The commander spoke a few words and indicated that he’d invited the Master Riders so that they could “see what you lads have been up to,” but Veronyka recognized manipulation when she saw it. The commander had invited the small crowd for added pressure, not to satisfy the Riders’ idle curiosity.
Still, they did appear interested, leaning against the paddock fence as the apprentices lined up and prepared to demonstrate their skills on the course. Unlike with their first run-through several weeks ago, they were expected to attempt the final flourish and have their phoenixes ignite at the end.
Veronyka knew this would be Tristan’s true challenge.
He had done it multiple times in their extra practice sessions, but now the pressure was higher than ever before.
As Anders began the exercise, one of the stablehands rushed to latch the gate shut before a hound slipped out. It was Petyr, and though he managed to close it in time, it gave Veronyka an idea.
A plan began to form in her mind, a plan that was risky and downright foolish. Not to mention the fact that it had the potential to blow up in her face—and Tristan’s. She needed to talk to him, but he remained too close to the commander.
Most of the apprentices had improved, but no matter how well they did with the course, every time a phoenix ignited, horses bucked and dogs howled. Two pigeons took flight and circled back to the village, and somehow a quiver of arrows caught fire.
When Tristan guided Wind over to the beginning of the course, Veronyka rushed forward to fuss with a strap. Her hands shook with adrenaline, but she did her best to angle her body to hide her face from the audience’s view. Tristan glanced down, a perfect mask of haughty impatience on his face, though he could see quite plainly that there was nothing wrong with the saddle.
“What is it?” he whispered, pretending to help adjust a buckle.
“I’m thinking about doing something . . . reckless,” she said. She looked up at him, half hoping he’d tell her no, and she’d be free to hide behind the horses and wait until it was all over.
Instead he straightened in his seat and batted her hand away from the strap. “Okay,” he said, before wordlessly calling his hound and his pigeon. Just like that, he’d accepted her words and given her permission to do whatever mad thing she could think of.
Okay.
While everyone watched Tristan make his way through the course, Veronyka quietly moved behind them. She didn’t have a lot of time, and she’d get only one shot at this.
Though she didn’t give Tristan her full attention, she was proud at how well he was doing. She looked up whenever the others murmured in reaction to a perfect shot at the target or an expert jump over a barrel or crate. The commander shouted questions to him, as he did with the others, making sure the apprentices were connected to the phoenixes as well as the other animals.
As Tristan guided Wind through the poles near the end of the course, Veronyka knew the moment had come. Tension hung over the group as everyone remembered how badly this had gone for Tristan the last time his father was in attendance.
Rex cawed, beating his wings as he soared in a wide arc, then dipped his head and dove.
Surely my dear, sweet Onia knew I’d never bow my head.
- CHAPTER 23 -
TRISTAN
TRISTAN BRACED HIMSELF AS Rex hurtled toward the ground.
Any second his bondmate would ignite, and Tristan knew that everything depended on what happened next.
He had barely a breath to prepare himself, to reinforce the safe house in his mind, as Nyk had taught him. He’d been practicing for days, and the walls were already there, his fear ensconced within.
But that wasn’t enough. Tristan had to fill every gap and crack, ensuring his terror had no way of surfacing.
In some ways his fear was a luxury, just as his father’s favorite quote had always maintained—an indulgence he turned to in moments of weakness. But putting it in the safe house made it unreachable, protecting him from himself.
It was sort of like separating thought from emotion. . . . His rational mind knew that Rex’s fire was no danger to him, but his emotions allowed the fear to take root, to overpower his logical thoughts and turn him into a mess of nerves and anxiety and hesitation.
Tristan knew he did not like fire, and that was okay—by locking his fear up, he took control over it. In time maybe he could eliminate it completely.
But for now he would do whatever it took to get through the exercise. He clamped tight on the wall in his mind and waited.
With a searing flap of his wings, Rex burst into flame.
Tristan marveled at the way Rex exalted in his fire, able to appreciate the feelings that rippled through the bond for the first time. Fire was sacred to a phoenix, a part of their very existence. . . . Fire was life and death and power and magic, and all of it barreled through Rex, crackling in his veins as he landed before Tristan, singeing the grass at his feet.
Tristan remained perfectly upright in his saddle, his mind calm. His fear was nowhere in sight.
Exhilarated, he checked in with the other animals, noting their fear and hesitation but keeping them steady and under control—until a surge of energy drew his attention to the paddock.
The horses inside jumped and tossed their heads—as they had each time a phoenix ignited—but somehow the latch had come undone, and horses were streaming from the gate.
Several of the stableboys tried to stop them, but Tristan could swear that Nyk was only pretending to join in, reaching a hand half-heartedly as the animals barreled past.
Ah. So, this was his reckless plan. Why had Tristan blindly agreed to this? With a calm he didn’t know he possessed, Tristan pushed a slow, even breath out through his lips.
One . . . two . . . three horses were freed before Jana closed the gate, and even as Tristan told himself not to panic, that he could handle a few extra horses, he noticed the half a dozen hounds that had snuck out with them.
He was going to kill Nyk.
Everyone was looking around at one another, trying to decide what to do. Even the commander stepped forward, clearly intending to intervene, but with a curious glance at Tristan, Beryk restrained him.
So, they were going to let him try.
Closing his eyes, Tristan blocked out the commotion around him and focused on the animals. Again listening to Nyk’s advice, Tristan trusted that Wind, the first hound, and the pigeon would remain in position, and sought the other animals instead. He’d never tried to manage so many at once, but then again, when he looked at it the way Nyk did—not constantly putting pressure on each one, but rather reaching out to them individually, making his request and then receding—it wasn’t nearly so strenuous. Both the dogs and the horses had been through this multiple times before, so once Tristan reminded them of their duty to behave and remain still, they were much easier to get under control.
It was a bit like gardening. Tristan’s mother had loved flowers, and their house had always smelled of roses and violets and bloodred Fire Blossoms. He’d helped Old Ana tend his mother’s garden after she died—though being so young, he had no doubt he’d been more hindrance than help—and when they’d left home for good, he and Old Ana planted new flowers outside the village. According to her, it was more about being a guiding hand, not a constant overseer—and animal magic was the same. Just as the plants would naturally reach for the sun, so animals instinctually sought out animages.