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Corayne blanched as he passed it over to her, surprised by the weight.
Andry raised an eyebrow. “Too heavy?”
She shook her head, slipping her arm into the strap at the back of the shield. The old leather was soft but strong, freshly oiled.
“The opposite,” she said. “I thought an Elder shield would be impossible for me to lift.”
“It’s not Elder,” Andry replied casually. “Some of the Ionian guards offered me a few things from the armory.”
Not Elder.Her grip tightened on the shield strap, fingers feeling for the old hand that once held it. It was like trying to hold hands with a ghost.
“Not an Elder’s shield,” Corayne murmured. “His.”
Across from her, Andry’s eyes went round, his own realization dawning. “Oh,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Corayne, I didn’t realize—”
She sucked in a painful breath, her chest tight beneath her leather jerkin. The air smelled of rain and nothing else.As if a shield could smell like my father, she thought, cursing her own stupidity.
“What else was there?” Corayne asked sharply. Half of her wanted to fight the Elder soldiers for disturbing her father’s belongings. The rest wanted to see what else they still had.
Andry frowned, shaking his head. “They only gave me the shield. The rest is not my business,” he answered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “My father had a shield too.”
Corayne remembered it, a ruin nearly cracked in half, fixed against the wall of the Trelland apartments. Like his tunic, it bore the blue star.
“It was the only part of him to come back,” Andry murmured, his own grief rising up to meet hers. “We can take a moment, if you like.”
Corayne showed her teeth. Her grip tightened on the shield strap, her other hand going for the training blade at her hip.
“We don’t have a moment,” she hissed, loosing the sword.
Immediately, she caught the edge of the shield, the dull blade sliding against the wood. Corayne winced, her cheeks flaming red.
“Sorasa and Sigil never taught me any of this.”
There was no judgment in Andry Trelland. He merely dropped into the proper stance again, modeling for her.
“Sorasa and Sigil never trained to be a knight,” he said. As she mirrored his form, he nodded. “If war comes to this castle, you won’t be striking from dark alleys and slitting throats behind corners. You’re going to face an army head on.”
His army once. His knights and companions. His fellow squires. His friends.She saw the same heavy thoughts on his face, shadowing his eyes.
The wind blew again, sending a chill through Corayne. But she knew better than to throw her cloak back on. They would work up a sweat quickly enough.
“Let’s see how you move with it first, so I can tell you what to fix,” Andry offered. He drew his own training sword, holding it between them.
The flush still burned on Corayne’s face. “That will do wonders for my self-confidence.”
He only shrugged. The blade twirled in his hand, betraying the deadly swordsman beneath Andry’s gentle facade. Sometimes it was easy to forget he was trained to be a knight, and had survived many battles since.
“It’s all right to get things wrong,” he said. “It’s how we learn to do things properly.”
Over the next few minutes, Corayne was wrong many times.
Andry danced within her guard or tripped her up, using the weight of the shield to send her off balance. He moved too quickly, more agile than Corayne still struggling to strike and hold the shield in place. Hecorrected her gently, adjusting her stance or her grip, giving advice in a low voice.
Corayne expected to feel stupid and embarrassed. Instead, she felt only encouraged, prodded on by the promise of Andry’s delighted cheer or proud smile.
“You’re a good teacher,” she finally said, panting a little. Across from her, Andry halted in his steps. “You must have been the envy of the other squires.”
His soft expression changed, going sour. Immediately Corayne regretted her words, though she couldn’t say why.
