Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (8 page)

For some reason, his answer disappointed Tristen. Which only served to annoy the youth even more. What exactly had he been expecting Keosqe to say?

“Next year then,” he pressed on. “What would you like?”

“Really, Tris-
min
, I don’t expect you to give me anything.” Tristen started to scowl whereupon Keosqe hastily added, “But I would like it very much if you spent my begetting days with me. I truly enjoy your company,” he said when Tristen would have protested. “I feel more relaxed with you.”

Tristen sat back, mollified. “Well, if that’s what you want…”

“It is,” Keosqe assured him. “At least, until you’re old enough for what I
really
want.”

He laughed when Tristen snatched up a pillow and heaved it at him.

Tristen jumped to his feet and stomped out of the room, Keosqe’s mirth still ringing in his ears. But as he strode down the corridor to his apartment, he started to calm down and his pace slowed. By the time he reached his door, he had gone from indignant to confused.

Why did he react that way when he knew Keosqe was only teasing? And why for Veres’ sake had that disappointed him?

Tristen sighed and entered his apartment. How in Aisen was he going to survive the next several years in daily company with the Deir who could set his heart racing with just a word or a look or a maddening, infuriatingly attractive smile?

Chapter 5

Addled

By the middle of the following year, Tristen felt as if he had lived in Rikara forever. And his childhood years in Sidona had faded to mere, sometimes vague impressions.

It was not that he had a bad memory. But life in the company of Keosqe Deilen was so vivid, so intensely memorable, it tended to crowd out less powerful recollections. When he thought about it, he realized the only memories that could stand up to the vibrancy of his present circumstances were his family’s removal to a more modest residence outside of the city of Nivare and his parents’ deaths a few years later. Everything before these events, he had been too young to commit to memory. And the years after had been one big blur of learning to move on from tragedy, trying to make ends meet, putting up with Veare’s search for a suitable match for himself, and discovering his healing abilities.

This last had crept up so slowly on Tristen he could not remember the exact moment he’d realized he was gifted. What stood out most in his memory was the day a neighbor broke a leg when he fell in the middle of harvesting cranapples from a particularly tall tree. In the process of trying to help the town healer set the fractured bone and splint it, Tristen’s ability to alleviate pain awakened, induced no doubt by intense pity for the patient, an elderly Deir.

Prior to this event, he had already learned he could sense when someone was not quite well and he could hasten the healing of minor wounds by laying his hand on the spot and willing the bleeding to stop and the injury to mend. So he’d known he was a born healer. What he’d never expected was to be blessed with the rare and welcome skill of palliation. Indeed, Eiren Sarvan deemed his gift invaluable, rating it the equal of other skills such as the ability to mend severe injuries and cure or minimize serious illnesses.

The physician reiterated his pleasure over the matter to Keosqe when the latter came by the University to walk home with Tristen. It was almost the end of the summer session; the streets were neither strewn with snowdrifts and icy patches nor awash in mud and puddles. Therefore walking posed no problems to wardrobes and footwear. It was an easy form of exercise as well and Keosqe liked to take advantage of the pleasant weather.

“I wish more healers were born with the gift of palliation,” Eiren said as he saw his cousin and future apprentice to the medical college’s main entrance. As Ylandre’s foremost healer, Eiren was sometimes invited to speak to the medical students and conduct a class every once in a while. “The alleviation of pain plays a crucial role in ensuring a patient’s recovery. Thank Veres Tristen is blessed with that particular gift. Can you imagine the good it would do on the battlefield? Or after some horrendous accident? And then there are the young ones. I do hate to see them suffer overmuch.”

Tristen beamed at Eiren. He did not mistake Eiren’s words for praise of himself but rather appreciation of his particular talent. Therefore he was simply happy to be one of the few to have been so gifted.

Keosqe smiled. “I’m very glad for both of you.” He regarded Tristen fondly and also with a touch of curiosity. “I wonder though how he came to bear it. His family has no history of the healing gift, Ren.”

Eiren shrugged. “Perhaps not amongst his immediate forebears. It’s possible one of his ancestors was a healer.”

“But as far as I know, there are no physicians amongst my ancestors,” Tristen said. “Neither on my
aba
’s side nor my
adda
’s.”

“Precisely. As far as
you
know,” Eiren pointed out. “Not all healers are encouraged or allowed to take up the vocation. My parents tried to dissuade me. Not that they could be blamed. My sire knew what it was like to have a physician for a parent and he didn’t want that life for my children in turn.”

“Obviously you didn’t listen to them,” Keosqe said.

“Obviously. And fortunately for Ylandre no one tried to hinder Tris-
min
either.”

Tristen snorted. “My brother doesn’t really think about such matters. I said I wanted to train to be a physician and he didn’t question me in the least.”

Eiren’s eyebrows lifted in some amazement. “He didn’t? Quite negligent of him, I must say. Fortuitous for the kingdom but negligent just the same.”

Keosqe shook his head. “Say rather too absorbed in his own affairs to examine Tristen’s closely.”

“Really? Then how is it that you remain so attracted to him, cousin?”

“Habit,” Tristen muttered before Keosqe could respond.

Eiren looked at him questioningly. “I beg your pardon?”

Tristen glanced apologetically at a slightly abashed Keosqe, but nevertheless replied. “Kes-
tyar
finds it difficult to break bad habits.”

Eiren stared at him and then at Keosqe. “Does he now? Interesting.”

“Let us go, Tris,” Keosqe interrupted, his cheeks a tad rosy. “I’m meeting the family solicitor at home this afternoon.”

He rolled his eyes when Eiren smirked and exchanged an amused glance with Tristen.

Despite Keosqe’s request for haste, they took their time traversing the four blocks to their street. As they walked, he did not talk much, speaking only when they encountered acquaintances along the way. It seemed the noble did not like his single-minded devotion to Veare to be questioned or called by any other name. Tristen stifled a grin as he remembered Keosqe’s earlier discomfiture. Uncharacteristic of the usually assured noble.

They were almost at the district’s main intersection when someone hailed Keosqe from across the street, addressing him by his first name alone. Tristen looked at the Deir who was apparently familiar enough with Keosqe he could dispense with the customary honorific. He was fawn-haired and blue-eyed and quite comely. Furthermore, he dressed and carried himself with the air of an aristocrat.

When the Deir crossed the street toward them, Tristen looked at Keosqe, wondering at the noble’s lack of an immediate vocal response. To his surprise, Keosqe appeared tense and the smile he bestowed on the Deir seemed strained.

“It’s been a while, Avasel,” he murmured when the Deir reached them.

“A very long while,” Avasel agreed. He spared a curious glance for Tristen.

“This is Tristen,” Keosqe said. “He’s studying medicine at the University.”

“Your ward?”

“Nay, a houseguest.”

Avasel stared at him. “You take in students now? How generous of you.” He unexpectedly smirked. “Or do they repay you eventually?”

“Tristen is the brother of one of my closest friends,” Keosqe replied, his voice a shade cooler and reproving as well.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to give offense,” Avasel easily apologized.

Tristen looked from Keosqe to Avasel in some puzzlement over their exchange. And then it occurred to him what Avasel had insinuated and he felt his face flush in some indignation. Still, it was not his place to put Keosqe’s friends in theirs and he held back the biting remark that itched to escape his lips.

“Are you in Rikara for business or pleasure?” Keosqe asked.

“Business,” Avasel answered. “My spouse is selling an old piece of property in the east district and I promised to help him negotiate the sale.”

“Your spouse? When did you wed?”

“Three years ago. He’s gentry, but he counts bluebloods amongst his relations. And his family is old and very respectable.”

“Congratulations on making so desirable a match.”

“My thanks, Kes. But I take it you’re still footloose and fancy free?”

Keosqe shrugged. “Alas, I haven’t found anyone willing to suffer through wedlock with me.”

Avasel tilted his head and looked at him with a slight frown. “Odd that you should say that,” he remarked. “I swear there was one at least who was willing enough. Or have you forgotten?”

Keosqe bit his lips and then shook his head. To Tristen’s amazement, he laid a hand on the other Deir’s shoulder and squeezed it in what seemed to be an apologetic manner.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he softly said. “Indeed, I will always rue my actions then.”

Avasel gazed at him long and searchingly. “Your actions, but not your decision,” he said at last. “I suppose it was for the best in the end.”

“Will my lamentable behavior ever be forgiven?”

“Hmm, I suppose it will come eventually.” Avasel stepped back, his mouth curved in a crooked smile. “I must be on my way. My spouse awaits me. A good day to you, Kes.” He dipped his chin to Tristen. “And it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,
Dyhar
,” Tristen responded, instinct telling him the Deir was not only his senior in age, but also in social rank.

Avasel nodded once and turned back to re-cross the street and go on his way. Tristen heard Keosqe let out a little exhalation. He looked at the noble and noted a certain sadness in his expression.

“Who is he that you were troubled just by seeing him?” he quietly asked.

Keosqe did not answer at once. Instead, he started to walk once more, motioning to Tristen to keep up.

At length, he said, “I nearly betrothed myself to him once upon a time.”

Tristen stared. “Betrothed?” he repeated incredulously. “But I thought…” He tried not to let the unexpected hurt from the revelation show. “So you managed to fall in love with someone else after all,” he said, allowing some sarcasm into his tone.

“Nay, though I did try to.” Keosqe shook his head. “As you can see, I failed.”

They turned down the street leading to the most exclusive enclave of homes in the district. Tristen wondered whether he could question Keosqe further, but decided to wait for the noble to open up in his own time. Obviously, the circumstances pertaining to the near betrothal had greatly affected him such that to this day he was uneasy with the Deir he had almost wed.

“After I realized I would never have Veare, I tried to get on with my life,” Keosqe suddenly said. “Whatever my feelings, I had to do my duty. Wed, beget heirs, support my sire in his rule of Sidona … Rohyr hadn’t yet asked me to head a Ministry and so when I came to Rikara, I was free to do as I wished.” He smiled bitterly. “Actually, I had too much time on my hands. I couldn’t stop thinking about your brother and the few nights we’d shared. Needless to say, I was very lonely and in great need of assurance that I was desirable. I confess, Veare’s lack of interest in me other than as a friend hurt my pride as well.”

“And your confidence?” Tristen softly asked.

“That especially.” Keosqe’s smile faded. “It was then that I met Avasel. He’s from Glanthar and a baron’s heir too. He’d come to Rikara for a season. We oft crossed paths as a result and eventually became quite close.”

How close?
Tristen sourly wondered.

His expression apparently betrayed his thoughts for Keosqe added, “He was the first Deir I bedded after Veare. I fear I left him unable to sit down comfortably for a day or two.”

Tristen rolled his eyes. He had not needed to know that detail! “It must have been a relief to know your libido was still intact,” he muttered.

“Actually, yes,” Keosqe unexpectedly replied. “I’d worried that perhaps my grief would render me unable to be intimate with others. That would have been disastrous for the perpetuation of my family’s line. Not to mention my personal well-being. Too much grief can erode a fellow’s soul.”

About to say something snide, Tristen changed his mind and shut his mouth. Keosqe was right. He could remember the dark days after his parents’ passing. Missing them, yearning for one more greeting, one last touch, his father’s gentle eyes, his sire’s soft laughter. A half-year of such unrelenting sorrow had proved almost too much to bear. He could not imagine enduring the suffocating sadness for much longer than that.

“You must have come to care for him very much,” he murmured.

“I did,” Keosqe said. “But not the same way I care for Veare. I tried to feel more for him though. I wanted to, if only to rid myself of my longing.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t force myself to love him any more than Veare could make himself love me.”

“Still, you proposed to him.”

“Nay, it was he who broached the betrothal. Avasel thought I wanted marriage as much as he and, yes, I did. Except it was not with him much as I tried to make it so. My error lay in not being upfront with him about my misgivings. Instead I led him to believe that I’d agreed to it. It was unwitting on my part, but that’s no excuse for the humiliation it caused him.”

“Humiliation?” Tristen caught his breath. “Oh.”

Avasel must have announced they were affianced to family and friends. He could imagine the hurt and confusion that followed. Frankly, he preferred not to. Tristen did not like the thought of anyone being shamed before others especially if one had not done anything wrong to bring it upon one’s self. There was one puzzling point however.