Page 77 of Tristan
He’s suddenly dropped the “Junior” from my title too. I can’t allow that. “Not you too, Diekin. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not Warlord.”
“You are wrong. You are Warlord now. A war is upon us, and you seek to take up the first battle with an army—albeit a small one—at your command. You are my Warlord, Tristan, and I am honored to serve you.”
I suppose there will be no talking him out of this one. “Let us hope I can prove worthy of those words, Diekin.”
“You already have, Warlord,” he says with a hearty smile, eating his stew.
I’m glad that by the time he realizes how one is to use the power harnessed by dragon’s blood, I will be dead.
“There you are—it’s about time,” Bayaden says in Elvish, but I understand him perfectly well.
I place the food before him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have given me so much to do, my lord. Now, if you’ve no further need of me,” I say in Markaytian.
“Sit down, Tristan.” He switches to Markaytian, not in the mood to play games tonight. He’s never invited me to sit with him before. I’m immediately suspicious.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I’ll get something from the kitchens later,” I say when he offers me his bread.
“Why do you take nothing from me?”
Why does he suddenly care?He’s never cared before.
“Because it is unnecessary…? Andothair provides me with everything I need.”
“Yet I am your master,” he says.
“You are.”
“Then I will provide for you. Come to me with your needs from now on. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Bayaden,” I lie smoothly. He can think what he likes, but I’ll never ask him for a thing and right now I need Andothair.
“Here,” he says and holds out the bread again. This time I take it, but don’t eat it. “Damn it, Tristan. Must you be so stubborn?”
“My papa used to say I come by it naturally.”
He puts his spoon down; he’s had enough of me. “The Gods help me; I can’t figure you out.” Hopefully he never will. “I know one thing. I know you will go to my brother tonight. I know what you will ask for and that you are ashamed of it. There are few secrets between us, Tristan.”
“What of it?” I say, my dragon’s blood beginning to boil. I know Andothair holds no confidence with me, but I am no less enraged to have other people know of my sins.
“Allow me to take his place.”
“No.”
“I could force the issue, you know.”
“Then force it. I will not consent to it.”
“Why him and not me?”
“Mostly because he did it first. It makes little difference who does it, but I’ve already betrayed Corrik with one person, I’ll not add to that list.” I do not add that I’m possibly only respecting his memory; I like to think as Diekin does, that he’s alive,but then why hasn’t he come for me?
“Betray Corrik? What nonsense, Tristan. Is it not my cock that’s up your arse every night? Is it not my bed you sleep beside? You belong to me now and betraymeby going to Andothair.”
I laugh uncomfortably. I don’t like where this is headed. Since I’ve come into his “care” he’s hated the very air I breathe, resented having me in his presence and now he wants to discipline me? “Those are semantics. You know as well as I do that we tolerate each other for Andothair’s benefit. Remember what you said to your brother? Remember what you said to me on my first day in your service?”
He shakes his head, but he knows as well as I do the length of Elven memories. He wants me to say it so he can deny it. Fine. “You said and I quote,inMarkaytian I might add,‘you can’t be serious Andothair. He looks like something the sea washed in.’You then went on to tell your brother you were insulted by his choice of servant for you, and you warned me to keep my distance lest you are forced to do something only I shall regret.”
