“That was just the commander toying with you. You’ll get used to it—or not. I thought I had, and now look at me.”
A rush of blood burned Tristan’s cheeks—he hadn’t meant to say so much, to reveal his true feelings. But to his surprise, when he glanced down at Nyk, there was deep understanding in his expression, as if Tristan’s words hadn’t been the nonsense ramblings of the commander’s privileged, misunderstood son, but something he could completely relate to.
“What do you want me to do, then?” Nyk asked after several silent moments. As he stared up at Tristan, his eyes landed on the knuckles of his right hand—raw and bloody from his punch to the wall.
Tristan moved it out of sight and straightened in the saddle. “Just keep quiet and stay out of my way.”
“Will you do the finish?” Nyk asked, gesturing toward their stack of supplies, which would certainly be in danger of catching fire if Rex ignited nearby.
“No,” said Tristan, more sharply than he intended, “I—no, not tonight.”
Nyk nodded, a slight frown on his face, and stepped aside.
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t face Rex in full flame again, not so soon after his screwup this afternoon, but he had to be more careful. Being on edge only made everything worse.
With a slow breath out his nose, Tristan straightened his shoulders and continued.
The course was exhausting, especially for the second time that day. Though he did his best not to show the strain—a habit he’d picked up after being constantly scrutinized by his father—sweat dotted Tristan’s brow, and his concentration was waning. Keeping a firm grip on three animals, as well as a connection to Rex as he soared overhead, was draining. He soon began cutting corners, telling Rex to circle but not encouraging him to give reports on the landscape or goings-on in the stronghold’s grounds.
Nyk became increasingly agitated, following along silently but clearly dying to say something. He opened and closed his mouth, gripped his hands tightly together, and kept moving closer only to jump back again.
Tristan couldn’t take it. “What?” he demanded at last, coming to a stop. He didn’t care much for what the boy had to say, but he needed a break, and he figured that if he let Nyk speak his mind, he’d stop fidgeting and Tristan could finish before the sun set. As it was, the glowing orange ball was cresting the mountains in the distance and would be out of sight in minutes.
Nyk hesitated. “It’s just—you’re, well, you . . .”
“Spit. It. Out.”
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. You’re doing it wrong,” he snapped, before adding, “sir.”
Sir. Given the fact that his father was the rightful governor of Ferro and Tristan was his heir, he should be addressed as “my lord.” But as another man currently laid claim to that position, Tristan supposed that “sir” was the best he could hope to get. Still, it was wrong.
“I’m no sir. I’m an apprentice. Yes, Apprentice. No, Apprentice. Got it?”
“Yes, Apprentice,” Nyk answered, his voice flat.
“Doing what wrong?” Tristan asked, looking down at himself. His technique, his form, everything was perfect.
“The way you use your magic,” Nyk said, gesturing to the animals. “You push too hard. Take Storm,” he said, indicating the dog at Wind’s feet. “Instead of telling him what you expect and guiding him through it, you force your will on him moment to moment. You keep constant pressure on him, draining yourself unnecessarily, and the second you let up, you’ll lose him.”
Tristan pulled a skeptical expression. He had never enjoyed lording over animals, but asking them nicely when they needed to obey was simply out of the question. Even his bond with Rex, which had developed into a trusting friendship, started out as Rider and mount. Master and servant.
If there was a mental equivalent to an eye roll, Rex did so just then, his exasperation seeping through the bond. To the phoenix, their connection made them a pair, equals. His magic strengthened Tristan’s, and likewise, Tristan’s human logic and understanding of the world increased Rex’s intelligence. Phoenixes weren’t like regular animals, and their centuries-long bond with humans was part of the reason why.
With a shake of his head, Tristan pushed Rex’s thoughts from his mind. The suggestion that he could interact with a dog in the same way he interacted with a phoenix—to whom he was magically bonded—made no sense at all.
He looked up at the darkening sky; his time was running out. Nyk’s words about control nagged at him, but they obviously came from youth and inexperience. Tristan was doing what he was taught to do, and surely his father—a veteran of the Blood War—knew more about animal magic than an unbonded sixteen-year-old kid.
“While your observations are fascinating, this is how animages have been taught for generations. We need these animals to be obedient; we don’t need them to be our friends. And I will not lose him,” he said, nodding down at the dog.
Tristan continued the course, leaving Nyk behind, pushing extra hard for fear that his tiredness would prove the boy right.
As he turned the corner and prepared for the final leg, Rex’s boredom filtered through the bond, making it difficult for Tristan to concentrate. The pigeon on his shoulder itched to stretch her wings and dig for grubs, and Storm had caught wind of the rabbit cage again. The scent flooded the dog’s nostrils, and anticipation coursed through his veins.
Then, out of nowhere, a loud whack echoed through the silence. It came from across the course, where Nyk stood just below the archery target, a tree branch in hand. He’d clearly just knocked it against the wooden frame, and the distraction stripped Tristan of his hold on the animals.
With a grim smile, Nyk cocked his arm back and flung the branch as far as he could. Before Tristan could scrabble to regain control, the dog was off after it, the pigeon took flight, and the horse beneath him tossed his head and reared, almost unseating him. The only animal who remained doing what he was supposed to was Rex, whose boredom had quite evaporated as he watched the scene below.
Without so much as a glance in Tristan’s direction, Nyk strode to their supplies and readied for their departure.
Tristan didn’t bother trying to finish the course or calling his lost animals back to the starting point. He rode over to where Nyk stood and leapt from his horse.
“What in the dark realms was that?”
Rex landed next to them, and his arrival was the first thing to make Nyk turn Tristan’s way since he threw the stick. He gazed longingly at the phoenix, eyes bright with reverence.
“If you refuse to order your animals about, then tell me, how did you get the horse—”
“Wind,” Nyk interjected, whirling around to face him. “Your horse’s name is Wind. You don’t call this beautiful creature”—he gestured to Rex—“the bird, do you?”
Rex cocked his head, waiting for Tristan’s response.
“What? No. His name is Rex.”