The empire had a standing army of thousands of soldiers, but they were spread throughout the valley. And each answered to a different governor who acted as general for the troops stationed in their province. They deployed them however they saw fit—to keep the peace in busy cities, to patrol their borders, or to travel with them as they spent time in the capital or toured the provinces. When there was war, their orders came from the king or queen, or in this case, the Council of Governors. Without a monarch who had final say over the council’s decisions, every move they made had to be decided upon by a majority vote. Sev often heard people on the streets of Aura Nova lamenting the fact that the council couldn’t agree on when to take a piss, never mind the larger issues that affected the empire.
“So, this attack wasn’t sanctioned by the entire council . . . ,” the commander mused. “I may be able to use that.”
Sev hadn’t considered the ramifications of this information. If Lord Rolan had done this without approval—and failed—well, the council might decide to punish him when word reached them of this unprovoked attack on a Pyraean settlement. Phoenix Riders might be illegal in the empire, but its laws didn’t reach into Pyra any longer. It had no authority in the Freelands.
“Why would he do it alone?” Sev wondered aloud. “Why risk it? What are the Phoenix Riders to him?”
He didn’t really expect the commander to answer him, but after several silent moments, he spoke. “Beyond a way to gain fame and notoriety?” he mused, rubbing his chin. “Lord Rolan received his position as governor of Ferro when I was exiled. When he learned from Elliot that I was behind the resurgence of the Phoenix Riders . . . I think the task of destroying us would have had all the more appeal to him. He and I have a past that stretches back decades.”
Sev felt suddenly out of his depth. These were the empire’s highest politicians, with endless wealth and resources at their disposal. What could he possibly do on his own?
“What we’d need is proof . . . evidence that shows Lord Rolan’s hand in all this. Without it, he will simply deny involvement and claim Captain Belden and the rest of these soldiers went rogue. But with it, we might be able to turn the council against him and gain some kind of leverage.”
Sev nodded, thinking about the captain’s messenger pigeons. Trix said she hadn’t been able to find any letters to Elliot during their time traveling Pyrmont. That meant any communication they had was likely back in Aura Nova. But still, would Belden’s correspondence implicate Rolan, or was the man wise enough to cover his tracks?
“I’ll try my best, Commander. The bondservants notice far more than they let on, and Ilithya had plenty of contacts. I think I may be able to get their help.”
“Remember, soldier—they cannot know I sent you or that we have even spoken. If they suspect you . . .”
“They’ll kill me,” Sev said simply. “I have no valuable information I can reveal. It’s my life I risk, and nothing else.”
The commander nodded, unable to deny the truth in that. Sev wasn’t trying to be cavalier or pretend that he was eager to risk his life. His shoulder throbbed. The truth was, sometimes surviving was the hard work, and if he could face that, he could face anything.
“Sir,” Sev began hesitantly, after several moments of silence. “She—Ilithya—she said something to me, before she died. Something . . . odd.”
Sev hadn’t forgotten Trix’s final words to him, but he’d been so overwhelmed with grief and pain, and unsure of his next step, that he hadn’t had the clarity of mind to really examine them further. Until now.
“And this was out of character for her?” he prompted.
Sev almost wanted to laugh. “No, not really, but what she said was strange, even for her. She said that Avalkyra Ashfire lived.”
The commander stared at him. “Well, that can’t be true. She died in the Blood War—there were witnesses. Ilithya was an old woman, and she served our queen faithfully all her life. Love can sometimes twist the mind and make facts out of fictions. Surely, if Avalkyra Ashfire were alive, she would be here with us.”
The words made sense, and his steady, reassuring tone urged Sev to agree with him.
But when Sev nodded, the commander glanced away, looking more unsettled by the idea than he’d let on. He had certainly been quick to dismiss it, and Sev supposed that he couldn’t blame the man for thinking a long-dead queen was in fact actually dead. He’d probably known Avalkyra—or at least met her—and being a Phoenix Rider, he must have supported her in the war.
Then why did Sev get the impression that he didn’t want her to be back?
The commander shifted in his seat, looking down at the bag next to Sev’s feet once more. “And what of this gift you’ve brought us?”
Sev leaned down to open the top of the bag, revealing eleven smooth gray eggs. He frowned. Hadn’t there been twelve when Kade loaded this satchel? It had been so dark, maybe Sev had miscounted. Or worse, maybe one had fallen out on his journey. He shook his head. There was no helping that now.
“The eggs are yours, all but one. You will keep it here for me as a sign of good faith—and as a guarantee of my loyalty.”
“You don’t seem interested in becoming a Rider, soldier. . . . How does an egg guarantee you won’t turn your back on us when the situation suits you?”
“I’m sure you can guess how much that egg would fetch on the Narrows Night Market—enough to set me up comfortably for the rest of my life. I’ll be back for it.”
Sev spoke confidently, and the commander seemed to believe his words.
Sev was a good liar.
He would never sell the egg. Keeping it was like keeping hope alive. Hope that he might have somewhere to return to, some place he belonged. And if, when all was said and done, he decided he truly didn’t want to be a Rider—well, there might be someone else in his life who did.
“Why do you want to go back there?” the commander asked. He seemed genuinely interested, not because of the mission or his concerns, but because he didn’t understand it.
“I want to finish what I started. I never knew which side I was on before all this. Now I know.”
I am a daughter of death. . . . From the ashes I rose, like a phoenix from the pyre.
- CHAPTER 44 -
VERONYKA
AFTER HER CONVERSATION WITH Sev, Veronyka went back to the barracks, her heavy heart lightened somewhat. She’d barely crawled into her hammock—or so it seemed—when she was being shaken awake again.
Her mind came sluggishly back to consciousness, and she opened her eyes to see Tristan standing over her. She sat bolt upright, knocking her head into his with a painful crack.
“Damn it, Nyk,” Tristan said, rubbing his brow.
“Sorry,” Veronyka hissed. Around them the barracks was quiet and deserted—clearly everyone was already up and working again.
“What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“It’s only just daybreak,” he said, dusty beams of pale sunlight slicing the air between them. She stretched, her sleeping shirt sliding down to reveal her shoulder. It was innocent enough, a bare scrap of flesh, and yet . . . Tristan stared fixedly at the small patch of brown skin, the attention making her whole body prickle with heat. He quickly forced his gaze away, which only made Veronyka more self-conscious.