Tristan was unconscious and falling helplessly through the air, and it was all her fault.
Ever since Veronyka discovered her birth certificate, ever since her world blew up around her and she reached for her once-sister without a second thought—without an ounce of hesitation—Val had been inside her head.
A whisper here, a comment there. Just enough to taunt Veronyka but not enough to give her anything she actually wanted or needed. What she needed was to focus on her audition and be made a Master Rider. What she wanted… that was harder.
Yes, she wanted answers, and Val promised them—at a price, of course. With Val there was always a price.
I’ll tell you everything, Veronyka, if you join me. I’m the only one who can help you.
I’m the only one who knows. Who understands.
Leave the Eyrie and join me.
Veronyka had tried to rebuild her walls, tried to keep Val out—but she had invited Val into her mind, and that had weakened her defenses. Then there was the part of her that wanted what Val was offering—the truth about her past—so desperately she thought she’d choke on the words when she refused.
You know I won’t abandon my place here. Leave me alone.
Your place? Veronyka, you are an Ashfire…. Your place is where you will it. It is your birthright.
As the day wore on, it was clear their connection was flickering and fading away—partially from Veronyka’s efforts and partially from the natural deterioration of the previous day’s link—and Veronyka suspected Val was doing whatever she could to maintain the contact. Her intrusions became more insistent, more pressing, trying to widen and restabilize the channel.
Your place is with me.
Leave me alone, Veronyka said, over and over again. And so Val tried a different tack.
I guess with soldiers on the move, she began idly, you’ll be flying out soon anyway.
Veronyka hadn’t responded to that. Val was baiting her, trying to pull her attention—trying to offer information Veronyka didn’t have. Information Veronyka would give up everything for.
Oh dear. I do hope they don’t plan to leave you behind….
How did Val know? How did she always know the way to Veronyka’s heart—and why did she always do damage when she got there?
And then, just as she and Tristan were about to complete their handoff…
We could do it together, you know…. We could save lives, save the world. You and I together could change everything….
There was power in Val’s words—they’d pulled and dragged at Veronyka. It was almost enough to rob her of her consciousness, but she’d been so preoccupied with keeping Val out of her mind and herself in the saddle that she hadn’t thought about Tristan, who shared her mind and was just as vulnerable as her but had no idea about it or how to protect himself.
Their hands had touched, the skin-on-skin contact blasting their connection wide open, and now he was plummeting from his phoenix’s back.
Veronyka didn’t think; she acted. Tristan had barely left his saddle before she turned in her seat and leapt after him.
She fell, the wind tearing at her hair and clothes and roaring in her ears. Fear gripped her stomach as the ground rushed toward her, but she kept her gaze focused on Tristan.
He was still unconscious, his limp body twisting and flailing in the air, catching the wind and slowing his fall. Arms pinned to her sides and head dipped toward the ground, Veronyka pelted after him like an arrow, catching up easily. When she was near enough, she extended an arm and reached, gripping his tunic and releasing a half gasp, half sob. Just as she wrapped her arms around his chest and her legs around his waist, Xephyra became visible in her peripheral vision, diving right after Veronyka had. Thanks to the bond, she’d understood at once what Veronyka intended to do and had hastened to play her part.
Xephyra caught up to them, then blurred past, slipping underneath in one fluid motion.
Their speed matched, Veronyka gripped the saddle and pressed herself and Tristan against it, eyes closed and heart hammering. Xephyra spread her wings, catching the wind and slowing their descent.
Only, they weren’t slowing fast enough.
The crowd below gasped, and Veronyka opened her eyes to see Xephyra trying desperately to pull back up again, but the ground was rushing toward them, and impact was seconds away.
We’re not going to make it, Veronyka thought desperately. The sounds from the crowd below changed, shifting from shock and confusion to shouts of alarm. Veronyka clung to the saddle, bracing them both for impact.
But the panic Xephyra had been projecting ceased, and she spoke to Veronyka in a calm, self-assured tone. We will.
Before Veronyka could say anything else, an earsplitting shriek sounded from above. She craned her neck to see Rex swooping down, his shadow falling over them and his clawed feet descending.
His claws sank into the saddle on either side of Tristan and Veronyka, and once he had them in his grip, he threw his wings wide, just as Xephyra had done.
Wind buffeted them as they slowed, the combined efforts of both phoenixes’ wingspans doing what one alone could not. Xephyra and Rex pulled up mere inches from the ground, sweeping back around to slow their speed and control their flight. Rex released his grip on the saddle, and Xephyra turned in a wobbly arc before coming to a landing.
Veronyka drew herself up so she could get a better look at Tristan, but he remained unconscious. The other Riders crowded around as Veronyka slid from the saddle—or tried to. Rex had taken up a defensive position, screeching at anyone who got too near his bondmate.
Veronyka opened her mouth to speak, but it was Xephyra who intervened, screeching loudly to draw Rex’s attention, Tristan still lying across her back. Rex stared at his bondmate, then tossed his head angrily before stepping aside. Veronyka gaped at the pair of them, at their easy shorthand and the stunning rescue they’d managed together. It occurred to her that as she and Tristan grew closer, their bond strengthening, the same thing was happening between Xephyra and Rex. The thought was a melancholy one, considering she’d been doing her best to deny them that same closeness.
Elliot had already run for the healer, while everyone whispered and muttered and called Tristan’s name. The commander pushed to the front, pulling Tristan down from Xephyra’s back and carrying him, like a child, into the village.
Veronyka hung back, her heart clenched painfully and her hands trembling. Xephyra nudged her and crooned low in her throat, but it was no good.
When Tristan woke up, she’d have some explaining to do.
* * *
Veronyka remained by Tristan’s bedside in the Eyrie for the rest of the day, Rex and Xephyra hovering just outside the door. The healer had decided, after checking his vitals, that Tristan was simply exhausted. Their journey to Vayle—along with the days of work and fielding villager complaints—had clearly left him overtaxed. Beryk and the commander, who had both remained nearby as she assessed him, nodded their agreement, happy with this most simple of excuses.
Veronyka, however, knew the truth. She had done this. Well, she and Val.
The healer had ordered rest—as well as a pot of Morra’s pungent herbal tea—for him, and been on her way.
The commander had turned to Veronyka, who lingered nearby. “Thank you,” he said, somewhat hoarsely, his face pale.