Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (7 page)

He reminded himself once more not to give in to the impulse to bolt when they entered the Citadel and attendants immediately converged on them to take their summer capes, carrying the garments for them as the two made their way to the upper levels of the keep. He wondered if he would ever be used to being waited on in this manner. Particularly when the subservience stemmed entirely from his being in company with Keosqe.

Not every visitor to the royal keep was met at the door and served in the same way, not even fellow fief-lords and their families. The automatic deference was reserved solely for the Ardan’s kin and those of his courtiers who were part of his circle of intimates.

Tristen thought the Citadel retainers must have very good memories for them to remember who belonged and who did not. He certainly did not think he could.

They proceeded to one of the Citadel’s informal audience chambers. Along the way, retainers and lesser ranking folk bowed their heads to Keosqe and, by dint of his association with the noble, Tristen as well. That made him very uncomfortable.

It was not that he disliked the attention or service. On the contrary, though he could do without the former, he rather enjoyed the latter. But he cared little for the trappings of wealth and popularity and tended toward simplicity and prudence. His change of residence and circumstances put an end to his old way of life and compelled him to modify his attitudes and behavior accordingly.

He’d learned to be gracious about the service done him by the Deilen household staff. And he’d discovered a liking for the comforts and amenities wealth could provide. But he’d also perforce surrendered a portion of his privacy—he could not expect to be efficiently waited on if he kept the servants at bay or refused to divulge his basic aversions and preferences to them. Furthermore, by accepting Keosqe’s hospitality, he felt obliged to return the favor by giving in to his host’s requests every now and then.

What he’d never expected was to attend any gathering of the select group of Deira the Ardan of Ylandre trusted above all others. Hence his shock when an invitation to Keosqe to come to the Citadel for dinner had been extended to him as well.

“Of course he invited you,” Keosqe said, as if it was of no consequence. “Rohyr knows you’re my guest.”

“Well, you mayn’t find it special, but I’ve never been to the Citadel before,” Tristen retorted. “I’ve never even seen the Ardan in person. Is he as frightening as some say?”

Keosqe snorted. “Rohyr? Frightening?” He shook his head. “I suppose if one has something that needs hiding or has done an ill deed, yes, he can be intimidating. But my cousin isn’t cruel. Nor is he cold or harsh save if he sits in judgment. And his leman is the warmest, kindest person you could ever hope to meet. I think you’ll like Lassen Idana very much. Certainly we all do.”

Tristen digested the information and took a little comfort from it. “What’s the occasion? What am I expected to do there?”

“There’s no occasion,” Keosqe said. “Rohyr likes it when we visit and oft asks us over simply for our company. That’s all you’re expected to do—be good company.”

Tristen gulped. That was easier said than done when one had not lived his life at such rarified heights.

“So what should I wear?” he asked. “Court dress?”

“It’s no formal affair. Just wear whatever you wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in when you go out. Really, your anxiety is misplaced.”

“But of course,” Tristen muttered. “How silly of me to worry about meeting the Ardan himself!”

Keosqe chuckled. “Believe me, Rohyr cares little about such things. If only protocol allowed it, he’d hold audience in shirtsleeves on hot days.”

Despite Keosqe’s assurances, Tristen thought of declining. But Keosqe would have none of it and so here he was trying to keep up with the noble lest he lost his way. The Citadel’s corridors might not be labyrinthian, but there were many of them and most were quite alike. It would not be difficult to turn the wrong way and wind up far from one’s destination.

The chamber they entered was blessedly cool, but Keosqe and the other guests shed their tunics and gloves nonetheless. Not wanting to stand out, Tristen followed their examples. Besides, as Keosqe had said, the gathering was very informal and intimate.

Only those of Rohyr’s cousins who were in town were present. Tristen already knew Lord Keiran Arthanna who was one of his university instructors. He also recognized the royal Chief Counsellor’s son Rysander Seydon and the Mithani brothers Aeldan and Ashrian. They’d brought a guest with them—their cousin Halbreth Seere, Keosqe told him. Halbreth oversaw his family’s estate in South Vihandra and only returned to Ylandre when his presence was needed.

All were clad in simple tunics and jerkins albeit the garments were of fine linen or costly silk. This was a moneyed set, Tristen noted as he watched Rysander and the Mithanis peel off their expensive riding gloves and lay them on the dining table. But apart from their attire, Keosqe’s relations were surprisingly unassuming in their appearances. And like Keosqe, they did not act all high and mighty. Indeed, once the food and drink were brought in, the servants were dismissed and everybody helped themselves to whatever they liked.

“Rohyr tries to keep himself grounded,” Keosqe had explained on the way to the Citadel. Tristen fully believed him when he came face to face with the Ardan.

There was none of the hauteur he’d expected of a monarch in Rohyr’s manner. He bantered and exchanged many a playful swipe or poke with the others. Furthermore, he neither called attention to the sheer beauty of his features or near perfection of his form nor did he flaunt his royal prerogative. Clad in a plain jerkin, thin cotton shirt and old breeches, he could have passed as a mere aristocrat if not for his white silver earring adorned with a small but perfect adamant, the emblematic stone of royalty.

On the other hand his
sedyran
leman, Lassen Idana, stood out amongst the group for completely different reasons. It was not only the way he styled his hair—the gold tresses reached past his shoulders and were held back by delicate braids above his ears. It was also in his demeanor; he was warm and cordial but lacked the forcefulness of the others. And he was quite reserved, though capable of indulging in repartee of the earthiest kind. Most of all, he seldom strayed far from Rohyr’s side and when he did, it was never long before Rohyr summoned him back or sauntered over to join him.

They easily drew attention when they were together. Rohyr’s sable locks were a striking contrast to Lassen’s fair hair. The same could be said for their features—Lassen’s ethereality and almost delicate profile gave him an air of innocence that was at variance with the knowing gleam in Rohyr’s slate gray eyes and the occasionally sardonic slant of his mouth when he smiled. They were a beauteous couple by any standard.

Tristen quickly discerned the depth of Rohyr’s desire for his concubine’s company as well as the strength of Lassen’s sense of duty to his royal lover. Nay, not duty alone, he thought as he observed them. Perhaps not duty at all.

When Rohyr bade them to join him at the long meal table, Keosqe sat Tristen down beside him to keep the youth at ease. It further helped when Keiran sat at Tristen’s other side.

“Kes told us Eiren offered to take you as an apprentice when you’re done with your course,” Keiran said as he passed Tristen a dish of spicy braised roehart.

“Well, he said he would when Keosqe-
tyar
introduced us,” Tristen replied. “I hope he holds to it.”

“He will,” Ashrian said from across the table. “Eiren doesn’t make promises lightly. You’re very fortunate he’s willing to take you on.”

Tristen smiled, much heartened by the assurance. “I know I am.”

His smile turned into a scowl, however, when Keosqe archly interjected, “You’re very welcome, Tris-
min
. And I’m sure you’ll come up with a satisfying way to thank me.”

“The swamplands of Asmara will dry up first,
Dyhar
!” he tartly retorted.

The others guffawed at his response. Smirking, Aeldan remarked, “As I live and breathe, you must be the first Deir who’s ever talked thusly to Kes!”

“He is,” Keosqe confirmed. “Hardly a day passes that we don’t spar on some matter or other.”

Tristen flushed. He dropped his gaze to his plate. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he mumbled.

Keosqe chuckled and ruffled his hair, which only made him flush deeper. “Rest you, I’m not offended in the least. If anything, I’m pleased at how lively it is around the house these days.”

“I can imagine,” Rohyr said with a grin. “You’re very brave, Tristen Marante. I commend you.”

Tristen wondered if his face could get any hotter. He’d never expected to be addressed so familiarly by the king himself. Thankfully, Rohyr seemed to sense his discomfiture for he turned his attention to Keosqe. He gestured to the Lydani kidskin-lined gloves to the right of Keosqe’s plate.

“And I see you’re using the gloves Las and I sent you,” he said.

Keosqe smiled and smoothed his fingers over the gloves. “I am indeed. They’re the finest riding gloves I’ve ever worn. Thank you.”

Rohyr glanced at Lassen who was seated beside him. “Thank Las,” he said, slipping his hand under his leman’s long tresses to caress his nape. “It was he who chose them.”

“Did he?” Keosqe nodded his thanks at Lassen. “Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve always had impeccable taste.”

Lassen dimpled in pleasure. “You flatter me, Kes. But I’m glad you like them.”

“Then what about the tunic Reijir and I got you?” Keiran interjected. “It’s perfect for summer. We had it imported all the way from Qindala, I’ll have you know.”

“I’ve worn it,” Keosqe replied. “You’d scold me without cease if I didn’t. Do tell your brother I appreciate his taste. Yours too, of course!” he hastily added when Keiran’s eyebrows rose alarmingly. “And, yes, the Myaren counterpane is much appreciated,” he addressed Rysander. “You can tell your parents it now graces my bed.”

“I hope you don’t mind the embroidery,” Rysander said with a grin. “I told
Adda
it was much too elaborate, but he insisted on it.”

“Well, having my seal blazoned on my beddings is a bit much, but the counterpane itself is exquisite,” Keosqe assured him.

The puzzlement on Halbreth’s face cleared and he said, “Was it your begetting day recently?”

“Indeed, it was,” Aeldan answered for Keosqe. “Just three days past.”

“Ah, so that’s why you and Ash put together that hamper of Hamaldin goods,” Halbreth commented. “You should have told me, Dan. Do you like Asmaran rum?” he asked Keosqe. “I’ll send you several bottles if you do.”

“Who doesn’t like the finest rum in all of Aisen?” Keosqe replied. “My thanks, Hal.”

* * * *

It was late when they emerged from the keep. Tristen itched to question Keosqe about his reticence regarding his begetting day. But as they rode with his cousins all the way to the north district, Tristen perforce held his tongue. He kept a tight rein on his impatience when Rysander conversed at length with Keosqe in front of the Deilen residence before taking his leave and going on to the Seydon townhouse just a block down the street.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your begetting day?” Tristen asked as soon as they entered the house.

Keosqe led the way up the stairs to the second level. “I didn’t want you to think I was hinting at a gift from you,” he said with a shrug. After a moment’s pause, he added, “Besides, I thought Veare would inform you. Obviously, he didn’t.”

A little ashamed on his brother’s behalf, Tristen sighed. “And he didn’t write to greet you either, did he? Ah, he can be so inconsiderate.”

There was another noticeable pause before Keosqe replied. “He was probably just distracted by his duties.”

“Oh stuff it, Keosqe-
tyar
,” Tristen said reprovingly. “You always make excuses for him. Small wonder he takes you for granted.”

“Perhaps,” Keosqe allowed with a small smile.

Tristen snorted at his reluctance to criticize Veare. Even when there was basis for the criticism. “Well,
I
should like to—”

He suddenly realized he had followed Keosqe to his apartment and entered it after the noble. He came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sitting room, eyes wide and mouth open in dismay and embarrassment.

This was the first time he had ever entered Keosqe’s suite and he had done so without asking leave. Before he realized what he was doing, he scanned the sumptuously furnished room and quickly noticed the door to the bedchamber was open, offering him a glimpse of the large four-poster bed within, its covers already turned down for the night.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice,” he stammered. He started to turn around and head for the door.

Keosqe caught him by the elbow and said, “What are you apologizing for? Have a seat.” He walked to the couch fronting the fireplace and, sitting down, gestured to Tristen to do likewise. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“But I shouldn’t have…” Tristen started to protest.

Keosqe smoothly cut in. “You meant no harm. Now what were you saying?”

Tristen blew his breath out. Keosqe was right. His intrusion was not deliberate and he did want to finish the conversation. He sat down, taking care to keep a decent distance apart from Keosqe. There was something much too intimate about being alone with him in his sitting room as opposed to the study or one of the parlors. Likely it was because Tristen was all too aware the bedchamber was just on the other side of the wall.

“I still want to give you something,” he explained. “For your begetting day even if it’s late. But I don’t know what you could possibly lack.”

Keosqe seemed to consider the matter. He looked at Tristen, a hint of a smirk curving his mouth. “Yes, you do,” he said, a trace of huskiness in his voice.

Tristen stared at him in bafflement. And then comprehension struck and heat rushed into his cheeks. His mouth tightened.

“Surely you jest,” he muttered. “I’m much too young for what you have in mind.”

Keosqe chuckled. “Yes, such a pity. But rest you, I was only teasing.”