They stood in awkward silence until the thump of beating wings echoed from above. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. The nearest Rider patrol had answered his call and were about to discover that he’d raised the alarm over this child—and of course, the nearest patrol just happened to include the commander. Dreading what would come next, Tristan fixed his gaze on the boy as the Riders—including Ronyn and Elliot, the other apprentices chosen for patrol—descended, kicking up grass and leaves in a gust of warm wind.
Rex shook his wings and edged closer to Tristan, puffing out his chest in an attempt to assert dominance as phoenixes landed all around them. There were eight new Riders in total: a full patrol, plus the two apprentices and everyone’s mounts. The phoenixes retained their flight formation, feathers bristling and heads tossing as they stood in a rough V shape, and every single Rider had a bow or spear drawn. They scanned the area, ready for a threat, and it took them several moments to notice the boy Tristan held captive.
Cassian, patrol leader and commander of the Phoenix Riders, pursed his lips, then made a quick gesture for the rest of his Riders to stand down. Weapons were put away and arrows returned to quivers as the entire patrol—except for the commander—dismounted. Even the phoenixes relaxed their postures and quelled their battle fever.
At last Commander Cassian turned his attention to Tristan.
“Sir,” Tristan said, bowing his head slightly.
The commander’s face was expressionless, yet there was a rigidity to his features that told Tristan he was much angrier than he looked. Tristan tried to square his shoulders and stand his ground, but he had difficulty meeting the commander’s eyes.
Yes, he had disobeyed orders, but he had also found a strange traveler dangerously close to their hidden base, proving those orders were flawed. The intruder was a small, unarmed boy, but it was better to be overcautious than caught off guard.
He hoped.
“You’ve found a child,” the commander announced from astride his phoenix, turning his imperious gaze toward Tristan’s captive.
“He’s an unknown traveler,” Tristan said, feeling slightly foolish for being the only one with his weapon out, as if he were afraid of the boy. He lowered it slightly. “I was only following protocol.”
“Protocol?” the commander repeated, his voice cracking like a whip. “If you were truly following protocol, you’d still be patrolling the ninth quadrant, where you were assigned, and not raising the alarm for an underfed, unarmed child.”
Low murmurs rippled through the group of Riders, who stood in a semicircle around the boy, their mounts looming behind them. The boy cowered slightly, and Tristan let the butt of his spear hit the ground.
“I blew the horn before I landed, so I didn’t know . . .”
“You. Didn’t. Know,” the commander said, emphasizing each word and loosing them like well-placed arrows into Tristan’s already wounded pride. “You didn’t know, and yet still you acted. If we blew a horn every time we saw a traveler, our patrols would never sleep.”
Tristan’s face flushed, and Rex snapped irritably at a nearby phoenix. The rest of the patrol studied their boots or the straps on their saddles, avoiding Tristan’s chastisement.
The commander dismounted, and as he walked past Tristan, he spoke in a low voice. “Secrecy is our greatest weapon—and our greatest defense. You undermine both by calling us here.”
Before Tristan could answer—and truly, he had no idea what to say—Commander Cassian’s steward and second-in-command, Beryk, moved to the front of the group, a frown on his face.
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” he asked, staring at the boy before them.
“In Vayle, sir,” Elliot interjected, straight-backed and serious. He was training to become steward one day, and so he was usually lurking somewhere in Beryk’s shadow. He’d never gotten particularly close to the other apprentices, always busy running errands or attending Beryk in meetings, and had a reputation for being a bit stuck-up. Tristan didn’t mind, though. His father had been pushing him to become steward, apparently more than happy to let Tristan remain safely buried in papers for the rest of his days. Luckily, Elliot had practically begged for the opportunity, relieving Tristan of a future stuck mostly behind a desk. The idea that his father thought he was better suited to a position as an administrator rather than a soldier was a painful blow.
“You know him, Beryk?” the commander asked in surprise.
“I-I think it was my sister, sir,” the boy said, his high voice confirming his youth—and complete lack of