the door, back to Tristan, and around the entire bathhouse. Where was she supposed to look? How was she supposed to get dressed with him here? There was no escape. There was nowhere to hide. When his fingers reached the strings on his pants, Veronyka felt light-headed and stared resolutely at her feet, though she barely saw them. Her gaze wandered up again, as if dragged there by some uncontrollable force.
He wasn’t standing naked before her, but had already immersed himself waist-deep in the pool. He’d walked in calmly, making barely a sound, rather than splashing in as she had. It was a relief to have some kind of barrier between them, even though the steaming water didn’t entirely obscure the dark trace of hair that trailed down his muscled stomach and into the water below.
He submerged his head, and when he came back up, water streamed down his body. He smoothed his hair back and blinked at her. “You should get some sleep, Nyk.”
Then he turned away, sinking onto the bench with his back facing her. He reclined and closed his eyes.
Veronyka sagged against the wall, her muscles trembling. She dressed at top speed, stumbling into her pants and fumbling far too long with the laces. She slipped out the door and ran to the barracks, determined never to have another bath again.
Day 5, Third Moon, 169 AE
Xe Onia,
I know you are angry with me, but we can’t fall apart now. This is what they want. Don’t you see that?
I have sent this with Nefyra, my best messenger pigeon. Your response will get to me in two days.
Please respond.
—Avalkyra
I was banished, chased from the very empire my foremothers had built. Was I to give up then and fade away into obscurity? Was I to fall onto my knees and beg?
- CHAPTER 22 -
VERONYKA
TRISTAN’S PROMISED HELP WITH training began early the next morning and continued doggedly over the following days.
Rather than taking her to the target range or teaching her combat moves with knife or spear, Tristan took her running. Veronyka was severely disappointed, but he insisted that fitness and stamina were more important.
And so every morning before dawn, they met in the courtyard. He would lead her over the village walls and up tightly winding stairs to the higher fortifications that enclosed the stronghold. He took her along narrow tracks that ran all over the mountaintop, through bushes and long grasses, and down the steep inclines of the cliffs that surrounded the plateau. Veronyka knew he slowed his pace for her, but it was still the most exhausting thing she’d ever done.
Tristan was eternally patient, nudging her if her eyes began to droop while they stretched and taking frequent breaks to “catch his breath” that were obviously just for her.
Nearly a week into their new routine, Veronyka’s sluggish start had them returning a bit late for their regular duties. As they jogged through the gate into the stronghold, the sun had already risen, limning the mountain in gold, and the other apprentices were gathering in the training yard, preparing for their own early morning lesson.
They saw Tristan and waved him over, and Veronyka followed. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and her legs were unsteady beneath her. Tristan, on the other hand, had a fine sheen of sweat on his face but appeared otherwise relaxed and at his leisure. Veronyka, gasping with her hands on her knees, hated him for it.
“Who’s your shadow, Tristan?” asked Anders, separating from the rest of the apprentices. He had the cool, light-brown skin of Arboria North, and his dark hair curled around his rather large ears. His parents were part of an acting troupe, and Anders had certainly inherited their love of theater and entertainment, if not their talent; his less-than-stellar singing voice could often be heard from the apprentice barracks, the dining hall, or from high above as he and his phoenix soared by. Arborians were famous for their arts, and beyond music and theater, they made the best furniture and woodcarvings in the empire, as well as fine leatherwork. Anders had a pair of thick leather cuffs etched with songs, poetry, and family motifs, though he wore them only at dinner. The commander forbade any embellishments that didn’t follow his strict apprentice uniform, which included matching practice tunics and armor on patrols, and hair that was kept neat and short and faces that were clean-shaven. Even in their prime, the Phoenix Riders employed a similar dress code for their