Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (9 page)

“Why couldn’t you wed him anyway?” he asked. “It isn’t as if our class marries for love alone. Indeed, love matches are the exception to the point, aren’t they? I mean, my parents were fond of each other, but I knew theirs was an arranged marriage.”

Keosqe wanly smiled. “I didn’t decline to marry Avasel because I didn’t love him. Rather I didn’t care to make him suffer through unrequited love the way I had.”

“He cared for you then?”

“Unfortunately.”

“What a way to put it!”

“How else should I put it?” Keosqe shook his head. “I mayn’t have loved him back, but I did care enough not to wish to hurt him in the long run. I already knew what it was like to pine for something that could never be mine. Why inflict the same misery on someone else if I could prevent it from happening?”

“He was hurt nonetheless.”

“And I’ve never ceased to regret that. But I thought it better to break his heart and leave him free to find someone worthier of him than entrap him in a loveless union with no means to soothe that broken heart. You do realize adultery is completely out of the question for a ruling Deir’s consort. Few, if any, have the strength or resources to surmount the consequences of taking so ruinous a path.”

Tristen reconsidered his stand. Keosqe behaved so familiarly toward him with none of the airs of a highborn aristocrat that he’d forgotten the noble was a Herun’s heir and would one day rule one of Ylandre’s major fiefs.

“You believed you were doing what was right for him,” he grudgingly concurred. “I have no right to judge you for that. I do hope you won’t do it again. Break someone’s heart, I mean.”

Keosqe grinned. “If anyone’s heart is going to be broken again, it will be mine. So have a care how you handle it, Tris-
min
. I’m not as strong as you think and indeed I can be quite fragile inside.”

Tristen gaped. “What-what are you suggesting?” he sputtered. “Handle it? Why should I—? Really,
Dyhar
, you say the most outrageous things!”

Feeling his face heat up, he quickened his pace.

“And once more I am chastised with formality,” Keosqe said with a chuckle. “Ah, when will I learn? And where do you think you’re going?” He gently yanked Tristen back with a tug on his collar. “I assure you the house hasn’t budged from its place since you left it this morn.”

Tristen realized he’d gone right past their street in his haste. Red-faced, he spun on his heel and, brushing past Keosqe, turned around the corner. His face felt hot all the way to his ears and down to his throat. He hurried ahead, fuming at having been reduced to near incoherence.

* * * *

The months passed swiftly as did Tristen’s days at university. Or so it seemed. With his schedule packed with his studies and various school activities, Tristen would pay scant notice to the transition from day to night, oft looking up from his books or projects in surprise to find the sun lowering and dusk creeping up. Such was the life of a medical student. Insofar as his often hectic pace, he was not much different from Keosqe now.

The noble indulged himself with an occasional break from his work, but that was only when no pressing matters called for his attention. Or when Rohyr did not require his attendance at court. Thus, though they lived together, they did not always have much time to spend with each other. If they did, it was on evenings when both were fortuitously home early or during week’s end, if neither had obligations to tend to.

It was just as well, Tristen declared to himself repeatedly. Best he kept a safe distance. He never knew when keeping company with his host would rouse sensations he preferred not to acknowledge, much less accept.

* * * *

The rhythm of their lives was slightly disrupted the following summer. Indeed, all of Ylandre’s folk seemed to stop whatever they were doing. But then the marriage of a monarch who appeared set on being a perpetual bachelor was far more interesting than the daily routines of life. Particularly since said monarch had resisted wedlock on the strength of his liaison with his longtime concubine.

Tristen immediately noticed Keosqe’s disapproval of Rohyr’s handfasting to another of the Essendris’ many cousins—Tyrde Kardova, Herun of Anju, the youngest son of Rohyr’s Uncle Imcael of Qimaras. Actually it was quite hard to ignore Keosqe’s dislike for both the marriage and Rohyr’s new consort.

If he came home from the Citadel in a bad temper, it was more oft than not because he had encountered Tyrde or perforce dealt with tracking the Ardis’ many engagements. Unwilling to prolong Keosqe’s dark moods and mar what little convivial time they had together, Tristen desisted from questioning him about the state of affairs at the Citadel.

Veare, however, had no compunction about discovering all the gossip in Rikara when he arrived a few months later to visit Tristen as well as purchase goods not available back in Sidona. His first evening in residence, he made sure conversation eventually came to center around Rohyr’s marriage.

It was no love match, arranged as it was by Imcael who’d maneuvered to gain the Ardis’s coronet for his youngest son. That much Tristen and any Deir who paid close attention to the goings-on at court knew. And this early there was already talk of a rift between Rohyr and his consort.

Remembering his one encounter with Rohyr’s beauteous leman, Tristen wondered how Lassen was taking his lover’s marriage. It must be excruciating for him, he thought with pity. Memories of Rohyr’s obvious fondness for his concubine reminded him that the pain might not be wholly on one side.

Tristen grimaced as he thought of the vagaries of life as a ruler of a powerful kingdom. With the luxuries and entitlements came endless duty and sacrifice. He was suddenly glad for his lesser status and the freedom to direct his future according to his personal wishes.

They had retired to Keosqe’s study for post-prandial wine and talk. Tristen veered between settling himself beside his brother on the couch beneath the window and sitting on one of the flanking chairs. When Keosqe took a chair, Tristen decided to sit by Veare. Knowing Keosqe, Tristen did not trust the noble to desist from teasing him to distraction. Even less did he care for his expression to be fully visible.

A hint of a blush or the beginnings of a mulish expression were enough to spur Keosqe to provoke Tristen into high dudgeon. Tristen knew it was all done out of affection and did not hold any real anger for his host beyond his initial displays of indignation. But his personal reactions to the teasing had grown increasingly erratic and Tristen did not want anyone to get as much as a whiff of his conflicted feelings.

It would be the height of mortification to be deemed a lovesick pup, which he definitely was
not.

“I hear the new Ardis is quite a beauty,” Veare said as he sipped his wine. “Rohyr must count himself fortunate to have gained so comely a consort.”

“He’s lovely enough,” Keosqe replied. “But Tyrde’s beauty means naught if his attitude leaves much to be desired.”

“His attitude?”

“It’s obvious he relishes his elevation to power and would wield it without compunction if Rohyr allowed him to.”

“Well, he is Ardis. It is his privilege.”

“But with privilege comes responsibility. Tyrde desires one without the other.”

“Another case of entitlement then.”

Tristen caught his breath when the others looked at him. He’d voiced his thoughts without realizing it.

“Yes,” Keosqe quietly replied. “Another one.”

While Veare looked on in puzzlement, Tristen flushed under Keosqe’s regard. He really had to guard his tongue.

“I heard Lassen Idana is weathering his demotion well,” he said, partly in an effort to turn attention away from himself, but also out of sympathy for Rohyr’s leman.

Keosqe shook his head. “It may appear he has taken a step down but in truth, Lassen remains as high in Rohyr’s esteem as ever.”

“And yours?”

“All those who see true worth deem him so.”

“That is good. I wondered if the change in his circumstances would likewise alter others’ treatment of him.”

“Oh, there have been some who have done so. But as they aspire to greater influence at court through Tyrde, it’s hardly unexpected that they would fawn over him and try to drag his rival down a peg or two.”

Tristen rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand why folk get into a pother over such inconsequential matters.”

Keosqe let out a disbelieving huff. “Inconsequential? When such matters can mean the difference between life and death, they’re hardly inconsequential.”

“I don’t mean the problems you and the Ardan contend with,” Tristen explained. “It’s all the ridiculous backbiting and people clawing their way to the top of Veres knows what and using connections to amass wealth and upstarts trying to hide their pasts in order to enter society. It isn’t even as if they’re starving or about to be evicted from their homes or stripped of their birthrights. I just don’t understand why folk waste all their time and efforts on such dubious undertakings when there are so many more worthy causes to tend to. Why can’t they be content with what they are and have considering the vast majority who have so much less?”

While Veare gaped at him in obvious shock, Keosqe regarded him with apparent delight. Tristen blushed under that surprising show of approval and cursed his too-loose tongue. Whatever had possessed him to speak up like that?

“Saints above!” Veare exclaimed in a tone that showed he did not share Keosqe’s sentiment regarding Tristen’s outburst. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Tris. Why, that would be enough to get you ostracized in certain circles.”

Tristen bristled. Unable to stem his irritation, he said, “Then I don’t care to be part of those circles. Veres almighty, if I can’t speak my mind here with two people I trust completely, where can I? And when did you become such a milksop, Ver?
Aba
may have yearned to be accepted once more into society, but he didn’t lower himself to the dregs to do so.”

“Are you saying I did?” Veare snapped.

“If the shoe fits!” Tristen answered before he could consider the consequences of his words.

“How dare you!” Veare shouted, all but forgetting Keosqe’s presence. “I took care of you after
Aba
and
Adda
died and made the effort to find myself a spouse who would see to our needs and this is how you repay me for my pains?”

Tristen nearly retorted that Veare’s union with Narion had not been altruistic in origin, but rather a convenient answer to his brother’s desire to regain his former station in society. Not to mention there
had
been a far more worthy Deir for Veare’s purposes, had he only been willing to accept the responsibilities that came with the match.

However, he noticed Keosqe looking at him, a warning in his eyes. Unsure whether the noble was cautioning him to choose his words or censuring him for speaking thusly to Veare, Tristen bit back his reply.

His cheeks now hot with embarrassment, he stood up and turned to address his brother. “I didn’t intend to demean you, Ver. It just came out that way and for that I apologize. I
am
grateful for everything you did for me after
Aba
and
Adda
died; I hope you know that. I just…” Tristen struggled to find the right thing to say—no mean feat under Veare’s baleful stare and Keosqe’s seemingly reproachful gaze. At last, he simply said, “Nay, there’s no excuse for my rudeness. I’m really sorry.” When his brother did not relent, he softly added, “You say you love Narion and maybe you do. I only wish you loved him for the right reasons.” Before Veare could respond, he glanced at Keosqe, his heart heavy that the noble appeared to have sided with his brother. “I’m sorry for making a frightful mess of the evening,
Dyhar
. I’d best leave you two in peace. Goodnight.”

He hurried out of the study, resisting the impulse to look back. As he stepped out of the room, he heard Veare testily ask, “What in Aisen did he mean about me and Narion? What right reason?”

Keosqe sighed. “He loves you. He only wants the best for you.”

“He thinks I settled?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you?”

“It isn’t my place to say.”

“But you do.’

“Ver…”

“I love Narion. That he can give me anything I desire has naught to do with it!”

There was an awkward pause. At length, Keosqe quietly said, “If that is what you believe, then it is so. I’ve never spoken against Narion or questioned your motives and I never will. So set your mind at rest if that is your fear.”

Veare expelled an exasperated huff. “I don’t understand Tristen at all. He’s changed so much.”

“Nay, he’s always been different. And he’s grown much since coming here.”

“I suppose so. But he’s never spoken thusly to me before!”

“It’s not wholly unexpected. He has a mind of his own. I wager he’s only lately learned to express his feelings to you. After all, you were so busy taking care of your family’s affairs after your parents died, I imagine he kept out of your way so as not to burden you further.”

“Are you saying I should forgive him for that deplorable display?”

“Are you saying you won’t?”

Veare snorted. He sounded rather amused to Tristen. “Of course I will. Well … after he’s had time to repent his behavior.”

Tristen swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat. His eyes started to burn from a riot of emotions—frustration with his brother, regret over his behavior, and humiliation at having been shamed in front of Keosqe. Feeling the first spill of tears from his eyes, he hastened to his room.

He flung himself on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. He would not cry. He was no child to weep over so trivial a matter. The salty moisture that dampened his pillow gave the lie to his intentions. He shuddered as one memory of the confrontation after another flashed through his mind.

Strangely enough, though his brother’s obtuseness irked him and his rare anger stung, neither matched the pain of the moment when Keosqe sided with Veare against him. Tristen could not forget the expression on the noble’s face. With one sharp glare, he’d compelled Tristen to stand down and apologize to Veare.