Kyra lowered her head so he wouldn’t see her irritation. Now he wanted to talk? After Malikel had proved himself impotent and Tristam had shown himself to be untrustworthy? “Where would you like to go?” she asked.
“To my quarters?”
She nodded and turned in that direction without making eye contact. Tristam’s living quarters had been a subject of some controversy after he was demoted and could no longer stay in the officials’ dormitories. He could have lodged in the barracks, but the thought of the son of a noble house, even a disgraced one, rubbing shoulders with common soldiers had been offensive enough to influential people at the Palace that the option was ruled out. Instead, he’d moved into a small but comfortable room in a building that housed visiting noblemen.
They walked there together now, and Tristam held the door open for her. His neatly made bed sat next to the window across from a writing desk and a dresser. His sword and armor hung on racks against the wall. Tristam also had a small table, where he pulled out a chair for Kyra before sitting down himself.
“Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?” she asked.
“Yes, there is.” Tristam stared at his hands and appeared to collect himself. It suddenly occurred to Kyra that he might tell her about the marriage negotiations after all, and she had no idea how to respond. She wiped her palms on her trousers. Don’t say it, Tristam. I don’t want to have that conversation right now.
“I’m sorry about Flick,” said Tristam. “I’ve been doing my very best to prepare them. We all have.”
Kyra took a moment to swallow the ball of disappointment and annoyance that was quickly replacing the panic in her chest. She was being silly, she knew, wanting one thing and then the other. “How long will the rounds in the forest be? How dangerous?” she asked.
“The first round will just be a few hours in the morning, basic maneuvers in more realistic terrain. It could very well be uneventful. But even if something does happen, the new recruits are already much better than they were when they started. I honestly think that many of them, Flick included, have a fair chance of killing a demon cat if they run across one.”
Killing a demon cat. Of course, if Kyra had to choose between Flick and any one of the Makvani, she would pick Flick in a heartbeat. But Tristam’s words still left a bad taste in her mouth.
“I wish there was some other way,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Why does it have to be a slaughter? If only I’d convinced Pashla to take me to Leyus.”
Tristam drummed his fingers on the table, his nostrils flaring slightly. “I hold Malikel in high esteem, but in this endeavor I think he’s misguided. I don’t trust the Makvani to keep any promises they make.”
“I trust Pashla,” Kyra said. “And there might be others like her.”
“Pashla killed Jack. If she’s the best of the lot, then I see no reason to trust them.”
If Kyra had been in a better frame of mind, she might have acknowledged that he had a fair point. It was actually Pashla’s companion who’d killed Jack, but Pashla had allowed it to happen. Though Kyra’s own experiences with Pashla had been good, she wasn’t na?ve enough to forget the disdain with which the Makvani viewed humans.
But it had been a long week with many unwelcome revelations, and there was a layer of disgust in Tristam’s voice that Kyra couldn’t ignore.
“If you don’t trust them, then why trust me?” she asked.
Tristam looked up at her, uncertain. “Kyra?”
“I share their blood. I could hunt someone down as easily as they. Why trust me if you can’t trust them?” She didn’t bother to hide the hardness in her voice.
He pushed off the table, backing away from the unexpected attack. “Kyra, I would think we know each other well enough now that—”