shoulder. It was light enough now that they could fly safely above the trees and see where the soldiers—and the missing people—had gone.
“I’ll go,” Veronyka said at once, but Alexiya pushed to the front.
“Let me,” she said quietly—but firmly. “I know these parts. Go with your patrol. I will come back as quickly as I can.”
Veronyka wavered, then nodded. Alexiya turned to Tristan next, and all he said was, “Be careful.”
Then she was off.
Tristan faced Latham, who looked pale and furious as he took in Tristan’s smoke-and-ash-covered appearance, but also relieved. Apparently Tristan’s patrol had been minutes from sending out a search for him and Veronyka. They had spotted the distant smoke and suspected that was what was delaying the pair of them on their return.
Latham led the way to the village, darting a curious look at Alexiya, who was flying back south, while Veronyka and Tristan took up the rear.
Despite everything—despite the anger and exhaustion pulling at his muscles—Tristan directed a tired smile at Veronyka. She cocked him a questioning eyebrow, and he nodded at Alexiya’s retreating figure.
“Look who you’ve won to our side,” he said.
Veronyka twisted in her saddle to stare after Alexiya, brow furrowed. “I think she’d have come anyway. She’d have followed the flames.”
“She wasn’t following the flames,” Tristan said. “She was following you.”
He’d done his best to forget everything Veronyka had told him about who she really was. In fact, he was trying not to think about a lot of things lately: that his father was lying to him again or how it had felt to black out and have no memory of falling helpless from his saddle. That wasn’t to mention waking up to learn that he was bonded to Veronyka—oh, and that her full name was Veronyka Ashfire and she was heir to the empire.
But every now and then, the truth of who she was hit him so undeniably that he felt it was a wonder he hadn’t spotted it before. The fact of the matter was, there was something queenly about Veronyka—something that set her apart from everyone else. Not arrogance or self-importance or entitlement. She was the kind of person who led by example, and like a lantern in the darkness, she made you want to follow.
It was strange; he usually read adoring histories and flowery epic poems with a cynical eye—surely kings and queens weren’t always strong and beautiful and awe-inspiring. Maybe it was because he himself was descended from kings and his own father had been both a Phoenix Rider and a governor. Yes, he’d always looked up to and idolized the impressive commander, but he was also just a man, no more special or gods-chosen than Morra the cook or Lars the metalsmith.
But looking at Veronyka, suddenly he believed it… that some people were destined for greatness. That they were meant to rule and to lead.
Of course, he hadn’t told her that. After she’d spilled everything to him, he’d followed her example in not mentioning anything about it. She wanted it kept secret, for starters, and he knew her entire sense of self was on fragile ground. That wasn’t to mention the issue with the shadow magic.
Tristan knew it was wrong, but ever since he’d learned about it, he’d found himself wishing the link went two ways—that he could see into her heart and mind and understand her better. It was still a thrilling thing to fantasize about, even as he realized with chagrin that he would be a poor shadowmage, selfish and lacking in control.
In blazing flash of clarity, Tristan understood how that magic had shaped who Veronyka was—her emotional control, her compassion, and her relationship with her sister. Shadow magic had touched every part of her life, teaching her to guard herself and others. To be a protector. It had also taught her to fear the person she’d loved most—Val. Tristan hated the hard lessons she’d had to learn and hated himself for the way he’d reacted when she’d told him of her magic. As if the burden were his instead of what it truly was: a constant weight and responsibility pressing down on Veronyka every minute of every single day.
Maybe that was why it was supposedly the gift of queens, popular in the royal Ashfire line. They were built of stuff that was better than him.
When they arrived in the main square where the rest of his patrol—along with a cluster of villagers—waited, Tristan began issuing orders. The villagers rushed to get food and water