weak grasp at humility slipped away with every step he took toward the obstacle course. How could his father do this to him? He was the best apprentice they had, and still he wasn’t good enough. Sure, he’d made some mistakes, but only because his father pushed him to that brink.
By the time he reached Nyk, standing anxiously next to Wind, Tristan’s mood burned hotter than Rex in a fire dive.
Calm as the mountain, he told himself, but the words held no meaning.
He didn’t speak to the boy, who looked up at him with hair and eyes as dark as charcoal. He had a smudge of dirt on his short nose, and his servant uniform was filthy and ill fitting. Still, he had to be magically powerful, to pull off the stunt he did during the obstacle course. To calm a horse as wild as Wind and to approach Rex in full flame without fear or hesitation . . . He had the stuff of a Rider, Tristan had to grudgingly admit. But all the raw talent in the world didn’t make Nyk an expert, and the commander assigning the boy to help Tristan—that cut more deeply than his fragile ego could bear.
Scowling, he snatched the reins, mounted up, and called his other animals. Without a word he began the course, leaving the boy behind.
Halfway through, however, Nyk caught up.
“I . . . I thought I was supposed to help you?” he asked, wide-eyed and uncertain.
Tristan paused before the target up ahead. “Do you ride?” he asked.
“What—horses?” Nyk said.
Tristan’s nostrils flared. “Yes, horses,” he said, forcing his voice into politeness. He knew the boy didn’t ride horses, or phoenixes, or llamas for that matter.
“No,” Nyk said, and Tristan nodded.
“And have you any skill with a bow?” Tristan indicated the weapon in his hands.
“No,” the boy said again, looking down.
“No,” Tristan repeated. “Have you used a messenger pigeon? Hunted with a hound? Have you done anything that I am doing in this obstacle course?”
Nyk shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ground.
“I didn’t think so,” Tristan said, focusing again on the target several yards away. He knew he was being harsh, but he couldn’t seem to stop. This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Father? To make me more like you?
“Why did he assign me to help you, then?” Nyk asked, looking up at last. Tristan felt an unwilling stab of compassion for him.
“That was just the commander toying with you. You’ll get used to it—or not. I thought I had, and now look at me.”
A rush of blood burned Tristan’s cheeks—he hadn’t meant to say so much, to reveal his true feelings. But to his surprise, when he glanced down at Nyk, there was deep understanding in his expression, as if Tristan’s words hadn’t been the nonsense ramblings of the commander’s privileged, misunderstood son, but something he could completely relate to.
“What do you want me to do, then?” Nyk asked after several silent moments. As he stared up at Tristan, his eyes landed on the knuckles of his right hand—raw and bloody from his punch to the wall.
Tristan moved it out of sight and straightened in the saddle. “Just keep quiet and stay out of my way.”
“Will you do the finish?” Nyk asked, gesturing toward their stack of supplies, which would certainly be in danger of catching fire if Rex ignited nearby.
“No,” said Tristan, more sharply than he intended, “I—no, not tonight.”
Nyk nodded, a slight frown on his face, and stepped aside.
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t face Rex in full flame again, not so soon after his screwup this afternoon, but he had to be more careful. Being on edge only made everything worse.
With a slow breath out his nose, Tristan straightened his shoulders and continued.
The course was exhausting, especially for the second time that day. Though he did his best not to show the strain—a habit he’d picked up after being constantly scrutinized by his father—sweat dotted Tristan’s brow, and his concentration was waning. Keeping a firm grip on three animals, as well as a connection to Rex as he soared overhead, was draining. He soon began cutting corners, telling Rex to circle but not encouraging him to give reports on the landscape or goings-on in the stronghold’s grounds.
Nyk became increasingly agitated, following along silently but clearly dying to say something. He opened and closed his mouth, gripped his hands tightly together, and kept moving closer only to jump back again.
Tristan couldn’t take it. “What?” he