Nyk, just one. The others aren’t bonded, and—” He froze, realizing his mistake as Veronyka stiffened. Both turned to Ersken.
“Should I act surprised, then?” he asked, leaning against the bars. “Never seen a phoenix act as this one has, unless they were bonded.”
Veronyka’s eyes darted in Tristan’s direction, but this was her secret to tell.
“I’m not Nyk,” she said, meeting Ersken’s gaze. “I’m Veronyka. And my bondmate is Xephyra.”
Ersken nodded gravely, then fixed her with a gentle smile. “That’s a right queenly name, to be sure.”
“Look,” Tristan said, cutting into their exchange. “We’re only releasing one, because only one is bonded. We have no idea what the others might do.”
“It’s in their nature to fight alongside their fellows . . . ,” Ersken mused, as if it were of no real urgency or importance. “You saw what they were like when we caught these females. The others didn’t like it one bit—and they won’t like it tonight, when arrows come flyin’ at their brothers and sisters.”
“But they won’t understand what’s happening, not like the bonded ones will. They could be killed.”
“Or they could fly away,” Ersken said, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, or they could fly away,” Tristan agreed, irritated at the assumption that that was all he cared about, though of course it was a large part of it. The commander would be livid if he returned to find no female phoenixes. That was, if he returned at all, and if the Eyrie was still standing. He sighed heavily. “They have no bondmate to keep them loyal, and we’ve shackled them. Leaving should be their very first instinct.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ersken said, staring at the phoenixes through the bars. He might not be bonded with them, but Ersken knew the females better than anyone else in the stronghold. “Their first instinct is to protect their bondmate, and after that, it’s to protect each other. Why do you think the empire never tried to lure Phoenix Riders to their side during the war? When it comes to a real battle—not squabbles over territory or mating displays—they won’t fight against one another.”
“Fine,” Tristan said, stepping around Veronyka to take hold of the lock. “They can fight for us, for the other phoenixes, or for no one at all. I suppose that’s their right.” He turned to Veronyka. “They might be shot down before they get past the walls of the stronghold—your bondmate included. I hope you’re prepared to face that possibility.”
“I’ll do it,” Ersken said, shoving Tristan aside. “Get back up there; you’ll see once they’re loose. Doubt they’ll stay put and play nice like your trained males up there, so be ready with your command.”
Veronyka wavered, and Tristan could tell she was afraid, that she wanted to stay behind and release her phoenix herself.
“You can stay, but I have to go,” he said. She hesitated another moment, then followed him up the stairs. They ran, Tristan’s lungs burning with exertion. The tunnel was cool and damp, cut off from the noise of the battle, the only sound the steady pant of their breathing and the slap of their footsteps against the stone.
They were just emerging at the top level when a series of musical cries echoed from the bottom of the Eyrie. Peering over the edge, Tristan saw Veronyka’s phoenix soar out first, quickly followed by the other two. As Ersken predicted, they didn’t await an order or circle low in hesitation. They rose like fireballs, ripping through the sky and bursting into a glorious shower of sparks. Like their feathers, they burned with a hint of violet and indigo, staining the sky with all the colors of a mountain sunset.
Rex, he thought, staring at the perch where the males gathered, ruffling their feathers and shifting their feet in response to the females soaring past them. Now.
Rex burst into a blazing red-gold inferno, the flame rippling off his feathers and cracking like a whip. The rest of the phoenixes lit up as well, one after the other, like a series of torches catching fire. With a bone-chilling cry, the males answered the females, launching into the air.
The females weaved in between the males, mixing their colors and creating a spectacle a thousand times more magnificent than the solstice dance he’d shown Veronyka. This was primal battle magic.
This was the stuff of legends.
Their whirling spiral of light split, and they turned their flight toward the battle for the stronghold, sparks trailing in their wake.