right to blow the horn, even if he hadn’t known it at first.
“His sister tried to steal from us,” Elliot piped in, looking triumphant. “They’re probably a team: One distracts while the other—”
“My sister wouldn’t steal,” the boy snapped. “And neither would I.”
The commander glanced up at the darkening sky, then down at Nyk. He frowned. “Take him to Morra,” he said to Beryk, and mounted up.
“But, sir—Commander Cassian!” Tristan called before the commander could fly away. “Can . . . shouldn’t I escort the prisoner, since I was the one who discovered him?”
“Since you shouldn’t have been patrolling here in the first place, I think I’d do better with a Rider who follows orders, rather than an apprentice who does whatever he pleases.”
Day 12, Second Moon, 169 AE
My sweet Pheronia,
I hated to leave without saying goodbye, but I was chased from my bed in the dead of night. Perhaps you know this already. Perhaps it is upon your orders that I was hunted down.
You should also know that I am not sorry for what I have done, but I am sorry for your pain.
It has taken me some time to get settled, but I am safe now. I am ready. Let’s put this behind us.
We’ve an empire to rule.
Your sister, Avalkyra
The winner in any contest is the person who’s willing to go the furthest, to do whatever it takes to succeed. That person is me.
- CHAPTER 13 -
VERONYKA
PRISONER.
The word fell like the final spark from a flint stone, setting the dormant fears in Veronyka’s heart ablaze.
The first flicker had been the horn call; the second, the young Rider’s gleaming spear. Everything had happened so quickly after that, the terror building inside her chest, waiting for release. The looming crowd of indifferent faces, dressed more like military foot soldiers than Phoenix Riders. The commander’s brusque questions and easy dismissal. The dagger. The rough, searching hands that threatened to accidentally discover her bound breasts at any moment. All the while, Veronyka held her breath, afraid her hitching chest might stoke the flames of her emotions or draw attention to the smallest of swells beneath the fabric. The presence of the phoenixes with their wild hearts and fiery minds had made it all worse, but somehow her secret remained her own. For now.
It had never occurred to Veronyka that a simple knife could arouse such suspicion. Then again, coupled with her vague account of being the brother of the girl who had eavesdropped on Beryk in Vayle—and Elliot’s accusations that her sister was a thief—she supposed her story was far from perfect. She hadn’t expected to be interrogated, and that small moment of hesitation when she was deciding what she should and shouldn’t say was all it took to condemn her in their eyes. Now she was being escorted to their compound as a prisoner. It felt like some kind of irrevocable sentence; it felt like failure.
A lead weight settled into the pit of her stomach as the majority of the Riders took off into the sky, leaving Beryk and Elliot behind. The boy who’d found her was last to leave, his scowling face telling her she’d made an enemy already, though she wasn’t entirely sure how. When he’d first landed before her, swooping in on phoenix-back with his drawn spear flashing in the setting sun, he’d looked like a hero out of a Pyraean Epic. Then he’d dismounted and pointed the weapon at her, and the fantasy had shattered.
Lost in thought, Veronyka was startled when Beryk sidled up to her again. “Twins?” he asked curiously. His voice was gruff but not unkind—still, Veronyka jumped as if he’d shouted at her.
“P-pardon?”
“You and your sister. Are you twins?”
“No, sir,” Veronyka said, avoiding his eyes and running a self-conscious hand over her cropped hair once his back was turned.
It had hurt at first, hacking away the long braids she’d worn all her life—but Veronyka wouldn’t let a little thing like being a girl stop her from becoming a Rider. While plenty of Pyraean boys wore their hair long and braided, Veronyka hadn’t failed to notice that Beryk—whose deep brown skin surely marked Pyraean heritage—did not.
Her maiora had told her that it was tradition for Phoenix Riders to cut their hair short when they began training, symbolizing a new start. It also created a camaraderie with the other empire military orders, who wore short hair as well. Braids became a status symbol, something earned and possible only after years of training allowed freshly shorn hair