Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (11 page)

“You mean to say it stayed upright?” Keosqe said with a delighted grin.

“Stiff as a pole!” Tristen exclaimed vexedly. “I have no idea what I did that caused it to lock into that position. I tried to push it down and it simply wouldn’t. So I looked to the instructor for help but, a pox on him, he had the temerity to say, ‘I stand corrected. Apparently, Tristen is gifted in more ways than one.’
Heyas
, I’ve never been so embarrassed before!”

For a few heartbeats, Keosqe stared at him. And then his lips twitched. Tristen glared at him, wordlessly daring him to say anything.

“So you somehow locked the shaft into a standing position,” Keosqe said, his voice suspiciously shaky. “And then you tried to make it lie down again and it refused to. Holy saints, how I wish I’d seen that!”

Tristen glanced up at the ceiling as Keosqe dissolved into laughter. Indeed, he laughed so hard he doubled over holding an arm to his belly. Tristen watched him, partly pleased he had managed to amuse the noble out of his melancholy and a whole lot stunned at how beautiful he looked when expressing all out mirth.
There ought to be a limit to how handsome a Deir can get
, he thought a little dazedly.

It took a while before Keosqe's laughter subsided. Weakly chuckling, he leaned back and wiped his eyes. He trained a bright if watery gaze on Tristen.

"Deity's blood, I haven't laughed so hard in ages!" he said. "Certainly not hard enough to shed tears. You're very good for me, Tris-
min
."

Smiling tightly, Tristen said, "I'm glad to be of some service."

"Some service?" Keosqe snorted. "Do you realize I'm never so happy as when I'm in your company?"

Taken aback, Tristen blushed anew. "Thank you, but surely you exaggerate," he muttered.

"Nay, it's no exaggeration. Indeed, I—" Keosqe paused and regarded him with a startled look. “Now why didn't I realize it earlier?" he murmured. "Ah, a pox on me for dwelling too much on the past!"

Confused, Tristen asked, "What are you talking about?"

Keosqe's answering smile was so disarming, Tristen wished he had not seen it. Strange sensations wafted their way throughout his body, concentrating to a great degree in his lower regions. He shook his head as if doing so would clear his suddenly beguiled mind and thereby ease the unsettling feelings out of him as well.

"I mourned my unrequited yearning for Veare and foolishly ignored what was happening right in front of me," Keosqe commented. "Or rather in me."

That sounded even more incomprehensible than Keosqe's first statement. "You're not making sense!"

Keosqe's eyes gentled, becoming almost dreamy in their softness. "Forgive me, I'm just quite overwhelmed by my discovery."

"What discovery?"

"That I've fallen in love with you."

Aisen could have come to an end around them in that moment and Tristen would not have noticed. He stared in incredulity at Keosqe. His mouth opened and closed a few times without emitting a word or sound, so shocked was he by the declaration of love. He inhaled a generous quantity of air when his body reminded him that he'd forgotten to breathe. Wheezing a bit, he continued to stare at Keosqe as if he'd never seen the noble before.

"Tha-that's not amusing in the least!" he sputtered at last.

"Of course it isn't," Keosqe agreed, seemingly oblivious of the befuddling effect his words had on Tristen.

"Then why?"

"Speak the truth? Aren't we all supposed to?"

Tristen gasped. "Are you seriously saying you lo-lo-lo-?" Unable to say the word, he finished with, "What you said."

"Very seriously."

As he spoke, Keosqe rose to his feet and moved around the table toward Tristen. Before he could so much as squeak, Keosqe pulled him to his feet and swept him into an embrace. Tristen gulped when he felt Keosqe turn his face into his neck. He heard the noble breathe deeply and then sigh in apparent contentment. Tristen swallowed even harder.

"Um, Kes-
tyar
?"

"Hmm?"

Tristen rolled his eyes at the near purr. "It's, uh, flattering that you think you feel that way about me—"

"I
know
I love you," Keosqe corrected.

"But—but just a while ago, you were saddened by Veare's letter," Tristen protested. "Jealous even."

Keosqe chuckled ruefully. "Which only goes to show what an idiot I've been, holding on to the past when I should have noticed how I've come to feel about you. But you won't hold this against me, will you, Tris?"

"H-hold against—?"

Tristen caught his breath when Keosqe released him only to cup his face in his hands and gaze earnestly into his eyes.

"I keep forgetting you're still a child," Keosqe softly said.

"I am not!" Tristen retorted.

"For my needs, you are."

Tristen gaped. Oh Veres, how did one respond to that? Something fluttered in his stomach followed by a strange but rather pleasant sensation in his groin. Mercy! How did one manage
not
to respond?

"Please, Kes-
tyar
, I'm not…" Tristen shuddered a little at the intense gleam in Keosqe's eyes. "I'm not used to this," he almost moaned.

Keosqe caressed his face with his fingers, their faces so close Tristen thought the noble would kiss him. He whimpered, not sure whether he was aghast at the thought or looking forward to the experience. Keosqe seemed to realize his distress for he dropped his hands and took a small step back.

"You're right, it's too soon," he whispered. "For you at least." He raised his hand to Tristen's cheek and stroked it with his knuckles. "I’ll be counting the months until your begetting day," he huskily said. "Veres have pity on me. Let my waiting be done."

Without warning, he pressed a kiss to Tristen’s forehead and one overly warm cheek. And then he brushed past Tristen and strode out of the room.

Tristen remained where he stood, stunned into immobility. After several moments’ worth of chaotic thoughts and frantic heartbeats, he let out a shuddery breath and then shakily took his seat once more. Still unable to think clearly, he lifted his fingers to the spot on his forehead Keosqe had kissed and then dropped them to his cheek.

It felt as if he'd been branded, so strong was the memory of Keosqe's warm lips on his skin. He moved trembling fingers to his lips.

Were he the proper age, would Keosqe have kissed him more thoroughly? Tristen half laughed, half groaned. Kissed him? Knowing Keosqe, Tristen could very well have lost his innocence this very day in this very room. That would be just like the noble to deflower him on the dining table rather than his bed, like a proper Deir ought.

He gasped at the turn his thoughts had taken. Why was he even thinking about such things?

Holding his head as if to calm his unruly imagination, Tristen shut his eyes tightly and tried to will away the wayward thoughts and feelings that had come to rule him with more frequency. But he could not will away the person who inspired those thoughts and evoked those feelings. Nor could he ignore his body's steadily growing clamor for more than a chaste kiss or affectionate hug from the Deir who now dominated many of his most secret dreams.

Chapter 7

Fruition

Tristen scowled as he quickly leafed through his correspondence and found none from Veare. It was now more than three months since his brother’s last letter, which had briefly detailed his return to Nivare with his mate Narion and their infant son. And that letter had come two months following the much too short missive extending Veare’s begetting day greetings to Tristen.
Perhaps I should be thankful he still remembers my existence
, Tristen sourly thought at the time.

From the start, it was he who wrote more often to his brother. Veare had always been erratic in his correspondence but had written back steadily enough to suit Tristen. But with the birth of Veare’s child, the exchange of letters had dwindled into a one-sided affair.

He tried to excuse the inequality by reminding himself Veare now had a babe to tend to. Indeed, whenever he thought of his nephew, Tristen would brighten up and hum under his breath in quiet joy. But he could not dismiss the nagging thought that he was no longer Veare’s first priority—in truth had ceased to be when his brother married and moved further down the list with the appearance of a Marante heir.

That was a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless. Veare may have broken with tradition and dishonored their sire by agreeing to be child-bearer despite being a titled Deir wed to a commoner of undistinguished background, but at least he had stood firm in ensuring it was the Marante name his spouse and children would bear. Tristen had since resigned himself to appreciating such small blessings wherever his brother was concerned. It did not mean he did not feel a pang of distaste and disappointment whenever he dwelled on Veare’s failings. But the former mitigated some of the sting of the latter.

A brisk breeze wafted through the dining chamber and he looked up from his letters to glance out one of the windows. It was starting to drizzle.

Tristen sighed. He hoped it would not rain too heavily today. He was not in the mood to treat more than the usual number of accident victims one might expect of a high-traffic city like the capital.

With the end of summer and the imminent onset of autumn, the weather had turned noticeably cooler, the days were slightly dimmer and the nights now longer. Folk quickened their pace so as not to be overtaken by the coming winter’s inevitable slowdown and thus travel to, from, and around the capital accelerated.

Unfortunately, they were usually subject to the downpours of the summer monsoon, a period of incessant rain that came before the season of leaf-fall. On such days, it was more convenient and comfortable to travel by steed or conveyance. However, as the number of mounted riders and vehicles on the wet roads of the capital increased, so did the frequency of accidents due to falls and collisions and with that came a corresponding increase in need for the ministrations of Rikara’s healers.

Even the medical students were not spared. Part of their training included actual treatment of patients as early as their second year at university. Nothing life-threatening was assigned to them, of course, or serious enough to worry a full-fledged medical practician. But Tristen and his fellow students still saw their share of severe bruises, ghastly wounds, and broken bones.

Indeed, so busy was he the past several months in the carrying out of assignments and duties he did not bother to celebrate his thirtieth begetting day with the fanfare expected of the occasion. His own schedule coincidentally as unrelenting as Tristen’s, Keosqe too did not realize the day had passed until a fortnight later. He scolded Tristen quite vigorously for not reminding him and insisted on hosting a celebratory party at the very least. But Tristen reasoned and begged and protested against it and their respective excessively full calendars allowed Tristen to prevail. In the end, Keosqe agreed to let him have his way and that was to treat his school friends and instructors to dinner and drinks at a favorite tavern.

The food was plain but delicious and abundant, the ale and stronger liquor flowed freely and Tristen experienced his first orgasm in a dark corridor just off the common hall. That had been little more than a masturbatory exercise courtesy of a similarly intoxicated schoolmate. But as far as Tristen was concerned, it was a first and therefore something to be proud of. He took care, however, not to confess the incident to Keosqe.

Indeed thereafter, he took pains to keep all such incidents to himself. He did not think Keosqe would begrudge him the usual experiences of a lusty youth come of age, but something told him Keosqe would be far from pleased. Even if he had not made a move so far himself to teach Tristen a thing or two about the pleasures of the flesh.

His restraint was almost as exasperating as it was puzzling. After all the insinuations and hints Keosqe cast his way, Tristen had expected the noble to make a move as soon as it was legal to do so. Yet Keosqe did not touch him or even so much as allude to the possibility. Had he changed his mind? Had he realized he did not care for Tristen after all as he’d claimed just months ago? Tristen could not decide whether that relieved him or depressed him.

* * * *

“Join me in my study,” Keosqe said as he rose from the dinner table. “Reijir sent a bottle of perfectly aged Ilmaren cordial. I wager you’d like to taste it.”

Tristen beamed. “Yes. I should like to see if it’s as potent as Lord Keiran claims.”

“It is stronger than brandy and rum,” Keosqe confirmed with a grin. “So it’s best taken in small doses.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you in half an hour?” he asked over his shoulder.

Enough time for a quick bath, Tristen thought. When he nodded in agreement, Keosqe left the room. Tristen quickly finished the last of his tomquail soup, a dish that had become one of his favorites.

He entered Keosqe’s study with a few minutes to spare. A fire was ablaze in the great hearth, dispelling the chill of a rainy night.

Keosqe stood at one of the windows looking out into the dark. Like Tristen, he had bathed and was clad in a loose shirt and trousers. He turned his head at the sound of the door opening and smiled when he espied Tristen.

“It seems only yesterday when you still wore a nightshirt to bed,” he commented and motioned to Tristen to join him at the card table on which the bottle of cordial and two glasses stood. “Now you look so grown up.”

Tristen wrinkled his nose a little indignantly. Nightshirts were for children. Once a Deir reached the age of consent, he was no longer considered a child and graduated to adult attire if he so wished. “I am grown up,” he retorted.

Keosqe looked at him thoughtfully. “Indeed you are,” he agreed. He opened the bottle and poured a small amount for Tristen. “Have a care. This is much stronger than what you’re accustomed to.”

Tristen took a small sip of the amber-hued liqueuer. He caught his breath as the sweet liquid burned its way down his throat. It was indeed stronger than he was used to but very rich and flavorsome.