“Spare me your concerns. The training is acceptable, and the trials endurable. The boy will not break.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it did not break Stasia!”

Thorda glared in his direction, but Rayan matched it intensity for intensity.

“Yet Mari did not undergo the same training when she later came of age. I wonder why?”

A long, dangerous pause followed. Thorda slowly stood, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You stumble blindly, and know nothing of what you speak. My tutelage is necessary if Cyrus is to become what Thanet needs. The Everlorn Empire is cruel and merciless. We must be the same if we are to achieve victory.”

“Then you admit you are cruel to him?”

Thorda slammed a fist to the wall. Perhaps it was a reflection from the fire, but the flames burning in his red eyes, they seemed so real.

“Enough. You are not the only one who cares for the boy!”

Awkward silence overcame them. Rayan leaned back in his seat, debating priorities. His sermons and lectures in Vallessau and the surrounding countryside were vital to maintaining belief in Lycaena. But he had also sworn an oath to the Lythan family. Here in this mansion was the last of that family. How did one balance such responsibilities?

“Let me train him,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Absolutely not. You will be a fine test for him, but only when his skill set is firmly established.”

“My duty is to the royal family,” Rayan insisted. “And you yourself will readily admit I am capable with a sword. Why would you deny my involvement?”

The Miquoan man smoothed out his robe, and he appeared embarrassed by his prior outburst.

“Twice before I have attempted to give conquered people a new champion. Both times I chose the greatest fighters the nation may offer. In Aethenwald it was a priestess raised from birth to be a master wielder of their spears. In Noth-Wall, a knight who won dozens of their prize-tournaments. Neither survived, for they knew not how to fight against paragons, and their training clashed with my own, often in ways I failed to predict. I cannot scour habits and instincts I am unaware of. But with Cyrus? He is dedicated, focused, and will know only that which I teach him. He can become everything Rhodes sought to create. I failed my husband, but I will not fail Cyrus. We will succeed. I know it. I feel it, Rayan, feel it deep in my bones. Here, upon this jewel of the Crystal Sea, we shall accomplish miracles.”

There was a possessiveness here that Rayan deeply distrusted. Thorda’s dedication was unmatched; of that, the paladin had no doubt. But what he was doing with Cyrus, it felt desperate. It went beyond training. Was it the connection to this rarely mentioned Rhodes Ahlai?

“You won’t fail him,” he asked slowly, carefully. “How did you fail your husband?”