In some ways it would have been easier to tell Tristan the truth before he’d revealed something so personal about himself. Now that they were closer, her lies felt like a bigger betrayal—and the stakes for revealing them felt that much higher. She didn’t want to lose what they had.
There was a look he gave her sometimes, a secret smile that made his eyes shine and his face flush with color. . . . Veronyka feared he would never look at her like that again, that even if he could accept her lies and forgive her for them, whatever it was that lay between them, as fragile as spun sugar, would shatter.
“I . . . I just don’t know if it’s enough. I need to be a Rider. Without that . . . ,” she began, then faltered. How could she explain all that she’d lost? That her heart felt broken, empty, wrong, and that she feared the only thing that would make her whole again was another phoenix to fill the void?
“Something’s missing?” Tristan offered. Veronyka stared at him, surprised at his apparent understanding. “I think that’s how I feel about being a patrol leader. Like, if I can just get there, if I can make it happen, everything will fall into place. But it’s a dangerous game to play . . . putting the key to your happiness in someone else’s hands. Even when I was a kid, all I wanted was to have a phoenix—I thought that once I did, I’d be invincible.” He grinned, straightening his legs and leaning his head back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “But nothing is guaranteed in life. Rex could die, or my father could decide I’ll never make a proper patrol leader—and then what? I can’t be broken forever. I have to make my own happiness.”
His words struck a chord deep inside Veronyka. She’d been looking outside herself for answers, for a way to bandage the wound she had inside. But maybe she had to heal herself before she could hope to find a phoenix that would want to bond with her. She didn’t know if she’d ever fully recover from the loss of Xephyra, but she could start by trying to feel whole again, by trying to find happiness instead of constantly striving for things beyond her control.
And what had made her happiest since she’d lost Xephyra? Training with Tristan, being a part of things here—even as a lowly stablehand.
Veronyka stared at Tristan’s profile, at his sharp jaw and strong shoulders. She had the sudden urge to touch him, to ground herself in this place, with him. She wanted to let everything else fall away and just be here, in this moment.
He glanced down at her, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. She felt inadequate next to him, short and scrawny, her eyes too big and her nose too small, while he was all muscle and long limbs, with his artfully tousled hair and dimpled smile.
“You make me happy,” Veronyka said—and then was so shocked she’d said the words that she almost clapped a hand to her mouth. Instead more words burbled up from inside, trying to drown out the memory of the first ones. “I mean, training with you . . . helping you, and you helping me, has made me happy. And being near Rex—and the others—but mostly you and Rex, and . . .”
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for one of Nox’s deathmaidens to come carry her to the dark realms so she never had to face Tristan again.
“Me too.”
Veronyka’s eyes flew open. Tristan wasn’t looking at her, but his throat bobbed with a dry swallow. “So . . . what do you think?”
“About what?” she asked in a daze. Wind’s stall felt impossibly small all of a sudden, and the quiet of the stables pressed in on every side. All she had to do was extend her arm and she’d be touching Tristan, alone in this cool, dark place.
“Will you stay? Give it a chance?”
Before Veronyka could answer, the front gate creaked open, followed by the crunch of boot on straw.
The footsteps drew nearer, and then Wind’s stall door burst open, revealing the commander standing in the doorway.
“Sir,” Tristan said, leaping to his feet. Veronyka did as well, though she knew the damage was done. They were hiding away inside a shadowy stall, covered in bits of dirt and hay, and scrambling up from the ground as if they’d been caught doing something illicit.
Then she remembered that Tristan was supposed to be in lessons, and her anxiety spiked even higher.
The commander surveyed them closely, his gaze cool and precise, as if picking up on every minute detail. “You have lessons this morning, Apprentice.”
“Yes, Commander Cassian. I was just—”
“Socializing?” He made it sound like a dirty word.
Veronyka kept her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, unsure if she should jump in or let Tristan handle things.
“It’s lucky I needed a quick word with Beryk, else I might never have known that you ducked out of your lesson and shirked your responsibility.”
Tristan’s lips twisted, as if “lucky” was the last word he’d use for this situation.
The commander leaned forward. “There is a time and place to fraternize with servants and stableboys, and the middle of your lessons is not it.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tristan said in appropriate chagrin. “Please, do let me know when and where that is.”
Veronyka groaned internally and had to press her lips together to stop the grimace—or was that a smile?—that was trying to force its way through.
The commander stared at his son, nostrils flaring. “Clearly you are not taking your training seriously. Perhaps it’s time for my inspection. I know it’s a week early, but I’m quite eager to see how far you’ve come and if your extra lessons have taught you anything of value. I do hope you’re prepared, Tristan. I’d hate for you to make a fool of yourself . . . again. I’ll see you in one hour’s time, Apprentice.”
Veronyka’s anxiety was like a wild animal burrowing inside her stomach as she stood next to the obstacle course with the rest of the stablehands.
It wasn’t Tristan’s abilities that had Veronyka’s insides tied in knots—it was the commander’s reaction she most feared. Even if Tristan executed the course flawlessly, it might not be enough. The commander was always hard on his son, but after he saw Tristan skip a lesson this morning—and assumed that Tristan wasn’t taking his training seriously—Veronyka worried he’d be impossible to please.
Commander Cassian was just like her sister, and people like Val didn’t do what was right for the sake of it. The commander was a shrewd man, but more than that, he was controlling. And for whatever reason, he didn’t want Tristan to be a patrol leader. Instead he used the possibility of that prize as a means to keep his son in line. No matter how well Tristan performed, the commander wouldn’t give that up unless he absolutely had to, unless Tristan gave him no other choice. But could they push the commander to that decision?
When he called the apprentices to attention, Veronyka noticed commotion at the village gate in the distance. Beryk and the rest of the Master Riders, dressed in their full armor and riding leathers, were walking toward the obstacle course. The commander smiled as the apprentices whispered and pointed—clearly he’d asked the patrol members to come and watch, and the students had known nothing about it.
Perfect, Veronyka thought with grim satisfaction. She wanted to force the commander’s hand, and what better way to do that than in front of an audience that could hold him accountable? There’s no way the commander could maintain that Tristan wasn’t skilled enough if the entire Rider force—apprentices and masters alike—saw him excel. Veronyka just needed to give them incontrovertible proof. Tristan couldn’t simply do what the rest were doing. . . . He had to go above and beyond.