Chapter 8
Blaze had two left feet, but Durae had danced with worse partners. Unfortunately, not everyone in the group dance that Durae had dragged him into was as forgiving about clumsiness. But then, Durae was clumsy except when dancing, so perhaps his tolerance was probably higher than most.
Or, he was realizing, he wouldn’t care if Blaze accidentally stepped on his foot every day for the rest of his long life so long as they were having this much fun.
At least, in theory. He wasn’t keen on testing that theory.
Still, even the notion was a strange one to have.
He’d spent idle hours wishing he could be with those he was attracted to before—and yes, far too many of them were from books and not his actual life—but he’d never felt this bubbling before.
Every time he glanced at Blaze, it would begin anew, like he could float away without magic.
Scientist that he was, Blaze would probably point out that Durae lacked enough evidence to know if his current feelings would last, but he didn’t care.
The opening rituals of the market had reminded Durae that life was about living, about renewal and reinvention.
And though he intended to at least try to seek a partner, Blaze had come after claiming he wouldn’t, and he had gazed at Durae like he was some sort of spell made manifest, and who could resist spending time with someone so brilliant and passionate?
Why shouldn’t Durae embrace who made his heart thrum with joy?
However, his stamina had its bounds, and his lungs began to burn with a longing for air while his legs begged to relax.
He grabbed Blaze’s hand again and dragged him away from the dancing toward the canopies with their chairs and chaises.
His family had claimed a little space with a few other Dun Steorran nobles.
In the center was a table with treats and drinks, while a semicircle of seating formed a boundary against the neighboring canopied areas.
Durae nabbed a puff pastry that turned out to be filled with some sort of vegetable and a delicate glass of a bubbly berry liquor.
Luckily, there was an open chaise. Unfortunately, it was next to Father.
Extremely unfortunately, Father had already caught sight of him and was motioning him over.
If Durae thought he could get away with taking Blaze and running all the way to his ship, he’d try that.
However, he’d avoided his family enough the previous night and insulted his mama.
He didn’t need to add angering his father to his list of misdeeds.
He snatched another of the delicious treats before heading over to the chaise. Blaze followed on his heels without tripping on Durae’s long skirts. Thankfully, that problem seemed limited to their dance.
“You’ve been enjoying yourself,” Father remarked.
“I have!” Durae said brightly.
“Who knew that the market’s events might be fun?” Father was casting his gaze further out, obviously searching the crowd.
For what, Durae didn’t know, but he was grateful that his parent couldn’t see the shame rising to Durae’s cheeks. Then he remembered the ring and realized that no one would see how flushed he was anyway. What a relief magic can be!
“I am sorry about missing that meeting last night, Father,” Durae said demurely.
“Are you?” Father narrowed his eyes.
Not at Durae, he realized, but at Blaze.
Did his father somehow know that Blaze was who he’d spent the previous evening with?
It would be an assumption, but perhaps not a terribly hard one to make.
Either that, or his father was looking down on Blaze because of his rough clothing, which Durae thought made him appear dashing.
“I am,” Durae said pointedly, capturing Father’s attention and taking the brunt of his glare. If anyone deserved to be the center of Father’s ire, Durae did. One apology didn’t make up for his recent behavior, and Blaze had done absolutely nothing wrong.
“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Father asked.
He was definitely annoyed by Blaze’s presence. Determined not to let his father’s poor manners affect his own, Durae held his chin higher and his back straighter. “Of course. Father, this is Blaze Levimist. Blaze, this is my father, Lord Perro Navisora.”
“A pleasure,” Father said without a hint of joy. He had a malevolent spark in his eyes as he continued. “Have you been enjoying the company of my eldest?”
His tone was clearly meant to remind Blaze that he was beneath Durae and should consider himself lucky to be anywhere near him.
Blaze’s dancing had been proof that he wasn’t of noble birth, but his wide-eyed reaction to Father’s statement was an indication that he wasn’t accustomed to the social games they played, either.
Durae drank in a deep breath to make a joke to ease the growing tension, but he realized Blaze had hurt in his eyes.
I lied about my name last night! Durae froze. They’d had sex three times and talked for hours afterward, and he had completely forgotten to correct the little lie he’d told in the tavern.
And of course, Blaze would know the Navisora name.
How could he not? He’d attended the university in Dun Steorra and learned foundational cosmomancy enchantments that Durae’s great-grandfather had crafted!
The Navisora theories that were instrumental in how the gondolas that traveled from mountain to mountain worked.
Blaze had likely studied them, if not outright used several, in the creation of his airship.
“I have, my lord,” Blaze said woodenly. He finished his drink and stood. “Forgive me, I must go.”
“Wait,” Durae began. How was he going to explain why he’d lied with his father sitting right there?
If Father learned he’d aided Blaze in figuring out the Aulage enchantments in public without any recompense, he’d be furious.
What’s the worst he could do to me? Convince Mama not to let me back in the tower?
Disownment was a frightening thing, but certainly his father wouldn’t insist on such a severe punishment. “Blaze, I—”
“I really have to go,” Blaze insisted. “Enjoy the party, my lords.”
As Blaze hurried into the throngs of elves at the party, Durae tried to stand, but an invisible pressure landed on his shoulders and kept him in his seat. The same pressure clamped over his mouth until Blaze was out of sight.
All the stars in the sky did not have the magnitude to compare with the bright anger burning fiercely in Durae’s heart. Never had he known such rage. He whirled toward his father.
But before he could speak, Father said under his breath, “It is one thing to bring a commoner into our midst in the middle of a celebration of all elfkind. It is another to chase one through the crowd like a fool. I will not permit you to sully our family name at the beginning of your time at the marriage mart.”
“I need to talk to him,” Durae said.
“You don’t.”
“I—”
Father sighed and rubbed his brow. “Durae, honestly, I am not going to allow you to throw away your prospects because you found a pretty boy to sleep with.”
Durae grasped the edge of the chaise with both hands in order to resist the temptation to scream at the top of his lungs. “He isn’t a pretty boy. He’s a brilliant man. You should see what he’s building for the Innovation Awards.”
“Building? Gods above, have we sheltered you so much you lack all sense?” Father gave Durae a piteous look.
“Durae, any credible inventor would have finished their creation weeks, if not months, ago! The last thing anyone would want is to show up to the Innovation Awards competition with an untested prototype.” With another sigh, Father put his hand on Durae’s arm.
“Your mama and papa and I are truly to blame for this. Not everyone on the continent has pure intentions, particularly commoners who seek the attention of nobles. Some want fame. Others desire our riches, especially when they know how much more we possess than they do.”
“He didn’t ask for money.”
“The clever ones never do. Confidence artists ingratiate themselves so that you believe handing over your coin is not only your idea but the good and right thing for you to do,” Father replied.
He gently squeezed Durae’s arm. “We should have had more of these types of talks before bringing you to market. You’re the heir, Durae.
It is important that you distinguish between scoundrels and worthy connections. ”
“Blaze isn’t like that,” Durae insisted, but even to himself, his voice sounded weak.
“We are all enraptured with beauty at some point or another, son. Don’t punish yourself for believing the best in others. But keep a more skeptical eye in the future. Now, enough of this sort of talk. I see someone I wanted to introduce to you last night.”
Confusion muddled Durae’s thoughts faster than the mists could gather around the tower at home. While his father stood and motioned at a well-dressed elf, Durae attempted to regain his composure so he could pretend he cared about meeting a potential suitor.
But had he misjudged his encounter with Blaze?
Father didn’t know that Durae had been the one to approach Blaze—and if one learned complicated cosmomancy to write from memory for the sake of conning people, what was the difference between hard work and manipulation?
Why would Blaze run away upon learning Durae’s true last name if he wanted to fleece his pockets? Wouldn’t staying have made more sense?
Blaze isn’t a liar. He shows his emotions too much to disguise anything. Or would a good con artist be able to fake embarrassment? Had he run because he realized Durae’s father had figured out what he was up to? No. He’s not like that.
“Durae,” Father said impatiently.
Durae blinked and looked up. He managed to smile at Father and the elf who had joined them.
Though the stranger was handsome, he was a little too sharply dressed for Durae’s tastes.
While many of the nobles wore clothes of fine materials, their attire was less formal than what the stranger was wearing.
This was a casual afternoon, not a rigid formal affair.
“This is Lord Gustus Stelen of Manabelt in Gearwick,” Father said. An overbright cheer in his voice gave his smile a falsely strained quality, as if his own enthusiasm could force Durae to embrace the newcomer. “Gustus, this is my son, Durae.”
“Perro spoke of your beauty, but I see his compliments failed to capture how breathtaking you are,” Gustus said smoothly.
“I’m afraid I can’t remember if my father spoke of you at all,” Durae said.
Standing behind Gustus, Father glared at him. His voice was more measured. “I’ve mentioned him to you several times, Durae.”
Had he? Durae sipped his wine and skimmed his memories of the last few weeks.
His parents had done a lot of talking while they traveled by carriage.
He’d spent most of his time either reading or watching their surroundings.
Was he supposed to have paid attention to gossip and chatter about elves he didn’t know?
“Forgive me, Father. You know how I like to chase clouds,” Durae replied.
“His mind does tend to wander,” Father complained to Gustus.
Again, Father had a sort of eagerness in his tone that Durae couldn’t put his finger on. He must have heard him speak like this at some point in his life, but Durae’s recollections were failing him.
“I believe the young and beautiful have a prerogative to let their imaginations roam. Flights of fancy are how many an invention is born, after all.” Gustus smiled at Durae and gestured at the foot of his chaise. “May I?”
Durae motioned that he didn’t mind if Gustus joined him. Father’s smile broadened, and the glint in his eyes sharpened. He wasn’t upset; he was the opposite. Whatever the opposite without seeming pleased was. I did not get enough sleep for this.
“Should I leave so you and Father can discuss business?” Durae asked.
Father’s smile faltered, and Gustus laughed a little too harshly for Durae’s fraying nerves.
Turning toward Durae, Gustus said, “Matters of finance and industry are for a different time. This is a fine afternoon in the making, and you’re a handsome elf at the beginning of his first, and perhaps last, marriage mart.
I would like for us to get to know one another. ”
Thank the gods Durae had a ring that would keep his complexion from becoming ruddy. The same magic would keep the fact that his cheeks were heating out of embarrassment a secret to everyone around him. And no one would see or smell that sweat was rolling down his spine.
This wasn’t just some business associate of Father’s.
Lord Gustus Stelen was a suitor. Durae finished his wine and set the glass off to the side.
Despite preparing for the eventuality of entertaining marriage prospects, actually being thrust into a conversation with a suitor was a bit of a shock.
If asked a day ago, Durae wouldn’t have been able to describe his ideal match.
Now, he couldn’t help thinking that someone who was clever, handsome, and kind was all he wanted, titles be damned.
“Lord Durae?” a timid voice behind him said.
Durae glanced over his shoulder to discover a pair of elves around his age.
Both had long brown hair and golden eyes.
One was more feminine than the other, and she wore a sky-blue dress.
Her counterpart wore a deep green tunic and tan leggings.
She said, “Good afternoon, Lord Durae. I am Lady Jessick of Emberleigh, and this is my cousin Eohan.”
Those names definitely came up during the trip here.
But are they relations or suitors? Durae swallowed hard.
He really hoped for the sake of how the duo was batting their long eyelashes at him that they were suitors and not family.
I wonder how much wine I can have before I damage my reputation beyond repair …