Desiree marched across the width of Tristan’s shoulders, pausing to paw at the neckline of his top. After three laps and a few scratches between the ears, she settled around his neck, purring softly into his ear. The comfort she brought him was similar to how he’d felt with Sam, a cat he’d grown up with. Warm and soft and sure, quiet and unjudging. He wondered if Ravyn felt the same way about Ball Gag.

Tristan’s sketchbook was laid open across his lap, and the Enchanted pen Destiny had gifted him a lifetime ago danced across the page. He had wanted to draw a portrait of Naeemah since her ascension to Ichi’s throne, and this seemed as good a chance as ever. She carried herself like true nobility—straight-backed and proud, the assertive gaze that dared any to challenge her. Her high cheekbones and sharp angles of her face were as alluring to behold as her daggers.

How do you keep so much confidence? He wished that he could feel even a fraction of her assuredness.

“Tristan,” Cailu called, crossing the courtyard to stand beside him.

Tristan quickly closed the sketchbook and rested his hand on top of it, embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. Art was probably the last thing on Cailu’s list of productive activities. This isn’t training, or reading, or searching for Magni’s book.

Cailu opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, eyes lingering on the book. “You are alone?”

“I just needed some time to think,” Tristan replied. Desiree hopped to the ground, snaking between his feet to rub against his calves. He reached down and stroked the top of her head.

Cailu hesitated, crossed his now unimpeded arms, and asked, “Are you well?”

Tristan blinked. This was obviously not a question Cailu asked lightly nor often. In the short time they’d spent together, it seemed his priorities were fixed on his own well-being and improving the state of Nyarlea. “I… I think so.” He gestured to Cailu’s folded arms. “Is your arm feeling better?”

“It is. Kirti is many things. Thankfully, an apt healer is among them.”

“At least you know for sure that she prefers you healthy,” Tristan quipped with a grin.

Much to his surprise, Cailu returned the smile. A warm, easy reaction that was nothing like the façade he wore as a hardened mentor. “That remains to be seen. Only the gods know what goes on in her head.”

Gods? It interested Tristan to hear him speak of a pantheon outside of Saoirse. He made a mental note to ask Cailu about it later if he had the chance. The last thing he wanted was to shatter the moment with his unending curiosity. “Personally, I think her bark is worse than her bite.”

“I can certainly hope.” Cailu took a seat beside him, gesturing toward the sketchbook. “Were you writing?”

The embarrassment returned. “Drawing, actually.”

Cailu raised an eyebrow. “May I see?”

Tristan’s heart hammered against his chest. Normally he wouldn’t have minded sharing his drawings. But Cailu was such a driving force in Nyarlea. What if he hated them? Or confirmed Tristan’s suspicions that this was the last thing he should be spending his time on? “...Alright.” He handed the sketchbook over.

While Cailu thumbed through the pages, Tristan leaned forward and clasped his hands, letting them hang between his thighs. He did his best not to writhe his fingers with nervousness, settling on a war between his thumbs.

“Your work is extraordinary,” Cailu said.

“Really?” Tristan couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting at all.

“Yes. You perceive a person’s depths and capture it to a page.” He held up a portrait of Destiny that Tristan had drawn a few months before Matt had taken him away from the school. “There are more than just pen strokes here. There is a soul behind the image.”

Tristan allowed himself to bask in the praise. Just a little bit. “Thank you, Cailu.”

“Heiki—” Cailu paused.

It was the same name Tristan had heard him speak before. He waited.

“My daughter would love to see these,” Cailu continued, his words slow and measured. “She desperately wished to apprentice to a painter.”

From his last world? It must have been. Cailu must have fathered five times the kittens that Tristan had in his three years in Nyarlea. “You said she would be twenty now, right?”

“Yes.” Cailu maintained his gaze on the sketchbook. A new light flickered in his eyes—the glimpse of a favored memory. Tristan often saw the same spark in Destiny’s when she talked about Leche.

“Even if she didn’t find an apprenticeship, I’m sure she paints wonderful pieces,” Tristan suggested. “Art never seems to leave a person. It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched any other way.”

Cailu chuckled. “Heiki would share your sentiments. She believed it her sole duty to capture the beauty of the world as she saw it.”

“Spoken like a true artist,” Tristan said.

“My wife was proud to have an artist in the family—” Cailu stopped on Tristan’s most recent drawing.

Naeemah.

The brief light that had ignited Cailu’s gaze as he spoke of his previous life was extinguished.

How can you stand it? Betraying the memory of the one you cherished most?

Cailu… you are not alone.

Tristan gently took the sketchbook from Cailu’s hands and spread it wide over his lap. “I know I’m younger than your daughter, but I’d like to tell you what I think, if I may.”

“Hm?” Cailu stared at something miles away in the distance.

Lifting the page containing Naeemah’s drawing, Tristan carefully tore it away from the spine. “In your last world, I can only imagine you as a great father and husband. With all you’ve done for me and Matt, I’m positive that Heiki counts herself lucky to call you her dad.” He tugged the final inches of paper free and closed the book. “There’s nothing you can do for Heiki or your wife anymore. You’ve done all you can. However,” he held the drawing out for Cailu to take, “there are people here, in this world, that care about you.”

Cailu accepted the sketch of Naeemah and studied it in silence for a time.

“I don’t think that seeking happiness in your second chance at life—especially when you’ve done nothing but give this place your everything—betrays anyone,” Tristan continued softly. “Nor will it take away the memories that you made.”

Another stretch of silence passed between them. At last, Cailu murmured, “You certainly do have a gift of seeing others as they are, Tristan.” He tried to hand the drawing back.

Tristan shook his head and held up a hand. “Keep it. Please. I’m just glad you like it.”

“You have my thanks.” The way Cailu said it implied that he meant more than just the sketch.

“Anytime.” Tristan smiled. “So, why did you actually come out here to find me?”

“Ah, yes. The topic at hand.” Cailu nodded and carefully rolled the sketch before depositing it into his [Cat Pack]. “How does the search for Magni’s book fare?”

“Not great,” Tristan admitted. “There’s a small library on the third floor managed by a woman named Svarga.” Mentioning her name teased at the feelings he desperately wanted to suppress. He swallowed hard and continued. “She says she was Magni’s scribe.”

“You view this as a poor result?” Cailu looked bemused.

“Considering she also said that Magni burned a few of the books for kindling, yes. I don’t think a book that matters so much to him would be stored there.”

“Did you happen to inquire with the scribe about this tome?”

“You said to keep it to ourselves for now.” Tristan shrugged, replacing his sketchbook and pen in his pack. “So, no. I didn’t ask her.”

Cailu nodded. “You listen attentively and learn quickly. Matt would do well to learn from you.”

“There’s plenty I want to learn from him, too.” Tristan ran a hand through his hair. “But I can ask Svarga later if nothing turns up.”

“Your time to do so may be limited, which brings me to my next request. I wish to meet with you, Matt, and your Parties to discuss where we will travel next.”

A cold understanding trickled through Tristan’s veins. They’d have to split up again. After everything they’d been through together. “I-I see.”

“You will both have the means and equipment to face your next challenges. We will also establish a reliable method of communication between us,” Cailu replied. “These are all things I wish to address with all members present.”

Tristan was fine with Cailu misinterpreting his apprehension for fear of being ill-prepared. It was easier than the alternative. “That makes sense.”

Cailu stood, and Tristan followed suit. “Let us convene in the dining hall?”

“Sure. It should be close to dinner time anyway,” Tristan agreed. “I’ll be right there.”

“Of course.” Cailu turned and made his way back to the citadel. After a few strides, he stopped. “Oh, and Tristan?”

“Hm?”

“Any man would be lucky to call you their son.” Without another word, Cailu disappeared into the castle.

Desiree jumped into Tristan’s arms as he watched Cailu go. The torrent of emotions building in his chest overwhelmed him with Cailu’s words. He bowed his head into Desiree’s fur and let the tears run free.