“Did you…know James well?” Darylene asked. “I got the impression that he was a hard man to know.”
“I don’t think he revealed much of himself to anyone,” said Kyra. She once again heard James’s whispered words. Choose your fight. And Kyra felt something in her chest. Not quite grief, but not far from it either. “James kept his secrets close, and we didn’t always agree. But I learned much from him.”
Kyra’s injuries continued to heal. As the weather grew warmer, she became able to move around without a cane. She almost had a normal stride now, though larger steps pained her, as did the few hours before a coming storm. She experimented a bit with running, but her hip had a troublesome tendency to lock up unexpectedly, forcing her to react quickly to keep from tumbling to the ground.
At Flick’s and Idalee’s insistence, she didn’t try to climb, though as the months passed, she grew restless. Finally, one warm morning when Lettie had gone into the forest and Idalee had gone to the market, Kyra paused while sweeping the doorstep and found herself gazing longingly at the overhanging eave of her roof. She looked around one more time, assuring herself that there was no one nearby, and then jumped for it. She missed by quite a distance—it would have been a stretch even in her uninjured days. But there was always the windowsill, which she climbed by leading with her left leg. From there, it was a precarious moment as she jumped again for the overhang, but this time her fingers caught, and she pulled herself over. She straightened to her full height and couldn’t help but grin. A light breeze blew through her hair, and she turned her face to enjoy the sun.
She walked a leisurely circle around the edge of the roof. Flick would have scolded her, but she knew she could catch herself if she stumbled. After one loop, she climbed to the top and walked along the ridgeline, pausing a few times to readjust her balance when her hip locked. But she didn’t fall, and she felt lighter than she had in a long time. Finally, she decided it was enough climbing for the day. Kyra settled down next to the chimney and watched the road. It was a crisp morning, and only the occasional farmer or horseman passed by. She’d been up there almost an hour when she recognized the next person coming down the bend.
It took her a while to be sure it was Tristam. He’d been gone the past couple of months. As soon as Edlan retreated and peace with the Makvani became likely, Lord Brancel had called Tristam home to help rebuild the damage from the Demon Rider attacks. In addition to helping his family, there was another reason for him to leave court for a while. The Council had stripped Tristam of his knighthood for two more years as punishment for disobeying Rollan’s orders, and his absence gave the resultant gossip some time to settle down.
As Tristam came closer, his eyes locked on her roof, and he smiled and waved. Kyra waved back.
He came to a stop at the corner of the house. “How’s the breeze up there?” he asked.
“Quite nice,” said Kyra. She made her way to the edge and lowered herself down, making sure to land on her good leg. He caught her in a big embrace as soon as she touched the ground, and she squeezed him tightly back.
“Are you returned for good now?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve done about all I can back at Brancel.”
Kyra pulled back and looked him over. “Home life has agreed with you. You’re looking rather handsome.” It was true. The shadows that had weighed him down over the past months had lifted, and his eyes were bright. And though he’d lost some weight over the stressful winter, the time at Brancel had filled out his chest and shoulders again.
Tristam’s mouth quirked, and his gaze drifted over Kyra’s face in a way that made her stomach tingle. “You’re looking very well yourself.”