Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (31 page)

Tristen looked up with a start to find Keosqe standing before him. He had not noticed the latter had walked over to join him. His cheeks warming a bit at having been caught in sentimental reverie, he said, “I just remembered something nice, that’s all.”

Keosqe looked interested. “And what pleasant memory was this that it made you so happy?” he asked, sitting down beside him.

“Um, it was when I went to the main market to buy you a gift,” Tristen said, flushing further. “I bumped into Master Leyhar and he helped me choose what to get.”

“Riodan?” Keosqe frowned slightly and then his expression cleared as he obviously remembered the incident as well. “That was the day you bought me the wristlet.”

“Yes.”

“What was so memorable about the incident?”

Tristen shrugged, trying to be nonchalant when in truth he was feeling quite jumpy inside. “I just never expected to receive a lesson about international relations at a jeweller’s stall. It was eye-opening to say the least.”

“You’re referring to the coded language of diplomats.” When Tristen nodded, Keosqe smiled and said, “It is an interesting subject. And it drives the point home that a certain personality is needed to excel at diplomatic work.”

“True. I know I’d be an utter failure at it,” Tristen said. “I’d probably start a war, not prevent it.”

“You’re too plainspoken,” Keosqe agreed. “Not that a diplomat always couches his words in inoffensive terms, but a skilled envoy knows when to be blunt and when to employ blarney. I wouldn’t make a good diplomat either. I can puff up folk if need be, but I wouldn’t be able to hide my feelings or control my temper at all times, especially if I had to deal with someone particularly contemptible or loathsome.”

“You have naught but high praise for Master Leyhar. Does that mean he’s one of the best in the field?”

“He’s getting there and very swiftly.” Keosqe leaned back. “But for now I think no one can compare to Jareth Hadrana. I don’t know how he does it, but he can present a genuinely benign and friendly face to someone while contemplating how best to have him deposed or assassinated.”

Tristen gaped. “That is indeed a great talent,” he commented with awe. “Is that why he’s risen so high? It has naught to do with being cousin to the Ardan?”

“His easy entry into foreign affairs had everything to do with being kin to Rohyr,” Keosqe corrected. “Not to mention that his brother Tenryon was Rohyr’s mentor back then. But having one’s foot in the door doesn’t guarantee success or a lengthy tenure. Jareth worked hard to get to his present position. We all did who are in government service. Rohyr may have chosen us because of kinship and trust, but it’s competence or lack thereof that determines whether we stay or get booted out. Nepotism in itself isn’t evil, but when one is blind to the inadequacies or wrong-doing of those he favors, then it becomes an avenue for strife and ruin.”

Silence descended on them when Keosqe finished speaking much to Tristen’s distress. Ordinarily, such discussions could carry on into the wee hours of the night, stopped only when Keosqe decided he’d rather tup Tristen than talk with him. But now it was hard going just to fill in the gaps in their conversation, let alone continue it. The tension between them got in the way and he could not think of a way to dispel it. Fidgeting again, he patted his pocket wondering if now was the right time to broach what he had in mind.

“What have you got in your pocket that you keep touching it?” Keosqe asked.

Well, that certainly took care of his indecision, Tristen thought. After suppressing another qualm of nervousness, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the wristlet. He shyly faced Keosqe, noting how the noble’s eyes were riveted on the piece. He held the wristlet in such a way as to convey that he wished to put it around Keosqe’s wrist.

“I wondered, since you allowed me to return … I’d like … I very much hope that you’ll take this back,” he stammered. “After all, it was a gift … my gift to you.”

Keosqe regarded the wristlet somberly. After an excruciating moment’s pause, he nodded and held out his hand. But he kept it palm up to indicate he would receive it, not have it placed around his wrist.

“Wouldn’t you like me to put it on you?” Tristen shyly asked.

Keosqe shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

Tristen frowned, his initial joy and elation abruptly fading. That did not sound

promising. He quietly placed the wristlet in Keosqe’s hand and watched regretfully as the noble tucked the piece into the breast pocket of his jerkin.

“Is there a reason you don’t wish to wear it?” he ventured to ask.

The ensuing silence rattled him and he had to stop himself from getting up and pacing around the room.

At length, Keosqe spoke in a nigh apologetic manner that spooked Tristen even more. “To wear it would signal an acceptance of courtship … or in our case, full reconciliation. I don’t think we should jump to that stage so quickly. I’m not ready to try again so soon.”

It was a blow. Tristen drew a deep breath and murmured, “You’re right, I should have realized it’s much too soon to renew commitment when we’ve barely started anew.”

Keosqe frowned. “Why should
I
? What need is there to renew something I did not end in the first place?” He exhaled with what sounded like annoyance. “Not even when we were apart did I turn to another in your stead. I certainly won’t do so now.”

He stood up abruptly and returned to his desk. Tristen stared at him in dismay as he realized what had been left unspoken.

But you might
.

He fought back the sting of tears. There it was. Keosqe had forgiven him. But he still did not trust him. What if he never did again? Tristen shakily got to his feet.

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you did anything wrong,” he mumbled. “I only … that is…” The painful tightness in his throat made it difficult to speak but he finally got out a raspy, “I’m so sorry,
Dyhar
. That was … presumptuous of me.”

Unable to look at Keosqe, he blindly made his way to the door. Keosqe caught him by the arm before he reached it however and he stood there, trying not to cry while he was still in the noble’s presence.

“Tris…” Keosqe sighed. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t mean it that way. What I said was uncalled for.”

Tristen swallowed past the lump in his throat. He forced himself to face Keosqe. “Nay. You were right to be offended. Who am I to broach something I had the gall to violate in the first place?”

Keosqe looked at him searchingly. After a pregnant pause, he reached up and gently ruffled Tristen’s hair in the way he had done long ago. When Tristen had been no more than the little brother of his first love. The thought that he had been relegated once again to the role of mere friend and confidante nearly crushed Tristen’s spirit, but he fought not to reveal his encroaching despair. He would not pressure Keosqe into taking him back when it was clear he had not regained the latter’s trust.

“I need more time,” Keosqe murmured.

Tristen tried to smile, failed, and settled for a crooked upward curve of his lips. “I’ll wait however long it takes,
Dyhar
,” he softly said. “I’ll accept whatever you’re willing to give me. Veres knows you don’t owe me anything.”

He did not give Keosqe a chance to respond lest he break down in front of him. Instead, he pulled away and, yanking the door open, hurried out of the study. To his combined relief and disappointment, Keosqe did not stop him again. He hastened down the hallway to his quarters.

Tristen entered his room and closed the door behind him. He leaned back against it, his raucous feelings sucking the will to move out of him. Despondent to the core, he let his gaze roam around the chamber until it fell on his writing desk.

A tall bottle stood on the desk. The small empty glass beside it showed evidence of having been filled with a bluish liquid.

Tristen straightened up and walked a little unsteadily to the desk. Picking up the bottle, he peered at its contents. The level of the liquid inside had dropped considerably. Not surprising considering he’d been imbibing
mirash
every other night or so since his return. But he had nothing thus far to show for it.

He sighed and dispiritedly bore the bottle back to his closet where he tucked it among his belongings. It appeared there was no need for the conception suppressor. Perhaps there never would be again.

The thought was enough to send his morale plummeting. His vision blurred and his cheeks slowly grew damp as he finally allowed himself to weep. Tristen wiped his eyes with his sleeve, but the tears spilled over relentlessly.

My fault, my penance
.

Nonetheless, a small part of his heart—a very small part—still held out hope. He had endured the lonely weeks in exile on hope alone however fragile. Tristen smoothed his hand over the bottle of
mirash
and decided he would continue taking it now and then. Just in case.

He closed the closet and made ready for the night. Clambering into his lonely bed, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. But there was no soothing away the harsh sobs that wracked his body or the remorse and anguish that threatened to rend his heart irreparably.

Chapter 21

Appeal

Riodan smiled when upon entering Eiren Sarvan’s consultation room at the Hospitallers’ center, he found Tristen on the premises as well. The youth was not merely visiting either but helping Eiren sort through patients’ records. The pair looked up as he approached them and warmly greeted him.

“Ah, are you an apprentice now?” Riodan asked Tristen.

“I will be next term.”

“My, how time flies. It seems like only yesterday I saw you in the market after classes.” Riodan shook his head and then addressed Eiren. “I’ve come as you requested.”

“It’s just a routine examination,” Eiren said, leading the way into the adjoining room. He motioned to Riodan to disrobe while he and Tristen washed their hands.

Riodan swiftly doffed his tunic, jerkin, and shirt and lay face down on the examination bed. He heard Tristen’s soft exclamation of shock. Used to such reactions by now, he turned to peer at the youth, saying, “Quite a mess, isn’t it?”

“Mess doesn’t begin to describe this,” Tristen muttered, running his fingers over the plethora of scars and melted flesh that crisscrossed Riodan’s back. “Verily, it’s a wonder you survived, Riodan-
dyhar
,” he added in awe. “However Master Sarvan told me the extent of your burns. Yet these scars aren’t as terrible as I’d anticipated, extensive though they are. The Asmaran healers must be very gifted. Or is it that they started treating your burns early enough?”

“They were there when the flames were put out,” Riodan replied. He glanced at Eiren. “He comprehended all that just from looking at the scars.”

Eiren smiled with no little amount of pride. “He’s very intelligent. And also observant.”

He and Tristen meticulously went over Riodan’s back. Eiren smiled with satisfaction when they were done.

“You’re completely healed, Rio,” he announced. “There are no signs of infection and the new skin is smooth and healthy-colored. With time, the scarring will diminish though I trust you’re aware they will never truly vanish.”

“I am,” Riodan said as he got up and started to dress. “And truth be told, I don’t mind so much now that I know Dylen doesn’t recoil from them.” He added shyly, “Indeed, he likes to show me how little they matter to him.”

Eiren chuckled. “Should I wish I were a fly on your wall when he does?”

Riodan softly laughed. “Nay, there are things that should remain private between lovers. Right, Tristen?”

To his surprise, Tristen flushed and his smile barely curved his mouth. “Shall I fetch Master Leyhar’s record?” he said to Eiren.

“Nay, we’re done here. But set aside a jar of skin ointment for him. I want you to continue applying it for another month,” he told Riodan. “Once a day will do, preferably in the morning.”

As Tristen left the room, Riodan looked questioningly at Eiren. The physician sighed and just shrugged.

They came out of the examination room in time to see Keosqe arrive. Eiren’s cousin grinned when he saw Riodan.

“Why are you here, Rio?” he said after the exchange of greetings. “No setbacks I hope?”

“Nay, only a follow-up examination.”

“Ah, that’s a relief. I wager you’d balk at being immured at home again.”

“How true. Being cooped up like that didn’t agree with me in the least. If not for Dylen’s constant attendance, I think I would have gone mad from the tedium.”

Keosqe chuckled. “I don’t blame you. Except I’d have driven everyone around me mad as well.” He turned to Tristen. “I came by to tell you that you needn’t wait up for me tonight.”

Tristen looked disappointed, but he only murmured, “I’ll inform the staff then.”

Riodan regarded him wonderingly. There was none of the spark he’d come to associate with the spirited youth.

Eiren asked, “Another meeting?”

“With Rohyr and Gilmael.” Keosqe glanced at Riodan. “Your information has proved most helpful to us. I only wish you didn’t have to pay such a high price for it.”

Riodan shrugged. “The wages of duty.”

“True.” Keosqe bade them farewell and made to leave.

Tristen suddenly blurted, “
Dyhar?”
His use of the honorific caused Riodan to stare at him in surprise.

Keosqe looked at the lad inquiringly, which had the effect of bringing color into Tristen’s cheeks. But it was not the rosy hue of a response to a lover’s appreciative regard. Rather it was a dark stain that bespoke embarrassment at detaining someone who was clearly in haste.

“Um, shall I have the cook prepare a late meal for you?” he asked too timidly for Riodan’s comfort.

“No need. I’ll dine with Rohyr and the others.”

Tristen bit his lip and nodded. “Very well, my lord,” he all but whispered.

Riodan incredulously took in the whole exchange. He dropped his gaze to Keosqe’s left wrist. There was no sign of the wristlet he had helped Tristen select. Not even so much as a bump under Keosqe’s sleeve to suggest it was merely hidden.