Page 92 of Tristan
I can hardly tell Corrik I love him—not when he won’t see me again and not when I suspect him of sex magic. “Yes, hi. Is there a problem with that?”
“No, Warlord,” he still laughs. “It’s just, I thought, well it doesn’t matter what I thought. I will give him the ring and tell him,hi.”
“Thank you, Diekin.”
“And, Warlord?”
“Yes?”
“You are wrong. You will see Corrik again. I’m going to make sure of it.”
Istorm into his chambers; my dragon blood still rages. I didn’t like the look on Diekin’s face, I don’t like what I’ve had to do, I don’t like what I’ll have to do, and I don’t like what I’ve learned about my and Corrik’s union.
Bayaden looks up from his book. He’s not pleased with me upon my return, and I don’t care. I enter and pretend I don’t see him or feel his eyes piercing into me.
“I thought I made it clear you are to tell me where you go?”
“You no longer trust me, m’lord?”
“You’re angry,” he observes.
“I’m not angry. I’m but a lowly manservant here to do your bidding,” I say.
“Bang-up job you do of it.” He turns back to his book. I don’t know if he intends to leave it at that, but I pass by him and wash my face in the bowl across the room.
“Have you eaten?” he asks when I return. I can’t tell him I’ve dined with Diekin. What I ate was meager anyway.
“No.”
“So, you can listen to something I’ve said? I should take my strap to you more often, uh?” I know he doesn’t mean it. It’s his attempt to get me to laugh. “Over there, I’ve left you something.” He looks straight into my eyes. “Eat.”
Too tired to argue, I move to the table and sit down before a plate covered with a lid. I remove the lid to a fancy plate of fruits and cheeses, but in the center is a familiar, circular band, encrusted with emeralds; I reach out to grab it.
“Allow me.” Bayaden is behind me and picks up the ring. He swings out my chair and pulls me to stand.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your bag. I didn’t know I had it until today when I found it amongst my things as I ransacked my quarters. Andothair must’ve placed it in my rooms. I recognized the Markaytian craftsmanship of the dagger and determined that the gold of that ring comes from far away. It’s definitely not Elven and so I knew these things must be yours. Tell me, what is this ring?” he says, studying it.
“It comes from my papa’s homeland. It’s his family ring, he gave it to me when I was a boy.”
“I can tell by the way you speak of him that you and your papa are close.”
“We were.” I watch him spin the ring. “I miss him.”
“There is an inscription inside.Submit to the Heart.”
“Yes. Papa was like me, submissive.” I bow my head, still somewhat ashamed of this knowledge.
He lifts my chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “I’d like you to have this back, Tristan. It will be my apology for making you clean up my mess and a thank you for what you’re doing. You may not love me as you love him, but that makes your actions all the more meaningful.”
“My sacrifice you mean.”
“Is it a sacrifice if it’s something you give willingly?”
“I … I’m not sure.”
“Look deeper, Tristan. You did it because you value something more than you value yourself.”
