Chapter 31-2

“Don’t play dumb, Lyons. The whole of Luca knows you released him. You can thank your friend Sander for that.” “He’s not my friend,” Tristan said between clenched teeth. “The High Commander—does he know?” Guenther pulled a letter from a pocket in his cloak. “He knows. This is for you.” He shoved the note at Tristan. Tristan traced his finger over the embossed fleur-de-lis sealing the letter shut. “From the High Commander?” Guenther nodded. Tristan broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. He read the letter, shook his head, and then read it again. “No,” he said, white-faced. “No, this isn’t from him.” “It is,” said Guenther. “You know that inimitable seal as well as I. You have one week.” He didn’t give them the courtesy of bowing before trudging away. “What does it say?” Sam asked. Tristan crumpled the letter in his fist. “We have one week to recapture Sander,” he said, “or my life is forfeit.” “What?” Sam whispered, aghast. “The High Commander offers you and Braeden amnesty,” Tristan continued, his voice shaking—with anger, Sam thought, and something else. “You cannot be blamed for my treachery, and if I should fail to obey his edict, he will welcome you back with open arms. But if you should stay by my side--” Tristan closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. “If you should stay by my side, he will name you traitors, too.” “If we should succeed in taking Sander back,” asked Braeden, “all three of us, what will happen?” “Nothing, for you,” Tristan said. “My life will be spared, but recapturing Sander would be my last act as Paladin. The High Commander has stripped me of my title.” Stunned, Sam’s mouth dropped open. The only coherent sound she could make was, “Huh?” “You heard me.” He laughed incredulously. “I’m no longer a Paladin.” Her incoherence faded and a deluge of words rushed out. “But what you said before, about the High Commander listening to you, about your mutual trust, the years you’ve known each other…” “I know what I said!” Tristan snapped. “He’s already made this pronouncement publicly. Every Paladin knows or will soon know that I’m persona non grata. He won’t go back on it, not now. That would be tantamount to openly admitting he erred in his judgment, and he won’t do that, not even for me.” Sam refused to believe that the High Commander could not be swayed. “Maybe if you just get Sander back--” “No,” Tristan said with finality. “Sander is not the only man who keeps his promises. Whatever else I might think of him or the Uriel, I am in his debt. I cannot in good conscience bring Sander before the High Commander in chains when I can’t predict the outcome. I will not be responsible for his death.” “What then?” Braeden asked. “You said our lives would be forfeit, but what does that mean?” “My life, not yours,” said Tristan. “Your lives are only forfeit if you choose not to leave. I imagine it means he’ll put a price on my head.” “So what will you do? Hide?” asked Braeden. “There’s no hiding from the High Commander,” Tristan said bitterly. “I never thought I’d have to.” “So don’t,” Sam said. “Confront him! Make him understand.” Tristan slumped in his saddle, despair written across his face. Sam had never seen him look so utterly hopeless. “What makes you think he’ll believe me? I would have though the ten years I spent in his company would have afforded me the benefit of the doubt.” Sam drew herself up. “We’ll support you,” she said. “Braeden and I, we’ll confront the High Commander with you.” Tristan turned his horse so he could stare her full in the face. His gaze was furious. “Don’t be a fool, Sam. That’s signing your death warrant.” He gestured at Braeden. “Talk some sense into him. The gods know he’s never listened to me before.” He smirked without humor. “And now neither of you have to. Perhaps they’ll assign Sagar as your new mentor. He showed a keen interest in overseeing Sam’s corruption.” Suddenly, Sam was mad. Irate, even. She looked at Tristan with a glare that was every bit as furious as his. “How dare you,” she seethed. “How dare you presume so little of us. I don’t want Sagar as my mentor. I want you. I don’t care if you are Paladin Lyons or just plain Tristan. You’re the only man in the whole gods damned kingdom who can beat me with a sword.” “Speaking of presumptuous,” Tristan murmured. She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Shut up, you. You’re the reason I became a Paladin. Sander might have saved your life, but you saved mine.” Tristan blinked. “When did I save your life?” Shite. Of course he wouldn’t remember his gallant rescue of her as a young girl. She backpedaled quickly. “Never you mind. The point is we aren’t going to desert you. Right, Braeden?” “I go where you go,” he said simply. It wasn’t the answer she expected—and in another time, in another place, she would have analyzed what Braeden meant by it—but it would do for now. Sam crossed her arms over her chest. “So there you have it. We aren’t leaving.” Tristan threw up his arms in exasperation. “Suicidal fools, the both of you.” After a moment, he said quietly, “Thank you.” Sam had reached her limit on sentimentality. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “What now, Tristan?” Tristan straightened his shoulders and said with renewed steel, “We continue on to the Diamond Coast. I have a few words to say to the High Commander.” Sam shook her head. “Not you, we,” she said. “We have a few words to say to the High Commander.”