Their maiora might be gone, but Xephyra and Tristan were both occupying important places in Veronyka’s life, places that, for sixteen years, had belonged to Val. But now Val had to share that space, and sharing had never been one of her strengths.
Exhaustion seeped into Veronyka’s bones. She didn’t know how to go on from here. There was so much she still needed from her sister, things that only family could give. But Val refused to fill that role.
Voices and the clank and jangle of weapons filtered in from the courtyard, and Veronyka remembered the horn calls that had awoken her. “I have to go,” she said. She hesitated—why, she wasn’t sure—but Val made no move to stop her.
Outside, mist clung to the ground in the early dawn light, distorting shapes and muffling sound as she made her way through the stronghold.
The commander’s booming voice soon distinguished itself, and Veronyka followed it to find him atop the ramparts. He was conversing with one of the guards, and Beryk and his phoenix were perched on the wall next to them.
As Veronyka approached the commotion, Tristan fell into step beside her.
“You’re up,” he said, his face lit with relief. Veronyka wondered if he’d had a hand in getting her to bed again and quickly banished the embarrassing thought.
“Yeah,” Veronyka said, avoiding the still-concerned furrow of his brow. “I’m fine. Sorry about all that. It’s been a crazy couple of days, and . . . I guess I was just tired.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I was so nervous standing up to the commander, I was feeling a bit light-headed myself.”
Veronyka’s stomach twisted. So he had felt her in his mind, even if he didn’t understand what he’d experienced. It was some measure of relief to know he hadn’t glimpsed her thoughts the way she’d seen his, but she still felt immensely guilty. Based on Val’s reaction, Veronyka suspected at least some of her concern over what Veronyka had done was genuine—that what had happened wasn’t common or particularly safe. She had to be more careful.
The commander descended the nearby stairs, joining the handful of Riders who were congregating in the courtyard, hastily strapping on armor and weapons. Apprentices were there too, helping with buckles or carrying quivers of arrows. Elliot kept fumbling with Fallon’s wrist guard, his face pale and drawn, while Latham handed out waterskins with trembling hands.
“What’s happening?” Veronyka asked.
“Apparently there was smoke coming from one of the riverside villages,” Tristan answered, following his father as he made his way through the crowd. “Beryk was on patrol and saw it, so he raised the alarm—three blasts of the horn.”
“What does it mean? Did some buildings catch fire?”
“No. This isn’t regular wood smoke. They lit a pyre of long grasses and leaves used to create black smoke. A signal. It means they’re calling for help.”
“From the Riders?” Veronyka asked, perplexed. She thought their existence was supposed to be a carefully guarded secret.
“No. The signals are meant to notify nearby villages of raiders. When attacks happen on the lower rim, we usually can’t respond. Not only would we probably not get there in time, but they’re too close to the empire—we can’t risk being seen. But this signal is coming from one of the closer villages. . . .”
“Are the Riders going to respond this time?” Veronyka asked.
Tristan didn’t answer. Instead they both leaned in to hear what the commander was saying.
“. . . should be able to assess the situation without exposing your patrol. Keep a safe distance and do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”
“It’s probably just a regular raiding party,” Fallon replied, while his fellow Riders nodded. “No doubt it’ll be over by the time we arrive. We’ll approach on foot and help with the cleanup if we can.”
“There’s never been a raid this far up the mountain,” Tristan said, speaking from the back of the group. The Riders turned to face him. “Didn’t you say it looked like it was coming from Rushlea? There hasn’t been a raid higher than Runnet since we’ve been here.”
The commander’s eyes flashed in his son’s direction, before returning to their usual calm. Veronyka wondered if he was still angry about Tristan’s defiance the previous night.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he said dismissively. “Ride out at once, and send a pigeon as soon as you can.”
The patrol hurried to the Eyrie to mount their phoenixes and depart. The commander’s attention shifted to Tristan, and Veronyka backed away slightly. He definitely still looked angry.
“I don’t want to cause a panic,” the commander said under his breath, so quietly that Veronyka had to strain to hear it—but strain she did. “So keep your observations to yourself, Apprentice.”
The throne was mine, and I would seize it with both hands.
- CHAPTER 35 -
TRISTAN
SO KEEP YOUR OBSERVATIONS to yourself, Apprentice.
Tristan should have known his father wouldn’t invite his opinions, especially after their conversation in front of the breeding enclosure. Commander Cassian did not like to be questioned or debated—least of all in front of others. It had been only Ersken and Nyk last night, but that had been enough. Tristan was ashamed to admit that Nyk’s collapse had been very well timed—dealing with his friend had provided the perfect escape from his father’s wrath.
Until now. Tristan feared his small act of defiance would keep him on the sidelines forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he’d done. It had been exhilarating to stand up to him, and letting the idea of the promotion go was surprisingly freeing. Without that dangling over him, Tristan could do and say what he wanted, and his father could do nothing to stop him.
Except exclude him, of course. Tristan sighed.
Luckily, all the commotion meant that any talk of the breeding cages was forgotten for the time being.
The fog remained for most of the morning, clinging to the Eyrie and the stronghold like an ominous cloud. Rather than the five or so guards who usually manned the walls, there were close to twenty prowling the ramparts, and even more stationed in the village and at the way station down the mountain. All lessons for the apprentices were canceled, as half of the Riders—some of them instructors—were gone, and it was too dangerous to have the phoenixes flying when there was an unknown threat nearby.
The entire Azurec’s Eyrie complex was on lockdown—which meant that any local villagers who still remained after the solstice festival weren’t allowed to leave for safety reasons. Rushlea was more than halfway up the mountain, uncomfortably close for a raider party to attack.
Tristan fumed at the idea that they could have prevented this, that if they’d had more patrols, they could have stopped such an assault from happening. He understood his father’s concerns, that they’d stretch themselves too thin, but the longer they left Pyra unguarded, the greater the chances that the empire would gain a foothold here.
Since Tristan had none of his own lessons or duties to attend to, he joined Nyk down in the enclosure with the female phoenixes. The birds were riled up and restless, snapping when Nyk slid the food through the slot and even more agitated as the day wore on and they weren’t allowed out for their exercise.