Chapter 37: Part I-1

Tristan removed his hand from the viper’s hip--the forward woman had put it there herself. “My lady—“ he began, unsure of how best to put her off. “Call me Lilah.” “Your Grace, we both know that’s not your real name.” The duchess of Catania pouted prettily. “It is for tonight.” Tristan sighed. “My lady, there is no denying you are a beautiful woman—“ “Thank you, Paladin,” she purred, attempting to entwine herself around him. “—But I am certain His Grace would not approve of our entanglement.” Tristan gripped her gently by the shoulders, holding her at bay. The duchess snorted indelicately. “His Grace and I have an understanding,” she said. “And I do so love what the Paladins do for our country. Surely you deserve to be rewarded for your service.” Tristan was fed up with her coquettishness. “Find another Paladin to so reward. Or better yet, find your husband.” He skimmed the room, looking for Sam and Braeden, and found Sagar instead. He took the proffered lifeline. “Excuse me, but I think I see an old friend.” Sagar was well in his cups, and after enduring twenty minutes of his incoherent babbling, Tristan decided it was time to leave. “Have you seen my trainees?” he asked. He thought he’d seen a glimpse of Sam while the duchess still had her claws in him. “Who? Oh, the lad with the funny eyes and the short one with the mouth?” Sagar scratched his head, an intense look of concentration on his face. “Think I saw ‘em leave together.” “Nice of them to tell me,” Tristan grumbled. Sagar elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Can’t blame ‘em. You didn’t look like you wanted interrupting.” “I would have appreciated the interruption,” he said. “I better go after them and make sure they don’t get into any trouble.” “You’ve turned into a right prude, you know that?” said Sagar. “You used to be the one causing trouble, not the one cleaning it up. ‘Tis a sad day for the Paladins to have lost the great Tristan Lyons to respectability. Think I might need to have me another drink to toast his passing.” Tristan bit his tongue to prevent saying something he’d regret. “Have a good night, Sagar.” A number of others – both men and women – stopped Tristan as he maneuvered towards the tavern’s exit, but he spoke to them just long enough to be polite before extricating himself from the conversation. He had no idea where his trainees were, he was relatively sober in a room full of drunkards, and he was in a bear of a mood. If he was being honest with himself, he had been in a foul mood for over a week. Lady Samantha’s death had affected him far more than it should, though only the gods knew why. It was already well past midnight when he finally escaped the party, which despite the late hour showed no signs of abating. He made his way upstairs and to his room without disruption, hesitating behind the door that separated his room from Sam and Braeden’s. It was late but, damn it, they should have told him they were leaving. He knocked. Sam answered the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He blinked a few times before registering Tristan. A long silence passed between them. Sam’s eyes traveled up Tristan’s body, from his rumpled tunic to his face. A flicker of something passed behind Sam’s eyes – sadness or disappointment, Tristan wasn’t sure. He resisted the urge to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. He’d done nothing to be ashamed of—if anything, he’d been unusually well-behaved. He turned down a damn duchess, for the gods’ sake, not that he had to explain himself to his own trainee. “Well?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “ ‘Tis not morning, is it?” “No, not yet. We have a few hours ‘til dawn.” “Then what are you here for?” Tristan cleared his throat. “I was…concerned.” Sam’s brows rose into his hairline. “For me?” “Yes, for you,” he said. “And Braeden, too, of course. That party was treacherous, and I couldn’t find you.” “Well, we’re here,” said Sam flatly. “If there’s nothing else?” Tristan was a little taken aback at the boy’s coldness. Normally Sam was all fire and spirit. “No, that was it.” “Then goodnight, Paladin.” Sam shut the door between them. Tristan had been summarily dismissed. He stood staring at the closed door for a while, wondering what he’d done to deserve his trainee’s censure and why it bothered him so. Dawn came just seconds after he drifted off to sleep, or at least so it seemed to Tristan. It was a strange thing, fostering trainees – when he’d traveled on his own, he would have allowed himself to doze for another hour. He’d been beholden to no one. But now that he had his trainees – or his boys as he thought of them when he was feeling particularly sentimental – he did what he said he would and he did it with a smile. Or at least without a frown. Most of the time. Once he’d dressed, he burst into Braeden and Sam’s room without pausing to knock. “Wake up, you lazy slugabeds!” Sam and Braeden were already wide awake, clothed and packed, sitting idly on the edge of their respective pallets as though they’d been waiting for him forever. Sam ignored him, massaging the tender skin underneath his eyes, and Braeden just frowned at him. “Well,” said Tristan, slightly dismayed that he wouldn’t get to lecture them. “I’ll finish packing, then.” They left from the inn’s stables shortly thereafter, the sun still partially hidden by the horizon. Tristan kept the horses to a brisk pace, but not so brisk that they couldn’t manage conversation. But apart from answering his occasional questions with monosyllabic responses, Braeden and Sam were silent – not just with him, but with each other, too. Their unusual silence persisted into the next few days. Each day was much the same – they rode their horses until the animals tired, trained until nightfall and then made camp, to rise and repeat on the morrow. Such a pattern wasn’t out of the ordinary for travel, but without Sam’s regular banter and Braeden’s pithy remarks, even the most trivial of activities seemed off. Tristan didn’t know what to make of it. He’d thought Braeden and Sam had developed a camaraderie of sorts – he envied their closeness, at times – but something had disturbed their easy friendship. They moved around each other like magnets repelling, bouncing back skittishly whenever one of them drew too near. Yet as soon as they drifted apart, their eyes invariably sought out the other.