intently—even he didn’t know the full story—was tense beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she finished in a whisper.
The commander got to his feet, moving somewhat gingerly with unseen injuries, and came around to lean against the front of his table. He eyed Veronyka thoughtfully, scratching his chin with a heavily bandaged hand. From what she’d overheard after the battle, the empire had devoted another two hundred soldiers to the diversions. The patrols had been drawn into the villages, only to be ambushed by soldiers armed with metal nets, and the messenger pigeons sent by Tristan had been intercepted by animage bondservants in the empire’s employ. By the time the Riders realized they’d been fooled, hours had passed, and the stronghold was on the brink of collapse.
He looked at Tristan, as if asking—or confirming—that his son already knew what Veronyka had just revealed. Tristan nodded curtly.
“We can’t keep her bondmate imprisoned,” he said after his father continued to remain silent. “It’s not right. We should let her train to be a Rider. I’ll sponsor her.”
The commander’s eyes widened at Tristan’s last few words. “You’re still an apprentice.”
Tristan shrugged. “I won’t be for long—you said so yourself.”
Veronyka pressed her lips together, willing them to stop trembling. This was it, the moment when the commander would decide her and Xephyra’s fate. She could scarcely breathe.
“No. She cannot join the Riders,” the commander said, crossing his arms over his chest. Veronyka thought her heart had actually stopped beating, so still and silent was her body. “But he can.”
Veronyka and Tristan shared a look of confusion.
“He? You mean she can train as Nyk, not Veronyka?” Tristan asked.
“I do,” the commander said with a nod.
“I don’t understand,” Tristan said. “She’s bonded to a female phoenix. . . . How will we explain it to the others?”
“Male-female Rider pairs are uncommon but not unheard of. There was a mixed pair in my old patrol in the empire, and there have been dozens of others throughout history. Wise Queen Malka rode Thrax, who was a male phoenix, and of course there were Callysta and Cirix. We will simply cite precedence.”
Veronyka remained motionless, a weight settling on her chest. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
“Why continue to lie?” Tristan pressed, glancing at Veronyka. “How long can she be expected to keep it up?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Tristan, the Phoenix Riders have been dealt a rather severe blow. With Elliot’s deceit and that empire soldier bursting in here, there have been whispers of traitors and informants working for the empire. We are not infallible, but I must restore order and confidence in our operation here. I don’t want to give the others an excuse not to trust her. We must show strength and unity. To reveal that she has been lying all this time will do her—and us—more damage than good.”
The words surprised Veronyka, who hadn’t considered the ramifications of her deception beyond what the commander might do to her. But he was right that their false sense of security had been shattered, and the last thing she wanted was to be the subject of suspicion and distrust. But wouldn’t it be better to face those reactions sooner rather than later? If they were angry with her now, how much angrier would they be after months—or maybe even years—had passed? And it wasn’t just her charade to maintain: Tristan, Cassian, Ersken—even Sev knew the truth. It wasn’t a question of if her lies would be exposed. It was a question of when.
Veronyka stared at her feet. With every word the commander spoke, the pressure on her chest intensified. This wasn’t right. This was how it started: You did what others wanted, made concessions and compromises, over and over again, until you were nothing but what they wanted you to be. It had happened all her life with Val, but she wouldn’t let it happen here. She’d earned her place here—Veronyka had. This was who she was, and she would deny it no longer.
The commander was looking at her expectantly—she could feel his gaze on the top of her head.
She lifted her chin. “Thank you, Commander,” she said. He gave a gracious nod—until she added, “But I cannot accept the terms you offer.”
As soon as she said the words aloud, the burden on Veronyka’s chest eased, and she could breathe properly again.
“Excuse me?” he said, so politely that Veronyka thought he might truly not have understood her. She looked at Tristan, and though his mouth flattened with worry, he nodded in