As they neared the wreckage of the village gate, Veronyka’s bondmate grew hot beneath them. Tristan squirmed slightly against her, sweat sticking them together, and Veronyka knew he wouldn’t last long on Xephyra’s smoldering back.
The gate was already worse than Veronyka had seen it just a few moments ago. A blackened frame was all that remained of the double doors, and only a handful of guards still defended the opening, while soldiers tried to scrabble over barrels and debris.
Tristan asked Veronyka to have Xephyra steady her flight, and then a soft twang slipped past her face. An arrow flew down to pierce the heart of a soldier as he tried to make a path through the rubble.
Tristan was able to loose two more before the soldiers found the source of the attack and turned their bows skyward. Veronyka didn’t need Tristan’s prompt to tell Xephyra to fly higher, out of their range.
They were a good distraction, drawing the attention of the soldiers so that the remaining defenders could regroup. When the attackers did the same, drawing back to the far side of the field, Veronyka hoped they were considering a retreat.
But as Xephyra swooped by for another pass, a swell of reinforcements spilled onto the mountainside, like a rush of ants from a kicked colony. Veronyka’s insides became a yawning void of despair.
“Axura save us,” Tristan whispered.
Veronyka directed Xephyra toward the village. She dipped low over the rising tide of soldiers, causing them to duck and scatter, before landing in front of the ruined gate. They didn’t have long before the attackers would gather for a renewed assault.
Tristan leapt from Xephyra’s back, and Veronyka slipped down after him. She patted her bondmate gratefully but didn’t bother with instructions—Xephyra knew what to do. It seemed that, in battle, their connection honed and sharpened like the powerful weapon that it was.
Tristan made to hand Veronyka the bow and quiver again, but she shook her head. He was the trained archer, not her.
As the last defenders emerged from the shadows, reloading their weapons and taking up new positions, Veronyka went in search of arrows. Captain Flynn was slumped against a wagon wheel, pressing a blood-soaked wad of fabric against a wound, and many more bodies—dead or alive, Veronyka didn’t know—were scattered all around them. She avoided looking at faces or wounds and focused on plucking ammunition from the ground and the surrounding wreckage. Grass, buildings, and bodies burned, sending plumes of smoke billowing into the air, tightening Veronyka’s throat and making her eyes water.
With a heavy heart she came to stand next to Tristan, sliding the additional arrows into his quiver. She supposed that dying on her feet fighting wasn’t the worst way to go. She’d finally been a Rider, for however brief a time, and it was a comfort to know that Xephyra would either escape or die free—both better options than being executed inside a cage. Maybe Val had gotten away through the underground tunnels she spoke of and would become a Rider on her own. Veronyka thought about trying to contact her with shadow magic, but she didn’t know where to begin . . . or how to say goodbye.
Xephyra let out a bloodcurdling cry of defiance and ripped a path through the soldiers. Veronyka and the last dregs of their defenses raised their weapons and faced the chaos the phoenix left in her wake.
The village walls hadn’t been built with proper defense in mind, so there were few positions that gave Tristan and the others a good angle from which to hit the attackers. Looking around, Veronyka spotted the ruins of a cart and wrenched up a massive board of wood.
She carried it toward Tristan, showing him he could use it for protection. It wasn’t large enough to shield his whole body, but with Veronyka holding it, she could adjust the height or slant, giving him the cover he needed to get off cleaner shots.
It jarred her arm muscles right to their joints when the first arrow slammed into the slab of wood, and the point of the steel-tipped arrowhead protruded through from the other side.
Tristan’s expression was wide, frantic, before relief washed over him when he saw the arrow hadn’t made it completely through. They shared a glance, and Veronyka nodded—she could do this.
He loosed more arrows, and Veronyka caught more attacking shots in return.
Though her limbs shook with effort and her ears rang from impact after impact, Veronyka