line was almost wiped out entirely thanks to phoenix fever.”
Veronyka had already noted this in her study of Commander Cassian’s books—how the Ashfire line had slowly thinned over time. King Aryk, Avalkyra’s father—Veronyka’s grandfather—had inherited the throne from his sister, Queen Bellonya, when she and his two older siblings died. She’d had two daughters, but they’d died in infancy, and so the line had diverted. There were surely distant Ashfire cousins spread throughout the empire, descended from one of the other Five Brides, yet Elysia’s line was all but gone. Besides, whatever others with Ashfire blood who still existed would have been raised so far from the throne that they’d have trouble gaining support. Just like Veronyka.
“We’re not here for any of that—we’re here for the people of Pyra.”
“Who’s this ‘we’ you keep speaking of? What about his father?” she asked, nodding her chin at Tristan.
He stared at her, a bit too slow in wiping the look of surprise from his face.
“What do you know about his father?” Veronyka demanded.
Alexiya snorted. “Lord Cassian, exiled governor of Ferro and current commander of the Phoenix Riders of Azurec’s Eyrie?”
Veronyka swallowed. Apparently quite a bit.
“I could see it on you the moment you arrived,” she said to Tristan, straightening her legs and leaning back against the wall. “Though I must say, I prefer the look of the son over the father. There’s a splash of Pyra in him, and he’s got some of Olanna’s wild beauty.”
Though she spoke about Tristan, her eyes were on Veronyka, a subtle smile playing on her lips. Veronyka suspected Alexiya saw a hint of what was between them and was enjoying needling them both. But then her expression turned thoughtful, her gaze searching.
“You, on the other hand…,” she murmured, eyes narrowing as they roved Veronyka’s face, “I cannot place.”
Terror flared up inside Veronyka. Alexiya had said she didn’t know Pheronia or Avalkyra, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t seen their faces. And that their faces didn’t look even a tiny bit like Veronyka’s face.
“So, will you help us?” Veronyka blurted before Alexiya could spot another family connection.
“How?” Alexiya said, forgetting her intense scrutiny and dismissing Veronyka’s words with a shrug. “The three of us are no army. Even your ‘army’ up at the Eyrie is no army. So what can we possibly do?”
“Protect the people,” Veronyka said simply. “There’s…”
She trailed off. A waft of smoke had reached her nostrils, and it wasn’t the smell of burning wick and oil coming from Alexiya’s lanterns.
It was the smell of wood. Green, living wood—the kind that gave off dense, choking smoke.
“What—” Tristan began, but then Alexiya was on her feet. She marched into one of the back rooms, which had a hatch that opened onto the roof. She was outside before Veronyka even fully entered the room, leaving moonlight spilling in from the opening and illuminating a short ladder. She and Tristan hastened to follow.
The roof above was conical, and Alexiya climbed to the summit before turning her gaze south. Veronyka followed her, and on the far side of the roof, Xephyra and the other phoenixes lifted their heads.
The landscape was dotted with distant, flickering pulses of light—fires, burning in the Silverwood. Veronyka thought of their earlier discussion about firebirds in the Land of Trees, and her heart clenched.
“What is it?” she found herself asking, though she already knew. One fire might be an accident—a lantern knocked over or a cook fire gotten out of control—but five, six… seven of them?
“It’s an attack,” Tristan said, stunned. “But who are they attacking? I thought no one lived here anymore.”
“There are some small communities living at the edge of the Foothills,” Alexiya said, her voice strange and distant. “They trade north and south of the border, mostly to places that don’t see a lot of travelers.”
“But why the fires? Do they mean to set the entire Silverwood ablaze?” Tristan demanded. “What’s the point?”
“To make it look like Phoenix Riders did it,” Veronyka said, casting a look at Alexiya to see her response.
She didn’t argue.
“We need to get there,” Veronyka said, tugging Tristan’s arm. “Now.”
She thought of the rest of Tristan’s patrol—close, but not close enough to get there in time. Only minutes had passed, and already the fires were brighter, the scent of smoke almost stifling, even in the open air.
“Will you help us?” Veronyka asked Alexiya, as Tristan shuffled down the other side of the roof to mount Rex. He lifted the horn strapped to his saddle and blew—but they both knew