Tristan forced Veronyka to take a break and drink some water, while he held her serrated knife, weighing his options. He could call Captain Flynn from his position on the village wall, but he hadn’t sent a reply to Tristan’s first message about the battering ram, which meant he was either too busy to report—and to help—or that something much worse had become of him.
“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Veronyka said, still gasping as she tried to catch her breath.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a Rider, Tristan. Ride.”
He looked down at her, at those familiar eyes, and shook his head. “I . . . I can’t. We have no battle experience. That’s what they want us to do. They want us to die out there.”
He grabbed the waterskin from her hands and raised it to his lips, but he didn’t drink.
“Then let me go,” she said. When his head snapped in her direction, she twisted her lips, then said, “I’m bonded. That new female, the one I tamed in the courtyard? She was—is—my bondmate.”
Tristan realized that distantly he’d known this—had figured it out during the fight with her sister in front of the enclosure—but he’d been too distracted to consciously make the connection.
Regardless, it was out of the question. She had less training than him. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“I know it is, but you can afford to lose me, even if you can’t afford to lose the others.”
He tossed the waterskin aside. “If you think I’d willingly sacrifice you just because you’re a girl”—he said the last word in a low, vehement whisper—“or because you’re not a trained Rider or whatever it is that you think, you’re more messed up than your sister.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t respond.
Tristan’s chest heaved. He wanted to keep yelling. He wanted to punch things. He wanted to burn the damn ropes that carried their enemies toward them.
The thought made something clunk into place in his mind. Of course he hadn’t thought of it yet—Tristan did his best to never think of it.
Fire.
He snatched a nearby lantern, dumping the cold oil onto the closest hook’s rope, and called for a lit torch from a brazier below. When he held the flame over the oil-soaked rope, hands shaking slightly, it took a long time to catch, burning low and blue before winking out. That’s what the waxy resin was—it was the same fireproofing sap they used on their own gear.
“Tristan,” Veronyka said, gripping the front of his tunic to regain his attention. “If this place falls, we’re all dead—servants and villagers, Riders and phoenixes. You’ve let the people fight to defend their home; now let the phoenixes. Can’t you feel it?” she finished quietly, looking toward the Eyrie.
When Tristan focused there, and not on the battle raging around him, he did feel it. Heat, waves of it rippling from the stony chasm beyond the archway, followed by bursts of anger and aggression. Rex was there with the others, his volatile emotions stoking the flame of Tristan’s own wild feelings. Rex wanted to fight, and Tristan had forbidden it. He’d made all the Riders tether their mounts to keep them inside the Eyrie, just like the females in their enclosure.
“You’re right,” he said, and Veronyka released his tunic, as if surprised to have won him over so easily. “This is their home, these are their bondmates, and they should be allowed to fight. Besides,” he added, nodding to the oil-soaked rope and swallowing the wave of fear that surged up inside him, “nothing burns hotter than phoenix fire.”
“Will you ride?” Veronyka asked as they crossed the courtyard.
“No,” Tristan said, despite wishing otherwise. He’d rather be in the air than down here, amid the burning flames. “We can’t afford to lose the apprentices on the walls—they’re some of our best fighters. Besides, the phoenixes are safer without their Riders. We weigh them down, and the metal fastenings on their saddles catch the light. Without us, they can fly almost invisibly, and be seen only when they want to be—when they ignite.”
Passing Anders on his way across the cobblestones, Tristan explained what he intended to do and told him to spread the word to the other apprentices. They’d have to guide their bondmates through the battle from the ground.
“And what of the females?” Veronyka asked, as Anders rushed off and Tristan strode purposefully toward the Eyrie.
“If your bondmate wants to fight, she can fight,” he said, continuing his rapid pace across the courtyard. “No matter what, she leaves that cell.”
He glanced down at her, and her expression of gratitude was so raw, her eyes so bright, that he almost had to look away. He wanted to hug her, to ruffle her hair or give her a punch on the arm. He settled for something in between, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. Their brief contact stirred something deep in the pit of Tristan’s stomach, and he realized that Veronyka was Nyk, and Nyk was Veronyka. They were one and the same, and the thought eased something tight in his chest.
They made for the apprentice mounts first. The phoenixes were roosting together on the topmost levels of the Eyrie, huddled in groups or soaring in low, mournful circles in the open air.
Sensing him, Rex cut his flight short and banked hard, landing on the lip of the stone ledge with a rattle of his chain. Veronyka drew back as a wave of heat and glowing sparks settled over them, but Tristan stood his ground—he had to, they didn’t have time to waste.
Rex tossed his head and expelled breaths of hot air, behaving like an angry stallion. Tristan gripped his beak and pulled it down, bringing their eyes on a level.
I need you, he said through the bond, patting him reassuringly with one hand while using the other to fumble with the cuff. I hate to ask, but I need you to fight. To lead.
Rex threatened to ignite right then and there. Tristan wanted to flinch away from it, but he stood his ground—he couldn’t quell Rex’s emotions. He needed to fan the flames. He needed his phoenix to fight hard enough to survive.
“Nyk—the others,” Tristan said, unhitching the cuff and dropping it to the ground with a clang. “I mean, Veronyka.”
“Nyk’s fine,” she said distractedly, pushing past him toward the rest of the phoenixes. Once they saw Rex released, they were eager to greet her, shuffling into a line along the narrow ledge, shaking their wings as they jostled for position.
Tristan spotted Elliot’s mount out of the corner of his eye and hesitated. “You’d better leave Jaxon,” he said, indicating the phoenix perched near the back of the group, his head down and his movements subdued. “That’s Elliot’s mount. I . . . I don’t know what he might do, with his bondmate locked up. He might try to retaliate.”
With a regretful twist of the lips, Veronyka nodded and returned to the others, unhooking the cuffs while Tristan explained the battle to Rex. He emphasized how important it was for him and the rest to stay away from the enemy archers. He showed Rex a mental picture of the ropes and the climbers and stressed that their only mission was to set those ropes alight and then fly to safety. The humans would take care of the other humans. Once the stronghold was secure, Tristan would reevaluate what help they needed at the village gate.