father—that he was ready to become one of them, that he belonged among their ranks.
Tristan should have known better.
He’d been assigned the easiest, tamest area to watch, a segment of the surrounding land that was so safe, they usually didn’t patrol it at all. The opportunity he’d so longed for immediately became an insult.
It was a useless post, and Tristan knew his father was behind it.
Ever since that day on the bluffs two weeks ago when he’d failed to make the jump, Tristan had been waiting for his father to bring it up, to use it against him in some way. Never mind that Tristan had since completed the exercise correctly nearly a dozen times; he’d known that one slipup would come back to haunt him.
And here it was.
Tristan had seen the look on the other apprentices’ faces when his patrol was announced: Several clearly pitied him, while others smirked at what they saw as a deflation of Tristan’s overlarge ego. The reaction of the Master Riders was worst of all: They stared openly at Tristan and his father, seeing it as an example of favoritism. Like his father was trying to give him an easy path.
It only proved how little they knew him.
Tristan pushed the thoughts from his mind, imagining them floating away on the wind that whipped across his skin. He tried to focus on his patrol, urging Rex to fly in the crisscrossing pattern they’d been taught, but there was nothing to see.
As a rule, they stuck to the air above the very upper reaches of Pyrmont, not wanting to draw attention from the empire or the villages on the lower rim. They flew only one daylight patrol, soaring so high up that they appeared as no more than distant specks—perhaps a particularly large eagle or falcon—to anyone on the ground. The rest of their patrols were at night, which allowed them to fly lower, but of course the landscape was more difficult to see in the darkness, no matter how superior a phoenix’s eyesight. This left them blind to a lot of what was happening in Pyra, and in the empire beyond.
This was why Tristan had pushed for more horse-mounted patrols. He had also pushed to accelerate the apprentice program, so they could put together a third patrol group. He had been rebuffed at both turns.
And now, just when he’d thought things were happening for him, he’d been sent to float above the Pilgrimage Road like a kite in an Azurec’s Day parade.
With an unspoken command, Rex banked hard, and together they set their sights to the east. Tristan had long since memorized their patrol grid and knew where there were gaps in their surveillance. The road didn’t need watching; the wilderness did.
The moment Tristan deviated from his orders, a bubble of exhilaration inflated inside his chest. Rex flew faster, and they surged up and down with every powerful thrust of his wings. This was the land of Tristan’s Pyraean ancestors, and right now he felt as if he claimed it for himself. He wanted to discover its secrets, to know the mountain better even than those who were born here. As he soared through the sky, he wasn’t the son of an exiled governor; he was a Phoenix Rider, like the legendary warriors of old.
He identified familiar landmarks as he flew: the domed houses of Montascent, the last still-occupied village before the thrust of rock that led to the ruins of Aura; the serpentine twist of the River Aurys, snaking down the mountainside; the staggered row of carved phoenix statues that lined the path on the way to the village of Petratec—and the lone figure, cutting through the long grasses between the village and the river, making their way toward the bridge that led to the Phoenix Riders’ hidden base.
Tristan almost fell from his saddle.
While Rex tucked his wings and dove for the skulking traveler, Tristan fumbled for his horn. The ringing sound drew the person’s gaze, but they didn’t run or wave; they simply froze, openmouthed and gaping, neck craned toward the sky.
The instant Rex landed, Tristan leapt from his back, drawing his spear and leveling it at the intruder. They locked eyes—and Tristan’s heart sank.
It was just a boy, some kid barely into adolescence, scrawny and dressed in rags.
He was definitely Pyraean, with large, deep-set eyes and dark brows. His mess of straight black hair was cut in a jagged cap around his head, and his brown skin was smudged with dust and