Veronyka would have to face who and what she was eventually, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t know what she wanted from her future, not when so much in her present was demanding her immediate attention. War was happening, even without the news that an Ashfire heir was hiding in Pyra. If she came forward and revealed her true identity, she’d be putting a target on the Riders’ backs, not to mention on everyone else in Pyra.
And what of Val? Did she intend to come forward anytime soon? There were technically two Ashfire heirs in Pyra, and their identities felt like the tipping point, the thing that would turn everything into chaos.
The information was as dangerous as it was life-changing—a weapon to be wielded—and Veronyka had to be certain she knew what she was doing with it.
* * *
Tristan returned the next evening, followed close behind by a wagon filled with supplies.
It felt almost strange to greet him—Tristan and Veronyka had spent so much time together, there was actually a moment of awkwardness when he landed before her and the rest of the Riders just outside the refugee camp, smiling shyly.
He clapped the others on the back and shook their hands, but then he and Veronyka were facing each other, and the greetings and pleasantries died on his lips.
“I—hey,” he said, aware of his patrol members around them.
“Hi,” Veronyka said brightly—too brightly. She wondered if he felt the pull between them the way she did, as if their time apart had only strengthened her magic’s desire to be near him. Her desire.
They stared at each other a second longer, then, “How was—” Veronyka began, but then Xephyra had shoved her aside in order to butt her head against Tristan’s chest.
He let out a startled “oof” in surprise, then laughed and ruffled the feathers along Xephyra’s neck, giving her the casual, affectionate greeting he’d been unable to give Veronyka.
Xephyra moved on to Rex, and Veronyka and Tristan shared another lingering look before they joined the others in unloading the wagon.
With the shadow magic link as strong as ever between them, Veronyka had to wonder if her attempts at blocking their bond were actually making things worse, not better, but she quickly banished the thought and refocused on what was happening around her.
Though he showed a brave, indifferent face, Tristan admitted to Veronyka that he’d tried to speak to the commander again about the Grand Council but had been summarily rebuffed. They were next to the wagon of supplies, Lysandro reading from a list while Latham and Anders stood inside, handing out the items one at a time.
“We barely talked for ten minutes,” Tristan said, fighting to keep his anger in check as he stacked several crates on the ground, throwing them down with unnecessary force. “Once he had my report and the supply requests, he tried to send me off again. He was annoyed that I’d told you to stay behind, but he was so swamped with papers… I honestly think he might have forgotten about it. When I tried to ask him about the Grand Council again, he told me it was none of my concern.”
Veronyka added a crate to the pile and straightened, wishing she knew how to comfort him. But after a lifetime with Val, she understood too well what it was like to be constantly lied to—and had yet to discover a solution to the problem.
“After, though…,” Tristan started, then faltered, a hand dropping to press against his pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being overheard before jerking his head toward the horses at the front of the wagon where they’d be out of earshot. Veronyka followed. “Elliot found me. He showed me this, and insisted it was my father’s.” He held out what looked like a poison dart for Veronyka to see before tucking it away again. “I don’t know what to make of it—the fact that Elliot is poking around where he probably shouldn’t, or the idea that my father might be up to something worse than I’d even considered.”
“Did you ask him? Your father?”
“I didn’t get a chance.”
“Maybe when you give your next report in a couple of weeks?” she offered, unsure what to make of it either. She’d never seen any of the Riders train with darts and couldn’t fathom what he had in store for the weapon.
Tristan nodded, but he looked defeated. Veronyka knew he expected his father would just lie to him again,