“And the wild animals have too little,” Kade added, his voice subdued. “It requires a good amount of training for an effective message carrier. Wild animals would only obey an animage’s orders for as long as their magic remained connected to them. . . . Eventually they’d become distracted or lose focus.”
“I had a pair of real messenger birds during the war,” Trix said, her tone wistful. “They could fly from Aura Nova into Pyra in two days. Nefyra and Callysta, I called them. What I wouldn’t give for another pair such as them.”
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Kade asked Sev, after several moments of silence. There was no aggression in Kade’s tone, just curiosity.
“What is?” Sev asked, mind still on Trix’s plans.
“A way out of this arrangement,” he said. Though Sev could hardly see in the darkness, there was something like disappointment in Kade’s crossed arms and downcast face. “Now you have it.”
“You’re free of us,” added Trix. She smiled, patted him on the arm, and left, Kade following soon after.
Yes, this was what Sev wanted. He wanted to get away from the war and everything it stood for. But as he watched Kade’s and Trix’s retreating backs, he realized that he didn’t want to get away from them.
You’re free of us.
The words rang in Sev’s mind, but it was one word in particular that he couldn’t shake. Us.
It was powerful, loaded with meaning. “Us” was about community and commonality—animages, bondservants, allies, friends. Sev hadn’t had an “us” in a very long time. When he was young, he’d belonged to his family. That was the last time he’d truly felt a part of anything. Now he was a soldier, but he’d never fit in. And before that he’d been one of dozens of orphans, always coming and going from the shelters. There was no friendship in that life, and it was the same on the streets, each of them out for themselves, scraping and clawing to survive.
Sev had thought being alone made him stronger, gave him fewer vulnerabilities.
But there was strength in “us,” power in the unity of brother and sister. This was what his parents had fought for. Not for themselves, not to be heroes . . . They’d fought for animages.
They fought for us.
Was Sev going to sit back and be a soldier, complacent among his enemies, or was he going to stand and fight with his people?
“Wait.”
Kade and Trix stopped, though they didn’t turn around.
“I’ll do it.”
At that, Trix looked over her shoulder and grinned.
But victory does not come without consequences.
- CHAPTER 21 -
VERONYKA
THEY TRAINED HARD OVER the following days. Tristan had his own motivation to want to succeed, and Veronyka knew she helped him and herself by pushing him as hard as she could. If he could prove to his father that he was ready to lead a patrol, it would get her one step closer to possibly being an apprentice. Of course, even if Tristan and the older apprentices were promoted, there was no guarantee Veronyka would be chosen as one of the recruits—or that she could convince someone to sponsor her.
One thing at a time.
As each day passed, Tristan’s skills grew stronger. He’d begun to trust her advice, and the animals trusted him in turn. Veronyka’s attempts at distraction were almost fruitless, so she moved on to quizzing him the way the commander had about what Rex saw from above.
“How many steps on the stairs that lead up from the way station?” Veronyka asked, struggling to find new questions after he’d answered several already.
“Two hundred and twenty-one,” Tristan said instantly, clearly not conferring with his phoenix before answering. “I’ve counted them. Try asking me something I don’t already know,” he said with a theatrical yawn.
“How many lanterns line the—”
“Forty-five.”
Veronyka scowled. Tristan’s laugh echoed to her from across the course.
“Fine,” she said, looking around, trying to find something to stump him. Seeing an extra quiver on the ground, she slid the arrows out and whirled around, hands behind her back. “How many arrows am I holding?”
Tristan rolled his eyes and looked over at her, spotting the empty quiver. “Fifteen. I know how many extra arrows I brought with me.”
Overhead, Rex released a sharp caw. Tristan frowned, then looked more closely at her.
“Wrong,” Veronyka said with a wide grin, but of course Tristan already knew that, thanks to Rex. “You’re not doing the exercise properly. Tell me what Rex said.”
“Sixteen,” Tristan said, “But I only brought fifteen per quiver, and the rest are—ah, the target.” He looked over her shoulder, where the target lay bare. Veronyka had removed the arrow he’d imbedded earlier, which had come from the quiver he wore on his back. “All right, you’ve made your point. I shouldn’t assume.”
“Or get cocky when you get a few right,” she said, walking toward him and waving an arrow in his face. “Come on, let’s go again.”
During the next run-through, Tristan announced that he wanted to do the full exercise—including the fiery finish.
Veronyka didn’t think anything of it, certain he’d have no trouble pulling it off after performing so well up until now, but as he progressed through the course, she sensed a definite tension in him growing with every step Wind took.
By the time he reached the last obstacle, sweat dripped down his temples, and his chest was rising and falling in erratic, rapid bursts. Wind’s ears were twitching in agitation, Rex was flying faster, and the dog’s tail was tucked between his legs.
Veronyka hesitated. Tristan was projecting his thoughts; she’d only have to open a crack in her defenses, and she’d know exactly what was bothering him.
“Are you okay?” she asked instead, clamping down on the urge to use her shadow magic, no matter how innocent her intentions. If he wanted to tell her his problem, he would.
He was frozen at the end of the course, as if waiting for Rex’s descent—only the phoenix was still circling above, making no move to dive or ignite.
“Tristan,” she said, coming to stand next to him. He was staring straight forward, his jaw clenched. Apparently he hadn’t heard her the first time. “Hey—are you okay?”
He started, twisting in the saddle, and they locked gazes.
One way to strengthen a magical connection was to make eye contact, and Veronyka hadn’t been prepared to defend against it. In one blinding flash of insight, she understood. She looked away, severing the momentary link.
Tristan was afraid of fire.
It was so surprising, she hardly believed it, and yet it explained why the course had gone so badly for him that first day—and only at the end, when Rex ignited. And now that she thought about it, she remembered sensing a surge of fear from his direction when Maximian burst into flame. Surely it wasn’t impossible for a Phoenix Rider to be afraid of fire, especially when they weren’t bonding as young children, like they had in the old days.
“Let’s just call it quits for now,” Veronyka offered, unnerved by his wide-eyed, tense silence. “It’s been a long day.”