her breath turned uneven. Why did it have to be this way? Why did Val, her sister, her only family in the world, have to be the one person who hurt her the most?
Sudden footsteps sounded, and Tristan appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Veronyka lurched to her feet. Once he saw that Veronyka was alone, he flushed, dropping his gaze. Remembering that her breasts were exposed, Veronyka crossed her arms over her chest.
“Tristan, I—”
“We don’t have time for that,” he said shortly, eyes on the ground between them. He held a fresh tunic in his hand and tossed it in her direction.
She caught it and hastened to tug it over her head, turning away from him as she scrambled to poke her arms through the sleeves. The fabric was softer than what she was used to, smooth against her skin, and it was much too big—it must belong to him. She ran her hands over the expensive cotton, the smell of Tristan clinging to her fingertips.
She turned back around, adjusting the tunic before taking a step toward him.
Seeing her movement, he glanced up to make sure she was clothed before pulling his other arm from around his back. It held a bow.
“Do you still want to fight for us?” he asked. His gaze kept darting around her face, skipping from nose to lips to eyes and back again, as if trying to relearn her features.
Veronyka stared down at the bow, her heart soaring. He was giving her the chance she so desperately wanted, the opportunity to truly become a part of this world. After what had just happened, she needed it more than ever.
She took the bow from his outstretched hand, hugging it close. There was so much she needed to say, but on the brink of an attack, now was not the time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. When he opened his mouth to say more, a bell clanged from high above. A rush of footsteps and the jangle of weapons answered the call.
The soldiers had arrived.
Sometimes to achieve what you know is right, you must do what others say is wrong.
- CHAPTER 38 -
TRISTAN
TRISTAN BARRELED UP THE steps two at a time, while Nyk—Veronyka—trailed close behind. There was too much happening for Tristan to dwell on the situation, and yet every moment his mind was idle, it screamed, Veronyka, Veronyka, Veronyka. Something had been lost to Tristan, some sense of balance or rightness torn away. In the moment, it felt a bit like grief.
Nyk had been . . . what? Somebody special to Tristan, for certain. An ally, a confidant—someone he could trust. Someone he thought he could trust. But who was this girl? Was she still Nyk, or was everything that Tristan knew about her a lie? What if she was like her sister, Val? Something strange had happened down there. One minute he was talking to Nyk—Veronyka—and the next he felt confused and disoriented, while the two of them argued about things he didn’t understand.
When Val drew her knife, Tristan had feared she was about to do something horrible, but the reality of what had happened had shocked him, if possible, even more. And why had she done it? There had to be more to the story, but for now it was enough to know that he had another fighter by his side.
Night had fallen, and the cloud cover hid the light of the moon. The flaming beacon and the lanterns that lined the wall provided the stronghold with illumination, but it soon became clear to Tristan that their glow turned all else to darkness. He ordered the lights along the wall extinguished and hoped that the burning phoenix atop the temple didn’t turn them all into easy targets for any archers that might be lurking in the tree cover below. He didn’t dare douse the beacon’s flames, in case the messenger pigeons he’d sent to his father were shot down or went astray. Though the Eyrie was well- hidden, the beacon’s glow was designed to be seen at a distance, and the Riders would know to look for it as soon as they took to the sky once again.
As the lights across the mountaintop were snuffed out, the world shrank around him. Tristan blinked, willing his vision to adjust. He thought of Rex, who could lend him superior eyesight in this darkness, and a far greater vantage point. What he wanted more than anything was to saddle his bondmate and fly out,