her phoenix beheaded. Her death sent shock waves through the empire and scared the last remnants of Avalkyra Ashfire’s rebellion into submission. If, with all her status and wealth, Olanna could be butchered, then no one was safe. Cassian has not been the same since. They chose to spare his life but not his position on the council. I think they rather enjoyed seeing him broken and exiled . . . a once-mighty governor brought low. Perhaps they thought he could serve as an example or a cautionary tale. The council named some Stellan lord governor in Cassian’s place and banished his entire family from the empire.”
The disdain Veronyka had been feeling just moments ago slowly ebbed away. It was so incredibly cruel, and she couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity for both Cassian and Tristan.
“Did you fight in the war?” she asked.
“Yes,” Morra said, returning to the dough. “Though I didn’t last long.” She reached into her hair and pulled out an ash-covered feather. “I lost Aneaxi in a border skirmish. Those were dark days for me, but there’s more than one way to fight a war—Olanna taught me that. We Riders who outlived our bondmates found other ways to serve our queen. They called us Mercies. We raked the burning buildings and smoking battlefields, seeking out survivors. And resurrections.”
“Resurrections?” Veronyka whispered. “Phoenixes can be reborn in the middle of a battlefield?” Her heart stuttered inside her chest, and the image of Xephyra’s cold ashes came back to her.
Morra nodded gravely. “All it takes is fire and bones, and there was plenty of both. I’d only just joined, but the older Mercies had strange stories to tell. I was determined to do my part, to find someone. . . .” She glanced at Veronyka, then shrugged, sliding the dough over for her to cut. “But my unit was ambushed before we’d even crossed the border. The others died. . . . I barely escaped with my life.” She gestured down at her leg.
They stood in a small bubble of silence for several moments, while the noise and commotion of the kitchens clamored all around them.
“We’re not as strong as we once were,” Morra continued, “but nor are we as weak. The commander may seem brusque, and some of his methods are too rooted in the empire, but he is capable. Of those who survived the Blood War—with their bondmate, mind you—Cassian has the most military experience, the most wealth, and the most natural authority. Those who fought alongside him respect his ability as a leader, and there’s no one among us to challenge him. Yet,” she said with a wink. Quietly she added, “One day young Tristan will find his strength.”
Veronyka had a hard time seeing Tristan as someone in need of strength. He was very like his father, as far as she could tell, but apparently Morra saw something else in him. As someone with shadow magic, she probably saw more than most.
Veronyka paced next to the obstacle course the following evening, waiting for Tristan’s arrival. During the morning exercises, he didn’t so much as look at her. He just went through the course, ignoring her advice and pushing his animals hard, overexerting himself. The rest of the day passed quickly, in the way that time does when you’re dreading something.
Morra’s words floated around Veronyka’s mind all day. She was curious about what Tristan thought of his mother’s heroic sacrifice. Did he think her brave, or did he blame her for their exile? And would he turn into the kind of leader she had been—a selfless supporter of her people—or would he be like his father, desperately clinging to his place in the valley?
It made her think about the kind of person she wanted to be too. Veronyka had been told hundreds of stories about the Phoenix Riders in her life, about Avalkyra Ashfire and her deeds, each more amazing than the next.
At eleven, Avalkyra was the youngest Rider in history to win both the flying and archery competitions at the summer solstice games, and she led her first patrol at twelve.
During court functions and official council meetings, Avalkyra insisted that she and her sister sit at the king’s right hand—a place usually reserved for the queen—and forced her stepmother to sit on the king’s far-less-dignified left.
When Avalkyra’s father died and her stepmother tried to seize control, Avalkyra flooded the council with allies, dismissing many of the regent’s confidants with threats and blackmail, allowing her to overrule