brother I would take care of him until he leaves university. I don’t break my promises.”

Rohyr gazed at him, his gray eyes agleam with compassion. “It isn’t only because of your promise,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, Kes. I hope you’re able to resolve this soonest. Or move on if that is what’s best for you.”

Keosqe nodded his appreciation of Rohyr’s sympathy. He held up his report and said, “Enough of my woes. I have news from up north.” He glanced at Dylen. “My agents confirmed your theory that Jubal has an adept in his employ. Whether he’s a templar or not they haven’t yet determined, but he’s definitely talented enough to have shielded Malkon’s mind the way you describe it. Furthermore, it appears he’s Terazian.”

“Small wonder he allows Jubal to use him,” Gilmael said with a scowl. “Have you informed Tenryon of this?”

“I sent him a copy of the report,” Keosqe replied. “My agent should be in Ziana by now,” he added, referring to the powerful city-fief that was the seat of Tenryon Hadrana, Jareth’s half-brother and the head of the inordinately talented templars of the North Continent.

“He isn’t a templar though,” Jareth informed them. “Tenryon checked with his fellow templars as soon as he read Dylen and Riodan’s account of Malkon’s shields. None sensed this adept’s presence.”

“It can’t be hidden?”

“Nay,” Rohyr answered. “The birth of one resounds through the bonds of the brotherhood. A templar can’t hide his nature from another templar.” He looked from Jareth to Dylen. “Might this Deir be a rogue adept?”

Jareth nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. That would explain why he could insert those shields in Malkon’s mind.”

“But he appears unable to engage in long-distance mind speech or translocation whereas I can do all three,” Dylen said. “Do the gifts among rogue adepts vary that widely?”

“Say rather the degree of talent and strength differs from Deir to Deir,” Rohyr explained. “It’s possible this fellow is no rogue but a mere adept who possesses mastery of a few gifts. We haven’t enough information to ascertain this. As for your abilities, well, you’re of the direct line of royal descent. That makes you stronger and more gifted than is usual.”

“The Essendri potential is not to be underestimated,” Yovan said. “Witness Roh’s power and skill. He’s about as strong as Tenryon, I warrant. One could mistake him for a templar as well.”

Dylen met his brother’s gaze and grinned. “Indeed,” he softly agreed.

“How did your people learn of this Deir?” Gilmael addressed Keosqe. “Neither Jareth’s contacts nor mine came across such a person at the Terazian court.”