“What did you mean, Kyra Veer? What is it you wish to know about me?” He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her out of his deep blue eyes. Eyes you could fall into, if you weren’t careful.
“I don’t even know your clan,” said Kyra after a moment, wishing fervently she had just kept her silence to begin with.
“Neither do I,” said Rustan. “But I was adopted by the clan of Pusht. Barkav brought me here fourteen years ago, when I had seen but seven summers.”
“Was it . . .” Kyra hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Was it hard for you? Leaving your adopted family and coming here?”
“Not as hard as it must have been for you,” said Rustan, and his face softened in sympathy. “Barkav told me a little of what happened to the clan of Veer.”
Here it was, the perfect moment to probe Rustan about Kai Tau. Kyra doubted he would be able to answer her questions; he would have been an infant when Kai turned renegade. But she had to try. “Do you know anything of Kai Tau?” she asked. “He’s the one who killed my family. Astinsai told me he was once a Marksman.” And there is a small chance he might be my father, she did not say—did not even want to think.
Rustan shook his head. “I don’t know much. He left long before I joined the Order. I’ve heard that Maheshva, who was the Maji-khan of Khur at the time, recruited him from a street gang in Peking. Kai Tau was a skilled Marksman—probably still is. His blade, though . . .” He paused and considered. “Kataris are not meant for hands that have held a death-stick. It may have turned against him.”
Kyra had not given a thought to the fact that a katari may have been present in the Tau camp when she took down her first mark. Because, of course, she hadn’t known that Kai Tau had been a Marksman. Shirin Mam had not seen fit to share this information with her. “Maybe that’s why it didn’t alert Kai Tau to my presence,” she said. She found herself telling Rustan about her first mark, and how close she had come to being killed herself, opening up completely for the first time in months.
“You’d think, wouldn’t you, that it would make me happy to kill the eldest son of the man who murdered my family?” she concluded. “Instead, I could not even strike him until his hands were wrapped around my neck, squeezing the breath from my body. I wish I wasn’t so weak!” Her voice was full of the frustration she’d been carrying for months, but she felt lighter after she had said that, as if confessing the doubt would make it go away.
“It’s not weakness to care about a human life,” said Rustan quietly. The intensity in his voice surprised her. “We are the protectors of the people, the upholders of the law. But far better to let a dozen murderers walk free than take a single innocent life.” An expression of agony crossed his face as he spoke.
What are you not telling me, she thought, studying him. Aloud she said, “That doesn’t make sense. Those dozen murderers could go on to kill hundreds more. You have to weigh that very real possibility against the small chance of error.”
“Can you place a value on an innocent life?” he demanded, his eyes flashing.
“No,” she said. The question made her uncomfortable, but she answered honestly. “But I would rather take that chance than let a murderer escape.”
Rustan frowned. “That is immoral,” he said.
“That is my vow,” she shot back. “Both to my Order and to the memory of my clan. Perhaps if you had lived through what I did, you would feel differently.”
“Perhaps if you had done what I did, you would feel differently,” he countered.
Kyra longed to ask what he had done, but kept her mouth shut, knowing she was on the brink of an insight, or a confession from him—something that would expand her understanding of the man who stood before her, if only he would speak. She could not push him, not now.
But the moment passed and Rustan’s face closed. “We can argue till we’re out of words, and it makes not one whit of difference,” he said. “First you need to win that duel with Tamsyn.”
“You really think I’ve improved enough to defeat her?” The words were out before Kyra could stop them. She hadn’t meant to ask him that; she didn’t want him to guess the depth of her own doubts and fears.
“I have never seen the Hand of Kali fight, so I cannot answer that,” said Rustan. “But you’ve improved enough to take on any Marksman in our Order, except Ishtul, our blademaster, and the Maji-khan himself. I think you stand a good chance, as long as you stay calm and controlled.”
Kyra felt a stab of irritation. That was easy for him to say. She’d never seen him lose control, not once.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, noticing her expression.
“Nothing,” said Kyra. “Just wishing calmness and control came to me as easily as they do to you.”
Rustan laughed outright at that, a genuine laugh that made her smile despite herself. “Of course they don’t come easy. It’s hard work. I’ve just had a bit more practice than you. And you’re doing better than you were a month ago, both in temper and in technique.”
“When I—if I manage to return to my Order, I’ll have some new techniques to share with the others,” said Kyra.
“You’ll go back to your Order after the duel,” said Rustan.
“If I win,” said Kyra. “If I can anticipate my own teacher better than she anticipates me.” She shook her head. “When I say it out loud, it seems impossible.”
Rustan took a step toward her and grasped her shoulders, his touch warm even through her robe. “You have changed in the last month,” he said, his eyes fierce. “You have learned new ways to fight, and she has not. You have the advantage, and don’t forget it. Better you hide the remaining days of your life than walk into that hall thinking you’re going to lose. Do you hear me, Kyra?”
His face was so close to hers, his expression so intense. Kyra had a sudden, inexplicable desire to reach out and touch his stubbled cheek with her fingertips.
Stupid, stupid. What was she thinking?
She said, fighting to keep her voice level, “I hear you, Rustan.”
“Good.” He released her after a moment. Was it her imagination, or was his breath slightly uneven? “Let’s continue practicing after the midday meal.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She lingered in the grove, waiting until he had gone before she settled down to practice Sheetali, the Cooling Breath.
Chapter 22
A Girl with Many Questions