The possibility that they might lose became real to Veronyka for the first time. And she had convinced Tristan to involve Xephyra and the rest of the phoenixes. Veronyka might lose her bondmate all over again. Her legs became wobbly stems beneath her, and she drew air in quick, shallow breaths. The stronghold was flooded with fear, her own most powerful of all, and Veronyka thought she might drown in it.
High above, a phoenix screeched, and Veronyka looked up to see Xephyra burn a brilliant violet streak across the sky. Rex and the other phoenixes joined in, and as the stronghold’s defenders clapped and cheered, the heavy press of emotion lightened. Veronyka knew then that she’d made the right decision. Not only had they brought hope to their flagging defenders, but the phoenixes were true warriors—if anyone was qualified to fight the soldiers tonight, it was them.
Tristan dove into the fighting as soon as they returned, helping two of his fellow apprentices reclaim a section of the wall as Rex and the others soared by. The defenders waved their weapons in the air, heartened by their reinforcements, while the soldiers stared at the firebirds with openmouthed fear. Maybe they thought all the phoenixes had been drawn out by the diversions, or maybe they’d never faced them in battle before.
Rex and the other males flew together in circles high above the battle, slowly building their heat, while Xephyra and the females were far more erratic. Veronyka was relieved to see that neither of the unbonded phoenixes had used the opportunity to flee—at least not yet.
Rex was the first to break the pattern, igniting as he dove toward the attacking forces. He whipped past the walls, trailing fire in his wake and causing soldiers to duck and cry out, only to topple from the wall or be cut through by a defender. It took several passes for the phoenix fire to actually burn the ropes, thanks to the pyraflora resin, but with each sweep of flaming wing or tail feather, the ropes frayed and weakened. The rest of the males followed after him, orbiting the stronghold with swathes of flame until it was lit to almost daylight brightness.
Veronyka glanced at Tristan, worried for how he’d react to so much fire, but he was focused on the fighting. His mental safe house must be holding up well. She’d sensed him working on it inside the Eyrie, and some instinct—or maybe the information Val had given her about how she’d controlled Xephyra—told her that she could lend Tristan her strength, that she could help him through their connection. She didn’t know if it had worked, only that Tristan’s erratic breathing had slowed and the tension in his mind cleared.
Taking up her serrated knife once more, Veronyka found an untouched rope and got to work. She still wore a quiver of arrows, and her bow was strapped to her back, but the weapon made her feel like a fraud. She could barely draw the string or hit a stationary target, never mind kill a man in the middle of a battle. She tried to let Tristan’s reassurances wash over her: You have other strengths, you know.
Like hacking at ropes?
Her palms were so sweaty, she could barely hold the handle, but she did her best to focus. While Veronyka might be able to block out the feelings of other people and animals, Xephyra was bonded to her, and their joint emotions swirled together as the fight wore on. The war cry that ripped from Xephyra’s beak left Veronyka’s throat dry, and the heat that rippled from her wings caused Veronyka’s skin to itch.
She encouraged her bondmate to mimic Rex’s flight patterns, and after much nudging and convincing, Xephyra began to follow him through his dives and circles. The other two females, on the other hand, did whatever they pleased. Xatara was screeching relentlessly, ripping and snapping at anyone and everyone, not just the soldiers. Luckily, the attacking arrows drew her attention more than the defenders on the wall, so she harassed their encampment below and tore climbers from the wall with beak and talons.
Xolanthe focused her attention on the village gate, which was billowing clouds of black smoke as it burned. Veronyka didn’t understand why the phoenix flew in that direction; maybe she felt somewhat territorial about the area or was drawn there by the fire.
Veronyka watched, heart in her throat, as Xoe dove among the attackers. She was smaller than most of the full-grown phoenixes, but it didn’t stop her from wreaking havoc on the soldiers storming the village. The more they tried to attack her, the more vicious her dives became. They’d brought nets with them, similar to the one the commander had used to trap Xephyra, and Veronyka bristled at the sight of the hated metal mesh. They tried several times to catch Xoe, but she managed to dodge their attempts, screeching in irritation and swooping back around.
In a gust of flame and sparks, she dropped among them, only to rise again with her claws sunk deep into the side of the massive battering ram. Phoenixes could carry heavy loads, but even still, she struggled to take flight. The soldiers holding it clung desperately for a moment, then dropped to the ground, backing away and taking up bows and spears instead. Another net flew into the air, snagging on the ram but missing Xoe’s wing by mere inches.
Fingers of dread slipped down Veronyka’s spine. She tried to throw her magic to the phoenix, to warn her, but she was too far away, and there was too much happening in between them for her to establish any kind of connection. Instead she stared, unmoving, as Xoe pumped her great wings, slowly rising from the mass of soldiers surrounding the front gate, dragging the ram with her.
From underneath her feathers her fire burned, growing hotter and brighter as her plumage began to smolder, then burst into flame, heat waves rippling over the grassy plain as the phoenix and the wooden ram ignited. With a victorious shriek, she dropped the burning assault weapon among the soldiers and spread her wings for flight, unencumbered by the heavy object that had been gripped in her claws.
Veronyka let out a sigh of relief—but it was too soon.
One of the attacking archers lined up his shot and loosed, the arrow lodging itself in the middle of Xoe’s chest. She shrieked, and the agonized sound drew the attention of everyone in the stronghold.
Xoe beat her wings and struggled to fly, but she was still within range. As the embedded arrow shaft caught fire, three more followed it, peppering the side of her body and her left wing.
She keened, her inner light flickering as she banked hard, flapping her good wing, trying to remain aloft. But her flight was imbalanced and sluggish, and the sparks that flew from her body turned to ash as she fell among the rooftops of the silent village. She disappeared from sight, but Veronyka knew, somewhere deep in her magical senses, that the phoenix was gone. She had no bondmate to gather her body or build her pyre, and by the time someone at the stronghold found her—if anyone survived this attack—would it be too late? Or would she choose not to come back anyway, allowing her fire to turn to smoke, her flesh to ash, and her spirit to be free at last?
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Phoenixes were magical, immortal if not slain. They weren’t supposed to be in chains, behind bars, or shot down by empire soldiers. Xoe had fought bravely for the Riders only to have her moment of victory ripped from her and her life extinguished.
A violent screech rent the night, and Xatara burst into sudden, savage flame. She dipped into the trees that dotted the mountainside below, only to surge up again moments later with two soldiers clutched in her talons. She dropped them from a sickening height, their terrified screams and burning bodies disappearing into the forest below, but Xatara wasn’t finished.