or gone on business, and Tristan had spent more and more time alone with the servants.
Somehow that moment in his father’s library had become embedded in his mind, laced with a terrible fear—of the burning rug beneath his feet, of his father’s wrath, and of that crawling, spreading, devouring flame.
He was fine with fireplaces and lanterns and candlesticks. He could even shoot flaming arrows—but there was always a breath of hesitation, a stutter where his body refused to obey his mind. And when that fire leapt free, skittering over dry brush in a forest fire or licking across the scarlet feathers of his bondmate? Something shook loose in him, something he’d not yet been able to fix.
Rex tried to comfort Tristan as he circled back around, coming to perch next to the rest of the apprentice mounts on an outcrop nearby, but Tristan was in no mood to be comforted. How could Rex possibly understand his struggle? Rex was a firebird. For him, heat and flames were a part of his personality. Whenever Rex was angry or excited, he would grow hot, the same way a human might flush or feel their pulse pounding in their veins. Fire was a phoenix’s lifeblood, and it was their greatest weapon.
And for Tristan? It was his greatest liability.
He glanced at his father, hoping for some encouragement or reassurance after his dismal performance, but his father seemed to have forgotten he was there.
Tristan sighed, watching from the back of the crowd as another apprentice started the exercise.
Maybe fear of fire wasn’t the problem. Maybe fear of his father was.
She had changed, but I had changed too. Bloody vengeance and righteous murder will do that to a person.
- CHAPTER 10 -
VERONYKA
THE PROMISE OF FINDING another egg was all that sustained Veronyka during the long, dark walk. She tried not to think of Xephyra, but every now and then her body would wilt, folding in on itself, and a gasp of sorrow would work its way out of her throat. There was a hollowness, a gaping chasm inside her, and it seemed only to grow as the night wore on. The place where Xephyra had been felt oddly numb, and Veronyka’s mind was filled with terrible, ringing silence. Her bondmate had become a part of the way she lived and experienced the world, and now she felt blind, cut off, and vulnerable. She knew she should probably call an owl or night creature to help guide her, but she couldn’t muster the strength or the magic.
The idea of starting over, of seeking a new bondmate when her first had only just died, made Veronyka’s stomach churn. But it was all she had, the one thing in her life she could cling to. Without it Veronyka feared she would lie down in a ditch and never get up.
But then she’d think of her maiora’s words and keep on moving.
Where there is will, there is possibility.
Veronyka wanted—needed—to be a Phoenix Rider, but not a Rider on her own, isolated and shut away, as Val would have had her. She would be a Rider in a flock, one of dozens, maybe even hundreds, soaring through the sky on flaming wings. Together they would make right the wrongs that had plagued their people since the war. She couldn’t undo what had happened to her maiora and countless others, but she could be a part of the change that made the world safe for them once more.
Veronyka crossed the bridge into Vayle just before dawn, her legs aching and her throat dry. Villagers were out and about already, fishermen readying nets and boats for a day on the water, while lights glimmered inside the bakery.
Though Veronyka longed for sleep and the sweet oblivion it would provide, she couldn’t waste her head start. Eventually Val would realize where she had gone and come after her. Veronyka kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see Val burst from the bushes to drag her home or to berate her for her foolishness. The shadows moved, the trees whispered, but there was no sign of her sister.
Vayle grew gradually brighter as Veronyka wandered its quiet streets, individual buildings distinguishing themselves with every step she took. Outposts were always on the highest ground available, and Vayle was a village perched atop stony bluffs and rocky hills, each street stacked above the other. The sound of the river helped Veronyka keep her sense of direction through the winding alleys, and by the time she reached the high