VERONYKA KICKED AS HARD as she could at Tristan’s face.
They were in the training yard, and the evening sun was casting purple shadows across the stronghold walls, setting the golden phoenix statue atop the temple ablaze with light.
The dinner bell had rung, and the rest of the apprentices and masters had finished their training for the day. Those who remained were packing up and putting away practice weapons or watching idly as Veronyka and Tristan circled each other.
They were sparring, and though Veronyka hated the attention, she’d told Tristan she wouldn’t quit for the day until she’d beaten him once. So far, she was zero for five, and she was getting tired.
Tristan dodged her kick as easily as he’d dodged the others, stepping out of range while Veronyka stalked after him.
“Why don’t we pick this up tomorrow?” he asked, panting slightly. Only just slightly. Meanwhile, Veronyka was a sweating, gasping mess.
She wanted to answer him—no, they couldn’t wait until tomorrow. The final details from the attack on the Eyrie had trickled in over the past few weeks, putting numbers and names to the deaths, damages… and the missing.
And this was just the start.
Things were going to get worse before they got better; the empire wouldn’t forget them after such a narrow defeat… and Veronyka had to be ready. She’d been practicing as hard as she could, pushing herself in flying and weapons and yes, combat. It was her weakest skill and therefore required the most effort and attention.
Veronyka had to make sure that when the empire returned—when the next battle was fought—she wouldn’t be sidelined. And the only way to guarantee that didn’t happen was to become a Master Rider. To pass the very tests Tristan had struggled with weeks before—and had trained months to conquer.
Despite her skill in flying and her powerful animal magic, Veronyka was so far behind in combat, so utterly out of her element, that it was all she could do to remain on her feet.
But she wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t.
In response to Tristan’s offer to quit for the day, Veronyka tightened her mental walls and kicked again.
Because it wasn’t just the combat that had Veronyka struggling. She couldn’t fight Tristan like she could the others, because while her shadow magic was always reaching for minds and hearts, when it came to Tristan, it was like water being sucked down a whirlpool. She had to actively fight it, aware that every touch, every moment of eye contact, might be the thing that broke them both wide open. It was like fighting two opponents at once.
Tristan shook his head with a slight smirk, leaping effortlessly out of reach.
Veronyka swallowed, her throat dry as the sand under her feet, and tried to focus.
For weeks now, the combat lessons had been her worst, the things she dreaded most of all. There was no one for her to match up with, no one the same size and skill level. So she took a constant beating. Her only advantages were her speed and the fact that she was a small target.
She was also unpredictable. Not on purpose, but from lack of expertise. Occasionally, it worked in her favor, catching her opponents off guard.
Everyone except for Tristan. When they sparred, sometimes it felt like he was the one with shadow magic. He anticipated her moves so easily, was able to counterstrike flawlessly, and adapted almost instantly to everything she threw at him.
Of course, if she really wanted to win, she could open her mind to him and anticipate his every thought and movement. Like she had during the attack on the Eyrie. Their connection had been heady and powerful, but then they’d been working together to achieve a goal. She’d also lost consciousness when she’d let their bond get away from her outside the breeding enclosure the day before that. It was too dangerous, and it was also exactly the kind of thing her sister, Val, would do.
Veronyka shook her head. The more she opened herself to him, the more she opened herself to Val—and that was the last thing she needed right now.