“And your people, how do they view us?” asked Pashla. “Are we worthy of friendship and understanding, or are we simply monsters to be destroyed? Virtue does not solely reside with your people, nor does brutality reside solely with mine. We live and die by our honor, courage, and loyalty. Can you say the same for Forge?”
“I won’t deny your courage,” said Tristam. “But your people take pleasure in bloodshed. I’ve seen what you do in battle when your rage overtakes you.”
“And what about Kyra?” asked Pashla. “Do you shun her because she succumbs on occasion to her instincts?”
Pashla’s question silenced him. To have yet another person bring up Kyra like this…Tristam swallowed and couldn’t think how to respond.
Pashla took a step closer to him, and then another, until the two of them stood almost toe to toe. She was tall for a woman, and their eyes were almost level when she spoke again. “If you can trust Kyra, then you can learn to trust us. If you cannot trust us, then perhaps you do not really trust her.”
Tristam met her gaze and finally found his voice. “Fair point,” he said. And he stepped away.
Pashla stayed where she was, and her gaze seemed to go right through his skin. “I do understand what it’s like to lose a friend in battle,” she said quietly. “I do have sympathy for your loss.”
Was she trying to make amends? Even now, Pashla’s words brought back the sheer horror of those fateful encounters. Jack had died silently, but Martin’s screams would forever be etched in Tristam’s memory.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t give her more than that. Not yet.
Pashla inclined her head at his words. “Our ways are different,” she said. “But perhaps we can learn from the kittens.”
And then she too disappeared into the forest.
“I understand it’s been a trying week for all of us,” said Cecile of Routhian. “But I do require a minimal amount of effort from you, Tristam, if we are to carry on a conversation.”
The impatience in Cecile’s voice was mild, but it jarred Tristam to attention nonetheless. It was the first time he’d seen anything but perfect poise from her. The two of them sat in a private dining room on the Palace grounds. A servant had just brought them each a small bowl of lemon curd to finish up the meal.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his forehead. He’d struggled all evening to be present with her, but there were simply too many thoughts going through his mind: his conversation with Pashla, Robert’s confession, tomorrow’s Council meeting…“I’ve been inexcusably rude. Forgive me.”
Cecile was quite pretty, with flax-colored hair and large green eyes that shone with intelligence. She usually held herself and spoke in a way that projected serenity, though now there was strain around her eyes and a tightening at the corners of her mouth. She placed her spoon back onto the table and looked him in the eye.
“Kyra of Forge is alive, isn’t she?” she said. “And you’ve been in contact with her.”
It was only by a small miracle that Tristam didn’t drop his own spoon.
Cecile smiled sadly at his surprise. “When you’re alone in a foreign court, you pay attention to the gossip, especially when they concern your prospective husband. I’ve known from the very beginning that your heart wasn’t in these negotiations.”
Tristam lowered his spoon into his bowl. He felt like the lowest kind of human being, and he couldn’t find it in himself to keep up the pretense. He looked Cecile in the eye. “I have a great deal of respect for you, my lady, so I won’t attempt to deny anything you’ve said. And I have no excuses for myself. Though you should know that Kyra and I do not intend to…pursue our relationship, if you and I were to marry.”
Cecile took a delicate bite of lemon curd, eyeing him thoughtfully. “I believe you,” she said finally. “And that says something about my regard for you, as I would not believe those words from many other men.”