“That she did. I found her on the ledge outside his bedroom wall. She almost got away.” He saw her as she’d been that night, how well she’d faded into the shadows, how impossibly fleet she’d been once she started running.
“I hear you tackled her. Kind of an unfair advantage, I’d say,” Henril said.
Tristam laughed at that one. “Don’t judge her by her size. She’s better with a dagger than I, and I was fighting for my life. I’m glad she’s on our side now.”
“Is there anything more to that?” asked Henril, his expression carefully neutral. “Other than being on the same side?”
“No. We’re comrades-in-arms. Nothing more.” Tristam wasn’t sure why he’d told that lie, and he despised himself as soon as it came out. Tonight, of all nights, it was clear to him that they were not simply “comrades-in-arms.” But he found that he couldn’t take the words back either. To answer any other way would have raised questions that Tristam didn’t yet know how to answer. Especially since nothing between him and Kyra had actually been said.
Henril tilted his head in a gesture that didn’t convey much confidence at all in Tristam’s words, and Tristam decided to change the subject. “How have things been at home?”
At this, Henril’s expression darkened and he hunched his shoulders as if huddling against a cold wind. “Not good. Demon Rider attacks have been increasing these past few weeks. Father and I have been riding the grounds every day, and we sent for Lorne to return as well.”
Lorne was Tristam’s second brother. “That bad?” said Tristam.
Henril lifted the sleeve of his tunic to reveal a bandage around his forearm. “Got that from a demon cat two weeks ago.”
Tristam’s chest tightened at the sight. Demon Rider attacks on Forge itself had all but stopped since James’s capture, but they still happened in the countryside. He’d known this, but it was a very different thing to see his wounded brother in front of him. And here he’d been, enjoying the respite. “It’s strange the attacks have increased so much in the countryside, even taking into account that the barbarians avoid the city proper. If things are this bad, perhaps I should return home too.”
His brother shook his head. “No, it’s good to have someone within earshot of the Council. Father, Lorne, and I can handle the manor for now. Just keep an eye out for messages from us. We might need your help on short notice.”
Kyra had no sooner stepped into Malikel’s field of vision than the Defense Minister waved her over. “Kyra, we’ve need of you.”
She hesitated. Though she’d told Tristam she was going to see Malikel, Kyra realized now that she hadn’t actually meant to follow through. Well, Malikel had seen her. She steeled herself and approached.
Kyra didn’t recognize the majority of officials standing around Malikel, and the one face she did recognize, Kyra was not at all happy to see. Head Councilman Willem had no special love for Kyra, and he made no secret of it.
“You already know Councilman Willem,” said Malikel. “This is Duke Symon of Edlan and Lord Alvred, the Edlan defense minister.”
Perhaps this was the day for noticing family resemblances, because Kyra was struck by the similarity between Duke Symon’s and Willem’s features—something about the thin line of their lips and the way their well-trimmed eyebrows angled in on their foreheads. Kyra seemed to remember hearing that the two were distant cousins and that this relation was why Forge had been able to maintain peace with Edlan in recent years. She shifted her gaze to Lord Alvred, whom she now recognized as the large man she’d seen with Malikel earlier. He towered over her, and Kyra imagined that his hefty limbs might have been solid with muscle in his youth. Even now that he had a softer physique, Kyra got the impression he could crush her with very little effort. This was the man who would be Malikel’s archenemy should war arise. Kyra wondered how they got along in times of peace.