His father turned at the sound of Tristan’s footsteps. “Tristan,” he said in surprise, his brows furrowing. “What are you doing out here at this late hour? Did Beryk send you?”
“No one sent me,” Tristan assured him. “I was just…” He trailed off. He wasn’t really doing anything.
The commander’s gaze roved his face, and in a surprising act of perceptiveness, he nodded toward the dining hall. “Care to join me for a nightcap?”
“Sure,” Tristan said, slightly dumbfounded as he followed his father through the doors and toward the high table. Late-night drinks were for the commander and his second, or maybe Fallon, the other patrol leader. With a jolt, Tristan realized that he was a patrol leader now, on the same level as these other Master Riders.
A servant was wiping down the long tables that filled the hall, but otherwise, the place was deserted.
“Some rockwine, if you please,” the commander asked when the servant wandered over, “and whatever is left from dinner—there’s no need to reheat.”
While his father took a seat at the head of the high table, Tristan sat next to him, the long planked surface stretching out before them. The servant returned quickly, carrying a tray of assorted cakes and meat pastries, along with two ceramic cups and a chilled decanter dotted with beads of condensation from the warm summer air.
His father took the liberty of pouring—a healthy measure for himself and a lesser amount for his son. Tristan smirked, but he took the cup gratefully. They’d never shared a drink like this before, as if they were old friends. As if they were equals. It made him think of Veronyka.
“How did you manage being my father and my commander these past years? How did you remain neutral?”
His father wore a somewhat dubious expression, popping a bite of a pastry into his mouth and dusting his hands. “I’m not sure I did,” he said, casting his son an appraising look. “I’ve tried to be fair, and when I knew I couldn’t be, well… I didn’t go easier on you, did I? I went harder. I asked more of you than of anyone else, so there could be no question. An imperfect solution, but I knew you were up to the challenge, no matter how much you resented me for it.”
The corners of his father’s mouth quirked, and Tristan copied him. It did seem funny, now that he was on the other side of it. But this was where he’d gone wrong with Veronyka, inadvertently or not. He’d tried to make things easier for her, and that had made everything worse.
“What about you and my mother? You were the governor, plus her patrol leader. Didn’t people whisper and gossip? And what about other mated pairs? Did the First Riders resent Queen Nefyra for having Callysta as her lover and her second?”
The commander considered Tristan over the edge of his cup. “Your interest in this subject matter… it has to do with our stable-boy-turned-apprentice, Veronyka?”
Tristan nodded stiffly, embarrassment tingling up and down his neck. He’d never in his life talked to his father about anything so personal, but the fact that his father guessed so easily meant that it wasn’t just the new masters and young apprentices who’d noted his and Veronyka’s behavior.
His father took a drink, studiously avoiding Tristan’s eyes as he asked, “Are you a mated pair?”
“No!” Tristan blurted, wanting to melt away into the floorboards. “No, I mean… not yet. Maybe never. I just…” Axura above, he was talking to his father about mating with Veronyka. Mating, like animals. The prickling sensation crawling up his back was almost painfully hot. “We have a relationship outside of our roles as Riders, and I’m in a position of authority over her. I need to find a way to make it work so that people don’t think I’m favoring her in some way. I don’t want them to grow to resent her—especially after the whole ‘Nyk’ thing.”
Tristan knew that Riders had romances with one another all the time. That wasn’t the issue. If he were an apprentice, there would be no issue at all. Or maybe he was kidding himself. He was still the commander’s son, wasn’t he? Maybe there was no way for Tristan to become entangled with another Rider without causing some kind of scandal.
“You know your mother and I fought alongside each other for years before it became something more. In truth, I was meant to marry a Stellan girl—some councilman’s daughter. My father had set it up for me, but then I met your mother. Well, I’m sure you remember that Olanna was not a woman to be ignored.”
His father smiled wistfully, and an ache radiated from Tristan’s chest. Sometimes he thought he could remember his mother, but other times he was certain he’d invented an image of her, pieced together from stories told by his nursemaid and his father, or people like Morra. He supposed that it might even be better than the real thing, because their words were colored with love, but he couldn’t help but feel grief for the lack of his own memories.
His father pushed aside the plate of pastries and refilled his cup. When Tristan slid his forward, Cassian hesitated before smiling slightly and topping him off as well—a larger pour than before. “We were never a mated pair—our bondmates were not suited to each other—but our romance was well known. I won’t say that it was easy. In fact, it was exceedingly difficult trying to stay away from your mother—if only for a time. Not that she would have me, at first. She was beloved among her fellow Riders, talented and bright and beautiful. Well born too, with ancestors all the way back to Oriyana Flamesong. I was one in a long line of hopeful suitors. So rather than press her, I made my case over time. Looking back, I think this is why we made such a strong match. We developed a friendship, a foundation, and didn’t allow our feelings to distract us from our duty. There was no resentment or regret. Just as Callysta earned her reputation as a dazzling flyer and devastating warrior before she devoted herself to Nefyra, your mother was Olanna Flamesong long before she was my wife.”
Tristan drank from his cup. He’d never heard his father say so much about his mother, about the time before the war. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was a newfound closeness he was feeling, but the blazing embarrassment that had burned his flesh moments before now felt as warm and comfortable as a hearth fire.
His father spoke easily, but now his tone turned hesitant. “If it is real, Tristan, and not a passing fancy,” he began, and waved off Tristan’s openmouthed attempts to deny anything so frivolous. “I said if. If it is real, it will be all the sweeter for the waiting.”
Waiting. The thought was not an encouraging one. Weren’t they doing enough of that already?
“Has there been any news from the empire?” he asked, changing the subject.
His father cast a wary gaze around the dining hall, but the servant who had brought their meal was gone, and they were alone. Commander Cassian knew that when Tristan asked for news, he meant news from the spy, Sev. It had taken a while to get the information out of his father once Tristan realized the soldier was gone and had left no word of his plans or whereabouts. It had actually been Fallon who’d let it slip during a Riders Council meeting, and Tristan had the sinking feeling that if Fallon hadn’t brought it up, he still wouldn’t know what had become of the animage soldier.
But after their conversation tonight, Tristan felt like he and his father had crossed some invisible barrier—that the commander was finally starting to see Tristan as a man and not a boy.