At that, Tristam stopped what he was doing.
“I see it in your eyes when you tell us about them,” Flick said. “Sometimes your hands shake. What do they call it? Battle ghosts?” Flick didn’t know much about it firsthand, but he’d heard enough stories from former soldiers. Sometimes a battle stayed with a soldier, haunting his dreams and never quite letting him move on.
Tristam’s expression closed off. “I fight the battles my commander orders me to. Whatever ghosts they create are irrelevant.” He put the target on the ground and turned toward the water barrels.
“What do you see when you’re with Kyra?” Flick asked. “Given what she is, I’m surprised that the two of you, uh…” He stopped, remembering that Kyra had cut things off.
Tristam’s jaw tightened. “Kyra’s a fellow soldier. Nothing more.” He took a few steps toward the water barrels, then looked back again. “Her bloodlines do scare me, but they frighten her much more. That’s the difference between her and the others.”
As Tristam joined Malikel by the sidelines, Flick picked up the fake demon cat head and looked it in its nonexistent eyes. “I’m beginning to think I’ve been too hard on that wallhugger.”
The hemp bag swayed back and forth on its stick. If it had any insights, it kept them to itself.
Kyra arrived at the training fields just in time to see Flick charge a straw demon cat with a spear. It went cleanly through, and he pulled it out again. He caught sight of Kyra watching from the sidelines and waved. A knight, Sir Rollan, barked an order, and Flick continued his exercises.
“How do they look?” Kyra asked Malikel. Tristam was also there, along with several knights. It was a slightly overcast day, and the sun blinked in and out of the clouds.
“Decently against straw,” said Malikel. “Against live cats, on the other hand, there is more work to do.”
She watched their progress for the next hour. Kyra was supposed to give suggestions based on what she knew of the cats, but military strategy was beyond her. While Tristam could comment on formations and tactics, Kyra could only think that these men needed to move much faster if they wanted to stay alive. It gave her a modicum of comfort that Flick seemed one of the more competent with a spear.
“When will they be sent out against live cats?” asked Kyra.
“They’re to do a training round in the forest tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” The knights standing around her turned at her exclamation, and Kyra lowered her voice. “You must see they’re not ready.”
“It is the wish of the Council,” said Malikel. His tone warned her not to object again.
“The Council is—”
“That’s enough, Kyra. You are dismissed.”
Kyra stood immobile for a moment, wanting to argue more, but there was a dangerous set to Malikel’s jaw, and she could see that it was hopeless. She turned and stormed from the practice fields. She’d gone maybe a hundred paces when Tristam called after her.
“Kyra, wait!”
“Don’t you have some courtiers to talk to?” she snapped. Tristam flinched at her words, but Kyra wasn’t feeling inclined to pity.
“You can’t question a commander like that in front of his men. He won’t have it.”
Kyra wondered why Flick hadn’t told her he was being sent into the forest the next day. Had he been trying not to worry her, or had he not known either? She’d spent several nights trying to track down the scribe responsible for Flick’s conscription, but the search had proved difficult. That, along with Orvin’s insight into Willem’s true reasons for conscripting Flick, had forced her to halt her efforts. Though now she wondered if she should have tried harder.
“Do you have some time?” said Tristam. “I’m off for the afternoon, and I’d like to talk a bit.”