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For a second, Rhyan’s eyes were on me, and I desperately wanted him to see, to believe that he hadn’t failed me. But Tristan followed Rhyan’s eyes to where I stood, and instantly, Rhyan turned away, staring Tristan down.
Rhyan licked his lips, slowly readjusting his posture until he stood tall, one hand resting casually on his waist. “I’m going to need some more details, Lord Grey. How is it exactly that I am supposed to be protecting her grace?”
“You’re her trainer,” Tristan said.
I bit my lip. He didn’t know Rhyan was part of my security detail. Nor did he know I was secretly paying his own escort Bellamy not to report my activity back to Ka Grey.
“Good job,” Rhyan said. “You got one fact right!” He clapped his hands together.
“Listen to me, forsworn. You’re not doing your job. If you were, she wouldn’t have been whipped.”
Rhyan took a step forward and then another. Tristan lifted his stave, and Rhyan shoved him back so far, he hit a stack of mats. “Don’t tell me this is you defending her now.”
“Of course, I’m defending her,” Tristan sneered, stepping forward. “She’s a Lady of Ka Batavia, she’s supposed to get the best training, to be kept safe. Not fucking lashed! Does her status mean anything to you?”
Rhyan’s eyes widened. “Yourself to fucking Moriel, you noble snob! Is that all she is to you? A status symbol? One that’s been diminished by her lack of power and some stripes on her back?”
I gasped, a sinking feeling in my gut as Tristan looked desperately at me and then back to Rhyan. Gods. He was right. Tristan was upset about how this looked. His grandmother, Lady Romula, the Master of Finance for my father’s council, had been horrified over the idea of nobles being lashed. When we’d had dinner at Lady Romula’s weeks ago along with Aunt Arianna and my cousin Naria, Naria had tried to insinuate I’d been whipped, forcing me to reveal that Lady Pavi had been. The dinner had almost ended when Lady Romula had heard. The old lady had nearly fallen off her chair.
Still, she was cunning, powerful, and fully in control of every aspect of Tristan’s life—including whether or not he proposed to me and whether or not he wished to.
We’d gone to the dinner to try and gain her blessing because Tristan didn’t feel right proposing without it and because, as callous as it sounded, his proposal to me was worthless without the added political and financial protections I’d gain with her support. I’d wanted to use Ka Grey as a shield against the Imperator. And she’d made it clear she’d refuse our engagement as long as the Emartis continued to cause instability in Bamaria.
“You really think I’m that shallow?” Tristan yelled. “That I’m upset over stripes that will heal? What in Moriel’s name are you getting at, forsworn?”
“The fact, Lord Grey, that you have no fucking clue, once again, about the words you’re letting slip out of your mouth.”
“I know damn well—”
“Your mouth is moving, Lord Grey. That’s a problem for me.”
“Have you been a criminal so long you’ve forgotten how our world works? This isn’t the wild outside the Empire. I wouldn’t give a shit if her grace had permanent stripes on every inch of her body—I’d still love her. But Bamarian perception doesn’t work that way. You allow her to be hurt, to be humiliated, you put her in danger. It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen, to make sure she’s prepared, and to keep her grace out of the line of fire. That’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it? You get to stay as long as she does? So do your Godsdamned duty!”
Rhyan’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “Did it ever occur to you that as the forsworn, low-life bastard you constantly tell me I am, that I do not have any say in this matter? Did it not occur to you that you’re right, I do need her to remain in training, and therefore, I’m doing all I fucking can?” he snarled. “I am training her, and all I can do is train her. Oddly, I would be training her right now if you hadn’t interrupted me. Something you seem to like doing.”
“I interrupted nothing. You two were just standing there.”
Rhyan’s eyes moved to me, the look swift and subtle yet rattling me to my core. “She was taking a break after being lashed! Auriel’s fucking bane. Are you really this dense? And speaking of her lashing, where were you? Where the fuck were you when it happened? Not protecting her. Not talking to your precious Imperator to get him to change his mind, to play fairly, or to go easy on her. And you know where else you weren’t? Cleaning out her wounds or washing away her blood. Nor were you bandaging her back to prevent infection. I was there. I was the one.”
At the mention of blood, Tristan looked green, like he was going to be sick. He swallowed roughly, his hand falling to his side. His head swayed, and I realized—he hadn’t asked to see my wounds, not because he didn’t care, but because he couldn’t. His own trauma made him sick over the sight of blood and gore.
Rhyan’s eyes flashed as he saw this, immediately using the small shift in Tristan’s demeanor to his benefit. “What…the idea of blood scares you? Seriously? You’re going to be a boy for the rest of your life.”
“Rhyan!” I said, my voice deadly serious. “Stop! Stop right now.”
He didn’t know that when Tristan was three, a mage with vorakh—with visions—had gone mad and attacked his parents. She hadn’t just murdered them, she’d ripped them to pieces, empowered by the strength and madness that came with her power—the same strength Meera had during visions. Tristan’s parents had died in the most brutal, horrifying way, and up until the end, they’d been trying to protect him. He’d seen the entire thing. I knew deep down, he’d never fully recovered. It was why he hunted vorakh, why he’d never be able to see Meera—and hadn’t been able to see Jules—as anything other than a monster.
Rhyan’s one eyebrow lifted, and his green eyes were on me, questioning. I shook my head, my expression dire. He had to drop this topic. He had to drop it now.
He frowned but gave me one curt nod, leaning forward toward Tristan, a dangerous mischief in his eyes. “Let’s agree on one thing, Lord Grey. I didn’t lash her. I didn’t order her to be lashed. That’s on your precious Imperator.”
“The fuck does that mean? I’m not his fan.”
“Could have fooled me. Since I’ve been in Bamaria, all I see you do is carry out the man’s dirty work, stalking after vorakh, handing them over to him. You were so eager to bind her grace. Do you get a special bonus after you arrest ten? What is it? A weekend in the capitol with him and his uncle?”
Tristan leaned forward, his aura exploding until the room darkened. “I am doing my duty to keep the Empire safe. Maybe it’s not an akadim kill, but until you’ve seen what a vorakh can do, how it grows in strength, how it kills and destroys—” A pained look darkened his features. Tristan looked truly haunted as he spoke. He shook his head. “Now that’s the second time you’ve criticized me for doing exactly what needs to be done, for following the law, for ridding the Empire of danger.” His brown eyes narrowed in suspicion as he assessed Rhyan, looking him up and down. “Tell me, forsworn, is that why you’re so far from home? Why you’re in exile for murdering—”
“Yourself to fucking Moriel,” Rhyan roared. “I swear to the Gods—the amount of wrong, idiotic things you say in so short a fucking time.”
